The impulse

Such is the name because such is the emotion,

Such is the being because such is the resolution,

Such is the pick because such are the options,

Such is the deed because such is the intention,

Such is the spirit because such is the drill,

Such is the woman because such is the will…

The 70s!

Purple haze all in my brain
Lately things don't seem the same
Actin' funny, but I don't know why
'Scuse me while I kiss the sky

-Purple Haze (Jimi Hendrix)

I dreamt about watching Hendrix play live again. It’s the second time this week.

And now, I can’t help spending my day whining about how it’s unfair that I’m born too late to watch him play and curse the people who did get to watch him at the prices they got this chance for. Ride the rickety buses they did. Sport the funky hairstyles or the lack of them, just like they did. . Live in a place where underwear is voluntary and protest rallies looked like a kissing conventions. I’d rather have a beautiful flower behind my ear rather than a bluetooth headset that makes me look all fancy while I converse loud to myself on my way to college. I’d rather go and watch a band which sucks and goes crazy on stage and pass out with exhaustion rather than live in a world where every kid on the block buys himself a guitar coz its cool and then watch the sad event of it being a complimentary item in the following year’s garage sale. A world where typecasts were identified by the quantity of pot they smoked or the kind of band they played in.

Honestly, being born in the wrong decade can make you really ungrateful towards the world around you. Not that I don’t love this world! I really do. I am happy. But I rather wish that I was writing this post in a journal rather than on a page that isn’t made of paper.

Coz…you know! Seriously.

The Absence of God

Under the gloomy sky and through the turbid air reeking of cigarette smoke, screeching cats roam about the lanes of the city that never sleeps, contaminated with the people who never wake up. And one such night, there is no God. The icy, bizarre, unyielding downward trajectory of deafening silences makes everything look even more sinister than they are. Beggars sleep where people walk, drains overflow with rodents, all hell-bound just like everyone else there. Men aren’t chivalrous anymore. Yet they have names like Patrick, Jeremiah. But there is no God here. There is nothing here.

“Survival, as said by someone, is completely random. The only rhythm that exists is what we might see if we stare too long, or what we really want to see. Pointlessness makes us feel handicapped, and drives that urge to put patterns into randomness. It’s the only way out, the easiest way to feel complete, to say that something is ours (even if it’s in your mind). Our own solution to triumph in life.

We give temporary meaning to things that we don’t understand. But that’s only because we are in the process of attaining the meanings ourselves.

The prevalent faith in vague meta-physical forces re-establishes this. To extract an idea so specific, from the chaos of impossibility, its like transforming dust to diamonds. A wonderful miracle. Touching, empowering, frightening, yet redundant. It isn’t God who makes us fight wars. It isn’t God who kills people. Not God who causes desolation and loath. And it’s not luck that leads to innocent people getting killed mercilessly. Not destiny that makes them dog-food. Not fate that poisons these lanes.

Its just us. Going through life, filling the spaces in our understanding and blaming all that we have no control over. All those reasons for our misery for which we have no answer to.

And the void, strikes my heart, destroying my illusions, killing my imagination, leaving that space empty. Like a clean slate, to utilize at my will. And I decide not to fill it with anything. I choose something different. And my reasons for doing this?? Nothing. And that is exactly my point."

Saying all this, the man asks me “Does that finally answer your question..?”

I don’t give any reply.

He turns away trying to recollect the number of steps he took to reach the end of the lane.

I sigh. It’s going to rain again tonight.

The blind man however, doesn’t know this yet.

Forever, love

Shining candles, melting pools of wax, the white in your eyes, love.

Ceramic fingertips, full of life,

Smoky black eyelashed love,

Twilight tresses, sunshine lips,

Unsaid desires, waking dreams at dawn, love.

Satin sheets and flowery curtains.

Fading footsteps, breaking into a dance, love,

The melody written to the click of your feet.

Four rings, the crash of bad news, love.

Laughter which used to run through telephone wires, now hang dry.

Six feet under, frozen, gleaming love.

Heart-breaking tranquility, bone-crushing hurt.

Mahogany coffin, asphyxiating love,

The numbness to the world, a blurry vision,

Gloomy cemetery, melancholy farewell, love.

Gone, but always remembered.

Never forgotten, now and forever, love.

Choices...

Its just another choice. Tandoori or Barbeque Paneer? Pepsi or Sprite? Red or Purple? Life or death.

Discontent is easy to deal with. Just like I read somewhere, “It is so easy to live, complacent of it all.” So true. I’ve gone through so many paradigms of the remorseless human spirit, and I question why? As far as I’ve heard, there is no special club for fighters and strugglers up there in heaven. So why do we take all the trouble..?

I’m not trying to be stylishly cynical. I’m not questioning for just the eyeballs. This really makes me think. We’re born. We eat. We breathe. We make people’s lives shit. We make our parents lives shit for our friends. We make our friends lives shit for our lovers. We make our lovers lives shit for other lovers. And then we make our own lives shit. Guess it’s a pretty simple life.

Monotonous, some may say. Quite boring. Too standard. We want to be stand out. We want to be unique. But what happens when everyone wants to do so? Be different in different ways. And so we all end up being the same. Hardship shows man at his strongest. Bullshit. Basic intuition says take the easy way out. So what makes us take the moral high ground?

Do we really know why we do the things we do? Shooting down innocents in a cold blooded manner….what is the motive behind this douchbag?? Dying accidently on purpose…Sad.. The games we play to cheat death. That sudden rush of adrenaline we get when we realize that we narrowly escaped our non-existence. We can take life so lightly.

Well, suicide is a different matter altogether. Some call it cowardice. True. But what about someone who has actually no reason to live. He is hated by his family. He is broke. People are looking for him because he owes them money. His wife left him. His house got seized by the bank. And now his life is completely screwed. Where does he stand now? Life? Death? Somewhere in between? Whats right here? Whats easy?

Think about it…

Back to the start....

The intense, warm fire dances on,

Like an orphan in ocher to her heart’s song,

The cadence carved in her heart,

She stares at him through the breach in the door,

She lets a few stolen glances pass as their silence hits the floor,

And then she goes back to the start…

To when they both were little, and their hearts were still untainted,

To when the most depressed moments, each other’s love was the cure,

To the petite games they loved to play,

To the silly things they liked to do and say,

How joy always found its way,

In to their hearts each and every day,

Summer, winter, spring and fall,

How allure painted it all,

In colours complacent of anything sad,

How that escape in the seemingly perfect world, made them so very glad,

The tiniest gesture meant everything,

And so many songs they loved to sing,

The lyrics to which they didn’t know,

How they just couldn’t wait to grow,

How they lay in the grass and wished upon a star,

How they stole beer cans from the nearby bar,

How they were so frightened to touch,

How the smallest things meant so much.

As she stands there today, she wants to ask, “Dear, do you still miss me now?”

She wants to ask, but she doesn’t know how,

She wants to tell him that their love isn’t gone,

She misses the brilliance, with which her innocence shone,

She wants to tell him that she loves him still,

She always had and she always will,

She wants him to just give her one smile and mean it,

She doesn’t want any more pretence, coz she has already seen it,

She wants to hold him in her arms so very tight,

Through the day and throughout the night,

She wishes he saw the fire in her eyes,

She wishes in her words, he sensed the lies,

For she misses the past and how things were,

How nothing else mattered except love, to him and her,

But now the walls of time and taking each other for granted are slowly closing in,

And this battle of head versus heart, she alone, cannot win,

If only for a while, she wants her childhood to return,

Just for its uncomplicated, beautiful, adolescence to burn,

Take out all the ugly parts….

……and go back to the start…

I really should be studying.

(I know I should be studying hard now. But your brain comes up with posts when you least expect it. And life, well, its kinda getting on my nerves…and I guess its somewhat the tone of my post too…I want a VACATION. NOW! Coz I’m not even getting time to marshal my thoughts..)

So more randoms from my side. Deal?

Here we go.

It seems like a radiant light is washing over me as I step into that surreal place flanked by here and beyond. I vigilantly step over that threshold. It’s beckoning me. It seduces me with its luminescence and creates a delusion of purity. It makes me speculate my beliefs. Every time I feel that I’m special. I think I’m beyond what I think my purpose is. To reach the light. But we all know that the light is a big sham. Everything lies. The light. The night. The world. That’s what we cling on to. Lies. We clutch on to it desperately even though it blatantly mocks at us. It never ends, does it?

Lies. They are like the soothing balms for the rotting wounds in our souls. The gaping wounds created by us when we lied to ourselves bout how great we are. Guess we are no special snowflake. Although we do wish we were. Then again, if everyone is special, who actually is? There you see, my friend. We are all a part of that dog pile.

So once again, all those beliefs that we have of ourselves, all those notions of brilliance we have, are they really what we think they’re worth? Do they really matter? They don’t. I don’t matter. You don’t matter. Nothing matters.

We are born. We live this life. It starts to get on our nerves. We wish we die. Then we do die. Then…NEXT!

So what do you think your life is? Green? Blue? Pink?

No sir. Sorry to dishearten you. Guess you’re just a side-effect of a dreadful acid-trip. Enjoy while your life lasts. And remember to ask for a refund when you go up there!


(P.S---- Sorry guys...I know I haven't been quite regular off late. And I'm sorry I haven't been visiting your blogs either....Lots of catching up to do...I'll try to be more regular once I'm done with my exams...
Keep Blogging!!)


(P.P.S--->  On a happier note!! I finally got 100 followers!!! And my sweetheart doing the honor of being my 100th! Thank you so much everyone! )

Jack and Jill

This is a tale about the life of Jill.

Well, you can’t call it a story, to be precise. Then again, Jill’s life wasn’t much of a life, to be honest.

Once upon a time, Jill met Jack. They weren’t brother and sister as the silly old nursery rhyme made us believe when we were kids. They were stupid, immature teenagers. And once again, they were NOT brother and sister. But that’s ok, coz Santa Claus, Big Foot and the Tooth Fairy still exist.

Jill was a valedictorian of the class of ’86 and Jack, well, he was a high school drop-out. With his unfair means he eventually became really very rich. They got married in due course. They had a wonderful mansion. It was decorated with beautiful lacy curtains, carpeted hardwood floors, a well maintained lawn, and they even had a washing machine! Soon, Jill gave birth to twin girls. It was a happy moment. But a short lived one. Jack ran off with the nurse who helped her deliver the twins.

But Jill, she was one strong willed person. She promised herself never to let her daughters miss having a father in their lives. She worked very hard. She took Josie to her gymnastics practice and Michelle to her ballet recitals. She was still very beautiful. She still could fit into her 28' pants from four years ago. She was in perfect shape. She went to church every Sunday. She knew God loved her.

One day, she was killed in a road accident. It was the driver’s mistake. He wasn’t drunk. But such accidents happen. Life is strange. Just like that.

It rained very heavily at her funeral. But she wasn’t affected. She was peaceful and dry in her Hardwood Mahogany coffin.

Jack never attended the funeral. He never came. But, the father of her twin girls did. He even brought her gorgeous flowers.

I guess, even posthumously, closure is closure.

The morals of her story are half chanced. So are everyone else’s.

Untitled

I don't know how to tell you what I'm going through right now...
Its said, the world revolves around money, my world revolves around you,
My life was in utter turmoil and you came and bandaged the broken and frayed person that I was,
You gave me my smile back....you gave me a reason to want to live again...
You are the reason I look forward to tomorrow...
You are the reason I left my sadness behind..
Whenever I hear your name, I cannot help smiling...
Nothing can replace that in my heart...
You are the reason why I write....
Now the sands of time seem to run out fast....and I really wish I could just freeze this moment..
I stay up late at night...hoping my day becomes longer in the process...
Its a futile attempt...
The sky is getting darker, but my thoughts are clear,
Being away from you, my love, is something I'll always fear,
But never did I expect, the truth was so near,
My promises are forever true, and are straight from my heart,
I yearn for a true tomorrow, where we are never apart....

Shoes..

I went back last night…

To the place you promised that I’ll always find you,

You said I could come there and be with you when I’m cold, confused and lonely.

I was none of that.

I just missed you.

And I had to return your pair of shoes. You had given it to me last summer.

I love the shoes, you know.

Comfortable.

I like how the laces are always curly.

I loved the neon shoe-strings.

I loved the marks of cigarette stubs under the sole.

I love the shoes.

But they are yours, right?

I really don’t know how I end up loving something that’s never mine.

More notably, what is yours.

But, if this isn’t yours, then I really don’t want it.

I guess that’s why I don’t know what to do with myself. Coz I’m not yours either.

I walked up the path that led to our castle you had built, with rotten wood,

But you weren’t there.

Not that I knocked to check. I just knew.

I carefully kept your shoes on the floor.

I didn’t place them on the rocking chair outside.

I was afraid that the chair will rock and the shoes will go to sleep.

And if they do, they’d dream.

And if they’d dream, they’d dream about us.

But those nice shoes…actually great shoes, would get hurt if they dream about something that can never happen.

I know how it feels when a dream shatters.

I’ve walked that lane before.

In your shoes.

But today, I’ll walk in mine.

So that I can finally realize what it feels to be myself.

So that I can finally grasp that it’s finally over.

So that I can move on.

Move on, in my own shoes.

They aren't very comfortable.

The laces don’t curl.

The shoe strings aren’t neon.

And they don’t have cigarette stubs under their sole.

I’ll learn to love them eventually.

And then one fine day, when the rotten wood perishes, and the rocking chair breaks due to the added burden of the lies you tell yourself,

When your door falls off its hinges in the anticipation of a knock,

When your shoes aren’t comfortable anymore,

You’ll finally learn to love them, to want them.

Till then, I say goodbye.

At least try to keep your shoes clean,

So what if your heart isn’t?

Nostalgia...

I’ve got nostalgic pavements,

I’ve got familiar faces,

I’ve got my mixed-up memories,

I’ve got my favorite places….

Time doesn’t mature us. Our memories do.

::Memories::

I guess that’s why we cling on to them so securely coz they last forever (Well, if you’re lucky, that is)..

They are like a mirage; So self-satisfied with its own beauty, they make you question its very essence.

Close your eyes. Think of your most beautiful memory. Drown in the nostalgia that envelopes you.

Smile at the plethora of sensations you feel now.

It may be the touch of raindrops against your palms,

Or you playing hide and seek with your imaginary friend,

Loads of laughs and giggles….and then a sudden silence…

A rather comforting silence. Coz you know the silence is going to be followed by a fresh round of giggles..

Don’t open your eyes. Let it all sink in. Transport yourself into your memories.

::Feel::

Don’t let nervousness or even advice take away the originality in you, your individuality.

You are your first responsibility.

:: Fulfill::

Pain is beautiful, if you let it contact your core.
For a body doesn’t feel pain, it only feels change, and interprets its aversion of the new into melancholy, if only physical.
Make love to your pain, but don't flounder.
Grow above your pain, but don't disregard it.
Dance to rhythm of your heartbeat, for you'll yearn for it when it's about to run out.
::Live::

There is just one truth, is the only truth.
Accept the certain fragments of it that you shy away from, for they reside a little away from your comfort zone.
Prices will soar.
Gadgets will malfunction.
Your heart will, at some point, (though I hope I'm wrong) break.
The neighbor’s lawn will be more maintained.
Your car will break down on a rainy day.

You will grow old,
And when you do,
All you will have to smile back at,
Even if that means revealing those fake teeth, intensifying those wrinkles and letting your nostalgia hold you tight till you breathe your last,
Are, your memories.
A reality, that was.
A reality, and just that.
A reality, even if it survives only in your dreams.
A reality, so self-satisfied with its own beauty, it makes you question its very essence.