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.