Author: absinraw

  • STILL TEACHING

    STILL TEACHING

    “Till the time didi was here, this tree used to be laden with guavas, and now not even a single one could be seen.”, Kaija remarked while looking at the guava branch above her, which was filled with leaves and flowers, but not a single fruit. In Kumaooni language, Kaija is used to address your mother’s sister. But for us she was Kaija, like she was for our mother.

    Upon hearing her, my mind was suddenly flooded with Naniji’s memories. As those nostalgic feelings welled inside me, my head tilted towards the guava tree, which was now in full view. For a moment, I could picture her underneath the tree, trying to pluck guavas for us.

    I walked to the spot where I just imagined her and looked up towards the tree again. Suddenly my eyes could spot a guava, as green as the leaves but a guava nonetheless, hanging where I saw her plucking the fruits from. Before I could break this news to Kaija, my eyes spotted two tiny guavas on another branch, which just budded maybe a few days ago. At the other end, I saw a fully grown and ripe guava, waiting to be eaten.

    A smile broke out as I plucked it and murmered, “Needed just a change of perspective. Still teaching me things..”

  • “गुम” – Poem

    “गुम” – Poem

    मैं गुम हो चला हूँ,
    कहीं खो गया हूँ,
    लावारिस पड़ा हूँ,
    कहाँ आ गया हूँ?

    ये राहें नई सी,
    नज़ारे पुराने,
    कदम आगे-आगे,
    समय पीछे भागे।

    है डर संगी-साथी,
    तन्हाई परछाईं,
    हूँ बेड़ी मैं खुद की,
    मैं खुद की रिहाई।

    धुंधले कुछ इरादे,
    बदनीयत के तकाज़े,
    शराफत का चोला,
    मासूमियत के लबादे।

    मैं थक सा गया हूँ,
    बताता नहीं हूँ,
    कईं नज़रें चुप हैं,
    कईं चेहरे गुम हैं।

    मैं भी गुमशुदा हूँ,
    वहीं खो गया हूँ,
    ना हक़ हूँ किसी का,
    यहीं घुल गया हूँ।

    – absinraw

  • BIRTHDAY GIFT

    BIRTHDAY GIFT

    Dear Ms. Dictator,

    Sorry for not being able to keep this promise of mine earlier. I tried my best but it just didn’t happen. There were times when a bad dream woke me up and I just had to know if you were fine.

    There are probably a thousand things errupting in my mind to write this very second. But I’ve been that selfish for too long now.

    I still have quite a long way to go and yet my feet refuse to budge. But that’s my problem.

    I’ve always let go of people at one point or another because I always thought you cannot force anyone to be in your life. That, if it is supposed to happen, it will.

    You, will be the only exception.

    You always write from a place where I cannot even think. I hope you will write a book someday, before your early death as you proclaim. I am not an avid reader, but among whatever I’ve read, your writings have touched me in a certain way, which leaves me bubbling with many complex emotions and amazement.

    I don’t even know if you will ever read this, but so has been 200+ pieces which I have written this year. The only thing that has kept me writing continuously is a tiny hope. A hope that flickers unreasonably, choosing to believe that the blog-views my stats show from the place where you live, are yours. That you are stalking me too.

    Laughable, I agree, but in this case what do I have to lose? If I am right, then those views.

    You once told me to be very clear, to let the person know how you feel about them. I just tried to do the same. Hope I didn’t cause you trouble.

    Just stating though, I still love you.

    Wishing you a very happy B’day, both belated and in advance😁

    – Abhinav

  • BOX FULL OF EVENTS

    BOX FULL OF EVENTS

    It has been now quite some time now. Quite some time. It definitely takes this much time to mentally walk yourself through every possible permutation and combination of the supposed event. Could it have been prevented? Was that outcome the only possible outcome? Could it have been repaired? Was that reason the only reason? These all are just a few out of the list of one dimensional questions that together construct the entire narration of a particular event, in this case not a positive event, hence questions with preventive connotation. Then comes the permutations of each answer, followed by combinations of every single of these answers. Such a meticulous process right?

    Each decision in our life is filled with luck, accidents, irony and whatnot. Sometimes, a choice made just in the heat of the moment turns out to be the best gamble you ever played. Maybe superceding every other planned decision in your life. It is hard to decide whether it was just the thrill of it, or the unexpected outcome that pushes it to that spot. Or maybe it was the best chance decision. Similarly, sometimes the most thought out, planned, evenly weighed decisions fall flat in the bigger plans of life. This learning has lead me to believe in doing whatever I want, after weighing every situation possible, so that when the things go haywire atleast I would not be caught off guard.

    So, after the meticulous process, I was able to made peace with the event that happened in my life. I was able to statistically and realistically converge the possible outcomes together with the actual outcome. I was able to come to terms with the fact, that it has happened and it was not just by chance, but the most obvious outcome determined by the facts. Call it my self constructed closure.

    Here is where the irony comes at play. Any event has three parts, beginning, climax and end. I was able to justify just the end. The beginning and climax had been something that completely defied the logical thinking. I can logically diffuse something which seems logical enough. But I have no clue what to do about the beginning and the climax of this event. If the male human brain can be said to be comprised of several boxes, which are accessed one at a time, as per to the relevance of the situation, about 70% of the situations are referred to the same box which only has now a beginning and a climax in it, without an end.

    We all have our own events. I don’t need to name them. A box that has been weighing in for too long. That is cropping up repeatedly, seeming relevant with every other thing you experience.

    All I have been left with are such boxes, which lack one thing or the other. Here I sit quietly, pushing brain to work continuous overtimes for processing multiple equations of permutations and combinations, attempting to resolve the beginnings of some, climaxes of some more and endings of the rest.

  • FIRST FLIGHT RANTINGS

    FIRST FLIGHT RANTINGS

    The sky does look like a farm of cotton balls from above. As the smell of ready to eat noodles instigated my hunger pangs, the glance at flight menu suddenly caused a nose block. Greedy airline corporations trying to rip off poor passengers, just because unlike trains there are no visible competitive vendors outside the window. On second thoughts, noticing a food vendor over the field of cotton balls would have been pretty alarming. I can already see the wing of the plane shaking a bit. In case the wing gets completely ripped off the plane, I want to skydive at least, for compensation of the fees paid for reaching Bangalore. Because then that’s not going to happen.

    Or I think I’ll even find it compensated if I could see the little girl sitting just behind me, being pushed off the plane without a wing, for skidiving, enjoying her scream growing distant along with her. Otherwise I will have to bear her kickings at the back of my seat for two whole hours.

    I caught a glimpse of Saba Karim back at the boarding airport. He looked as disintersted in life as he looks on screen. I also crossed paths with that old dadaji from MDH spices ads. The one who always wears turban, gives aashirwaad and holds hands joined in namaste.

    Apparently, the owner. So, as it turns out, he is always wearing that turban and has hands closed in namaste. As his wheelchair was wheeled off in front of me, I saw him namasteying his way off to his flight. It was really difficult to control my urge to whisper “Asli Masale Sach Sach” in his ears as he passed by. It would have been more dope in case he would have completed the jingle replying “MDH, MDH!”

    This little girl has now made herself eligible for a free skidiving trip in an all functional plane via the continuous demonstration of her ever increasing noise production skills.

    Too much for my first solo flight.

    P.S. This pilot needs to learn the basics of flying an airplane. I think his father never taught him riding the bicycle on a straight line without wobbling.