An Inspiring Turmoil.

It started in my dreams. I was being drawn away, far away; far away from my friends, my family. Even from myself. I am still confused if it actually was cold self-realization at work, or a glimpse of things that could possibly happen, together or in parts. They started going from uncomfortable to suspense-filled-awkward, the dreams that is. I felt like leaving them, but always awaited a result, a result that never seemed comprehensible, leading to more invigorating happenings and making me travel to stranger domains. I could have just sat up from my sleep, snapping the string that bound me to the being a responsible observer of the things unfolding in the strange settings. But, I decided to always hang onto that string, or maybe even pull myself forward using it, thrusting myself into the realms of deeper understandings and newer discoveries. Hence, in lieu of waking up early from sleep (that never seemed to be their), I started ‘sleeping’ for a dedicated diurnal ten to twelve hours. And that, at a time crucial enough to hamper my future prospects, my successful standings in the supposedly ‘golden-career defining activities’.

While I was living the sleeps, I started slacking in the awake. I probably was overawed by the emotional sentiment that carried over from my sleep to the awake. It just made me want my dreams happen, and at the same time, made me pry dissolve them in my daily activities. A show-cause motion made me realize that I was seeing my awake with negativity because of the impact of my dreams. I could easily be living a ‘happy’ life had I been uninfluenced by them, or if my dreams had never happened in the first place. But, it was the latter possibility that made me wonder on why they did occur, not as random, disconnected pieces of dreadful facts, but that too as an out-of-the world plot that seemingly unfolded over various sleep sessions, bring me closer to a new me, away from everything  and everyone I loved, desired or cared for. I sometimes started to speculate on my dreams, analyzing as much of them I could remember (hope I can call that reconstruction process as the process of remembering – it did seem pure but then, it may not have been an exact reflection). However, with time, it started to happen. At least some of it did, with an indication of more to come.

A sudden drop in lively feeling I used to put in my work, a loss in focus and dedicated effort, a confounding thought process about the career opportunities I need to explore, a thought that I perhaps lacked a friend I could confine in at a juncture when I believed I could not have had a better set of friends to look up to. All this, and the execution of some of the feared things – dropping self-confidence, questioning my abilities and my decisions, feeling weak and at the hands of fate, a drop in academic performances and a growing confidence in my in-ability to remember things and rely on my memory. I was just not good. Not even good enough to face myself sometimes. I was loosing perspective, and began to question if had been doing justice to my life and its meaning (tagging along the thought of my duty to my family and friends as well). I never cried though.

To a nonchalant or a casual listener, my feelings should come out as undesired (obviously) and unwarranted (more importantly). And then I thought, I should perhaps reflect on everything the same away. If the dreams had me an observer and life’s book had me a reader, why not act casual and placid and relive the dreams, and reread the book of my life? Why should I be as docile, willing to be lead into believing that all this was happening or was supposed to? I liked the thought. I started implementing it. En route, I realized -  is this the time to feel weakened and rue my losses, or the best time in my life when I could prove to a yet another point to myself, be a leader in the truest sense? You never need people or audiences to feel like being in control. It can always come from within, by controlling your own feelings and acts, making them seem apt and as aids in your progress. The optimists may be sometimes wrong in their conjectures, but they indeed are happier and more satisfied with their state of affairs, a perquisite for execution of solutions to some of the gravest challenges one could ever face. The problems I have right now are not grave (if I want to believe that way). After all the reverse thinking done and the new approach adopted, it seems more like a mental block. It seems like games of the mind within. And it needn’t be remarked that the mind is not ever rigid, but rather the most flexible concept which can make you tackle things with pure fantasy or realistic thinking (you choose).

Hence, I perhaps have sowed a seed of confidence while rethinking on everything and putting it all down in writing here. I realize that, if nurtured properly, with dedication and conscious effort, it would rapidly take the shape of an effervescent self-confidence, an aura to surround me, (once again) not requiring me to do the talking to make its presence felt within and without.

God bless all!

shoes are masked-men!

Childhood characters shared immortal wisdom,
A toast to man’s journey of the within,
A ‘new snicker’ discovering the picture puncturing,
An ‘old-torn-wornout boot’ acting pin.

So green is the grass I aspire to walk on;
So soft is the dust that’d dance with my advent;
So jolly is the air that’d help me spring into action.
The world is waiting,
and I await it even more.
Hey old man with a ragged look,
how can you be so bore!

Tiring was the day yesterday
as I treaded upon sharp gravel, and
shot through thorny gardens, and
slipped on submerged rocks.
There was no green grass to walk on;
There was no soft sand to celebrate my presence;
There was no air to spring me into action.

With your experience, hey old man with a ragged look
you should be more positive about life!
Days may test you;
But nights give you time to re-live those special moments, and
learn from the failures endured.
I would rather die an optimist,
than live a regretful life!

Life is not a hot-water bath in that white tub.
Life is not a delicious turkey on the Christmas-eve table.
Life is not a peaceful song of the nightingale.
Life is not the joy of a ‘new born’.
It leaves you lonely.
It makes you struggle.
It makes you bear the repercussions of a warring mind.

You call life not a joy of a new born, and
you rob that very joy off me.
How is life a struggle, may I know.
How has it left you in that ragged look.
Oh old man, please do explain!

I craved for cold dust,
was made to walk on burning streets.
I craved for a breath full of air,
was made to suck in water.
I craved for a bed of roses, a red carpet,
was made to run over smashed tomatoes and broken eggs.
Peace is temporary,
pain and strife permanent.
Learn to live, and you’d go on
to live to learn some more.

Hmm, I tend to see the dark side,
the one you wish to enlighten me with.
But with a loving master,
why to you feel lonely hey old man with a raged look,
please do explain!

I was prized and felt possessed.
I was show-offed at graceful parties.
I attracted attention of old and young, of women and girls.
But as time passed by,
I was shunned to secondary work,
with none to meet and talk to.
I was with the master,
probably more a part of him than ever before,
but never one with him.
He cared less for me,
no longer taking me to those social meets.
He used me for the tough times,
those characterized by loneliness and darkness.

Your words make me shiver oh old man,
you make me feel weak now.
You talk also of a warring mind,
a truth I’d now like to explore.
What did the restless mind do unto you hey old man with a ragged look,
please do explain!

There were times when we danced to cheerful tunes,
when we skipped ropes in the evening breeze,
when my master’s mind was free of worldly affairs,
indulging in the childhood joys.
But as time passed by and ‘he’ saw adulthood,
he feared the world and felt challenged.
His mind became restless,
burdening me with loads of silent walks,
making me listen to his resonant fears,
making me hear his cries for admiration and respect,
making me listen to his knowledgeable verses criticizing the hypocrite world.
He made me shiver,
burdened me ever more,
hit me against walls,
smashed glass under me.
I took pain, relieving him of his anger,
Silently suffering the repercussions of his warring mind.

I am at loss of words, and
fail to understand what need be expressed.
I feel as if thrown at the stones suddenly,
whilst a flight in the clouds above.

Life IS unfair, oh young boy;
you need to be brave.
I wished to enlighten you,
but not rob you of your joy of today! . . .

Silence explored!

What is silence? Is it an implication we get when we hear a pin drop, or is it the sound we hear when we hear no other? Is it a concept or a desired state of mind? Is it a blanket we use when in fright or a tool of aggression and attack? Finally, is it passing of time, stimulating an essential feeling of living ‘the’ moments, or is it the instant when time freezes only to be melted by the breaking of ’silence’?

To say the least, silence is no mono-meaning, universally used and understood phenomena. Just as we observe different understandings of time for each individual, we observe different understandings of silence for different beings. Moreover, it is more like the feeling of ‘love’, which, yet different for each one who experiences it, is know of as a standard concept.

Silence may not be related to speech altogether. We may observe silence in the rainbow, the winter morning dew, the passive lake, the still cloud cover, the cover of fresh snow on green grass etc. So, not only does lack of noise stimulate the realization of silence but also do the graphical purity of natural things that appeal to our sense of vision, sense of smell, sense of taste and sense of touch.

However, if silence is such a deep concept that it can be observed at such different levels of senses, it must have an inherent relationship with our inner self as well. So, we may as well conclude that when we observe clarity of thought, focused working habits, stress less social life and live some spiritually nourishing experiences, we observe a state of silence.

It is not that we are silent; rather we observe a state of silence.

PS – This piece of writing is inspired by Arpit’s blog – http://evanescentdreams.wordpress.com/2009/11/05/the-silence/

Dreams…

The rabbit defeats the tortoise
as the sheep jump over the fence.
My soul is lost
though captured by me,
by my mind.

The reel extends;
the characters populate;
the plot thickens
and then goes missing suddenly.
A new concept is conceived thence.

Dark truths come alive;
I struggled for them during the day.
I shiver with their play at night.
Give me light for
I may seek
what I should  seek.

I live two lives,
twelve hours per day each.
The more I live the sleep;
the more I die during the awake.
The more fire there is in sleep;
the more smoke clouds my awake.

Life gets convoluted by its existence;
works its way through the dreams;
to the visions of the ulterior;
to the death of a conceptualized being;
only to unfold, hopefully, in the afterlife.

She.

Alongside her bicycle she walked
scurrying from shop to shop
doing the chore, as had been done
many times over already
with practiced and perfected movements.

Her dress, long and thin
blue flowers on a white background
a brightness so crisp
a sweet scent aura
pajamas azure

She hopped
from the stationery shop
to the fruit shop,
to the meat shop -
the last one of the jaunt.

She smiled red lipped
when she bought notebooks;
she drank the fruits
with her deep brown eyes;
she stared impassioned at the butched chicken
and the one to be butchered soon.

Satisfied, she sailed away
with long black hair following in wake.
The blue disappeared, slowly,
the motion blurred, slowly,
the aura weakened, slowly.

Closing speech @ IES’09 (unedited Version)

Felt like a dad

A flash of light into a dark, opaque and unknown territory is what IES was intended to be. What is expected in return is that this flash of light, perhaps, gave you enough confidence and motivation to take out your personal flash lights and venture out into the darkness.

But once on your way, you should understand that this darkness doesnot protray lesser prospects, but, the hard work required for getting to the fantasy land.

The idea of a business venture is never good or bad, it is required to just start off on a journey. And, it it the journey that matters, not the end it leads to. You never stop learning and you never relax as each road block gives you new problems to work on and each experience opens new realms of knowledge and vision that go on to define the mindset that gets you to your goals.

We donot expect you to start off opening companies right from tomorrow. But, at least, a building up of a healthy entrepreneurial ecosystem is what is the order of the day. We now look forward to more healthy discussions on mess tables, over canteen coffees and at late night walk!

With this I would like to thank the institute’s administration, the esteemed panelists – Mr. R. Sriram, Mr. David Wittenberg, Mr. Kunwer Sachdev, Ms. Rashmi Bansal, Mr. Vineet Rai, Mr. Raghu Khanna, Dr. Noel J. Desouza, Mr. Ramanan Subramani, Dr. P. S. Robi, and lastly, but most importantly Mr. Manak Singh – without whose help the quality on the panel would not have been  possible. Moreover, as they say, cutomer satisfaction is the key, and so, I would like to thank the wonderful audience for being such appreciative customers!!

Cheers!!

Transcending emotions; revealing connections.

A human being, that on being scanned by the society-and-culture-influenced-eyes would be classified as a destitute, a beggar, came up to me. A hand outstretched, effortlessly. The years of begging had made the shoulder and elbow bones to shift and solidify in a fashion that made the outstretched hand a natural pose of the frail and malnutritioned body.  The clothes (or whatever of them were left), worn for the sake of not attracting extensive attention, covered the genitals, basically.  The color of the attire was peculiarly earthy, as if implying an ulterior connection. The pale brown eyes had a sadness that made a person delve into an imaginative journey to uncover the reasons for the desolation and pain that was radiated by the dulled beads.  The hair were part bristled and part gave an impression of vaporizing substances that were frozen in the rise.  The disheveled look was not betrayed by the seemingly affected voice that croaked and cajoled,  that would arouse sympathy-to-apathy-to-antipathy feelings.

The scene setting slowly dissolved, making my consciousness shift to a plane where an indifferent observer was all I remained, a well equipped pen, sketching out a radiant colorful image, aimlessly, senselessly, as if on a leash.

It seemed too alive to ignore. A song of the earth, begging for a favor that would perhaps disturb insignificant ripples into life. Ripples that would not be converted to fortune changing tides, of happiness, of wealth.

Finally, the song grew softer, more placid, a far away lullaby. It dissolved into the emerging, reappearing background scene. It now seemed like a stubbed out cigarette bud, contributing a little less smoke to the surroundings each time. The beggar had turned away, hopeless, forlorn. I had failed its spirits.

I then experienced the moment of sudden realization. The earth sang, as a beggar to me now. Her outstretched hand trying to befriend the same humanity that had betrayed her. Her withered clothes covering the minimum she could keep safe for the same humanity to tap and consume, to exploit and devour. But the humanity in me looked into her pale eyes, and started imagining the reasons for its desolation and painful suffering, only to end up cursing the ones identified to be responsible for the fate. Her hair were part trees living and part trees burning. Her voice was indifferent to The End, but still, subtly indicating the spelling doom. All this aroused a feeling of antipathy-to-apathy-to-sympathy as I wanted to help, to put an end to all her sufferings, before she would also turn away, hopelessly. I still had a choice and she still stood a chance, and hence, so did I.

THE day. Well, well…

The day was an exotic purple and a yellow at the same time. An irritating feeling of  almost-wanting-to-urinate overwhelmed me, veiling my now-sub-conscious attempts of snapping into a studious mood, of pretending to appreciate the dance the wary chemical equations continued with an unceasing effort of grinding into my brain, by trying, in vain, to get drunk through my plastic eyes.

My mind was a kaleidoscope of mismatched audio and visual instructions, while scavenging for back-up matter, and perhaps some last, parting thoughts. My emotions saw themselves playing out a melodrama with simultaneously executed possible endings to the uncertain happening that I was to execute. All this, mixed with the hum of a sweet romantically-sarcastic music, muted to the level of being over-looked in the chaotic state I was in, gave birth to arguing people inside me, making me wanting to go more and more with my pre-plan, and, making me let time slip by like a solitary soldier bound by duty.

As the moment approached, so did her yellow coloured, mini school bus! I was placed on a cane chair in the front veranda of the first floor of my family house.  She lived in a renovated flat in the opposite building. As the bus motioned along after the stop in front of my house, my legs triggered my fantastic plan into execution, first making me jump out of the chair and complete one nervous perimetrical brisk walk of the veranda area, then making me shift my sweaty right hand out of my blue-denim jean’s pocket into a mild, attention-seeking, flourish, while the left hand lay comfortingly in the left pocket of the jean. I called out her name, as she was about to take the front stairs (the only path up to the second floor she lived on), and motioned with my hand that I would be making a call right away. My lips, simultaneously, blew out a combination of air and spit-spray that seemingly transformed the same message into loudly-enough-said Hindi words. I turned away, assured she had got the message, only to find out later that she wasn’t sure of what I wanted to convey.

Now you would say that, if I had to call her anyways, what was the point in letting the whole residing population of the street know of the fact? Well, this was the first time I was to speak to her, and was unsure if my good-name had ever reached her ears. I wanted to make sure that I would not be mistaken for someone else (something I now wish, I should have let happen).

I came in, used the cordless landline telephone to dial the recently obtained phone number. I knew that she would be alone right now. I made sure my mother would not overhear my conversation, by seeing her intensely absorbed in making the day’s lunch for the two of us and my brother who was yet to return from his school. I did not move out in the open and remained in the drawing room, moving about in fast-circles, thus refraining from any form of distant-physical-confrontation. The phones engaged, and the bell rang a full three rings.

Suddenly, a sweet angelic voice broke into the monotonous buzz, make me feel lighter and satiated. After a lag, I hurried into my first words and soon choked out a disaster. My words followed a shallow answering ‘hi’ to her sweet ‘hello’, a small introduction of who I was which was in turn followed by an even shorter sentence acknowledging recognition interrupted by ‘the’ sweet half giggle-half laugh. Ya, and then it followed, the disaster that is . . .

Things, thereafter, just happened as a relay of the highlights of a prerecorded ODI match, that would have featured some record breaking scores, superb strike-rates, and sudden collapse of the tailenders. It all happened, with the imminent result always known, and with only the path to the result to be unveiled in a process encomapssing multitude-and-fantastic-experiences dipped in a washing-machine-mixed syrup of myriad emotions triggered into action by not-previously-known-to-exist harmones and executed in a accelerated pace that would have allowed light to attain a higher speed in its frame of action.

Eventually, after about an hour, with bitter taste of sweat and tears, and a feeling of shame carried by a much-hyped-about-but-eventually-failed-invention I sat there, eating lunch, meant for three, but being consumed by four. God sent my father home that day for lunch!

PS – some extremely personal (and potentially harmful) matter has not presented, but remains in the knowledge of a few selected friends and ofcourse, my family members.
Cheers!!

God’s message to the Vices. (idea inspired by a piece of ‘katha’ I heard once)

The characters -  lust, anger, hatred, materialistic-love, arrogance, and GOD.

The story of man
will be written in emotions
and interplaying attitudes
whilst the fight for existence
would swell to transcend existence itself.

I choose you
to be my faithful servants
for you will sow the seed
that would fruit temptations
and you will then
help man mature
and use you as
weapons against it.

My dear lust,
you would take man
into a world so contrite
that love would befall
at your commands
and make man feel complete,
as the craving for my love,
would be satiated by its mate.
Then you would go on
to define my presence
in the vision of truth
the mates would share.
Your play is emotion.

My dear anger,
mark my words
as your act
would mold the attitude
that man would uphold.
If you couple with the weakness of mind
you would unveil devastation
But if you decide to couple with the strength of soul
you would birth the true warrior;
and then peace would reign
as man would strive,
to prove his worth
by means untold
and when determination and passion
would unite as one.

My dear hatred,
you shall be the mirror
for the repulsion would happen
between the likes.
Man would,
through your working,
identify his flaws
and work on them
as per your calls.
Peace would certainly reign
as man would understand humanity itself.

My dear materialistic-love,
you would bind man
only to enable him
see the boundary
and hence the beyond.
You would be the ladder,
that man would have to climb-down,
to relieve himself of the burdens
that bequeath restlessness
to the wandering soul.

Finally, my dear arrogance,
I allow you to differentiate
the good from the pure,
the bad from the mighty,
the intelligent from the wise.
You shall define
the order of hierarchies
so that man would understand
the pattern alike
this universe is set to.

I let you, my sons,
be called the vices
so that man would fear you,
dislike you,
be captivated by you,
only to remember you.

You shall take the man
to the ultimate good.
And purity would be born
the day man would adopt you
with the same understanding
with which I today create you.

Your heavenly Father …

A day in the life of ‘BIG JOE’ (as you may see – just trying to pop in some silly rhymes)

COP:
What are you in for,
what did you do?
I wanna know exactly,
else I won’t even let you poo.

CONVICT:
I woke up this morning
and brisked towards the rest room
The glutton bastard I’ve become
I stuck in the door-frame with a boom.

This got my parents running
and they called up for help
and as I was being carved out
I crumbled with a big yelp.

The strain I could not bear
I had been standing too long
I got cramps in my legs
and landed on the floor with a thud so strong.

It was all happening
when they called in the stretcher
they weren’t able to lift me
It was one big clumsy picture.

They called in the crane
and had me lifted
I was put onto a trailer truck
as no other vehicle would have shifted.

When they had to weigh me
they took me to the motor-service-station
They said, ‘this is where the cars are weighed’
as they joked on with elation.

I also had a check-up done
and came out clear as a crystal
dumbfounded were the doctors
as they’d never seen a case so distal.

In panic they said
I need to be quarantined
and prison was the place
for me they could find.

So, it would do you best
if you would leave me alone,
I would anyways poo in my pants
even if the way to the toilet I was shown.