Oh! How he wished....

He was small,always acting more than his age. He wanted to help his mom with everything, he wanted to be like her shadow.
They had a small shop,something more like a wooden canopy. He helped her with setting the temporary walled shop each morning,laying down the pieces of moulded glass,clothes,cleaning them....he was small so couldn't reach the top shelves...
Oh! how he wished he were taller.
It began to rain.He loved the rain,stepping out, letting the drops caress his face,letting them roll into his eyes,spreading his hands wide open...he wanted to play.Suddenly he was reminded of his mom working alone...he went back to the daily job...all he wanted was to help her.
Oh! how he wished he could play.
Working his small hands to get everything in place was how his day passed. He dreamt of no friends, he dreamt of no school...
The bird was so free..it could be on any branch it liked...could fly to any place it wanted. He loved even the sparrow..not its beauty..but its freedom, not that he felt bound by duties.
Oh! how he wished he could fly.
They sold beautiful clothes..he craved for none. It was as if adversities had taught him sainthood. His heart was simple. His aim was clear.
The day ended. The sales were lesser today he thought. Hope it doesn't rain tomorrow. Hope it is a sunny morning.
Oh! how he wished it would rain...
Oh! how he wished he could play...

You are Your Best Friend

I had read this piece of writeup in the newspaper today. Loved it.

After a while you learn the subtle difference,
Between holding a hand and chaining a soul,
And you learn that, love doesn't mean leaning,
And company doesn't mean security,
And you begin to learn that kisses aren't contracts,
And presents aren't promises,
And you begin to accept your defeats,
With your head up and your eyes open,
With the grace of a man,not the of a child,
And you learn to build all your roads,
On today because tomorrow's ground,
Is too uncertain for plans, and futures have,
A way of falling down in mid-flight,
After a while you learn that even sunshine,
Burns if you have too much.
So you plant your own garden and decorate
Your own soul,instead of waiting
For someone to bring you flowers,
And you learn that you really can endure....
That you really are strong
And you really do have worth,
And you learn and learn
With every person you meet or employ,you learn
With evey friend or a lover you learn
With every goodbye you learn.

The Inheritence of Culture

Train journeys can be rather boring when one travels alone.
Train journeys can be rather interesting even when one travels alone.
Two schools of thought..at times both true.
I boarded one a few days back with just my music and novel accompanying me. It was the first time I analysed some people so carefully that it just compelled me to blog about them. I overheard that they had their ascendancy from the glorified..rather over glorified state of Bihar...
How very different become our ways of conducting ourselves at different situations and most of it is credited to,from where we ascend. So did they.
The way they spoke...the way they sat...everything about them was unique in its own different,inexperienced way. Very rustic. It had life about it.
Kids sitting on top of seat backrests...pulling the emergency chains for fun..the train didn't stop. That's another funny side of Indian railways.
A woman amongst them then hurts her feet by getting a cut from the iron protruding the bottle holder..for a change it was holding her feet before it retaliated against misuse. Now came the times of even greater emergency than the one imposed by Prime minister Indira Gandhi. They began washing the wound...little realising they were on a train, turning in into a complete washroom, over flooding the area with bloodstained water.
Such site warrants no further description...ha ha.
The end of the Sari came handy..was torn and wrapped around the finger.
R.I.P wound.
Its funny to realise how one spends an entire journey seeing just a few people..and doesn't get bored.
Now a couple of frame sized photos made their way across to the girls who it seemed were in prospects of marriage..surely had overgrown their age. Discussing each boy as loud as possible..it was amazing as well as embarrassing what all goes into a girls mind. They were actually checking 'em out....wow..haha
I didn't sleep even for a while for the fear of losing my scoop of fun...not everyday do u get to see a few crazy..nice people from a different world.
Wore caps...had their glares on...used every bit of space allotted..these people were surely of a world unexplored.
The murmur kept on..and the final stop arrived..I was free...I was free...I was free..no it was no prison...it was worse.
Such was their nature...nothing bad about it..it was the inheritance of their culture. So amazing. So repelling.

Angel of thought

This is for that imaginary someone who'd always be around...

I saw her in my dreams,
Just wanted to hold her tight,
The radiance flowed,
Her eyes glowed,
It was a beautiful enchanting light,

"Take me with you" ,
was all i wanted to say,
I have been alone,
I have been lonely,
Show me all there is,this beautiful May,
Silent were all words,
Silent were the eyes,
Only her light,outshining the grey,

I have dreamt of you a hundred times,
I have lived with you all this while,
I have walked with you a thousand miles,
Do u still remember the songs?....now none of it rhymes,

Dreams are all I have left of you,
None of the words I say,come out true,
May be my essence is whats lost,
Lost in your thoughts,
Lost in your dreams,
Locked in my heart,as cold as frost,

But I shall dream each day,
I shall walk all those miles again,
I shall sing those songs too,
That's the time when my world's not grey,

Someday you may be back,
And see...am dreaming again,
I want want you in my dreams,
I want to hold you tight,
You'd be with me always,
You'd be that enchanting light.....

Elizabethtown

Today happens to be the day that i have taken my second exam out of the total four before they tag me as an engineer...and no am not a geek and this blog is dedicated to this wonderful movie i saw two days back.

"Elizabethtown".. It was so wonderful that it makes me want to write about it but i will try and keep it short and simple this time.

Starring Orlando bloom and Kirsten dunst the movie revolves around Orlando who has lost interest in life and wants to suicide until this beautiful girl comes along and changes the way he thinks.

He had failed miserably at the shoe company and almost succumbs to the pressure of failure when all she says is " So you failed. Alright you really failed. You failed. You failed. You failed. You failed. You failed. You failed. You failed. You failed. You failed. You failed. You failed. You failed. You think I care about that? I do understand. You wanna be really great? Then have the courage to fail big and stick around. Make them wonder why you're still smiling."

Each time she spoke "failed"..it just seemed that it was nothing...n that's life in its rawest of forms. One thing more that you start wishing for is, a person like this in your own life as well...that someone special who would just come from nowhere and change your altogether in a wonderful sense..and then stick around.

I'd love to mention another line she (Kirsten dunst) Claire says: "Sadness is easier because its surrender. I say make time to dance alone with one hand waving free." I wish i could think that way, truly majestic. For all those who read this please watch the movie. I dont promise of it being out of this world but can surely change the way one takes life..every second of it. The crux of it is love.

Sounds more of a fairy tale...but tales do come true. Atleast in my case i wish it would ..lol

The other side of life

" Those eyes showed no signs of hope. It was as if their very soul had left the body."
These lines are the symbolic of a world which provides its people with only despair and eventually death. A result they already know but can do nothing about. Its the world of heroin, and a major part of it is coming from Afghanistan.

I was in strong opposition to the U.S bombings of Afghanistan,the reasons are obvious, but now somewhere deep inside i feel that the bombings were right to some extent at least it would have destroyed a lot of poppy fields. Poppy is the source from which heroin is made and the process is quite cheap n simple. Astonishingly, Taliban, despite of all its evils had banned growing poppy because its against Islam and after the attack by the U.S. this trade is flourishing.

One cannot categorically say whats bad, the Taliban rule or the poppy growing. I guess the world was and is destined to experience such dilemmas. One killed people by bombing, the other is killing them intravenously.

There was a series on National Geographic channel yesterday named "Inside Afghanistan" that revealed this "other side of life". A whole generation of people seem to be addicted to the drug and worse attacked are the countries with liberal laws on drug use like Norway. The guy being interviewed said,"Once you start snorting,it will eventually lead to intravenous use". 

"It causes pain in my muscles and joints and makes me feel light". Its sad and very little is being done about it. Even writing this blog is taking toll on me coz there's so much i want to express but the words just don't seem to put it across well enough. Only if someone can see those faces, only if one is sensitive enough to realise that pain, can one get the idea of what i really want to express.

Guys and girls of just about 20's n 30's were literally lying on the streets, some under the influence of heroin and some who just did not have the strength in mind and body to get up and take another shot. This is the scene in Norway, but that is not of importance because its spreading all over. Slowly but surely.

The farmer in Afghanistan says he has no choice except growing poppy because nothing else will give them the money to feed his family. A very strange kind of symbiotic process isn't it? Rather not symbiotic but very one sided, you feed your family and in turn destroy several others. Almond packets, Carpets and a lot of different things that are exported are a source to smuggle this drug out of the place and when it reaches its destination, its worth millions.

I would not write about asking people to contribute to the cause. Lets be honest, no one except the sufferer, is bothered. I too am washing my hands off by just scribbling these words since i know there is very little or nothing that i can do. Though the story was haunting and forced me to express my thoughts but that's the farthest it will lead me.

Lingering sense of uneasiness...and i am off to sleep. Hope i can write something really worth, the next time.

A time to kill

This blog is written by Rahul Khanna and it is here because i just like the way he narrates simple things in life. Here's one of  'em.

I’m a firm believer in non-violence but I’m also aware that we all have limits we can be pushed to. I have often wondered… if driven to it, could I kill?

Late last night I found out.

I’d just come home and, as I was undressing, I suddenly felt I was not alone. I was being watched. I slowly turned around, scouring the room and focused on a slight movement in the corner. There he was. Peeping out from his hiding spot under the piano. Coldly staring me straight in the eye. I froze in terror.

It immediately occurred to me how different my life here in New York is from my life in Bombay. There, in a situation like this, all I’d have to do is intercom my staff and they’d march in armed with a selection of brooms, rolled up newspaper and other weaponry. I would point out the intruder and then leave the room while they took care of the assassination. Only once they’d finished the dirty work and cleaned up, would I return.

Here, it was different. I was alone. I had no troops. No army of assassins. If I called up the doorman or super, I’d be the laughing stock of the building. No, I would have to face this trespasser myself. It was a rite of passage I had to go through. I felt like a lion cub about to hunt his first gazelle. The battle lines were drawn. It was man against cockroach.

I told myself I could do it. I was a grown man hundreds of times his size. I lift weights. I’ve shot guns and even done my own stunts in movies, for god’s sake. So then why was I suddenly breathless and why was my heart threatening to pound right out of my chest?

We both stood deathly still, surveying each other. Waiting to see who’d make the first move. I could sense the beast was hoping to cross the room and make it to the safe refuge under the bed. And I knew if he succeeded, chances of finding him in the labyrinth of exercise equipment there were slim. I had to get him before.

Suddenly, he made a dash for it. There was no time to think. I lunged for the closest weapon, a sneaker. He expertly dodged and swerved. I missed the first time but on my second strike I connected. There was a carpet underneath so I realised the impact hadn’t crushed him, but rather trapped him within the grooves of the sole and I knew the minute I so much as moved the shoe, he would dart out and be forever lost. There was only one option. It was time for chemical warfare.

Not caring that I was in just my boxers, I ran out into the hallway and grabbed a can of ant spray that I’d seen discarded in the compactor room. It would have to do. I came back in and began to plan my next move. I stared at the shoe for a couple of minutes. Then circled it a few times, evaluating the best angle to approach the next phase from. Strategy was key and I didn’t want to rush into it. Once decided, I took aim, a deep breath and quickly lifted the shoe as I simultaneously started spraying wildly. The wily bugger was quicker than I anticipated. He zipped out and managed to make it to the bed. But just as he disappeared under it, I nailed him with one well aimed squirt between the wings. Wounded and disoriented he would now be easy to hunt out.

With adrenalin induced Herculean strength, I hurled the bed aside and there he was, cowering besides a dumbbell. Panting and dripping with sweat, we stared at each other knowing these were the climactic seconds of the battle. And then he made one last brave but feeble run for it but he knew it was hopeless. The duel was over. I unleashed so much ant spray that I think he might have died from drowning rather than the poison.

As I looked at him lying belly up in a pool of pesticide, I was overcome with a mixture of accomplishment and guilt (or was I just high from the fumes?). I must have used half a roll of paper towel to lift his remains and carry them at arms length to the trash and the other half to scrub the floor, in true Lady Macbeth fashion, till the stain and smell were gone.

It was finished. I needed a drink.

...From Monks to Monkeys

Man descends from primates and this fact is being denied by a few "good" men who obviously think they are seated above the rest..taking it as a racial slur. By now you know what i am referring to, and its a thing of great discontent among us Indians especially coz no one has been on the receiving side more than us. Branding a mere remark in a package of racism questions not only the integrity of morals but that individual as well.

Have times led us to become so superficial in our thoughts and actions that all we have left of us is class biases and all what defines our being is race. I hope not but unfortunately it can only be said for a handful. We celebrate the World "this" day,world "that" day but actually the word "world" is more disintegrated than ever before be it caste,communism or for that matter a petty issue.It seems to be a part of cricket when it goes on the field but its happening everywhere..most of it goes unnoticed or is turned a blind eye to coz cant be done about much.

I go about contradicting my point of discontent from external allegations of racism just to see the other side of the coin which is that racism has been a part of india since long so much so that the political parties use it as an agenda to gain majority.Not to mention the states, the point wanting to be stated is is of hypocrisy.

Some deep soul searching has to be done to understand where we stand ,to question whether things have led our thoughts go so awry that we have actually become those from whom we evolved even after evolving.
We'd rather not turn from monks to monkeys...

The Art of Failure

Some of us are more dearly loved is what i feel compared to those who slog each and every minute of life just to hang onto its very end.Yet success is biased in its own small self-righteous way making the successful even more successful and the failure even more dug into a miserly existence.These are the biases of life itself,one day you are the master of it all,the very next day no one knows you.

Although the taste of success is sweet,i vouch that failure too comes with a sweeter fragrance,but only for those who would like to smell it...The rest of us are so afraid that we hide away into our shells...never actually seeing the brighter side of it at all.

Failure teaches success and success denies failure,but the complex paradigm is actually a paradox..a truth..which I hardly seemed to recognise at first though now it seems a reality.

Once failure is recognised,success itself shall not be far away coz then one would strive for it..and the one who wont wouldn't mind failure either.Too much success leads to denying the whole basis of its existence....relating to my junior class,a 100 in maths section was a part of the report card,but its value was recognised once the 100 jumbled its numbers to form the beautiful 1.(not exactly that way)

The art of failure makes it worth the slog and those pitfalls are then accepted with much sweeter smell.Its then 'we' feel that yes some of us are dearly loved as for those who are successful...love shall wait its time.