It is an odd world we live in. I won’t say only the present is odd nor will I refer to a glorious past. Something leads me to believe that humanity right from it’s inception itself has been odd. Every human being born into this world is handed certain guidelines on how to act and more importantly on how not to act. This guidance comes in a variety of ways religion, education, tradition, environment, history and even parenting. They all endeavor to teach us the same thing. The difference between right and wrong. We do take these lessons seriously up to a point after which we all tend to let go of those beliefs and tend to compromise little by little on our values. Of course there’s a variety of excuses and justification we tend to give but who are we really kidding? Over time one tends to become apathetic to morality, values and even sheer decency.
It is happening all over the world today. People are killing and people are being killed. Sure, you know that but what’s worse is our apathy about it. We all know terrorism by now. It’s become a part of our life in this new millenia. I am pretty sure back when it started in the 1960’s in Jammu and Kashmir, people all over the country must have been shocked. but then the 70’s, 80’s, 90’s happened. Most people bypassed the newspaper articles which began with “2 killed in the valley.”. Let alone the Army Jawans, public at large had stopped bothering about civilians being killed as well. “If-it-happens-in-Kashmir-it’s-Ok” kind of attitude was adopted by the masses. Around 2-3 spots on the front page was dedicated to Kashmir throughout the past decades. People by now ,sadly enough, had even begun to associate Kashmir with terrorism.
When the Indian Airlines IC-814 was hijacked. Most people were either fascinated or ignorant of the fact what actually was going on. There wasn’t a perceived danger. Majority of the population couldn’t afford to fly so why bother?
When the attack on the Indian Parliament occurred, it did stir something in the Indian public. but it was soon swamped down by the hype created another mania sweeping the country. Reality Tv with Kaun Banega Crorepati. Reaction was”Whoa! There’s been an attack on the parliament? I wonder if that doctor guy is going to win the Prize money on today’s show.” Simple, undisguised apathy plagued the people. Even worse were some who actually thought bumping off a few MPs was a good idea!
Many more ghastly events shook the nation. This is the era of miniaturization. Be it electronics, designer clothes, cars and time. What it took the Indian public decades to achieve with Kashmir, a casual indifference, has been achieved in the last ten years with the whole nation. After the Mumbai attacks really shocked many people. In fact many people have taken quite an interest in terrorism after the attack but sadly that too has died in the din of Rakhi ka Swayamwar.
The Pune blasts were the latest in a series of gory events that has shaped India’s entry into the new millennium. A sad disclosure is that it hasn’t made much of a difference to the us. Yes we do go to the blast site and light a candle. We hold peace marches for recreation and charity events to get drunk. It seems that if the death toll is a 2 figured number people don’t consider it a big enough incident anymore. Bombs are going off every now and then and the places are becoming more and more familiar. People are getting wary of the harrowing airport security checks yet they have accepted it as a regularity. It is quite an interesting lesson terrorism has taught us. Keep putting the people long enough through anything and they shall accept it. As for terrorism, find a solution or not, The public shall always be accepting.
Tuesday, June 8, 2010
Thursday, February 25, 2010
The Insomniac
Each night I promise myself I shall go to bed early
To greet the sun is but a delayed wish granted.
I rub my eyes, my body protests.
To lie on the bed each night without making progress.
The days are sleepy, the nights alive
I am already worried about sleeping tonight.
Earlier on Nightmares plagued me,
Now it's only blankness that stares at me.
The dark dark room is inviting during the day,
The warm cozy bed beckons me to stay.
It is during the night that they spurn me.
The world mutters when shall you learn from me.
This habit of mine is making me increasingly bohemian
As I lie awake to but twist and turn.
I so wish to get my life back on track
But they keep telling me that I am an insomniac.
To greet the sun is but a delayed wish granted.
I rub my eyes, my body protests.
To lie on the bed each night without making progress.
The days are sleepy, the nights alive
I am already worried about sleeping tonight.
Earlier on Nightmares plagued me,
Now it's only blankness that stares at me.
The dark dark room is inviting during the day,
The warm cozy bed beckons me to stay.
It is during the night that they spurn me.
The world mutters when shall you learn from me.
This habit of mine is making me increasingly bohemian
As I lie awake to but twist and turn.
I so wish to get my life back on track
But they keep telling me that I am an insomniac.
Saturday, January 9, 2010
Pigs Might Fly
I always was a story-teller, I always will be one true.
I remember the time I made up that story about the pigs that flew.
Long long ago, wrought upon terrible times.
lived men in a regular grind.
Each day was similar to the next.
Wonderment was a taboo subject.
Speaking of the flowers, raised the eyebrows,
Gazing at the moon, got you shoved.
Loved ones deceptively embraced,
Truth caused pain, only lies gave solace.
Everyone wore that infernal mask everywhere.
Taking care not to show care.
Green mists of jealousy and hatred made every moment hazy,
But why, Why indeed would you believe me?
For I always was a story-teller and I always will be one. True.
I remember the time I made up that story about the pigs that flew.
The story didn't go down that well at the time too I remember.
People thought I was quite mad calling May, December.
But I have seen the world, Tasted it's lips.
No the damn thing doesn't taste like chocolate chips.
Call me a liar, If you will.
For you joy may not be the king of everything.
I am quite particular about being joyous.
It's the kind of thing that keeps me quite buoyant.
My feet are burnt now with walking on dreamy shores.
Yet I can't start cooling my feet in the truish waters.
It's the dreams I am sure about.
Then I wonder why reality has so much clout.
I am hardly the one to blame
For I always was a story-teller, I always will be one true.
I remember the time I made up that story about the pigs that flew.
I bumped into reality the other day,
I shivered, for her gaze was cold.
We exchanged glances, She fell for me I am sure.
then she left abruptly, Locked herself on the other side of destiny
Now she tells me it's my stories that landed her behind that door.
Today my pigs blot out the sky
Causing men to pause and open their eyes.
They halt discovering wonderment.
I welcome it like something godsend.
She is still locked away across that door.
Now I send pigs flying to the other side to check on her evermore.
I remember the time I made up that story about the pigs that flew.
Long long ago, wrought upon terrible times.
lived men in a regular grind.
Each day was similar to the next.
Wonderment was a taboo subject.
Speaking of the flowers, raised the eyebrows,
Gazing at the moon, got you shoved.
Loved ones deceptively embraced,
Truth caused pain, only lies gave solace.
Everyone wore that infernal mask everywhere.
Taking care not to show care.
Green mists of jealousy and hatred made every moment hazy,
But why, Why indeed would you believe me?
For I always was a story-teller and I always will be one. True.
I remember the time I made up that story about the pigs that flew.
The story didn't go down that well at the time too I remember.
People thought I was quite mad calling May, December.
But I have seen the world, Tasted it's lips.
No the damn thing doesn't taste like chocolate chips.
Call me a liar, If you will.
For you joy may not be the king of everything.
I am quite particular about being joyous.
It's the kind of thing that keeps me quite buoyant.
My feet are burnt now with walking on dreamy shores.
Yet I can't start cooling my feet in the truish waters.
It's the dreams I am sure about.
Then I wonder why reality has so much clout.
I am hardly the one to blame
For I always was a story-teller, I always will be one true.
I remember the time I made up that story about the pigs that flew.
I bumped into reality the other day,
I shivered, for her gaze was cold.
We exchanged glances, She fell for me I am sure.
then she left abruptly, Locked herself on the other side of destiny
Now she tells me it's my stories that landed her behind that door.
Today my pigs blot out the sky
Causing men to pause and open their eyes.
They halt discovering wonderment.
I welcome it like something godsend.
She is still locked away across that door.
Now I send pigs flying to the other side to check on her evermore.
Tuesday, December 15, 2009
Pokey
They say behind every imagination lies a wish but there are times when one wishes not to imagine. Every deep desire however dark is masked by one of those little irrelevant day dreams. Those desires we cannot accept are washed off with a shrug as a hopeless mind trick. Though we barely may admit them in the public eye. I have met very few people who can accept their dreams and term them as their desires. They seem to me as quite an interesting lot. They understand something about themselves that others don’t. I recently met such a person.
Pokey is a man in love. He’s a man I’ve known to be in love perpetually. The object of his affections resign from time to time but the love is constant, permanent and universal.
Pokey singularly follows whatever takes his fancy. It does seem a bit odd in the beginning when he drags you across the city on foot because the love of his life detests the pollution and is concerned about the carbons caused by vehicular pollution. Then there was the time when another unfortunate girl was plagued by his attributions who seemed interested in theatre. In fact, She was a rising star in the City’s art circles causing Pokey to suddenly become Shakespearean. Much to everyone’s dismay, He would keep quoting the poor fellow to just about anybody, including the vegetable vendor. The point I wish to illuminate is that, the fellow would not only be a passive lover but he would go all out and devote his attention to the minutest detail. He is what I would call the perpetual student. He studies what he likes and I rather enviously admit, he excels in them. True, He never gets the girl in the end but I suspect that he doesn’t want her. He rather enjoys the chase. He won’t admit it, mind you.
You see Pokey had once had a very dysfunctional relationship. A happy couple that went very wrong. No reason. Just one of the many things that happen in life. Pokey’s love had never died out though. He simply said to me once,” You know Aabhishek, I often wonder how beautiful love is. If it felt so bloody wonderful with the wrong person, Just imagine how ecstatic it would be with the right one.” To a cynic like me, it did seem that the beer was taking it’s toll but the problem with people like Pokey is like swine flu they are bloody contagious after you’ve been with them a while. You can’t help but be affected by his enthusiasm and devotion when he goes in for a girl. I have never once seen him unhappy. Not even for the girl he would have devoted enormous amounts of time pleasing her in little ways. When the girl absolutely assures him that he has spread more than enough joy in her life to last her a lifetime, does he shrug his shoulders and move on to the next one. I have never really understood what drives the fellow but it appeared I could learn a lot from him. Whether his desire to fulfill an unfulfilled love fuels his imagination or his imagination of his incomplete love fuels his wishes, I shall not know.
Pokey is a man in love. He’s a man I’ve known to be in love perpetually. The object of his affections resign from time to time but the love is constant, permanent and universal.
Pokey singularly follows whatever takes his fancy. It does seem a bit odd in the beginning when he drags you across the city on foot because the love of his life detests the pollution and is concerned about the carbons caused by vehicular pollution. Then there was the time when another unfortunate girl was plagued by his attributions who seemed interested in theatre. In fact, She was a rising star in the City’s art circles causing Pokey to suddenly become Shakespearean. Much to everyone’s dismay, He would keep quoting the poor fellow to just about anybody, including the vegetable vendor. The point I wish to illuminate is that, the fellow would not only be a passive lover but he would go all out and devote his attention to the minutest detail. He is what I would call the perpetual student. He studies what he likes and I rather enviously admit, he excels in them. True, He never gets the girl in the end but I suspect that he doesn’t want her. He rather enjoys the chase. He won’t admit it, mind you.
You see Pokey had once had a very dysfunctional relationship. A happy couple that went very wrong. No reason. Just one of the many things that happen in life. Pokey’s love had never died out though. He simply said to me once,” You know Aabhishek, I often wonder how beautiful love is. If it felt so bloody wonderful with the wrong person, Just imagine how ecstatic it would be with the right one.” To a cynic like me, it did seem that the beer was taking it’s toll but the problem with people like Pokey is like swine flu they are bloody contagious after you’ve been with them a while. You can’t help but be affected by his enthusiasm and devotion when he goes in for a girl. I have never once seen him unhappy. Not even for the girl he would have devoted enormous amounts of time pleasing her in little ways. When the girl absolutely assures him that he has spread more than enough joy in her life to last her a lifetime, does he shrug his shoulders and move on to the next one. I have never really understood what drives the fellow but it appeared I could learn a lot from him. Whether his desire to fulfill an unfulfilled love fuels his imagination or his imagination of his incomplete love fuels his wishes, I shall not know.
The Tyranny Of Optimism
The Tyranny Of Optimism.
the interim period between relationships is always the most educating one albeit the most frustrating one. It is a phase where optimism must reign supreme without which the body and mind plunge into an endless anarchy of self-destruction. Optimism is a despotic ruler. It is the bastard child of disappointment and determination conceived when one faces disappointment with determination. Optimism implies an underlying disappointment to it. As without the fear of disappointment, what does one have to be optimistic about?
Optimism is a state of being, Its not an attitude. There is a constant threat to optimism. Events which can quell it. It is meant to be a temporary being. The ingredients of attitude, usually need to be of a more permanent nature, meaning no matter how screwed up the circumstances are your reaction to it does not change. Optimists often argue that it is the best route to take in uncertainty. But the dominance of this beast oversteps all thresholds of uncertainty.
Once optimism has made a conquest of you, It shall lead you into avoidable circumstances with an unrealistic belief and complete ignorance of facts. It is hard to tell when optimism mutates into overconfidence for there is a very thin line (If at all) that separates them. Overconfidence grows up to take the form of recklessness.
Optimism does seem to remind us of a great king who started what might once have been a revered dynasty only to rise into infamy due to his long line of wasteful scions and spiteful tyrants.
Similarly optimism may do wonders for you now but keep watching for that line so you don’t go into a restaurant hoping to pay for the meal with the pearl you hope to find in the oysters.
the interim period between relationships is always the most educating one albeit the most frustrating one. It is a phase where optimism must reign supreme without which the body and mind plunge into an endless anarchy of self-destruction. Optimism is a despotic ruler. It is the bastard child of disappointment and determination conceived when one faces disappointment with determination. Optimism implies an underlying disappointment to it. As without the fear of disappointment, what does one have to be optimistic about?
Optimism is a state of being, Its not an attitude. There is a constant threat to optimism. Events which can quell it. It is meant to be a temporary being. The ingredients of attitude, usually need to be of a more permanent nature, meaning no matter how screwed up the circumstances are your reaction to it does not change. Optimists often argue that it is the best route to take in uncertainty. But the dominance of this beast oversteps all thresholds of uncertainty.
Once optimism has made a conquest of you, It shall lead you into avoidable circumstances with an unrealistic belief and complete ignorance of facts. It is hard to tell when optimism mutates into overconfidence for there is a very thin line (If at all) that separates them. Overconfidence grows up to take the form of recklessness.
Optimism does seem to remind us of a great king who started what might once have been a revered dynasty only to rise into infamy due to his long line of wasteful scions and spiteful tyrants.
Similarly optimism may do wonders for you now but keep watching for that line so you don’t go into a restaurant hoping to pay for the meal with the pearl you hope to find in the oysters.
Saturday, October 17, 2009
The Gutter Of Talent
I recently chanced upon a very strange spot in the city. It’s quite funny how you might live in a city all your life but never manage to see a particular spot. You might hear about the place and may even have a vague idea of it’s location but you never get round to visiting it even though it is so close to home. The place however, in my reference exists in every city of the world. It has an omnipresent character. It is as pervasive as pollution yet hidden away from sight as sewage lines. The place is the gutter of talent.
The gutter of talent is the place where all the talents of the city which have not been utilized are eventually flushed into. You remember your friend with the breakthrough business plan? Or the cousin who was so good at acting, singing etc? Or your only graduate uncle who gave up that IIT seat to take over the family Kirana store? Well they all now stop by here on their way back from their underachieved lives. Although symbolically insignificant, the stench of rotting talent is the worst of it’s kind. The funny thing about smell is, now this is a universal principle that the person emanating the scent, rarely seems to notice it but a the third person has to put his reserve to the test, by suppressing his urge to cover his nose and retch.
Oh what a sight it is to stop by this canal of filth! It is a perfect place for many a caution stories. The once successful, beautiful, intelligent, artistic, creative the list goes on.. are now reduced to the decadent, suppressed, lifeless, depressed, unhappy…this list too goes on. Many of them confide in me from time to time telling me about their good old days. It’s the past that’s promising for most of them and the future looks bleak. Ask them how they ended up here and you get all sorts of answers on how the world’s wronged them, some begrudge the society, Some parents, some siblings, some friends, some enemies rarely do I hear self-blame. But I hear there’s another gutter for that somewhere in this city.
It’s not that their unhappy. No. They are very happy. Pretty much like Sureshbhai. Sureshbhai uses this atrocious smelling perfume and has been using it for years. I hear people have told him of it’s wretched smell to which he responds “I can’t smell it.” . What is excruciating about these people is that like Sureshbhai, they never seem to notice what they are giving out. It is the people who surround them have to bear the brunt. Each one residing in that gutter is an utterly gifted person. I have met many of the best orators, writers, singers, artists, fathers, daughters, sons and mothers on my frequent excursions there. Ironically, each one knows how good they are and can be but whether they lack in initiative or action is beyond me. For now I am content with my visits there and don’t ever want to go back. If you’re interested, you’re welcome to try. All it takes is for you to find out what you love to do and just stop doing it.
The gutter of talent is the place where all the talents of the city which have not been utilized are eventually flushed into. You remember your friend with the breakthrough business plan? Or the cousin who was so good at acting, singing etc? Or your only graduate uncle who gave up that IIT seat to take over the family Kirana store? Well they all now stop by here on their way back from their underachieved lives. Although symbolically insignificant, the stench of rotting talent is the worst of it’s kind. The funny thing about smell is, now this is a universal principle that the person emanating the scent, rarely seems to notice it but a the third person has to put his reserve to the test, by suppressing his urge to cover his nose and retch.
Oh what a sight it is to stop by this canal of filth! It is a perfect place for many a caution stories. The once successful, beautiful, intelligent, artistic, creative the list goes on.. are now reduced to the decadent, suppressed, lifeless, depressed, unhappy…this list too goes on. Many of them confide in me from time to time telling me about their good old days. It’s the past that’s promising for most of them and the future looks bleak. Ask them how they ended up here and you get all sorts of answers on how the world’s wronged them, some begrudge the society, Some parents, some siblings, some friends, some enemies rarely do I hear self-blame. But I hear there’s another gutter for that somewhere in this city.
It’s not that their unhappy. No. They are very happy. Pretty much like Sureshbhai. Sureshbhai uses this atrocious smelling perfume and has been using it for years. I hear people have told him of it’s wretched smell to which he responds “I can’t smell it.” . What is excruciating about these people is that like Sureshbhai, they never seem to notice what they are giving out. It is the people who surround them have to bear the brunt. Each one residing in that gutter is an utterly gifted person. I have met many of the best orators, writers, singers, artists, fathers, daughters, sons and mothers on my frequent excursions there. Ironically, each one knows how good they are and can be but whether they lack in initiative or action is beyond me. For now I am content with my visits there and don’t ever want to go back. If you’re interested, you’re welcome to try. All it takes is for you to find out what you love to do and just stop doing it.
Saturday, October 3, 2009
Prison Diary
There was once a time, I sat alone.
Longing for company, Locked in my home.
I used to look out into the dark nights.
Hoping that a visitor just might,
Make his way unto my doorstep.
I waited in patience brushing the tears shed.
Scores of eyes glared at the manor in intense hate.
even as Many a feet crossed my gates.
Yet not one cared to tread in.
To see me well, to share a grin.
I was unaware of the outside din.
It now appears they believed I've lived a life of sin.
Tired of the waiting, I retired to my armchair
just not caring.
It was then I received a visitor.
My first one after the last had left years earlier.
He wasn't a handsome specimen mind you.
For he sported ugly horns and heeled boots.
"What do you want of me?", I asked him.
"A lime would be good, with a spot of Gin."
came the reply.
I watched exasperatedly as this guest of mine,
Helped himself with considerable audacity.
"You are accused of three heinous crimes."
He said tapping the now empty bottle.
I steeled my self for this trial of times,
even as my hair stood on its ends hearing his nasty chortle.
"Pray, speak what my deviance is?
Point him out, he who has grievances.
Remind me where I have erred,
So I may surmise what else is there to be learned."
"Very well, You shall have it as you wish."
He said waving his hand with a flourish.
There appeared a cloud from the fireplace
Broadcasting an incident where I fell from grace.
It was an incident of my youth,
Since when I have never forsaken the truth.
"Is it to be believed,
that you have acted with immense greed?
By resorting to honesty,
You have damned society to face it's own hypocrisy."
"It is true." I replied.
Undaunted, unmarred
"Then I pronounce you guilty as charged!"
"Charge number two:
Have you ever been selfless?"
He asked even as I was reeling with acceptance.
I recalled the now long gone past,
whence I had forsaken my desires and held fast.
It was then it dawned upon me, It seems
I had lived for others giving up my own dreams.
Pangs of regret began to choke me,
Even as the cursed devil moved on to charge number three.
"Has forgiveness too been your game?"
He eyed me crossly.
Sunk as I was, I hung my head in admitted shame.
"How then can we allow you to reside in this Society?
One that values dishonesty and thrives on duality."
It was thus that I was ostracized,
But it was wisdom rather than regret that donned my eyes.
So I went to the gallows a happy man,
Looking back at the world for that one last time,
It was a good run, I still say.
As I wait in my cell block for a visitor to come my way.
Over the events, I have learned.
Good deeds can't be cured.
How I wish I could join the herd!
My name is God,
And I have left the world.
Longing for company, Locked in my home.
I used to look out into the dark nights.
Hoping that a visitor just might,
Make his way unto my doorstep.
I waited in patience brushing the tears shed.
Scores of eyes glared at the manor in intense hate.
even as Many a feet crossed my gates.
Yet not one cared to tread in.
To see me well, to share a grin.
I was unaware of the outside din.
It now appears they believed I've lived a life of sin.
Tired of the waiting, I retired to my armchair
just not caring.
It was then I received a visitor.
My first one after the last had left years earlier.
He wasn't a handsome specimen mind you.
For he sported ugly horns and heeled boots.
"What do you want of me?", I asked him.
"A lime would be good, with a spot of Gin."
came the reply.
I watched exasperatedly as this guest of mine,
Helped himself with considerable audacity.
"You are accused of three heinous crimes."
He said tapping the now empty bottle.
I steeled my self for this trial of times,
even as my hair stood on its ends hearing his nasty chortle.
"Pray, speak what my deviance is?
Point him out, he who has grievances.
Remind me where I have erred,
So I may surmise what else is there to be learned."
"Very well, You shall have it as you wish."
He said waving his hand with a flourish.
There appeared a cloud from the fireplace
Broadcasting an incident where I fell from grace.
It was an incident of my youth,
Since when I have never forsaken the truth.
"Is it to be believed,
that you have acted with immense greed?
By resorting to honesty,
You have damned society to face it's own hypocrisy."
"It is true." I replied.
Undaunted, unmarred
"Then I pronounce you guilty as charged!"
"Charge number two:
Have you ever been selfless?"
He asked even as I was reeling with acceptance.
I recalled the now long gone past,
whence I had forsaken my desires and held fast.
It was then it dawned upon me, It seems
I had lived for others giving up my own dreams.
Pangs of regret began to choke me,
Even as the cursed devil moved on to charge number three.
"Has forgiveness too been your game?"
He eyed me crossly.
Sunk as I was, I hung my head in admitted shame.
"How then can we allow you to reside in this Society?
One that values dishonesty and thrives on duality."
It was thus that I was ostracized,
But it was wisdom rather than regret that donned my eyes.
So I went to the gallows a happy man,
Looking back at the world for that one last time,
It was a good run, I still say.
As I wait in my cell block for a visitor to come my way.
Over the events, I have learned.
Good deeds can't be cured.
How I wish I could join the herd!
My name is God,
And I have left the world.
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