The pilgrim called popularity

When I have insisted, I have questioned, what mostly I did not comprehend in the very first place. I have gained attention, mastered some sort of ingenuity in creating ambiguity. Did I really have an opinion? I darn should. Did I make sense after or before I passed out? Was I tossed out or stacked inside, following the slur I developed each time I had the mike piece?

Nada! Instead I had My space, Facebook and a magnitude of free web space where only I could determine whether or not I was important.  And so I had an opinion on everything. About things that I did not give a rat’s arse about. Popularity was measured and subsequently counterfeited by how many visitors I had, on my web page.  I became smarter. I was an author, philosopher, and a photographer all in one breath. I was also significantly hanged at the flagpole, ignored and named an imbecile among the facts of existence.

Nothing changed yet in my entirety though all of a sudden me and myself were approved. Was it because I good naturedly called it random and prefixed awesomeness besides it.

Could be, I don’t get what either of them means, and am too awesome to randomly find my dictionary to look for it.

And because you reached till here you certainly deserve to hear HER out!

That last piece of Heaven

What is that single moment ?That moment next to nothing, nothing, nothing at all. Nothing to believe, nothing to bear down, nothing to show for?

Just one single moment. without spaces, or emptiness or pauses . No hopes to buy into, no dreams to walk to, just the plain old lucid whimsical self , trying nothing, being nothing.

Nothing shady, nothing crazy. No drama, no whimpers, nothing too absolute, nothing too oblivious.

What is that moment within a series of  moments, between all that is happening, among all that could?

Between a million possibilities , among failures, among chances amidst experiences , that could lead to nothing or too many things.

Is  it the place where the sun tilts westwards, and the moon calls in a late night? Where the darkness beneath is too high for the fires in the skies to reach? Or that sudden kiss of thunder over the roof that sees no rain at all? Or that last breath of the old man who lived through a borrowed life?

Is it the last patient breath, a mourner's silence, an angry man's plea, the last call to stop, the final man on earth, the new life that waits to look at you alone?

Is it not in solitude, in emptiness, in hollowness, in silences that you can move again, that you can finally stop looking. Is it not that moment where you decide to let go of the bygones?

Oh, why do you cry then, why do you mourn? Who is is that you are looking for? Who will it be when you can finally stop searching? Is the hope not enough, that pushes every drop of your blood to your heart, that makes you breathe, that makes you live?

That little window that overlooks two more stories, that frail piece of desert, that closed drop of hunger, that coercing peace.

That final freedom, that first discovery, that circle of life and that boundless death. That everything, that nothing, that last piece of heaven, that first piece of hell. 

Definitions

The enthusiasm post an awkward pause in a seemingly redundant conversation, the silent nods at someone preposterous, the gentle approval for nothing less than vanity just to stay on the same page, with someone we barely have spoken to before.

As desperate as all of it may seem, but we dare not disagree. We must find the same jokes amusing, appreciate the same attires, and dislike the same people or else we do not belong. And this transcends to the same aspirations, for the same institutions and aim for the same sector workplace. Anything besides, is our discourteousness or because we are miserably disturbed. 

A society that thrives on mere air-tight surveillance, perceptions have to be approved and accepted. They must undergo the litmus test before they can qualify for selfhood. Here everything is everybody’s business where space is an unheard phenomenon. It accounts for impudence or extreme exposure to American television, nothing is or can be a choice, and knowledge more often than not is futile.

And hence everything is absolute. Change is not for us, it’s as alien as orgasm.

Even in the modernistic appeal I often find the concept of this über-individualism hilarious, where our choice to replicate the trend, is the idea of ‘standing out’. Where we are in a constant search for association and within is our mundane search for the true ‘us’. We race to break out from the familiarity of homes to find a world that welcomes individualism and gradually attune to the homogenous newly acquired environment. Is it simply hegemonic or the clasps of boundless capitalistic social conditioning.

I was assured long ago as to how this has no definitive answers and how naïve of me is to even ponder over such ‘meaningless’ issues.

But really how difficult is to think for yourself?

Or just barely think for once.

Would we always need our textbook custodians, decisive decrees and a constitutional parchment to decide?For once I lets try to be able to look and not simply see, try to be able to listen and not just hear,and try to be able to fathom and not just accept.

I might seem naïve, or you simply might choose me to term as a modern day cynic. I leave that to you, you can think of me as either or none. That’s your choice and I that's how I wish to keep it.

To lament on rooftops

A dysfunctional writer like me who often has so much to say and nothing to put down on paper is usually tormented by ideas. Oh yes I’ve stopped blogging and the whole idea to write has started to creep me. What possibly than an empty page which rebukes at the very thought of ink, staring back with its wide hollow emptiness can let you stand erect.

That old sound of crisp paper, the tinkling of new thoughts and the archaic fountain pen evoked memories of all the good times we had. But then I was advised by my very wise fellas to do to away with it all. The Ms Word will be your bible and Google your Holy Grail, I was told. And as fate had it, I was typing at the speed a word per minute (my associations with technology is deeply paralysed, this was a milestone and you’re not to think of it otherwise).And then the tinkling was washed away with ready to publish googled pieces, the ideas were lost and the pen long forgotten. While the hysterically naïve me, tries to wipe tear-lets of lost wisdom. I have been deceived with the glory of new age techno-literates, and I’m here to lament over on the same lines.

As regressive as I may sound with my experiences with repelling highly conducive technology, the point here cannot be mistook for anti-modernization. I’m pro-development, improvement and what not as long as it doesn’t dehumanizes the essence of what we are. I agree with the need for massive employment of machines and widespread industrialisation, we can’t stay the third world country that loans out every now and then from the World Bank. But can we also afford massive deployment of labour, let an entire strata of people dwell under the realms of absolute ignorance. Do we have the right to pursue sacrilege of this stature?

Forgive me for spanning my inability to create into the antagonizing ideas of development. But correct me if you think I’m unable to see the point in churning up instantaneously into powerdom here. My only point is how can we proceed if we vanquish the essence of our identity? How do we see a future if we sabotage what made us get here? How do we anticipate ahead if we cannot reminisce the bygone?

Since I’ve flexed every issue except my absence from the blogosphere, I conclude that the coagulated ideas that had rested inside is giving me migraines. And I hereby rest both my cases.

A New Hope

A new page
A new day
A new life
It's not lost

It's white
Unforeseen
Smiling still
It's yet to begin

It's yet to relinquish
It's here to stay
It's here to hope
Its here to live

Of eternal bliss and before

I was surfing the idiot box the other day, only to find sobs and swivels by the saintly saas and evil bahus (or vice-versa, whichever the case may be) and stopped at Rahul Mahajan’s request join him in his quest for eternal bliss, in the footsteps of his predecessor Rakhi Sawant for the second season of the same show. A few days later I discovered another daily, the perfect bride, wherein men looking forward to be bound in holy matrimony, get their mothers to choose their future wives all placed in a mansion under house arrest, or so it seems. Baffled at the rate of enthusiasts raring to tie the knot I decided to dig deeper.

All my research proved my prior theories wrong. The root cause for it all is the global economic meltdown. Apparently, all eligible in the scurry of jobs cuts and pay slash, can’t wait to say I do, to save their jobs. The gifts and cash they would receive will last them a few years, thus saving their whatever little they can make for their near future .The hefty sums the grooms will charge, in the form of dowry presented by the bride’s father, will go up, said a bride-to-be. Moreover, it would be better now, than to wait till depression arrives. The groom might also lose his face value, the market price. What he may get now may not be the same later.

Also some, with their series of unsuccessful relationships, decided to follow the old school of thought. They wanted it arranged by their parents and the billion others who watch the show. Marriage a social affair, that seeks approval and the blessings of the elders in the household, what better way than the whole country deciding who the wife/groom should be. A billion plus people get to witness the most important decision of the individual’s. A pleased mother, of a contestant, couldn’t contain her elation. According to her, in India, marriage is no private occasion unlike the west. It’s a grand affair where every kith and kin of every single member of the household are invited, and in this case the whole country via their television sets. 

The times have changed, you don’t need to place advertisements in the matrimonial times or even shaadi.com for that matter. We can make it exquisite; the search is bigger and better, scrutinized by every eye. You see, thus bringing down the divorce percentage. You are given tasks, you go through eliminations, you are in intense pressure and only the tough survives. Its marriage after all no piece of cake, the finalists has earned it, at least the prize money, if not each other.

Words have failed me since quite some time now.No more verses,or rather all the more ,I don't know.But for now the following is all I can post to my otherwise inactive blog.This piece has been unable to make it to two places,since this is the only place where rejections ain't possible(I hope,I am right),I proceed..........

What’s in a name?
The recent detention of bollywood heartthrob Shahrukh Khan at the Newark airport, has opened the doors to yet another racial debate .The two hour delay , was apparently regarding his name , raising several prejudicial concerns with their overtly vigilant procedures.

While reporters were humming to the tunes of the history of religious discrimination by the US, accompanied by Mr. Khan’s fraternity on the sorry state of affairs, the US had a different story to tell. According to them, the supposed delay lasted 66 minutes, as opposed to the earlier quoted time of two hours. His don’t-you-know-me attitude otherwise worshipped in the Indian subcontinent gave way to further questioning, by the authorities. And just as his film, was basking in some free publicity, they decided finally to put the matter to rest. All his statements regarding the episode took a u-turn to put an end to this uproar.

However, the point we all seem to miss in this sudden hoopla, is the exceptional security measures to check rampant terror. Post 9/11, the US has made no exemption to the practice, not even to the likes of Bob Dylan, an unimaginable exercise in this country, where every far-fetched kin of the long list of V.I.Ps are excused from the search.

We need to draw the larger picture here, weigh the circumstances .Do we put ourselves in the fanatical lunatic nation that the world often views us as, or move on to work some sense? Speaking of which, what happened to the Kalam, frisking row.

DESTINY

Flashed identities to begin

Borrowed hopes to fulfill

Rehearsed memories to visit

I am just a silent bird

Treading past dreams

Pushing their theories

Condemning all identities

I do not reveal

Followed rhythms to play

Golden paths in the making

Travelled by and large

My beats lie elsewhere

Resting on broken shells

Relying on shadowed existence

The drill continues

I go on

Fighting thy demons

Rewriting the melodies

Tapping my own tune

I am all set to roar

Blamed to empathy

I hung my head in shame

With each passing day

I succumb to oblivion

Numbness to the core

I feel the shivers on my spine

Branching into madness

Its hard to hold tight

The lights have dozed out

Inhaling darkness with every hour

The void is yet to come

In strange humourless sarcasm i shriek

Those feelings ,I recall

Assorted spasms of joy and affection

Of timeless laughter

So stupefying in its splendor

The butterflies have gone

Corpse bodies like me

The memories are bleak

Nothing to lose nor to hold

The chuckle is coarse

Wounded my heart lay,

It's just a stingy scar

Marred from a catastrophic plight

They said I was brave

I got what I fought for

Or was just plain old lucky

Cos things always came to me

So I never shed a tear

Not in their front nor at their backs

Every dawn I masked a new smile

And covered the eyes with senseless pride

Every dusk

I repeated the ghastly night

Having countless conversations in my head

Trying to mend my damaged soul

For I always believed

It would all end like a bad dream

a disastrous performance nearing the finish line

And I would wake up to glory

I t felt nice

For those bleak moments

To just live in the false pretence

That nothing had changed

I never knew it slipped

Hanging my existence in the frail thread of hope

The madness that incapacitated me

Was simply beyond my control

And just then I suddenly knew

For better or for worse

It will all be over

Either me or the wound ,one had to lose

And I don't know why

God had changed his mind

It was I who survived that day

And I didn't know what to feel

Was it good or bad

I still have no clue

But in due course

I was glad I had won

Still,in some dark lonely nights

When I'm about to lay my head

Its hard to believe

It happened to me

The forgotten cries

Moist green in an open sky
Listen close to the dew that drops by
You'll hear a chuckle ,a carefree banter
Somewhere,miles from here

Shining hair touching her hips
Pastelled hues in their quite murmurs
Dancing to the morning dawn
Parting lips for a big fat grin

Oh! what a sunny day,
And what a pretty may
The world stands proud
With the daughters laughing loud

But beauty is not forever
And its end has come near
All the things happy and all the things nice
Slipped away from those tight little fists

Her innocence got killed
And charm blotched
In muted moans and frailed protests
The pink frock lays torn and red

By the next winter sun
The cries has lost it's turn
The floor is swiped clean
Of the souless corpse that was long forgotten

The open skies rings bells of darkness
Dew drops lays frozen
The tinkling chuckles and carefree banters
Are a distant memory of the lifeless murmurs

The Last Goodbye

Lines are drawn
Boundaries are laid
Limits are set

With each passing day
It gets harder to refrain
To stay the way i'm expected to be

Where do I stand
Amidst all this chaos
Tied or caged

I choose niether
My existernce is beyond definitions
Beyond landmarks

It's time my feelings matter
And you better take me seriously
Cos i'm tired to walk your way

It's simple now
I couldn't agree more
And everything lays crystal clear

I'm free now
I go my own way
And you go yours

I only hope we meet again
And this time
Not by a mere chance


But by the choices we make
As 2 independent equals
And we meet because we wanted to..............

The Lost Battles

As I sit across
I wonder what a toss
Hundreds massacred & thousands scathed
But alas, we still remain unperturbed
Babies orphaned, Sons sacrificed
Still too little for us to take a stride

The KARGIL,the MALEGAON,the TAJ
All shattered by & large
I do not see where we fail?
Where is the mystic trail?

Politicians,police or judiciary
Who's turn is it for us to vilify
Is it enough! it is just too much!
Isn't it the umpteenth time we still are acting dunce

We stand up, we get up
But at the end we have to shut up
The days passes by & time escapes
AND our pocket full of patience ends

They say it will heal
And we shall again march back to our meals
We showcase resillience
And think it's all we need

The streets are crowded
And we have all nodded
That we shall forgive
And eventually get back to live

While somethings are harder to refrain
As they won't ever be the same
My mind is not free yet
It still haunts me with memories of the terrorising death

And again I ask myself
What took me several days to dwelve
pouring out to weep,
Will I be ever able to sleep?
while boys with hand grenade
Strand my country to bleed

Untitled

I hear so much , yet I speak so little
I see,so much,yet I believe so little
I think so much,yet I work so little
I know so much,yet I recall so little
I dream so much ,yet I realize so little


I try so much,yet I succeed so little
I want so much,yet I get so little
I feel so much, yet I show so little
I do so much,yet I’m appreciated so little