FATE

I almost thought i may not blog again. Fate compelled me. I hate fate. I like blog-ging.

iLike iLike.

Good Good..!

Let us say and sing, ‘Praise be to you, Oh Fate’

For all that you are: Mighty, Cruel and the ever so Great.

We, litters of the human creed: slaves of a greater plan

Stare and stand - oh you lesser sons of Misery’s clan.

What must I fight…? Whom shall I wrong…?

To the side of an unknown master I must belong…!

Shall I blame providence, fortune or an obscure destiny?

For what good is it, if doomed forever is my silent mutiny?

Tied and tamed in forged shackles of helpless Rage

Joys of the soul are but a generous Fate’s daily wage.

They say, our spirits are free: of bound and of boundary

But indeed, we shall laugh at a world stooped in vicious melancholy.

Of Pretence

Squalling winds through a tunnel in my head.

Sometimes feels like a train racing past; flashing windows of light that leave an evanescent gleam in my contradicting eyes; and as it fades, daylight shines on my fake intellectualism, where facades over love and romantic hues become opaque in their mask of mystery. An inquiry into existing in a dark oblivious bliss pops up, looms over ones head and finally descends on you. Away from rational thinking, and the thinking of the ways of the world. In the dark where bats have their day- blind; and happy.

Other times it’s a ballroom, a regal banquet. Mindless clatter of mundane vocal chords in feigned ways royalty. Silvers plates beneath extravagant food for darkened hearts. Where formality is a way of life and true ardor a way of dramatic excellence. With a smile on the face most deceive and many an honest soul stands in reception- reception of disbelief and misunderstood faith.

Then there are times when it just feels a bit confused, anxious, and misjudged. Questions on ethics, truth, reality and who know what the human mind thinks. Vex perhaps is just another word for our very self. Who probably bothers...? Maybe just me or maybe the ones around. At dusk, as the sun set over the horizon; winds soothe with their now mellowed rage and new reflections take hold. We all act out our lives. Let’s just be actors then; at least live our acts.

...
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Mortal lamentations

The symphony of a soliloquy in slumber sheared the shallow stinging silence;
And Lost living left behind a lure of lust, known only to lonely limits.
As a bird flew through the underworld of dreams-
Trapped in the blizzard of gust-full thoughts;
A wild plunge into the final Poseidon of thoughtful vexation.
Strengths of mythical might and human disregard:
Souls of diminutive creations cry foul-
Under spells of ambiguity, a beast cried while its sinews scream!

People, Crowd and Me

I know the date but I don’t know when I was born.

Its been a long time since I had water bottles round my neck, since we all fell down with “Ring-a-Ring o’ Roses” and since I wrote my exams through “four plus fives” and “three into twoes”. But who cares about it now anyway. It’s a mad rush and sometimes I wish I were Thomas Hardy. I’m not brilliant enough to write a book such as his, but “Far from the madding crowd” couldn’t be a better option.

I see people; people who’ve come here to be the solution to their family woes and people who’ve come over coz … well, they had nothing else to do; People who are dressed up in nothing less than Puma shoes, Nike socks, Levis Jeans, Reebok T-Shirts, Fastrack watches and Jockey under wear and people who write on their hostel wall, “Fuck this money culture”; People who would shoulder a tearful soul or would give it all for a smile on her face and people who walk hand in hand to advertise their pseudo-romanticized chivalry. People who would hang on to a charming departed past to fuel their hopes for tomorrow and yes, people, for whom departed is no better a word than non existent itself; some, for whom dad is the any time money, for some the hare-lipped kite runner and for some, “who gives a f**k”. I’ve seen by this time, ‘The genuine friend’, ‘The outright enemy’ and also the ‘The benign backstabber”.

So compelling is the intensity of this madding crowd that new men are forged every single day; some for the better, others, well … they just cease to be them. Its not too difficult to foresee the change, it’s the acceptance of it that is tricky; Many of us refuse it, others I guess get forged into new men themselves. Men designed to be efficient and just that, no emotional hangovers, no sentimental backlog.

Its a strange place; or maybe it’s just an instance of the terrible face of “The beautiful world” I’ve never seen or I guess I’ve never foreseen. I find it uneasy. Probably I’m just too young to grasp the complexity or probably I’m just too old to be comfortable with this transformation or maybe I just want to be reborn. Afterall, I know the date but I don’t know when I was born.

Malady of Discontent

• My skin's changing hues every other moment watching random males and females exchanging RED roses, teddies, chocolates and objects of eternal, perpetual, everlasting, undying, ceaseless and timeless fondness. (Yeah, i copied it from an online thesaurus)
• I watched for the n-th time Tom Hanks standing on the cross-roads in Cast Away.
• I fretted at my exam time table for the 253th time. Yeah, again..!
• Bit Torrent’s f****d up … [shout]I want my downloads [shout]
• I’ve got a tooth ache
• I wanted to kill someone today but its both illegal and being Valentine’s week m not too sure…!
• I got rated an average of 2.5/10 on looks… [scream]/[sob]/[beating my chest]

If you’ve read Gandhi’s talisman, you know now whom to picture..!!

A Trip in Time

I now come to know, from a needle on my wall,
Seconds, days and years have passed.
Longing for the times I love,
A picture, a postcard and now myself at last.

In fond recollections of days gone by,
And thumpings of a reminiscent heart;
A breathless gasp and a saline stain,
For sure they reveal ; fate’s pungent tart.

I remember, innocent eyes that glowed,
And yes, the tiny nails I mowed;
I remember, inseparable sharpeners and broken pencils,
And also, feigned cries over fantasy tonsils.
I remember too, those colored school bags,
And skinned knees on spirited crags.

From days when my head was high
At a better toy or a flashing shoe,
Time has flown on fleeting sails
Now, toward forlorn lands I do not construe.

Forlorn lands they are,
Although here, a multitude is alive;
Each one in happy memories,
Holding on to shreds, of their childhood jive.
For we all, move on and march away,
But the eyes, the crags and the cries;
Immortal always and life itself, they always outplay.

Blood Sweat and Tears

Its been long since I last posted, and now its necessary, not that my opinion would make a difference to the world at large but that if we don’t speak today, It might be well worth to stay zip-lip all our lives.

This very minute as I type my words out, I can hear Sagarika Ghosh, Arnab Goswami, Srinivasan Jain and the like, the top brass of the reporting world, letting the world know that scores have died, Mumbai’s heritage, its history has been burning and that officers have paid the ultimate price for valor. And then we also have the elite, the intellectuals sitting and debating. Debating in A/c rooms on how things could be better. One young lady blurting out clichés, one after another, as politically correct as they get, “We have got to be more cautious and its our collective responsibility.” Tell that to Hemant Karkare, tell that to Akshok Kamte, tell that to Vijay Salaskar, tell that to their children and tell that to a young 20 something men who bled for debates such as these and tell that to their mothers whose tears have no end.

So after over a hundred have died and a manifold more injured, what does the PM say, “We condemn this act of terror.” Mister Prime Minister, who does not..? “We shall consider larger funds for the police department”. After what has happened, all of these dastardly acts, the government shall only consider. This is the value for men of greatness, their lives and their death. Knowing this, the fact that India as a nation is under siege; does it make you even a touch surprised….?

For years on end now, the poor and the downtrodden have suffered the scourge of terrorism. Kashmir has been at proxy war for years now. I guess the PM could send some of his fund there. We wake up only when things go out of hand. Terrorism is no exception. Its like the terrorist are begging for attention now. For when the aam Indian died, in Assam, in Delhi, in Bangalore, in Varanasi, in Akshardham, in buses and in by lanes not many pay heed. I’m happy that there are rich in the world.

Islamic fundamentalist Jehads, such as these, need to be uprooted with the severest of action plans. Afterall, we always have one of these two to wreak havoc, the terrorist or the politician. The Purohit, the Sadhvi, the Mullah or the Jehadi, bottomline is, our nation is falling into tatters. It’s a shame and the government has been shameless. Shameless to ‘condemn’ the acts of terror, again and again and again. I wonder when it would be for the last time they ‘condemn’. For god’s sake, innocent people are dying on the streets of India’s most cosmopolitan city. Ah..! And what do they say, it for God’s sake. Jehad. Huff..! If killing the innocent is the confirmation to a ticket to jannat; I’d have to say, Allah needs to raise some standards.

It’s not just a sorry picture; it’s a grim one too. And to make dying people sound patriotic, we use phrases such as ‘spirit of the nation’, ‘India will be united’, and ‘we shall not go down’. Well, if India is limping, it has to use crutches. Its not about its mighty spirit, its about that fact that its spirit is bruised. To a point where, it has become susceptible ever more to fall under its own callous greatness. It’s easy to put on rosy glasses and say ‘East or west India is the best” or “Mera bharat mahaan”. Only hope that by the time, I’m 40 year old middle aged man, I’d belong to a faction of men who could proudly say, “Yes, India has risen. Mera Bharat mahaan”