Tag: absinraw

  • 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.

  • WHO IS THE ARTIST?

    WHO IS THE ARTIST?

    If people are blank canvas, their life journey is their artistic masterpiece under work. The relations they cater to, are the strokes of different, but unique vibrant colors which brings depth and perspective to the masterpiece. These strokes sometimes cross path, overlap each other, turning into an entirely different color altogether. Sometimes they barely brush by, or end up at the opposite ends of the canvas. The importance of these strokes however cannot be compared.

    Remember, people are the canvas, not the artist themselves. They are bound to find themselves lost in this chaotic collision of colors. Trying to pick up and identify which color belonged to whom, what was this colour again, how did this color even originate. The canvas would never be able to view and apprehend the beauty it holds inside, but only feel the torment and anguish of the jumbled up mess it thinks it represents, feeling animosity against the artist. Who is it though, the one who made the strokes? God? Fate? Karma?

    The only people who can visualize and appreciate the masterpiece you hold inside, are either the other canvas, or the artist themselves.

    Be the artist yourself.

  • AM I DEPRESSED?

    There is a voice inside which usually never interfered with the way how I lived my life. However, recently the conflict between us has increased a lot. The issues are not too outrageous, just contemplations regarding mental health. We have often started having these debates whether this phenomenon called “depression” could be an actual possibility.

    My life is the same. My boons are the same. My demons are the same. Nothing has actually changed, only shifted shape to alter their appearance. My family is amazing, could not have asked for more. They are my invisible source of absolute strength. They are my roots, which build that sense of security and warmth which always remind you that you have a place to return to. But they don’t know me. Not all of it. Not this side of it. It is not that I am keeping something away from them or hiding it. But I do not know if apart from getting worried about me, me talking to them would bring something better to us. They who live miles away would just be worried day-night about something even I am not sure of.

    Maybe close proximity would have sorted that out, but I have friends for it. They are there. To hang out with. To laugh with. To watch movies with. To share with. To discuss with. Yes, there is a close proximity, but it is a more physical than a mental thing. These emotions are turning out to be much more complex, complicated and deceiving than I originally thought them to be. And as luck favours the might of the strong, mine certainly has a foot hanging in its grave.

    Also, the situation I am in is nothing new. What I feel inside and what I feel outside has been kept separately for a long time and now comes as natural to me as breathing. Afterall, this is not the first time I have been in a shitty phase. Rather, I move to greener pastures just to change the scenery and return back to my deadbeat situation as fast I could. That is my modus operandi. That is the way I roll. So this situation feels as comfortable as home to me. The feelings though are somewhat different. Actually, of indifference. Nothing affects me. It seems like the reservoir of feelings which used to overflow earlier has been dried up and only the cracked up soil at the base of it could be seen being eroded every now and then, which does not emulate even a single sigh.

    My appetite has affected. I have been lazy, still, I can sense that my drive has been affected. I never knew my destination, but lost wasn’t the word I would have ever thought of associating myself with. My life feels broken into fragments. I truly feel like an autumn leaf, plucked and blown away by a dry wind on a whim, who itself is now disinterested in me and my future. So am I.

    The only reason I have not been captured by any vice is maybe that my will to control the way I live is too adamant. Anything which could make me end up in a situation where I don’t know what I am doing, or rather I am not in total control of what I am doing, scares the hell out of me. I did not have had any suicidal thoughts but did wonder a lot if physical pain counters this numbness, or if people would give a shit if I died and to what extent. Will they feel any emotion towards it, like of a loss? Or will it be one of those situations where you feel shocked, wondering how they seemed perfectly alright whenever you met and this was such a stupid step at their end, labelling them pansy or coward?

    Maybe it is not only me. Maybe we all are forgetting how to emote because we have limited our emotions to a few generic emoticons we use. We are being emotionally imbalanced due to pouring down of our emotions into limited predefined moulds. Our body does not know what to do if we accidentally tap on to a more complex emotion, than those the moulds of which we have. Or maybe have willingly discarded it as it rarely seems of any practical use today, like empathy.

    However, it still is not clear to me if I am going through depression, even though online tests have labelled me with ultimate depression. What I feel though is a loneliness which cannot be filled by anyone or anything. And the last thread which saved me from this gaping hole till now seemed like a sliver of hope has been identified for what it truly was. Mirage.

    I am truly okay with it. At least I know its true value, so I would not dream of selling it for the riches. The voice keeps me an okay company, so it is not that alone. To the fellows riding the same ship, not knowing what you are living for does not mean not living at all. What it means is a puzzle. I will let you know if I solve it.

     

     

     

  • “चलो चलें” – Poem

    चलो चलें,

    कि अब जो रास्ते मुख़ातिब हुए,
    वो नज़रों के दायरे में पहले ना थे।

    कि ख़्वाब जो बंद लिफाफों में रखे,
    काग़ज़ों के पुलिंदों से गहरे ना थे।

    कि ढल गया है सूरज, पता है।
    दागदार चाँद आज भी दगाबाज़ है।

    कि जितना लंबा साथ था,
    आज हमउम्र उसकी बस याद है।

    कि तन्हा यहाँ कब तक करूँ गुज़ारा,
    हर जगह मेरा ही सामान है।

    कि ढूँढ है तुम्हारी यहाँ वहाँ,
    पर तुम यहाँ कहाँ।
    तुम हो वहाँ जहाँ
    ना मेरा कोई नामोनिशान है।

    कि एकबारगी तुम कोस लेतीं,
    मैं खुद दिन में सौ मर्तबा अपना ही गुनाहगार हूँ।

    कि हक़ीक़त थीं तुम मेरी,
    कोई सपना नहीं।
    किस मुँह से मैं खुद को जवाब दूँ।

    कि खो चुका हूँ एक हिस्सा अपना मैं
    यादों की बारात में।

    कि धंस चुकी है ज़िंदा लाश, बाकी जितनी,
    ज़िंदगी के शमशान में।

    कि हाथ में मेरे हैं कुछ चिथड़े
    दामन-ए- उम्मीद के।

    कि थक गया हूँ मैं, सुस्ता लूँ ज़रा,
    मूँद आँखें संग आग़ाज़-ए-शब के।