Unclog attempts -1

It is long, long since i felt i am nature. I have thought about nature as if i was an out of the box entity but today it happened - again.

I am an engineer by profession. An imitator. A person who objectifies nature and aims to quench the varying desires of my customers. An engineer and a good one at that can only be akin to a philosopher. What an engineer should acknowledge is - Many inventions are first imitations of nature spiced with our idiosyncrasies.

What we forget or have forgotten already that the place around us or the place you live in owns you. We cannot exist thinking of self as an entity (even subconsciously) by claiming bits of nature as ours when we are nature ourselves. We are subset of the universe and a fleeting one at that. We are the dragon flies. Our lights is the present time and through our translucent wings of thought we guess future. As for the past, we fly and leave behind and our kind und Kinder see it as history the next season. In more than one ways we are dragon flies. During the monsoon of youth, do fly and not linger please.

Imagine the day when everyone is at peace and not haggling about almost anything, as in similar to the songs sung for ages. On that day, our days would be the dark ages.

...

Everytime, anytime

when i feel

i feel going, running nowhere

bumping in mirages

bruising against the wind

I want to,I want to

lose a bit of what is mine.

Lose it into the whites,

the whites that float

when i close my eyes.

Less of mine, i hope

will be more of me.

I a bit more whole,

when i drain what

is stuck with the

train of time.

Everytime, anytime

when i feel like staying

I lose me and gain some

Its sum, we call 'mine'

Dilution

Dheeren swayed through the flowing traffic changing lanes to accommodate the whims of his fellow commuters. His mind along with his foot switched rhythmically with the changing signal lights that punctuated the already stagnated road. The last lights were flickering and the streets were draining the last travelers into their homes. Dheeren had to reach home soon; he was late... lest he be greeted with a contemptuous silence. The thought of hurry gave away when he noticed the traffic slowing to a halt. Applying the brakes, he too could see the red lights. Pursing his lips, he eased the throttle and looked around, only to see a boy a third of his age selling hand towels. Who would buy them? The signal blurred as he observed the dying oscillations of the plastic fir tree that was hung above his head. His attention ensued towards the hand towels. Who would buy those hand towels? Of course then again, the boy could not have made them...Dheeren thoughts drifted away, only to be gathered in the next moments. He started the engine and drove to park aside.

Dheeren strode towards him and faced the boy. The latter involuntarily stretched an orange towel with red threads flanging its borders to Dheeren's chest. On his chanting the price, Dheeren looked away. The street quietened down. After a few words with him, Dheeren led the kid to a stone wall nearby. Both sat and Dheeren's gestures became pronounced and so did the boy's attention as he stared at him agape. After a few vertical and transverse nods, the boy got into Dheeren's car.

The boy was to be educated, regardless of Dheeren's acquaintances’ or his family’s reservations. He was to educate him, at least him. One miserable life will be off the streets. And so in future will a family, spawned by this urchin. The kid was to first stay at a guest place nearby. He was to learn the normal manners of an upper middle class and then go to school. The boy would polish his school shoes and take care that his shirt stains were hidden in the evenings. Dheeren would work on him and make him learn. But, he would never force him. 'To his potential' shall he be worked... a normal childhood was what the boy and every kid deserved. Yes, there would be technicalities to be sorted with regard to school admissions. As for Dheeren’s family, he asserted himself that they would have to deal with it...Maybe if all this did not pan out at first he would get the help of an orphanage. They would share a few tips at the least and render him the courage to carry along. What if the boy had parents? Worse, if he was under child traffickers... then any rescue would have to be implemented in another city...In a few moments his mind raced as to how things could be made feasible. At that precise moment, his pupils narrowed as the sounds from outside the car were less muffled than before, the engines around had revved up. He looked around and the signal was green. Looking around the boy was nowhere to be seen. Dheeren was pushed to drive by the blaring horns behind. He drove. The signal post disappeared behind and more commuters melted into unnamed streets.

I visited Srirangam a few days back. The temple is among my favorites
in southern India. The deity of this temple is lord Vishnu. As we
entered the sanctum sanctorum of the temple, I along with other
visitors and devotees could see the roof of the main building which is
cast in gold. The deity is housed inside this main building. One of
the many ways to worship is to offer our prayers to this roof cast in
gold. The devotees from below were praying with their hands raised
towards the golden roof/gopuram. I did the same and that was when I
saw him. I am not sure of its gender but for convenience I call it
'him' here.

He was a bird standing atop on this golden roof. He seemed unperturbed
by the numerous people who were rushing in and ushered out by the
priests. I presume we looked like a stream constituted of black
botches surrounded with our multi-colored clothes running on stone
floors. The stone floors on the other hand had an uneven coating of
soil mixed with water; the result of the half hearted attempt during
the early hours of the day to wash the former. But again coming to the
bird, he appeared restless. The human's tendency to color every
situation with one's own perspective made me pick my brush and palette
at this juncture. This bird standing atop the golden roof was looking
for food. In absolute terms the ground he was standing on was rarer
than what he would ultimately find (if at all). And then it filled me,
not 'struck' but rather seeped into my mind: No matter what we have,
we still have our issues, on the ground floor we look atop to satiate
our needs and wants. Atop a golden roof he looked down to satiate his.
So it is. Although this is a simple metaphor/analogy (?), he rang
something deep inside me. A need to live a part of our counterpart’s
moments, say whilst a conversing or while listening. Not to judge, not
only empathize but try to share their moment. This appears very
interesting to me, as it will allow me to live a little more than
'life'.

The challenge lies in trying to align my opinion close to 'as is' or
the reality. This can be attained only by practice and it would simply
be an art to do it without the other's knowledge about the intention.
In this case I succeeded in the art section (if not, that would be
weird) but I am very doubtful if the challenge was met even within a
thousand miles.

To this day, I am sure that the golden roof exists and the botches
sift around it, shifting the dirt cakes on the floor. All I wonder is
what happened to him with an assurance that he cares two hoots about
me or the others in return. And it will be so until we have something
for him to swoop down from the roof - cast with gold and drought.

There is a lot to say and to write

Much to do and more wants

Before even i attempt to start

I ought to organize or let it flow,

'what do i do?', is again a thought...