The farewell

Dear Bhaloma,
A year has passed since you have passed on and I travelled to Ranchi to maybe bid the final farewell. For me this was a personal journey- I came to a place whose main attraction was you. I didn't know how will I react as Ranchi and you were synonymous with each other.
 Grief, for me is an intensely affair and somehow I always react late to it. Be it the loss of Guri or when my love left me, my reaction was late. At first my mind and heart fortifies myself from the impending harm and I get numb. After a day or two when things cool down it hits me like a tornado- breaking down my reserves and overwhelming me with it's intensity.
So, when I landed in Ranchi it was just another long flight I had finished. Till I came to Geetanjali it was fine but the moment I stepped inside I knew why Ranchi will never be the same again.. Bhaloma is no more  the magic which had made Ranchi special was gone.
Grief, I think is a great binder. It helps to mend bridges more effectively than joy.  Identification of grief somehow generates a common platform where in people come together to understand and come to terms with their losses. May be the Galaxy of rituals which follows on such occasions allows the living to get on and come to terms with losses which are irreplaceable.
So here we were bound by our grief. Each and everyone of us had shared the magic which Bhaloma was and over the last one year the only thing we tried to learn was how to lead a life without her shadows. Death is cruel for more than one reason not only does it reminds you of your own fragile existence but also shows you how tragic life can be.
A life without Bhaloma for me is like a life without an assurance of something solid It was not as if I was a very frequent visitor but I knew of the assurance of love which will never wane. Bhaloma, as the rituals went on I looked at your picture- I didn't feel the intensity which I think I should have left. But every few seconds I felt the absence of something which made me realise what you were. Bhaloma will I come to Ranchi after this? I seriously don't know the answer? Bhaloma how will I react to everyone who are close to me? I dnt know. I know Bhaloma, that without you a chapter of my life has closed. I will not ask for your help in times of need- you have done enough for me. All that I ask for is that you give me the strength to see through a life for your love certainly will not be replicated. 

Some Random Thoughts

There are some questions, which beg an answer. Those questions are like the riddles of the Yaksha and only Yudhishtir can or could answer them. So why do such questions remain in the first place? May be to tease the human mind to search itself and to understand its own limitations. Or may be such questions are meant as beacon light of the heights that human beings can aim for. They are like the will-o-the-wisp, which will continue to allude humans and result in the death of many who try to capture them.

One of the  major question, which will haunt me to death is the very reason for existence. If you analyse with a clear and unbiased mind the very basis of life seems to be on a shaky wicket. The edifice of grandeur which we try to apportion into our little own things seems to be haunted by the greatest instability- death. Once the life force leaves you there is precious little you can do about your life. Infact once the energy which manifested itself in the body mind complex leaves there is nothing that can be done about it. What remains on this planet are just shadows of the memories of the actions which the mind-body-soul complex was responsible for on this planet. Seers more adept and more glib have talked about this and discoursed better than me. All I can say is that life appears to be something very ephemeral which has no inkling or iota of stability in it.

So, if life itself is uncertain why do we try to make it stable? Yes, we would require the roof about our head and our daily bread, but does it require a lot of time and energy? In case we want butter on our bread as well as jam it would become strenuous but that is a personal choice. Without taking any moral or philosophical high ground I can vouch for the fact that real simplicity is something which can be achieved provide one gets to compromises on what is known as the flesh pots.

Anyways my point this evening is something different- why do intentionally try to get entangled into things which are very well avoidable. Entanglement with people other than the family you are born into,trying to bridge relations with other human  beings I think is the greatest of amazement of creation. Knowing fully well that things which start, end  why indeed do we try to hope and start for something for ever and ever? If not death, then separation will surely end things, so why do we invest so much into them? The bugbear of loneliness makes us do things which we regret for the rest of our lives? Is loneliness really such a terrible thing that we end up compromising on many of our values?

My own life has taught me things which I think I will not forget. I have compromised on my basic in the hope to get another person for life. Now, when I think about the same it does not make sense to me at all. What was the intoxication that had made me do so? I have no answers for it as of now, may be I will never have the answers. But I hope I do not commit the same mistake again and remain in the state of remoteness that I am at this moment. 

So be it

Dearest Bhaloma,
As I sit to write this inconsequential blog, the only image that comes before me is the small bed in Ranchi and you in your white saree looking at the door longingly. Though age had taken its toll on your body, you remained the same Bhaloma I remember since my memory goes back. For me you were the epitome of everything good may be thats why I insisted on calling you Bhaloma instead of the more common Didima or Didibhai. To an ordinary observer, I do not know if this longing would make sense- afterall grandsons are supposed to be pampered and loved, Mamarbari is the place every kid wants to be in and be pampered. However, for both me and Mini, Bhaloma was something special, she was not just our grandmother.

Bhaloma would call me her friend and her discussions with me would be varied. When her health was reasonably well she would talk to me about the mystical life she had led. About how her Gopal  had asked sweets from her or how she had a very strange experience about the cosmos. I do not know why she choose me over her other grandsons, but my talks with her were special. When she had come to visit us in Kanpur it was me, Bhaloma and Ma who spoke for hours together about Gopal- a subject which neither of us could ever be bored of. Her simple belief in Gopal and the results there of are something which might be the subject of another blog. Anyways to my parched ears, her words were like elixir as it reaffirmed my faith which most of the time I must admit is waning.The faith she epitomized was the one which had revolved around the belief of a Merciful One who climbed down from His Olympian heights and asked for Sondesh. A part of me will always yearn to have that mysticism which she had partake of but age and my eternal cynicism shall never allow me to do so.

Ranchi, since the time of my mind has developed its separate identity, has always been a special place. Everything associated with Ranchi, right from the train journey to the station itself,  was special and no prize for guessing why. It was Bhaloma and the magic she could create with her love which needed to be felt, that had made Ranchi special. Back in those days, I remember looking up the train availability in The Statesman for Howrah Hatia Express as means to assuage my loneliness in Kolkata. Every holiday, every Durga puja meant a trip to Ranchi and invariably Bhaloma would always be there at the gate of K-125(the official residence of Boromama). There was no melodrama no superfluous show of excessive emotions- but Bhalo with her calm self could always make me feel the most special.  During my school days the return journeys would invariably see me in tears, something which I have been able to control with the passage of age. However even now, return journeys from Ranchi see me moist eyed. I wonder how will I react now, if and when I make a trip to Ranchi ever.

Bhaloma's family was her life- she lived and breathed all over it. Maybe, it was a bit repressive for some, but everything or everyone who ever came in touch with her could not but be influenced by her personality. The neatness of the house, the orderliness of her surroundings always spoke of a mind which was intelligent and astute. Once she had told me how in Dhanbad she used to tie bunch of flowers around the house to make it more beautiful. It was her way of expressing her sense of beauty- that was something which was the guiding principle of her life. Whenever she came to visit us it was almost an unspoken rule that she will tidy up our kitchen and the larder. Our Pune house was the only exception, she was too old to climb the stairs.

Age and life experiences had started taking its toll on Bhaloma and towards the end of her life she had become confused about time and a bit garrulous. Her talks went on in circles and she forgot the time limit. Her temper did get the better of her at times, but it was "eso bhai" for me. Every telephone call ended with "kobe asbi" There were times I wished she ended her calls fast as I did not like the long talk, but now I wish I get to talk to her once, to tell her how she always managed to make sense. During the twilight year of her life her talk  lacked coherence but yet whenever I asked her how she was it was her crackly laughter which said "Bhalo achi bhai'.

What was Bhaloma for me? I had started this post with the thought of talking about her character, her strength and to paint a picture of a woman far ahead of her time. But somehow I think my fingers decided to follow their own mind and I ended up talking about things which I had not even thought about. My last memory of Bhaloma was in hospital- she was in pain and most uncomfortable in her surroundings. Her mind was in disarray and she was just dimly aware of herself- there was anger and pain but she spoke. I do not think she recognised me, but I could but look at her and think this was the woman who had made Ranchi special for me. The last month or so was topsy turvy,there were days of brightness and there was days of sorrow. But never for a moment I realised her end was so near. Yes, I had spoken about her final journey but I had barely any idea about it- it was just a phrase that had come to me. I was dimly aware of the void that might be created post Bhaloma but my mind had not grasped it well. Last Sunday when Ma told me "Bhalomar tube khule dicche, ki holo.. " I did not realise what had just happened. I was aware of the intense emotions which somehow left me numb. The realisation came when I spoke to Mini and then it struck me- Ranchi will not be special for me any more. So Dugga Dugga Bhaloma, I do not want to write about how you will be in our hearts or in our minds I will just say there will be no more "Eso bhai for me"

Those tears of pain

So, my dearest I have to come back to you to unburden me of the pain that is gnawing at my heart. Those hot tears which scald my eyes now refuse to be stop since I heard of the way I will be living again. You know what hurts the most? The fact that I did not realise this was coming and that I had failed to be ever thing that I thought you would require. Its not the pain that kills me, but the realisation that I have again been used that kills me. Where did I go wrong? I thought I had given up everything, yet when I open my eyes I find the house deserted, with the eyes of a stranger looking at what till yesterday was the love of his life.

What had gone wrong? Do not give me the excuse that you need to lead your life the way you choose to be, Think of me for a second, think of the pain, the tears that I will go through trying to pick up pieces of my life. Its easy for you- your contract is done your life awaits you. The sun will kiss you and will illuminate your path. What about me? Now, with the eyes of a stranger you would say, I simply could not care. You were wrong, yes I was wrong to trust you, to love you at times more than me. Now you will look at me and say who had asked you not me! Oh yes, you are not be blamed, its my fault through and through- I have been a fool to love to relish and to cherish your heart. But then I cant do anything else as that is my nature- I cant go against my nature.

So how do I get about my life? Well to start with, my nature will be my guide, yes I am bruised I am heart broken, but its from the ashes that the phoenix will arise. Trust me, I will limp back to life, It will no be the same again without you. But there is no other way out of this.. You choose your life, without a thought of anyone's else.. May be I will learn may be I will not, but my soul shall see that I smile again, that life gets back to normal for me again
Till I am not able to do so, these are the days of tears for me
Adieu and fare thee well 

Of loneliness, of darkness and of the despair

If you can imagine a dark alley with no pencil of light, you might get to grasp a bit of the despair which has of late caught on with me. By the time realization had set in , it was too late the damage was already done. Like a small rot engulfs the whole fruit, this virus of despair had spread across my soul obliterating the rays of life. Imagine being caught in an oppressive turbulence of darkness, the more you try to get out of it more stronger its grip gets on to you- that can be the closest I can come to describe my situation now.

So how did this start? How did laughter, joy get eclipsed from my soul and how did the sun almost divorced my skies? I wish I knew the answer but when the magnitude of the problem came to my notice it was too late. The symptoms I acutely observe and most of the time I can control but deep in my heart I know that soon it will be too late.

Its difficult to put a finger to it directly, its vague and its presence can be felt only by the effect. Unlike the fracture of the bones the fracture of your soul is more difficult to understand and heal. You loose your will to live, all of a sudden life begins to weigh down more than the World. All you want to do is to hope that the oppression ends but you know not how to end it. Despair becomes the mood of the day, the slow undercurrent of it goes on making its presence felt however hard you try to ignore. If by day you can some how go through the normal routine, the dark still night holds its own terrors for you. Unknown terrors disturb your heart and sleep looses it soothing power on you.
So what can I do in such a situation? I wish I had the elixir of life which will reinvigorate my and get the light back in my life. I wish I had the power to ensure I can laugh and smile again. How I wish I was able to feel the soothing power of life once again. But now, in my despair all I can hope for is a quick end to it.
May 1,2015

Inherent loneliness

Loneliness, seems of late have become more a regularity than an aversion. Like one's shadow, this strange feeling has become part and parcel of life. Its like the silent movement of the river, which goes flowing come what may. What causes this loneliness, which has the power to become potent enough to take away one's breath?

Surprisngly, loneliness is not something which you see when are at alone. In a crowd, when the multitudes chatter away, this oppressive feeling of being lonely is something which makes you sad. Sadness twinges your soul, while it tries desperately to cling on to the straws of happiness it has got.
This feeling can at times be strong enough to make you desparate. If I had words for it I might have been able to do justice in explaining this feeling which overwhelms me most of the time.

It is like being afraid of your shadow. Not because it has knows the dark deeds of your soul but because there is no other living creature to share your air. You are lonely, you are alone. To the world you are as if dead, yet you breathe and live very much.
During the depths of your meditation, may be you come across this feeling, but it soothes you not torments you. The thought that you are alone, with no one to know, no one to hold your hand, has become the terror of the night.
You wonder if other beings, are aware of this dark chasm in their heart, as they go ahead in life. Do they know of the moment, when life will start loosing all its charms and the smile shall be wiped out of their soul? Why does this feeling arise? From where do you get this sensation, which makes you think, twice before turning on a new leaf? How do you get stuck in the void with no other way to get out? Are there any answers to this?

Disco hotspots

The spirit of the wind, these days, ruffle my soul. When it blows over me as if it leaves a strange sensation all around me. Summer evenings for me, are not exactly, the height of grace, but I feel a strange longing, which I find difficult to understand, 

The longing is at times for something, I had experienced recently, but could not understand long. In my longing, I end up doing things, which normally I do not encourage myself in doing. Summer evenings bring out the romantic in me, who melts in your arms, who searches for the peace he got when you embraced him during the night. 

Do you remember the walk in darkness we had? It was as if the celestial beings were the only one witnessing us, walking down the star lit canopy and going slowly towards their peace. The strange part was the utter ease with which both of us, walked down the canopy, which otherwise would have appeared normal to us. We did not talk much, but the silence we shared was like thousand words being talked aloud. 

The spirits when they meet, they speak of a strange language. The language of the soul is something we can only hear in distant echos in this body. But that very echo is strong enough to make us want and search for it time and over again. May be when two souls come very close, the echo is stronger, may be that is the reason, we keep on searching for the person whose soul would make the echo louder in our ears. 

Late that night, when I was lost in the twilight world of dreams, you came to me and embraced me. As if you materialised from my dreams and came to keep me warm. For a moment I thought, about the lores, where in the Gods have come down time and over to keep the humans safe. All I wanted to do was to get close to you, get so close that the source of the language of the souls was revealed to me. I was lost in the world, where speech is redundant and where colours talk and perfumes are touched. It is a world which I had experienced before with you, but had not realised, blinded by my own stupidity. 

This time around I had opened my doors, my windows were open and I welcomed you with my heart and my might. You glided in like a dream in a dark dark night. You stepped in my soul and you looked deep in my heart. I do not what you felt, my beloved, but that night, when I felt you embrace, my life stopped for a second. I knew it was going to be difficult to be away from you, for the simple reason, that you had managed to mark me for life.

Why do I have the urge to write?

Being a journalist by profession, writing possibly is the last thing, I want to do during my leisure. For my friends, who are in fields, where in they look up writing as a God-send gift, it might be difficult to understand why I do not update my blog more regularly. For me, writing, or being immersed in the world of words leading to sentences the concept of pleasure writing is kinda foreign.
On an average day, I key in not less than 1,000 words into myriad news item. They have a structure, a format and I try to make them as sensible as the sketchy bits of information makes to me. My aim is to make my reader understand why, the piece of information excites me should excite him also. I do not know if I am successful in my en devour, but thanks to MS word, the work gets done. So, slap, dash and the thing is ready to go through the long gamulet of process before it hits (or does not) the reader next day. As simple as making a cup of coffee.
Now, to come to the part, which baffles me often. If I write everyday, during work, why do I have this semblance of a blog. The answer for me, is not that simple. Writing for the cathartic effect, does not help me much, given I do write a lot. Writing as an exercise to hone my skills, to be use to jogg my brain to help it move, is also not that effective given the fact that I try to change my style of writing with every news item I write.
For me, the reason is simple. This blog makes me feel a bit more human than I normally would feel so. This blog helps me in get in touch with some of the emotions, which I think whimper and die out within me. Those emotions can hardly to quantified, they are just waves which rises, peaks and falls back never to return again.  Understanding them is not that easy, so I write to let them free in this blog. At times, my brain stops functioning and I let my fingers go on, guided by some thing, which takes possession of my body. The result is not that simple or nice. At times such outpourings make sense, but more likely than not it is a cacophony which is more noise than music. Things happen, you see, they reflect the state that gets the precedence.
If, the ordered mind takes the upper hand, then the outpourings make sense, but if it is confusion you see, then it is confusion which reigns supreme.
Are these emotions that important? I am not sure, I just observe them and more often than not, they try to play their role in the mischief called life. Anyways, I wish them the best and yeah, I will continue to write whether I make sense or not :) 

Death lurking behind our shoulders

The time between birth and death, to me seems insignificant and sallow. Filled with remorse, and pit falls, life does not make much sense, when it is supposed to end and without any trace of it afterward. Life means entanglement, we wile away the time we have between birth and death, in creating obstacles for ourselves and others.
From birth till the last breath, I think life is a grand delusion and we go out of our way to keep the delusion alive. We bond with people, listen to them, listen to our heart and try to hoodwink death. Death happens all around, yet most of the time, we ignore it or try to tell that it is something which happens to some one else.
It was the death of a neighbour, which got me to realise the futility of life and transient of life at the same go. The lady in question, whose husband left her, to me resembled a house whose foundation was shaken leaving its rafters. A house whose foundation is shaken might retain its superstructure, yet a slight wind will bring it down like a house of card. She looked at me with eyes, whose lights I think was gone for ever.
The death customs I have noticed talks of continuity of life and the soothing presence of the thought of eternal life. I wonder who are these customs to help, the living or the dead? The lady, who to me was always a woman of mirth and laughter, post the death of the husband was an empty cage, whose soul just flew away from it.
With death being certain, why we human beings love life so much? With death breathing down our shoulders most of the time, why do we indeed want to live all the time? Why are we so fond of life, when it is to end one day? What is the cause of this life to continue, this hope to continue to remain strong instead of resigning ourselves to death?
Suppose, for a second that we give up the desire to live. What would happen to the whole game of life? Suppose the created world gives up its desire to live stops fomenting bonds with things, stops getting new life into the earth, will this cruel joke of life end? Death, I think is a way of Nature to make sure her play continues, yet men do not understand that. We must think a way must be found, to make death more tangible   and life less attractive.

Being lonely in the crowd

Some unknown note of music makes things so difficult all of a sudden. It floats down the air, enters your heart and wrecks your soul before disappearing into oblivion. There might not be anything special in those notes, but for those of you, who have experienced it, certainly, this experience of being ravaged by music is something to die for. 

It happens, to me quite often, and every time, I feel the same joy, same glee that I had felt the first time, music had touched my soul. The first time, it happened I was unaware of the consequences, neither could I understand what had taken place. A simple song it was one of the not so famous numbers, punctuated with its share of rhythmic psychedelia sound and drum beats, characteristic of the fag end of the 70's. With its foot tapping groovy number, it must have been quite something to the flower children. 

The effect it had on me was quite strange. The tune started haunting me night and day, morn and even. As if it got imprinted in my heart and instead of the breath of life, it was that of the song, that was going around my nervous system. Strange to say, the song got me high- high to such an extent that I started seeing light in darkness and darkness in light. My vision it got peppered with a strange light and it was such a feeling. 

Slowly the magic of that high might go away but it really is a trip for me. 

Sunshine, dark clouds and silver linings

Winter mornings, can be deceptive. They hide within them seeds of joy, which are hard to find. Life , to me, has of late become a chess board with moves, which I cant fathom. Although, I know that it can be easy to handle, but I say, it has become hard of late to see what I can do.

Well, there you are, I go at it again. My fingers type things, which I do not know if I can understand. I want to see what they type, with my mind empty of any thoughts, I want to see where does they words leads me to. I have to understand why does my mind gets the better of me most of the time. I need to know why does the emotions do the things they do.

This blog was not supposed to be what it was. Why do I write when all I can do is write? Writting is something which I seriously do not understand. I know what I can do, I know what I can't do but yet my fingers make to do things, which I know I cant do.
Blame it on the sunshine, or blame it on me, but yes the silver lining is something I love to see. It is not hard to get, I just can feel it at times in my bones. With all the royal nonsense that I do, the silver lining is something I like to feel. Well lets see where the lining is now 

The Priestess's bow

Who do you seek ,Priestess whose life has left your body long? Why do you roam the earth long after your time is up? With your noiseless breath and beatless heart, your movement on this planet is like winter winds rustling the dead leaves off the trees.
Priestess once you were alive and had ruled the earth. Your bow, your arrows had the qualities to purify miasma, to heal the sick. You, with your magic touch had brought to life many souls, who were tormented in death. Yet priestess, no one came to your rescue when your soul was trapped in bottomless hell.

Your name still moves on the lips of men, who are scared to die. Your bow and arrow are still worshiped in the shrine where your tamed the elements. The jewel of souls was yours to keep, yet priestess, your soul no one could save.

Priestess, what has gone wrong with the world? Why has it forgotten you or the works that you had done? Why, priestess, have they forsaken your care, when you cared for it so ? Why priestess have the elements conquered you when you were weak?

With eyes as calm as the clear winter sky, the Priestess looked at me. Her soul-less eyes just got cold at the thought of the answers which resonnated in the heartless bosom on her. She looked at me with no emotions, the black of her eyes shining bright. But, her answers did not come quickly, although she kept looking at me.
Her long hair rustled by the wind, her pale skin glistening at the winter sunshing, and her long dress quivering at the cold. She stood quite looking at me. Slowly she disappeared with the elements, leaving me standing at the spot where the priestess ruled 

Blank walls, silence of the soul

At times, blankness takes over my soul and all I can do is for it to get over with. Streams of thoughts, they just die out and the spark of life goes off without a trace. Blankness, combined with its sister - numbness can surely be a blessing, for the mind, which is throttling to go. Unfortunately, blankness is not easy to achieve and once it has entered your life, you do not want to give it up.

How do you define blankness? It is the state, when your mind becomes inactive and stops thinking for itself. It goes on something akin to an automatic pilot and then the events flashes past your mind like leaves on a windy day.
It is a blessed feeling, you know because you are not tossed and turned in the various things, of life It calms you down, it just makes you go numb for some time. If you are tired physcially, the mind might not be. It might just be a sleeping monster which is ready to raise it head till it can't go on. Blankness has its own taste. It tastes of honey, it takes of sandal and its fragnance is that of love.
It does not make much sense, this concept of blankness, to those who have not experienced it. But to those , who have gone through it, it makes you alive for all the more reasons. 

Eclipse of love

Once again, I want to talk to you, but I know I will never be able to. Once again I wish to see you smile to feel you near me yet I do not know what to do. What I had for you was eclipsed by the darkness in my heart, which had taken hold of me. You, know I am not sure why after so many days, have I started thinking about you. Why do I have this great urge to see you, to see you smile, when there was a time you gave all that you had to come close to me and I ran away?

What were the things that made me run away from you? To be certain when I think in the hindsight, I can't find any concrete reason. Was I uncertain about your affections towards me? No when I think of it now, I guess I was a tad bit uncomfortable of your warmth. The fool that I am, instead of being comforted, I got scared and left you.

You, know I too was like you once. I was full of love, wanted the person, with all my life yet I did not understand that the expression of interest must have been annoying to the beloved. My beloved then must have felt the aversion which I had gone through, when you came to surrender all yours to me.
To be honest I was scared that I would freaking loose the belief I had of freedom. It is tough to acknowledge love, and inspite of my brave words I was not able to do so.
It has to be love, or something, very similar to it, else why would my heart yearn to see you again? Why do you come to my mind, when ever I pass through the place where you stayed? I know this would hurt you, but I have to confess, my heart skips a beat when I pass through those roads, which you frequented.
I remember the night when I had kissed you first, by the river. I remember the nights when I first made love to you., But alas I forgot how to take down my guards. That I belief was responsible for me not to be in love,. I wish you were not so nice, I wish I was not such a big fool. I wish things would have been different with me being less neurotic, but I know it is too late and I have lost love, which you had given unconditionally to me. 

Love, Lovers and memoirs of Love lost

You know, this might sound odd as I am not sure if you would ever go through this blog of mine, but I had the urge to write about this. Has been ages since we have bidden good bye, with me congratulating myself of my aloofness, but yes I have started missing you. Missing you, is not easy, given the fact that I was responsible for the state we are in now.
You were strange, with the glee in your eyes, and the general sense of euphoria you had when you were with me. I thought you were immature, and I thought you did not know what you were getting into. For me, I had no realisation why I had started on this journey, with you when I did not want to get into anything from the first place. Why was I so hell bent to get out of it, when I got into it, is also something I do not understand yet.
Yes, I was repelled at the idea of you being close to me, and I do not know why I had that feeling. But when yesterday, I again saw your picture something stirred in me. I have been fighting that feeling, of the strange emotions which rises in me, at times, when I am silent. Now, I can understand that it is those moments that I had shared with you, that I miss. No, I was not in love with you, do not know even if I can ever be in love with you, yet I had shared something intimate with you, which I miss.
Yesterday, was again one of those days, when I started to miss you. Missing you is not an easy emotion as I am not sure what I miss about you. May be I miss the warmth of another human being, the security of those eyes, which used to worship me literally, but yes I do miss you.
Given a chance, I am not sure if I would like to go along with you. We are different in more than one way, what I want I am not sure who can give, what you want I am not sure if I can give. My search would continue, the longing of my heart refuses to go, but I am not sure what I can do about it.
You had come, you were there to share the longing, but I being a coward came out of it. I am not sure, if I am sorry or if I  can ever be pardoned but I know I had loved you even if it was for a fleeting moment. 

Dream Time, Winter time

The play of light and shadows, the mystic sunshine, trapped between the dark leaves of the tall trees, cast their own spell on me. With the golden sunshine, blurring my vision, time seems, to stop or slow down. Is it me, or has really the good old Earth gone slow on her axis?
May be there is something poisonous in the air, which seeps into my system through my skin that makes my vision at times really strange. Like the other time, when the road ahead had suddenly become an illuminated island of pale yellow sunlight, colouring all the mundane with its shine. Although, I was in a hurry, suddenly, I stopped or was forced to stop to watch the spectacle of nature at her best. I expected the spirits to come crawling out of their shadows immediately to ask me "Who do you seek that you fail to see the miracle being played daily?'
All of  a sudden it was as if a new world was unhinged before me, with secret doors slowly opening to a parallel world of slowness and grace. Simple acts, had become for that fleeting moment something beyond comprehension and loaded with grace. Grace, normally associated with that of movement of an experienced dancer become the order than the exception. A rabid dog, crossing the road, or the dry leaf of tree floating down the asphalt was filled with Art with a capital A. Was it what is called as mindfulness that you suddenly realise the beauty of the world at large?
The vision faded as soon as it came, but it has remained with me and I guess at times I just slip into that world which I do not know exists or not. But yes, when ever I see that golden sunlight, I can feel the magic which makes music becoming something tangible and I wish I get lost in that world

Terrors of the night

Silent waters, hide monsters which can create a whirlpool powerful enough to destroy the shores. Behind the silence of the eyes, lies those monsters who are chained to their doorpost by the power of the mind. The mind is a strange den, it shelters the monsters, chains them down and at the same time tries to make them free.
The last many days, are lost in trying to understand the terrors of the night which refuse to go. Sleep, the abode of rest has turned all of a sudden into a wrestling match between the leashed monster and the unarmed  him. When his conscious mind, goes to rest, the monsters become impatient and they try to get free. He trains them and chains them, but what is the guarantee that they will not snap their chains into two?
From whence do these monsters rise is a question he has not been able to answer. At times, when anger gets the better of him, he keeps quite to see the dark monster rising within The monster is a sly one, he catches him when he is not prepared. Even now, while he keys away his thoughts, the monster lurks behind his mind trying to get out. Is the monster his creation, or does his heart shelters a being, which he knows not?

The answers to these queries he does not know. But he hopes the monsters resolve their tirade against him soon. Who will he speak to to seek the answers? 

The difference between night and day 

Of late, the difference between night and day, has started becoming more and more marked to my pschye. It seems, along with the earth, my mind and my heart, also goes around the sun and emerges in something which I do not understand much. I fail to understand how the demons of emotions, whom I can tame so easily during the day manage to flex their muscles and start coming out of their lairs at night.
To but take the example of the terrors of the night, which I have written, and will write about. They come in various size and shapes and I know I am helpless against them. For me, it has become some what a part of my night ritual. I note down the terrors who seem to cause a hailstorm in my world of dreams but vanish without  a trace in the morning. The same goes with desires, which I know are unreal but some how they revive in night and try to take me in their wings.
For me, the divorce between me and my emotions is quite  a feat. Though I recognise them, yet I do not take them seriously. Life for me, is to be lead albeit in a detached manner .Of late I have understood that to achieve serenity, you need to embrace those emotions and just be unperturbed about what they do to you. That trick I need to learn, from the earth, who seems unperturbed with or without the sun.
The trouble that I face now is the trouble of the stone of the river bed. It gets eroded through the flow of the stream. Certain parts of me are getting numbed and eroded and I know not how to handle it.






























 thr

Some random thoughts 

Loss of innocence, the killing of joy and the disappearance of laughter from the face of the young. These days, due to some strange emotional cyclone going through me, are the main thoughts racing through the labyrinth of my mind.
The freshness of a smiling face, with the eyes twinkling and joy ingratiating from the lines of the face has become rare. When I look into the eyes of the young in age, the only thing I see these days are the worries, and a certain blanket which seems to have created a chasm between the real life and that of the projected life.
Many of them, I see are immersed in the world more firmly than I could or ever was. For I still have the capacity to create around me the world of make belief where the Jewel of four souls hold supreme. Is it a good thing to have your own personal sanctuary, where you jealously hide the innocence of your soul? Or is a sign of procrastination on my part?
Knowing myself well enough, I can say for sure, that I love this world of make belief and have the capacity to create it for myself. But do I hide in it or do I just put those glasses to see this world of sorrow and sadness in a better manner? At times, when I am immersed in the thoughts of the Jewel and  of the magical world of Grace and Joy, its with a start that I wake up to this world. The person who I indetify myself with at times is surprised to see this world for he expects to see a world of colours of lights and a world of Divine radiance. Instead he wakes up to a world which at its best is flawed and has the many cares of the world on it.

May be its the dreamer in my which lives on. May be I am not sure, what would that amount to in the long run. I admit I do not take things of this world to seriously. At times, when I am awake to the world a certain coldness creeps into my soul and I get scared. But that feeling vanishes quickly as I know I can always to my own special world a world where if nothing I have Grace with me. 

The darkness that comes from within

Darkness, it seems have to become second nature to me. Although, my eyes perform their usual behaviour, they seem to have lost their lustrue. An all engulfing sense of doom and hopelessness has pervaded my being, and I have this strange feeling of falling into an abyss which does not seem to have an end.

Its strange considering, the fact that I was literally in the seventh heaven because of the “crazy little thing called love”. My friends, why even my parents asked me the reason behind the sprint in my walk and the smile on my face. It was she, whose presence had brought about this in me. Love is mysterious, it’s a phenomenon, which I am sure all have talked about.

But for me, I sensed it acted as the philosophers’s stone and transformed my world. It had made things appear bright, it had made things appear beautiful for me. A man of words I never was, but in those six months, every piece of music, I heard or every line of the poems made sense to me.

What I would miss most would be the peace that seemed to have descended on me. A deep sense of gratitude and content about everything under the sun, that was my state in those days. Her smile, her touch, the slight twinkle in her shy glance, they made my day.

If only, I knew the dangers that lurked behind the sunshine, I might not have fallen for me. Now, with my very presence being threatened, I understand that the peace I felt was the calm before the tornado, which has engulfed me from all side.

I know its useless to talk about sanity or sense. I know its hard to face my fears.. God knows I have tired. But how can you face something, when you have lost the complete being that gave you the power to face? Its like the earth being pulled under your feet and you being thrown into the black hole of uncertainty and despair.

Tears, they have dried up in my eyes, the dull numbing pain in my heart seems to have become a permanent fixture. At first, my despair had taken the form of rage, but now that rage has turned into poison, which is eating my vitals away.

I wish I knew how to tackle it, but it has become something so violent that I have no control over it. My feeling, my sensibilities, my reason, all seem to have vanished to be replaced by a dull and throbbing pain, which is all out to destroy me.

Now I know what the word routine means, for sure. It is the frightening monotony of things, which vary not, come sun come rain. My breath, my habit, my daily routine has become some thing similar. The man, who resided in my heart, seemed to have vanished or worst trampled in the pell mell of emotions, which took me by surprise. Now, instead lurks a strange being, whose food is anger whose breath give out fumes of poison.

If only I knew that this was the effect of love..