Bidding goodbye to a loved one isn't easy, whatsoever. When the tough looked soldier glances back for that one last time, in those distant yet captive eyes of his mother, before leaving to step in the arduous battlefield, its a sombre sight. Though not of that magnitude, but it is tough to leave the place which provides you flawless care and compassion. Its called home. And I crave to be here.
Its hard to go. Its not that my destination is too bad. Its one of the dream destinations for quite a few and remains on the top of the charts for creating envy withing those who never got a chance to be there. The only problem is, this place here, Delhi, my home, its just too good to be here. The love isn't a showoff. The care isn't for self interest. When you are at home, the meals aren't bought or won. They are fed with umpteen emotions, all derivatives of profuse and selfless love. And it shows. The sleep is unhindered. When the eyes close, you are sure that you would not get disturbed. It is said that a man who sleeps peacefully at the end of the day, entails the maximum happiness out of life. You don't have to 'think and talk' . You dont have to seek help for implementation of your ideas. The feeling of light shoulders, shedding some responsibilities for some time feels bliss. To lie down and bake in the sun without thinking about the money shortage, projects, seniors, politics. It surely is something to die for.
This something isnt there with many. Many, dont have homes. And this realisation first leads to prayers for them, and thanks for us.
Presently, its time. I have to leave for yet another term away from this heaven on earth. And I dont like it for sure. I, personally feel blessed to be here. My prayers are for every man out there, that he who sheds sweat and blood hard day in and day out, if wants to feel eternal bliss, should come.....Home.
PS: I would try my best to be active here, though i cant promise. Tc ppl.
To define the desperateness in me is not going to require knowledge of a hundred books. You just have to be with me, near me. Several people claim to understand it though, I can bet on my life, they aren’t even close. Only because they aren’t with me. They don’t know. They aren’t living me. My thoughts reiterate the questions, and for the answers...they are yet to be found.
Where and when did I lose myself? A sinister moment for sure. However, I wonder whether it was just a moment. But if it wasn’t, how is it possible that I did not realise! I mean, I was losing the man I was so proud of, that is me, and it was me only who was losing me, and how come I couldn’t stop myself during all that time? Sounds so idiotic! But it is true. And I abhor the apathy. Presently, as I embrace the shrieks of street kids playing in the sun, I am trying to recollect any vision, howsoever botched up it might be, of me being similarly content and happy, unconcerned with the surroundings, and with myself, like the kids.
And as usual, all efforts go empty. Presently, I feel the need of herculean strength to jot down all this. Why? I left writing ages ago. Those tit bits that I have penned down recently, na..I read them and my instinct clearly pops up; it was not me. I was brilliant. I was confident. I love(d) writing. But now, I can’t recollect the feeling when I actually ‘wrote’ last. In quite a similar manner, it seems my hero, that made me proud, was slained long ago.
I wish for a morning that does not begin with,
“Oh shit I again got up late, now the time available would be less, and ideally I should have bathed till now, I should do that, I have to read this, I have to listen to that...”.
Followed by, “Now what to do, where to start from. Forget it would sleep a bit more. NO! Get up! Its 12!.”
...and further,
“I am not being up to the mark; I just need to tweak myself up a little bit. I have to read that novel, I have to read newspaper, Oh, also the news. Damn, there was a bag that I had to get stitched. What about my music? I need to get into a band, I love that. And my profession? I am pretty good at that but yes i still need to gear up. Get information and knowledge. Oh damn my final year is approaching, need to prepare for the placements too. I need to plan my future... I mean what after college? Should I go abroad? Do i have to give all those shitty exams? Should I join this or should I study further? I am getting so fed up, I think I should write.
(I open the laptop, and sit in front of it, with a page opened in front and my hands on the keyboard..)
“How should I begin? Ok this would be good....no no .... *delete* *delete* *delete*.....Shit I cant write anymore. I am lost.
.......after 25 min or so...
“Its 5pm, and I still haven’t read the news paper.....................................................”
And it begins again. And I hate it from the pit of my gut.
One thing that I can recognise in me is that the desire for exorbitant knowledge, that I borne during secondary school, has revived profusely (My unparalleled interest while listening to the Lok Sabha proceedings and craving to know the history of any damn country or place or thing, vouches for that immensely! Mind you, I was a student who used to almost puke at the name of ‘History’ and never went above 30’s or 40’s in Social Studies). But the ends don’t fit together. I don’t know why. I seek umpteen knowledge, but I don’t know where to begin. I know there is no method of gaining knowledge, but thats what. Gaining knowledge is, and should not be obviously, the only thing in life! All the things that I want to do, never get aligned. Never are in order. And I know, in the recent one or two years everything has just remained incomplete.
I read the newspaper, I don’t grab the news, I look for excellent vocab. Later on, when I realise I don’t remember anything from the newspaper, I get frustrated that I wasted so much time. I was gifted a Salman Rushdie by a friend last May, believe me, I have not even finished the first five chapters! I mean, me, who used to literally lick off novels, of the likes of Harry Potter in 2 – 3 days, has been unable to finish one in more than a year!! Shameful. And highly discouraging. And like this, several things flash in front of me, reminding of my incompetency. Its seriously disheartening.
I don’t know from where to begin, what to do to achieve peace of mind. Every minute my brain keeps on spinning like a machines rotor. Thinking and thinking...I want it to rest. I want peace. I want to be satisfied with myself. I want to face the mirror and outdo my let downs. I want to see that look in my eyes, that killing confidence...I want to get in order. I want to be me.
Once Dad said, looking at a match of Sania Mirza, while she was resting for a moment,
“Forget about the idiocy of this woman, just look at her eyes right now. She is resting, but look at the way she is looking at her opponent. No cruelty, just intense confidence and an attacking spirit. This is the way you have to attack challenges of life.”
So here am I. Leaving home to step in shit once again. I wonder why life needs to be so complicated. Why people are so unaware of their personal self. Why do they thrive on sadistic approach towards life. Grudge, just because the other one is better than you, isnt it a total loss of energy? I just wish people understood this...Or maybe I understood the cynicism. Maybe then my mind would feel confident. Confident of sheer happiness.
It doesnt even budge my inner self now. Is this how life is? Is this how the cycle works? Right from no one, to an acquaintance, a friend, the most important one, your life, your sadness, your disappointment, your disgrace, your anger, your past, and once again-no one. I wonder if anything stays. If anyone stays. And here they go once again, Mr. Coldplay blasts in my ears, "We've been living life inside a bubble...". I just landed on the profile of my "no-one to no-one (NTN)" accidently on a famous social networking site. Her friend sent me a friend request. Its unusual for me to have my thoughts and feelings in coherence with each other. This time they were. And somehow I got a prompt NO. In perfect coherence. And I suddenly found myself feeling the bubble...
In badalon ki parchaayi,
Kuch yun hai gehrayi,
Jaise na samajh sake hum zindagi ko kabhi
Jo samjhe to lagi wo nasamjhi hi sahi...
Har chehra ek sawaal ban jaaye,
Har sawal ek khayal le aaye,
Aaina dekh kar yun sawaal utha abhi,
Na jane ye kaun hun, shayad aaine ki bekhudi...
Waqt ki daud thame na thame,
Wajood ki talash me yun jite rahe,
Par koi is dil se ye kahe to sahi,
Ki saansen abhi thami nahi!
Jaane kahaan raah chhod aaya kabhi,
Main hokar bhi main na ho paya kabhi,
Dabe zehen ki saanson ka shagird jo bana
Baarish me ye aansun chhupa aaya kahin!
In palkon ki parcchayi,
Ab fir hai gehrayi,
Kash samajh sakte hum khud ko kabhi,
To shayad is kaagaz pe aaj yun na hoti nami.........
I have just woken up. And I just have minutes to write this. The clocks gonna strike 5.30pm and it would be tea time here in this strange home of mine; a home that's called hostel. Speaking of home, the next thought that conceives in my fertile gray world is that tomorrow is my last exam. And I would be going home. Real home. But then the exams is also of Applied Numerical Methods, an enhanced and more gory (:P) form of mathematics, which has been my top rival since, I guess, I met it. But then its just the last stupidity that I have to do for three hours and then...vroom..back to the real home. But then I would come back on 27th for some work, back to this pseudo home. Then again to the real one. And on 1st I would leave home (real) and would reside under a makeshift roof somewhere in Western India for 2 exilic months just for a certificate of "Yes-he-is-interested-in-his-profession" of my internship. As soon as my brothers birthday month .i.e. August would arrive I would be back from that 2 month exile, to my real home. That is, just for a week. Later, I would again return to this pseudolife and start my final year.......
Suddenly an urge flared up on my fingertips. The next thought that crafted was that I dont want this to be a poem as it would require thinking. And this, I dont want to think and type.
Its been four long, arduous months since this facade has made itself an integral part of my life. Its almost in coherence with my tanned skin and severely tampered soul. Most of the readers of my blog (well, I guess there are just few of them) know that I write mostly when, as they say very disappointingly, "something happens" to me, or for that matter, with me. I say, its not that always something different happens to or with me. That something is just LIFE in either its angelic conformation or, very often the bitchy one.
This time, its neither of them. Its kind of twisted. Its a question, actually a horde of them, that has contorted the image of my own personality in me to great extents. There are so many questions, that very often it feels like my brain is no different from a sack being filled with rushing water, way beyond its capacity. And the part that is troublesome is, that the "sack" is still trying to hold on. Now it feels that the "sack" has a turgid conscience, one which has inflated beyond the capacity of self respect.
These days, when I hold the pen in my hands, all I manage to write is a tiny, as my confidence, a dot. It feels such a colossal task to even start! So much is happening, yet I feel like an empty vessel. A barrage of emotions fills my veins, but by the time they reach between my ears, it seems they get diluted with time, and contaminated by other thoughts residing there, so much so, that the only change that happens is the dot gets darkened. Deep. And what happens next has become as frequent as the daily breath. My pen lays besides the dot, waiting to be picked up again in the so familiar tainted hope. And I, like the tiny dot, like the dark speck of beginning on my conscience, stay still where I was. Where I am right now. To some people who are really close, the monotony of this mess up would have begun to look like the monotony of seasons. Even the seasons differ in pattern and timing. But mine, both are unswayed everytime I hear a stressfull hello, if I hear one at all.
Why do I feel so caved out? Like I have been scraped from deep insides of my already damaged confidence? Scraped out each and everything that I possessed and was proud about? Sometimes it feels I am wasting this life that I have been gifted by the Big Man above. And sometimes, it feels as empty as an abandoned house for the past several years, a house which was a mammoth palace of exuberance and glee. I have no answers to any of my questions out here. When I began writing (read: typing) this I did not know where would it finally lead to. I still dont know. I thought I will just write my heart out. But even when I am typing this I feel stuck somewhere! I just know that I have so much to do in life, so much on my mind every single day of the year, every single hour of the day that I feel I am lost. Both by location and by virtue.
Which path should I take? How would I know its right, even if I muster enough courage to choose one? What is this emptiness that is filled in me? College, phone(x 4), education, industry updates, assignments, projects, social networking, blogging, latest technology, newspaper reading, maintaining relationships, keeping in touch with friends (old/new/those who think they are and I simply abhore them but cannot cease contact due to some "social obligations"! :x), keeping in touch with important contacts, watching 24(its the latest addiction that haunts me even when I am under the shower), watching movies, gaining general knowledge, family........................damn. What not!
I just want my erratic thoughts to get straightened up and let me ease out. Let me know a way out of this shitty puzzle I am trapped in for the past 4 months. How to manage the above mentioned carcass of my brain in a day, so that I just feel that this life, is not withering away to disappear in thin air. I just want the whats and the hows and the whens and the whys to just get answered. I just want to feel substantial. I just want to accommodate the essentials in my life, become what I imagine myself as.
The problem is: I suddenly do not know how to.
And here again, my fingers withdraw themselves from this disjointed world of my confused ramblings....and I go back and play an episode of 24, silencing my quest towards myself until it rages again. Or till when, and if, a big if, I find my answers.
Multiple Personality Disorder: A relatively rare dissociative disorder in which the usual integrity of the personality breaks down and two or more independent personalities emerge.
I read this statement in one of the Saturday supplements of a newspaper. It is of high probability that the psychology students might have begun contriving a plan to hang me as this definition might not be the exact textbook definition, but for the layman I think it is enough to convey the essentialities.
On reading the above definition, my neural highways suddenly experienced thronging traffic of millions of ideas and thoughts. I read the whole story about that person suffering from such a disease, and felt how it would be for someone to recognise his own self in such a mode; several definitions of his identity, enormously confusing conclusions about his own personality and the dejection from his lost soul. I wondered if I would ever meet someone suffering from such a disorder, wishing that no one should actually suffer from this.
And then I realised that I have seen it. I see it daily. There is someone, or rather something I know really well, which suffers from this disorder in its grimmest forms. It is all around me every single moment. It is very famously known as Life.
For those minds which are already lost in a kaleidoscope of conclusions and confusions as to what am I blabbering, I would like to impress upon the fact that if seen clearly, Life suffers from MPD. Remember the time, when we are left abandoned with a very common sentiment nowadays: “WTF!?” Just because a friend whom we expected, and were completely devoid of any fragment of doubt, to say a proxy attendance for us, did not do it even though we got caught thrice saying his proxy a day before!?? Or probably, when that very same friend comes to us the very next day and asks us to cover up for him for his wrongdoing in front of college authorities! “A DOUBLE WTF!!” Such situations, though trivial in nature, lead us to frequently question ourselves:
“How can people change in such a trice?”
or
“Am I expecting too much from everyone?”
or of the likes
“Is there ANYONE, anyone at all, whom I can call a genuine soul?”.
Or probably, the worst case scenario leads us to the distressing conclusions,
“Maybe I am made to feel this. Maybe I deserve this. Maybe, I am made to undergo this strife.”
Lost in this dubiousness, we never realise one thing. It is not me. Or you. Or him. Or anyone. It is life which is suffering from MPD. One moment it is gleeful, the next it leaves you appalled. One moment you love someone, and a morning later you realise you are finding reasons to hate him/her. One day you feel successful, the next you are lost in self doubts. One moment life seems perfect, the next it feels as it was the worst thing that happened to you ever! It changes its face in a New York minute! If you imagine life as a person, you would never want to imagine the trauma he/she would face by the frequency of multiple changing personalities it undergoes!
On a larger picture, the best example could be love. For those who were once very seriously in love, or rather thought that, and have come a long way since they lost it, there must have been a morning when once they would have woken up and thought:
“Shit. I am not thinking about her!!??!@#!?” :)
Or something like..
“Wow, it’s been 3 weeks, I didn’t even think about talking to him!”... :)
...and you suddenly realise how much has changed. An example of a slow transformation of lifes MPD.
All of a sudden, life seems to have turned into something you could have never imagined sometime back when you were shattered into pieces. Confidence rules.
Life seems blissful.
The moment you get out of bed, and look at the mirror, you realise how beautiful it used to be, with a face besides you in the mirror, which is missing now.
Life seems bleak.
Once again, Life undergoes a makeover in a jiffy. Such prolonged and swift changes in its personality...doesn’t it seem too much to take for a young human brain and heart? Yes It does. And it is. It is this superb frequency of change that we experience in our lives, which is responsible for our instant happiness or instant gloom. These are the alterations which are responsible for us to classify random people to friends, from friends to more than friends, from more than friends to beloved and so on...and yes, in the reverse order too. These are the changes which are responsible for most of our shocks, disappointments, dismays etc. I personally for the same reason hate such changes.
But I guess what I learnt from the past and would like to share with all of you is that these are changes. They cannot be stalled. Our lives are diseased with MPD. I wish there was some cure to this disease, but alas, there is none. Time loves to tickle us. Sometimes also bruise us. And we react incessantly to it. The key is not to.
It is just that life changes. With time, the bruises heal up, the jokes die, the sadness conforms to elation, and the elations mellow down. At the end when you reflect back on the life one fine morning sitting in your chair in the balcony sipping on the coffee, you realise it was nothing but the diseased life. It was just MPD of Life. It was just the change. It was just that time played with us. Tickled us. Sometimes for short intervals, sometimes for years and left us with changes, which sometimes were responsible for smiles, sometimes tears. But its just time. So its better for the youth experiencing gruelling changes and ups and downs in their life, to understand that its just a matter of time. Things shall pass. It is not worth getting upset, wasting time drowned in agony and pain.
Because when you would be sitting in that balcony at the end of your journey, you would for sure know that life goes on...and it goes on...........changing.
Another one was in the form of a sudden realization that I have stopped writing. Actually, a much fiercer and abominable situation has been the birth of the feel inside me that I might not be able to recoup. Ever again. This realisation has the inherent potential of metamorphosing into a really dreaded situation because writing had been “the vent” for me ever since the demonized downswing. The feel of not being able to write ever again was enough to mess up my mental state of affairs. I have begun to feel like a lost nomad. Of late, I have been attempting to write regularly, but except crushed paper balls in my room and accompanied hopelessness, nothing met me.
But I believe in, “When you are just about to fall off a cliff, the tree branch you accidently cling on to is the perfect definition of a friend.” And that tree branch to me is a very sweet friend and a co-writer who came in contact after a long time and suddenly gave me just what was required for me to SERIOUSLY attempt writing. She kept a condition which left no choices for me other than writing! She said she won’t write on her blog until I write SOMETHING at least and believe that I can write and thus get back to writing. So I had to. What to write, that was told by another special person in my life. (Believe me I am no better than a lost memory case presently! It feels like I am writing for the first time, which I am obviously not as is seen from my blog!) She just asked me to write something, ANYTHING. According to her, I should NOT try for a masterpiece in getting connected to writing after such a long time. I say, forget master piece, I do not even know if this is worth being called something! Anyway, there is one more aspect about which I would write soon, (Yes! I have the urge to write at least another post.) Not here, as this is already stretched too far and too long.
And I genuinely do not know what title to give this, but one thing is assured: This is what I FELT. And thus, I wrote.
I received a mail today forwarded by my sister. It had a story in it. I knew what it was made of. So I didn’t read it. I went to the washroom and splashed water on my face real hard. And stared at the mirror. Actually, I stared at me. And “me” stared back. This faceoff usually is detrimental to the arising mess in my brain. So, it was a relief again. The mail was another attempt by someone who was very close to me to achieve god knows what by making me read it. Actually, I am still unsure whether to use “was” would be correct. But I guess the blistering and eventful past that I had, left me with no other option. There are similar mails, which lead to similar mirrors, which in turn lead to similar stares and similar thoughts that I encounter. The point is, all this happens almost daily. I have lost account of the time since when all this has been an integral component of my already undefined and random life.
Phew. I finally got an OK from my conscience for the above paragraph. I say so because I have been experiencing an intensely choked up, stagnated mind state since a long time now. Imagine to be forcefully stuffed in a half your size air bag, your and the bags mouth sealed with a scotch tape, limbs tied around with dry, rough jute ropes and silently placed in the middle of the room where people are doing heavy breathing yoga exercises to relax themselves, with none of them opening their eyes so that they could see you and help you! Height of mental and physical exertion? That is what has been my mode of living, rather existence, for the past many months. In every domain, irrespective of its nature, I have been feeling the same. And I really have no clue what to do. Relationships (I am not only talking just about the “youth love”, it includes friends, families, acquaintances and some undefined but special ones too), academics, hobbies, interests...everything has been facing a major blow.
One of the major setbacks has been the totally unexpected end to 2009. I had my 5th semester exams over, and it was no less than the end of a mini world war. I was jubilant and exulting in high spirits. All the frenzy and excitement with which I came back home got snapped off in a moment. In one phone call. It was the New Years Eve and all that I was expecting from her call was a wish. No, she was not the girl with whom I was in a relationship. In very recognizable terms, she was not my Girlfriend. She was someone who was (still have doubts about using the past tense, how I wish I had been left with an option) very close to me. She held an extremely special place in my life. A girl whom I loved. But not as my girlfriend. Just as someone.........someone whom I LOVED FROM THE CORE OF MY HEART. I had gone through a very vehement downswing in my life 2 years back just for the fact I got committed in a relationship. She came to the rescue and made me believe. I didn’t want to repeat that downswing. Just the fact that I really liked her as a person and that she was there, was enough. But I guess not for her. She had one question. What about the future. I said I am 21 only. She said I love you a lot but cannot carry on like this without a relation or future commitment. All this when the world stepped forward into 2010. I for a change, had nothing to say. I had another blow. I wanted to return to 2009.
At this point of time, I am experiencing such vivid twirls in my heart, that it makes me go bonkers in my brain. Its 6:31 am and the first thought that came to my mind was, "What the hell am I doing online at this time? Am I really awake!!? Or is it a dream that refuses to establish its identity! How the hell could you commit this sin of getting up so early!!" Running in the meadow of my beautiful thoughts, some erogenous, some tempting me enough to just close my eyes and just fall back to sleep, others alarming me of the conscious battle fury which I engaged myself into last night, dedicated towards making a decision of studying this semester... I decide to just pen down my state right now.
Why am I wasting time here on net? I should be studying instead! That was the primer. The frozen nerve feeling at my pinky, arising from the elbow joint managed to dissuade me from me drawing conclusions. I got reminded of this friend of mine. A very close friend. According to her, I 'malfunction'after 12 o'clock in the night. And again in the morning with the sun, I transcend into this personality of a normal engineering student. I wonder how this is possible? Have I grown into one classic case of BPD (Borderline Personality Disorder)? What crap am I thinking at 6:30 in the morning!!!!!!!!!!
I break my reverie with the help of her reminiscencesfruiting inside me. I get this non familiar feeling of discomfort inside me. Surprizingly discomfort as this wasn't associated with her. Actually, this shouldn't be associated with her. Like you jolt, when you accidently touch a metallic frame of a cooler without earthing, I too jolted, though all inside on the thought of her being with me again. I so wish not to think about it. Successfull in this attempt to curb this feeling, I draw out the curtains to let the sunshine embrace my face and make it warm..I open my eyes and let the light fall upon me..and then it clicked:
"To hell with everything, its just 6:45! Go to sleep moron!!"
And allowing myself for this, I fall back on this routine hostel bed of mine, with this blue printed bedsheet, and just wonder, "how damn random can my life be? I woke up at 6:30 in the morning to write this thing!!!?? Do I really need medical care?
No, maybe its just the "malfunction". And I enjoy it. It lets me introspect in my mad mad way. Though its some crappy, insignificant stuff that breeds in my useless brain, it does find its significance on its own at some later point in time. In life. And what could be more comforting than the feeling of knowing yourself, knowing your desires and being able to soul-search with effectiveness? This could be enough to eradicate the evil around in humanity if people dwell upon their innerselves. Just randomly like it happened with me this accidental morning. And then this applies: "If you know what you want, then you know how to work towards getting it." Simple.
I dont know what to write..I really want to write something but it seems my thought station is too clouded. But i want to get the rains in it. I really want to empty out something deep inside me....deep inside.....and i want my pen to be the channel of it.
But its refusing to give me ideas..Excessive thoughts, i guess, might have lead to this. But thats what i wanna get rid of! Its too frustrating...I have got my exams in a week. I have to study. I have to work hard or else my GPA will sink to the very bottom of what it is already now(its already on the seafloor). But I just cant ignore this away, avoidance has become one of the most tough jobs.
I really wanna write something......But i dont know what...and i dont know how. Its just too tough to pick up your textbooks and think about studying. But theres a war going on. Between the two cerebral lobes residing in my cranial box. Wtf should I do then!!!! I cant sleep...Coz i woke up just now..
Its really taxing. I guess i should close this or else i'll end up openig up the lid of my laptop through a complete 360.
I'm in search of a revamp. And that is why I am here to vent it out. If you know me, you would understand what I just said. If you don't know me, welcome to my world. You would soon understand what I just said!
