Tuesday, 31 July 2007

My day to day life
gotta admit, the music is great! This thing keeps on playing in a loop in my head the whole freakin' day!
DIGG this please if you like this :)

Monday, 30 July 2007

I walk a lonely road

The only one that I have ever known
Don't know where it goes
But it's home to me and I walk alone

I walk this empty street
On the Boulevard of Broken Dreams
Where the city sleeps
and I'm the only one and I walk alone

I walk alone
I walk alone

My shadow's the only one that walks beside me
My shallow heart's the only thing that's beating
Sometimes I wish someone out there will find me

'Til then I walk alone

I walk alone
I walk alone

Song “Boulevard of Broken Dreams” by Green Day


If I were to ask you how much time do you think you will take to recount your entire life, to visit your past again in your mind, to ponder over every decision you ever took and wonder if it was right or wrong, to visit every heart break you ever had and relive every orgasm, to think of all the people you loved and forgive all those you hate. What would your answer be? An hour or two? A week maybe?

One second.

I remember walking down a lonely road and it has indeed been the one I have ever known. It takes me to my office and brings me back. It is my solace, my haven, my escape and is much more closer to being me than anyone else since it is in real terms of the word-“lonely”. No one takes it but I. Yes I indeed remember that road.
I also remember a warehouse on the road. A deserted colossal structure with shattered windows, broken wrought iron gates and high walls. It is along one of those walls that I walk. The sun is out on my right shinning brighter than ever on my face as if trying to burn me to ashes and the huge wall on my left trying to make me feel dwarfed by the sheer virtue of its height while I try and take each step quicker and quicker not in my haste to get anywhere but just so that I am able to escape the combined onslaught of these two forces governing my psyche one of which is natural and the other man made. I trot with my head resolutely bent down my feet pounding on the asphalt one after the other with such precise rhythm as if they are not my own but pieces of a machine moving in tandem one after the other. Sweat is eventually beginning to pour out on forehead and would soon dance its way along my face and start dribbling down on the road just ahead of me. How fascinating this is. My sweat pours out of my body and drops on the ground just ahead of my feet. That ground that I have not yet traveled, that part, which is still to come under the pounding of my feet, is yet to be explored by me, to which I do not owe anything right now. Yet before taking my liberty to stomp onto the freedom of that virgin I first must make my due payment, my tax to trod on. What is more amazing is that it is not some one whose making me pay this tax as I would like to call it but just my body and that blazing hot red mass of matter in the sky both of which I can not try to reason with. I drip and I walk and I simply can not do anything about it.

How fascinating indeed.

Neither can I do anything about my companion. Oh yes! I do have a companion, someone who is walking right along me, making sure I am never alone. It is my shadow. It always walks besides me. I can always find it right here. Though it does not talk to me or amuse me or share my laughter or my tears or for that matter even my sweat yet it is always here-my dead reflection on a dead wall. Dead? Of course dead, for it speaks naught, it cries naught, it laughs naught. It does not have a face I can remember, it does not have eyes I can see in, it does not have heart I can share my pain with.

Conscience and Desire are perhaps a man's worst enemies and best of friends. One would make you do such forbidden acts that you can not even dream of doing and the other would make you feel so miserable when you are done with, that you just want to somehow kill yourself. And yet again these two force you to give up your seat to a lady carrying a child in a bus and propelling you sometimes to do something extra ordinary of such magnitude in your life that you end up as Mahatma Gandhi, Kennedy and even Bill Gates. The desire to explore shall carry you to the edge of a cliff where your conscience would subtly push you off.
Lost in my thoughts I must have taken some wrong turn for I do not know where am I wandering to. Somehow the wall is on my right and the sun is on my left. I am perplexed! I don’t know what is going on. For though I was not paying attention to the direction my feet were carrying me in but I am so used to this road that I daresay I can take a wrong turn.
Something didn’t feel right. I had a feeling in my stomach intensifying with every passing second. Something was just not feeling right. I was looking left and right trying to make some sense of what was happening.

And then I saw it running-my shadow! It was sprinting along the length of the wall running way ahead of me. Yes it was mine, yes I am positive for there is no one around me till miles. I could do nothing but see it run ahead on the wall, sprinting and jogging.

I had just a second but I felt it. I felt the rush of the wind coming towards my hair, I felt the cold touch of the butt before it made contact with my skull before it knocked me out.

Time passed. Some hours or maybe some weeks. Maybe a life ended. Maybe I died and got reborn.

I am lying down. Someone is screaming. No I do not want to open my eyes or wake up. I am comfortable, cozy. I wish to Lord they would stop screaming. The voices are getting louder and louder. Oh damn! I can not take it anymore. I stir breaking the comfortable position my body had become so used to from lying down for so long. The first wave of consciousness hit me and along came deafening noise which rattled me right down to my soul. I jerked and sat up. I am on a stage, there are gothic figures screaming and dancing all around me. They are playing music.-hard rock, metal, deafening music. The screams are shrill and high pitched. Jumping and dancing all around me pointing at me and singing in a strange tongue which I can not comprehend these figures resembling monsters straight out of hell are entertaining a huge crowd. There are bodies as far as my eyes can reach. Everyone is using the same tongue. I do not know what they are chanting. My sitting up straight seemed to have enthused a fresh wave of energy throughout the crowd. Everyone is screaming, jumping, pointing figures at me.
And there I saw it-my shadow. Mute as ever it was jumping as hard as it could. and though there is no face, eyes, features that I can remember or recognize it by I am still sure it is my shadow. It is weird and the oddity of it was never clear to me until this point here. If I were to draw an example it would be something like picking your cell phone out of 3 other cell phones of the same make, model and color from a table. You just know its yours. You don’t need to check or to make sure.

I knew it was mine. I saw it and I had a weird feeling it was looking straight at me, right into my eyes. The meaningless babble of the crowd began to take shape, as if a picture is emerging by itself slowly out a pool of colors which were dribbled on the floor. I could make out what they were screaming. It was repeated incantation of just one word-Kill.

Kill, kill, kill.

I felt like a gladiator in an amphitheatre. A gladiator who has been thrown in the middle of wild savage animals and for whom the crowd is bursting with enthusiasm to see some flesh ripped of and blood being poured. It is like chattering of a sacred hymn in a temple. Everyone is on the same page, everyone is united and everyone knows just what to say at any precise moment in a singing tone.

Kill, kill, kill.

The chattering is getting louder. It is filling my ears and reaching my brain. My brain which is already thumping with a frenzy of activity from within. There are questions floating all around like sharks in an angry ocean, and my conscience is like a lost sailor amongst them.

Kill, kill, kill.

I looked all around me in a haste. No one I know but my shadow, which is now being hoisted on the shoulders of these gothic figures. Fresh energy is seeping throughout this menagerie. My shadow is on some shoulders. It is hopping and jumping and making way towards the stage where I lay. Everybody wants to touch it, to give it a part of their shoulders to step on. It is like the plate carrying sacred incense in Indian temples which is passed all around the devout participating in the holy prayer to touch and be blessed. My shadow is advancing rapidly towards me.

Kill, kill, kill.

A final hop and it is on the stage, facing me. The crowd has gone silent. The silence is so thick I can hear my every breath explode with a bang right in front of me. I do not know what is going to happen. I wish my shadow had eyes, eyes to give me a hint to let me know what is coming next. But no, that is not to be. Here we are facing each other. My shadow raised its right hand slowly pulling it up bringing in front of me clenched as a fist. Am I to take it? Grab the fist, bend down and kiss it? What am I expected to do? What is everyone waiting for! Torn as I am in all these confusions and questions the thumb popped up from the dark clenched fist in front of me.
The fist turned and the thumb pointed downwards.

Kill, kill, kill

The crowd erupted! The verdict had been passed. My shadow whipped his hand like a blade and the next thing I was looking at was a 9mm barrel of a revolver staring right between my eyes. The last thing I heard was the cocking as the trigger was pulled.

One second.

One second was all it took for the bullet to leave the barrel and penetrate my sanity. One second was all I had to live my life again. I had flashes, flashes lasting minutes, how I don’t know. I could see everything again. I as a child, I growing up, I losing my loved ones. I felt the pain of all my heartbreaks and relived all my orgasms. I hugged all those I loved and said good byes. After a long time I thought of God and said my prayer. I felt the chilled wind of London freezing my lungs skin and scorching heat of Delhi burning my skin. I lived every second and every year of my life again.

And I was happy, truly exotic on leaving the world finally.

The alarm went off and I realized I am late for the office. Damn! Cant even die in peace. Better get up. I have to go to the office and a road to walk. Maybe as they say my morning dream would turn out to be a reality....

Thursday, 26 July 2007

Last night a silent whisper woke me up from my slumber. Out of the corner of my sleep filled eyes I saw a shadow trying to tip toe its way out of my room. Perplexed and still delirious I called out, “Who are you and where are you heading to?”

On hearing my voice the shadow stopped and stood with its head bowed. When I repeated my question, the shadow as if imploring me said “Sir I am a small ambition who lived in your eyes since ages and I was now leaving.” This shocked me and I could not do anything but ask “Why my old friend. What grave inconvenience could have I caused you which made you break this old relationship and leave?” As if I had embarrassed the shadow, it spoke meekly. “Sir, I have been with you as long as I could remember. You gave me birth and you brought me up. You nursed me in your heart. You gave me a place in your eyes and a place in your vision. You catered for me in your plans and you accommodated me in your sleep. Still after all these years and all this work I remained a black shadow. I could never be a reality and come and stand in front of you. I have hurt you, pained you and I do not want to do this anymore. I was leaving so you could live in peace.”

I was startled. My eyes suddenly felt heavy, as if something was filling them up. Tears maybe but I didn’t know. I was at a complete loss of words. It was as if someone had hidden all my words from me. I could sense them and see them as stars twinkling around me but as soon as I reached out with my hand to touch them they vanished with a pop like magic and the more I strained my eyes to follow the crisscrossed trajectory of these flying words the heavier my eyes became. I didn’t know what to say to this black shadow which now stood so humbly with its head bowed and arms dropped down to its sides. Perhaps an era or maybe a lifetime later I asked again – “If this is true my friend then why leave so quietly? Why not tell me and shake hands and leave? Why leave like a thief, as if you have something to hide or someone to hide from. Surely it can not be me. I have loved you and as you said, treasured you. Why then leave without a final hug or so much so as a handshake? Is our bond so weak that you can simply shrug it off and walk away?”

As if possible the shadow sank a few feet in the ground. It suddenly appeared smaller and weaker. With a sigh the shadow replied, “I was not alone in your eyes sir. A small hope lives right next to me. She is not very strong. She would not have survived if she knew I was leaving. She would have cried and insisted on coming along with me and had that happened, you sir would have been left all alone. I never intended that to happen. Farewell sir and please take good care of that hope. If anything were to happen to her you would be all alone.”

A sudden noise outside my room woke me up. I think I was dreaming. Yes it probably was a dream. Shattered pieces of a broken ambition still sting my eyes sometimes. A small hope still cries somewhere within sometimes.

Tuesday, 24 July 2007

If words had any power, I’d be the king of this world.

Words. Beautiful ugly distorted perfect words. Words – all I have are these words. These words which I use to convey what I feel, to draw an image in the air of the objects floating in my brain and as if by sheer magic transpose that image into your mind, often without even speaking.

Words, which I am in love with. Words which I use as my rescue and my weapon. Words which I hurl at my opponents as spears and words which I use to rapidly conjure a thick shield impenetrable by all with such subtlety and suddenness that somehow still amazes even me. Words that I use to charm my way out of situations. Words that I use to create temptations arouse a mortal’s most hidden and primitive desires and make him obey me. Words that I use to manipulate, maneuver, connive and convince. Words with which my association goes back as far as I can think of. Often incomprehensible in one language, say the language I spoke when I was one or two years of age, yet words nonetheless perfectly understandable to those who understand the language I chose given a particular moment in this dynamics of space and time.

Words which always stay with me ready to launch themselves from the tip of my tongue and fingers at my slightest provocation, which I can always rely on to come to my aid and yet, which always helplessly, hopelessly fail me when I need them the most.

When I try to describe the magic, the power those eyes have over me. When I try to compare her elegance with that of a flowing river and her poise her stature to that of a wisp of smoke delicately yet firmly positioning itself in the thin air, when I try and equate her laughter to the sounds of humming wind and when I try and compare the silent noise her tears make to that of a delicate bone china glass being shattered. When I try and conjure up a perfect world where she will be the queen and I shall be her most desired and humble servant, the object of her desire, her playmate, her dark secret life. Someone she would look straight into the eyes when the king is holding his court and mouth a wordless “I love you”. When I try and impress unto her how much her presence mean in my life. When I want to with all my earnestness minus any of my conniving make her understand how much she has become a part of me. When I reminisce about those glorious days spent in her arms and those moments of intense passion I spent looking down at her sweating face as we moved again and again together composing a perfect harmony taking it to its crescendo using our bodies as Lord’s gifted musical instruments.

When I call her name in the darkness and the fear that invokes in my heart thumping with its every beat that I shall never see her again. When I crave for her, long for her. When I try and tell her how much I love her, want her, need her and beg her not to go. When I try and scream at God for putting me in these predicaments, for causing me this pain. When I try and make myself believe she is not gone but simply hiding her somewhere in these dark shadows encouraging me to find her, prolonging my desire so that when I finally catch her I shall be a thirsty mad man and she will be the river that will quench my thirst satisfying my temptations. Words when I curse my fortune, my life, my existence. Words when I try to find them in these waves of destiny on my palms and forehead. Words which I want to use to express my loss, my pain, my grief, my need, my desire. Which I want to use to fill this void she created deep within me when she left.

Words, how I hate them and love them. How I use them with such ease and yet often find myself at a total loss on how to summon them.

Words. Nothing but a mere permutation of some dark spots of ink placed comfortably together or some modular variations in the wavelengths of this air all around us. No complications like quantum mechanics, thoughts of a philosopher, equations of Einstein, just simple plain words.

Friday, 20 July 2007

I went to a funeral today. As it stands I am in London right now and I have some relatives who have been based here for almost an eternity. And a human being being a social animal that he is, they obviously made acquaintances with people living around them or with those who had chosen to migrate to UK almost at the same time as they did.

One of such acquaintances of theirs was blessed with a very lovely charming intelligent and a beautiful daughter.

She was 24.
She was a meritorious students studying in one of the top notch universities of UK.
She had numerous scholarships and certificates to her name.
Her family is one of the richest in UK and most influential back home in India.
She committed suicide last week.
I never met her or knew her.
I was moved beyond my deepest emotions.

We lost our way to the crematorium and reached 5 minutes late. The service had started and the hall was packed. With many others we stood outside the hall in the chilly wind listening to all the family members paying their tributes to her. I could not see anything. I was there, standing outside the hall in a wind which was blowing with such an intensity that it might as well would have carried me with itself and with such a chill that I wished if it does indeed carry me somewhere it please be the fires of hell so that I not only get to warm myself but also reach my final destination and finally escape these dreaded talons of this life.

But no I am not that fortunate, am I? Had I been fortunate to get what I wish for, would have I ever wished to escape this vicious circle of life!

No it did not happen. No matter as much as I wished, yet I was there standing outside all the while listening to a voice booming over my head from a speaker. Wondering just why did I agree to come to this funeral in the first place when I don’t know anyone, when I have no relations with the deceased and her family other than that of humanity which as I have learned to understand the hard way does not really matter in this world and when I have long since lost my capacity to be touched by emotions such as grief.

And then she started speaking. I didn’t know who she was, perhaps her mother, or her aunt or maybe some grieved friend. I did not know then nor do I know now. But she started speaking and I was glued to where I stood. She started narrating a small poem she had written and suddenly I was washed with waves and waves of ice cold realizations which crashed over me with such fervor that the wind suddenly felt as burning ciders on my skin and just one question suddenly sprang up in my brain and spread its tentacles through my neural system with such rapidity that before I could have even realized its presence sweeping through my conscience, there it was flowing along with my blood all through my body and having already proclaimed and proven its dominance over my capacities to rationalize it was now trying to puncture that invisible barrier which separates my mortal self from my soul all the while screaming just one thing

“So what matters then in the end?”

I have been trying hard, very hard that I do not have to leave London now. I have been trying harder to clinch a job in the United States of America. I have been trying desperately that I do not have to go back to India or face my mortifying endless repeated act which us the denizens of this planet have coined job. I have gone from pillar to post to make sure I am always in touch with the “right” people, eating and drinking in the right places and made contact with the right authorities as much as I possibly can.

Would it matter to me in the end where I am burnt, dust to dust and ashes to ashes? Would I care if my car got its proper parking space or that my employer was not racist or my green card application was accepted or what my peer think of me whether I look good or am I looking to thin or am I looking too fat or whether the “right” people are attending my last journey or whether it is being organized at the right venue with kosher food and vintage wine and am dressed immaculately and I do not have stubs on my face and my hair is not messy and have they selected the best of my photographs to place along my body and is everyone seated properly and and and…….?

Would anything matter to me when I finally sleep?

Why then am I living my life too hard? Why am I always trying to be an edge apart and a step above those around me? Why do I hate some and love none? If nothing has to come to me in the end, nothing can give me all these comforts which I so desire now when I shall so need them the most why do I strive to possess it? Why then am I living now when I have to die tomorrow!? What is the purpose, the aim the final destination of my life?

My death?

That is? My life ends? Why then try so hard! Why study or work or amass wealth or love some when at the end I am going to be all alone, just me myself and I, stripped of all that I earned owned possessed and isolated of all whom I loved? Why why and why! I do not understand this. Maybe I am not supposed to, maybe I am just supposed to try my best shot at this life and take things as they come to me. But then if I am to do just that I do not understand what shall make me different from my vacuum cleaner or my TV or my car all of which can neither think or ask or analyze. All of them just do for what they are built. They have no power whatsoever to modify what is to be made of them or what is to finally become of them. My car can do little if I push it of a cliff and destroy it. My TV can not ask me why do I change channels rapidly but can only do what I wish for it to do.

Am I not like them then?

Or maybe I am worse, for all such things as cars and TVs have a purpose for which they are built. What purpose was I created for? Is there any or am I just simply a byproduct of human love? Am I worse than even the most minutest piece of machinery?

No I am not and I know that. The reason, the one thing that distinguishes me from a mechanized motorized pile of steel is my power to think and feel. And then again therein lies the cause of my misery. Why do I have this power to question the Lord when I am deprived of the ability to make him answer me! Why do I feel joy and pain when I am nothing but a puppet on this vast stage who can do little if his creator chose to end his part and pull his string?

She went on and on. Her pain was beginning to pierce me, seeping through these pores on my skin and slowly gradually mixing with my blood as if my own. I knew not why was I moved, I knew not what connection if any existed and I knew not what could I do to make her stop. Her narrations spoke of time well spent a life well lived and a death well embraced. Oh yes she was asking questions too. With her lament and her cries she was asking Lord again and again why did He have to make this 24 year old beautiful talented girl kill herself. And as He does to me, he chose not to answer her no matter her wails and sobs. The Church was quiet, the crowd was quiet and He was quiet.

Finally she stopped. Of sheer exhaustion or emotion I do not know. But yes she felt quiet. For a long time no one spoke no one breathed. We all stood quiet, very quiet. All waiting for Him to finally speak and sooth His bereaved, destroyed, devastated daughter.

He was silent still.And then there was music. Ustaad Nusrat Fateh Ali Khan’s remarkable voice seemed as if a glass made of fine china had been delicately shattered. He sang and sang and sang. People started moving, everyone as if cajoled from a deep trance. A line began to form. We moved with the crowd of humanity which somehow now seemed more united and connected. Everyone was moving with just one aim, to hug her parents and cry and light a small little candle where she would finally be laid to rest.

And I who is ever unable to shed a tear could not do even that. I just carried my dead self back to the car heaved my body onto the seat and came back much like a dead body riding in a coffin only that my journey has not yet ended.

Rest in Peace Meeto. I was not fortunate enough to know you but I feel as if we never have been strangers. One day I will cry, and I will cry for you then. Till such time I am your guilty, forgive me.

 

blogger templates | Make Money Online