Reconciliation : a response to random scribblings

     To write what is in my mind is difficult but to write what is in my heart is nearly impossible! When it’s my mind I am expressing, my mind itself tells me what to say and what not to…what will make sense and what will “sound bad”. But hearts usually don’t believe in censorship.

     Ever since I realized that words are radioactive and so must be handled with care, I decided to shelve it all together. Why bother to toy with radioactive substances when I can safely stay in the no danger zone?

     Well, just like if you start running from everything you find that you have no place to run, the same happened to me. It was as if I was running away from a mirror thinking I am actually running away from me. Obviously each time I stumbled onto a reflecting surface, I found that I was there, just as I had left me, only looking a little cross because I had abandoned me.

    I tried to stop many times, but it was more of just slowing down the than really stopping. You can never really be too harsh on yourself unless of course you are on some masochistic spree! But then something happened.

    I was on my usual routine run, when I felt a sudden jerk. Thankfully in my world of figurative running, inertia of motion doesn’t exist or else I would have surely stumbled onto the ground. I turned to my side to see what had caused the sudden stop. I saw a hand firmly held mine.

       While I was running away from me, someone very quietly had decided to run along with me. Only difference was, he wasn’t really running away from anything. He was running so that he could catch up with me. At this juncture he had realized that we were running in the same speed and in complete sync with each other. So he stopped, held my hand firmly and made me to stop.

       He looked intently into my eyes though two layers of spectacles and said, ‘write.’

     It was a thousand words packed in one. Words are truly radioactive!

       So here I am, finally not running away but sitting down and penning down…sorry …typing my thoughts. I am not going to think whether the whole piece is meaningless or not, whether or not it makes any contribution to the world of literature, whether this is just a showcase displaying my stupidity and idiocracy decoratively.  I am just going write, with or without reason, with or without plot and even when I know my style is the most cliché one in the world. Maybe I have nothing new to say, but I will say it nevertheless because it will be ME saying it…and that itself is something new…at least for me and people who care deeply about me.        

       I have often heard myself think, some pieces are best never written because they are so ‘bad.’ But I don’t feel that way anymore. If I write badly I need to keep writing badly so that writings get tired of being written badly and decide to have a mind of its own! Believe me they do have a mind of its own. When I abandon it, it pouts and sulk like nobody’s business. It throws wild tantrums if I go near it. I almost hear it say, ‘either you stay with me through thick and thin or else I don’t want to have anything to do with you!’

     So I have decided to reconcile. I am going to hold its hand just the way he held mine. And the rest will just fall in place just the way it always does!            

                     Onek din baadey aaj tokey anubhob korlam. Belar dikey ami jokhon chande gechhilam lep rodey ditey, tokhon hothat bujhte perechi je tui eshechish. Tai jonnei bodhaye goto dui din dhore amar monta onorokom lagchhilo. Abar gaan shunte bhalo lagchhilo....gaan gaite ichhe korchilo, ghorer kaaj korte korte majhe majhei neche uthchilam. Monta boro osthir chhilo...kintu ei osthirotatei boro shanti pachhilam. Mone hochhilo jeno onek diner bondho kora ekta gumot ghorer janala keu hat korey khule diyeche. Amar ar dom bondho hoye jachhe na.

                    Sondhe belaye ami kichutei amar kaaje mon ditey pari na . Sither shesher sondhe guloye ek odhbhut snighdho gandho thake. Shei gandho amake mataal korey toley. Ami aj abar shei gondhe mete uthi.  Tokhon i bujhi tui phire eshechish. 

                    Ami jani ami tokey diner por din abohela korechi....tor tai amar opor khoob abhiman. Ami tokey jor korey amar kachh theke durey thele phelechi. Tui kotobar cheshta korechili amake bojhate kintu ami shunini...shunte chai ni. 

                  Kintu ekhon ami tokei khunjchi. Ami tor kachhe thakte chai. Karon tui amake shobcheye beshi bhalobashish. Ami tokey chhere dileo tui amake aankre dhorey thakish. Ami jani tui amar jonno onek koshto peyechhish.

                   Tai aajke jokhon bojhlam tui amar shonge dekha korte eshechish....amar mon bhore gelo. Aye na, amar bhanga mone amra dujon bash kori. Dujon miley ekshonge abar gorbo, srishti korbo ar bhalobashbo.

Vox Pop 2011 (teaser 1.0)

Unreachable

         I stand there above all. The sea of heads below. This time it's only me and the mike. No podium to hide the rest of me. I lean back slightly over emphasizing my confidence. I clasp the neck of the microphone and see my fingers curl around it like frightened children clinging on to their mother. I breathe slowly. I know even my breath will be magnified in the ears of the many just the way everyone can hear my thumping heartbeat. I stand there to speak.
       I was supposed to speak on a motion. For or against , it doesn't matter. Either way it would be lying. It would either be restating of facts that most people know or words which everyone wants to hear. I have five minutes to myself. Five legitimate minutes to be the loudest among them all. Five whole minutes to stand in the line of vision of a thousand eyes and five whole minutes to leave a mark in the minds of millions....
       If only I could speak what I felt, what I thought, without any kind of restrain. But the only way I can reach everyone of those indistinguishable minds in the blurred mass of flesh is by packaging my thoughts in an  
 " acceptable"  way. 
       Thundering applause break the silence that was formed after I had uttered the last word. I had said another well articulated speech. Every word was crafted in a way it would hit the right chord in the hearts of every kind of individuals. 
        Yet again, what I feel, got lost in the ornate packaging of my thoughts. 

         The low ceiling hits my head each time I want to stand straight. So I keep my head bent. It does ache after sometime but then again sometime after that the back of my head stops feeling anything at all. The ceilings on the side are blank wooden planks. I shamelessly write there with my uneven scrawly handwriting, glad that whatever I am writing no one's going to ever read. I doodle too sometimes. It never happens consciously. It's only when I am absent minded it happens. 
        On the ceiling below me I have kept a 5' 5" gap. The rest is strewn with food that I am going to devour each  day. Every moment. In some places in my room, " the food" piles up and touches the low ceiling.
        I have an in built camera in me and an in built notebook. The moment I have gathered enough strength from the food I shall take off. For a while the room is my world. But I know that the world outside my room is a massive place. When I take off, I'll try to cover the world. Am sure by then I will be strong enough to fly that distance. Strong enough to fight the opposing current and fly against the air flow.
       For now, excuse me . I need to eat.

          

I was walking down the street the other day. As absentminded as I have become, I had forgotten to wear my specs. Well with just -0.50 power in my left eye and -0.75 in my right, I have a nearly perfect vision. But the only problem is that the faces of the people a little away from me appear as if though a translucent glass window. This street by the way , at the time I was walking , becomes extremely colourful. Literally and not literally. In the morning, that is the time when I was walking , the morning bazaar operates in full strength. The make-do shops eat their way into the street in a way which makes it impossible to walk straight. It's like concentric circles, it starts with the vegetable jhuris , that get surrounded by the wayward onions and potatoes that roll off and in a way increase the property area of the sabji ola. Then that gets surrounded by the morning risers that come to buy their daily ration and finally this concentric formation gets fortified by the cycles that these morning risers bring and carelessly park. With the fortification and all, the make do shop reaches the middle of the street. Walking down absentmindedly, the hub of the haggling buyers and sellers and enthusiastic advertisers and morning greetings all gets stirred into a hum.

I was walking down the street the other day. As absentminded as I have become, I had forgotten to wear my specs. As I walked ahead, like a movie camera focusing on random faces to create a prologue to an approaching danger, random faces caught my eye. Only the faces were not random and all I could see of the faces were their eyes. When they met mine they said the same thing, " I have seen it too."

As my eyes shot from one pair to another pair of eyes they echoed the same thing ... "I have seen it too."

I squinted. How did they know that it was chasing me ? No wait, how did I know it was chasing me? I think I read it in their eyes. In their eyes, "it" said to me, "he saw me in his cousin who ran away with a boy of a lower caste", or "she saw me in her son who could not come home because the train left the tracks" or "she saw me when her best friend felt that anti depressant pills were not working." and the stories went on and on. And then in the time space when I was ricocheting from one pair of eyes to another, out of nowhere it said " and I am coming for you..."

A loud honk. I jerked back in reflex and the Auto which came from nowhere missed me by a millimeter.

"Dekhe cholben toh didi "

It was not a near death incident before which I had a premonition of it. It was a coincident. If the auto had hit me, it would be an accident and nothing more. But no matter how much I utilize my rationality, I still feel that day, I met Death. In person and not in action.

High

I could distinctly hear "desert rose" playing somewhere. I opened my eyes. No. I don't want to let go of that. I don't know how to word it, it was a feeling which had no scent that I could recognize, only images which were drawing me back to it and a sound - the rhythm- the tune of "desert rose" but there was something so unreal about the effect. I shut my eyes again.

The stone staircase. I started rushing up. Two, four, six, eight...landing. He stood there. The first three buttons of his shirt unbuttoned. I moved up to him cautiously.

I wish I was not wearing my faded night clothes. I wish I was wearing that gown which Cinderella wore to the ball. I was so close to him that I could close my eyes and feel him breathing. I looked up to look straight into his eyes. He had no eyes. He had no face. He was not there. I was standing with my nose touching the wall. I knew it was time to run again. I began running up the stairs. Again. Twelve, Fourteen, Sixteen...I tripped. Fell down a couple of stairs.

I sat on the twelfth stair panting. I had tripped and I had no idea how. I got up and started climbing again.

" Why did you trip?" screamed someone from the top.

"I was absentminded." I screamed back.

"That is disgraceful!" screamed back the voice.

I did not stop. Twenty, Twenty two, Twenty four.....

"Why did you trip?" screamed a voice from below.

"Um....I twisted my ankle." I screamed back.

"So predictable." commented the voice.

Another landing. He stood there with the first three buttons of his shirt unbuttoned. I slowly walked up to him. I was wearing the gown which Cinderella had worn to the ball. I stood so close to him that I could feel him breathing with my eyes closed. I felt nothing. I opened my eyes. I didnot dare look into his eyes. But he was still there. On the wall of the landing there was a life size painting of box which had each side painted in a different colour. I hid behind the painting and waited till he went away never to come back.

" Why did you leave her?" they asked her.

" I could not understand her," he answered.

Up there

        I glanced over my shoulder. No. Nobody was watching. The first few steps I took were cautious. The ones that followed, accelerated . Then hurried ones. I scampered through the thick thicket of vegetation to reach the tower. As soon as I reached the base of the tower I halted. The piece of cloth in which I had hurriedly stuffed in all that I wanted up in the tower were all slipping from my grip. I adjusted my hold on it , took a deep breath and climbed the tower with the help of the make-to-do rope. It was actually my own braid which I had chopped off the last time. I had used it to climb down the tower.
       The moment I set my foot inside my room, I let go of the grip. All that I had collected just rolled out. Some of it rolled under the bed, some disappeared under the closet. I flopped down on the floor and clasped the nearest object I could lay my hands on. My face felt warm and so did the back of my neck. Over the evening, I picked up all that I had brought with me and clumsily stuffed it in my closet.
       Then I got up as suddenly I had sat down. I stretched myself on the bed. As I looked up to the stone colourless pale ceiling, I sighed. This has always been my home. Each time I ventured out, I came back just the way I did today.
        I clutched my pillow and turned to my side. I will be staying here for a while.

As I have decided to sit on the fence , it is only natural that I will get kicked from both sides.

string of affairs

#1.
i feel strange...it's been so long since i last met you. you may not
believe me but i miss you terribly.

when i would be with you, everyone would look up to me. in your arms i
would feel so high. i miss the exhilaration, i miss the magic that would be
created each time we had inter-course... the rapid trepidation as i use to walk up to you ... my senses numb and most alive.

i remember the time when i was made to stand beside you. i had to stand
right there and watch you. watch you as you gave them the same kind of warmth as
you used to give me. watch you as i saw you, getting so close to them. you won.

i was shaking with jealously. i could see the jubilant smile on your face.

"thats what you get for not choosing me....for abandoning me !" you spat
right at me.

you accused me. and rightfully so. i did not choose you. i did abandon you.
but that day, when i was in my Principal's office discussing career options, she
asked me about all that mattered to me in life. i could not but blurt out in
that moment of absolute impulse...that i was in love with you.

even today, when i see no way by which i can go back to you, i stand by
that moment of impulse .

#2

i don't know whether to call it his story or mine . Never mind it doesn't matter whose story it is ....just damn the s......and let me get on with this.

we got married last july. i admit under strange circumstances. but nevertheless the truth as it stands is , we have decided to spend our lives together. like every other married couple in this world , we hoped to get from this marriage "happiness", "stability " and yes , create children.

let me start right from the beginning. we were childhood friends. as a child , i was fascinated by you. but by the time i reached adolescence ... i lost interest in you. but something started happening between us when i was 16. i think it was infatuation that i felt. it happened probably because even when i had lost interest in you , you were gentle to me. now that i think back , i remember, you would always be right beside me. when all the other people let me down you would make me smile again. it was when i realised that we wouldn't be seeing each other anymore in school, i decided to move in with you.

two years. a struggle to be compatible. there were times i found you unbearable. i started looking for love and comfort elsewhere. but then again, there were moments which reminded me why we were together in the first place.

but the fights got bitter. you looked happier with other people. so did i.

by the end of two years, we had had enough. we decided to separate. not that i had anyone particular in mind. but i was sure about one thing. i would rather die than spend the rest of my life with you.

the day i was to officially leave you ...we had one last confrontation. you said "you don't have the capacity to ever satisfy me." the words stung. more so probably because of its truth content. this couldn't be the last thing i had to do with you . this couldn't be how i leave you. we might have been incompatible , but it didn't mean that we were not in love !

we met again. i had to come back to you. we made love like never before. and before long we were married. my father was dead against this wedding. my mother although liked you was doubtful whether this marriage would last.

i am with you now. i am happy with you. i am stable with you. but why aren't i happy with this stability ? and why am i not being able to create children with you ?

thinking back

I write not, in fear I write what has been written before,
I think not, in fear I think what has been thought before,
I say not, in fear I say what has been said .
I fear not, in fear that I am afraid.
I explore not , I dare not
I venture not, I feel not
and so,
I grow not
I stagnate.

slipping into

i am in pain. its unexplainable how much it hurts. i don't do it consciously but i face the brunt of it fully conscious. i am left with ugly scars on my feet which i see everyday and a prominent scar in my mind which i cannot see but definitely feel.

i keep tripping . or to put it better, i keep slipping into other people's shoe. of course they don't fit me ... and hence the ugly scars. but when i wear them, as uncomfortable may i feel, i can't stop looking through their eyes. i can see what they see. i can perceive what they perceive . i can think what they think. and the most painful part, i can feel what they feel.

finally when i can draw myself away from them, i am rendered unable to stand. unable to feel hatred when i should feel so ..... unable to feel love when i should feel so.....it causes "emotional imbalance" in me.

i am forced to be wisely foolish when i want to be foolishly wise. overdose of empathy can be so injurious to action.

child

"The child is grown, the dream is gone. I have become comfortably numb. "




true. first time in my life the only kind of dreams i get is at night....that too the strange pandemonium of events faces and places. but everyone gets them. i miss those dreams.... which i had in broad light...... something or someone would make me take a firm resolution .... "this is what i want to do".... the mad chase.....till i used to reach somewhere....which would be near or far from the dream....atleast measured by the dream.


since i have stopped dreaming.....i wonder .... has the child grown ?

cake

take a look at the first picture. i am already licking my lips.... aren't you ? Irresistible !!! Pavlov was so right ! But my purpose was not to make you hungry or make you crave for chocolate cake. i want to ask you ....

" what is more important to you ? the cake or the icing ?"

i have often harassed my friends with this question....

surprisingly the answers were mostly the same. the icing.

true. the icing ....how tempting it looks actually determines whether i want to plunge into the cake or not. but then what if the icing is delicious and high hopes come dashing down when we discover the cake is too dry and not so tasty ?

ok....i think i have done a lot of cake talk. now let me come to the point. when i say cake and icing i don't mean the cake i was talking about ..... i mean the cake that i have shown below it. it's clear . that by the cake and the icing i mean the stratified society. the question is ....how does it matter ?
maybe it does. maybe it does answer the age old question....communism or capitalism ? i feel there is equally strong arguments on both sides... so its often difficult for " still deciding what i believe in" individuals like me, to ever support any side whole heartedly. sometimes i feel maybe like the answers to most intriguing questions, the answer lies somewhere in between.

a cake that is equally chocolaty throughout.....yum !!!

way above the ground i stand on...

you told me that fairytales were true...the cloud on the snow...the rainbow on the fall...the full moon and the pines...the mysterious darkness underground...i hold you all responsible. you made me look different....you made me look differently.you unclothed all the restraints in me and let loose the "pagli".

now i wonder, as i stand stranded between the past and present...when will i return home.

escape

when my strings start playing an unknown tune on its own... i feel uncomfortable. unfamiliar. yet since it is playing in my strings ...it must be part of me. i fail to decode these strange messages i receive from my unconscious self. but when they begin making sense in the music of floyd or in the voice of joan baez...i find solace. music it seems can make even the deepest depression an experience to treasure.

the revolutionary

...standing on the doorway i saw... that face. it was intently staring on to the computer screen. the light of the screen reflecting on his glasses. or perhaps it was the spark in his eyes. barricaded by books....he tried to decipher what those words recorded in them mean today. he has a dream. those eyes fail to conceal it. even behind the laughter, the trivalties and the living of the everyday life...there is an urgency. an urgency to be patient ... an urgency to shape those dreams but not hastily.

they look like any of us . but they have a different kind of eyes. perhaps they need glasses to look clearly at the objects in front of them. but they see far ahead in to the future without any aid and understand the past as if they were a part of it.

they are one of us. in fact , we are one of them before we snub our sensitivity and ampute our will to change.

"One must harden without ever losing tenderness." - Che Guevara

gulping down to accept

the Animesh will drift away...

like a log struggling in the waves...

and the Madhabilata that had bloomed on it will be torn apart.

But she will grow roots again and hold on even when the violent waves try to uproot her.

She will wait...

hoping the log ,

perhaps even accidentally

will be thrown back

in this turbulent sea

to her.

noirashya

You need not be the same
You need not take the blame
Choose what you want to do
Let not others choose for you
Dare to be the different
Dare to be a begining
Everything just falls in place
If you just follow your heart…

two years ago i wrote this song.
but today i feel the words should be :

You need to be the same
Or you need to take the blame
Never choose what you want to do
Let others choose for you
don't be foolish enough to be the different
Always follow the set path...
Everything goes haywire
If you follow your heart…