Blah blah...Oh Blah!

A new day. And the last of the lot. I regain a confidence and take a look at the clock. Damn. Its 12pm again. I promised myself to stick to a routine! Why the hell do I submit to this chilly weather around me? Isnt there a way to elbow it out and make a free space for my damaged confidence? I mean, I wish to get up at 7, get ready, and get the complete day to myself. Half the day is already gone and its Tuesday; Saturday I would back in Dehradun for my last innings of 3 arduously boring months. I need to enforce self discipline. 10 mins, and I need to go out for some work, on which I have tried a lot to convince the other party of numerous reasons that I cant make it. Turns out that I am not good at plating excuses on someones face.

The geyser is bubbling and so is my mind. Why can I not stick to a routine? I am such a shameless creep who cant keep his own promises, leave alone expecting others to be fulfilled! (Oh I made myself sound an unreliable freak, I am not that bad....or am I?). Anyway, I really need to consider revamping the routine. I have more important .....


Here goes my toast. Its on fire. Bye. 

Perfect

A while ago, the clock struck 12. The tik tok of the hand brazing aside the mark could be well heard by me. I lay in my comfy bed, thinking aloud; thinking about the word: Perfect.

There is a strong sense of positiveness lingering around this seven lettered word. A plethora of images wobble around ones mind when you hear Perfect. A perfect man. A perfect body. A perfect weather. A perfect shape. A perfect smile. A perfect gesture. A perfect score. And many more.

However, why is it not possible to define A Perfect Tear? A perfect hurt? Maybe, a perfect agony? Why is the word perfect not able to define a lost love, something like, A Perfect Betrayal? No it does not. Because conventionlism overshadows innovation. The convention lies in the fact that perfect is akin absolute. The best, or perhaps the greatest. maybe that is why, there cannot be a "best" tear, the "absolute" agony, or the "greatest" lost love! Perfection bears synonimity with idealism. However, even a fraction of truth does not prevail here.

If asked to me, I would define Perfect by another word: Illusion. It isnt the positiveness, but anything, that claims to be perfect. Yes, it is illusion. Someone would surely counter me by saying, "What nonsense, I know of someone, who scored a "Perfect" hundred in their exam! Isnt  that perfect?" I would humbly submit a no to them. Did he score a "perfect" hundred in all his subjects? If yes, did he score a "Perfect" hundred in all his subjects and the same in all his terms? If yes, did he do the same throughout his Senior Secondary school? If yes, then please tell me did he do it in every single exam he faced since he entered his school, till he completed his post graduation? I wonder.

Calling anything, anyone perfect is disgrace to humanity. If they are perfect, they don't qualify as a homo sapien. If they do, then you don't qualify as a homo sapien! Nothing in this world is perfect. The day, an emotion, a success, a word, a belief, a practice achieves perfection, we can be sure about the dissolution of mere existence of everything. Everything before that would crave for being perfect. Everything would claim to be "more perfect". The basic human nature would not let us rest at homes, thinking of something that is achievable but not yet achieved. The world, then would surely crumble under its own weight.

Ok, why am I writing this? The truth is that I have been seeking it i.e Perfection. I desire it badly. Perfection in attire, impeccable success, an ocean of knowledge, and love beyond the greatest lovers; Everything incites me   to achieve the best. I crave to see the best light, the best form, and this quest for the best leads to me moments like this. I am trapped in my own web, struggling to weave through a way that helps me untangle myself from this absurdity. A very common proverb goes as, "You feed the tiger some blood, you would be its meal one day." Maybe not falling "perfectly" in place, this proverb, however entails the common behaviour of the common man. You let him taste success, and he can kill for more. He can cheat for more, he can lie to the loved ones, he can hurt the closest. I don't look at myself as a person to the likes of above genres. I have tasted success, a bit of it. I have been at the top of the totem pole of a unimaginable success. However, you cant stand at the top for long. The high is always temporary. Alcohol or success are the same. You cant enjoy swinging at the top for long. So, I came down generously to my personality, and began looking for another high. However this time, I do not want anything except myself to improve. To achieve what I want to become. 

I want to get to the top of my satisfaction once again. I wish to look in the mirror and call myself perfect, even though I know that for anyone who desires this, their world would come crumbling down under the weight of their own desires.

Haqeeat

Unhe yun masoom samajh kar main mohabbat karta gaya, 
Unke har lafz ko ibadat samajhta gaya, 
Aaj zehen me lafzon ka sailaab umada hai, 
Main behte behte yunhi hansta gaya.

Har sawal ek aina sa ban gaya hai, 
Jise dekh main khud ka hi putla banta gaya, 
Unka wo baandha hua sama, 
Har pal ke saath tanha banta gaya.


Ab is goonj ki haqeeqat kuch aisi hai, 
Ke apni hi niyat par main ghaav bunta gaya, 
Ek baar bhi peeche mudke na dekha unhone, 
Main najane kyun unhe sunta gaya.......

Taqdeer

Yun to samundar ki gehrayi bhi naap leti hai duniya, 
Zara is dil ke zakhmo ko naap ke to batao,
Haq jataakar jo aansu khoyen hain,
Unhe wapas lakar to batao…

Ye zubaan ek lafz ko taras gayi thi,
Un dino ki raunak ko lautaao,
Haq ki kyun baat karte ho humse,
Un zalimon se zara mera dil to le aao..

Karta hun bas ek hi iqtila aapse,
Mujhme wo nami wo nazakat le aao,
Kadmon tale jo kuchal gaye mere haq ko,
Un zalimon se mera pyaar to le aao,
Unse mera haq to le aao.

What a 51st. I wish this to be 50th.

Its no achievement. I have not won the presidency. I completed my 50th post and I did not realize it. This is the 51st. And its gonna be so not like it.


What is a relation? A connection between two people? A mother and a son? Two brothers? Two siblings? Two friends? Two lovers? Professional relation? Relation with your favourite music? Relation with your favourite food?

You name it. Lets listen to my answer: A relation is anything, but fucking permanent.  Today, writing this, I sense deep agony. I sense crucification of trust. I observe denial by none other than one of my most treasured one. Not that its for the first time. I ran the same path some years back. The only problem is, the grief is identical. Five years back, when I met him/her, s/he was a kid. Totally unaware of the world, inside a shell that had to be broken for him/her to get out and spread his/her wings. I worked hard on that, showered all my love, all my commitment, included him/her in my family as my only brother/sister. I never had one. So I just couldn't keep a control on my care and love. In between all this, I fell in a relationship with a girl. She, as it gradually turned out to be, transformed into my life. I loved her like my breath, and went to extreme limits with my commitment for her. Alongside, s/he was also there, slowly transforming in my only younger brother/sister I know.

A man doesnt know when he dies, he only knows when he  is stabbed.

Today, that girl is no more around, and for that matter of fact, is in a relation with someone else, when she used to cry fortnights for me. For us. This, now affects me zilch. Because I have lived my time, my agony, all alone in rooms, with friends, with tears, with pain, on streets, with beer bottles, with failure in academics. I so have been there and done that. So now, it hardly pains.

And s/he, just said to me that s/he hardly cares about what I think. S/he, whom I almost "raised" with all my devotion and sincerity as my brother/sister, now shows me the middle finger. Its a classic case of children-abusing-parents case. And let me tell you, it slices through the heart like a dagger. I loved him/her like my own body part, like my breath, and what did I get in return? A slap of disregard on my face.

Today, s/he says s/he doesnt want to talk about anything anymore. His/her statements make me feel like a polybag. Like used furniture. Like rotten fruits. I really dont have the slightest of idea whether s/he has any realization of this. I crumble along this trust deficit to serve my pain. I drag myself through agony to still love him/her.

S/he may have got wings to fly. S/he may have got fascinated by the fanaticism of the shine of the world. S/he may have stepped out and met new people and made new friends. S/he maybe flying solo and happily, but theres one thing I think s/he should remember.


There was someone who didnt sleep nights giving you new wings and repairing your old ones. Never forget them. Life isnt sweet enough to be at your service with another version of them, when you someday decline. You will, be sure of that. One day you would need a shoulder.

And if you are totally "i-dont-care-a-shit" now, that fateful day, you would wish you wouldnt have been so cruel to them.

They would be in heavens, still looking onto you with love, whereas you would be the one battling. Or maybe repairing someone elses wings.

Haste

I turned over the leaf of my calender about 25 mins back. And with that I ended 24 complete hours. I ended, thousands of seconds that I let pass by, idling on the couch or sprawling on the bed. And all of this, suddenly has begun to pinch. Confined by the daily worries, we hardly seem to pay attention to the time we simply waste. For instance, being a readomaniac, my passion for books never died. However, these days I hardly throw a glance at the best releases around me. Actually, I hardly know any! And flipping over the calender leaf, I wonder. Why is that I dont have the slightest idea of the major releases? What is it that is preventing my to explore, to open up? To get out and reach for the skies?

The resonance of unavailability of time is deafening. And I want to learn. I want to read. I want to listen to music. There's so much of what I want. With every new calender leaf, a new haste begins. Towards terminating the haste with which life slams itself on my face.

Its Time

Oh yes. Definitely. Its that time again.

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.