A BREEZE OF LACED THOUGHTS...

2010-03-07T23:02:00.003+05:30

WHEN LIFE TAKES TURNS

-it takes two people to bring life on earth, it would require much more than two hundred lifetimes to thank them for it-

I still remember the look on my father’s face, the one that bore into me and left a mark so deep, so potent, that I remember it even now, after nearly 10 years. But, then I hadn’t understood what had hurt him so much.
All I did was speak back at him when he scolded me - trying to put me on the right path. Well, it is another matter that I had not just spoken back, but I had done so with a level of harshness that was uncalled for. I spoke back like I was addressing an enemy, and had done so with so much ferocity, that it surprised my father and also my mother, who as usual was trying to bring peace to the situation.

Just like a lot of things that I did and said at that age, I don’t remember what led me to this regretful action, even though I distinctly remember that it was just the usual, normal reprimand that a parent is entitled to dish out to his child, that too his first born! But the point is, at that moment my ferocity, my immaturity and my age (hormones going bonkers) had led me to shout back at the very man who loved me and cared for me with everything he could garner. At the end of all this hoop-la, the revelation was my father’s reaction. With that look, which portrayed nothing but pain and anguish, he came up to me and stroked my hair and told me,
‘Now you won’t understand. It’ll take you time, but then that’s okay. I’m there with you. Don’t worry son.’

I looked on as he walked away, still working my not-yet-teen brain frantically to understand why he was so hurt. After all, I was just trying to ‘reason’ it out with him. Mom pulled me towards her, made me sit beside her and started the usual post-fight advice session. And without caring to break the tradition, I kept arguing my stand vehemently. I was a very stubborn kid you see. Finally, she throws her arms into the air, sighs weakly, and tells me
‘You will understand why Dad got hurt when you have a family of your own. One day, God forbid, if your son talks back at you like this, you will understand.’
She wrapped up the session with another round of temper controlling methods, which this time included what my fourth grade teacher had advised – when you begin to get angry and are worried about blowing your top over, think of the sun licking an ice cream.
One word – funny!!!

But my mother’s warning had not ceased to come true. In fact it came even before the time she had warned me of. As I’m not yet a father, let alone married, it must be amusing for you all to know how I got the ‘bolt from the blue’. Stand back…drum roll…
Today, I stand before my father and mother fully understanding the implications of my actions 10 years back, and this is all thanks to my sister!

You see, having siblings can be quite a pleasure, but also interlinked with pain! My mother’s warnings had come true when my sister tried to ‘reason’ something out with me. And, you guessed right. She too falls into the same age group to which I belonged when I had tried ‘reasoning’ it with Dad.

She had the same ferocity, though a little mild (due to the difference in gender probably) coupled with the same mocking, arrogant look when I tried correcting her. I was left aghast seeing her reaction. It brought me so much of pain and anguish that I was left speechless for quite sometime. In that short period of time, everything that had happened between me and Dad 10 years back passed through my mind. It dawned upon me and I understood with full clarity as to why my father had felt hurt, and how much of pain I had inflicted upon him then. I sat back and thought clearly as to what my mother told me in the post-fight session. Yes, it was all clear to me now. I smiled - a smile of understanding and new found wisdom.

I called out to my sister, asked her to come over, which she reluctantly did. I tried to put my hand on her shoulder, and calm her. No, I couldn’t bring myself to do it. I remembered very clearly the words my father had rendered to me in similar fashion, and all I wanted to do was the same for my sister. But I couldn’t get to open my mouth. I couldn’t get myself to pat her, comfort her. Even though I understood the situation and her actions, I was not strong enough to forgive her and soothe the situation. I was weak.
And now, I realized the greatest power that my parents possessed, what all parents possess – the power to forgive. Their ability to understand the situation, and forgive the mistakes committed by us, and to finally keep their individual feelings aside and still comfort us – it is an unmistakably powerful act of strength of character.

The most godly act by a man and woman is considered to be them rendering a new life; introducing it to earth. But I wonder whether it is this?
Isn’t the act of caring, nourishing and growing that very life, their own offspring, into something that we all term as a responsible human being, the more godly act? Yes, I consider it so, because God had not only created us, but he also loves us, and looks after us. This is exactly what parents do.

Many a times during our growing stages, knowingly or unknowingly we inflict upon our parents a great deal of pain. We can just picture the horrendous situation – a kid less than half their age (and size) shouting back at them, not obeying them. For an egotist, there would be nothing more irritating than this. Our parents are also humans and hence all have egos, which fortunately come in many shapes and sizes. But how come our acts of stupidity go on without bothering their egos?

There is some level of change that occurs in a man and woman when they realize that they have become a parent. They become more responsible; their protective instincts take over from there, and also their maturity shows. Why all this is needed is comprehensible from the various situations that we put them through.
At a time when they have to manage their professional lives, their marital issues (if any), their social circles, and other commitments, they also deal with us. And they not only put up with us; they love us and sacrifice for us.

They make compromises – so much that it would be insane to list them out. They take decisions, giving full priority to us and don’t even bother to remember that we might have been the reason they couldn’t shift to another city for a better job. We might have been the reason why they couldn’t get that car which they had longed for. We might have been the reason why they couldn’t refurnish the living room.
But not once would they think or remind us, or even themselves for that matter, that it was for us. And for God’s sake, I don’t even think I could do justice to their sacrifices even if I write a book on them. No, that wouldn’t suffice.

There is a reason when I say, and I’m sure many of you would agree with me, that the two most important people in my life are my parents! And this goes for all of you who agree with me. What can we give them in return? I don’t know if there is anything we could truly repay them with. They smile and beam with pride when they see us lead successful lives. They say that’s what they have lived for all their lives. Could anyone or anything be any more Godly - two people, who keep away all their personal ambitions and goals, and live everyday to bring that smile on our faces.

There is very little that we can do for them in return. What they gave us is not something we can repay with a thank you, or with a bank full of money, or even with a successful life alone. What every parent does for their kids is way above all materialistic thing we can ever imagine of. We can’t truly repay them. I don’t think any form would suffice. So the least, and the best we can do for them is bring a smile on their faces; and work hard to keep it there.

My words don’t do justice to their great deeds, and when I started writing this, I didn’t expect it to. Nothing we do would ever do justice to the greatness our parents portray.
I want to write more, but there’s this feeling at the back of my head which says ‘Dude, enough. It’s never going to be sufficient…’
“Mom…Dad…I salute you…”

2010-01-13T23:00:00.006+05:30

CONSUME TO BE CONSUMED?

-this is the story of one man’s carelessness, and hence, lifelong guilt. Forget the saying 'rules are meant to be broken'. Some are meant to be heeded-

As the hand grew limp in mine, I fought back a tear. Despair hit me hard. For fear of breaking down, I did not even look up. I clutched the hand tightly and shut my eyes so hard that it hurt my brows. I did not feel like leaving the hand, which had once throbbed with life. I held on with both my hands. I could not bear the crying which erupted around me, as soon as they too realized the loss. I did not really encourage myself crying in public, even though I sometimes told myself that it was only a manner of expressing human emotion and there was nothing wrong with it. But, I did not encourage kissing in public too.
I fixed my gaze at the ring on the finger in his hand and I remembered the day he got it. He was a very happy man that day. Memories of that wonderful day came back to me – the long aisle, people seated on either side, his nervous face, the beautiful girl standing at the end of the aisle. His shy smile, which had won a million hearts, was even more evident that day when she put the ring on his finger. I remember clearly, he looked up and I gave him a reassuring smile. Yes, I was very happy for him, and so were all those people around him.
I looked up slowly and my eyes found the woman who brought him into this world. She was looking lost but there were no tears. Sometimes, when you endure the greatest pain, it is said that you forget even how to cry. I sensed no life left in her.

Not being able to bear the sight anymore, I looked away towards a group of aged men with teary eyes talking in hushed voices amongst each other. Some words like ‘arrangements’ were carried through the air. Some younger men and women came into the room, and took long looks at him. None spoke. Some of the women covered their faces while the men folded their hands up front. The despair was spreading around, I could see. And still, I was successful in keeping back those tears.
Suddenly, there was some hassle outside and a few people rushed out. There seemed to be a lady screaming and a lot of others trying to pacify her. I couldn’t make out who it was, though I should’ve guessed. She stumbled into the room supported by another woman who looked a lot like her and older too. My God! It was no longer the beautiful lady that I remembered, the same one who stood at the end of the aisle. She was red eyed, all puffed up; shaking feverishly; hair all messed up; dress in shambles. The ring he’d given her still gleamed from her ring finger. She looked at me as if I was a cheat, as if I was a thief who had stolen something from her. I melted away right there. The tears that might have formed in my eyes dried away with her scorching, tearing look.

I hadn’t expected anything less. In what other way would a wife look at you, when you’ve taken her husband away from her? You had just stolen the very pinnacle of her life, the very reason she smiled, the very reason she lived. It was ironic that the reason was made possible by none other than yours truly.
Yes, I had been the instrument in kindling their relationship, which once began as any other college romance would have. I saw it go through all the phases any relationship would’ve, and I made sure they saw it right through to the end. I was the one they used to exchange their first letter, their first words over the phone (his died out on him right at the key moment), and even their first kiss (don’t get me wrong here; they used me only as cover!). I was there by their sides when they broke the news nervously to their parents. I was there to pacify her frantic dad, who thought it was an undeniable act of crime if she married a guy from another religion. I was there to drill sense to his mom, who had the job of both parents from his very young age. I was there to coerce confidence into him when he realized what a big step marriage was. I was there when he was frenetically walking outside the labor room, the day he became a father.
And now here I was, having torn their life apart, doing nothing, not even shedding a few tears. She had every reason to bore her eyes into me. It was only natural that she forgot my role in making their life, because I was the only reason she had no more of it left.
Yes, I am to blame, and solely too, except if you consider it worthwhile blaming the few drinks I had before the drive. But that would be bestowing too much of kindness on me.

And I was sure I did not deserve it. I, the more responsible of the two should not have fought to drive the vehicle after getting drunk, just hours after he saw his cute little one enter the world. My God, what had I done? I lost the child’s father too, my god child’s. She had promised me that I would be godfather to their child. And now, what am I?
I looked into her eyes once more, and it was almost as if she was asking me to let go of the hand, that I still clutched onto. It was clear, that according to her I had no right to touch him, no right to even be present in this room.

But I could not bear the thought of letting go of that hand, the same one which had held mine on my first day at school, the same one that slapped me when I bit him in the 4th grade, the same hand that held onto my bleeding wound when I hit my head on the goal post, the same hand that took off the cigarette from my mouth when I tried smoking, the same which patted me on my back when I finally went on stage for the first time, the same hand with which I high-fived when I finally graduated, the same which shook mine with pride when I got my job. Yes, he had done much more for me in life than I had ever imagined of doing for him.
I was the one who took his breath away, first with my antics as a bad dancer, but now with my careless, brash, irresponsible driving under influence. How can I ever, ever forgive myself? Or is there no forgiveness for certain crimes. I chose to believe in the second, mainly because I myself was not prepared to forgive myself for this offense.

I hoped I had the courage and strength to get up, and walk up to her, his wife, and now widow, and tell her how sorry I was. But no, I was weak; weakened not only by my bad driving and subsequent loss, but also by her strong stare, the one that spoke so many words of hatred, loathing and detestation. Yes, she was still staring at me with those red eyes, not crying anymore. I sensed it was time for me to leave, not only this room, but also their lives. I was clearly unwelcome here. The others were too weak to show it, but she did; one of those things that attracted him to her – her mental strength.
I let go of the limp, lifeless hand, and slowly got up from the chair beside the bed. I was feeling a slight pain in my side, and my pants were torn n stained with blood. But that’s how far my injury list goes. I ambled my way to the door, bracing myself for a word she would say. But she did not. She did not even look at me anymore. I did not even deserve a look from her. I knew that.

I made my way to the end of the corridor, where it was dark and had an empty bench. I laid down on it, and closed my eyes, praying with all my might to the Lord, to take my worthless life, and give his back to him. I prayed a futile prayer, but at least now I was able to cry. All those tears, pain, guilt, let flow by itself. I wept, and wept like a kid. Someone once said, ‘when age catches up to you, you go back to being what you were when you were little’. All I could do now was weep, and hope that time would cleanse my wounds, both inside and outside my body.
I don’t know for how long I cried, and I think I might have even dozed off while I was at it. But when my senses returned, I was tired and teary eyed. The guilt was still there, and I was sure it would be till I breathed my last, but the main thing in my head then was, ironically, an old JAM topic from his and my college days which goes something like ‘don’t drink and drive, smoke weed and fly.’

2009-12-24T00:41:00.002+05:30

LONG STORY SHORT

-this I wrote up, when I managed to sum up my situation the following morning, in the CCU-

Bike meets bus!
Bus loses schedule and a lil’ paint,
Bike loses rider and a lil’ petrol,
Rider loses bearings and a lil’ blood,
Rider’s friend loses peace of mind and a lil’ chicken curry,
Rider’s parents lose a happy weekend trip and some money,
Hospital loses a bed and gains a big bill,
Nurse loses a pen and this small piece of paper!

2009-12-22T16:14:00.002+05:30

NEAR DEATH BLUES
-this i wrote when i was lying in the hospital bed, with just a few scratches after an encounter with a public bus-

I wrote this when I was down, lying
Coz I thought I was dying.
If God hadn’t heard me crying,
I surely must’ve been flying!
But, it was just death spying
And Lord, was he trying,
Coz he had me in shackles and tying
But the great Lord was certainly not buying.

2009-09-20T14:40:00.004+05:30

DO I CARE?

The sun doesn’t shine,
Nobody drinks wine,
The birds don’t tweet,
Because the rats all squeak.

The clouds all gather,
Merry men don’t jabber,
One each other they land blows,
The streams have stopped their flow.

Is it because of me?
I hope not,
Because the pain of guilt throbs,
Not from the outside,
But right from the inside.

Is it life that is such a bore?
My back feels a little sore.
When is it all going to end?
I hope it’s after I bend.

To what becomes of it,
I hope I know no single bit.
I can only lie to myself,
What nobody dares themselves,
That little do I care,
For what it might bare!

2009-05-16T10:53:00.004+05:30

CONTEMPLATIONS OF A LOST LIFE

-this is dedicated to all those people who once walked on this earth…
Please take time to read this, so that you may fully understand the spirit in which it was written. I hope this brings a change to the way each one of you think.

As the sweet tweeting sound flowed through the air hole opening in my room, the soothing sleep seemed to slowly pull itself away from my mind and body, filling me with the warmth of life. Yes, I was feeling awake, and unusually fresh. I opened my eyes and looked at the same ceiling that I’d been seeing every morning for the past 3 years. Even though I’d noticed that the distemper was fading a bit over the last half year, the ceiling looked unusually bright and welcoming today.

“One of those feel-good days it must be…” I said to myself, in a bare whisper. I wrestled with the idea of jumping off the bed but wisely decided against it. Stretching my hands above me, and feeling the energy flow through my body, I folded my hands under my head, and smiled to myself - something I’d forgotten how to do.

‘Today must surely be a great day!’ I thought to myself as I was enjoying the effect which the smile gave me mentally. I lifted my head and turned it the other way to gaze at the clock. It read 5:43 AM. ‘Not time for anyone to wake up yet…’ I realized.

I decided to spend sometime on the bed while I waited for them all to wake up. After all, what use was me being awake with them still fast asleep? I pulled myself into a sitting position, placed the two pillows behind my back. The touch of the soft pillows on my back gave me a sense of security. Or rather an odd sense of reassurance. Even though I wasn’t too sure why, I enjoyed the care the pillows provided me. I tugged at the curtain wire on the side of my bed, drawing the curtains apart and letting a stream of the sun’s first rays into my room. I looked around the room and had to acknowledge the beauty of every item which the rays touched. Each and every corner of the room looked pure. I looked at the length of the rays as it streamed under the couch opposite my bed-the couch that I never sat on. I wondered why it was put in my room, especially since I never sat on it. And then I remembered - but today morning, not painfully. ‘Hmmmm…that’s odd.’ I thought as I fought to ward off those thoughts.

I looked outside the window and fully appreciated the reason why god had created a sunset. If there was no sunset, how could god have brought this truly beautiful creation called the dawn, the sunrise into effect? Somehow, all of god’s creation looked arresting in the morning light. I also had to appreciate the wondrous creation called residential apartment buildings, because had I not been on the 7th floor of this apartment complex, I would not have had this great a view. I thought of my dad, who gave me this room and put my bed in this precious position. I silently thanked him-for this and for everything else he did for me…and for the things he still does.

As the light grew brighter and the morning older, people started taking to the streets, for their daily ritual of jogging, walking, playing, socializing and so on. I noticed that same old man who walked 4 dogs at the same time. With the youthfulness of those puppies, I could see that it was becoming increasingly difficult for the man to handle them. But everyday, at around the same time, he carried out this practice without fail. I noticed the girl, the one with the long hair and big round eyes. She was waiting at the bus stop. ‘Hmmmm…what’s she doing so early?’ I thought. Then I realized that today was Saturday, which meant she had her singing lessons. Yes, she was a singer. I’d heard her sing for the apartment’s anniversary celebrations. Again, unfortunately, I never had the luck to see her perform because she started performing only a year ago - which meant I was already two years late.

I fought to tear my eyes away from her and looked at the group of kids running into the play area. The football was already bouncing across the field. There was so much glee in their faces, laughter in their voices and happiness in their hearts. I watched on as they did their ‘odd or even’ procedure and went on to divide themselves into two teams and soon the game started. It was fun watching them, and I could almost not restrain myself to jump off the bed. I almost did, when something happened in the ground which brought me back to my senses. A boy, the one with the red t-shirt and specs (guess red was his lucky color, he always wore them for the morning games) twisted his ankle and fell to the ground. I winced in pain as I saw it and my mind flooded with memories. In an instant I was sweating and breathing heavily. But, as I saw him laugh at himself, slowly pick himself up from the ground and jump around I felt a sense of calmness, almost as if my heart resumed its service. A thumbs-up gesture from him gave his friends and me enough assurance that he was fine. And so was I.

I turned and looked at the clock again. It read 6:50 AM. “That’s’ odd!” I said to myself. I should have got my bed coffee along with the rest of the package by now. It was unusual for mom to be late, especially since the rest of the package was of prime importance. I fiddled with the idea of calling out, but then that would raise something of an alarm for my parents and they would come rushing into my room, with their faces and hearts flustered. You see, I’m their only child! I decided that I’d wait for a couple of more minutes before I’d call out to them. I looked out to the garden, and saw the automatic sprinklers switching on exactly at the right time, just like every other day. I looked ahead of the garden to the see Mr. Ajay's black sedan move out of the parking lot - so damn punctual. It was almost as if he waits for the sprinklers to switch on. For the last 3 years, he hasn’t broken this trend even once. I looked down to see the garbage van pull up into the compound, and move beyond my vision to the back side of the building. I knew, by routine, that it would return in exactly 4 minutes. That’s all the time it took in clearing the garbage deposits of the entire apartment.

Now, I knew that the streets would get busy, and as I was eagerly waiting for the green colored private bus to arrive at the stop, I was disturbed from my morning observance by the sound of someone fiddling with the door knob. I knew that fiddle so very well. It was mom standing outside, with the tray in one hand, balancing it and opening the door. I knew exactly what kind of emotion filled her heart when she was doing this. I also knew what expression her face had then. But every time she entered the room, all I saw was a smiling face. And today was no different. She moved gracefully across the room, masking any difficulty which she may be facing, physical or mental. She kept the tray on the tea poi and drew it close to my bed. She looked at my face and gave that warm smile, which showed nothing but love.
“What happened today amma?” I asked her out of curiosity.
She said “I’m sorry son, the milkman was late. You know you have to drink milk everyday, right.” Saying so, she sat close to the foot of my bed, and kept her hand on the mattress at a place where she couldn’t have kept it 3 years earlier. ‘Only if it hadn’t happened.’ I thought.

She looked out of the window, and didn’t say anything. I looked out with her and both of us spend sometime that way. Then, almost as if shaking away a trance, she shook her head and stretched out to the tray and got me the glass of milk. I smiled at her, and she returned it with great difficulty. I knew what was going through her mind. As I sipped the milk, she took the things which constituted the very important package that was customary with every meal I had taken for the past 3 years. She fiddled with one of them and handed it to me without a word. She didn’t even look at my face. Even I was better off that way. I took it from her hand silently, placed it in my mouth, brought the glass to my lips and with a gulp of the milk I swallowed it…the tablet.
“One down, 7 more to go!” I said, faking a laugh. Amma tried her hand at giggling but left it mid-way, knowing for a fact that she was no good at it.

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I turned my head and looked at the clock. It read 8:34 AM. I was again alone in my room, gazing out of the window. There was nothing much other than this and reading books for the last 3 years. What more can a person with no legs do?
Everyday for the last 3 years, I’ve seen the world flow in front of me. Everyday I sat and watched it, being able to do nothing. Everyday I tried not to curse my fate, the same one which took my legs in an accident. Everyday, I tried not to see the pain in the eyes of my parents’ when they had to come with all my meals to my room, along with the tablets, which I took for no reason that I understood. I’d lost it right, then what’s all this for? There are days like today, when I wake up early, and have no choice but to lie in the bed or look out into the world, waiting for my parents to come to me.
Only if I could walk, I would have gladly carried them their breakfast like a dutiful son. Only if I could walk, I would have taken them on morning walks, instead of sitting up on my bed and watching the world walk by.

Only if I could walk, I wouldn’t have had that couch in my room, which was meant for the visitors to sit and view me and express their sorrow…

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…and so he lived…he lived out his life, creating happiness from every other random thing he saw with his eyes. Any regret he had, any sadness, it stayed inside him. He still strived to bring a smile to his loved ones’ faces…

2009-05-15T20:47:00.006+05:30

A COMEBACK OF SORTS…

Well, after an extended break, it gives me immense pleasure to announce to all those ardent readers (I know, I know) of my blog, that…I’M BACK! Hehe…so much for a rousing applause!

Okay, getting to more serious or rather realistic terms, I should inform the few of you who had the interest (or out of courtesy) to keep looking at this blog, that I’ll be resuming writing on this page soon. And like the last time around, it won’t be intermittent and spaced by the months. I look to make this a more regular process.

Just so that you all know, it wasn’t that the breeze had stopped or that my thoughts couldn’t be laced. Because of a complex combination of official, social and educational commitments, coupled with personal interventions (read laziness and flippancy), the writing never took place. Though, more than once, a serious attempt was made by me, it just never materialized into anything readable due to the lack of time and concentration.

Anyways, I thank you all for the never ending support. Keep the flow of comments, opinions and ideas. They mean a lot to me, even if I may appear a little stingy in showing it!

2008-12-28T21:07:00.001+05:30

THE TRUTH IN ALL DESIRES-PROLOGUE

I’ve been thinking a lot about those lines that supposedly reflect the realism in life. You know, phrases like ‘life’s not a bed of roses’ and others of the same sort. Firstly, I’m against the very idea of picturing life as something stationary. Come on, life cannot be a bed of anything. I’m more into picturing life as something more moving, portable and mobile.
Life’s a ride, a ride where you pass through different places, which apparently relate to the incidents of life. So in my opinion, we could use a phrase which goes something like ‘life’s a ride full of bumps and uniformity’. It’s a typical journey where you have no choice but to experience the monotony at times and the excitement at other times, the rightfulness at times and the injustice at other times, the bliss at times and the misery at others. But this is just my perspective at looking at what life may be. I have no desire whatsoever in forcing others to accept this depiction of life.

What I want to do now is not sit and ponder about what life is because frankly, I believe it is way beyond my philosophical intellect. I can deliberate about it for years and keep moving in circles-after all, life’s a full circle isn’t it? What I’m trying to do now is contemplate on reasons, or rather one particular reason that I find most important in persuading you forward with life. Different people may have different reasons, different catalysts. As my friend so rightly put-‘it’s all in the priorities’. Yes it is. Priority is that sole word or rather, the sole idea that helps you move ahead with life. Every person is required to prioritize his/her life because this inadvertently provides direction to life. Prioritizing is, in a way, reasoning out your options and cutting down on them and selecting a few apt ones and finally setting them as your goals. And then you work towards fulfilling your goals, rather, those limitations you set for yourself, justifying them as priorities.

Let’s look at something slightly above priorities. I’m talking about ambition. Isn’t ambition the sole idea that helps a person truly persuade himself to live on? What priority can a man without ambition possess? That’s something like knowing the path that leads you forward but having absolutely no idea as to where it’ll lead you-A blind journey. That is certainly not what we want, right? So my first break-ambition is much more important than priority because it is that what leads you. In fact it is the only thing that can show you the path. To take it or leave it, is the priority in question.

So, now in my scale I’ve brought ambition above priority. Limitation was the word I’d used to term the entire process of prioritizing your options. Allow me to justify myself. Depending on one’s personal capacity, his/her ambitions will vary in scale. It will certainly vary in magnanimity. When a person gives his ambition a free hand, I’m very sure his life’s going to take an elevated turn, in the positive direction. He’s going to be able to tread new paths. When he tries to sort out his priorities, what he actually is doing is to limit the wideness in his ambitions, the extent of his ambitions. Why does one want to do that? What harm does ambition bring upon you? Why set restrictions to something which does nothing but urge you to grab further, to advance yourself to greater heights? Once you set yourself priorities, what happens is you think you’re focused, you think you’re decided on what to do in life. But what actually happens is you tread a fixed set of paths within your own personal capacity. You may feel you are discovering new horizons, but then that’s just one of the many illusions that life’s going to show you. In short, you’ve caged yourself. And in the end, what happens to a caged animal? He’s hit by frustration, desperation, a sense of loss etc. When you set no priority, when you leave it all to the free wandering hand of ambition; it is then that you are truly going to discover yourself. Then, you will know no such thing as personal capacity. You will be able to reach out to heights which would’ve earlier instilled fear in your heart. And you know what the best part is - you’ll always find greater things to live for.
The moment you accomplish something, or even before it, there would something else that would’ve been vying for your attention, vying for your fulfillment. It is this continuous process of desiring something, accomplishing a few, letting a few go by and failing in a few that helps make life more eventful and thrilling.

So now in my scale I’ve completely eliminated priority. I feel there is no need for it at all as all it does is give one a false sense of focus and sets a load of restrictions to your aspirations.

I’ve spoken so much about ambition, but I’m yet to use the word ‘dream’. What difference is there between a dream and an ambition? In my scale, I fail to find any difference between them at all. If one notices any difference, it is nothing but a phony charade that is set up by his own thoughts. A friend of mine once put it this way – ‘you can be ambitious up to a certain level, and beyond that it is all a dream….’ Allow me to explain his stance. He says there’s nothing wrong in fuelling your ambitions but then there’s a stage beyond which you need to classify them into dreams. My question is simple – Why do you need to make that classification? Isn’t it a restriction that you’re setting for yourself, willing yourself to believe that beyond that particular stage everything else you wish for is just a dream which may or may not be fulfilled? You yourself are labeling it with the impossible tag. Come on; can there be anything more pessimistic than this? I honestly brand this mode of thought as negative and degrading to your own spirit of perseverance. It reflects nothing but an unsure self, a self that believes you don’t have the stuff to even call it your ambition. Who says all your ambitions have to be fulfilled? There is no hard and fast rule of that sort.
People who differ from this concept of thought have the label of practicality to argue with, and I certainly believe that they are justified in thinking so. After all, who am I to argue if they themselves believe they can’t do something?

Trust me when I say practicality is only a façade behind which people try to hide. Do not get the idea that I’m being insensible when I say this. But all that I’m asking is why you have to differentiate something off as dream and ambition, with the criterion being surety in accomplishment. What is wrong in having an ambition that you may not be able to accomplish? What is wrong in aspiring for something that may seem to be practically difficult? Are all dreams left unaccomplished?

All you ever wish for, all you aspire to be, to do – it can all be termed as your ambition. There need not be any classification between them as dreams, aspirations, desires and goals and so on. It’s all one and the same. For example, I can always desire to be the president of my country. Sensibly thinking I should be able to realize that it has a very high chance of impracticality. But that does not mean I need to totally term it as a simple dream and nothing else. I can always give it a shot and atleast then resign to the fact that I did try for it. It would give a whole lot more of contentment then.
If you do feel that there is something that you desire and it’s got a practicality issue, why strike it off from your list of ambitions? Why not leave it there and nurture it? Why not just keep giving it shots so that it satisfies your thirst for that desire? But the sole requirement for this is the absence of a pessimistic approach.

So now in my scale, I’ve removed all classifications and have termed everything-goals, desires, aspirations, dreams- into one thing-AMBITION. Everything and anything that you desire can be brought under this. Some of it you may accomplish, some of it you may not. But then you can always have the pleasure of having it in your mind, having it there to fuel your fight in life, to push you further, to know no limits, to know that there’s nothing that can stop you but you yourself….
And thus ambition becomes the truth in all desires….

THE FINAL ACT

2008-05-23T19:19:00.003+05:30

And when it all goes up in that one 'puff', is when you realize that there is no hope left-the fire has been burnt. Since so has been the case of every other fire, this one too brings down everything else with it. In that one following moment of life, a moment where it is supposed that you see your entire life in front of you, one should realize that the truth is you can neither get yourself to scrutinize the past nor lament about the future. Both, for totally different reasons of course.

I am, sadly discussing the point of suicide dear readers. If you'd not already noticed the saying on the right hand side of this blog, please read it now-'from the very moment you lose the passion to live, life just happens to be an illusion...’
But this does in no way mean that suicide point has been reached. It just means that there appears, to you or rather to your present 'state of mind', that there is no alternative left. Splendidly put, there is no chance of 'hope'.

HOPE! Hope it is. Isn’t it with this sealant that we lead our lives and its meager goals? Or am I wrong in my judgment? Maybe, maybe not. Hope is what drives our very ambitions, or at least as far as what I can see. Anything said or done, anything aspired for, anything affected-it can all be associated with hope, majorly. Then when we reach a point where we claim to have lost hope, what is it that we've truly lost? Is it our aspirations or our actions or our ability to reason or bluntly put-our ability to fight it out? Isn’t it this juncture of the 'all-lost' that we can truly recognize as the suicide point? Yes, here is my take on it. The much unawaited, yet inevitable point (seemingly only to those who are done with it) is reached when coupled with the lack of hope, they stagger to a point where they are unable to get themselves to put up a fight. A fight here represents nothing other than the lack of will power that, as sad as I am to accept, are possessed by very few in this modern day society where suicide has become a fashionable trend (or so I fear).

If suicide is to be considered from their point of view (the suiciders), I'd say it is their final act of meek 'giving-in' to the oppressive forces that surround them overpoweringly. Careful as I should be, please note that I am not saying the suiciders do so without a valid reason, at least thinking from their own perspective. Siding by them (as I should do so to remain diplomatic), I should say most of the suiciders face a problem who's enormity we cannot even brave ourselves to think of. If such is the case, having understood that I, and the rest who condemn these acts are not able to relate or get ourselves to understand their problem, then who are we to comment on their act? When the law itself folds their hands at the back and stand-at-ease, we might as well be in attention and make sure we don’t reach such a despondent situation ourselves.

But, we turning our backs onto such a 'grave act of shame', and I chose my words carefully, would be inheriting a trend of acceptance that has seared itself through our social upbringing. Shouldn’t we, as creations of the same one Master, be united in opinion that none other than he, has the right to take back the gift he had awarded us with. I've always staunchly believed that we, our bodies, are just the keepers of the real gift (life/soul) presented to us. In that case, the meek act of suicide is dereliction of duty.

Having said all this I'm fully aware that in the course of a lifetime, of which I've seen so less (especially compared to the suiciders) and been in far less perilous situations, there shall certainly arise circumstances where one would be expected to make unreasonable decisions such as suicide. Cannot blame him/her totally for thinking in a very conservatively selfish manner and not thinking about the consequences their actions shall bear on their surroundings, man or matter. As I said earlier, in that wretched situation, where something else other than your own conscience controls the mind, you shall not be able to think of past or future, let alone debate your actions that are to follow.
But it is maybe my conservativeness or ever overboard optimism that pushes me into thinking out loud, that whatever may the situation be, say a no to suicide. Give up on your efforts of revival, give up your aspirations, give up even your hope but never give up your life-it’s not for the taking.

A sms received a long time ago seems to trickle through my mind now-'when God takes you to the edge of a cliff, its either coz your gonna learn how to fly or coz he's gonna catch u when u fall.' But God will never be there to catch you if you decide to run over the cliff yourself!

...SO FAR

2008-05-14T11:28:00.001+05:30

I know this is a little too long for a post, but somehow felt it was important to start off with this.

1987, December
…WHACK…as the tiny ass cheek hurt, a baby boy weighing all but 3.5 kgs gulped his first lungful of air and sprang into life. And then he started crying. As the nurses cleansed him of the blood, the doc conveyed the good news to the man responsible for the baby, standing outside with the characteristic anxiety. Hours later, as the man and woman responsible were gleaming at the result of their hardwork with pride; they hoped that everything would be as smooth as it’d been on that important day, and hope they still do…

1992, September
...the weekend cleaning and tidying was a rigorous effort even without a restless kid getting into the way. Finally when the dad’s nerves couldn’t stand it anymore, an order issued out with a growl followed the kid up to sit on top of ‘somewhere and be quiet’. And since the somewhere wasn’t specified, he sat on the weird looking grey box at the end of which dad was pulling some sucking thing (read vacuum cleaner). Unfortunately for him, the cleaner was switched on right at the moment he placed his tender lil’ ass on it (somehow he doubted the dad’s lingering smile later on). Imagine the shock a 4 year old gets when one of his most prized body parts is subject to mechanical howls. The kid’s always been wary since…

1994, June
…the kid wakes up one night at 3 and sees a light in the TV room. He rubs his eyes and curiosity picks him up from the bed and carries him up till the ajar door where he sees glued to the TV, his dad, watching the Football World Cup match. He walks up to dad and crawls onto his lap and makes himself comfy in it. He’s waiting eagerly for the customary pat and fondling but none came by. All he gets is a violent jolt when dad jumps up with joy when some white ball zooms into the net on-screen. The kid silently sits back and wonders why his dad is trying to match the crazy people on screen by jumping up and down-after all it’s the same man who had reprimanded him for making too much noise at 7 in the evening…]

1995, December
…finally dad listens to the kid who’s been saying there’s something wrong with mom coz her stomach’s been growing and growing and she’s been getting weaker. Dad wakes him up in the wee hours of the morning and says “mom needs to be taken to the hospital”. The kid silently thanks god for bringing sense into his dad’s head. He’s dropped off at a family friend’s along with assurances of frequent phone calls. As soon as he sees his friends he forgets all the worries and realizes it’s his b’day. And when he was in the midst of his celebrations, dad comes up all smiling and takes him off to the hospital. When queried as to why, dad replies he’s got a gift for him. The cheered up kid waits eagerly and a pleasant sense of surprise build on inside him as he went down the corridors of the hospital. And when those 8 year old eyes of his rested on his gift, an insuppressible sense of joy passed through him. It remained the most beautiful sight those eyes had the fortune of capturing for a long time. A beautiful doll which had life in it. Dad said it came from mom’s stomach. The kid checked and saw his mom’s stomach had grown back to how it should’ve been. And still he didn’t believe dad. He thanked god again a second time that day, for having remembered his birthday and for the gift…

1996, March
…and with swollen eyes (from crying) the kid stomped up the steps of the bus to his new school (and his home for another 8 years). And with the same fit of anger and sadness he picked a fight with a senior (who boarded from a later stop) who claimed his right to the seat the kid was seated on. The senior showed his age and understanding when he didn’t waste too many words with the kid-one tight slap across the left cheek did the trick and the kid was seen seated right next to the conductor for the rest of the year. The kid wondered whether there’d be any lasting marks from the slap. His fears were confirmed almost 12 years later when he noticed a marked difference in hair growth on his left side of the face. The senior had left his mark…

2001, September
...and as the grown up kid runs about the different venues to attend the numerous events for the Annual Creative Festival at his school, he passes by the main auditorium where he chances upon his classmate and very good friend singing on stage. Though he was very late for his event he stayed on to watch the entire song. He reckons he’s the one who clapped the most and loudest but fully realizes his hands never moved. He never bothered to check the results of the solo singing competition coz in his heart, she’d won the 1st prize. Life’s never been the same since…

2004, March
…and the house which was in a state of emergency (10th grade board exams), was home now to a ‘fire-in-the-ass’ chipmunk (the kid), a nervous-frowning-silent man (the dad), a touchy-arduous-God-devotee (the mom) and a where’s-my-doll-cute girl (the sis). Panic stricken nights, long session at the loo (stress relieving has its different forms), book strewn bed, long forgotten computer were the only reality shows that were viewed on this channel for a month. And when it had all come to an end (with a disastrous language they’d called French but actually meant ‘trench’) all was forgotten and out came the footballs, basketballs and a few other balls. But somewhere the kid didn’t want it to end so fast, for saying goodbye was not something he was accustomed to. But it was something he had no choice but to do for he was to be relocated to an alien land they called motherland. As he bid adieu to the people and surroundings that truly defined him, he searched for one face, not to say goodbye, but…

2006, March
…having accepted the last two years didn’t work too well (that’s an understatement), and fully realizing the importance of having to fill lots of papers with dots to enter into colleges where they engineer ones future, the kid heaved a sigh of relief when he walked up the gates of ‘home’; for now he had a chance of setting things right. It was like rebirth, for straight away the kid was thrown into the fast moving life laden with opportunities, happiness and friends. What the world held for him, he did not know; where life’s eternities would lead him he did not care; all that mattered was life was changing lanes…

2008, May
…success, happiness, friendship, hardship and failure had been tasted by now and something in the kid was yearning for more. Something, somewhere still cringed for that extra bit and he didn’t mind going the extra mile to do it. He knows what he needs to do but knows not where to start; he stands up and look forward. Never having been short on ambition, he never needed to look far to aspire or be motivated. Life’s been nice to him and in return he had nothing but love and respect for it-after all that is what we all live for right, love…