Sound of Silence

Bombay Symphony.

2011-11-27T22:57:00.001+05:30

It was raining; it was alwaysraining in this city. She had to go out to complete her assignment and meet thedeadlines, but how was she supposed to take photographs in such a rain, with solittle light. She had wondered initially that why do people come to Mumbai, itsugly and dirty, it is expensive, it is full of slums, and has narrow lanes,there is not enough space for anybody, and it is always raining, but within aweek’s time she had known she could call no other place home. Surely something was attracting millions here,to this city. She noticed that everyone here was running away from loneliness;she saw it on trains, on the street, in the pubs and bars which were spreadeverywhere to assuage this feeling.

She found out that without thedistraction of beauty, people find respite in each other. Yet the sparksbetween the two could never qualify as companionship. In Mumbai, people do notoffer too much talk or touch, rather they look each other in eyes, likesoldiers, wounded and brave and crazy. And lucky to be alive, if not happy.

It had stopped raining, sherushed out of her tiny flat, and began walking, she had to reach Bandra andtake photographs to complete her assignment for the magazine she worked – ‘Lifeline’, and then she saw him, the oldbeggar, it was third week of March and celebrations of Holi were long past. Hewas walking, yet he was lost, he looked defeated, as if the life itself hadsucked out the essence of life from somebody, but it was not this that caughther attention, his white hair were still light pink from the colours of holi.Colours which were now too old for everybody else but still lingered throughhim, which washed from the fresh rain was dripping a drop at a time on hisdirty white make-shift vest. She took out her camera, with a firm hold, readyto shoot. As much she liked all her photographs in black and white, this onehad to fulfil its objective in colour, and she trapped him for her collection,forever. Labelled – Leftover from Holi.

It was Mid-April, she reached theVersova beach looking for her potential subjects, she looked at the guy sellingbhel-puri in paper plates made of Marathi Newspaper, she looked around, andthen her eyes rested on him, sitting there on the sand, his face towards thesun, yet his eyes closed, as if he was trying to remember something, she keptlooking at him, he was wearing a cheque blue shirt, a jeans and had a lean yetstrong body, she looked at his narrow waist and his black hair, she was drawnto sincere youth in his body, yet he looked too elegantly mature. He opened hiseyes and turned and looked towards her as if some greater power told him abouther, their eyes connected for a moment and he got up and started walkingtowards her, when he reached next to her, he said to her “Are you here to shoot somebody “, she was taken aback, he pointedtowards the camera hanging from her neck and said- “Normal people don’t roam around with camera that bulky” and shesmiled. He started walking signalling her to follow him, and she startedfollowing him, he pointed towards a couple sitting there, they must be in theirlate fifties or early sixties, man was wearing a white shirt and brown loosepants held tight by a worn out leather belt, his hair were completely grey, hewas wearing glasses with big black frame, the couple reeked of middle class,she looked at them and imagined their life, theirchildren must be in some other city or somewhere else, having left theirparents alone, soon the couple will go back to their home in a dirty chawl andthe woman will cook something for both of them, she was wearing a bluesari, her hair were dyed black with grey roots coming out, she was smoking a bidi , and smoke was coming out from hermouth. They were not talking to each other, just sitting together, looking intosomething distant, unknown, and just knowing they had a shattered yet fulfilledlife.

She at once steadied her camerato take the shot, and as she looked through the view-finder, she saw the womanpassing the bidi to her husband, andshe at once released the shutter. The same photo-graph would be published innear future as – Aged Solace.

She turned back and looked at himlooking at her, she came back to him and said “Thanks”, it was his turn to smile,

“Are you going to publish it? Do you work for some newspaper ormagazine?”

“Yes, I work for Lifeline and No, this photograph is for my owncollection, I am just taking random photographs to document Moods of Mumbai, Ihave no plans to publish them” she replied.

“Moods of Mumbai” He repeated, and then stood silent for long time,and then he turned and started walking, he didn’t look back.

“I want you to photograph me” were his first words when he calledher around a month later; she was shocked and surprised. Curious when hereached home after that day at the beach, he lied awake thinking about her.Next day, he went out and bought the latest edition of Lifeline , he browsedthrough the magazine carefully to look at all the photographs, trying to guesswhich one are hers, there was only one female photographer credited in thatedition. Each time he saw photo credited to her he saw what he had suspected onmeeting her: her incendiary talent, so huge and rambunctious, in coming month,he bought all the previous editions of the magazine trying to find photographsshot by her.

“I want you to photograph me” he said.

“What?”

“I remember you telling me, you are documenting Moods of Mumbai, let me help you.” she rememberedtelling this to only one person till now, could it be him, it has to be.

Two days later, she boarded thelocal train to Bandra She got up and went to stand at the gate of women’s firstclass coach, and she saw that little boy, sitting in a corner in the train nearthe gate, he was scared and vulnerable, there was sadness in his eyes. Did heeven know where is he going? She noticed all the women giving him a dirty look.He was sitting with his knees next to his chest and holding his knees from hisarms, taking as little space as possible, his fear and sadness looked so realand pure, it felt they are bleeding out of him like monsoon of august sky. Shewondered why nobody else could see that. She took out her camera, focused it onhim and took the photograph and mentally named it – The ticketless traveller.

He was waiting for her out of thestation, his hair longer than the last time she had seen him, he smiled when hesaw her and she smiled back, she looked at the carefree way he was walking, helit a cigarette.

“I told you, I can’t shoot you”she said,

He smiled and said “Yes I know, Ineed to be either news or moods ofmumbai”.

“Where are we going?” she asked,and he just smiled back.

While walking through the maze ofcriss-crossed narrow lanes, she stopped at once, in front of her, on one of thewalls; there was a hand-drawn poster of an old classic, Roti Kapda aur Makan. Poster was showing poorly drawn faces ofAmitabh Bacchan, Manoj Kumar Jeenat Aman, Shashi Kapoor and Mausami Chatterjee.On the top of the poster, in hindi, it was written in white Roti, Kapda aurMakan, but somebody had crossed aur with coal leaving black smudge marks andhad added aur paisa in the end, making the name Roti, Kapda Makan aur Paisa.She kept looking at the poster for few minutes and then looked through herview-finder to take the photograph of the poster, heroes of an old classic nowfighting for the things required to survive in this world Roti Kapda Makan aur Paisa.

After walking some more, hefinally pointed towards a chapel outside Carter Road, without saying a word, hebought a dozen candles from an adolescent vendor in a coca-cola emblazoned tee-shirt.He passed six of candles to her, and started walking to light the candlesinside the church. She had never been to a church before, she didn’t know whatto expect except for what she had seen in movies. When she entered the church,she saw a person, sitting in a wheel-chair, moving the wheels of the chair withhis hands, he reached next to the statue of Mother Mary, and he took threecandles out of his lap, and gently placed each one of them in a metal tray. Hethen lit the white tapers using a match stick. Candles burned bravely in therapid wind, melting into sooty, gnarled heaps on the metal tray. He then closedhis eyes and started praying. She wondered what he must be praying for. Shetook out her camera again, and took his photograph; to remind herself in thefuture at least, if not to god: his candles, his closed eyes, and hisprayer. 3 Candles, one matchbox and some Faith

-----------x-----------

“I want you to take my photograph” He said again.

It was 2^nd week ofJuly, they were meeting for the fifth time now. They were sitting on the marinedrive since last half an hour, she looked at him and smiled and shook her headand turned and started looking at the sea again, at the distant sun and shelistened to the noise of waves crashing against the tetra-pods. Understandingit is better to be silent, he didn’t say anything further.

After some time they got up andhe took her to the Leopold café, she ordered a rum and coke and grilled vegrisotto. Even for a Thursday, the caféwas full of people and their vibrant energy. She looked at him and felt aridiculous attraction for him, they passed the night flirting lightly and afterfew hours in that loud environment, they came out of the café.

He drove her back, and invitedher to his flat in Colaba. His flat was in a quiet neighbourhood, on 22^ndfloor. She stood waiting in the side while he unlocked the front door, she tookthe keys from his hand to look at the key-ring, a stick figure sitting alone,she looked in his eyes then, it was unquestioned that they will part yet,unquestioned, though they hadn’t met for more than 4 or 5 times, but they knewsomething precious had been stumbled upon, a new born connection that could notbe left unattended. The apartment was nothing like her tiny flat; it was a biglush apartment, overlooking the sea outside from French windows. They startedkissing in the balcony, he kissed her roughly and aggressively, it was nothinglike school-boy kisses she had had before. He started un-buttoning her jacketand removed her shirt uncovering her breasts and causing the keys in her handsto fall on the marble floor with a loud noise.

Later that night she stood nakedbending by the window looking outside at the sea. He looked at her, her smallhair finished right at her neck, he looked at her lean body, she had smallerthan average breasts, and had long legs; with her hands kept on the window andsupporting her, she was looking at the brightly lit city, and could hear thefaint sound of vehicles passing down below on the road. She saw a group offriends laughing and smoking near the sea.

He sat in the bed and lit acigarette, while taking a long drag of the cigarette, he started talking,without even looking at her, he told her, around 14 years ago, on 7^thDecember 1992, his uncle had rushed back home late in the evening, soon thehouse filled with relatives, everybody was panicked, having his schoolsuspended, he was at home, he could not understand the reason of all the chaosin the house. In the coming years, when he learnt the whole bus in which hismother was travelling was set to fire, he re-lived each and every event thatoccurred in that day; trying to understand the aftermath of the same. Heaccepted it would be wrong to say that this day was the pivot when his lifechanged, but he still remembered it. Surprisingly he could not remember much ofhis mother. He didn’t object when his father planned to re-marry. He collectedall the photographs of his mother and put them in a small box.

After few years, one morning,after breakfast, he left the home and walked around the town, carrying that boxof photographs. He reached a beach and sat down there. Sky was a differentcolour that day, but it was the water which seemed more unforgiving, violentenough he knew to break him apart. He roamed around in the same state for aweek, he had never been out on himself, and he liked it, no-one in the worldknew where he was, and he felt at peace. It was like being dead, his escapeallowing him to remember the simple melodies his mother used to sing him.

One evening he reached theVersova beach, he found a spot in the middle of the sand and sat there, he feltthe wind strong enough to rip apart and chew everything. For a long time, hewatched the approach and retreat of the waves, their thick caps crashing apartagainst the rocks, that eternally restless motion had an inversely calmingeffect on him. The following day he returned to the same spot, this timebringing with him the box of his mother’s photographs. He sat on the ground,opened the box, and began going through the pictures one by one, as if they werepieces of mail that he was quickly scanning and would read later on. But therewere too many pictures, and after a few he could no longer bear their sight. Aslight lessening in the pressure of his fingertips and the ones he was holding wouldhave blown away into that wild sea. But he could not bear that either, and sohe put them back in the box and began to dig a hole. The hole was notimpressive, but it was big enough to conceal the box, he covered it with somesand and stones. The moons first light was shining down when he was done. Heremembered the melody his mother used to sing to him, called Bombay Symphony. He murmured it softlyand walked back. He felt that love between two people was frequently betrayedbecause it was inherently imperfect; however an acceptance of the imperfectionand betrayal could go long way in securing its vitality, perhaps even itspermanence.

He continued – “I had long forgotten that melody, the otherday when we met, I was sitting over there, trying to remember it, and afteryears, it finally came to me, I finally sang it, and then something made meopen my eyes, and I looked at you and the melody once again vanished from theclutches of my brain.” He finished his cigarette and stubbed it out in theash-tray.

She was still looking out at thesea, and in some unknown way; she had offered him the balm of sensible andcomforting silence, respecting and providing all the spaces that ought toremain un-vandalized by language.

She looked at that group offriends; they had stopped laughing and smoking by now. Tired of the day, theylooked for a taxi and soon boarded one, all of them rushing finally to theirown home.

He got up in the morning tonotice she was gone. He went to the washroom, and while brushing his teeth, helooked in the mirror, paused for a moment and decided today he is going to convinceher anyhow to take his photograph; he didn’t yet know how he is going to dothat, but he had decided he is going to do it anyhow.

Later, he sent a text to her ‘I will convince you today to shoot me’. Shelooked at the text, smiled and ignored it. She had a dead-line to meet, she lookedat the time in her cell, it was 03:37 PM, 11^th July 2006, she had somuch work left to do, and she got back to her work, thinking about him in theback of her mind.

She received another text fromhim asking if she is free for dinner. She again smiled and replied Yes, and youcan’t bribe me to take your photographs.

“I am coming to Borivali Station,I will reach in 20 minutes or so” He said later in the evening when she pickedup her call.

“I will come to pick you up then,I have been thinking about you the whole day.” She replied.

“Let’s meet in few minutes then.”

She looked at the time, twentyminutes past six; she got up and left for Borivali station. She decided to walkrather than to call for a rickshaw. She had been walking for 10 minutes now,and then she got a call from her editor, thinking he must be calling about thephotographs that she had to submit, she contemplated whether to ignore thecall, after letting the phone ring for 30 seconds, she finally picked it up,wondering what excuse she should give for not submitting the photographs.

“Where are you?”, came a verypanicked sound from the phone, “therehave been bombings in the local trains 10 minutes ago, friends have confirmedbombings in three trains till now, do not get into locals right now, and sorryfor being an ass, but see if you can take any photographs.”

Her mind stopped processing thingsfor a moment, she thought it’s some kind of joke, but she knew her editorbetter than that, after a minute, she started running towards Borivali station.

She tried to call him once again,but by now, phone’s servers didn’t let her though, her heart was about to giveup when she heard “All lines to thisroute are currently busy” once again, she looked at her cell, it was 18:37,11^th July 2006, and she entered Borivali to a rush of people,running screaming.

After sometime, she saw a burningand blasted train in front of her, and after looking for 20 minutes, she foundhim, his dead body, it was not burnt much, she kept looking at him, in ashocked state. Her phone rang once again, it was her editor, once again showingconcern, but asked her to see if she can take any photographs. She didn’t sayanything and hung up.

She took out her camera, zoomedit on his body, looked at him through the viewfinder and clicked through for aseries of photographs.

---------x-----------

It had been 11 months since the incident;she was sitting at the same spot at Versova beach where she had seen him forthe first time. She had a copy of the book she had finally published, of allthe photographs she had taken to document moods of Mumbai. The title of thebook read, “Bombay Symphony; for what wasonce forgotten”. She had dedicated the book to him, and it read “May be I will never be able to give youyour Bombay Symphony back, this is just an attempt. ” She turned few pagesto look at the first photograph again, his photograph that she had taken, andclosed the book again.

She started looking at thedistant sun, and started humming an unknown tune; she liked to believe it was Bombay Symphony.

Once upon a time

2011-07-10T00:00:00.001+05:30

Once upon a time, there was a boy and there was a girl.Now they met, and they didn't connect in the beginning, but the boy noticed her, her long hair, the way there was dimple on one of her cheeks when she smiled, and she felt it, and she noticed him too, and they both knew it was gonna happen.

They came together, close, and for sometime they both forgot the million other things that existed in the world, million other things that make people think "I dont like this person" .. "Oh she is not my type.." Instead, it was perfect, they were perfect, and that's all there was to know about it.

Only soon, she forgot it, and then he forgot it too. Memories come back only in bits and pieces.
Maybe soon everything will be erased, but i still hope they will always carry their pieces of it, so that nothing is ever lost, when they were just few miles away from infinity and everything was just ..... perfect.

Memories

2011-03-29T22:11:00.000+05:30

In a parallel universe of monochrome, he sits on marine drive looking at the enormous waves crashing to the tetra-pods and smoke curls escaping his parted lips.

It was raining.
Smoke winds through the raindrops, dispersing into mist.
He kept looking ahead.

And then he bends down and puts his black fountain pen to white paper kept in his lap. Covering it with his own head to save it from the rain.
Stringing lines together like beads, thoughts flow in black inky veins from head to hand to black pen to black ink on white paper.Shapes curling out to fill a page,mind, soul and memories laid bare on paper.

He picks up the sheet and watches as raindrops distorts memories, never to be like before, as this all changes to something nobody can recognize.
He looks at the paper until the picture on the paper changes to something even he cant recognize.

He brings the cigarette to his lips and leans back and lets the smoke curl away into the rain.

Beginning

2011-01-22T09:50:00.003+05:30

He loved being busy. He didn't want many vacant hours in the day to think about all the things that had befallen him, or rather all that hadn't, about this emptiness in him for which he didn't have the word. His incompletion, his unfocused life, his beginning waiting for an end, or was it his end waiting for a beginning, his story waiting for a new plot.

Sleep

2010-10-05T15:37:00.000+05:30

At eleven in the night, he stood under a pounding stream of cold water, his face help up to it. The pressure in the pipes was very good, so he lingered under the shower, moving the sting from one shoulder to the other.

A memory buried deep down in his mind and discarded long back came back to him.

Once while walking back from school, a white dog became his companion. That dog smiled at him and allowed him to tickle himself behind the ears and then complacently walked next to him for a while, stopping only to have his ears fondled again. They began a silent conversation and there was a twinkle in their eyes. At an intersection, the dog abruptly trotted off to the other side of road, and looked back a few times to see if He had followed. But that wasn’t his route, he stood there, transfixed, wondering if he should follow the dog. He didn’t follow. He stood, watching the dog walk away. That dog stopped, turned and looked at him, surprised, puzzled perhaps, amused may be. He wanted to go the dog’s way, to follow him to his vision. With a shrug of the shoulders dog was off, while he kept standing there.

He took a breath and moved his head so that the solid thrust at the centre of the flow pummeled him between the eyes. The lashing noise of it filled his head.

Outside in the drawing room, it was very quiet. There was no sleep yet, however tired he was and despite his yearning for it, he knew.

He lay on his sofa, with a bottle of Blenders Pride whisky and one of soda on the table in front of him. He drank in accurate sips, timed regularly. He allowed himself three pegs at the end of working days and recently had been resisting the urge to go to four. He was sitting with his face towards the window so he could watch the sky, lit still by the sky.

He had taken only 2 pegs till now, yet he was crushed, pulped by lassitude. He was barely able to get up and pull the table in front of him towards himself and lie flat on his sofa with his feet on the table.

A deep breath, and then another, and the edge of the table cutting into the back of this thigh receded, and in the swimming drowsiness he was able to forget details, and the world became a receding white blur. Yet a sharp undertow flung him into anger, and after a moment he was back in this world, able to remember he was restless about something.

He got up from the sofa and walked stiffly to the balcony. Beyond the fizzing fluorescent lights in the compound of the neighboring building, there was the darkness of the sea, and far ahead, a sprinkling of bright blue, white and orange that was Bandra. With a good pair of binoculars you could even see Nariman Point.

He remembered playing Cricket on the streets, the fast ‘pok’ of the tennis ball and the faces of friends and the feeling that he could hold the whole world in his hands.

Had it really existed? Those small empty streets, clean for children’s cricket games, or had he stolen it from some grainy black and white footage, too blur to remember now? Given it to himself in gift, the memory of happier place.

Sometimes loneliness spoke its iron hum of locusts behind his eyes. It was a suffering undiluted and pure. It was something monstrous he used to hide, even from himself. But he felt it, late at nights, at times like this, hidden under the contours of his eyes, which he touched with one hand and felt it, as if it were a mask.

He leaned against the railing of the window. He leaned out, trying to find a breeze. The horizon was hazy and far, with lights burning hard underneath. He looked down, and saw a glint in the car parked far below, a piece of glass, mica. He thought suddenly how easy it would be to keep leaning over, tipping until his weight carried him. He saw himself falling, his tee-shirt flapping frantically against his body, his leather slippers tumbling, the feet rotating and before a circle was complete, the crack of a skull, a quick crack and then silence.

He got back from the railing of the balcony.

He felt a sudden ache in his chest. It was as if two blunt stones were grinding against each other, creating not fire but a dull steady glow, a persistent and unquiet desire. It rose into his throat and before he knew the decision was made.

Twelve minutes of fast driving took him to the highway. The open stretches of road and the wheel slipping easily through his fingers were exhilarating but somewhere in the back of his mind, he was even more restless now. He was suddenly angry at himself, and wanted to turn around and go back. The question came to him: What are you doing? What the hell are you doing?

But it was too late, the journey half done, even though the first glad momentum was gone, he drove on.

By the time he pulled up and parked his car and walked to the Fizz Club it was one and he was too tired, but here he was and he could see the crowd around the door.

They parted for him and let him through. He got curious stares and silence as he stepped through. May be his T-shirt, His pajama, his leather slippers gave him away.

He squared his shoulders and found a corner in the bar and ordered a draught beer. With a beer in his hand, he had something to do, so he turned to face the crowd. He was hedged close, and it was hard to see anything more than a few feet, and everywhere they were talking animatedly, leaning close to each other and shouting against the loud music.

He drank his beer quickly, wondering what he is doing here. Exactly at a kind of place he so much despises. He tried to listen to the conversation on his left. They were talking about music, an American band that he had never heard of, a girl with her back to him, said loudly, “Its video was really cool, you just didn’t understand it, you dumb bitch.” And he lost the response from the pony-tailed boy facing her.

He upended his mug and wiped his mouth. The desire that had brought him across the city had vanished suddenly, leaving a dark residue of bitterness. It was late and he was finished.

He paid quickly and left. There was a different lot near the door now, but again the same silence, the same stares, same beaded necklaces, tattoos and piercing and practiced dishevelment and he understood, that he is an outsider there, that he doesn’t belong there and everybody knows this.

He walked towards his car, but lampposts, car, everything seemed far away and wanted very much to close his eyes.

He went home, and fell into his bed. The sleep that had seemed a very distant possibility sometime back, slid heavily onto his shoulder, like a choking black landslide and he slept.

May be hoping to wake up in a different world, May be not. Who knows.

True Joke

2010-07-20T22:25:00.000+05:30

She looked at his face, trying to find emotions of pain,hurt, but there were none. He was back home after a break up, a bad one.. He had loved his girlfriend with all his heart.
She sighed melodramtically " And now you will never fall in love again, brother."
He grinned and said, " On the contrary, I plan to fall in love more and more often now. True love is a joke and I am a funny guy."

What ?

2010-06-28T11:38:00.000+05:30

I think i should come back to this page.
I think i should blog again.
This distance that I have made, i should really fill it back.

Soon. I am going to write something soon.

Noise

2010-05-24T01:35:00.000+05:30

We're all noise. We're all discordant, radiating ourselves into space until we fade away. In this chaos, we find harmony in others sometimes. All of us at some point find at least one other to comfortably coexist with, to blend with, to resonate with. Sometimes, the lucky ones find more. We find groups of us that get along. A bunch of us who can all completely be ourselves around each other. A bunch of us who now carry parts of each other within ourselves. A bunch of us who can remind each other of who we are. A few people I could call family sometimes. Harmony is always transient, contained in a larger chaos. But it feels like the harmony can outlast us. Maybe we'll hold together.

To an outsider we'd be as refreshing and intangible as a song or a symphony. Some of you may listen. Fewer still, will wonder what holds us together. And it might even be possible someday that one more finds his place within us. After all, how did we find each other? Floating through the noise, something caught on and made sense and stuck around. I still believe that we're all noise though. To much of each other and you'll hear it.

Yeats. Chapter 7.

2010-04-28T03:19:00.000+05:30

Link to Chapter 1

Needless to say, the wedding got cancelled, Percieval's mother convinced him to never marry her.

Few months after the incident, a parcel post marked from Ireland arrived into the mail. Keeping it aside, she painted for next few days to gather the guts she needed to open that brown package, because already she could smell in the contents inside his blue, blue eyes. Finally a fortnight later, she tore open the package in the belief that this particular incident of destiny might remind her who she was, and how that version of herself had so gracelessly abandoned the entirely honourable love of a young man, and his hesitant poetry recitations.

My dear Painter,

Apologies for the delay of my response to you, but the last few months have been absolutely chaotic and have altered my life in a way I had never foreseen. The same, I imagine, must hold true for you: married and settled, you must have moved into your new life with great enthusiasm. Hearty congratulations on your wedding ! I am writing to you from a wee little apartment in a house. The amazing bit of news is I throughly detested Trinity - so campy and crooker - and we are leaving Dublin for England in a week. It took a while, to come to terms with how I could want something for all of my life - and then when I finally had it, I realised that its reality was for too bitter to be swallowed.

Last week, Mother, who is doing plenty better here, got a canary for herself. I dont know where I will go. You were right, we walked into the path of other people's violations. Some nights I sit next to the window, and look at the clouds moving away from here. Turning into tears in between, and sometimes into snow. I believe someday they will reach where ever you are, and you will be able to feel the touch of those drops, and for a brief moment we will be together. Unfettered by time and distance and fact. How odd are the ways heart finds its intimacy. I wish you infinite happiness with Percieval, and wish that your art finds its discerning audience, its reasonable critics.

This will be my last letter to you.

Did you ever wonder why I was so bent on finding a cure for Cian Incurablis. I'd never imagined it could be so difficult. I'd never known its incurable and it runs in family. Farewell and all that. The moon here has, as Yeats rightly pointed out, 'dark leopards' which no one can reach. Far away and fierce, its beauty brightens the closer you get to them: but come too close and you leave blinded. Underneath the ounce of regret, guilt and the grief, there is a clearing I know for you. A place to come to after everything, when you need nothing at all and everything too. I leave you now, hoping you find faith in the morning, and compassion at the dusk.

Yours,

Irishman.

Along with the letter came the finest pair of black felt gloves with the message: For Paris; and a copy of The Complete Works of Verse: W.B. Yeats with an inscription, For life.

She opened it at the page where deckle edge had been folded over, and it was written there.

How many loved your moments of glad grace,

And loved your beauty with love false or true,

But one man loved the pilgrim soul in you,

And loved the sorrows of your changing face...

Yeats. Chapter 6

2010-04-28T03:15:00.000+05:30

Link to Chapter 1

On the night before her wedding, She caught a timid knocking on her door. It was Anuradha's son. He asked her innocently "Where... are you ..going ?" She replied " I am just going to Worthington House. You can come to my House any time you like my tiddy-bitty. You will adore it. It's got thirty-six bedrooms, and I could easily find a place for you."

"But just why'd you want to live in a house with... with.. thirty-six bedrooms? Do you really like Percieval ?"

"Percieval ? What does he have to do with My marriage ? My dear baby, one thing I never told you is people tear. Did I ever tell you that ? We break and tear. Like cloth and furniture and everything in between." Her voice was a curious blend of reverie and disdain."Awful truth is, we are in this alone. And there is no help coming. Of course I dont have any answers. But getting someplace with thirty-six bedrooms to hide in is definitely the way to bet. Isn't it ?"

Next morning, She got up and announced "Ok, world - here I come!" . Soon it was time.

Guests were now waiting for her to step out of her bedroom door and walk down the stairs and to her place: alongside Percieval Worthington.

She threw open her door., picked up the ends of her sari, went out to the landing and down the stairwell. Instantly a conspicuous hush swept over the proceedings.She looked illuminating. The pallo of her rouge red sari was brought over her head, and its delicate gold tasselled hem fringed her forehead: you could only half see her face.While she was walking, some three hundred plus guests were gazing at her, and an unnamed part of herself begged for him. Not for either consolation or attention but an acre of their simple understanding in which she might throw back her head and laugh like a witch at the gall of her own affectations. Perhaps he was the ony one who understood her act enough to accept it. A shared code. His blue eyes, to swim in, to never rise out of.

When she sat next to Percieval and pandit asked for her hand. She looked at him. Why he looked so much like her father. She knew her father is here, the same Hand to knock her down.She frantically yanks back her hand with a gasp everyone hears.

Seconds later, a frothy faced, angry lipped, famished Fit of epilepsy sits up inside her and rattles her from her soles all the way up to her skull, causing her to foam at the mouth and howl like a rabid beast. She shudders violently, and understands this is the inexorable moment when Fate has chosen to fold in its wings and roost in her, to never leave, and to assure her that no matter what you do, how high you fly, how low you drop, what magic you pull off, the truth of the matter is: you are never safe.

Yeats. Chapter 5

2010-04-28T03:12:00.000+05:30

Link to Chapter 1

Since her wedding and his departure were roughly a week apart, he dropped by to her on the day before he was leaving from Bombay harbour on a ship called Patience, which would briefly berth at Singapore on its way to Dublin. They sat at the back of the house, where after the tailor birds hushed their song, he promised to send her a wedding present from Dublin. She nodded. Somehow she didnt seem all that keyed up about her own nupitals. She touched the earth on which they were sitting. This, she remembered, is where she had painted him. This was where they had discovered a wry, invincible affinity for each other. Could she have ever become the artist she was today if he hadn't sat for her with heart-melting patience? As he was telling her something, she interrupted him with a sigh of ineffable regret: "Some days I'd give my arm to start over. Clean slate and all. I only want to be safe. I only want to be safe. How did we go so askance ? And wham into the path of other people's violations. Only to get blown into pieces that'll need several lifetimes to collect"

"Thats why you're knotting down with Percival ? Safety !?"

She looked away.

"Here,"he said, taking her hand and putting it upon his chest.

"This is my heart.. Just so you know"

She listened with her skin. Memorised that beat. Its abiding sincerity.

"Remember the first time you came to this house ? Did you know someone died inside of it ? Waiting for

love."

"There was a book in your hands. Red gown. Anuradha hollered out for you.Aw, you were so nasty to me. He died for waiting love. Which never came, right ?

"I was not! And it was a play of Ibsen, if i recall it right. Yes his love never came. I almost banishd you from the house, didnt I ?"

He laughed. Maybe she was right. His mind raced to what she had told him ages back: Miss god put me down to bring joy and sunshine into the lives of millions. Was she ?

"I didnt know better ,"she owned up a minute later."We do what we see. But I'm standing on my two lovely legs, and most mornings I dont ask for more."

He said that his ship was leaving the dock at seven the following morning, and his mother, for one, was eager about returning to Dublin. She said that she was quite 'looking forward' to married life - and all that it entailed. Byt their lame, haphazard talk was a hedgegrow of syllables. Formal. Divisive. Because neither knew how to bid farewell to such sweeping innocence. Like shutting your eyes to the broad blue sky for its beauty is too much. How could you part from someone who loved you not for your secrets but in spite of them?

Before their exchange acquired any burden, he got up to leave.

She followed.

At the water fountain, he takes the tips of her fingers and presses them into his palm.

"Will you watch for me, Irishman ?"

What is the thing next to love? Or above it ? She feels that for him

"Always. And with the Yeats."

"Promise me you will do something about your hair?"The despair in her voice was liquid, the bravery of her gaze formidable. "Try hair wax. Or a salon. Something. Look at this way, We will probably never save our souls - but hell, at least we will get our hair sorted."

Yeats Chapter 4

2010-04-28T03:07:00.001+05:30

Link to Chapter 1

Years passed. Slowly. Fast.Three, Four or five I cant say. Depends on how you percieve them. Nothing much changed.

She still painted him, they talked for endless hours.They laughed. They cried. Then in their life came Percieval, its difficult to say whether she brought him into their life or he just stumbled. He was richer than the richers. When She saw him for the first time - The worthington heir - she thought he looked like one of those Boarding School Sods who took a week off to recover from a shaving cut.

She waved at him, he blushed and looked away.

Percieval was not made for her, if not for the money. She was not made for Percieval, if not for her own ambitions.

Her painting sessions with him,became irregular. He always wondered where is she ? She was always with Percieval, trying to woo him, seduce him. Percieval never understood why a girl like her gives so much importance to a guy like himself. Pea sized brain he had.

In the meantime, in her absence, He applied for schools in Dublin, hoping soon he will flee to Dublin along with her and his mother. Little did he know, none of this was going to happen. He will be disappointed from everything he wanted in his life.

Is it coincidence ? The day he got reply from trinity, the day he wondered if She will come with him to Dublin! If she wont, is he going to stay here with her. The same day she made it all easy for him.She announced her wedding with Percieval. With a boy, she knew, who wont be able to get it up even on the wedding night.

Nobody saw him for weeks. Its hard to say if he was missed. In coming weeks he returned, With the house sold and his bags packed, all there was room for was nothing: his house, like his mother's heart, was bare, and it was for this empowering bareness that he learned to develop a lifelong fondness.Perhaps that was the true nature of life:things boiled down to their essence.

Love defined by the depth it may never occupy.

Yeats. Chapter 3.

2010-04-28T03:02:00.001+05:30

Link to Chapter 1

Next time, he came to meet her, he asked her about that gash under her chin. And she was lost, looking at him, his innocence. Is she supposed to tell him.How? Is she supposed to tell him. Why? All she had to do was trace her finger over the tiny, unhealed, chin-under gash-and she could clearly summon to her mind its vicious, entirely unforgettable arrival into her kismet and over her body. Only she knew, Why was not for the gash but for love or to be said in a better way. Why not ?

Her parents once deeply and madly in love got over it faster than they fell into it. The only thing that happened in between was a marriage and ofcourse She. Their life would follow a routine, her father a Doctor left for work early in the morning. Her mother awoke at nine, and set to work on her paintings.Somewhere inside all of this was She. Watching. Listening. Memorising. Her father would return at lunchtime only to recommence an argument with his wife that he had abandoned the night before, and they opened with the very words they had broken off at, ending over lunch. They resumed work and met at the dinner table at eight, where they ate in an eerie hush since they were still brooding over their hastily concluded noonday argument.As always, the meal was fairly inedible, because a grotty meal - a charred roti;a daal that tasted like a salt pan - doubled as the gracious harbinger of a quarrel that could rise now and continue well into the night and be consummated at noon the following day.

At night she would often hear them shouting " If it wasnt for her , my daughter I would have left you ages ago", " If it wasnt for her, I would not have married you into first place", he replied. establishing that indeed it was she who was to blame.

As for that gash under her chin.

Well, now that was instituted in astonishing circumstances:during a fight that started- When her father came back after spending five wonderful months in England. When her mother announced that she was pregnant.Eight months pregnant. When it was too hot outside, and she was cuddled up in her room.

She hiding in her room, could hear her father yelling so that the glass panes shivered to his masculing timbre, which insulted his wife three generations back, describing her father a castrated pig, her mother as a cheap village whore, her grand mother as a lower-caste drain-cleaner and so on untill their invectives were overlapping and redundant and, in despair that he might run out of things to say, He started to beat his wife, first with a soup laddle he picked up absent-mindedly from the table, then with the back of his hand. This went on with merciless delight. She tolerated as much as a woman with an infant in her womb could.

In the darkness of her room, She hurried up to her door and pressed her ear to it:what now ? Who was being pulled ? What caused those screamings ? Animalesque. Unearthly. Were they going downstairs? She hurried back and hid behind the curtains, thoroughly petrified that the Hand that knocked her mother down was also waiting for her.

But no. Oh no,no,no! It was far worse.

When she looked outside of her hiding place,she saw, through the window, her mother on her all fours near the tree in their garden, just outside the main door. She heard steps of her father coming back. He started playing Beethoven. She looked at her mother again, panting and beaten into a pulp. She heard her mother shouting for her... save me please.. save me from your father.. for god's sake, I'm a pregnant woman.. and the baby is here.. your little sibling. But she was too scared that her father would hear her and grow mad at her, she ducked under the window.

Convinced that her daughter has abandoned her as well, Doctor's wife was back on all fours, digging with her hands, like an olive ridley turtle digging up a nest. Intrigued by her mother's sudden silence, She peeped up to watch. And she saw her mother spit out a child.Tear away from placentra.Rip out the chord.Small and dirty it was, but it was lifting up its so soppy arms and wailing forcefully. Breathing. She saw her mother lean down and kiss the bloody face before she.... she... why! she chucked it into the hole she had dug to the tune of Beethoven ( the small mercies in life:good music to bury your baby to). He was bawling and begging not to be burried, but only She other than her mother, watching intently understood that her mother had done the right thing. That night, She felt, this could not be, that this was not the life of a seven-year-old child should have to encounter and decided: never be a child.At that instance, her feet melted and she fell and smashed her chin on the marble-topped table whose sharp carved edge indented into her, for ever, the memory of the night when her mother was left out howling for her to help me please right before she burried her infant brother with her hands, and all she did was faint, to fade like the echo of a wail that rises from the deep gut of the Earth itself.

That was the first time she had got a seizure attack of epilepsy. She didnt know then how many has yet to follow.

Yeats Chapter 2.

2010-04-28T02:55:00.000+05:30

Read Chapter 1 before reading this.

He came to meet her, this monday, the following monday, and then nobody knows when he started coming daily. Her faithful subject. He smiled with her when she was happy and held her arms when she was disturbed.At first, She was surprised that he had taken her worries to his heart, and wondered why he even bothered;if the situation were reversed, she certainly would not take his load on her back. That was when it became obvious:the boy was irrefutably, dangerously and insanely besotted with her. She smote her head in the awareness that she had no small hand to play in this love-locha. She had used every guile in the book to make him bring books from library with the provison that if ever brought her either Jane Austen or Charlotte Brontel, she would never allow him in this house again, for introducing the wags into this home whose only ambition in the life had been to marry well. She also directed him to pomade his hair. And yes, she had him mug up so much of Yeats that his mind was crammed with verses, he even said them aloud in his sleep, prmopting his mother to be believe their ancestral ailment - cian incurabilis - had, alas, infected her son.

Aware, that he will get to talk to her during those sittings, he endured the awkwardness of posing without his shirt. Every other day, he came to her.

A painters model.

With a dogged eye and a steady hand, she captured the colour of his edible lips;the solitude of his earlobe;the musky pink of his aureole.

The day when she was rather disturbed about the unfortunate events going on in this home, she sketched over sheet after sheet,thoroughly dissatisfied with every result, and frantically tore off the papers. And this all left him in knots, what was the matter with her ? He asked silently,"Something on your mind ?"

As usual, she told him half of what was happening around. How much this house was troubling her.

"Well, if it all gets too much.. then you know you can always come and live with us, can't you?" She could not explain why her heart beat so hard. Maybe because she was overcome with the simple nobility of his affections? She looked away at once.

"What will become of you?"His gaze was enquiring.

"Paris. That's my real destination. Where I belong.With all the other artists. But before that, I will marry well. Into some proper pedigreed family. With pots and pots of money!"

"You will marry?" he looked puzzled as he recalled her hatred of Jane Austen."But i thought you despised women whose only ambition was to find a husband?"

"Do you think this world would be half as interesting if we were all obvious?"she said, "sure, i want to do the struggling artist thingy.. but lets face it, me and penury does not tango too well."

The rattlesnakes of confusion and despair and envy stirred awake inside him because he had never even once thought that she would consider anyone other than him ( just how he was so sure that she would settle her easel and insanity with him, he never knew).

"No,No," he contested her designs on Paris. "One day, we shall be married.And you will live with me in Dublin."

If only she could explain why her heart beat so hardly once again.

Yeats

2010-04-28T02:50:00.000+05:30

* If you are not going to read it full, dont even start, I mean it *

On monday evening, a wooden bagghi carried by horses stopped in front of that white mansion, and out she stepped, to their new home. She was awestruck. Oh what a home it was ! In the coming week she indulged herself with books and solitude in her room. Her cousin Anuradha left her to herself. Anuradha had known her for long enough to know when she wants to be left alone.

On friday evening, the same week, when Anuradha answered the hesitant knocking on her door, the last thing she expected to see was an endearing white lad on her threshold, his hands behind his back. He introduced himself as their neighbour, and explained that a kite that he had been flying high into the sky was now, embarrassingly enough, stuck in the branches of a tree in their backyard. Could he, he requested, rescue it from their balcony. Anuradha smiled, and hollered for her cousin.

Upstairs, in her room, as she layed sprawled out on her back in the bed, the depth of her concentration in a play by Ibsen shattered like pottery shards: Now what? Is there no solitude in this world ? She rose from her bed, stuck her thumb in between the pages of the Ibsen and arrived down the whorled stairwell. That was the first time he saw her, an Ibsen drama betwixt her hands, arms all bony and head at an annoyed tilt.

When explained everything by Anuradha, she reluctantly took him up, wishing for him to vanish away.

"Wont stay a minute", he said to her hesitantly, and she replied at once "Are you Irish ?".

"Only when asked." He chuckled shyly.

Although she had been keen to write him off as only another pedestrian kite-flyer, she was, admittedly, quite riveted by his looks.Was it his tanned skin, its divinely polished brown lustre? Or the imminent muscles in his arms, such as one might associate with a gondolier? Those blue eyes, dreamy pools to wade inside, to never emerge out of. She leaned forward and corrected that errant slip of his dusty hair;her touch unleashed a

tremble down his back.

"There!" She said with a smug smile. "I've restored you into a human being."

They talked their for sometime, he told her he was eighteen, and when he asked her her age, she frowned "Me?I'm timeless, I am the beedi smoking beloved of the art world. The darling of darlings, and soon I will be in paris, after ofcourse winning the whole world" and she laughed at her own histrionics, and confessed she is just sixteen.

Then she asked him pointing to a little cottage,
"That is where you live !?"
"Yes, with my mother.",he replied hesitantly

"What does she do ?"

"She is... She is... " Now he was really stumped.

"She is quiet after my father left. Very quiet."

"Ah!"

"She is quiet and sad and broken," he blurted."Actually it runs in her family.Her mother had it and her mother had it."

"What're you on about?" she asked with a puzzled look on her face.

"Cian incurabilis "

She thought over the phrase, translating it, Incurable sadness, and asked him, "Do enlighten me my darling, what is Cian incurabilis?" teasing him.

"A condition of the heart.They say the heart can break.That someone can dent it, or gouge it.And then, it is never the same. Some of us recover.And some, like my mother,never do.But that is what I want to change.",he said with a zest flashed into his blue, blue eyes. "I'll train to be a doctor and then I'll study Cian incurabilis .... and then.. I'll find a cure for it."

She started laughing at him, she fell into her bed, and continued to laugh. She didnt try to stop herself from laughing at him in his face. He kept looking at her. Silent. After few minutes, she stopped. She looked at him, and her laugh vanished, he was standing their, just looking at her- her laughing at him.

"What do you do here all day ?" He asked her, in a different tone this time.

"I read. I think, and Miss God put me down here to bring joy and sunshine into the lives of millions, and I paint, So i may become the artist I am." she tried to smile while saying this.

"Can i swing by sometime ?" he asked hesitantly again.

She asked him whether he would get her books, he put his hand on his heart and promised he would.

"And do you know any verses of Yeats?" She asked

"No, only sissies knew poems, right ?

"You vulgar, schoolboy, she ticked him off." The warmth on her face made way for frustration. "Let me be, then, and no, I'll never let you in here."

How could he not know Yeats, she thought, and it that were the case,why was he even alive ?

Knowing there is nothing left ot say, he turned and left for home. Now it was certain he would never get to be with her.Just then at the door, he remembered the few lines he had heard once.

Wine come in at the mouth,

And love comes in at the eye

She swung around, gripped by his voice.

And that is all we shall know for truth
Before we grow old and die

I life my glass to my mouth,

I look at you and i sigh

"Come back on monday," she waved, "After school, I need some subject. To paint. And get some more Yeats, please. "

Oh! She knows how to play Counter strike :P

2010-04-19T00:00:00.002+05:30

* Is it your birthday ? No, Then this post is not for you, go away*

Once upon a time, there was this little boy ( Oh he still is) , who lived near a jungle. Jungle would always fascinate him, but he was not allowed to go down there. Once he saw some gypsies and some other people, dancing and playing with fire, and going into the jungle, he looked at those gypsies and silently followed them, he entered the dark jungle, thinking he has people with him and around him, but soon gypsies and everybody else disappeared, lost in the jungle. The boy was scared, but he kept looking into the jungle,wandering inside, deeper and soon he met her, who was also lost in the jungle, the same way boy was lost. She was a bit younger than him, but oh was she sweet ? Sweetest ever :). No they didnt fall in romantic love, No they didnt get married, but yes they held each others hand, they guided each other, she was always close and near to him whenever he was scared or felt lonely, and he always tried to be there for her as well. They sang songs together, they played together, and yes they promised never to leave each other. They were best friends. They are still in that jungle, but now the jungle is not that scary. It gets dark at times, but they know how to get through it, morning comes, and they know they are there for each other.

Happy Birthday Sweetheart :) A very very Happy Birthday :)

We chased our pleasures here
Dug our treasures there
But can you still recall
The time we cried
We broke through to the other side.

:D

2010-04-14T11:53:00.003+05:30

I always came on this page when i was sad, upset, lost, but today i have remembered this page in the moment of my extreme happiness. Yes, I am happy today, and not just happy, very very happy.

Reason of happiness will be posted in sometime. :D

I am looking for something, which has already found me.

2010-04-11T11:20:00.005+05:30

I cant explain what i felt, after a dormancy of 2-3 years, few days back i had this sudden urge to sketch, it was so urgent and violent, that it was absolutely necessary for me to sketch. I had thrown my sketching set from third floor 2-3 years ago, and tired in absence of pencils i resorted to pen, i tried looking for black pen, but found none, and in the end, i took a blue point pen and started drawing on an A4 paper, within minutes of drawing, paper gave up, and it was torn by harsh and cruel strokes of pen ( or my hand ), i felt lost, i planned to go out and bring pencils and paper at once, but then i realized its 2 or 3 in the night..

That image is still fresh in my mind, but i dont know if it will ever come to the paper again, may be the moment has passed. I dont know. I had never predicted such a moment will come back again, so I dont know.

Tired and hopeless i started looking at my previous sketches, after a long time, and this sketch caught my attention, this particular sketch which i had made long ago, it was so perfect at that time for the situation, for what i was feeling in those days, yet for some reasons i didnt show it to a lot of people ( except few , some of those really close, some of them who could actually understand it ) ( for the same reason, that sketch was never posted on this page ) , and as i looked at it, i felt something

it was like i had not made that sketch for what i was feeling that day, but for today.. it made more sense now, i cant explain, its like making a painting years ago, only to understand its meaning years later. all these years, it was wings sequel, now i wish to rename it as

where she belongs ?

May be i am breaking the chain or series of wings, but I dont care. They are always about what I feel or think. Its always about me, these sketches are one place where I dont compromise at all

Where she belongs ?

Fire

2010-04-08T00:42:00.003+05:30

A few years later, the investigations conducted by the department of disasters showed that the fire had originally broken out in the northwest end of the town quite close to the harbour, where a youthful owner of a broken heart contemplated burning all the letters he had received from his beloved the previous year, on the wooden floor of his room on the upper floor of a villa in which he lived. The fire, it transpired, rushed out gleefully from the villa, chattering in its usual crackling voice which was heard by a few of the surviving neighbours, and may be by a lot more who did not survive, and set ablaze the pyres in the harbour and the timber wharves of the port that had existed a long time ago but was fondly remembered by a few old people, before it burned down the two hundred odd wooden ships that had dropped anchor in the secret reveries of the poor, many of them being workers at the port or the shipyard, orphans or prostitutes. The fire then crossed the river on a long wooden bridge and got back to the island town to consume everything that had the quality and density of desire and desperation pressed into defined forms and inhabited the imagined areas of the lives of the townsfolk dead or alive; elaborate teak coffins that the poor wanted to buy for their dead parents, the large crucifix and the altar made in rosewood, that the Bishop always hoped would be gifted by rich sinners some day, hundreds of books that the local poets dreamt of publishing, countless pretty dresses that generations of native girls kept themselves pre-occupied with through the rainy evenings for centuries, a large number of carts, wagons, boats, wooden coconut-oil presses, copious quantities of sun-dried fish, and warehouses full of pepper and other crops that the farmers, traders or fishermen always longed to produce or acquire being among a few things worthy of recording, not to mention thousands of human victims, women or men that dwellers of the town had imagined of, so as to fill various needs of their lives, and infants that had been earnestly anticipated but had never arrived, for these are the things usually not expected in any report by fire investigators.

P.S. This post is again special.

Fly Over

2010-04-05T08:04:00.001+05:30

The fly-over seemed to be there before my memories of the city started, though I had never driven on it since I had never visited that part of the town, and probably wouldn't ever do so but for the-girl-in-red-canvas-shoes I had recently met inside the smokers' room at the airport. When I drove onto it for the first time—it was a winter night a few years back—I noticed it was steeper than anything I had seen before and appeared to be the most spiraling structure ever made without doubt, since it never stopped curving to the right. I also realised it is a very long fly-over indeed; I called the-girl-in-red-canvas-shoes to say I was surprised by the length of the fly-over which she apparently took to work everyday, though I did not expect to be any delayed, since I was able to drive fast, mine being the only car on the fly-over. She said indeed it was the longest one to the best of her knowledge, and it would take me a while to put it behind. She was right; It took me 13 years 4 months and 22 days to cross it, through which I called her 127 times, the last call made a little after 6 months since that winter night, since she told me not to call her anymore for I was a bit too delayed and the wine she had kept for me wouldn't keep that long. The good thing was, after a very long drive which certainly appeared too long to cross a fly-over of any kind, I reached the end of it, past midnight on a hot day, and I should say I was surprised to see the fly-over had ended at the peak of its height, as if someone had forgotten to build the part of it which descented down to earth. Against the stars that now seemed annoyingly close, thankfully, I spotted a traffic warden, who told me the only way forward was to fly over the city that looked like a faint recollection of everything that I had experienced in my life before I had ascended the fly-over. I told him I would rather go back to my part of the town from where I had started the climb, to which he softly answered, with a kind yet callous kind of strictness in his tone, that the fly-over had been made for one-way traffic.

P.S. This one is special.

Punishment

2010-04-02T01:34:00.007+05:30

Gods are angry with me. They are punishing me, and all these villagers, He thought while walking back to his little hut. It had almost been 3 years since it last rained. He came back to his little hut, to whatever little of it was left, and looked at his wife, lying down on a tattered piece of cloth, her body was burning with heat, and he could feel the heat radiating out of her body. He felt helpless sitting across her sick wife and felt a strong urge to cry, but he could not, as there was not enough water in his body to even produce tears, he could not remember when was the last time he had drank water, or for that matter, anything. He thought Its not going to rain, if only it rains, everything will become so better. She will die if he wont do anything. It was time.

He went out and looked at Moti. Moti was a lamb he had brought for her wife four years back. When he and his wife could not produce a child after a lot of years into their marriage, his wife had started being upset all the time.

She would look at the children of other people with a hope and sadness in her eyes. Often she was found holding babies of other people in her hands. She would think to herself how she would give anything to have a child of her own. Deep into her despair and guilt she was loosing the hold to the real world, and then one day out of nowhere, he brought her a little lamb. She looked at it, it had yet to open its eyes, and tears were falling down from her eyes. She took to its care, and soon Moti became a part of the family. She forgot looking at other peoples children, she lost the sense of the world and her world would revolve only around Moti and to take care of him.

It was time. He looked at Moti once again and went back inside, he looked at his wife and told her, he will be back by evening. She opened her eyes, and tried to smile but he could see even smiling took ardous efforts.
She asked him " How is Moti ? "
"Everything is okay, you just rest " he replied, and she closed her eyes again.

He came out and took Moti without looking at him, inured by circumstances, he held him and walked on. Moti simply followed him, bound by a rope. He looked at the sky, it was a clear sky, with no clouds, and he kept walking.

He knew what is going to happen to Moti, maybe he will be butchered to become feast of some rich seth, or if Moti is lucky, he will end up with some rich enough farmer which could provide for him, but one thing was for sure, he wont be loved anymore. He entered the place, he looked at Moti and felt his eyes gazing into him, as if they were asking him innocently, What all is going on ? He at once looked somewhere else, he had only so much strength to sell him without going insane.

He looked at him one last time, and came out, he is going to be butchered he thought. He had forgotten the world and he kept walking towards home in a half sleep like state, his thoughts revolving around Moti and his wife, and then a drop fell on him. Surprised if he is crying, his hands reached for his cheeks and eyes. Nothing. Then another drop fell on his bare body. He looked upwards. It was raining. Another drop, then another and then yet another.

Tapp
Tapp
Tapp
Tapp
Tapp

It was raining. Soon it engulfed everything around. People started dancing in joy, and he ? his legs started shaking and he dropped on his knees, and now he could feel water coming out of his eyes. He was crying. Indeed. Gods are angry with me. They are punishing me he thought, and he kept on crying there.

.

2010-03-29T06:03:00.000+05:30

It was cold while coming back...

Intermingled. Chapter 1. Memories

2010-03-21T02:57:00.002+05:30

Chapter 1

Memories

He did not know why he suddenly thought of the oak tree. Nothing had recalled it. But he thought of it and of his childhood summers in his kingdom.

The great oak tree had stood on a hill , in a lonely spot of his kingdom. He , aged seven, liked to come and look at that tree. It had stood there for hundreds of years, and he thought it would always stand there. Its roots clutched the hill like a fist with fingers sunk into the soil, and he thought that if a giant were to seize it by the top, he would not be able to uproot it, but would swing the hill and the whole of the earth with it, like a ball at the end of a string. He felt safe in the oak tree's presence; it was a thing that nothing could change or threaten; it was his greatest symbol of strength.

One night, lightning struck the oak tree. He saw it the next morning. It lay broken in half, and he looked into its trunk as into the mouth of a black tunnel. The trunk was only an empty shell; its heart had rotted away long ago; there was nothing inside—just a thin gray dust that was being dispersed by the whim of the faintest wind. The living power had gone, and the shape it left had not been able to stand without it.

His shock came when he stood very quietly, looking into the black hole of the trunk. It was an immense betrayal—the more terrible because he could not grasp what it was that had been betrayed. It was not himself, he knew, nor his trust; it was something else. He stood there for a while, making no sound, then he walked back to the castle. He never spoke about it to anyone,
then or since.

Today while climbing up this mountain his memories were showing loyalty to him and each memory was coming back slowly to him, and he still didn’t know what he should make out of this all, but he was going to get answers to all of his questions, to all of his restlessness since last 15 years.

Its called Mountain of satisfaction, and the person who told him about this mountain also told him that every person can find the answers to all of his questions here, he will find the ultimate satisfaction here, and all the things he want. The only thing prince thought that moment was he doesn’t know what he wants, but he knew that’s the place where he had to go.

There was pain ebbing in that part of his body which controlled his speech, He had not spoken a word in last 15 years until yesterday, not because he cant speak, but because there was nothing there to speak.

Intermingled

2010-03-20T05:25:00.002+05:30

He was standing next to his window, looking at the infinite stars in the sky. He had heard there are little mercies in this life, but where were they now, this emptiness was enveloping his body. Where are the small mercies ? Hell, right now, he was ready to take a shovel and dig out the mercies or trade all his night's dreams for it.

P.S. I Wish I work on this story and publish it completely. I have stopped working on it once before as well, but I want to continue it and complete it.

I lost them. One by one.

2010-03-13T05:12:00.003+05:30

1. Dancing.

2. Biking.

3. Sketching.

4. Comics.

5. Talking. ( Well I was never much of a talker, but I was better than this. )

6. Sports.

7. Soon to enter this list - Writing.

I hope Reading never enters this list.

Eyelids

2010-03-07T14:37:00.000+05:30

‘Am too sad to sleep alone’, she said. ‘And am too miserable to sleep with anyone’, he replied. So out there they sat, awake, sad and miserable, in the tiny veranda of their house, seeing the trees shamelessly shed leaves in the nights, and feeling the dry wind go about during the days lazily like a peddler of cheap dolls that nobody bought. It is the neighbours who closed their eyelids.

Unfinished Sympathy

2010-02-05T02:55:00.001+05:30

he couldn't hear anything. the heaviness of massive attack filled his consciousness, he came to know the train has stopped only by the break in vibrations . he clutched his headphones to his ears, closed his eyes and tried to focus on the music.

his mind continued to drift back to her, against his will.

last time he rode the train, she rode with him, straddled across his lap as he held her steady by holding her by her hips. she clutched his neck and kissed his lips, enjoying the leers from the homeless couple clutching cardboard signs that had jumped the rails back at the station, stifling giggles at the irritated sighs from the old lady in the corner.

the girl a few seats over from them had turned up her iPod and drowned out the worries of the old woman, smiling at them. when they looked at her curiously go on, chile was all she said, beckoning them to continue on with their inappropriateness.

he hadn’t ridden since that night. that was the night she jumped, right onto the tracks, into the path of the train they’d been waiting on to take them home. without a word, without a warning. she stood at the edge, like she often did, teetering for the thrill, he thought. she looked into his eyes, she smiled the same smile she smiled every time she smiled at him, and she turned and leaped.

that was almost a year prior. the not knowing, the constant reminders, they had been too much for him. but now he was ready to continue on with his life and part of that life required a train to live.

‘unfinished sympathy’ began to bang against his skull. he blinked away the tears that had gathered and he pushed her out of his mind like he had learned to do in the months following her death, to prevent his own end at his own hands.

Have you ?

2010-01-14T05:36:00.002+05:30

Have you ever confused a dream with reality ? When your minds keeps wondering when did it happen ? Have you ever felt your train is moving while you are sitting still ? Have you ever heard rhymes/songs in the loneliness when there is no sound, or may be there is ? Has it ever happened to you when a song keeps playing in your mind and you cant figure out which song is this , you dont know whom to ask about it ?

May be I am just crazy.

Time, Life

2010-01-06T15:18:00.002+05:30

Dont you ever believe when soomebody says time heals, time heals nothing, may be mosquito bites. Time just allows you to keep getting bigger and further from your boo-hoo, your demon, untill one day you are so big that it tumbles right out of you, it goes away but leaves your skin scarred, scalded by its burning nails. Memory and people allow you to forget things and move on, but my memory has been working exactly in an reverse way, it remembers the things i ought to have forgotten long back, and it forgets the things i should have remembered. If we move on with time, if we accept the things, if we change our wishes depending on what can be fulfilled and what can not, what our own god is willing to give us, aint it compromise with our own life, why the concept of a long compromised life seems unsatisfactory to me right now ? but a small passioned one seeems better, i want the things i want, and if i move on, then i never wanted them strong enough.

I know that I have to enter the world now, the real uncomfortable, full of throns, world, I have to get busy fighting for a job, a home, and i have to have an ambition. and i will loose myself in all this, my wishes, desires, just like i stopped sketching, i will stop writing.

But I want to feel things, like really really feel them. Howz that for an ambition ?

2010-01-06T02:46:00.002+05:30

One day, this world will burn down from the love it can not bear. Fire will reduce flesh to bone and bone to ash, ash to smoke, smoke to air: this is how we shall go. There are mercies in this life so small and humble that they will break you more easily than the cruelities ever would.

When i was a kid, I used to claim i can see for miles and miles. I wonder if i would be able to see her if i stand on a hill.

I am fine.

2010-01-01T18:12:00.001+05:30

Doctor called him in his office. He was middle aged, in his late thirties may be. He was scared, its never good when doctor calls you in his office, if it had been good, he would have told everything in front of her. It was his own way to deal with things. His theory which failed a number of times in past was simple, God does not like me, Whatever i think, he always do the opposite, he always give me what i had not expected. So he would always expect bad things, no matter how funny this theory was, it would console him.

She is at an advanced stage of lukemia, I am afraid, she cant be cured.

Day 1

She was shocked, and so was he, but he kept thinking, reports must be wrong. He knew he is just consoling himself, a doctor would check thrice atleast, before breaking such news, but he kept telling himself. We will try somewhere else, some other doctor, some other lab.

Day 19

Reports arrived from states. It was right. But how it can be ?

Day 23

He researched everything about it on internet. With numerous doctors, conference calls with doctors in other countries, journals, almost everywhere. There must be some hope.

Day 32

She will have to go. Forever. He knew this now for sure. Not a single doctor was left whom he didnt consult, for one hope that may be somewhere, there is some cure. If it was in his hands, he would have fought the god, to cure her, but now he knew. She will have to go.

Day 33

He could not sleep all night, he was looking at her. He didnt know when a tear left his eye, and travelled his cheek to dry out itself. His thoughts were mixing in itself. He spent all night thinking.

Day 34

She woke up in the morning, to get breakfast in bed, and a happy, jovial husband. He announced, if only few months of your life are left, we can as well make them happiest days of our life. He smiled at her. Tears started coming from her eyes, and he said, Why are you worrying sweetheart ? She replied in between the sobs, I will have to suffer few months, which i am sure you will make as painless and happy as you can, its you who I am worried about, and he said I am fine sweetheart, I am really fine, now lets get the day started, i think we are going to have a big day.

Day 42

He now knew she will have to go, and he had accepted it, he would wake up in nights to her bleeding noses, to take care of her, he quit his job. He will spend his day contacting doctors, and yet being there for his wife everytime. At times, when he would sit alone, next to the glass window, he would wonder, How life will be without her, When he will come back to empty house, sure it will be difficult, but i will have to live. I will have to be strong.

Day 71

She was being taken to chemotharapy, when she came back, she was looking so fragile, he was scared to take her in his arms, for she might just break. He cried at the night. Later he thought but ofcourse, he will have to be strong, he has to let her go, and he thought its ok, I am fine. Life wont be same without her, but i will have to manage.

Day 97

She would get convulsions more rapidly now, but now he was used to all this, he would take care of her, he would talk to her for hours, when she wont be sleeping, he would laugh with her, he would smile with her, he would tell him his plans, once she will go away, for she was worried all the time how he will live, and he would tell her, he would go to world tour to celebrate her departure, and they both will laugh together, they both had accepted the fate, and he would always tell her. I am fine sweetheart, I will be fine.

Day 126

She was admitted in the hospital, he knew end is here now. He would run everywhere to get drips, bring in doctors. A moment alone in the lift, and his thoughts will return, it will strike him, she is going now, and he will think, although with tears in his eyes I am ready. I am fine.

Day 128, Day 0

She died. He didnt weep, he didnt feel as upset as he had thought, infact he wondered as if he was waiting for it, may be for all of this to get over. His mind started planning about the things to be done now, to get fake consolation from relatives and friends.

Day 1

He was busy with all the arrangements that had to be done, all the relatives had started piling up. His mind didnt wander much.

Day 13

His mother and sister wanted to stay, theravi was done. Relatives will go now. They didnt want him to be lonely, but he forced them away. He knew he can handle himself, he thought may be his mother being there now will make him realize more, what he has lost.

Day 15

Everybody went back, and now he was alone, alone with his own thoughts and her memories.

Day 16

He woke up from a dream where she was lying next to her, when he woke up for moments he thought she is still in bathroom, but then he realized she is really gone. He thought about her, every moment they had spent together. This is not how it was supposed to happen. He knew it since long back, she will go, but i am supposed to handle myself. He tried to be strong.

He remembered the day doctor had called him in his cabin. Weird thoughts started entering his mind now. He thought i was knowingly expecting something bad so that news is not bad, but wasnt that somehow expecting good news. God gave me what i was not expecting. He blamed himself.

He thought about her intensely now. He thought, I knew this will be difficult, but this is much more difficult than I had thought. A single song, could dismantle him, sending him off to her memories. He would smile at some, and will cry at others.

He would sit in his balcony, and will look at the stars. He would remember the nights they both had sat there together, looking at stars, he will laugh, thinking how he had told her he will go for a world tour. Few minutes later he would cry. Loudly now.

He would look up at the sky, and will say Its ok its ok, I know, I am fine.

Day 17

Ofcourse, everybody will ask me, how can anybody just die like this, but he did, still sitting in that balcony, he was found dead. He died there, from something he had accepted long back, but ofcourse, He was fine.

.

2009-12-31T17:11:00.003+05:30

Uncountable delhi trips, One lost wallet, lost Driving license, I-cards, ATM cards, cash, broken heart, ecstatic heart, One ex-girlfriend married and pregnant, Tears, smiles, Two daru ki bottles 2 friends and one night, neat shots of 2 bottles of whiskey with 2-3 friends, HRC delhi, Avatar, One back, one re-examination, One messed up CAT, 150+blogs, 100+ books, Lost flamingos of bombay, fiction, 10 kg more, First time of lot of things, Room shift, Sarojini nagar torture, crazy three days, numerous break-ups, numerous patch ups, final break up, One ecstatic win, 10 continous days of drinking, accidented bike, Aankhon kay sagar, and lots of things i cant mention here anymore, my mind is clouded with only one thing.

Bbye 2009

Subconscious

2009-12-31T16:45:00.002+05:30

I know, I have accepted the fact, I am recovering, really slowly, much more slowly than i had expected, but there is a difference between knowing and accepting the fact and living it.

Somehow i want my stupid fucking subconscious mind to accept the fact too, to know that its done, gone. I want these fucking dreams to stop. They are not signs anymore, they are just stupid annoying things which making you realize what you have lost right now, which i dont want to know.

In big picture, this all wont matter, this all will be another petty thing, but how sad it is, that our heart, our desires dont understand that, they like to live in current world.

Apni dhun me rehta hoon
Main bhi tere jaisa hoon.

meraa diyaa jalaaye kaun
mai.n teraa Khaalii kamraa huu.N

aatii rut mujhe royegii
jaatii rut kaa jho.Nkaa huu.N

Documented

2009-12-22T00:50:00.002+05:30

Just wanted to document that i had this dream.

Wanted it to remember, that i had this dream, may be sometime in the future, i will come back to this page, and will read about it, and i will regret about all this.

Was that dream( these dreams ) really a sign or just some stuff conjured my subconsicous mind ?

Future is hiding the answers

Who can tell

2009-10-13T10:58:00.000+05:30

He watched her. He took his time.
Had he known that he was about to enter a tunnel whose only egress was his own annihilation, would he have turned away?
Perhaps.
Perhaps not.
Who can tell?

Moment

2009-09-26T05:16:00.007+05:30

Draft 1

She read the letter again, and closed her eyes. She took a moment to open her eyes again. That one moment, it seemed everything had paused. Its so weird how time keeps changing its speed to pass. The length of a second depends on how far your current state of mind is from the world around you. Pain surfaced on her face in that one moment. She opened her eyes again to look at that letter again, after looking at it for few minutes she neatly folded it and kept it safely in a book.

It was raining outside, she looked at the rains, and tried to smile, she told herself how rains always bring smile on her face, and next moment there was a smile on her face. If she had known how cruel the rain and wind is going to be tonight, she would not have smiled.

She was back to the real world. She got up and went to check her mails on her laptop, there were two mails from the office, she replied to both of them, and got busy surfing the web.

Moonlight was coming from the single window in that room, and she could see him sleeping in the bed, most of the nights she would come and stand at the door, just to see him sleeping soundly, moonlight was bouncing back from his body, and she could not help but to keep looking, and there was a smile of satisfaction on her face.

She jerked herself and pulled herself out of her own thoughts. It was usual for her to get lost in her own thoughts, in the mysterious corridors of the past, and then to jerk herself to get out of them. She looked back at the laptop and tried to get busy again. She called her friends and talked to them for hours, she smiled, she laughed, she made jokes.

When she hung up, the void, the emptiness was back, she did not know what to do next. Sometimes in the late evenings, when she would not be expecting anybody and the doorbell would ring, her heart would jump. Human memory, its scalding recall terrorized her: the darnedest little flashbacks, hum of a song he used to like, half finished plate of pasta could dismantle her reminding her of him. But it never used to be him. He would never be at the door.

Some nights she would watch the patterns the rain leaves on the cobblestone path, under her bedroom window. She would try to make something out of those patterns, clouds, animals, or dragons. Part of her believed that one day while walking on his road, wherever he might be, he too will see the same motif on the stone, and briefly they will stand in a togetherness of their own construction. Unfettered by time and distance and fact. How odd are the ways heart finds its intimacy.

On other nights she would wake up from her sleep, drenched in her own sweat, it would get difficult to breathe, and her right shoulder would be hurting a lot, she would get up at once from the bed and will go and stand in the doorway of his room, and will look on that bed, and then the realization will strike again, he is not here, he is gone, with a letter in her books, and she would start acknowledging the pain in her shoulder.

For next few days on the sundown she would fathom the full understanding of longing, how the shoulders can start hurting for the sake of hugging somebody, how one's heart might feel desolate enough to want to burst open like a volcano that can no longer sustain the magma of its own isolation. Looking at trees, she would want to split open their trunks and haul the boy who left him a letter out of them.

She got up from her sleep, and went to her balcony to look at the rain outside, she opened the book and took out neatly folded letter in her hands.
We can probably say that the rain, the winds were probably two naive to understand her feelings for what they did next, they did not want yet another soul to just yearn for somebody whenever they would visit them.

It was then, that wind took the letter out of her hand which she had saved all these years, and took it away from her. Her mouth opened, she gasped, her hand desperately came forward to grasp for the letter but it was gone. She screamed in her mind but she could not move. Its so weird how time keeps changing its speed to pass. The length of a second depends on how far your current state of mind is from the world around you, and she was forever frozen in that moment now.

I dont like it

2009-09-11T16:28:00.000+05:30

I am becoming an impatient, annoying, and short tempered guy.
I dont like it. I dont like it one bit.

How much can you miss somebody ?

I have sinned.

2009-08-27T01:23:00.003+05:30

Edit - Read the post below it before reading this one.

He fell down on the sofa. He lost his fight with the gravitational force to stand upright. Amdist all this news, one part of his mind raced back and thought newton won his fight, the physicist he was.

He tried listening to what she is saying or trying to explain, but he needed no more explanations. He felt he just want to be alone. He heard himself saying - Leave me alone, just go. Please. He couldnt remember himself tryint to say that. He felt after newton, darwin is playing games with him. He felt he has aged 20 years in an instant, and then he saw her leaving the house. He had never said please to her before. He wanted to shout, wanted to stop her, but couldnt find his voice. A tear rolled down his cheeks.

It was the first time she had told him about the dreams about fire-flies, and how they keep disturbng her, she had told him that her father, a doctor in psychology tried to tell her about the meaning of these dreams, it helped but still the dreams wudnt stop. She felt her father is doing everything possible to help her.

He felt a tinge of jealous, he decided he needs to do something, the same night he went around in the jungle, climbed trees and tried catching as many fire-flies he could. He got bruises all over but he could not stop smiling thinking may be her dreams would stop.

He rang her bell, and showed her the jar full of fire-flies, but her eyes were busy, and mouth was open looking at all the bruises on his body, before she could say anything, he said - keep it next to you while sleeping, and that sixteen year old boy, desperately in love with this girl ran away.

It was his first attempt to steal her from her father, or atleast to be as important to her as her father was. To think that somebody else is more important to her than him could suffocate him he thought.

That was fifteen years ago, dreams did stop coming after that night, or atleast she said so. He remembered all this and smiled to himself, today he was sitting in his sofa with the knowledge that she has slept with somebody else. He again smiled to himself, which turned into a laugh, a hysterical laughter, which didnt stop untill a tear rolled out of his eye.

He lay there in the sofa till night. He went to the library. Looked at the shattered pieces of glass she had broken hours ago. He tried to find his own image in those glasses, but he didnt know which one is him, there were so many of the pieces and so many of the images.

He started looking the books she had read him. " I like to hear you hearing me, your listening is like being held by strong pair of arms". He read the novels, finding companionship in their pages, silken ruminations, tragic detours, his imagination filled with her image, he thought some of its passage she must have re-read to him, a line that would have seduced her admiration. His love for her, and his love for the love she had given him came back to him, haunting his memories, and he could not read any further.

He started walking, he didnt know where is he going. He knew he had loved her, he had given all of his heart to keep her happy, he had been awake at nights to see her sleeping, he liked to think she is not dreaming of fireflies, but even the thought of her dreaming about fireflies used to terrorize him. He just wanted her to smile.

He decided he wont ever come back. He thought she will think that he left her because she cheated on him but perhaps she will never come to know that he is going because he thought he has failed himself, because he had not loved her enough to keep her to herself. He had failed himself terribly.

But i dont want her to cry. He knew she cant cry. But still a thought that she might cry sent shivers down his spine. He thought to himself. I dont want her to cry. Its all my fault. I wish she never cries. and he walked on.

I have sinned.

2009-08-26T15:54:00.002+05:30

Reaching for her diary, she tore out a piece of paper and scribbled on it: I want to cry. She wrote it repeatedly till the paper tore to shreds. Her dry eyes counted the number of pieces falling down the floor.

The fight between the two was not new, but for the first time she had accepted she was at fault. All these years, he had pampered her in every way, his love had kept her alive, and always surrounded her, given her comfort, and she had never asked for anything more but today she had run away from all of it. Sitting in her balcony, she could remember, the way he fell down in the sofa when she told him everything. She wanted him back, but didnt know how to do that.

Standing in her balcony, she plotted her return and confession, she looked at the smoke coming out of her mouth, and disappearing into the air. She wanted him back she thought, and she regretted everything she had done, she tried to convince herself that whatever she did was to save their relationship. The fact of not being with him had started registering in her mind, she had started missing him and wanted to go back to him, his place.

A week of turmoil passed in a devastatingly slow rhythm. Her need for him had reached to its extremes. Convinced that she had achieved a logical, credible arc to confessional narrative, her mind tried to rest. But at midnight she sat up in bed, filled with a formidable, exhausting urge to cry, her face burried in the web of her fingers. I want to cry, I just want to cry, She repeated to herself, then woke up next morning, as dry eyed as when she had slept.

The moment she stepped foot in his apartment, its graveyard silence enfolded her, pulling her into anxious vortex. Had he gone for a walk? She waited for him in their bedroom. In the evening she went to his study and kneeled on the floor, bent her head and took great gasps of air. The shards of what she had broken a week ago, pieces of glass lay scattered around her like a jigsaw in which she was only another piece.

Forever unwhole.

Forever shattered.

She knew he is not coming back, and then it happened on its own, tears started rolling down her cheeks, and she cried untill dawn flapped its burnished wing against the tall glass doors.

P.S - This post in no means is intended for anybody in particular, its just an imagination brought to words.

She raped an orange because she love marijuana.

2009-08-24T02:25:00.004+05:30

I have heard what you love you can save.

She saved me, she loved me, she loved me in a way nobody can ever possibly understand. She doesnt mean world to me, I dont miss her much if i dont get to talk to her for few days, She is not oxygen for me, but i have come to know in odd ways that how much i love her and can miss her. She means more to me than anybody else will ever mean.

When it comes to love I am always card sharp but out of case money. She is ace of those cards.

People can love people in such strange ways that it will take you more than a lifetime to figure that one out.

Many's the time I ran with you down
The rainy roads of our old town
Many the lives we lived in each day
And buried altogether.

I miss the Tarun who used to sketch.

2009-06-01T00:39:00.003+05:30

Na jane khud ko chodd aaya hoon main kahan,

Jis ko pyaar aur naaz tha apne armano se

Koi dhoondh ke mujh ko bhi le aaye kahin se,

Khud ko dekha nahi hai zamano se.

You are one.You are only.

2009-05-28T07:44:00.003+05:30

She shares my birthdate. I hope she still remembers me. ( I have not written this. )

If not you,
it would have been nobody.
You are one. You are only.
I will remember always.

I hope you do too!!

But though you're still with me, I've been alone all along

2009-05-16T07:38:00.001+05:30

There’s something in your eyes that looks – but doesn’t notice
There is something in the light that makes visible – but not clear
There is something in your hand that touches – yet never feels
There is something about You – That is there – with me – And I still Miss You

Moonlit Nights

2009-05-12T18:49:00.005+05:30

Around six years ago, in a room with a window from where moonlight used to fill my room, I read a book, which depressed me to no limits. I still remember those nights, those days exactly, I remember myself reading each and every word and page and feeling the emotions swirl inside me. Although sad, strange and weird that time was, when i spent restless nights in my bed, longing for something, something deep, I still miss that time, a lot. I still miss that restlessness, may be that pain, that longing and those moonlit nights. I developed this weird love for moonlit nights, Moonlight always wrap me in its own love,its disappointed and sad love which depresses me,it still elevates me from the lowest of lows i have seen, may be to take me to a different low which i love fondly.

Around two years back I read this another book, I felt the same longing, same feelings again. I fell in love with moonlit nights all over again, and i could not sleep for a lot of nights.I was waiting for these moments to return since then...

I dont have much to say now, Those moments have returned, i dont want this book to end, i dont want to read it further, I know nobody can ever feel what i feel, at times i wonder why people cant feel the things i feel when they read these lines. I am still glad atleast few of them understand my sketches.

I feel i should sketch more often. That is one way to tell everybody now what i feel.. what i have always been feeling.. the intensity of my emotions..

*Solitude*

Immortal memories.

2009-05-02T14:00:00.001+05:30

Clutching at what remains of the past, I hear its spooky laughter as it eludes me, I snatch at wisp of that music in my ears but yesterday's creatures no longer return. I must do the best I can with the echoes.

I wish memories were mortal.

Moods that take me and erase me..

2009-05-01T17:30:00.003+05:30

I dont let my guard down that easily, last 2 years although even after whatever happened, I always tried to control myself, but last two days i let myself go in the flow of my emotions and for a change i dont even try to talk myself out of anything. It feels good to not to talk myself, but i miss my controlled form as well, when i used to talk myself out of my bad moods, anger, frustration. When i had a full control on my emotions. I know this is just a phase when i dont want to control myself and it will pass, but such a short phase has made me start missing my own control over my own emotions.

"Moods that take me and erase me..

and I am painted black."

The Clam and the book

2009-03-26T01:53:00.003+05:30

Read this poem on one of the bloggers page, liked it well enough to post it over here.

He was a clam

Not open all closed

She an open book

He opened when he chose.

He thought he knew her

He had read the pages all

But she remained a riddle

He never could solve.

He hid himself well

Never bared his soul

Yet she knew him like herself

May be more, who really knows…

Their love flourished

Unlikely as it seemed

Different as chalk and cheese

In spirit they were peas in a pod

A love story whose end

I am too scared to explore

So my verse ends right here

With a ‘happily ever after’

- Shail Mohan (March 2009)

All you who sleep tonight

2009-03-20T02:55:00.001+05:30

All you who sleep tonight
Far from the ones you love,
No hand to left or right
And emptiness above -

Know that you aren't alone
The whole world shares your tears,
Some for two nights or one,
And some for all their years.

2009-03-05T04:25:00.001+05:30

Loving you..Isnt really somethin I shud do

.. should not spend my time with you...

I shouold try to be strong..

But Baby You are the Right Kind of Wrong.

I never thought I could fall like that Never knew that I could hurt this bad

2009-03-04T02:32:00.000+05:30

Hello, good morning, how ya do?
What makes your rising sun so new?
I could use a fresh beginning too
All of my regrets are nothing new

So this is the way
that I say that I need You
This is the way
This is the way

That I'm learning to breathe
I'm learning to crawl
I'm finding that You and
You alone can break my fall
I'm living again, awake and alive
I'm dying to breathe in these abundant skies

Hello, good morning, how ya been?
Yesterday left my head kicked in
I never thought I could fall like that
Never knew that I could hurt this bad

I'm learning to breathe
I'm learning to crawl
I'm finding that You and
You alone can break my fall
I'm living again, awake and alive
I'm dying to breathe in these abundant skies

So this is the way
that I say that I need You
This is the way
That I say I love You
This is the way
That I say I'm Yours
This is the way
This is the way

Put a gun on my head and paint the walls with my brain.

2008-07-29T03:15:00.003+05:30

I need somewhere to go.
I need somewhere to run.

Dude, enough, stop it.

I choose to ignore this voice.

Mind.

2008-07-28T04:18:00.003+05:30

These moments when i feel lonely, when i know i need u, and nobody else, instead of trying to make myself feel good, my mind trudges me back to being pathetic and to miss u even more, why is it so tht every shelter tht i shud look for , every thing tht i know i shud do to bring me myself back from tht distant horizon where everything looks blue, i just run away from it.

Yes I m missing you right now, but somewhere i m enjoying missing you hell so much, and all the warnings that my mind is issuing to me about being gloomy and distant from things, I m ignoring them. I m in a trance, I m high , I m missing you, More than ever, enough to blog about you.

Come back to me soon, I cant wait anymore.

Every thing comes back to me
The way u tok to me, the way u listen to me
The stars clears there way and their tears fill ma mind , my eyes
and i rejoice in those tears, I laugh and I smile,
Even Missing you is sweet.
To me

Tonight

2008-07-16T02:15:00.002+05:30

Went to the fort, Got drunk, 3 beers, whisky did their job.
Was coming back, and finally after one of the friend got into the taxi , At night 11 or 12 ,
I met with this really old guy , asking for the lift, he said - Beta can u plz drop me at Some Place, in a voice which was almost begging me

That was not where I was going, it was totally on a different route.
I donno why, But i took a long long way, arnd 8-10 miles or km or something just to drop tht old man where he wanted, may be i was drunk, but i went just opposite to the road tht I should have gone. and there he was , blessing me, I smiled and said Its ok uncle, it was just on the way and came back to the hostel

I donno why I did it, May be i was too drunk, May be I didnt want a old man like him to beg me, May be I just wanted to boast abt it and write a blog abt it and every person to temme I m a good guy, Whatever it was, I m feeling good, he got home.

I have seen ashes shine like chrome.
Someday I will see home.

2008-06-27T20:41:00.006+05:30

... and then 'Finally' it rained.

2008-06-16T00:07:00.002+05:30

The year past brought rains after a summer of hope and fallen dreams. So the rain with its gloom and darkness, its noisy silence and sombre cocoon was like a hot broth to a starved beggar in a snow laden land. It gave solace and offered comfort, in a way no company or tome could provide. I vividly recall countless hours spent watching the trees and glades lustily succumb and submit to a stronger power willingly, enjoying the ritual, joyously. It was serene, to watch something to ordinary and overlooked, and find new meaning in something so old. I wanted to hold those treasured moments, enigmatic in some ways, deeply engraved in the grooves of my mind.

I was anxiously waiting for monsoon to begin this year, not much unlike an Indian farmer who waits to see his land conceive. I eagerly waited to know, if the magic would return? If the unexplainable yearning would join the gray clouds, if the mysterious warmth that merged with the cold drops that fell would still be felt? And Oh, the joy I felt when I first heard the thunder rumble again. When the lightning streaked across the night sky I felt my heart leap, like that of a lady's when she hears the hooves of her lover's steed and I heard myself sigh, a sigh of relief and only one thought crossed my mind, "Finally!".
The romance, blatantly obvious, added another ironic humor. However, solitude has its own romance to show. I take walks alone down empty lanes, with rain softly rolling down me. If all this sounds like a picturesque some novel or movie, living it no less dramatic. The sounds, the hues, the zephyr and the beauty, they all arouse a feeling of sensuality and passion, spurt some heady zest that evoke a state of madness.
A romantic by soul, these months are going to be an adventure and an enlightenment. I delve into parts of me rarely explored, and feel emotions rarely experienced. This has always been the time when I can feel there are still little blessings left on the earth . Love comes in these little blessings and thts the magic of it.

" .... the little drops fell on my face, I looked up
and it was the first and last blessing for me,
my secret joy , my love for somebody i have not seen ,
and then i realized, Finally it has rained "

.

2008-06-07T12:12:00.002+05:30

how many loved your moments of glad grace,
and loved your beauty with love false or true,
but one man loved the pilgrim soul in you,
and loved the sorrows of your changing face...

The boy who never flew.

2008-04-29T08:26:00.001+05:30

The boy who never flew

--x--

Jab Tere Dard Mein Dil Dukhta Tha
Hum Tere Haq Mein Dua Karte Thay
Hum Bhee Chup Chaap Phira Karte The
Jab Teri Dhun Mein Jiya Karte The

I m not me tonight.

2008-04-01T22:53:00.001+05:30

A lonely path, A distant figure, clouds of dust.

One night, he had no idea what he was doing, where was he going, what was he thinking. He knew his feet are taking him somewhere, but he did not know where he should be heading or to who he should be heading.
It stated to rain. The rain drops were enveloping his body, which proved to be perfect shelter for him, his mind was racing back to the things he did not understand no longer, he felt everything around him had been flattened into a neat illustration. A machine drawing with an instruction manual that told him what to do. His mind, desperately craving some kind of mooring, clung to details. It labeled each thing it encountered.
Road - He thought as he was walking on the Road.
Road.
Stones.
Sky.
Rain.
The rain on his skin was warm. The laterite rock under his feet jagged. He started noticing everything now. Each leaf. Each tree. Each cloud in the starless sky. Each step he took.
He began to count. Something. Anything.One two three four five six seven eight nine ten eleven twelve thirteen fourteen fifteen sixteen seventeen eighteen nineteen twenty twenty-one twenty-two twenty-three twenty-four twenty-five twenty-six twenty-seven twenty-eight twenty-nine.
The machine drawing began to blur. The clear lines to smudge. The instructions no longer made sense. The road rose to meet him and the darkness grew dense. Glutinous. Pushing through it became an effort. Like swimming underwater.

He had no-one to go to today. It was too late. At least for today.

---x---

I've been sitting watching life pass from the sidelines
Been waiting for a dream to seep in through my blinds
I wondered what might happen if I left this all behind
Would the wind be at my back ? Could I get you off my mind
This time
---X---

Tagged ?

2008-03-20T07:58:00.005+05:30

1. Where were you THREE hours ago?
In ma chair, where I m right now, then I slept for 2 hrz.

2. What do you think of your LAST kiss?
It was last from someone.

3. Are you wearing SOCKS right now?
No

4. When was the last time you went out of state?
January

5. Have you been to the M0VIES in the last 5 days?
No

6. What did you see?
?

7. What was the last thing you had to drink?
Water

8. What are you wearing right now?
Numeruno Jeans and a Green Gio T shirt ( Yeah, I slept in jeans and t shirt )

9. What was your last purchase?
Parathe and Banana Shake

10. Last food you ate?
Parathe

11. Who was the last person you talked to on the phone?
Swati

12. Have you bought any clothing items in the last week?
No

13. Do you have a pet?
No

14. What did you do last night?
Studied, Passed time, Watched a documentary, slept.

16. If you could be anywhere you want where would it be?
Mumbai

17. What is the last thing you purchased online?
Railway Reservation Tickets ?

18. One thing you hate about yourself?
Too many to mention

19. What’s your favorite soup?
Minestrone

20. Do you miss anyone?
Yes

21. Last movie you saw?
Once

22. What are your plans for the day?
Give exam, Study, Give another Exam, Go biking, clean ma room, Take a long shower, And pack ma bags to go back home. ( I always clean ma room before going back home )

23. Did you have fun today?
Its 8 o clock in the morning. I had funny dreams though.

24. Who is your last text message from?
Swati

25. Were you an honor roll student in school?
Yes

26. What do you know about the future?
Tomorrow will be friday, then it will be saturday, and day after that it will be sunday, untill and unless government decides to change it.

27. Who was the last person you rode in a car with?
Sister

29. Do you have a tan?
Yes

30. How old do you want to be when you have kids?
Early thirties ( Never thought of it :| )

31. Did you meet anyone new today?
Its 8'o clock in the morning.

32. Do you have any tattoos or piercings?
No.

33. How do you like your soda?
I don't.

34. Do you like hot sauces?
Not unless its chocolate

35. What are you doing tomorrow?
Leaving for home.

36. What day is tomorrow?
Friday

37. What is your current mood?
Blank.

38. Why?
What ?

39. Do you remember the first person you ever kissed?
Who is interested to know ?

40. Do you have a crush on anyone right now?
Yes.

41. If you could be on a TV show, which one would it be?
Who dares wins.

42. Why?
Looks exciting, unless they make me eat things i cant even think of eating.

43. Have you ever watched a movie and just “had” to do what they did?
I watch a movie, I laugh, i think, and after two hours , its time to watch another one.

44. Do you have a “face” you make in the mirror?
Erm no.

45. Ever use someone else’s toothbrush?
No.

46. Do you like/love the person you got this survey from?
She is interesting.

47. Can you whistle?
Yes. Very Well.

48. Can you wiggle your ears?
Yes, but i wont like to. I will prefer cotton buds.

49. You have a song that comes on that you just “have” to turn up and sing to?
Audioslave - Like a stone.

50. Who are you thinking about right now?
She.

Calling

2008-03-17T20:35:00.003+05:30

Falling slowly, Sing your melody
and I 'll sing along.

- Moods that take me and erase me and I m painted black -

The peace in your eyes is the reason of my smile

2008-03-03T16:44:00.004+05:30

When was the last time you smiled genuinely

.. i rose from the death , only to see you smiling.

Morning Kiss

K.O.

2008-02-12T13:48:00.000+05:30

Exam in 69 minz !!
And My mind is too preoccupied to study even alphabets.

Well the only thing in ma mind right now going on and on and on is,
Be passionate or practical !

How much can u trust a person, isnt there a level called, after which u cant trust nobody at all.

When i was a kid, my friend broke the window glass in the school, i asked him why he did tht, he said just for fun, i said ok, the next thing he did was to look at me for a moment and he kept staring, that moment I didnt know whats going on in his mind, He said he will go to teacher and will tell her what he did, I said ok, he asked me to come along with him,I went with him and then he said those magical words to teacher
- " Miss, Tarun broke the window glass , I asked him why, he said just for fun "

I was shocked, taken aback .
That was my first taste.

Today i wanna thank tht friend, for making it simple in first taste :) .

Well .. Answer to my question is somewhere here only, if it does not taste so bad, I can try it hundred times more.

Passion continues.

I wish i could write, I m not giving exam, I m too tired.
Damn, I will have to write exam, with nothing studied till now.

2008-02-01T14:49:00.001+05:30

Its so strange that love and loathing, joy and distress, quietness and noise, all eventually blur and one is left wondering where one ended and the other one started.

Only if i knew how transient the brilliant flames of joy are, i would have stopped them right then, cause now those moments and their silent jubilation surface in my mind and mocks me.

I am not going to attend my lectures. I m 'Tired'.

Death of the moments.

2008-01-28T03:34:00.001+05:30

Nostalgia creeps inside and make u miserable.
Remembering those times , I feel suffocated..
I miss that time, I miss a dozen things,
and the problem is I cant define what I miss so much.

I know i was happy that time, I know I m happy these days as well, and I wonder I m going to miss these days someday a lot, But every moment, a part of me is changing, i m not holding on the things that are gone, but its just a moment for now, when i want to stop, i want to turn back and want to look how i was , what i have become, and to tell myself that transformation will not stop ever. But its a moment to look back at the blur, and to keep looking till this moment lasts..

Its time to stop.
Its time to try once more to treasure all that i have even though I know, everything will be lost.
Its time to close your eyes, and to rest for a moment, to keep the things forever.
Its time to smile and wave back at the moments which are dead.

A moment is not that long. Is it ?
:)

Its time to move again.

Life is good.

2008-01-12T16:44:00.000+05:30

Life is too good, it always has been good. lol
There are too many things to mention. So wont bother to mention any, the summary is , M happy these days, ( well I always am, apart from the time wen i come to blog )

Anyways, A new sketch which holds all the importance these days, made for somebody very very special, and tht person is already holding this sketch in her hands.. he he

You are my only need.
.. I'm not with you because you need me, I m with you and going to be with you always because I need you every moment of my life..

I wonder if anybody even visits this page .

I m waiting for you there, like a stone.

2008-01-03T18:27:00.000+05:30

Nothing

2008-01-01T05:20:00.000+05:30

New year has always been depressing for me.

This is the last thing you can take away from me.

2007-12-27T01:30:00.001+05:30

On your mercy.

'...I m numb ..
These wings are now too heavy to fly in the sky... '

2007-12-15T02:56:00.000+05:30

14 Nov

31 Fucking days !

Someboy stop me. :( !

2007-12-15T02:53:00.000+05:30

You, do you remember me?,
Like, I remember you?
Do you spend your life, going back in your mind to that time?,
Cause I, I walk the streets alone,
I hate being on my own, and everyone can see that,
I really fell, and I'm going through hell.
Thinking about you with somebody else.

Somebody wants you,
Somebody needs you.
Somebody dreams about you every single night.
Somebody cant breathe, without you it's lonely.
Somebody hopes that one day you will see, that somebody's me.
That somebody's me. yeaa...

You will always be in my life, even if im not in your life.
Cause you're in my memory...

You, when you remember me?...
And before you set me free, oh listen please...

Somebody wants you,
Somebody needs you.
Somebody dreams about you every single night.
Somebody cant breathe, without you it's lonely.
Somebody hopes that someday you will see, that somebody's me.
That somebody's me.
Somebody's me...
That somebody's me...
That somebody's me...
Oh yeah...

I m fighting for my freedom, and dey say, dey never took it, its still with me.

2007-11-30T10:46:00.000+05:30

Being alone helps sometime, I wanna be alone these days, I dont freaking want to tell ppl stuff which i dont want to tell anybody. Looks like I m running away from dem, from everybody, but den again I never had anything to tok abt, I simply start toking wen I m comfortable, and how very few ppl make me comfortable. I have a habit to think twice before saying anythin, and I dont like tht, I tok freely only wen I feel I m wid somebody who wont mind anything...

May be I just wanna watch a movie :(

And Sometimes I wonder, to keep thinking all the time tht I wont think abt a particular person, it will be counted in thinkin abt tht person ?

I really entertain myself a lot, exam in 3 hrz 11 minz, havent studied anything yet, and m blogging, How cool iz tht :D

I m in love wid these lines, Y I like everything which can exhibit pain :O
Btw I loved da movie Saawariya.. Awesome movie. I m ready to watch it again. Right now !! Wait, Not right now, exam in 3 hrz and 4 minz.

You do something to me, something deep inside
I'm hanging on the wire for a love I'll never find
You do something wonderful then chase it all away
Mixing my emotions that throws me back again
Hanging on the wire, I'm waiting for the change
I'm dancing through the fire, just to catch a flame
an' feel real again

You do something to me somewhere deep inside
I'm hoping to get close to a peace I cannot find

Dancing through the fire just to catch a flame
Just to get close to, just close enough
To tell you that.....

You do something to me something deep inside.

* How does it feel when your own voice suffocate you, Can you scream ? *

2007-11-23T01:47:00.000+05:30

* How does it feel when your own voice suffocate you, Can you scream ? *

Lots of things going on in my life !
If it was one at a time, it wud have been easy to pay attention on everything, to sort them out.
But it felt like life has been like a highway, ppl are going in and out of it . Ppl coming and going out of life. I feel like a stranger in front of all the people, and i agreed Continuous talkin is not communication. I talk to them and I never have any sense or understanding wat I m talkin about, ma best tries not to make ppl feel or understand anything, but I know they can feel the change again.

*My bubble that I created around me feels like a plastic around me, I wanna breath*

I m trying to push out everything tht can hurt me, but does it mean tht in the end I will be left with nothing or noone ? Ma all the tries to be happy works all the time works, but then there is a time when I feel alone, all empty. I dont need nobody to talk to, or to tell how I feel, caz I know How to control maself, but these moments are coming more frequently these days.

Why is it so, tht ultimately everything about ur life will come to you only, nobody else can do anything about it, Ur life is your own, one thing that U own, and soon, U gonna be alone, to face the things, to face this life, and then nobody, ur parents, ur friendz can help u, I have learnt one thing, U will have to fight everything alone, and trust me , I dont show it, but sometimes , somewhere I feel scared.

Anyways, Lots of Documentation still to do, and I m talking philosophy.
I m so screwed !

Was plannin to put some nice pic over here, But now m not bothered to do that.

.

2007-11-20T14:05:00.000+05:30

I gave her a part of Me.
Even though I knew She could break it.
She broke it, and looked at me, like a kid who just broke his favorite toy.
I smiled back, and I said, Dont worry, U still have the rest of me.

2007-11-16T01:52:00.000+05:30

There are so many little dyings that it doesn't matter which of them is death.

And they entered da absolute defense, Killed me, Laughed and ran away.

2007-10-02T19:07:00.000+05:30

U get strong all the time when U see tht person happy and plan never to tok again.
Ur hatred blooms.

U become weak in One moment if u see dey r not happy, or dey r not fine.
And U just want dem to be happy again

U think Nothin matters, All i have to do is to comfort tht particular person.

Wats dis ?

I want this sense of care to disappear.
I don like being weak anymore.

For every moment that U r becoming weak, Somewhere U r becoming equally
strong.
I want to trust it but looks absurd.

And my body turned into sand.

2007-09-25T00:02:00.000+05:30

73 Days !!

Y da fuk I m counting each and every day !!

2007-09-24T13:56:00.000+05:30

2007-09-19T00:43:00.000+05:30

Its difficult to make myself understand the stuf I dont want to understand.

I m moody, even with myself.

.

2007-09-17T10:12:00.000+05:30

-Can u feel my pain ?
-Yeah, It tastes like metal.

-I m not bleeding , but it really hurts here.
-Thts solitude !

-Wats that?
-Enjoy it.

-It will make me a monster?
-Have fun.

-Am i allowed to scream?
-No.

-Thats gonna be difficult.
-It will be fun, Lets have fun.

-Ok I m in.

This, too, shall pass away!!

2007-09-16T08:33:00.000+05:30

Once a monarch, surrounded by worries and troubles asked his wise men to formulate a magic spell - few words of wisdom. The words that would act as a talisman. Words so few that he could engrave them on his rings. The words should be valid in all situations- be it happiness or sorrow, Death or disaster, love or war, day or night……

The wise men thought a lot and returned to the monarch with the result. The words they found were:

This, too, shall pass away!!

I have not been doing good work lately, I quit.

2007-09-04T03:35:00.000+05:30

Charcoal on the Hand Made paper.

Its beautiful and confusing.
I will find my way.

I m drowning in ma own sound.

I m in a game and the rules are simple

I look around and everything looks so dark
the colours have been removed,
the sound is heavy in this colourless world
I look around and everything looks so dark
there is a spider running around me,
with my eyes fixed on it,
My head spins , my eyes hurt

I close my eyes, and see your face and i smile,
slowly the life drains out of me

I m in a game and the rules are simple
If i smile i die,

And I smile, each and every moment of my life.

2007-08-23T10:46:00.000+05:30

My Silence could mean You are not worth the arguement !!

Sunlight makes the clouds look orange. Rain is just a possiblity.

2007-08-16T10:47:00.000+05:30

Past->Present->Future

Sometimes I wish I go to a deep sleep and wake up in another world !!

A nice form of pseudo-solitude is a walk in really heavy rain.
When you cant see more that a few meters ahead, theres too much water
in the way. And no one can hear a sound you make, the rain is much louder.
It surrounds you like a semi transparent wall seperating you from
everyone else, following you wherever you go.

There is something which separates me from others. Even if i try to speak, my voice coils around me like a snake. It feels like I m talking to people who are miles away from me, at the other side of a tunnel, it takes time for sound to reach them.It takes times to reach the sound they make to me.

Walking in rain is much better.
I wish this rain never stops.Looking at it makes me feel good

2007-08-06T11:36:00.000+05:30

phir usii raah_guzar par shaayad
ham kabhii mil sake.n magar shaayad

jaan pahachaan se kyaa hogaa
phir bhi ai dost Gaur kar shaayad

muntazir jin ke ham rahe unko
mil gaye aur ham_safar shaayad

jo bhii bichha.De hai.n kab mile hai.n 'Faraz'
phir bhii tuu intazaar kar shaayad

When was the last time i saw myself in the mirror ?

2007-08-01T15:16:00.000+05:30

And then he started to count.. something, anything.. One two three four five six seven eight nine ten eleven and then everythin faded...

I am a beautifully embroided handkerchief.

I hardly give ppl now a days the pleasure of being rude to them and then they say I m rude,
they don understand I m doin them a favour.

" Hey baccha, dont u worry I will be always there for u, how can u even think I can leave u, now come on smile. "
Liar.

"Hey everything gonna be alright :D, Love - Tarun."
Faker

Do i hate myself, I guess no, I m the best handkerchief ever :D

And then its their turn - " Tarun, I will be with you always"
But though you are still with me, I have been alone all along.
I smile.
Ppl say they know me.
I smile.
Ppl say I m the sweetest person.
I smile.
Ppl say You are rude Tarun .
I smile.
Ppl say I don like u
I smile.
Ppl say they will be there for me.
I smile.
Ppl say they love me.
I smile.
Ppl say Fuck Off.
I smile.

My smile with a clear look of amusement on ma face, ma face wondering.. Sayin it to maself - One more.

***************************************************************

Nothin is static...
Every thing move on.
Everything falls apart
Even ma thoughts can walk, they make me feel tired, like an old shit lookin man, lying inside his
grave and clawing at the lid of his coffin, and wonderin if all the world has stopped
to take a dump on ma grave
And then I smile.

Every moment something changes, The life is not like it was a moment ago,
Everybody gain some more experience, if they are sleepin, they are one moment more relaxed,
I m one moment older, I know more things, life has taken one more step towards infinity..
Every moment is different from the moment ago
Every moment somethin changes.
Every moment changes somethin.
and then I smile.

***************************************************************

Even the princess was as help less as the prince.
Ignorance is bliss sometimes.
Sometimes.

***************************************************************

2007-05-17T14:37:00.001+05:30

:(

just wanna scream once..

Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa

Feelin lil better

...

2007-04-28T20:40:00.000+05:30

Hold me

"... and she said " I need someone to hold me, to tell me I m not alone. I need arms, I need to hear someone tell me I'm okay. That its all okay... "... "

"... and they both melted into one body... "

:D

2007-04-24T01:27:00.000+05:30

On the count of three, we all will smile
1, 2 , 3

Enjoy, today is a good, so will be tomorrow.

My happy ending

2007-04-21T00:02:00.000+05:30

Fuck off god * Just for a start .. he he *

I rock Mr god !!!

I dont belive in fate.
I dont believe in destiny.
I dont believe in God.

I m da one who works on my life, I can control my feelings, my emotions.
May be I cant do 99 percent of the things in the world tht u can do, but still i learnt how to be happy!! How to smile always, how to laugh on yourself !!

Nd i m more happy dan u anytime so screw u.

I remember myself prayin to God sometimes when i was really scared for somebody, I was thinkin wat if there is a God somewhere, there is no risk in prayin him for somebody, lol.. was not able to see dem in pain tht time.

Now i m over dat phase.. or i shud say i was over dat phase dat very same day.

** Tarun remembers sweet memories of the past and smiles
and acknowledge himself these moments are going to be missed , I m going to miss this track. **

* I still wanna fly :( :)*

--------xXx---------

Ppl say world looks beautiful wen u r in love, Its lookin beautiful even wen i know i cant be in love ever. ( I know it sounds kiddish nd stupid , so fuck off, i never asked wat u think bout it )

Yo baby

2007-04-19T17:12:00.001+05:30

I can control my emotions.
\m/

The child is grown, The dream is gone.

2007-04-16T13:38:00.000+05:30

Burnt to Ashes

2007-04-15T02:59:00.000+05:30

How late is too late?

How Far is too far ?

How close is too close ?

Strange. Not to mention completely random?

Today i feel like I m totally consumed, there is nothin left inside me, no blood, no brain, no feelings, no excitement !! I m empty, hollow ! I wasted myelf on all da things which were shining, and i forgot everythin which shines is not gold.

Those questions in the starting does not look random now. It feels like every moment i m drifting away and coming closer to the place which looks good from distance but is horrible from closer view.

Days roll pass me like local trains pulling out of stations. Slow now, faster...out of sight before you can count the compartments and the faces at the window. I'm like the solitary crow on the far end of the cable. I can see you from up here, you're smoking on a cigarette and calling me anti-social. I can fly, so screw you.

The walls are closing in and my escape routes are shut off. I will keep fightin with myself for the hopes, I donno I will emerge as a winner or not but i will try, I m trying.

I feel like i m walking in a circle, always find my way back to where i start, I always find my way back to the ashes.

One by one I hear my friends tell me that I will be missed. I'm not gone yet. Or so it seems.

-------xXx-------

If you want to be understood - Listen

2007-04-07T03:30:00.000+05:30

The Pain is all Mine

2007-04-05T03:25:00.000+05:30

- M restless !!
- U r not, U r just tellin urself u r !! Tell urself U r very happy , and u will be !!
- It does not work dis way
- Its not working caz u keep thinkin u r restless
-Fuck u , Go away
- Smile !! U r not tht weak.
- erm, looks like its working

------xxXxx------

-I m still pretending
-I guess u r pretending to urself.
-who da fuck r u?
-Nobody.Smile
-Control
- ok.

------xxXxx------

Put a gun on my head and paint the wall with my brain.

2007-03-31T10:52:00.000+05:30

"Foot falls echo in the memory
Down the passage I did not take
Towards the door I never opened
Into the rose garden."

Why the fuck

2007-03-27T11:43:00.000+05:30

Why da fuck everybody has to search meaning and truth !!
Why da fuck dey have to pretend dey r after somethin which money, power, luxuries, friends, a busy life, with weekly holidays for leisure, vacations with ur loved ones cant buy.
Life is good, we took birth, we have to live a happy life, we taking the burden of too many emotions of grief, regret, fake expressions nd a feeling tht we r saint who wants meaning keep moving forward. Give me a break, loose out, live a humans life. It has already too many things to worry about
----------------x--------------
God - Life is too difficult to understand. Its difficult to find meaning and truth.
tensor~ - I dont want to understand life, I want to live it.
God - Do u want to live something U don't even understand ?
tensor~ - I dont want to waste my life in understanding what it is. I dont believe in rebirth.
** God laughs **
God - U r an ignorant man. U will regret everything u think right now. U will cry.
tensor~ - Fuck u. Thts part of life
----------------x--------------

2007-03-23T11:54:00.000+05:30

Here I am lost in the ashes of time but who wants tomorrow
- Afterglow ( INXS)

"Memory can change the shape of a room. It can change the color of a car. And memories can be
distorted. They are just an interpretation. They are not a record."
- Memento

I donno which part I m pretending, Y i m feeling tht the part i thot till now i was pretending has become the real tarun, and the real tarun i thot i m or i was never existed !!
U cant understand what I m saying but I feel i have modified my own memories.
I was just pretending to pretend.
May be
I donno anything now
M lost within myself.

2007-03-13T04:41:00.000+05:30

2007-03-10T18:31:00.000+05:30

and we will keep on working on the problem we know we will never solve. !!!

it feels good being busy!!
but sometimes even wen i m busy, i m laughing bad, i feel like i m alone in da crowd.
i feel like i m getting seizures, all of a sudden taken away from ur friends in a moment nd ur mind is somewhere else thinking somethin else,reliving some of the moments of past as well, makin u either smile or wonder wat happened !!
nd den ur friend says
tarun !!!
tarun !! wat r u thinkin!!! not even listenin to me
nd i wake up from my thots, nd smile nd say sorry !!

** looks at the comp, have to work again, m lucky m busy nd frendz to call me back, m afraid someday i will be lost completely in my thoughts not knowin i m breathin nd dere will be nobody to call me back- tarun, r u listenin to me?**
** stabs himself in da stomach, dies a painful death **

2007-03-06T17:10:00.000+05:30

Being happy makes u vulnerable?