Unclog attempt - 2

I have been meaning to and not - to write this post. The reason behind is we all have memories in the back of our mind. To classify them in a mundane manner- some are meant to remind us situations, some are to warn us, many are recollections and the remaining rejuvenate us during hard times.

Today i want to write of the grey side that either lurks in a corner, fills our dispositions when confronted with a crisis and helps us to tread carefully when in new circumstances. But many a time, the 'this' i am telling about dampens our enthusiasm, brings the roller coast of feeling great to a halt and cripples the 'feel good' . And few times and i hope it stays as 'few', it cripples initiative, pushes one to be defensive, creates anxiety and closes the stream of thought. i am talking about fear (other names include- worries, paranoia, oh shit! etc). A couple of examples below:

The first fear i recollect was when i was six. I was in Bombay and walking to the school along with a maid. The shoe laces got untied. We had to stand on the lane divider and she tied the laces. What would i do if she were not around? How could i tie them. I could fall tripping on them, become a laughing stock. At that time the laces seemed too complex. The fear was what if i never learnt to tie them at all. I am all this big adult in some years and i cannot tie my laces. That spun me for days. After a few years when i was tying laces i was filled with relief. Fear when it ends, gives you a relief- not happiness it brings you to neutrality. All that work to feel normal again.

The next one i remember were my high school examinations. I dream of writing one when i am stressed at work or feeling low at times to this day. It is so ingrained in my subconscious that when i am bummed the next dream would be writing that wretched exam and not signing my name on it every time. When the high school was over and lets say it did go fine, i was relieved. I was not happy at my success (seemingly) it was only a huge burden let go. And i was seething with discontent that all that stupid fear led me to further learning at college and not to some super great party ( i was 17). I was let down after carrying my anxiety and working for those exams.

And then 'he' the fear has been a part through my life whenever it came to turning points, during my infatuations, my first job, going to a new place. It makes you edgy and sometimes you want to snap out of it. I wished many times that i had a whip to swoosh it away.

Fear it seems cannot survive alone. Fear is about 'something'. Most of the times it is about stuff you care with your heart or is about a loved one. It gives you the same fluttery feeling in your stomach, like a stone in your neurons or the saltiness in your eyes every time you feel it. Fear is a container/vessel in our mind and when you put anything into it (however sweet) it gets stained, crumpled temporarily at least. Sometimes fear momentarily mutates into anger - hurts you and others and ends in suffering nevertheless.

Is it worth it? No it is not. What you achieve is because of your abilities, your fear does not motivate you. If you had feared if you would fail and did not, it is because of your work. If not for the fear you could have either had it more easier or done the same better. Fear is the entropy of our hope, energy and the faith we have in us.

But then again i know this all and i still hold some of it, so do all of us in different proportions depending on where and who we are. How do you get rid of it? How the hell am i supposed to know. Maybe writing and reminding me about this is one of them? To anyone who is under its spell right now- i hope this post serves a reaffirmation that you (and me of course) are not alone in it. Fear is a container in our heads and so do the hands that can empty it.

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...

It takes nothing to see your loved one succeed

It takes something to 'fix' your loved one in hardship

It takes everything to see that one fall, fumble and stand up by himself

It takes absolute ignorance to see that one fail himself again and again

Writing and Age

When i was young
I wrote what was in my mind
And let it float around

As i become older
I edit, re-edit and i am still not ready to let go
I have patches of text
Punctuated with criss crossing lines

Yet not in possession
of the pleasant void
when you have your thoughts out

I hope i am not the only one

The juicy meat above

withholds the fibres of memories.

of being held above the window

beneath the pink sky

above the thatched huts,

like the floating fleece.

Hard grounds, a broken nose,

And scared knees marked my growth.

Pheripherally loved,

Periodically loathed,

Befriended during junkets,

Appointed in haste

Left as an afterthought

The above i foresee.

Accustomed i am to my ways

Though these change.

i mark these fibres

with a cut for every measured time 

and  wander along, carrying them.

Laying them near the shore

Only to be washed away

And gather them again.

I was talking about this, rather i have talked a few many times than it should have been thought or spoken about. It is about my light purple couch and me. We have a love and hate relationship. I sit on it in the evenings when i am back and i blame it for the inactivity in the last evening. It is simply an endless cycle...like everything else.

Life is a cluster of infatuations, and the couch at the moment is one, and i am simply not yet satiated.

I come here in the evenings, and perform the daily web, carbon emitting rituals, by searching google for the world smallest economy (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Niue) and pitying my account balance at the same time. I dream of myself (at times ) of being the poster boy of my family (for which one has to be a optimal hypocrite no matter what your background is ) and at times breaking every norm set (for which one has to be a optimal hypocrite no matter who you are ). It is completely incredible that one says that one is driven by his own passions and commitments when most of them are set by the times that one lives in. Every motion, stinging nose hairs, sweating eyelids are simply grains filling up the remaining time. They are controlled by precisely randomly timed infatuations of animated beings.

If everything is so pointless, then just make it more 'cheerful pointless'. Back to the couch.

I have moved into my new home two months ago. It is a place for me, it can be made warm and can be kept damp and cold. The way i want it to. I have three plants. They are all green inspite of the biting cold outside. Additionally there are two racks, wooden. They have a dark brownish tinge to them. They hold my few possesions: books, keys, files and folders. All my possesions rise in signifance and gleam their importance from time to time. My bed is white with a white linen and is creased with white stripes. I have two persian carpets, i love them. All in all, i look forward every evening to meet them. They are my first possesions, modest ones or not.  To remind me of home a linen on the wall hangs with elephants lightly embedded in fading colours .

The balcony at my place to its side oversees a river which has a grey bridge over it. The waters flow, lest they be frozen. Every morning a silver layer of mist awakes from the river and kisses the withered plants so as to remind them of the oncoming spring, though the same might be a bit far away in time. 

The last five minutes

If I had five minutes
With no one around
Nothing to worry
No work , Nothing to do…

I would clean my place
in the first minute
Smoke in the next
looking at the sky
and maybe smile...

With the third,
I shall halve it into two.
One for my friends
And the other for strangers.
For both are alike,
halved as the minute,
as the known
and yet to be known

Thirty seconds will pass by,
alike the years of youth.
And another equal measure
to mourn the passing

With the last two
I shall lay and close my eyes.
In these moments behind the lids,
eons march through …

Not a random thought

One can react only if one chooses to, but when one from the time of existence is exposed to reactions of people to discrete situations; then this one adapts to those reactions.

Example could be death. Though it is known heuristically that all die, one reacts with sadness to the same, and if one does not, the next level is absolute mystery that eventually has further adapted to anger or diappointment (read reactions) over any conceived absence of reactions or the conceived less proportionality of the same.

The choice of anything is governed by its consequence. This consequence can again be made a 'choice' by selecting the reaction to the above governing consequence.

One has choices leading to consequences which are nothing but choices again. Perceived consequences are results of constraints called as rules. But rules themselves are collective choices made over a certain period of time.

And further even if we accept a choice based on consequences, then it is done only to lead further favorable choices. Here favorable is subjective.

Deutschland!

Germany has killed my imagination, with its rows of cars, with its rows of stacked cars, with its rows of parallel parked cars...
Reading the sentence above, you could guess that i do not have much imagination left  in me now,neverthless i write...
This is a beautiful place, the heaven of engineering that was branded as the sick man of Europe.
The bearer of European torch and bearing still the stain of Nazism in its inner collars.
I am here for the past 8 months and i have seen some places in Europe. What bothers me is that i saw these places but I only saw them. The moment i arrived , i got the picture of a sci-fi movie where everybody was eaten by zombies. There were facilities, transport, cars and trees. Only two things were missing: Garbage and people.
Later i came to know Germans ship their garbage away, but i am yet to find out what happened to the people.
There is a sense of coldness in here, in the weather and in the ground
The weather is awful though except during a few months in a year.
As i came into my university, the atmosphere simply seemed to be an extension of the above, and there were no gates, literally and figuratively.
This is  how I feel and is my perspective. 
Trains run to the minute, supermarkets are full, and it is 'the place' for meadows, lawns and to breathe. But there is this chaos missing, it seems to have been closed in this huge closet with engineered locks, emotions locked into beer like the fuzz in the beer(only with the opener missing,.... like forever).

One thing is for sure, i am not facing a integration crisis, as i simply know people in numbers and quality that i am usually used to, and i am also happy that i am not stuck up with my old-buddies. It is not the point of stating this situation as a duality and clinically coming into an inference whether i am feeling black or white here (read not skin color).  Though the post may incline you towards stating the same as a rambe (which it is ).. this what i see with my optically corrected glasses....

There is here the sense of detachment i really wanted, do i want to be here? i do not know...

Time: you lost it now, now, now...

Time is absolute,it does not fish in flowing waters alike our moods. It does not love you or hate, it dies when born and incarnates the very second, it is stupid to think about time as you loose it when you think, no action can be important "at a time", as nothing is important to time than itself, it neither awes at your actions nor does it stifle your ambitions. Time is indivisible, it exists in its entirity, even as you name it, write it, say it, it dies and is reborn. Even if you conquer it, you lose what you simply gained; time!

You read the above, you lost it, you did not, you still loose it.

My Staccato

I sway as i type to this rhythm
I close and sway my eyelids along
I dream with my eyes open
Lest I miss reality

I do not feel the seconds passing by
I don't feel the burning beat in my heart
I do not feel the heat in my skin
I see my past,
for i know not any other
it has been a dream
What was it about?
How did it become?
Why i see it as a dream i know not,
But it has been what it has
So be it.

I feel cocaine retreating
I feel liquor flowing
I feel the fumes enabling me to breathe
doors close and open
Windows move on, they rest not
So be it.

I want to make a void and live aplenty there.
I want to write on no one
I savour not time
I do not count moments by time
I count them with me
So i will.

YOU were not there before
YOU will not be after
This is your chance for you to be YOU
Take it or surrender
So you shall.

Why Should you be Greedy?

The world will not have skyscrapers if it was founded and run on the principles of Buddha
You and i cannot post on the internet if all of us would have sat behind the forests and meditated of inner peace. We would have not advanced this far if we concentrated on the only desire to limit the same...We would have been marred in innumerable crosses if we wnet by jesus and ofcourse gandhi was shot for his shortcomings...and so was Martin Luther King!

Who proposes this morality of self-containment and satisfaction and who follows it.

The best improvement of the society can only come when the induvidual recognises the need for it and does not wait for communism, democracy to take the reigns and lead him to better life, nobody can do the best for you than yourselves, one man's faults can be the perfect action for the others, the hour has arisen to recognise the induvidual and the the induvidual has to recognise himself as the highest important being and NOT HIS DESIRES, by this i mean his sole strength must not be towards temporal gains and fleeting prestige but to make a epitome perfection of model himself and worship the same, in short your ambition must be your GOD and you must work towards it, this will negate the ill attitudes too, the upliftment or the instant destruction of the induidual will directly depend on his ideas and therefore he cannot blame anybody, he cannot say reservations, he cannot say caste, this might be utopia??? and you thought to be selfish is easy? ah!...



GREED cannot have a negative connotation if you have the ability and will to work towards the greed to make it a reality...

duh

When you are true to yourselves, it will be difficult, but it will be a life and not hypocrisy.

We are in a country where the poor is pitied, we are in a country where the oppressed is asked to raise his voice, we are in a country that secures seats even before the he person for whom the seat will belong to is unborn! We are in a country that had socialistic ventures till 1976 and the hypocrisy was whitewashed by the emergencies of 1976 and where the term “Socialist” was added.

Our society is not guilty of anything as a whole, it collects and pounds filth of guilt in some pockets and chokes them. It diffuses guilt when you are rich, when your family had a decent living a few years ago, when you are intelligent and deserving in the family. We feel that society is a line of skewed socialistic drums. Granted that the intention is as noble as the word ‘noble’ can get, but the ways and means that you take to achieve are skewed beyond recognition of this nobility, benchmarked…

Wake up in the mornings and i get to see the ceiling, i want to find it changed...and then i go behind the sheets and through the weaver's hole i again look through...i need to find a change in the ceiling...i want water to drip and wake me up every morning, i want the paint to peel with my months and years...alas it stays new and sometimes novel but yet it is not changing...i am becoming afraid of getting stuck...it is fun to catch a bullet when you are running...when you are not static...it might just miss you...