Off late in the recent turmoil that the nation is witnessing I was perplexed I thought, I dwell in a nation which has abundance of spirit that rise and shine on the days when we see others seems like we are yet a mob not a bonhomie that we are within the boundaries of the state. Are we mere perpetuators of the only essence that is see in us “Barbarism” which has its own tone some sweet, some sour, some blood shedding and some for mere survival? Under the sky that we used to sing anthems of nationality where a man was termed Iron (ferocious) and were those made of some ductile metals or they simply didn’t had any conscience of their own that they agreed upon a mirage “India” and gave up all that they have. How mature I fell us are today when I see all of us pelting stones on the leaders from all the spheres of lives how insanely how casually we live with them in our every discussion over tea or too intensely over booze. Where am I within all this a mayhem that is driven of national hatred that trespasses across mind, humanity, religion, class, creed and state? I wonder the school that used to teach us nothing on this and it the society the family the domain that we breed this greed and hatred. All more that I often see its more within the intellectual minds the scholars, accomplishers, laureates, academicians and the prophets of public mind those who rule the rust. And where is my beloved “Beautiful mind” that was just what it saw and through heart, unbiased to congenital dissent, a resolute that it used to be of a race of an apple eater I wished was better than today I wonder what word shall I coin for it. Within a span of time that I feel and if steal

To be or not to be

In a stupor where the words stabber and loose meaning, Yet thoughts keep wandering, all in the quest of cardinal existence Lucidness just overwhelms you, draining you between the two ends of being and not Questioning what the already drained hollowness Where to collect, what to lose, and what to take – hold something The existence, belief or is it simply a way of life, keep you on hold yet moves on On the sides by your side yet not yours, does it not bear existence? Is this state of civilized conditioning, where your just don’t score on wise words. Yet I do or choose to do all that a normal being or animal does, Sleeping oddly, I wake up with a sound in my heart my ears remain distantly close but feel colossal noise In this celestial periphery, I dig for the most familiar sludge under my foot Reminding thou and myself of a cuckoo, but the spring choose cold juggling on a firm pes and the indispensable carnal world of desires Abstain, restrain, and denial have all merged into one – me Opiniated reverberating above the boulevard of debauchery Amidst all of this, I ask, "Where and how do I put the right foot?" How should I tell my story without fear? Will the desire wrapped in the warmth of hope meet the angst and practical How do I get there? Where do I go to find answers to my desires, questions, and hopes? Like the dust under the rug, pages unfurred I feel I am not to be touched, not sooner, not later, nor anymore. And the flare withing yell - live and live for a glimpse? Ashes fray between the two shades, and all I do is duck in between Expression, emotions fraying all across trying to find their way, The stream knows, they will be met numbness, where I wait, where I wait

How far we are from the reality of the verve

Temporal and remotely disassociated with global gadgets like mobile networks, kits and kilns, face book status and jokes on sardar’s and some regular and unwanted mail or spam. I was swinging again in the lap of nature that nurtures the human life for another spell. A complete new location, a novel gentry , a managed to get a new adobe temporarily to avoid courting the stars which were radiating much brighter than anywhere else in the country but a village. Bouncing and bumping on the road which none of us would remotely associate with the context defined in our heads I zoomed over it to reach the destination. While hoping in the village in the first evening itself I was offered a dinner bash from a certain and strict looking character. Ate the first bite of the night with him yapped a lot about the life under the darkness and the sunlight the desires and the constraints. While my was back to host family I saw some lads looking and laughing and I smiled back thinking I shall be laughing with you very soon. The family head was faging biddi while another one was asking him to light the other one suddenly the song started playing in y mind “Biddi jalaei le Jigar se piya” the play and pause button was pressed simultaneously when I came to know about a mishap in the family and ritual kick starts from tomorrow. I told the family that I shall relocate as I would be another liability on them during the coming days. The idea was sternly and firmly rejected and I was asked to cooperate until the ritual ends and I had to live with them only it was a forced reluctance from me to nod in affirmation. Bided good night to the family who was keenly drooling at me what the hell is he going to do over here in the village a mix of anticipation, anxiety and sympathy is all what I was able to gather from corners of those intruding eyes. The next morning woke much earlier then I had expected the last self in me to have allowed me to saw the sun rising which the radiant rays not after a long period but it just the ambience that made the difference. A stroll came in to my mind wondered a few paces was thwarted with nature call, with the tranquillity I saw a few lads rushing towards a drain I followed them showing no hurry taking small strides with tremors inside. Finally the community drill was done with copied accumenship. A breath of relief I reached back the home walking through the farms some tilled some watered some left azar as it’s asking “mera number ka ayega”. The youngest one of the family who was studying in the city asked for a cup of tea to which I denied and then moved in to the village sat with different age groups of the family. Some were very old and the swirl of their head to look at me was so mesmerising as if I was witnessing a slow motion movie. While at the other places I had to smell the pungent smell of Biddi and then listen about the farms preparation and the problem of the village. Where the lads sat dressed casually on their bike of the tractor or on the temple steps pulling each other’s leg but on my arrivals it seemed to me mine was the longest that everyone could pull. Just an impression and I assumed how alike we all are in some respect. Suddenly one came with a new mobile and the crowd started to get acquainted with the technology and others also started the music in their mobiles. then I saw the family going to a farm I accompanied them for the ritual everyone was shaved and cleaned and a small patch of hair was left again I recalled how we used to be irritated with the small bush of hair left on head. They took shower at the well after the family members, relatives and friends took bath was called in for a lunch as a part of ritual I got familiar with a few more people and sat alongside testing the new kadi of “besan” and furry with which people were eating it I was surprised at my own small bites but I had lost the race already. The people asked my purpose the family torch bearers of the village surrounded me and I walked a few steps and chanting my purpose of visit. Suddenly a flurry of demands started coming roads, check dams, land levelling etc. I smiled and noted it all on my mind while thinking on my own constraints. The group had immense poise and the discussion led to some useful information and in the evening I hunted for laughing gang to get myself a few smiles as well. Shared a few moments of laughter with them it remineds me of how much I miss these carless laughs. The next few days were usual stroll with people to their farms lands found some spots late in the evening as the power was gone for days unknown. Under such gloomy darkness the people used to sit at a small general store which had solar light and used to be bright even without the light to the village. Sitting there for a few night chit chat I figured the shop was more of a “pan Biddi dukan” the piles of bidde packets used to vanish in a day or two to give space to the fresh ones. Also it was fascinating to see that all the families in the village used to take any small or big things in exchange of crop yield (soybean or Maize), a system in a shop that must be some scheme which I later on learnt it was promoted as the shop keeper also had some interest and was well connected with the nearest Mandi. Small kids carrying kg or 2 for some kitchen item and then he ogles and harps on the chocolate, sev and pingals I cherished a few pingles myself and used to share it with the children coming to the shop and got famous as a new pingle and chocolate guy. The stratification in the village was clearly missed in the common arena except the due weight age given to the Brahmins. The kaccha houses were illuminated on the night of ‘eegaraus’ resembling deepawali. The crackers a few went off but was pleasant to see the diyas glowing and the evening was lightened even without the help of wires hanging above. A few invitation of dinner and lunches were It seemed I was the guest of honour and once when I was offered pingle by a kid was so touching in the short span of my stay that I forgot to miss the touch of my laptop keypads, my ringtone buzzing on my mobile and my mailbox stating you 10 unread mails. The smokes of biddies were better than the old vehicle’s smoke which clearly shows that the future is black and the poor guy is pulled off the road as we don’t like to be warned. From the nature and nurture back to the world which having called a life of my own confused and was not able reflect was I alien there or am in an amusement park now. Suddenly my mobile rings and I smile and pick it up seems the day is rolling and inhale the fresh smoke of fuel my sense didn’t refuse it rather they were busy socialising as me over the call. Yeah it is a call though in waiting for all of us... till then keep talking or walking as JHONY WALKER say

Shades, fades & faces!!

Hums and whisper...

As we see our eyes have been reduced by illusion and so has the ears unconsciously deaf and also as the breath determines the hear beats. Swinging over the high deluge of lives all we settle down to is some hums and whispers. Origin of which never have a genesis while other kept being persuasive that they had any remotely existence. I wonder where the balnce among them is. Which one we choose to ignore which one we feel to embrace in the absence of silence. I also at times find my self associating to such unrealistic or the invalid rhetoric but not all not all. The reason has always been the proximity to the rhetoric whereas the silent whisper dies its own subtle death. Similar to the high pitched chatter of an aviary at the break down, reducing the distant mumble of a mountain stream. Asserting the fact rhetoric didn’t felt any compunction to place the silent whispers in its own mortuary.

Swaying down to the remnants of the past from where the words had originated did they made or are making some sense, completely unfamiliar, disgusted with despair. Is it the confluence of confusion that I witness? or was it that I wonder I cannot grab it by my wits. The truth, the propaganda, the joke all of whose shadows just made it all black, while the others remain outlandishly white.

It is not that the disparity of colours matter the most but when abbreviated on account of not being part of the hue one feels seclusion. Losing the track or staring at the darkened track of small yet long path where the traveler crawls or kneels down with a hope of hope.

Suddenly one realizes the abrupt taste of words have a fury in them as alive as the feeling when it dissolved may be that needed to be drained and thus the silence it self surmounts to be in an exile of its own. Now for once and all the feeling ahs been a part of it and the cause and effect shared here but premise is missing. I feel that the spectrum of such clouds would keep on roving over and over and I shall let it go till the thunder strikes and it rains and can see the clear sky the blue the true sky speaking none for it not now or later.

Unrest

In the most inert way that I have existed and I have functioned till date I am finding my self away from all the good and correct doings.
Reason I don’t know, ways that seem unseen to me, pattern old as new drools all faint like the doodle stick.

May be I am too rudimentary and I have a vacuity within my self to absorb and assimilate things and that make me feel I am not exposed in terms of expression. The more I look and reflect at it i realise no matter how good or bad just talk it out no matter how much at length or if short to a nail.

May be am suffering procrastination from and falling short to match up the priority as and when required and also to the fact that I see how it has haunted me in the past.

Amidst all this I feel a fear of how does it matter and what extent it’s going to cost me hence forth from here. Now when I feel this I feel I am not sure it’s a fear or an anxiety from where it is coming from. Had never thought on these lines as I thought it used to come naturally from within me but where I am no where over here and why is it so? Why? Above all this I feel cramped in what ever little shackles I have along my side on me within me and above me I feel that I seize to make an affect or even the effect fades and I …………

Being clueless to my core to extent that I don’t feel or know what and how to do it? Where and when to react? Just loosing the track of all of it.. for a while I feel I would and I must that is all i feel till I can and would do it with a hope……………….

Elite Grey

A few days a few months, a few years a few decades is all we call life and the enormous moments we live tends to evade the memory all the while when we tend to grow old and wise as people say. The wiser we tend to get the more selfishly placed I see I tend to become though it might be a learning and initial stage of getting wise post the moments that I have lived for and yet I tend not disclose most of the life in those moments. Recently the rage and age aren’t going together and the force of the pulse is suffering from inertia stuck within and deeply rooted. Some acknowledgments and some suggested rationale of the existence of me in for the rest gave me a perspective in to grey and white of life. The pragmatic me like I see myself was not the same a couples of year back a bit more of a fool on account of being a honest emotional jerk who used to induces beliefs in the people around, unwinding their acts, dispersing their words, saluting their deeds and above all a sense of respect if not for all but yes for a lot.
Again the tranquillity of this honesty dung dip in to me depleted me from the self of the other the wedging veracity of the words. Imagine the wonders that words can do like “pyaar ki jhappi” and also like the “samurai Sword” they are always there but it’s the intention that matters some lone and some dwelled moments. The habitats sank on the context of reason of just self and yet we leave none of the stone unturned having experienced it seems how weak I was lost in the tremors of rends. Ushered in to a deep sea plunge from cloud nine isn’t enough of thrush of trust I lost but the journey was a long and unwinding one yet profound and the truth of the verve that it is how it is and what it was never it was. I gather this courage to say I have changed and yet more to change no matter how far we stretch ourselves apart like the rubber the one end is always intact as this how I see it under the shades of grey.
Eloquent words deprived of emotions and meaning are like the most beautiful flora without any enchanting smell attracting the bees it just reveals the ugly deceptive contours of the petals and the vulgar dance with the gale that it displays once the shade of grey come alive for the bee. I wonder what and how it would take me to become a bee or stay like a flora alas vice versa as well. I smile while I haven’t walked most of the mile I shall have ran instead. Miracles happen and also the days that are dark and nights which sparkle under the moonlight.
While feeling the angst I pity on all wise yet misers of the world once and for all under the highest and proclaimed academic opulence, yet forgetting the simplicity of life which was never regressive as it was always perfect from its very existence of bonhomie, mutual respect, warmth, love, trust, dignity hung on the shoulder of the shouted shot man’s shoulder.
In turn when I turn now what I saw all along the grey turn I listen to few grey words and the worst is yet I believed them all and all they were told as they call the Grey eyes revealing a thin silver line under those eyeballs of the wonderful city of illusion that sometimes we tend to find our domain to dwell in. yet the longest and beautiful gale ends with a new possibility of the abrupt castle unlike Rome’s architect build in a few moments of harmony. Hustling over the waves as they rise they rise and chucks out the pebbles to the shore dancing in each other’s arms. Lurching under the scorching heat and reeling under momentary splash of the tides the pebble wonder why it was not the fall of the rise and seen unseen just as I felt the grey the pebble felt the black days under the shining moonlights.
The new domain and the grey show a spectacle of the rainbow losing its graded colour under the shades of the hue. And they turn all white it’s a change which under the grey I shall say I like making the rest all white so that the stains do not lose its spot ever and evident as a mark of congeniality it was it shall dim to grim alike. Smiling as I write carving some of the spots myself I lost precious pebbles even though I didn’t danced to the tunes of audacious waves just an act alike was all in the colour grey.
Now under the grey heyday whether to wedge more of spots, more of shades, more of wise tide gales, more of unfinished romance, more of locked words, more chanting of chants of self squalid, more of doing away with the domains of civilisation more of the not being a deviant out but in the mind and soul. The name itself didn’t had anything or was never to offer and the name for first feared the most of the grey that was their forever and ever.
Climbing the roof of grey I turned in to a gale which brought many and many of albatross in the whole story of the colours changing under the modern apartheid coined by the liberalised educated elites of grey. I failed even though of the learnt episode I forgot to see the colours painted on the castle of audacity and I hope the audacity remains stuck to the colour so that they don’t fade or drop in the dell glittering for the shine they shine under those whines that turns loud once just for once to deafen the drums.
Grey again and ever again over the spots of the white I choose to hover over the shadow unlike an albatross but like a spread to avoid any shade of grey to come to castles sight shall not. As and then I remain the spot of the white to the grey both a shredded strange acquaintances in admiration.