I love this storm, Why don't you?

There is this storm, it’s here and there. Its really everywhere. Sometimes outside, sometimes within.
I am not quite sure if it’s a portent of the good or the bad. Adage says it’s a symbol of things going awry; it’s a symbol of turmoil, an indication of bad times to come.
My heart tells me it’s just a bunch of clouds blocking the sun, it allows me to look at the sky without the usual beads of perspiration on my forehead, I’m free from the squinting eyes.
I see people running, taking shelter. I stand there transfixed. I find myself getting drenched. I close my eyes. I let the storm swirl all around. My heart flutters a little, and then beats steady.
The turmoil of the storm churns me up. It takes me to thoughts and moments I’ve never experienced before. It rids me of the inertia, it propels me to explore.
The gusts of wind, with their mighty force crash into me, against me, instigating action. The rain seeps into my pores. It creeps out the inaction.

I look up to the sky, I wait for another storm.

Silly, Stupid Heart

I’ve wrapped my heart in butcher paper, and told it to wait. There Is no point to its beating, no need to carry so much weight.

I’ve let it subdue from its convivial self, and I’ve coaxed it sit tight. I beseech it to not skip a beat, when the words said are right.

I will it to cease from aching, after all this effort that’s been made. For all the joys and tribulations, I don’t think it likes this trade.

Someday perhaps, I’d unwrap it so and let it flutter again, my vulnerable little heart, that beats for everyone, under all this mountain of pain.

Lets Make obscene Sounds, Lets Shout!

I am in the mood to say sod off today. Having reached the conclusion that anger is better than sadness, and shouting better than being morose, the garb of demureness is being shunned and the tails of acrimonious, venomous words being clutched, as they prepare for their launch into the oh-so-unprepared world.

What is the point, If I may pose a question to everyone, of grieving when wronged? Does the wrongdoer have any inkling of the silent sniffling that is being carried out in the dark corners, the tissues that are being littered all across the floor with silent promises to self of cleaning up later? Does the sorrow do anything but cast more cement into your already heavy heart? These rhetorical questions have been my muse of late.

Such inspiration seldom comes one’s way. Shove the sniffles, embrace the spontaneous yelling. Amen.

To the dreamer...

This is dedicated to 2 very special people in my life, who have been my dream rechargers of late, in this very very turbulent time.

You are a Dreamer. These thoughts that weigh you down, need to be unfettered, this moment that hangs like an ominous cloud needs to shower just this once and disperse. Compel the forces that work in tandem to abash the dream to exit, order the dream to pervade.May this be a moment to reckon with, a reality check of sorts, a time to believe, that everything you do, all that is your existence will take you towards that very dream...your new reality.

May the eloquentless of this inspiration instill the will to laugh at my pretentiousness, but that was MY dream for today...:)

PS: ' All that we are is a result of what we have thought' Buddha

Memories of Marseille

When I settled comfortably on the lush green seat aboard the TGV to Paris, the thought of leaving Marseille probably had not occurred to me. Had that been the case, I would have lingered on a little while longer on the platform, taking in the last few gusts of the mistral, forming the last few memories of the place I’d called home the past three months At this time, I can’t help but think of the Chairman in Memoirs of Geisha and what he eloquently mentioned -“Sometimes the things I remember are more real than the things I see”. So mesmerizing were the idyllic days spent. Could it be possible that your sense of reality at a point in time is so magnified, so well entrenched, so deep, that it never ceases to overpower your today, never detaching from your existence in the present? As I rush through life just a few months later, it seems the days gone by would be cherished by me, as memories unparalleled. On deep thought, I realize that there was no one defining moment or an exceptional circumstance of clarity which I could attribute this experience to. There were no momentous occasions where I was overwhelmed a great deal, barring the isolated sighting of a shooting star on a drive to the Loire valley. It was just an amalgamation of each day, each new city visited, every gust of wind that blew my hair astray and every drop of that drizzle that didn’t drench me.

As I think back to the day of the journey from Marseille to Paris, I recall sitting by the huge window and looking at the sights speed past me, or rather me speed past them. The terrain transitions all through, the beauty remains ever the same though, casting a spell on me, a reverie that sends me to a place where words are redundant because all there is to experience is transmuted naturally, effortlessly. The music seems to agree with the sights that quickly disappear before my eyes. The speeding train, the ubiquitousness of the wilderness and the music all seem to work in tandem, creating a filigree of paradise.

The journey could have extended beyond the stipulated hours without me ever realizing. Such was the power of that moment, simple in its setting, yet so intoxicating that its vividness lives on as I write these words.

I lasted through the winter, until the onset of spring, the trees, that stand transfixed on either side of the road that is testament to this journey, accompanied me on this adventure. They had stood there in the cold winter months without any speck of green, bare, exposed, but they had persevered the test of time, and a few days before I were to leave, I saw the first few leaflets blossoming on to the branches.

Answer to a question asked...

What are we here for? Does anyone really know the genesis of this existence? The root cause of everything, the fundamental that guides every breathe we take.

We can live through this life doing the mundane things we do, without understanding why we ought to be this way. Our materialistic pursuits guide our existence, warp our existence, and convolute it too. But then again, there is the other way of doing things. We don’t always know where our actions will lead us, perhaps we have a general idea, but that’s about it. I guess its okay not to know all the answers, hell if we know half the questions that should be asked, I’d say we have achieved something. What is of consequence here is realization that the answers can be found only when we get in touch with ourselves. These seem like grandiose words which we hear spiritual leaders talk about but I’m just borrowing the words, literally, the interpretation is my own, perhaps ideas I’ve garnered from the varied experiences.

Emotions are what govern my life, it’s the heart behind the thought, the euphoria of existence and experience. Love is the fundamental behind each and ever particle that exists in this universe. The beauty that the spring day shares with us, is it not but love for mankind? The flowers that bloom, allowing us to marvel at the extraordinary spectacle, the fusion of colors and contours, exude love every moment of their existence. The ocean, with the pristine azure quality, it lies down before the sky, is that not love, which makes the ocean bare its soul? And we watch out in amazement, the culmination of the water and the sky, the love which they bring out in each other.

The stars in the night sky that religiously sparkle, to decorate the lackluster emptiness of the darkness, would that not be self-less love? And of course the darkness, which hangs on to the numerous stars for hours together, giving them an existence?

What about music, that makes us skip as we walk, nolens volens?The desire it creates within us to soar up above everything else, is that not love in our being for music, and why would music permeate the way it does through us if it didn’t love us in the first place?

I could go on about the examples in the physical world, but sounding idyllic wasn’t the purpose of this realization.

We always seek love in the wrong places, we look outwards to other people, without realizing that love is indeed all around. Accepting this reality would magnify every minute of our existence. Every breath we take is a new breath, it brings with it new experiences, hopes and it wipes out the vestiges of the past. Such is life too, it is intended to be experienced with panache and a sincerity that is only paralleled by the respiratory system. Only if we let the experience engulf us from all directions can we learn to love the existence that has been bestowed upon us.

the muse

But my memories are stronger than ever before, my past ever in my present, during my day, engulfing me like a wave, and then it comes crashing onto my reality, my now, and breaks my reverie.

Reality Bites..and How...!

Nothing prepares you for the eyesore that is Delhi than the reality check at the Indira Gandhi International Airport. Okay, I can relent a little and state that the airport is indeed being revamped and the city is being spruced up for the Commonwealth Games in 2010, but is there some training planned for the people too? Because unless our ruffian populace is taught a lesson or two in respecting women, hell respecting people at large, I don’t think much good is going to come out of all this so called beautification.

Something is fundamentally very very wrong with the men in this city. They openly stare at women as if they have descended from a planet unknown. Flattering, perhaps one would say. Believe me the look in their eyes is anything but respectful. It is impossible for a woman to venture into certain areas of the city without a male in tow. It is shameful that in this day age a woman needs to think ten times before choosing her attire depending on the areas she will frequent that day. Slacking on this front can lead to circumstances bordering on molestation also popularly known as eve-teasing in this area. It is important to note that no matter how a woman dresses no one has the right to feel that they have the authority to either pass comments in a lewd manner or in a way to make that woman feel uncomfortable. I have seen other societies and nowhere does this exist except for our country where women are supposedly revered. It is ridiculous how such an obscene overture can make a woman doubt herself.

Once on an airline, I was nicely tucked in the window seat, sleeping away the unearthly ours of the flight. I was jolted out of my sleep by my co-passengers hand trying to reach across me in order to shut the window, while innocently ‘brushing’ against me. As I was coming to senses from the slumber I realized there was some thing touching my back, I thought it was possibly my co-passengers foot, who was fidgeting around in his sleep trying to find a comfortable spot. I couldn’t really see because of the blanket and was wondering how to get him to shift when the supposed ‘foot’ started getting a bit too comfortable, I jumped in my seat and removed the blanket only to see him pulling his slimy hand away. I was in a state of shock for several minutes in which he decided to strike up a lame conversation to hide the awkwardness. Well, as soon as I came to my senses.. I ran …ran for the nearest free seat and plopped myself there, thinking, much to my dismay, that was I possibly wearing something that was suggestive. Barely a month ago I was strutting around in France without a care in the world about what I wore, and here I was on an international flight where men’s hands start flailing around independent of rationality and totally devoid of control. On second thought I had dressed well for the flight, nothing flashy, nothing revealing, just a simple pair of cargos teamed with a black shirt. Why am I telling you this? Perhaps to prove to myself that I never brought that incident upon myself, probably to realize that I could have worn a tube top and a miniskirt in some other country and wouldn’t have even invited a second glance let alone a slightly out of control albeit sleazy hand action. Is this the society we are building? One where a woman is confronted by self doubt on having snubbed an insinuating gaze from an unwanted eye? Is this what we call progress?

No amount of tall buildings and fat pay packages can make for a progressive society unless we do something about this deep seated insecurity that hounds every woman in this city. Anti-social elements exist in every society be it any country. But the problem is so widespread here that an untoward incident isn’t a chance occurring, it’s a part and parcel of every woman’s life. The extent varies of course, it can be as casual as a bunch of men laughing over a lady driver in her car at a traffic signal, and it can be as demeaning as a guy producing kissing sounds directed at women crossing the road whilst his rickshaw glides across the road.

I have no reason to believe that I am any less than a man, then why must I be subjected to such obscene behavior? The reasons are etched in social history, an understanding of those might help us fight the problem. But for that we need to acknowledge the problem, at a mass level. There is an easy option of running away, settling in some super developed nation, and visiting your city once every five years. I am very tempted considering the events of late. Then there is another option, one which entails fighting back. Reminding men of their role in upholding the honour of womenfolk ( I know its getting a tad dramatic here), rather than embarrassing them in public. It can start with reprimanding men who resort to measures which lead to writing of such pieces. It can start with stopping the guy who utters obscenities on the road and reminding him politely that he can better impose his manliness in the police station. Walking away should never be an option. There is always a choice, I regret looking for new seats. I should have slapped the guy and prescribed him a sedative for his hand lest it feel the urge to go on an exploring spree anytime soon.

Oh this trivial existence...

An excerpt from " My wonderous musings and aimless thoughts" by yours truly

I am unable to find a reasoning to the existence that we all share. All through life we have objectives set out for us, either by the society or by our family or if we are lucky by us, ofcourse within the sanctioned limits of the social system. These objectives are often monetary or status related. Some accolade won here, some candidature obtained there. We trudge on. Is it possible to ever get satiated this way? Thriving on these tangibles which stem from mans commercial activities and pursuits ought to get jaded some day. The very reason behind this is that all these objectives which we resolve to achieve, amidst the onlookers who egg us on, are a function of the artificial world. A world which man has created, it stretches beyond the grass root level of survival, it exists contrary to the world which thinks with the heart, and believes in the greater humanitarian good. It goes on like that, the objective may reach crescendo but the piece never ends. The music starts all over again. There is no end. There are just more pursuits, a bigger car, a better position, a prettier house. And once we have that, the cycle repeats itself. The quest for the superlatives is endless.
What is the greater purpose? Is it a mere obstacle course where on crossing every hurdle we land a plump prize and after a minuscule sense of pride and effusive appreciation we brace ourselves for the next hurdle? Is it just ruse, to throw us of the bigger objective? Perhaps there is a bigger purpose, one beyond seeking the highest pay package, something other than the desire to get into the top rung university, one that stretches beyond the incessant urge to pull ahead of that car in front of you at a crossing. I think it could be the greatest mystery of all. The great divine façade. The supreme attempt to throw-off the mortals by inundating and engulfing them with the penchant for commercial pursuits. How many of us are willing to see beyond this reality, how many of us are willing to compromise on the objective setting path. Are we brave enough to go the Robert Frost way and question the path frequented and take to the road less traveled? I am not sure if I can foray into this great unknown.

Thoughts..

Rain when smelt…
for what good is rain
trickling down the sides of a glass house?

Music when felt…
pulsating through
each and every vein

Wind when caressed…
on a mountaintop under the sun
affectionate tousling of hair

Book when held…
promising a journey untold
an existence in itself

Tears when shed…
for what good are welled up tears.
that get stifled before their time?

Love when said…
beauty like no other is sharing it
suppressed love isn’t love at all