An year down the line, looking back at the last set of words, they have solidified from the molten lave to rock, banging me with the hard truth which I tried and managed to keep at bay for all this while. But the truth just stares at me point-blank, unapologetically; reminding me once again that however much emotions can blind you, the truth will always remain stark, naked and undefiled by time.


So here I am standing on the same bridge, though a lot of water has passed by. It only feels like yesterday, the raw wounds just as fresh. They say Time is the greatest healer, but what if it's not a wound but amputation of a vital organ ?

It's said that you have to lie on ice and drink molten lead to even fathom the torture that love can be. But for me the greatest pain to be endured is to love with the certain knowledge that my existence is almost minuscule for the person whom I love. It's that I exist but in a way that my presence barely counts and my absence will hardly matter. It's almost that am with her most of the time, but hardly reciprocated the same way. It was always 'me' or 'her', but never 'us'. The one true wish that I always cherished was to love somebody truly, madly and deeply and to be loved back the same way. And now that I do love in that way, it's driving me to the point of insanity to face the indifference. Love can't be demanded and neither can it be forced. And am in no way capable of "un-loving" for the reason that am not being loved back. That'll be way too selfish an act.

The moments where I am loved it feels as if that's only a reaction, a sign of expressing gratitude for my love. The pangs of loneliness and the hollowness of feeling distanced lingers. Is it too much to ask for, to be loved.


So well, I was always fated to be lonely and to carry the corpse of my love and it'll be no different this time round too.



"koyi hotaa jis ko apanaa, hum apanaa kah lete yaaro
paas naheen to door hee hotaa, lekeen koyi meraa apanaa

aakho mein neend naa hotee, aansoo hee tairate rahate
khwaabaane mein jaagate hum raat bhar
koyi to gam apanaataa, koyi to saathee hotaa

bhoolaa huaa koyi waadaa, beetee huyee kuchh yaade
tanahaee doharaatee hain raatabhar
koyi dilaasaa hotaa, koyi to apanaa hotaa"

Blue

Saturday night, fun & frolic, party time, good food, good times; but am not quite right there. Looking around the colors are way too bright and the music too loud to be comfortable. A feeling of helplessness and utter despondency.



15 minutes back:

Whoaa, finally the long six day week has come to an end to give me enough time to get ready for another week of drill. But all that can wait, as John Travolta made famous, "Its Saturday night, baby". So the bunch of us have come to hang out at this suave bistro and tickle our taste buds. But, so have other hoards of them who were far-sighted to make some reservations. And there we were, waiting at the doorsteps, hoping that some poor soul won't be able to make it in time. Yeah , yeah a breed of selfish corporates we are.

But right when we'r discussing Aamir's hairstyle and a lucrative sale going on, there was a small tug at the T. I looked around to find a kid, no older than 3 years, with barely a piece of rag on her, asking for alms. The hair was all wiry and a coat of filth was all over her face. But I just couldn't tear myself off from that accusing gaze pleading for rescue, pleading to be loved. The trampled, mutilated innocence crying for an explanation. A toddler forced to grow up beyond her years, never knowing how it feels to sleep in a lap with a full stomach and lullaby playing in your ears. Always puzzled by this crude irony and what she did, to deserve this. Maybe she's too numb to feel the difference anymore, maybe she's accepted it. But when another kid stepping out of the restaurent door throws away the ice-cream, because it didn't had enough choclate, she might just ask "Why me, not her ?" or maybe she'll just run to scoop up the thrownaway.


She's still looking at me with her arms stretched a bit impatiently, wondering whether its time for her to move on. Somebody started pulling me and the contact broke, and she ran off hoping that the next person will be a generous one.



Inside :

The music is playing. Platters of food and glasses of mocktails just jostling for table space. People laughing, talking.

"What will she eat tonight ?"

The heart has been shattered into million little pieces, its irreparable.

So with the broken pieces of my heart I have made this beautiful kaleidoscope.

I now marvel at the myriad hues of life as they dazzle my eyes every time I look through it.

Apology

Initially you'll be angry and may even start despising me, then you'll start wondering WHY, and then if you had known me better you'll understand and gradually everything will just fade away.


I can only say SORRY at this moment and if possible bear with me.

Sunset

Few days back I had an evening flight from Chennai to Kolkatta. It was a clear day and when the flight took off the sun was going down. I had a window seat and had a clear view of the beautiful expanse spread out over the horizon. The sky is big, infinite, but once up there, it's almost like it can be touched; maybe if we walk long enough we'll reach the other end.

The sky had worn a pale turquoise gown splashed with white, spreading itself over the velvety-indigo waters of Indian Ocean. The smoky, ethereal clouds were just sailing smoothly, suspended in the beauty of the dusk. It was like looking at a vast field of cotton-soft snow sprayed out like surfs on wave. The Sun was an orange ball slowly sliding down behind the cover of clouds, adding a purple-orange hue to their snow-white complexion. It looked like a patch of the sky was smoldering among that vast serenity. The rapid change of colors was so brilliant that I was mesmerized by it all. It was the canvass of a brilliant, eccentric artist who was just splashing the fabric with a riot of colors. The blue was dripping into the golden-orange, spread over a dash of white. The hypnotizing watercolors were mixing up creating one masterpiece after another. After a while it settled down and the horizon lit up with a orange-red glow as if set on fire. I couldn't take my eyes off that infinity of space and water which was clearly separated in two halves by a boundary of smoldering embers.

Gradually the display of colors mellowed and soon everything was covered in a luminous coat of black starry night. It was almost time to land and as the flight was cruising down, the city beneath us looked like a field of brilliantly sparkling diamonds; the ground was scattered with jewels, shining and shimmering. It was the befitting climax to the perfect sunset. Within a few moments the flight touched down into reality.

RED

I have to admit that I'm cursed with a very volatile temper, which just starts boiling at the slightest provocation. My old man always say "People get angry only when they are deprived of what they want". There can't be any simpler explanation for our anger. But this anger has become a necessity in the "Country of NO" , where being angry gives you an upper-hand when it comes to face the ire of a mob who's tired and frustrated of fighting a losing battle against the everyday social evils. Somehow it just gives you the jagged edge of a popular "YOUNG ANGRY MAN" image.


Often the discontent just seethes below the surface just waiting to erupt into a rage. The outbursts maybe far and in-between, but when it does, there's no holding back to the monster let loose on a rampage. It just destroys everything that comes its way. It seems like a crimson haze has veiled the vision and the only way out is to resort to a violent outburst. Its just so scary when you think of it on the hindsight. But like a bullet fired, we can only helplessly regret our actions once done.


Its been a long and arduous struggle to control the beast within. Wise men say that if you can control and cultivate your anger then there's no weapon more powerful than a calm man's wrath.

With crossed fingers...

The greatest bane of growing up maybe the loss of innocence. The innocence of fighting with friends, always having the assurance that we can always patch up. Times have changed and so have the ways to deal with friends. Now we always have to stay on our guard, to be politically correct, to be diplomatic in dealing with raw emotions. The spontaneity and exuberance has given way to plastic formalities. Our egos have grown up to be such monsters who can maim or even kill the friendship of which people used to give examples, which were like prized possessions, dearer and closer than even the ties-of-blood. Even when we realize that so much is at stake, so much to be lost, even then, we are paralyzed by our pride to react, to reach out to cling to the last straw which might save us from drowning in the abyss of distrust. Friendship is that diamond which can withstand the hardest of blows, still sparkling brilliantly in the rays of trust, but which can kill if you try to swallow it rather than your vanity. Trust, loyalty, understanding and integrity are the four pillars which support friendship, even if one them fall, the other columns supporting the edifice comes crashing down.

Everybody comes to their crossroads in life where they can take the easy way out or stick to the hard path.

It's never easy to choose but we should decide wisely, with our heart.

The glowing tip.

How many times do we take time to appreciate the beauty of a glowing cigarette. Mostly we are too involved to even notice the brilliant glow of it. Before we lit, it's just another tobacco wrapped white paper with a speckled yellow filter at one end. But as soon as we lit it, it evolves into something which shouldn't go unnoticed. And here I should point out that serious smokers take a lot of care while lighting one, the way they hold it, particularly not to sooten the stick. Once lit the glowing ember is hypnotizing. The serpentine smoke slowly rising, parts reluctantly, leaving it's memoirs of ashes. Soon the tip is burdened with it's ashes and the luminance starts getting obscured. Then we jerk off the ash and give a drag, rejuvenating and revealing the glory of the tip, the smoky blue stream waving and swaying with the air. When the air is absolutely still and we hold the cigarette with a steady hand, the smoke will rise vertically, dignified to some distance before changing it's mind and starts flirting with the air. It's really amazing to see how the insignificant stick burns out with grace. We should really respect the fire at the tip of our fingers and stub it, not throwing it away carelessly to perish unnoticed, certainly our fag deserves this much attention.

Adieus to you my friend, my companion.


P.S. IRRESPECTIVE OF YOUR SUNSIGN SMOKING WILL EVENTUALLY TURN YOUR ZODIAC INTO A CRAB.

Puja of '08...

It's Autumn and for us Bengalis that translates to a season of festivities with the grandest of them all, Durga Puja. It's been two long years since I last celebrated my Puja at home. I'm an aethist, and so the religious part hardly holds anything for me. It's really the congregation of friends, the contagious smile on everybody's face, the warmth in greeting strangers, the nip in the air, the sound of "Dhaak", which allures me to be a part of the celebration. Even here in Chennai, a few Puja's are there, but it's very nuclear and lacks that general exuberance and genial atmosphere. So I prefer to stay away from them.


I have grown up counting the days for the Puja's. It always used to be the time for the month-long school holidays, the time for getting a lot of dresses and gifts, the time to start bursting crackers, happy times with uninhibited freedom to stay out with friends. I grew up with these anticipations for the whole year until it culminated into those 4 days of pure euphoria. And even before I had time to savor it all, another long wait used to shake me up from my elation. I didn't mind, eagerly waiting for next year while reminiscing the last year. But now times has changed and the uncertainty of the hiatus perplexes me.


The time since I came here, I have felt a general lack of enthusiasm among the people during the festive seasons. Personally I feel that people in the rest of the country share a greater feeling of camaraderie and celebrate with greater fervor and excitement. Maybe this fact along with the knowledge that all my closest friends are having a blast together back home, is acting as an anticatalyst for me this festive season. The days which would have been charged with energy are passing by blandly. But there is always a next time and even before the Puja's are over I'm eagerly waiting for the next Autumn, full of colors and fireworks.


WISH EVERYBODY THE BEST OF TIMES THIS FESTIVE SEASON.:-)