The laughing stock!

Ok!

I have become the proverbial laughing stock. This isn’t the problem, though. The problem lies somewhere else. Let me tell you: I don’t choose to be unhappy. Rather, I pretend to be unhappy. This life is awesome, fabulous, fascinating and colourful. I have lost count of my happy moments. Now, you believe me, I am happy as anybody could be in this earth.

• For I love despair
• For I play blind to the reality
• For I pretend the responsibility

Of what:

• Of a destitute
• Of a life less lived
• Of a person
  

Some tongue in cheek comments; I listened them all, through my ear and stored them to reprocess in my favour. We should learn to live on reprocessed products. Everything has been exhausted, including love and faith.


I thought, they knew me by my name…the infamous name. Sorry, my dreams were rather bizarre. My name was up for an auction. No prejudice but all the chauvinism were there, put together by an unknown curator; that’s how we make-up the untold stories of so many lives! Who knows if somebody is following you the way you are following me.


Do I need to talk again? No, never!


Yes, asking questions are comparatively easier, for us fools. But, we do not have ready-made answers and do not follow all the protocols of servitude, that we called life. Yet, the truth is written on the wall. Live your own lives. If somebody asks me about my life, I would rather ask over if you know me that well, for a question like that?


Even easier is to give advice. Advices come in all virtues. But I hate these virtues like any other vice, for that connives like evils do, in their favour. You must have read few lines to come up to me and thought of this opportunity to pass on few advices. I respect that. But, beyond that, you are just another shadow to me. I know you will fear to face the light. That’s life. And that light is truth. Everybody comes with certain past following them and they think of imageries and metaphors, just to avoid it.


This is what has happened recently. [I creep a lot!] I cannot accept other’s truth. It seems to me, the eyes of truth are inside me and watching every step of mine. It reminds me of three versions of truth. Unluckily, it’s my life. And the truth was a part of my life.

And I don’t fear to be weak. This is my way of tackling your so called virtues. The only virtue that I know is love. Somebody will come in the name of love.

Whatever!

Sometime ago, I was made to think that Love is just another bullshit. Bullshit. Much earlier, before such famished thoughts started to inhabit in my mind, I was of the believe that Love is serene, it’s beautiful and we can do everything for it. I was in the same disposition until recently; one and half years or two years to the present. Everybody has a bad morning, I knew. But, for me, one bad morning wasn’t enough. Love wrecks life and people die. And those who are weak and fragile like love itself, just crumble. I know I am weak.

Ever thought like calling a name, so loud the whole universe listen to your voice…Ever wonder if the monsoon rain has more rain drops than your tears or, ever hold a photograph like your own heart that it starts to beat…Heart aches!

Whatever!

I am still carrying on, living everyday!

A so called poem can shout too...

When she reads my scribbles,
I erase them:
Word by word,
Event by event, in my mind.

When she reads,
She poses questions;
Questions of varied interests,
But none mine.

In between,
Her interest reminds me of the relationship;
She caresses the pages and my heart bleeds.

Anniversary!

I don’t want to recollect some events. I don’t even want to think about those events. But life, as it is, is all about remembering the past and moving ahead. A person may call it learning from the mistakes (if mistakes were the reason for the past) and someone can call it the foundation for the life ahead. Whatever it may be, the past is another part of life. We cannot just ignore it. I am not preaching. I am just saying. Yea, I can’t practice what I preach.

Another something got the better of me. And here, I am with some flashes of memories though in words.

I know I can’t relate it as vividly as I would have like to as I am too preoccupied with what has happened rather the event. A third person could have narrated it better. But, I think, I am the only one left with this memory. The event was long forgotten. No remnants. No nothing.

No. I can’t.

Today is the anniversary, I think 12th anniversary of a relationship that turn my world upside down. Should I celebrate it? Today is Sunday. I am free. I need her approval. No. I am not too sure if she wanted to celebrate it the way we used to. But, I know she must be feeling lonely. She might also be remembering the first time we bowed to become one.

My left wrist still proudly flaunts the scratches your nails plowed. Life moves ahead but some scratches never heal.

A toss to the ANNIVERSARY!

Oh! Holly shit! Doctor forbids me alcohol. Says, “You have had enough of it”. A toast gone waste. Whatever, a toast is a toast, with or without it. A toast! Now, I will certainly become the toss ka boss. Will it be enough for an anniversary. Anyway, a toast, whatever it may be.

A word for me: Alienation!

A word for me!

Alienation: I am not looking for the meaning, neither the actual nor the concealed. But, I am not comfortable at the very thought of using it as a word. Anybody can use it anywhere, where the user thinks it befit. One of my close friends mentioned about it while we were talking about what constitutes India, the great land. His point seemed valid: “Alienation comes from the within, from the self. Don’t think about it. Don’t think that you are alienated from the rest…and so on.” Suddenly, I thought of my look and how I pronounced their names. Something disturbed me!

I wasn’t comfortable.

The moment I reached home, I checked the meaning of the word, just to make myself comfortable. After all, I am going to the office next day, again. And I will meet the same people with same name and same features. I don’t want to be alienated, from within or outside. The meaning was same and I think, still the same. Even more, we were taught that we are not aliens. And further, we are working here, earning and living as citizens, just to confirm that we are not aliens.

So, where did I got myself alienated! Am I unfair to myself, despite all these privileges or am I just not able to think beyond myself? But one thing is for sure; I am not comfortable listening to this word. This doesn’t mean that I desire to be a part of a certain group. In fact, it may undermine my sense of a Universalist, irrespective of where do I reside and how I was brought up! It seems, my uneasiness lies deep inside me, as a part of me, to the retorts of senses (of being a human being) when someone try to distinguish me as an individual of certain unfamiliarity, may be in admiration or may be in utter surprise. In fact, alienation comes from within. And the ensuing question is: how deep and profound can it be!

I wanted to be fair to myself and off course to the unbound opportunities we have been bestowed upon. Still, somewhere within, certain apprehension resides heavily. I don’t know why. I can purchase what I want, asking for bargain and best of products, in their language. But, I am not happy even after I got what I wanted at my own terms. This, in fact, is in itself a worrisome trait. And unluckily, I cannot blame myself. The reason: they see me as a different among themselves, which includes me too. Something in their cadence, include unexpressed desire to exclude me and it parades naked before my conscience. Teasing, they have it at their disposal anytime they want and anywhere they care to!

I was made to be a snub-faced and I often parody the same taunts without any fear. But at hindsight, I am afraid what if this happens to a girl or a more receptive person: the feeling of alienation in a country we called “our country” or, in a liberal perception, a sense of being the second group!

Do we need to find our own country? Everything is not right here.

Sick Leave!

This season is unusually bad. It may be just another premature symptom of climate change that we have been talking about, ever since our kindergarten days. Each one of us had to speak on a topic of our choice on climate change and points were given for each resolution the class agreed to work on. Yea, those were the brains of tomorrow. Now, the tomorrow has arrived. I was on sick leave and got a chance to ponder upon those days. How worried those kids were? They were afraid; what if their playgrounds were inundated, what if the earth is dried and turned into a vast desert! They would huddle in the corner and murmured, how long would they live.

Other noticeable symptoms are: Global Warming (AC or no AC), No more sinking of Titanic’s (melting Iceberg or raising sea level), unusual news of snow falling in Dubai and Sahara Desert (No theory, with or without graphic simulations), bomb blasts (with or without timers , our earth is so warmed now, bombs explode even if it was not planted), bigger pimples and their bête noir cosmetics (beautiful or ugly) and bigger families and flood and drought and market turbulence and everything, including my headache.

These few weeks, I have experienced bad to worse. I am weak and tired. Walk few steps and I feel as if I have been walking ever since. No appetite for a foodie. Worrisome! Some precaution and some medicines, that’s not enough.
Look at my reasoning. I blame it all to the climate change. As a human being, I eat, I breathe and do whatever a living being ought to do, just to stay and fit. Yes. No smoke, no drinks as of now, I think for the last four months. What a long period! But, I am still weak. No one to blame, I blame it all to the season.

Poor me! I am exhausted to my seven sick leaves that I wanted to utilize later in the year end with flimsy coughs and pain. Zero sick leaves in my balance and I will have to think before I felt sick. This season is really terrible.

Saturday Bombings!

Seven days in a week and only one Saturday. Not fair. But, lucky we are, there is only one Saturday. Little irrelevant? But the recent bombings in the country suggest that terrorists want to release their horror shows only on Saturdays. What a day? We eagerly wait for weekend and they just need the arrival. What a day, Saturday day! Whatever the agenda could be, Saturdays are becoming rather fluky days for bombs. It explodes everywhere, on Saturdays.

Three major bomb blasts on Saturdays:

- October 29, 2005 at Ahmadabad
- July 26, 2008 at Ahmadabad
- September 13, 2008 at Delhi

Yea, if Saturdays can be party days for bomb planters, why not Fridays and Sundays. And obviously other remaining days of the week. However, how interesting it could read, most of the major bomb blasts in India (or may be anywhere else) happens on weekends. Easy targets, soft targets and nice days!

- April 14, 2006 at Delhi (Friday)
- September 8, 2006 at Malegaon (Friday)
- July 25, 2008 at Bangalore (Friday)
- August 25, 2007 at Hyderabad (Sunday)
- October 14, 2007 at Ludhiana (Sunday)
- November 24 2007 at Lucknow, Varanasi and Faizabad (Sunday)

No kidding, our weekend parties can be bomb parties in the future. I was thinking if we can change our weekends to more secured Wednesdays or Thursdays. These days might not have proved too holistic in the past either, either. But, in the present context, it seems they can at least put some apprehension on bomb planters’ minds. They would rather disapprovingly say, ‘Oh! This time, the weekend is coming on Wednesday.’ Jokes apart, if days could protect us or instill some sanity on their minds, I am ready do sacrifice a weekend of the two. At least few more lifes would be saved.

What do we do on weekends? We relax. We spend time with family members and celebrate life. And what these guys do on weekends? They experiment their wares. And fuse our wires. Why can’t they do it in friendly manner? May be they don’t want family gatherings! I don’t know. Even if they wanted those in power to listen to them with bomb blasts, announce certain dates earlier that we are going to blast some bombs here and there against this and that. This way, their agenda can be better heard and also be appreciated. Everybody will look in amaze and convinced. But what these guys are doing is not done. My little frightened soul cursed so loud, my heart almost explodes. You know, if bombs can be exploded, hearts too can be exploded same way. But, the real impact will come from heart explosion.

May be we need to plant our hearts in dustbins of the society as a pre-emptied attack on this malaise called, terrorism. Oh! My take on terrorism is: the act of spreading terror, with bombs or without bombs.

OK. Where am I? Today is Sunday.

My weekend will be a waste, today. And some of us will damn these weekends all life long. Please, do not tease us with bombs and guns. We are human beings.

Bombs, cheap bombs
It spits splinters and shrapnel in the smoke
It pretends to speak in the dark
No. It bores a hole
No. It mimes a child
No. It tears a heart.
Bombs, cheap bombs
You are not my friend.
Bombs, cheap bombs
We have human spirit
We are not cheap bodies
Bombs, cheap bombs
The mangled bodies
The charred remains
These are no cheap remnants
These are the themes of insanity
These are the colors of freedom.
Bombs, cheap bombs

You are not friend.

Is my God your God!

Is my God your God!

It says, God is one. For some years, I was happy thinking God is only one and He knows everything; who is good or bad, who is sincere and who is lazy and he judge everything by a common parameter. But I was wrong. This has been observed that there are lots more of Gods. And my belief is rather convincingly proven by fact that people fights in the name of religion. My God is more powerful than his God, my God is more helpful then your God, etc. etc.

Here, my sincere undertaking is to project my own God as innocent, simple plain God. I don’t want sacrifices being offer to my God. It would be scurrilous to my God himself.

Must be a joke!

Whatever it might be, I have known this much that people kill each other in the name of religion and drank blood to purify the butchery.

May be my God is different from his God.

Where do I fit!

Where do I fit? I often wonder, thinking about a place for myself in this world. I have grown up observing this world and the people in it. I am not different to them. I have had my share of love, hatred, betrayal, joy, sad; everything a human being could experience in a lifetime.

But something is still amiss here.

I don’t know what am I doing here? Even worst, I don’t have an alternative. Its not that I hate taking the chance, but the amusing facets of this universe incites my arrogance to hold back, may be for another lifetime. What conspires in my mind, against this proposition is: what else, weren’t these enough, are there any further feelings that I am yet to face! Simply, put this way: I am not afraid of death, in case, dying is the only alternative to this life. Change this life. Live a life, different to this life. Can it be another option? I don’t think.

Anyway, where do I fit?

As an individual, I try to evolve myself as a better human being. I don’t how good a person I have become in these two and half decades. But, in these years, I have able to conjure up a world for myself, of myself, with no complaint. It has no pain. Yet, my world is far from being perfect. It has no place for me. No place for me here too!

Some birds, some trees, some friends, they aren’t enough for me as long as I am not a part to myself. I have become a misfit to myself.

Ok! I should have asked this question to myself.

Birthday!

This post was to be posted on 5th September.

Blossoms! Life is a flower.

Every year, this day arrives with so much fanfare, I can only deny the occasion. Somebody called up unexpectedly. It can be counted as a gift. I took it as a gift. Gifts galore, but none like it.

I have a small world. Every part of it can claim the whole as their own, irrespective who the real owner is! This has enabled all of us to celebrate life with many occasions thrown in. What else? I was happy like all of them.

Somebody wanted to celebrate my birthday, the way she wanted to celebrate. I deny, like any other occasion. For I hate crowd. It is not that she will gather a whole populace, but I fear what if it happens so. You never know. My small world can turn into a pool humanity, known and unknown, guest and intruders… I think everybody wants to wish a birthday or two in the pretext of fun and off course, as a well-wiser. I won’t be able to accept their hugs and kisses.

My birthday happens to fall on Teacher’s Day.

[ Oh! The funny part on having a birthday is; I have three Date of Births, the first one is obviously the day I was born, second, the date my class teacher filled up in my Matriculation Form as my actual date of birth, and the third one, my date of birth recorded in Electoral Voter List. All of these dates are different.

Let me tell you, it’s little worrisome for me to decide which one should be given the priority! I know, I was born on a certain date on certain time. That’s my birthday. But I live my life as this-much-aged person reflected in my Academic Certificate, which in fact becomes my actual birthday, and this date ever so slowly swallow every sphere of my life. I am only 20+ years old, in cognito and accepted.]

Yea, she called me up and wished me “Happy Birthday”. I was happy. It is such a happy feeling, a very happy feeling. One call, one wish: I wonder how could I cherish it whole life long!

Next September, I know, it will be different.

Clouds and Images!

Something caught my eye. I am a bi-spectacle. But, it didn’t hinder my view and the image clearly obstructed my view. This was how it caught my eye. In fact, I wanted to see something else. I have no surprises. I knew it too well; this is life.

Nothing.

My mind goes back to something else... comes back with an unknown knot that bound the view rather unsympathetically with my eyes. This time, I wanted to know what it was. Her eyes blank, her skin pale, her hair un-combed and she didn’t moved. My head wrested on the shoulder and I thought it was heavy. Life is a burden if you can save yourself from the views that our senses forbid. I was not uncomfortable but restless. Where did I stand? No, I was in a moving cab.

What a loathsome imagery!

I was all there, all by myself. I couldn’t count on my fellow cab mates. I can’t just say what happened like it. But all the stories of seeing freak and random are rather prominent in the long drive home, in the dark, in the night. It seemed something will just poke out from nowhere. What we come to know better is; it is disgusting to think about it. After few days, everybody stopped by themselves. But the glint of darkness and scare were left unmoved in our minds.

Oh! I was talking about what had caught my eyes. She was beautiful. She moves next to us. It seemed to me, a glance would not be enough. I looked flat at her eyes and the cloud dispersed itself with the wind. It reminded me of my favorite children’s poem on cloud. Look at the clouds. They have all the images in the mind. Think of an object, and it was right there; laughing at you.

Now, the only difference is, I don’t have time to see in broad day light. And the clouds in the night are dull and dark. Even the most beautiful girl was breached with disbelief. And her image: merely a shadow in night.

Anyway, I don’t believe if belief. To be frank, I am scared to put this in words.

She will certainly ask: Are you still busy?