An abrupt pause

Every time i come across a pair of perfectly fine yet misplaced footwear like these, i wonder how abandoned they must feel like. If one of them was lost or something, it'd have made sense because that happens quite a lot of time. However, seeing two chalable footgear is a bit unsettling. Both are there and yet they can't go anywhere.

Delightful randomness

The idea of being together is more beautiful than actually being together. You know why? Because we are born artists who draw dreams—knowingly or unknowingly. The sky is envious of us for a reason. The universe conspires against us for a reason too. The day we set up a blueprint is the day we stop being wonderful. And that's also the day we turn into mere mortals.

Haven't figured it out yet? Move in.

Of farm and bliss

By any estimate, the land area under cultivation in our country must have be going down. Moreover, the annual produce is not mind-blowing given our dependence on other countries for food. And this is the case despite having more than 55% of the economy dependent on agriculture. Something is uniquely ironic here. About 30% of Chinese economy depends on agriculture but its reliance on foreign countries for food is almost negligible. In such a conflicted environment, wouldn't it make sense to have more farmers? People who are willing to nourish a patch of land and make profit as well. With more and more villagers (no offence because the forefathers of those call themselves sheharwallahs today were villagers and there's no shame in migrating for better prospects) dreaming of an urban life, why not have a reverse trend? Since they are moving in, why not we move out? Find a place where farming is possible and then get down to work. There are so many examples of people who gave up their urban leaning only to find bliss in the countryside. Think of Mansoor Khan (yes, the director who gave hits like Qayamat Se Qayamat Tak and Jo Jeeta Wohi Sikandar) or Lucky Ali (who delivered one of the finest Indian ballad albums EVER with Sifar). Both turned to nature and didn't regret it. Look at us. We eat processed food and don't even realize that our basic survival skills are next to nothing. We can neither grow food or cook it by creating fire. No, you can't survive on Maggi alone. Your stomach shall reek of starch and salt sooner than you can guess. As far as our lifestyle is concerned, it's not like we are leading a royal life in our so-called metros anyway. Why not go back to where our forefathers came from and try to find an equilibrium in not only the pathetic economy but also our miserable existence?

A curious case of curiosity

They say curiosity killed the cat. They also say a cat has nine lives. So what they're basically suggesting is curiosity stopped the cat from having its tenth life. Truth be told, these thoughts highlight human curiosity more than feline. We are, by nature, dying to know more. But we don't die—and that's where the real problem lies—as nobody has died of thinking yet. People have died of eating and drinking (choking, someone?) but none because of using their brain cells a bit more than usual. As a consequence, we want to know what's going on even if it doesn't bother us in any way. Especially in a country like India where people are bound to stop on their way to check out who's fighting on the street. If not, then to check out why are people crowded, thus inadvertently adding to the crowd. The story of almost every street here. But things are slightly different in the 'handicap' compartment of a local train. [Yes, i've illegally traveled in them. But then, is it legal to be inhumanely stuffed into an overcrowded compartment when there's ample space in the adjoining one? Besides, as a matter of principle, i never took a seat even if it was empty.] I've noticed how none of those who commute in these reserved space ever care to check out whether the other person is disabled or not. Simply put, it doesn't matter to them whether somebody is misusing their privilege as long as they have enough for themselves. Compare that attitude with those who travel in the first class compartment where they privileged lot protect the hallowed dabba by remarking "Yeh special dabba hai" on mere discretion of somebody's appearance. If curiosity was indeed effective, there would have no cats around. Nor rude snobs.

Ink or miss

I've got 12 tattoos—including typos—on me. Each with a short story attached to it. One of them is my brother's name on the side close to my right wrist. It's carved in Devanagari script and is quite prominent when compared to others. Thanks to which, people have confronted me with the mocking question: "You love your brother that much?" Since i'm not really an expert in equations of love, i usually grin and reply, "No, but he does."

Being humanly

Why do we fear rejection? Self-loathing. Yup, that's why. If we accepted ourselves the way we are, we wouldn't be needing others' approval (or rejection, for that matter). But we go around looking for validation. As if our metabolism depends on it. Am i looking OK? Are my jokes lamer than me? Does my voice sound fine? Do I stink? Have i got what it takes? Where are everybody? Who should i follow? Oh God, why me? So on and so forth. Societal norms. No, no, you don't have to quit civilization and end up dead somewhere near the South Pole. That'd be an extreme and uncomfortable thing to do. What our behavior beckons is a slightly different approach: Why not just be and let others be? Why not, for a gruesome change, stop comparing and judging? Why not grow old happily instead of counting every single grey strand or measuring every single memory? Why not spread smiles instead of frowns? Why not take a long walk with yourself? Why not put the blame on yourself first before finding a suitable candidate? In spite of all these possibilities, our mind seeks something new. Someone new who may or may not like us. Rejection helps us a great deal with a lot more than we bargained for. And that's how it will be until and unless we give in to nature.

Existential junction

You're travelling in a local train and you get yourself a window seat by mistake. Pure luck. You're looking out and wondering how come this city hasn't submerged into the sea yet. Too much filth and rubble of despair to hold on to. Why? And for what? Every city, if you notice closely, speaks the same language. But Mumbai makes a distinct noise and emits a stink so nauseating that you doubt your listening skills. Every commuter knows this—subconsciously. Especially at the window seat with their face against the wind. At moments like those, you simply want the journey to continue forever. You don't want your destistation to arrive anytime soon.

Breakdown

Once upon a time, there was a glass window which was fed up of being so damn transparent. The only pleasure left in its existence emerged from the faint reflections it drew throughout the day. The light seeped in and went through. Sun loved to express itself. Breezes, as well. And dust too. Day was a delight to be with but night was just a word away from mare. It was scared of darkness, you see? All the neon lights in the world couldn't make it grow out of this morbid fear. One day, some thieves broke in through the window, damaging it severely. It was fragmented now in three pieces—one fond of sunlight, another afraid of sunset and a piece which didn't give a fuck.

What is reality?

If you like karela, what does that say about you as a breathing entity? Nothing. Because karela remains bitter whether somebody likes it or not. Your reality is yours while karela maintains its share. Similarly, someone is happy at somebody else's sorrow. How much of that happiness is for real is a question worth pondering. Is anything real or is everything a figment of reality? Every second thing acts randomly, seldom allowing us a chance to execute our plans the way we prophesied. As individuals, our realities conflict but at the same time, they allow us a chance to engage and be ourselves. Or at least get a chance to find ourselves. That's how this world functions. Random acts, random results.  

     Let me digress here.

Who could have thought we'd be unable to trace a flight in 2014? When was the last time that happened? Last millennium. Shit. An ant won't bother what happened to MH370 but humans do as if it affects them. It doesn't, to be brutally frank. It's the harsh reality of family and friends of those who disappeared from the sky. Just like that. 

     For the rest of us, that just leaves a temporary bitter taste in our mouth.

Two hearts, two songs

Some months ago, a wonderful person just happened and gifted me two songs: one titled Let Her Go by Passenger and another, Gotta Have You by Weepies. At that point of time, i didn't really understand the irony between these two beautiful tracks nor the accidence of a complete stranger turning into something so incredibly close. To be fair, i still don't. But out of habit, i pretend to. For some reason, i wonder how certain things descend into place while others disperse into sky. Just like Ajay Devgan's Vanraj in Hum Dil De Chuke Sanam. He falls in love with Aishwarya Rai's Nandini at the very first sight and even manages to marry her. But her mind is occupied by somebody else. So what does he do now? Since he loves her so much, it's heartbreaking to see her in despair. In a twist, he decides to help her get back to her lover. That way, at least one of them would be happy. Why not her instead of him? So he takes that remarkably noble step and reunites the separated lovers. It was then she realizes the significance of his action and more importantly, his sincerity—being true to oneself more than others. Hence she can't keep herself from running back to him. 

Conclusion: He lets her go so she gotta have him.

Heat

Indian summer sucks. Unless and until you're a migratory bird with the mission to spread your wings (and seeds). If you're a human with limbs and stay in a oven-like city called Mumbai, you have my sympathies. But at the same time, i take delight in the assumption that maybe this is what hell is all about. 35+ degree Celsius. Air as thick as public sense. Dust filling us up instead of mirth. Epic setting.

Happy season ahead.

Distance in between

If my fingers could touch her,
they'd tell her how much they missed her.
But not before embarking on a ride...
To a sweet world clocked with respite
and gasps of cruel kind;
where words have no place to stay
as they linger in the thick air above.
Silence wisely takes over,
only to be punctuated by love.
And skin will turn into extended territories
while sweat beads shall look divine.
Crumpled clothes, smeared colours,
Cold moonlight, waking up to sunshine.
With actions borrowing forms from emotions,
much more happening inside. 
If my fingers could touch her,
they'd show her how much they missed her.

Home

Home is where we truly arrive. Home is where self-imposed exile is. Home is where masturbation becomes a religion. Home is where Eagles play at full volume. Home is where your anus enjoys freedom of speech. Home is where all our disgusting habits reside. Home is where your mother smiles at you and says little. Home is where your mother says and your dad smiles little. Home is where the mask isn't. Home is where yeh jo des hai tera. Home is where your family secrets took birth. Home is where your secret dance moves took birth, too. Home is where the bills are. Home is where the itch remains for eternity. Home is where the nudist colony is. Home is where the weather gets judged—ironically enough. Home is where Maggi is. Home is where the fridge is your best friend. Home is where you should be. Home is where she will be. 

The only constant

In case if you haven't noticed it yet, everything around you is changing. Date. Weather. Politics. Skin. Opinions. Etc. Nothing is remaining. Passage has been the ritual. Something substitutes something else. Somebody replaces somebody else. It's like a grand play where nobody knows what they are up to. But they are on the stage performing. And like it or not, you're part of this scheme too. By virtue of which, you're changing as well.

Shutting her up

Her: "What do you dislike?

Him: "I hate blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah bla...."

Her: "And what do you like?"

Him: "You."

A restless stroll

Something troubled him,

like wind troubles leaves...

So he kept moving
trying to run, trying to flee,
in search of quiet and peace.

In the end, he received neither.

Regardless, he carried on,

hoping someday he'll catch them both

and they'll be his first and last.

One noon, he looked up at the sky

and asked himself, "Why do i have to journey?"

He waited for an answer 

but couldn't hear a voice.

So he looked down at his feet and asked them, "Can you two stop?"

They said in unison, "Yes, we can. Not."

Dejected, he kept walking

like a moron without a cause.

Happened days, weeks, months, years and a lot. 

No moment of glory awaited him

nor a distant village nor a wonderful lass.
Only the beauty of an unrequited future did. 

The poor man walked and walked

till the road disappeared and his minds crossed...

Only to meet that moment of truth

resulting from a lost trail.

The wind caressed his open eyes 

before entering his closed mouth,

while the ground kissed his back,
his soul left a lasting spark.

Even the sun couldn't help smiling at

his lively departure with a dead heart.

Beyond the sight

Somewhere, a star is taking birth,
Somewhere, a robin is singing for mirth—all alone,

Somewhere a rivulet is making its way towards the sea,

Somewhere, the wind feels free,

Somewhere, his heart doesn't want to give up on her,
Somewhere, Coldplay is writing songs based on him,

Somewhere, the breeze is turning cooler,

Somewhere, things are changing for good,

Somewhere, people are living the way they should,

Somewhere, your jokes are being cracked,
Somewhere, a genius has reinvented light,
Somewhere, love is falling to rise,
Somewhere, our dreams are waiting for us to open our eyes,
Somewhere, we are together.

L-word

They think they are in love. And it’s beautiful. But the truth is something else. Just like that word they don't know yet. Owing to poor vocabulary, the couple is quietly going with the template. What’s the big deal? It’s just another borrowed word. Nevertheless, the two often find themselves on a plane that's surely higher than love. They don't seek perfection nor aspire to be unique. Their faces don’t meet each other but their fingers do. While time can’t wait, they can. With every passing day, patience has become their daily mantra. Not entirely rosy, everything reeks of sadness sometimes. Love is in despair — maybe. They neither believe in tags nor in claiming happiness. They just let the other person be. One day, they’ll appreciate the distance that separates them. Or the closeness they share instead. Until then, they won’t bother themselves with that word that eludes them.

Rippling effect

We are like that stone which hits the surface of a river...creates some ripples...bit of a sound...temporary commotion..only to drown peacefully into it. To the canvas of time, our species do something similar. We enter, strut our stuff, build something, damage quite a lot and then leave the stage while the river flows on. It's an universe where everybody adheres to the Script.

PS: The trick is to become a pumice and float.

Happens

There's no substitute for a nice readable blog post.















And except for those few moments of hope resting on the future, life sucks.

Liquid state of mind

“You must be shapeless, formless, like water. When you pour water in a cup, it becomes the cup. When you pour water in a bottle, it becomes the bottle. When you pour water in a teapot, it becomes the teapot. Water can drip and it can crash. Become like water, my friend.” — Bruce Lee

I think we should be like milk. Whatever qualities of water the aforementioned legend highlighted in the above quote, milk possesses them too. Unlike water, milk is sensitive. Water is colourless while milk is mostly white and nourishes both racists as well non-racists. Didn't we have milk first before water? (Scientifically speaking, breastmilk has about 90% water but let's stick with the argument!) Lastly, water can hide in milk but can the latter do that in the former? Can you hide someone in you or vice versa?

Pissing off

Am i the only guy who can't take a piss in an overcrowded washroom? I guess not. I can't be THAT unique. Every time i find myself in a loo where i'm standing in a series of guys about to leak, i freeze. Or should i say, a part of me freezes. Being shouldered on either sides by men is too discomforting a position. Medically speaking, this condition is called paruresis. But i don't give up easily. I close my eyes and imagine there's a fountain of youth somewhere into which i want to urinate. Guess what? It works every single time. Without fail.