Indefinite...

He sits quietly, gazing into the distance at nothing in particular. Motionless. His laptop in the background is playing a Ghulam Ali ghazal. But it doesn't matter to him. He isn't listening. He probably wouldn't respond if someone called him by his first name. The name he was given at birth. Very soon, that day will be a 25 year old memory. When he was brought into this world and recognized as a part of it. When he began his relationship with that strange concoction of time and space. Of people and things. Of ideas and beliefs. This world.

Its been a long journey, these 25 years. 24 and a half, to be precise. But today isn't the day to worry about petty details. A few days here and there. "Look at the big picture", I tell myself, "..as you have always been taught to look at things." So yeah, 25 years it has been. 25 years of a roller-coaster ride. Some ups, some downs, and somehow, its difficult to tell which ones have been more. There's never been enough time to count and keep track. Like one of those childhood trips in the really fast long distance trains that seem to travel for ages and ages, its kept going on and on. And just when you were starting to believe that it would never stop, it suddenly has. And no, its not a station, nor does it seem to be a crossing. Its just this wierd signal that has played musical chairs and said - "Oh! You're out!". No rhyme or reason. Happens to every train every once in a while. Why shouldn't it happen to you. So, while trains on the neighbouring tracks seem to happily amble about, you sit there waiting for the signal to turn green. You look out the window and see the grin on the faces of the children passing you by. You grow a little more impatient with every passing train, every passing grin. Thats exactly how I feel right now. Stopped by a naughty, maybe even sadistic, signal.

The song has changed. Its playing Boulevard of Broken Dreams. Thats probably the kind of expression that hes wearing right now. Or maybe it could have been Tanhayee. Its the same peculiar one hes been wearing for a few days now. Its hard to tell what it means but it definitely isn't a happy one. Hes been reacting differently to things. As though it wasnt him at all. As though he couldn't tell the difference. Or maybe, he doesn't want to.

Its wierd when you're stopped this way. Not knowing why you've been stopped. Not knowing when you'll be allowed to move again. Its like you're suspended in mid-air, like one of those Harry Potter immobility charms. You wait for when someone will come and say your name for you to be freed. Its at times like these that you feel at a loss of words to describe the feeling. Its not uncertainty. Everything around you is certain. Oversimplistically certain. The signal turns green, and you're free to go. But its indefinite. Certain, but indefinite. Like....like... Or maybe, theres probably quite nothing as certain and as indefinite as a train waiting for a signal to turn green. As the thousands of horsepower of the engine roar but idle, waiting maybe acquires a surreal feeling. Maybe this is the feeling that people call 'experiencing God'. I have never experienced God. I think I even doubt the existence of a God. I've called myself an atheist for as far as I can remember. But doubting should make me an agnostic, shouldn't it. Well, hardly matters. I just know I'm immune to the exhortation called God. I think I'll just settle for the unnamed feeling. Like a stopped train.

The Wrong Turn...

The nagging feeling creeps up like a creeper on a tree. It wraps around you. In infinite loops, one leading to the next. The feeling that you have when you take a wrong turn on a winding mountain road. When time stops. And you drift into a parallel universe. Directionless. It has a way of rattling up hidden fears and fallacies. Like the Fear of the Unknown. One of the oldest fears known to the thinking world. The fear of losing control. Of Losing. The feeling of being abandoned. Shipwrecked on a virgin island. Alone.
It is at such moments that one realises how lonely one truly is. How alone. How powerless. And how un-independent. And the realization doesn't drift in like the afternoon breeze in Darjeeling. It hits like a slap on the face. Or a kick in the groin. Unmistakable. Blinding. Overpowering.
Blanked out, you scurry for cover. Among known ones. At known places. At regular hangouts. In familiar territory. You delve deep into the core of your comfort zone. Into messes and mazes only you understand. Into your deepest guarded secrets. Into what is truly only your own. Your shell. Your truth. Your kingdom. Your last refuge. The deepest cave known to man. Inside himself.

Second Best

Over the raptures

And over the thirst

Jumped the other

And he came in first.

Almost there

Yet truly unreckoned

Today he grieves

For coming in second.

Desire 1

Desire is in the yield,
Of man's lush green field.
Desire is in the light,
Braille gives to those without sight.
Desire is in the din,
Of the prayers of the devout.
It is what brings him in.
It is what takes him out.

Desire is in the bang,
Of the guns of the gang.
Desire is in her cries,
And her faithful's white lies.
Desire is in the grin,
Of the pesky corner lout.
It is what brings him in.
It is what takes him out.

Desire is in the chatter,
When children heap and scatter.
Desire is in the lake,
When circles on ice we make.
Desire is in the tin,
Of the kettle's shapely spout.
It is what brings him in.
It is what takes him out.

Desire is in the sniff,
And hitting the cliff.
Desire is in the taste,
Of the forbidden paste.
Desire is in the sin,
Of the model's pout.
It is what brings her in.
It is what takes her out.

Blessed is not Steel

When in joy, he jumps the moon
Give him pain, and he cries soon
Love resides in his heart,
For he is not alone.
Blessed is not Steel!
Blessed is not Stone!


Speck in the eye, she does rinse
Pierce her heart, she will wince
An orgasm in the making,
Is spelt in the moan.
Blessed is not Steel!
Blessed is not Stone!

Hurt his love, and he cries foul
Anger him, to hear him growl
For every known emotion,
A different baritone.
Blessed is not Steel!
Blessed is not Stone!

A loved one can bring a smile
A broken heart, mends in a while
For blood and flesh are we,
Alive to the very bone.
Blessed is not Steel!
Blessed is not Stone!

To react to things, is life's li'l loan,
This lack of sobriety, do not bemoan
Treasure the pain,
And treasure the groan.
For Blessed is not Steel!
And Blessed is not Stone!

Come to me, I ask of you,
Hurt you I will, and that is true.
The pain I will feel,
But no sin to atone.
For neither are you Steel,
Nor are you Stone!

(Dedicated to NC)

Untitled

Blank and hard,
Her glare at me lay.
Behind it all,
Emotions chiseled in clay.

Stoic of nature,
This vibrant creature.
Hold her tight,
And she melts without a fight.

She tried but wept,
As the emotions crept.
To shoot his memories with a gun,
Was easier said than done.

(Inspired by KM)

Dance in the moonlight

I held her hands,
And drew her close.
I held in my lips,
A big red rose.

Swayed to the left,
And swayed to the right.
With her in my arms,
I could dance all night.

Circled each other,
And whirled her around.
Held her close,
Lifted her off the ground.

Her form perfect,
As though of clay.
The big red rose,
In her lips now lay.

(Inspired by KM)

The SMS

So much beauty,
In one little song.
My little cutie,
And her message long.
So early in the morning,
When the birds begin to throng.
Of her I was dreaming,
Oblivious of her little song.

(Inspired by KM)

When she watches over...

When they are hurt,
Those who weep.
The value of love,
They know, its deep.
When I look not,
These emotions creep.
And off my feet,
Me they sweep.
Because of her,
I leap in faith.
And miles to go,
Before I sleep.

(Dedicated the the Late ADA)

The Prophecy

Strong winds and gale,

Yet she, hearty and hale.

Betrayed by love,

This little white dove,

A display of gut,

She, always the tough nut.

Touched upon the shores of hell,

Depths unknown by the deepest well.

Yet she stood firm and straight,

Owned her mistakes without blaming fate.

Love and hate, all blind confusion,

Nothing she did would relieve the tension.

The hurt she had borne,

Apart she was torn.

Yet not a word of blame,

After all, this was no game.

Not a stain on the canvas of posterity,

For today, she saw life with clarity.

She took it all in her stride.

For no one cared if she wept or cried.

Or so she thought.

But again, such was the case not.

A road had been built,

Rising above the dirt and the filth.

The path had been laid,

Attention to it, I wish she had paid.

And to this very riddle,

Her fate shall play second fiddle.

(Dedicated to KJ)

Pain...

nHaving that power that you don't want to use. Knowing something you didn't want to. Hearing the very thing you'd wished you wouldn't have to. Knowing that you would hear what you didn't want to. Knowing that you would come to it. Knowing that it was right. Like the soothsayer predicting his own death. Knowing that the undesirable will happen. Knowing that you are helpless against it. Knowing that pain is coming. Knowing that it will meet you on the very path on which you are walking. Knowing and still walking on it. Knowing pain when you see it. Knowing that you twitch with it. Knowing yourself. As you are. As things are. Knowing yourself without yourself. The bane of human intelligence. The Tipping Point.

By the way...

The only reason most modern systems of government, like democracy, don't work, is because they can't. Power should always be bestowed to the one who doesn't want it. Because then he can't misuse it. Democracy, the middle path, the welfare state, can't do that. Even in the dynastic monarchy, you have an outside chance. But with our systems, there is none.

By the way...

The fundamental problem with exams is that they force you to subject yourself to others' opinions about you and then uphold them as though they actually matter... The biggest losers, then, are not those who fare badly in this test, but those who are labelled successful; for they learn to relegate their self-respect to others.

Its Complicated

Thats what over half of all Facebook users' relationship status reads. Some do it for a laugh. Some for a rhyme and very few for a genuine reason. Its Complicated.

He claims to like her. She claims to be undecided. He is definitely not in love. She definitely does not want love. He is worried that he might not find another one. She is worried she didnt find the other one. He is hiding the fact that he comes from Jain ancestors. She wishes he came from Jain ancestors. He isint sure if he can live without her. She is sure she can live with him. He calls her wishing he didnt have to. She makes him call her wishing she didnt have to.

He is sure he cant live with her. She isint. He dosent want to cheat. She wishes she could. He is writing this for her. She wouldn't have access to read this. He knows this. She maybe dosen't.
Its Complicated.

One package deal...

One moment you have everything; and the next, nothing. All gone. Thats how the cycle works. You win some, you lose some. Some dreams, some memories. One package deal. Life.

One moment you detest it; the next moment you crave it. With all your heart. With all your desire drawn into it. Life's little twists. Give up and listen. One package deal. Life.

You are jumping happy one day and torn apart the next. Shocked. Shell-shocked. As though a dementor came over you. And took you apart piece by piece. Devoid of all hope, you scamper to safety, to books, to alcohol, to the shadows. You fear the very light you lighted yesterday. You twitch to the very sounds to which you danced yesterday. You wish death. One package deal. Life.

You jump one moment and then you fall. Go up like a rocket and then drop like a stone. Zigzag. Sudden. One package deal. Life.

At those times when everything seems to end, when death becomes an elusive friend, when life is terrifying; hold on. For every darkest hour of dawn, there is a bright morning just round the corner.

A little bit of life...

As the medley of thoughts crowd my head, I wonder if I can actually write it out. But then, I realize, any more dillying-dallying and I wont ever write this. So at 4am in the morning, I head for a shower, summing up in my head the events in the past four nights (the days have mostly been wasted in classes, eating and sleep). 1 fight, 2 birthdays, 5 movies and loads of quotable quotes.
But today did it - The Shawshank Redemption. As Andy Dufresne's stoic struggle to reclaim his life brings wonder to my weary eyes, I remember the old adage - When the going gets tough, the tough get going. As my father used to say, "You haven't lived life until you've gone through struggle. As long as you have food in your tummy and clothes on you, you'll never stretch yourself to your potential." Andy didn't do anything typically great, but he was a great man. Men can be great for a variety of reasons. Ask Linda Goodman of the twelve sun signs and she'll prove that each one is great. Every one has a little magic in themselves. Andy was great in a sense that is incomprehensible to us in our daily lives. But he was a hero in a way. So was Brooks and so was Red.
For the past few nights, as I lie awake wondering, I am not looking for salvation. I am not looking for the material pleasure that most seem to seek. I am looking for the reason to be awake, to be living. When I get high, its not because I want to forget something that I no longer have. It is not because I am in a rut, its because I want to get out of one. I wish to attain my destiny, my potential, my eventual calling. Anything less is out of the question - superfluous, fleeting and as Goenkaji says, 'Ephemeral'. Its just not enough.
John Bridger tells Charlie in 'The Italian Job', " There are two kinds of thieves; Those that steal to enrich their lives and those that steal to define theirs." I have my own take on it "There are two kinds of people; Those that live to utilise their lives and those that live to complete it. Don't be the latter."
But how. With typical Libran swinging-back-and-forth, I wear confusion as second skin. Whats my calling? Where am I headed? Where am I meant to be? I don't know yet. Thats one fact. I am not hungry right now. Thats another. Steve Jobs gave me one advice - Stay Hungry, Stay Foolish. Same thing my dad told me. Same thing Jacob Kominski said when Danny Kaye ran away from home or quit the play, albeit with a different choice of words. Wisdom of the ages I can say. But where does it take me. To this - Maybe my charted path is different, maybe my route is different, maybe its the path less taken. Maybe, never taken. But it is my path. And no one can feel the rain on my skin but me. Theres no confusion about that. Characteristic Libran clarity.

Six Random Things

Chain letters are a waste of time. You can either delete them or delete them. But a chain blog is an inviting proposition. Especially if it makes you think. Think about yourself. Yes! Thats what Harshad asked for....

Lifting the 'rules' straight from Harshad's blog...

1. I shall write 6 random things, and 'tag' six people to continue this
2. They shall proceed to write six random things, and 'tag' six random people
3. They shall intimate me when done.

The Random Six Things
1. I am fat and ugly but not as much as everyone else.
2. I love Oscar Wilde quotes. - "Whenever people agree with me I always feel I must be wrong."
3. I wish to do everything in this lifetime. So that I can be lazy in the next.
4. My favourite drink is plain water.
5. I smile when something is going wrong.
6. This is my first ever blog post where I have used so many capital ' I 's.

The six people I 'tag' are

Nikhilesh Sharma
Shashikant Goel
Deepak Laddha
Pranav Awasthi
Amod Verma
Srinivas Vaze

Your Truth or Mine...

'There are questions and there are answers. And then, there is the right answer.'
-Anonymous

Its not often in one's life that a guy tells you that religion is logical and proceeds to explain you the pure logic. Its not often that you end up understanding what this guy is talking and seem bewildered at the simplicity of it all. Its not often that you can actually understand and appreciate religion(dharma). The question is - which dharma?

Many centuries ago, in India, dharma was different from 'sect'(sampradaya). There wasn't a Hindu dharma or a Muslim dharma. There was one dharma - The law of nature. Fire burns; burning is its dharma, its nature. Its that simple.

Its not often that you end up not talking for days. Its not often that sit down to know yourself. Its not often that you learn something and feel that others should learn it too. Its not often that you encounter something thats simple yet not even close to easy. What?

An art. A technique. A tool. The right answer. Vipassana. Re-discovered by Siddharth Gautam in the 5th century B.C. and passed on to the masses. Lost to India about five hundred years later yet preserved by a line of disciples in adjoining Burma. Brought back to India in the 20th century by a gentleman named Satyanarayan Goenka. A loan reimbursed. A prophecy fulfilled.

The course starts off with an uncomplicated explanation of 'Knowledge of the truth' - Goenkaji says, " When you hear something or read it, you only believe that it is the truth. When you do and experience something, you know that it is the truth." The rest, as they say, is history.

When.....

When did you last laugh so much that you had to hold your sides?
When did you last hold a little hand and felt close to God?
When did you last look at the sky and try to count the stars?
When did you last stop all work and go watch a play?
When did you last learn something new and feel on top of the world?
When did you last slow down to savour the finer things of life?

When did you last live life?

I have deadlines to meet. I have work to do. I am too grown up to be this irresponsible.I am too busy. I am past this. I just can't.

Yes, you're right. You can't.

"When we recall the past, we usually find that it is the simplest things - not the great occasions - that in retrospect give off the greatest glow of happiness."
Bob Hope

The darkest hour...

Me: "What is that one thing that you would change if you could relive your entire life?"
Her: "Nothing, absolutely nothing. I'm happy with what I am, with what I've become."

And I could hear glass break. That sound in my ears was too loud to be mistaken. I went dumb.

Her: "What happened? Why are you silent?"
Me: "You know; If I had asked a stranger the same question, she would have said the same thing."
Her: "What does that mean?"
Me: "Nothing."

The glass was broken. Maybe I could pick up the pieces and join them back. But I didnt want to go into the trouble.
Why is glass so brittle?
Why do I let it break?
Why didn't I catch it?
Am I butter-fingers?

Such doubts crowd your mind. And you turn. And toss. You can't sleep. You aren't gonna do anything productive while awake. You are stuck. You are broke. You haven't broken up. But you aren't committed anymore. You don't know where you are going. You don't want to go anywhere. You don't wanna stay. You are at odds. With yourself. This is one of those times that men turn either philosopher or alcoholic. This is one of those times that you wake up. That darkest hour of the night before dawn. This is the final hurdle. This is the time that there is hope. That things will get better. From the south pole, every direction is north. It can only get better. If you get past this. IF.

Tomorrow remains to be seen. Today is what it is. The present. A Present.

Who am I.....

Five o'clock in the morning and you've been awake 2 hours. You look out of the balcony. "It'll be light soon", you reassure yourself, "and I won't be alone anymore." Its tough being alone even when the others are just sleeping in the room next to you. Somehow, loneliness is unbearable. It stretches your patience and sense of self to the max. After some time, you crave human contact. WHY???

She rolls her eyes from you to your neighbor. Your neighbor smiles and calls out to her. He absolutely adores her; loves her. He reaches out and takes her in his arms. You smile. She's looking at you now. Like a baby looks at everything. Like every baby looks at everything. You wish the moment lasted forever. You click a snap of her. She's cute; she's beautiful; she's the prettiest girl that you have seen. You love her too. And yet you can bear to have her in another's arms. What is it that this girl of a few months arouses in you? WHAT???

You love change. You like new clothes. You like new cars. You even like new friends. You like travelling. You have been to cities, towns and villages. You have been to the hills, the valleys and the lakes. Yet you go again. Back to those simple things. The same pristine spring that flows from the mountain. The same woods where you used to bring your spouse when she wasn't your spouse. You marvel at the origin of these simple pleasures. You marvel at who could have designed them. WHO???

Query + Curiousity = Queriousity.