tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-75362113907320191372024-03-14T17:48:58.909+05:30MetamorphosesWhat it is to be a phoenix...zahir_shttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09421854581345685075noreply@blogger.comBlogger47125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7536211390732019137.post-78675474791378899272021-07-04T13:47:00.000+05:302021-07-04T13:47:16.246+05:30Would my Heart<p style="text-align: center;"> At a time of day, like what it is now -</p><p style="text-align: center;">My love asked me, 'Would you come with me?</p><p style="text-align: center;">To bow your head along with mine</p><p style="text-align: center;">To a shrine of a deity different than thine?'</p><p style="text-align: center;">I looked at her eyes</p><p style="text-align: center;">That were curious and wide</p><p style="text-align: center;">I said 'I would accompany you</p><p style="text-align: center;">To where ever you may go,</p><p style="text-align: center;">But I cannot promise, that along with thine</p><p style="text-align: center;">My head shall bow'</p><p style="text-align: center;"><br /></p><p style="text-align: center;">It is because my bow comes from my Heart</p><p style="text-align: center;">And my heart has a mind of its own</p><p style="text-align: center;">I imagine I would bow - </p><p style="text-align: center;">At at majestic columns or a dome</p><p style="text-align: center;">At marble arches or spires of stone</p><p style="text-align: center;">But only if my heart is overflown</p><p style="text-align: center;">My head could also bow - I imagine -</p><p style="text-align: center;">At a small silent temple,</p><p style="text-align: center;">Or a tranquil durgah</p><p style="text-align: center;">Or a solemn chapel</p><p style="text-align: center;">Or perhaps in a shaman's hut</p><p style="text-align: center;">If my heart encounters divine peace</p><p style="text-align: center;">I feel I would surrender still,</p><p style="text-align: center;">To a mere rock or a shady brook</p><p style="text-align: center;">To the cool, still waters of a pond or a lake,</p><p style="text-align: center;">Or some shore or cliff or a daybreak</p><p style="text-align: center;">If it thrusts into my heart</p><p style="text-align: center;">A million murmurs of content</p><p style="text-align: center;">Even if from afar, I see a place</p><p style="text-align: center;">Where the hungry are fed</p><p style="text-align: center;">Or the weary find respite,</p><p style="text-align: center;">The lonely are taken into company</p><p style="text-align: center;">Or where the shunned are welcomed</p><p style="text-align: center;">Where childish clamour becomes music</p><p style="text-align: center;">Where humanity partakes the sacred dance of life without shame,</p><p style="text-align: center;">You'd see my heart overwhelmed with holy tears</p><p style="text-align: center;">And my soul already prostrate</p><p style="text-align: center;"><br /></p><p style="text-align: center;">There are times however, when I imagine I could not bow -</p><p style="text-align: center;">Places where deep, dark, dogma rots and a stench runs afoul</p><p style="text-align: center;">Where unity is separated and love becomes exiled</p><p style="text-align: center;">If force and might are mistaken for justice and righteousness</p><p style="text-align: center;">Where life is caged in the terror of violence</p><p style="text-align: center;">My heart. I imagine, would revolt at places like these</p><p style="text-align: center;">Because it is not beholden to pamphlets or tablets</p><p style="text-align: center;">Of any size or age - for it has a mind of its own.<br /></p><p style="text-align: center;">I imagine my heart would become defiant</p><p style="text-align: center;">If truths were rejected</p><p style="text-align: center;">And lies installed in the seats of beliefs</p><p style="text-align: center;">If the innocent are persecuted</p><p style="text-align: center;">Or if ignorance is taught as virtue</p><p style="text-align: center;">I think if ambrosia even, were fed by force</p><p style="text-align: center;">My heart would reject it</p><p style="text-align: center;">If any parchment or word spoken</p><p style="text-align: center;">Teaches me to hate and fear</p><p style="text-align: center;">It would only teach me to hate itself</p><p style="text-align: center;">I believe my heart would reject</p><p style="text-align: center;">Light that twinkles of illusion and fails to illuminate</p><p style="text-align: center;">Or turn away in an instant from</p><p style="text-align: center;">The deafening noise of smug blabbering idiots</p><p style="text-align: center;">Throw away anything that propagates the tar</p><p style="text-align: center;">That poisons my heart and misdirects my actions</p><p style="text-align: center;">I would strike with great force</p><p style="text-align: center;">To shatter the symbols of false perceptions</p><p style="text-align: center;">That propagate serpents which constrict the breath of life</p><p style="text-align: center;">Which produce horrendous laments</p><p style="text-align: center;">Or generate a maddening lust of destruction</p><p style="text-align: center;"><br /></p><p style="text-align: center;">Because I am but a mere man</p><p style="text-align: center;">And as a mere man I would continue to be</p><p style="text-align: center;">My Heart I respect and observe -</p><p style="text-align: center;">With fresh streams of experience do I water it</p><p style="text-align: center;">Feed it with the dense honey of knowledge</p><p style="text-align: center;">While the company of greater hearts provides it shade</p><p style="text-align: center;">And from time to time,</p><p style="text-align: center;">Cull the weed and pest that may have grown near it</p><p style="text-align: center;"><br /></p><p style="text-align: center;">Suddenly I forget - I remember</p><p style="text-align: center;">My love and her curious wide eyes</p><p style="text-align: center;">And I say 'I shall go</p><p style="text-align: center;">To your shrine, with you'</p>zahir_shttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09421854581345685075noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7536211390732019137.post-75299205724746444622016-12-14T15:22:00.003+05:302016-12-14T15:22:44.553+05:30Catharsis <div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;">One Hundred Years of Solitude by Gabriel Garcia Marquez</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;">Reading time – 3 days</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;">Explosion! And my thoughts race outwards towards infinity as
I try to salvage as much as I can, shortly after I’ve read this book. Don
Gabriel conjures a mystifying world of virgin territory, enterprising
adventurers, kaleidoscopic gypsies, phantasmal miracles, impossible situations, civil war at point-blank,
transient alien landscapes and real, down to the flesh people. Now I know what
the gringo narrator of Narcos was talking about when he mentions ‘Magic
Realism’.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;">The writing is so incredibly descriptive that the reader is
bound to lose his way amongst the life-size portrayals of scenes from another
world yet much our own. The tone of narration is so pensive that it becomes
mysterious and we’re hooked by its subtle but incessant seduction that never
gets old. Finally the timbre of the feeling is so dense that one gets absorbed
into the story instead of the other way round.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;">The book is basically a 400+ pages of a portal that
transmigrates our consciousness with that of the incredible Don Gabriel and
irrefutably transmutes our most prehistoric consciousness in an indescribable
manner. As we pass through the vague, winding spiral of plain fact, utter shock
and blurry premonitions, we find ourselves ‘in’ the scene watching and yet at
the same time unravelling it, comparing it with our own memories and outlooks.
It is inevitable. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;">Don Gabriel invents a new language through the translator to
English Mr Gregory Rabassa, whose unparalleled authority over the language
makes it look easy. If not for him I would have needed to learn Spanish in
order to partake this journey but we (English Readers) are so lucky to have
him.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;">You might find this review somewhat scattered and
disoriented, of which I assure you it is merely because I’m writing too soon,
before the book’s effects have dissipated. Now, for my future conquest, I’ve
set my eyes on Ulysses by His Highness James Joyce. I’ll speak soon and only
after I’ve finished reading and only about Ulysses.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;">Thanking You.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;">ZS</span></div>
</div>
zahir_shttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09421854581345685075noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7536211390732019137.post-43664799707846782482016-10-21T19:46:00.004+05:302016-10-21T19:47:31.951+05:30Thinking in Marathi<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
This is a collection of my Marathi writings.<br />
Until next time!<br />
<br />
तिचा गंध माझ्या केसात भिनलेला ,<br />
मी तिच्या केसात विणलेला .<br />
रात्र सारून गेल्यावरही ,<br />
मी स्वतः पासूनच हरवलेला .<br />
---<br />
काही न बोलता , तुझ्या ओठातलं मला कळतं .<br />
जसं एका कळीला अंधारात फुलायला जमतं .<br />
---<br />
होऊन होऊन होतं काय ?<br />
तो तिला पाहतो , तीही लाजते<br />
आणि एक रात्र वेडी होते .<br />
---<br />
या पाकळ्यांना भान नसतं<br />
वाऱ्यात वाहून जाताना.<br />
हे अश्रूही वेडे आहेत,<br />
मला न सांगता ओझरताना .<br />
---<br />
मनातल्या गोष्टी मनातच राहतात<br />
प्रत्येक श्वासात हरवून जातात.<br />
दुपारच्या उन्हात वळून जातात.<br />
आणि संध्याकाळी, रात्रीबरोबर ...<br />
पुन्हा जाग्या होतात.<br />
मनातल्या गोष्टी मनातच राहतात.<br />
---<br />
ज्या वेलीवर मी राहतो तेथे पुष्प असे ना काही .<br />
तेथे पाखरू ना कधी येई.<br />
ती वेल एकटाच मी सजावी<br />
आठवणीत तिला मी गुंफी .<br />
आणि मावळत्या सूर्यात<br />
काही अश्रूईंचे दव साचे .<br />
---<br />
एकदा आपण वेडं होऊन पाहावं<br />
त्यातही एक मजा असते<br />
दररोजचं तेच पाहणं<br />
दररोजचं तेच खाणं<br />
दररोजचं तेच जगणं<br />
प्रत्येक दिवस पुरून उरतो<br />
पण आपण संपून जातो<br />
जगता जगता असेच मारून जातो<br />
म्हणून , एकदा वेडं व्हा<br />
तुम्ही मारतानाही जागून जाल<br />
रडत रडत हसून जाल<br />
प्रेम करायला विचार करायला लागणार नाही<br />
का अश्रूंना वाट पहावी लागणार नाही<br />
फक्त एकदाच वेडे व्हा<br />
--- </div>
zahir_shttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09421854581345685075noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7536211390732019137.post-27306273141032851232016-08-08T18:39:00.004+05:302021-06-28T09:22:52.950+05:30Romance<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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When he arrived at his destination it was almost noon. Rain had given way to sunshine and it created a rather unpleasant mood
in one, combined with narrow, muddy streets of a small town in India and the
irritating damp heat. The driver had done his job and he had done his job well.
He settled his bill for the journey, thanked him and topped it off with a
handsome tip, the driver went away for a meal, smiling.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The hospital building was dingy, in fact anyone in his right
mind would have never considered the structure to be a hospital but yet it was
the best in town. As he entered the premises he was met by his father, mother,
brother and the remainder of his father’s closer friends, uncle S—was not the
first one to be at the stairway to heaven. Amongst the clamour he was also met
by the grim and gloom of the ICU ward. The smell of stale acetone mixed with
pathetically fragrant "phenyl" had rigged the atmosphere of the building. His
close informants, his father and mother, filled in him the sore patches, an answer
to his inquires. It was all a haze.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“…terminal stage cancer…” “not much time” “cannot shift” “
second opinion” “any day now” “just wait and watch” “asking for You”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Thank god you came”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Although he was well rested, he was
disoriented, he could never have estimated the full scope of the reality
bearing down on him. He was free falling, spiralling downwards towards absolute
despair. The listless heat caught him off guard and in an outburst he caught
himself. Breathing, calming down he took off his tuxedo and sat down. He wanted
a drink a real hard drink but he asked for some sweet tea instead.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Drinking his tea he could have been contemplating how to
handle his meeting with his first mentor, his godfather, the man who propelled
him to be what he today is, or one could say he was not thinking at all, either
way it was a silent moment with all his
comrades nearby.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Finally, around midday, he conjured himself and led by his
father, approached the curtained bed where uncle S—lay. The sight was appalling,
tubes and wires came in and out of his shrivelled body, there was no flesh and
there was no hair, what lay in front of him seemed to be a ghoulish afterimage
of uncle S—and yet it was him in all his material form. His father touched his
dearest friend and he slowly opened his eyes, the eyes were there, alive and
ready to reach out and in an instant they did and a skeleton hand was raised, crudely
pointing at the subject.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
‘You came.’<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
At this cue, he moved closer to his godfather and held his
hand, struggling all the while not to but without any notice he broke down and
cried like a child that he had now become. No dam was ever built to hold back
the true tears.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
‘Play for me.’<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Upon hearing this he looked at his mentor’s face – it was
smiling delicately. At once he wiped off his tears and went away towards his
guitar case. Then he turned and went to see the doctor and the administration.
He was in his senses now, life has its course and it is our lot to traverse it
without doubt and with sincerity. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
He was tuning his guitar after the doctor had given him his
reluctant consent to a guitar recital in his ICU ward. He was also deliberating
on the piece that was to be played. Uncle S—liked or rather loved all the
canonical pieces written or arranged for the guitar, so the question was what
should he play? The critical circumstances had decreed that the selection had to
be most deliberate and prefect. So, as he tuned, he went over his choices - uncle’s favourites.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Recuerdos de la Alahambra by Tarrega? – No, the season and the setting are not
proper.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Asturias by Albeniz? - Not quite.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
La Cathedral? Barrios? - No. something is missing.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Yes! Romanza! This is it!<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
As he finished tuning he recalled how at any time of the day
and year, uncle S—would stare out from his balcony, smoking, sitting in his
favourite wooden, cushioned chair with this song filling the air.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
A-minor ... strum … perfect … tuning done.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Now to start the performance, Anonymous Romance in the key
of E. First minor, then major and again minor. He took his stance. He knew all
about the piece, all the nuances and dynamics, but he never really got hold of
it entirely. Falling in love helped, falling out of love – even more, but he
never felt it the way uncle S—did.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The concerto began, a beautiful sad melody placed upon an arpeggio-tremolo, simple and earthy. The pace is relaxed, deliberate and yet in
a way surrendering to the flow of the notes that came before.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Romance, a song for the romantics, lovers. Then finally it
dawned – pining at first, the feelings rush slowly towards a distant future. Then
gaining momentum a beautiful romance ensues, a study in E, a study in life and
life has its course, we lose our romance to the past and then we long for it in
the future. The final longing is eternal, for it too is a romance – caressing an
idea that was something, something that now is only an idea. A beautiful sad
romance and with the distance past ends the piece.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
He had closed his eyes without realizing and now opens them
to a blurry image – tears, the recital is over. Uncle S—is in tears, he opens
his mouth to say something but instead of words only "hhhhh –" breathes out. He
places his ear near his uncle’s mouth, at first he hears nothing but then he feels
his hand on his head and finally, a frail<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
‘Thank you.’<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Beeep---<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
In a most disgusting and rude manner the machine announces
the mentor’s departure, he kisses the lifeless forehead –<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
‘He waited for me.’<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
All the other comrades rush to the bed and he silently makes
his exit as he follows the corridors outside, mechanically, he has no thoughts.
But once he steps out into the sunshine it seeps in. The godfather had
delivered a final lesson, not Europe but This was his life’s true debut. Calmly
he pulls out a cigarette and lights it. He smokes with a satisfied sadness,
acceptance of an unfulfilling longing, its beauty and as he smokes he can hear
the Romance – with him romancing an anonymous feeling.<o:p></o:p></div>
</div>
zahir_shttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09421854581345685075noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7536211390732019137.post-76783222448711964852016-08-03T07:07:00.004+05:302021-06-27T12:43:07.191+05:30Prologue.<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<br /><div class="MsoNormal">
- What do you know! Today I met a friend from school!<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
- Who
R-- ?<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
- No. You wouldn’t believe it, I stumbled upon S-- . By god
I had thought I won’t see him again!<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
- So
there you were! I thought you went drinking with one of you colleagues.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
- Ha! Those no-good-bastards, but S-- , a gem I tell you…<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
-
Alright, alright, now don’t just sit there, go and get fresh, I’ll warm up the
food. You must be jolly drunk and all but I’m starving.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
- Yes ma’am, away I go. The kid’s sleeping?<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
- Slept
hours ago. Don’t you go waking him up.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
But I was not
sleeping, I was awake, eavesdropping on their secret world of memories that I’d
like to have.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
A few days later, I met uncle S--, when there was a big get-to-gether at our home. All
of father’s friends who knew uncle S—had gathered with their families except
uncle S—himself. I think he didn’t marry. There I heard my father’s music
for the first time! He played a second-hand keyboard he had bought for the
get-to-gether, which he kept. Uncle P—had come with his tabla and uncle S—with his
guitar.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
For the most of us
it was a surprise – discovery – it completely changed the way I saw my father.
As I saw them play music and laugh and joke together, I felt somehow they didn’t need
us anymore. All three of them had a huge smiles on their faces, like I imagine I
must have, when father finally buys me the game I have wanted for months.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I was with the rest
of the families and kids. I never had so many guests over at the same time! All
my building friends met my father’s friends’ kids and we played outside till it
was dark. When we came home we couldn’t find our fathers so we gathered around
my video games and we had a fun time. After a while the aunties and the kids and
mother and I ate dinner and waited for father to come home. I slept easily on
my mother’s lap listening to her talking.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I was eight or ten years old when I asked Father if I could learn to play the guitar from uncle
S--.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
- Why,
don’t you like the way I play the keyboard?<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
- No ... I mean yes ... but I like uncle’s guitar more and
A—already plays peti (harmonium), so I thought I’d play something different.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
- Hmm…
I’ll think. I’ll tell you tomorrow.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
- Why? Tell me now!<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
- No.
Think of this as your first lesson, wait till tomorrow.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
- But…<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
- No.
No. Ask me one more time and I won’t talk to uncle S—about you.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I somehow forgot
all about it for the rest of the day, but the next day I remembered and was
pestering father about it. Then he said that I could go and visit uncle every saturday and sunday and that I’d go alone and he would come to pick me up. And
uncle lived near our home also! But mummy didn’t like it one bit because she first fought with father. They fought while eating and whispering loudly, they tried not
to wake me up, but I was already awake. I listened and I dreamed how it will be,
playing the guitar like that! I thought all kinds of thoughts about playing
music, all day and all night.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Saturday arrived, I
got up early and woke both of them. I did not want to be late on my first day!
By ten o’clock I had left my home and was walking towards my school. I walked
really fast. I knew where his house was, Father had taken me once. It was a small
building of five floors - if you count the ground floor too - and his home had a
balcony from where I could see the government colony ground behind my school.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
He lived on the
second floor, which had a long passage for playing cricket but I guess there
were no kids on the second floor. My heart was beating so fast when I got
there I could hear it in my head but I stood at the door and looked at it because it was a magic door and inside I would play beautiful music! I rang
the bell – it was like the one in my father’s office – buzz buzz. I waited but
he didn’t open the door. Buzz buzz buzz – again, I waited. I put my ear to the
door to listen, it was cool and sounded large and round but I could only hear me swallowing my spit. Then I
decided to wait but soon enough father came and told me that uncle was not
home, he had called to tell and that is why he had come to get me and that I
can come back tomorrow.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
On Sunday I went a
little late, because mummy was angry about yesterday. I liked it when she scolded father and me at the same time. I was her favourite. When I reached there, I
found him waiting for me with the front door open. I must have smiled very hard
because he laughed and took me inside.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
It was a very old
place but it was big and there were very few things and there was no TV! It had
a very different smell than any of my friends’ homes. I think it smelled like
the library in school where the old books are, so I thought it must be very old
to smell like that. I sat in a small old chair, fidgeting. He asked me to drink
some orange juice he gave me and I asked where the guitar was.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
- First
we’ll learn to listen.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
- Er…O..K<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
-
Alright, let’s set you up for your first song!<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
He then dragged the
chair with me in it (I almost fell out!), to the balcony from where I could see
the whole colony and the back of my school and the ground where kids played
cricket. There was a half-shade in the balcony because the coconut tree moved
in the wind and also made a very nice sound.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
- Now
I’m going to start the song, ok?<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
- OK.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
- Close
your eyes and don’t open them till I tell you to, ok?<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
- OK. (I closed my eyes.)<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
- And
try not to think, ask all questions later. Just listen to the song and what I
say. Got it?<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
- OK.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
It started slowly
and softly – lala la la lala – lala la la lala – lalala la la la – and then it
became fast and uncle told me to imagine – <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal"> 'It is
one o’clock in the afternoon, in the summer – a clear hot day.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> '</span>There is a small
town and all the people have slept except you</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> '</span>and you are sitting under a tree
from where you can see the whole town.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> '</span>Everything is still and sleepy, only the
wind is dancing for you on this song.'<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I tried to imagine
it all but I couldn’t imagine the dancing wind, the song became slow again,
very slow.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
- Now
open your eyes slowly and try to mix your imagination with what you saw, don’t
move your head till the song ends.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I opened my eyes
and for a while everything was blue and then I realized how silent and still it
all was! – just like I imagined it, the houses of the colony had become my
small town, the children had stopped playing and were sitting in the gulmohor
tree’s shade like they were sleeping. And again the song was again playing the
tune of beginning, starting slowly and becoming faster and faster – lala la
lala Drang! – and in the gulmohor tree’s moving I could see the wind dancing to
the song! Then a strong breeze came and made the sound of falling rain that
mixed with the sound of the song. I heard for the first time a strange sound
like a kid’s rattle, all the sounds mixed with the song and the sound of the
song mixed with everything else. I felt a weird warm sensation all over my body
that felt like a shiver, my hair on my body was standing straight. Then the
song got slower and slower and then stopped altogether.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I got up, my hands
were shivering slowly, I came to where uncle was sitting. He asked me to wash
my face and come. I felt better after I washed my face, I felt like I had just
woken up from sleep, everything I saw was new, even the old smell of the house felt new! When I got back, uncle had cut four mangoes.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
- I
heard you love these.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I nodded and sat
down on the floor in front of him and asked him all my questions, he laughed
and answered them all and we ate the most delicious mangoes in the world ever!<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p><br /></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
Tip: The song used in this story is ‘Asturias’ by Issac Albeniz arranged for classical guitar, I suggest listening to renditions by Andres Segovia (Esp.)
or John Williams (Aus.)<o:p></o:p></div>
</div>
zahir_shttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09421854581345685075noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7536211390732019137.post-20149394844212009052016-08-03T07:04:00.004+05:302016-08-03T07:09:33.060+05:30Ideas.<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
This is a collection of ideas that have stemmed from a
central one and these ideas will enable you to form your own version of the
central Idea.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
1.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
In darkness,<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
See no shadows.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
2.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
They read scriptures,<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
As I weep beside her<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
- Mercy.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: right;">
3.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: right;">
Creating lies<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: right;">
To say the Truth.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
4.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
The Demon,<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
Most primitive God.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
5.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Remembering<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
- To forget.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
6.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
I sleep securely,<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
At daybreak.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: right;">
7.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: right;">
Stand on the ground,<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: right;">
As if to fall.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
8.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
Revolts are necessary,<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
To preserve Order.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
9.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Trying to be that,<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Which does not exist.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
10.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
A blink of the eyes<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
And all thought is lost.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: right;">
11.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: right;">
The King,<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: right;">
- Wanderer in the
Kingdom.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
12.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
Walking,<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
I stop.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
- I have to be somewhere.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
13.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Victory is the need of Cowards,<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Retreat – a gesture of the Brave.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
14.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
The entangled chimes in wind.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
The melodies of Life.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: right;">
15.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: right;">
The naked priest,<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: right;">
Scorns, the dogs in heat,<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: right;">
In winter.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">16.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">The summers are always far.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Says the Monk,</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">In the mountain cave.</span><o:p></o:p></div>
</div>
zahir_shttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09421854581345685075noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7536211390732019137.post-21212231763942960592013-05-05T00:13:00.002+05:302021-06-27T12:53:50.796+05:30A Prelude<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
When I woke up, it was raining over Bombay. I knew I had
arrived for I could recognize the wraiths that the twinkling nightlights of the
metropolis and the rhythmic waves of rainwater were creating on my window. I
had left in a hurry from Geneva, I just could not wait – I knew he did not have
the time.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
It was an after-concert party for all those who were someone
in the classical music backdrop of Geneva and of course, me. I had played a
good set; they said that I "had captured the essence of Satie’s ‘After The Rain’
between my quivering strings." I was entertaining the members of the Conservatoire
at the time – we were talking about the peculiar artistic quality that
surrounds the conservatory grounds during winter. The messenger came in
silently behind me like a ghost in a harmony and lightly tugged at my elbow.
Abruptly, I found my way, hiding from the guests, to the telephone receiver,
which said </div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpFirst" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -0.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]-->-<span style="font-size: 7pt;"> - </span><!--[endif]-->I’m at the hospital U--</div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -0.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]-->-<span style="font-size: 7pt;"> - </span><!--[endif]-->What happened? Where is R--? (my brother)</div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -0.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]-->-<span style="font-size: 7pt;"> - </span><!--[endif]-->I’m alright, it is about uncle S--.</div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -0.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]-->-<span style="font-size: 7pt;"> - </span><!--[endif]-->What?</div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -0.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]-->-<span style="font-size: 7pt;"> - </span><!--[endif]-->He’s critical</div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -0.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]-->-<span style="font-size: 7pt;"> - </span><!--[endif]-->Huh? Come again</div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -0.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]-->-<span style="font-size: 7pt;"> - </span><!--[endif]-->I said S-- is in critical condition, he’s in ICU
right now in P---</div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -0.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]-->-<span style="font-size: 7pt;"> - </span><!--[endif]-->He speaking?</div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpLast" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -0.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]-->-<span style="font-size: 7pt;"> - </span><!--[endif]-->In fact, yes, I mean, he said he wanted to see you and
all, but I told him you are studying in Switzerland and he…</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I returned the receiver to the receptionist and walked back
into the party – ‘It snows here as it rains in India – monsoon or snowfall –
they temper art and life alike.’ The department head of Piano had lit up delightfully
at that comment, I wonder what he found so assuring about it. The seasons run
their course and so do men, each must face his own lot of consequence. I must
face mine.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Later that night, I spoke to my department head, briefly, to
inform him that I was to leave Switzerland as soon as possible and come, to pay
my respects to a dying uncle, to India.</div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpFirst" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -0.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]-->-<span style="font-size: 7pt;"> - </span><!--[endif]-->That is most unfortunate, I must say. To hear such news
on the eve of your proper debut in Europe</div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -0.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]-->-<span style="font-size: 7pt;"> - </span><!--[endif]-->It is indeed a pity, but I won’t be long.</div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -0.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]-->-<span style="font-size: 7pt;"> - </span><!--[endif]-->Long enough to cool down the buzz anyway, are you sure
you can’t wait another day or two? I mean if it can be helped…</div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -0.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]-->-<span style="font-size: 7pt;"> - </span><!--[endif]-->No. It will be much less of a racket if I reach in
time, the earliest. Then I can return immediately. I know it is a risk but I
can’t irk the family.</div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -0.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]-->-<span style="font-size: 7pt;"> - </span><!--[endif]-->Ah.. I guess I know what you mean. I’ll do you a favour
and keep things tight with the press. Be quick and don’t disappoint me.</div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpLast" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -0.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]-->-<span style="font-size: 7pt;"> - </span>I won’t sir. I must... leave now. I will be back by Thursday
regardless and…, thank you.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
His grey eyes approved with a glint of excitement in them,
the excitement of youth in an old man. I took only my guitar case that I
already carried and made for the airport for my late night flight to Mumbai. I
would have left even if he had not permitted to. The moment he asked for me after
all these years, I was bound to oblige.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
By the time I made it out of the airport, my head was
hurting from a hangover and a lag – as if a needle was stuck in a loop of the
horrible noise of the jet in some track of my brain. The trip from here to the city of W-- would be some 400 kilometres on a highway and another 70 kilometres to the small town
of P--, over bad roads. I had some eggs and juice and a huge helping of rice
to qualm my hunger and hired the first decent looking transport guy I could
find. A wiry fellow - him, but looks nimble and alert. Good driver I thought anyway, a bit
expensive but also I haggled just once – we have to be there quick Nick! Father
dear calls as I wait for my coffee to be had on the go</div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpFirst" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -0.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]-->-<span style="font-size: 7pt;"> - </span><!--[endif]-->What’s going on son? I called at the dorm and they said
you had left! I was telling you earlier it is OK, I mean he said it was OK if
you couldn’t make it.</div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -0.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]-->-<span style="font-size: 7pt;"> - </span><!--[endif]-->Well, I’m on my way now. Who else is there?</div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpLast" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -0.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]-->-<span style="font-size: 7pt;"> - </span>Your uncle A-- made it here just now. Get down here
as fast as you can. They say he doesn’t have much time – he’s getting worse.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0.25in;">
Beep.<br />
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I grabbed my coffee and sat in the car, signalled the driver
and we sped off, trailing the nearest exit to the highways. As we pulled out,
under the malevolent yellow light of the insomniac city I lighted a smoke and
drank my coffee. While I also instructed the driver that we are not to stop
till we reach our destination. ‘It’ll cost you extra sir’ – he looks at me in
the rear view. The yellow light lighting up the band of his eyes. I agree – come on
Nick – go as swift as the wind.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The motion of the car and the inertia of my battered brain
lulled me to a deep sleep. Darkness, then light and again, I could feel them –
I could hear still, the silent hum of the revving engine and with it the tapping
of raindrops trying to break into the bubble. This was my lullaby – The Song of
the Highway. </div>
</div>
zahir_shttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09421854581345685075noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7536211390732019137.post-88092103684300831382013-01-08T08:08:00.003+05:302013-01-08T08:08:26.037+05:308:08AM<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div class="MsoNormal">
The alarm went off. Its menacing, periodic, notes
impregnated a dark amorphous shell and rudely described its boundary and in an
animated terror a beast awoke and as if bound by an invisible net comically
reached for the clock. Almost instantly the alarm was silenced and Rajeev was
awake. 7:00 AM. He lay there, silent and still, blindfolded by a comfortable
cool darkness to listen to the late early morning. At first he did not notice
or perhaps he only noticed the heavy impounding silence of his room, trying to
enter his skull and awareness. Breathe out. Then slowly he could make out the birdsong,
an orchestra –almost – of known and unseen birds. A rhythmic squeaking of the
milkman’s peddling (the one who parks at the C wing of the ShantiNiketan Soc.)
comes next, after which the far away rattling of the idle chain of another
milkman’s bicycle slowly grows as he parks right under the curtained window and
goes to work. A brass bell rings shrill and the mist disappears; the sedated
awareness of Rajeev shudders back to the reality. This is not his bed; these
are cream colored sheets that smell strange. Of course, this is Her place. And
he springs up on his elbows and frantically looks for Her, when he hears the
clicking of the lighter coming from the kitchen.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
She is already up. It is actually around 6:15 AM. A warm
feeling of relief floods his body and he feels his heart beating. Smirking, he
does a mental inventory of where he might find his things. The shirt is on the
chair where he placed it (while She freed her locks), except the business cards
and other bookmarks of his routine have fallen onto floor, with only his pen
hanging precariously to hem of his
breastpocket. Searching for his vest his gaze is directed to the other side of
the bed – at the floor and finds it missing; which was thrown there by Her,
after She pulled it off of him and he felt Her cool upper bosom and the warm
fabric of Her bra contact his blazing chest (which interrupted him as he was kissing
Her and undoing the brassiere). Puzzled, his eyes traced along the lines of the
wardrobe to find the garment neatly hanging over a slightly open door and
farther away on hanger, were his black mixed-fabric pants which he recalled, as
She pushed them down along his legs and clutched his upper thigh in the firm,
hot grasp of Her crazed, soft, inner thighs (while he vigorously pecked at Her
neck, right under Her ear). He falls back on his pillow and smiles, scans with
his legs for his undies, under the sheets and after a bit of straining and
stretching finds them and after another little round of uncomfortable postures
he pulls them up over his pelvis; now he feels a little secure and comfortable
to become active.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The sound of approaching footsteps catches his attention and
instinctively, he reaches for his shirt. She springs the bedroom door wide open
and </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“You have to get out now! Hurry!”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Wha…”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Mom and Dad will be here any minute! Run! Fast!”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Ok! Ok!”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Rajeev scrambles for all his belongings at once and before
he realizes anything She hurls his hung clothes at his face, pants first. As he
wildly gets a hold of himself as he kicks off the sheets. He then straps on the
pants, slides inside the vest and flings his shirt over like a robe. He gets
off the bed and promptly gathers the contents of his breastpocket that were
piled on the floor, these get stuffed in by one hand as the other checks for
the purse in the pants.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Shit! Shit! Shit!!”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
He hastily buttons his shirt as he follows her to the
living, then near the main door</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Shit, the mobile!”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
And he starts to turn.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Wait here I’ll get it.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
He watches as Her dim figure return to the dark interior,
with just a sweater over her lingerie and Her open hair over her bust. The
morning air is cold, anxiously he checks the time</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Get the watch too!”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Jittery and jumpy he waits a bit longer, putting his shirt
inside his pants. She returns and thrusts his property into his clumsy hands.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Now leave. Quick!”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“But when will we meet again?”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Oh! I’ll wait at the stop. OK? Now go!”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Uh…Alright.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
She opens the latched doors for him in a moment and in a
moment shuts them before he could</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“At least…”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
*****</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The day is dry and hot and even if he had not left his bike
at the mechanic’s he would’ve hated to ride in all the dust and smoke on such a
day. Another hour and the sunlight starts to slant, then it’ll get better but
by that time I’ll be back home, he thinks. Its 3:30 PM. There’s not much crowd
at the bus stop either, just some young girls and boys. There’s a middle-aged
man with bundles of electrical wires, big heap too, hard work- he thinks.
There’s a trio of old ladies dressed like house-helps carrying plastic bags of
their own, not heavy – they are chatting away – with worn down faces. There’s
just one smartly dressed guy, about his own age, fair, clean shaved, perfect
cut hair, clean hand that just holds a cell phone to his ear as he assures the
person on the other end that his schedule is crammed and something about a
party. Well paying job he must have – a thought crosses his mind as he looks on
and catches him stealing a glance at the noisy heard of girls. He smiles and he
too resumes caressing with is sight, the contours of a young girl’s clothes as
she is animated in a lustful context in his mind. He watches the road
especially, the rickshaws, to see if any is vacant. He readjusts to align his
eyes and head in the shadow and tidies his shirt and creases. Fifteen minutes,
what a bore! He mutters in his head and to move around, turns. There he sees
Janvi, at first he not certain. Something about her doesn’t add up it seems but
then she lights up a smile. It is her!</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Both of them are awestruck and suddenly forget about the heat,
listlessness and the time of the day. He points at her</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Janvi?!”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
She point at him and exclaims</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Rajeev?!”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“O lord you’ve changed, a lot!”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“And look at you!”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“I know, I know. What are you doing here?”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Going home, what about you? Where do you work?”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Well I do insurance work at many agencies.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Don’t you use a bike? I could really use a lift today!”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Tell me about it! I decided to do a half day today and left
it for servicing.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“So you’re free now?”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Alright, it’s my treat.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Umm…OK I know a good ice cream parlor near my place.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Sure! You definitely look young for our age”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“That’s rude! I have my secrets.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“So everybody’s still here?”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“No, I live at a new place with PGs, mom and dad moved back
to Indore.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“And what about Ritu?”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Well she’s gone abroad for her degree.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Wow! Meh…she was always bright.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Ha ha, ya right.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
They exchanged pleasantries while a feeling of nostalgia descended
over Rajeev. Janvi was his childhood darling. He spent almost all the time of
the five years his family was in the Government colony, with her, playing,
laughing, crying. She was the sweetest thing in his life, even today and now
this accident had created a raging storm of emotions, memories and hopes inside
him. He was awake again, giggling like the young girls, alive after a very long
time. Janvi was his soulmate, his better half! Even when little they always
shared a silent understanding, he remembered that if he had her, there was
nothing else he needed – just her company. Many times he recalled, they would
sit around for hours just sitting there, sometimes talking but mostly just
sitting, doing nothing. He remembered how feverish he’d been when Janvi’s spent
the summer in Indore and how Janvi spent her holidays with his family. Everyone
around then had branded them Man and Wife because of the way they fought among
themselves and for one another. Everybody teased and called names that time but
secretly they both accepted it too. He often dreams of a future with Janvi, of
their offspring, scenes with relatives, with friends. He loved her with all his
being and now it was all coming back, that flooded all his senses. He had lost
her once, now he has the perfect opportunity, now he’ll never let her go.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The bus arrives and they board, he lets her go first, trying
to act like a gentleman and also to get close to her. She had really changed
over the years, she is completely new. Her demeanor, the way she walked,
dressed, she never wore tank tops and jeans, her hairstyle, it was always a bit
short and open and the way she talked, she was very conservative and spoke
softly and never laughed loud. They sat and as always she took the window seat
while he bought the tickets. He sat cautiously, like her, maintaining fair
space between their bodies, although she didn’t grow up like he imagined her in
his fantasies, he was aroused by her. Her face had gotten a bit sharper but
still delicate in features, her physique he found most exquisite and though she
was always a bit taller than him, now he could look down towards her. She wore
a light green shirt, dark blue pants and short heel shoes, shining black,
office girl she had become. She commented on the hot weather and adjusted her
collar, which opened an already loose button. Her hands on the contrary were
not as elegant and her eyes, her eyes were brown? As casually as she could she
placed her hands on the handles of the next seat in front of her and let her
breasts squeeze a bit. He unknowingly leered at her soft, ample bosom and in
space between their bodies he could feel the rising sexual tension.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The mounting pressure of the circumstance receded when their
stop arrived, where they alighted and made their way through the crowd to the designated
parlor. She led him to a cushioned corner where they sat. He ordered strawberry
for her and butterscotch for himself.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“You always liked chocolate; I guess you too have changed.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Yes, but you didn’t mind the strawberry, so I guess you
still the same old Janvi on the inside.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Umm…I say you should see for yourself.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Where she was getting at he couldn’t say. Focus, he thought
and gathered his wits and directed the conversation to the most important
issue.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“You remember the terrace of the B wing?”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Oh how I loved it…watching the skyline.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The ice-cream arrived. She avoided his gaze and single-mindedly
ate her ice-cream while he savored the cold, creamy sweetness as slowly as he
could as he watched her timid response. None spoke. Janvi finished her
ice-cream and was getting a bit awkward of looking into his eyes.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“You have tasted this flavor, butterscotch I mean”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Uh…ya sure…what kind of a question is that?”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“I mean this here is the best I’ve ever tasted. Here try
some.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
And he took a spoonful to her lips, which quivered at first,
the parted slightly and delicately pecked the sample. She blushed. He smiled.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“And do you remember how furious you had been when Sandy had
pushed me and I hurt my elbow?”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
She looked at him and averting her eyes</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“…Y..Yes…”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
He looked at her for a while and then</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“I’m bored; you said you’re free this evening, so let’s get
out of here. What say about dinner?”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
It was about 6:00 PM when they left the parlor. He took her
around some regular haunts till the evening got along and then they headed to a
nice restaurant he knew that had mellow lights and sparse service, which gave
them ample privacy. He ordered the dinner.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“So tell me, is there someone special in your life?”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Uh…well…well about
that, there actually is someone.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
His heart froze and his stomach sank into its cavity and all
the time she stared right into his eyes, unblinking. He drank some water to
calm his nerves and after a few seconds to break the ice</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Well…uff…who’s…uh…the lucky guy?”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“I…I…guess I’ll tell you later.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
That moment he fell back to his chair and sighed </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Oh…alright…whenever you’re comfortable. I mean we’ll be in
touch right?”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Yes, yes, that’s right.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“So…How’s everything at home again?”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
And the tension was relived almost as if nothing had
happened, almost. The dinner was served. They ate silently, paid the bill and
stepped outside.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“So how are you going home?”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Yes, about that, I was thinking maybe you could take me to
my place…”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Umm…”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“It’s late and it’s kind of a lonely way there and…”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Oh…why not…sure…”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“…my roommates are at their parents’.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“…don’t worry. Come on, we should find a rickshaw.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“OK”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
They couldn’t find a rickshaw, so they decided to hire a
taxi. The road was long and passed a lonely patch of land illuminated only by the
yellow street lights. It was dark and silent in the back seat. He was getting
restless again, the pressure had started to build again, the dark still air was
tense with anticipation, when he tried to look at her from the corner of his
eye, he couldn’t see. Then the pulsating yellow light and dark spoke, into the
low humming of the vehicle.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“About, the special person…”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
His heart pounded as he listened, a million thoughts assailed
his stunned mind only to be brought to the brink of an explosion when she slid close,
laid her head upon his shoulder and breathed upon his neck</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“It is You.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
For a few seconds he did not dare to stir but as he slowly
calmed down, he looked at her and his shaking hand embraced her and said</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“It was always you”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
They confessed their love as they caressed each other and in
their passion, they did not notice that the taxi had passed into the suburbs
and the light and the traffic was heavy. He caught the gloating eyes of the
driver in the rear-view and slowly pushed her away, brought back to reality. He
opened the window and asked the driver to turn off the AC. They stopped near a
pharmacy. There was no need to talk; it was like the old days again.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
They reached her apartment and as soon as they were inside,
he slammed her against the wall and smothered her with kisses smearing her
lipstick. She sunk her nails in his back and clutched his hair as she gasped.
In the bedroom he was groping her and pinching her through her clothes, finally
he threw her on the bed and began to slowly remove his shirt while she was
undoing her hair.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
*****</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Rajeev looked like a bum who had just stolen a watch and a cell
phone as he stood perplexed in front of her door around 6:25 AM as shown by his
mobile. He sighed and summoned the lift, he got in it lazily and pressed the G.
He calmly wore his watch and readjusted his shirt and tried to look as
presentable as he could. He smiled as he got out of the lift and made it out of
the housing society compound and on the way he double checked to make sure he
had everything and kept smiling. He tried not to think, as was his habit while
he coolly waited for the first bus to arrive. He was just feeling. Everything
was lit up as if it were paradise, the chirping of the birds, the school
children, the newspaper vendors, stray dogs and even the filthy beggars seemed
joyous to him; he was floating on air and intermittently focused not to think.
After a while the bus arrived, it was quite empty since it was a stop or two
from the Depot, he got on whistling some easy tune, paid the conductor when he
too smiled and joked. It was a new beginning and sunshine was piercing through
the cold, chilly air of early morning.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
As the bus raced along its career, it stopped for a long
time at a crowded stop, all kinds of children and teenagers were getting on
which filled the air with commotion. Rajeev there saw, on the opposite side of
the road, a hand-cart puller in all his glory starting the day with a slight
smile, his eyes followed the laborer’s march when they picked up a rickshaw
coming towards the bus on the other side. As it neared the bus it slowed and
stopped completely exactly diagonal to Rajeev’s position, a woman got off, paid
the driver and started to cross the road to Rajeev’s side, while he looked on.
The bus was overcrowded, people spoke in loud voices, the bus’ gear got stuck
but Rajeev could not hear a thing! All he could hear was his heartbeat slowing down,
feel his chest caving in and as the bus slowly moved on he stared right into
the eyes of Janvi! He saw her as clear as he could see the day, she was just
like he imagined – tall, slightly oval face, long, slender, ladylike fingers
and wearing a traditional salwaar-kameez. And as the bus pulled away-as if to
say something, she too stood in the middle of the road, paralyzed and staring
with her deep, dark back eyes!</div>
</div>
zahir_shttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09421854581345685075noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7536211390732019137.post-58876246527400383212011-08-16T23:10:00.004+05:302011-08-16T23:11:11.137+05:30A Declaration<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11px; line-height: 16px;"></span><br />
<div style="font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11px; line-height: 16px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px;">
<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11px; line-height: 16px; white-space: pre;"> </span>The tube delivers its share of images and words, facts and figures; and in the process I get the news that Anna Hazare has been arrested. It does not have the slightest effect on me, this is India I say, shit happens. So, mechanically almost out of habit I try to make sense of all thats going on, seperate the colors, name the patterns and suddenly it dawns to me. The singlemost utility of the whole IAC movement is that, we now seem to care. We, the people now realize the full extent of democracy, the spirit of Athens. The members of the society who have the Right to Vote do not merely vote, moreover the levy of this right carries with it a burden. It is the duty too of these same People towards the future and themselves to be a vanguard of the Nation against her own people.</div>
<div style="font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11px; line-height: 16px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px;">
<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11px; line-height: 16px; white-space: pre;"> </span>As I sat at my window watching the rain, trying to capture the beauty of the falling droplets in the flourecent light, I am reminded of a purticular text; of which I may quote not from the liberty of memory but the binds of pages:</div>
<div style="font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11px; line-height: 16px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px;">
<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11px; line-height: 16px; white-space: pre;"> </span>"<i style="font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11px; line-height: 16px;">...We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal, that they are endowed by their Creator with certain unalienable Rights, that among these are Life, Liberty and the pursuit of Happiness. That to secure these rights, Governments are instituted among Men, deriving their just powers from the consent of the governed, That whenever any form of government becomes dstructive of these ends, it is the Right of the People to alter or abolish it, and to institute new government, laying its foundation in such principles and organising its powers in such form, as to them most likely to effect <em style="font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11px; line-height: 16px;">their Safety and Happiness. Prudence, indeed, will dictate that Governments long established should not be changed for light and transient causes; and accordingly all experience hath shown, that mankind are more disposed to suffer, while evils are sufferable, than to right themselves by abolishing the forms to which they are accustomed. But when a long train of abuses and usurpations, pursuing invariably the same Object evinces a design to reduce them under absolute Despotism, it is their right, it is their duty, to throw off such Government, and to provide new Guards for their future security..."</em></i></div>
<div style="font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11px; line-height: 16px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px;">
<i style="font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11px; line-height: 16px;"><em style="font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11px; line-height: 16px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11px; line-height: 16px; white-space: pre;"> </span></em></i>The text is called the "The Declatation of Independence" signed, more than two centuries ago and even today it stirs the most stagnant of waters. Its not in the knowledge of the lone droplet, the Idea of rain but in its nature only does water descends to our aid. Such is the analogy in a Man, we are oblivious of the Idea of a revolution for we are Individuals. But if we lie to ourselves and shirk, our duties and responsibilities for the alternatives of Ignorance and Indifference, bewarned its cost is the steepest. Governments fail only beacuse the People have failed; when the people fail to be vigilant, to demand justice, to care for the fellow being; only then do the Govenments breed Pestilence, Injustice and Indifference. Our true criminal is not the Parliament, it is yourself. Let this realization be the core of our awakenings and amends.</div>
<div style="font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11px; line-height: 16px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px;">
<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11px; line-height: 16px; white-space: pre;"> </span>It is my sincere hope that after reading this prose, you may stir from your sleep and shed the sloth that lays heavily over your intelligence. It is truly never too late to be sorry and effect repair. Choose your sides. Choose wisely.</div>
<div style="font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11px; line-height: 16px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px;">
Amen.</div>
</div>
zahir_shttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09421854581345685075noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7536211390732019137.post-8020476731322488782011-04-15T18:02:00.000+05:302011-04-15T18:02:39.224+05:30Waiting.<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">AS I sit in my room fully lit by dead light of charcoal, burnt and dead. I can see the breeze trying to unsettle the plastic packaging of a small-filtered cigarette. The burning, hurting of the smoke in my lungs - near my heart, amplifies the feeling that I have for her. Wishfully I imagine her sleeping alone, her only company - tear stained blankets with my name on them. The computer screen displays the red, blue and green of our lives. No colors. Just a charcoal stained universe. A charcoal is ash. Nothing else. Ashes of our dreams, aspirations, future, our lives. All has turned grey, in the flickering of the florescent lamps, the waiting impatient air. We are stuck in the nanosecond of our life, waiting for a metro, that'll wait for a birthday, for a funeral, for a meeting - future. A meeting of old friends, of love lost so painfully, that you don't feel anything anymore. As I wait smoking every cigarette to the filter, as they run out. Nostalgia mixed with hopes.I know everyone will miss this metro, now or later or maybe even in the past.I think of it as a solution to our mistakes, shortcomings, dead ends - the truth. This metro, the subterranial train, drawing all the sewage of our lives to the future. I know...we...I will miss this one.<br />
The time for burning guitars, of raven, dry, wild hair, of peace misunderstood and youth that'll be forgiven has already past. All those ashes, all that weight laden as fragrance on the night breeze has long past turned the honeysuckle to stone and my eyes to a bloodshot red. We have come a bit close to the Sun I think. She has gone a bit too far from me...I believe.<br />
The truth in sense is that we have migrated from the surface to find an underground passage to rectify the past. Jimi Hendrix can only be alive in the black and white movies of his recordings. Pink Floyd can only be real now-a-days on the oscilloscopes of our music players and Music can only help us to try and shake our brains off our bodies.<br />
Breathe in. Burn. Stain my fingers yellow, my air grey. Where do I hide these tears? Tears of ages, From childhood till today. How many bags of pearls wasted and recorded in memories? How will you feel the rain that is falling continually? Tell me how shall I measure her tears? How may I carry their weight? How do I have any hope to dream, that I might tell her, that I'm still waiting in the rains of that forgotten monsoon? When she's gone so far away in the rain, that my sound may not reach her - that maybe she doesn't want to hear me. How long will little Joshua wander till he finds a home?<br />
Exhausted and sleepless I sit on this damp chair, waiting and smoking. All that has been done. All the battles and chances lost, have drained me. My time is ticking in sync with the melancholy music of the last nickels in my pocket. It is still raining and will always for me, so I don't feel it. I want to shake that neat ironed suit, bespectacled and tense, to return to his daughter and hold her in his arms. I want to tell him if he boards this train, he will miss little Julia forever. And as the sound of the train approaches I wish to delay its coming for a fuzzy haired man, racing to the station through the traffic. Just for a second.<br />
And as the metro arrives, I walk upto the doors and hope that I might find her, waiting for me. The doors close. A second. I don't find her. Then I sit and light another one. Not all dreams come true, some become flames and ashes that escape into the dark cold universe, never to return. And some ghosts shall live to haunt the universe forever. And the only thing that matters is that: You Breathe, because in dreams there is no air. Only storms and sunshine.<br />
Amen.</div>zahir_shttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09421854581345685075noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7536211390732019137.post-43405150116634803482008-08-15T21:36:00.002+05:302008-08-15T22:01:47.047+05:30Mrs. Pratibha Patil...At the midnight of 15th August 61 years ago A man addressed to a sleeping nation with hope and golden words full of inspiration, motivation and what not....Par Saale ke paach minute ab tak nahi huye...<br />Yup the nation is still drowsy...guess who?? [Don't stare at the Nepali] well that one called India by the rest of the world and Bharat by its own people. Now I know that you are completely up and alert by 11.59 in the morning ready for a healthy brunch. But have you happened to gaze at the unnatural phenomenon called "President's speech addressing the nation."??<br />Aaah..!! You have faint glimpses...of the t.v. and the morning mist...then some soft music playing far away...and then you sleeping off on the cold bare floor only to be woken up by the maid's broom's tickle up your nose...yes yes...Something like that.<br />Now I'll tell you frankly that I never had what it takes to win the I-day challenge. But I do try every hell time.<br /><br />Mrs. Patil...What a wonderful voice you've got...its really the gift of your unfortunate god. And by the way, do YOU write the speeches?? or that is done by someone else... .. .. Well I just wanted to check if you ever put any effort to that nationwide live telecast...had that speech been even a syllable long...I tell you all the recivers and the satellites and set top boxes would have exploded or hammered or shot themselves to death. Really.<br /><br />So were you the head girl of your school or some thing?? or the one who has to face the brutalities of the morning 'ass'embly readings? If you are then you share my sympathies...Cause you really can't help but boring people...The sheer trauma of the thing is very great you see.<br /><br />Well it started something like...I cant remember...but I do remember some small famous lines.<br />"..We shall not succumb to the terrorists..."<br />"...Our country will not let the scourge of terror..." *yawn*<br />"..We will shine eco....and we will lead th..." *bloody really yawns while typing...pinky swear*<br /><br />Its mediocre writing...but the desperate way you read it all from the ticker...its just pathetic. Really guys...you can see her eyes move when she talks...So what to do? you are the...WoMan nothing can be done about it.<br /><br />*Man I really like the parade and stuff...but we really need a good speaker...the one who turns words to motivation...not motivation to sleep.*zahir_shttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09421854581345685075noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7536211390732019137.post-23393127075072984792008-08-15T18:23:00.003+05:302008-08-15T18:56:26.920+05:30And we all fall down.Do you have an mp3 player?? Do you use any compression suites?? Well you're quite familiar to technology if you are reading this even if you may not understand this. Well I like to write in my blog and be read [which seldom happens].<br /><br />Why's this guy talking about technology now?? Does he have something against it too?? Damn I wish He stop being such an asshole and get a life...<br /><br />Hey, I can't do any thing about the asshole thing but certainly can get a life. So what is the purpose of my life that has made me so meagerly 'suck'cessful?? Well I like pissing people off and taking the other way round while getting things done.<br /><br />Well getting back to technology. Well I don't hate it. I fear it...for one day it may take over us and the humans as we have known will be extinct. I...frankly don't have love for my fellow humans and all...seriously all that's totally gay...but I kinda like the stuff about being a bit human; you know the human spirit and the mind over matter and the iron will stuff...I like that...probably...I said probably the only thing in humans I like. And the technology my friends is robbing many people of that thing...not all but many people...mostly children. That is scary...way too scary than a naked Osama Bin Laden.<br /><br />Think about it this way...we are making a pyramid in such a way that to make the upper level we have only the help of the current level we built. Up untill now we have been safely keeping the lower levels strong by maintaining them these are the basics that are very essential for our survival. But now due to that exponential growth and exposure to new and new appendages that augment our performance we are neglecting those basic levels...Not exactly conciously but the immenseness of the elevation, the power upgrade given to us by these things is making us unaware of the true human spirit...I mean its too fast enough and its getting faster.<br /><br />Its making children believe that the person with the fastest car is the winner...the nation with the biggest nuke rules...but its not that...there have been instances where using those limited resources and achiveing much greater heights...progress was taking ourselves to the next level not acquiring the next level augment. We are not into robots but into empty cans...with nothing inside. And the easiest prey to this are the little ones...who never get to explore their own abilities or limits...<br /><br />We are creating a fragile world that can be blotted out of existance in no time...and the worst part is that we are depending on it too much...standing on something that is not ground...<br /><br />Instead of discovering our true strength we now make the strength of the gadgets our own...The light that is stolen always betrays its master.<br /><br />So don't shun tech altogether but know what you are doing with it...know what you really are.zahir_shttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09421854581345685075noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7536211390732019137.post-39061027563700471892008-08-15T10:55:00.001+05:302008-08-15T11:21:18.643+05:30The Chaos theory.People here I am. For a brief vacation even before the college starts. Do you know about the "Butterfly Effect"? I'll tell you. It is hypothised that if in one part of the world a Butterfly flaps its wings, it may cause a cyclone in some other part of the world...thats how you describe Chaos theory. The means to underestand the uncertinity the world is shrouded in. <br />
<br />
Think about it. What is everything around in?? Chaos or cosmos?? Suprificially everything seems very calm and perfectly engineered the work of god!! But as we move to the intricacies we find that there are serious discomforts in the system. There are individual systems think about them as functions in infinite dimensions [that every line possible is an axis of the system] And in such a system various functions are creating "graphs" of themselves with use of the system's "resources" or co-ordinates. Now there is dense possibility that every graph will interact with atleast one more graph by the means of sharing and using or controlling the resources. This will give rise to a number of diffrent flavours of plots that will no llonger be the representation of pure funtions but a changed one...sometihng more optimum at that spot and time. Can you even faintly picture it?? Mess right?? More's to come.<br />
<br />
Now we cannot also shun the possibility of another function that is the basic property of the whole system i.e. it affects the whole system [all of the infinite resources.] And this also comes in flavours...hidden and visible [to the functions] For example take the rotiation of the axis or the shif of origin these are visible system functions and for hidden you have distortion of length or definition of length on which the functions have no control over. So over and all its very chaotic.<br />
<br />
Such is the atmosphere where the true might of Chos theory can be seen. One small incident, starts off a chain of events and by the proper placement of resources it aquires some significant significance. And in a chaotic world this can last from one millisecond to a millenium and the consequences can be negligible or catostrophic. But one must be the condition on which it can be...each and every functions should be unaware of such a chain reaction and its happening or its consequences or the chain will end abruptly.<br />
<br />
And If we can control such a phenomemon [we can only control what we can initiate] then there will be alot more efficiency in our work and there will truly be nothing as impossible.zahir_shttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09421854581345685075noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7536211390732019137.post-73181935669901955622008-07-19T00:01:00.001+05:302008-07-19T00:01:38.972+05:30The pillars of lightBones and a brain,<br />Clothes of skin with pin holes.<br />Staring to grasp the the time that they've lost.<br /><br />A secret nothingness, dark silence its essence,<br />Hostile and numb, the soul has become.<br />As the sad runs down,<br />he forgets to invert the Glass,<br />The day and nights pass...<br /><br />A cube of light, of picture and sound.<br />The compelling visions, its sorry side.<br /><br />The Lion King dies,<br />The reflection of a tear on the screen,<br />But no lips move and the stream of thought<br />Gets washed.<br /><br />No memory,<br />No significance.<br />The sand was far before emptied.<br /><br />The soul does not die.<br />There is a conversion.<br />A black hole...A hole.<br />Devouring anything and taking its color.<br /><br />The child inside never got a chance to breathe<br />To feel the breeze.<br />To know where is he,<br />And be what he wanted to be.<br /><br />Cannot say,<br />Cannot blame.<br /><br />A new order of these children,<br />The followers of the Pillar of light.<br /><br />It gives them a reason to live.<br />Their world to conceive.<br />A minute, tender hole.<br />Thats all...their soul.<br /><br />When the plug is pulled off,<br />They know not what to find out.<br /><br />Piece after piece.<br />The jigsaw falls down.<br />The pillar no longer sound.<br />No longer able to hold the falling pieces down.<br />The face in the darkened screen is unfamiliar.<br /><br />The sand has flowed too long,<br />And they let themselves drown.<br />no call of distress.<br />No one to answer the call.zahir_shttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09421854581345685075noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7536211390732019137.post-28542910102668777622008-07-11T00:27:00.002+05:302008-07-11T00:29:48.416+05:30Sigh...Scar...Breathe.<br />A cold willow leaf,<br />Sticky blood in ice crystals -<br />Reminiscent of that bygone battle.<br />Silent eyes meet, without hesitation greet.<br /><br />Where were they yesterday's day?<br />Droplets of the same cloud.<br /><br />A moth between them,<br />Dust of sleep.<br />Gold dust.<br /><br />Mirrorscreen: Blood stains recreate.<br />The killer moth, kills with quaint silence.<br /><br />The war's just a scar,<br />A paint on body's wall.<br />But the smile of the unmet acquaintance,<br />Passing by...<br />Is hard to beat.<br /><br />Of the days bygone...<br />Just the sigh remains.zahir_shttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09421854581345685075noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7536211390732019137.post-67775207417686298292008-07-11T00:27:00.001+05:302008-07-11T00:27:50.137+05:30The Dragon's Descent.The city was bustling,<br />Clear cold sun, sweat and dust sludge.<br />Frustrations capped under the civilized cobblestones,<br />The traveler looks above.<br /><br />The sky cut and bled, the clouds of morn<br />Came in haste.<br />A tornado of blue<br />Touched the mortals' plane.<br />And scarlet silhouette descend.<br /><br />The trees looked up,<br />Cloak of dust unburdened.<br />Traveler looks and smiles,<br />While no one cares to wonder.<br /><br />No one makes their way,<br />To the Heavens' hand.<br />No one bothers any attention pay.<br />Oh, ants are blind they say?<br /><br />Wise steps tread lonely,<br />The welcoming committee.<br />The nimbus turns to dust...<br />No sound and no thrust.<br /><br />The uncaring,<br />Hobble and Babble.<br />Their state remains perpetual.<br />'Welcome' says the lonely voice.<br /><br />Walks today,<br />A Dragon form the sky.zahir_shttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09421854581345685075noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7536211390732019137.post-17194657395775544352008-07-11T00:22:00.002+05:302008-07-11T00:23:36.875+05:30BygoneI wasted an eternity,<br />Knocking destiny's doors,<br />The wind came by and the candle moaned.<br /><br />Waiting for something,<br />In vain I shone, I castaway myself in forlorn.<br /><br />Denied to see the sunshine,<br />I stuck posters of rain.<br />While you moved on, I wonder if I'm sane.<br /><br />I've grown,<br />Grown into an opaque labyrinth of words,<br />That murmur in my sleep,<br />And hide from my pen.<br /><br />That bloodstain,<br />Ah...I remember...You had cried.<br />My sacrifice for the dream that I held inside.<br /><br />Now like moths the fireflies fell,<br />Like Icarus - too close to the sun.<br /><br />Alone in madness and despair,<br />I stall the inevitable,<br />By watching a movie.<br /><br />The rain is decaying and moving away,<br />Words never come out when I've something to say.<br />The rain that I conjured as my own,<br />My dream.<br /><br />Now my sanity's leaking out,<br />Form the holes that they've made.<br />Since when,<br />I lookout for the Me in the mirror.<br />Still seeming to find just the wall in my cellar.<br /><br />No ale, no friend,<br />I'm alone in my lonely den.<br />Wraith of my childhood...never sees me awake.<br />And I send a bleeding sigh,<br />To reach you before Its too late...<br /><br />*sigh*zahir_shttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09421854581345685075noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7536211390732019137.post-78293910906795957232008-07-11T00:20:00.000+05:302008-07-11T00:21:24.400+05:30Joshua's song.I am what I wanted to see,<br />I am where I wanted to be.<br /><br />The Road, serves me delight.<br />A saint I am without a god.<br />As I walk my way between the thin lines,<br />Without a coin on my body,<br />I'm still beating you in the end.<br /><br />Come the seasons,<br />They all are mine,<br />I smile, they become divine.<br /><br />The sky is my canvas,<br />The giver of my flight.<br />And the earth still lures me,<br />To her dark mystic side.<br /><br />The penny on me, just weighs me down,<br />I'm far too sane to disagree,<br />And the many people I've known<br />Can always show me the way.<br /><br />A straw hat for a catfish,<br />A night for a hand,<br />A flower for the meal,<br />And a reason to go on.<br /><br />There is no debt or owe,<br />I'm no longer under that hammer that you know.<br /><br />I speak with the leaves,<br />and play along the thorns.<br />My hand touches a ghost<br />And bids him farewell.<br /><br />And here I am,<br />So true so true.<br />But this is where I wanted to be,<br />Let the reaper come,<br />We shall have a word or two.zahir_shttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09421854581345685075noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7536211390732019137.post-18335704263826689792008-07-10T15:52:00.001+05:302008-07-10T15:53:32.168+05:30The Druid of Twilight.The city rested on the grim banks.<br />Under the estranged sunlight,<br />The Pillars of their vain pride shall fall...<br /><br />I emerge from the tall grass and fallow,<br />I whisper the sorcery into the Howler's ear.<br />And a serpent tells the tale.<br /><br />Many a layers of chains,<br />Mortal supremacy, for the pride and vain<br />By my hands you shall set free,<br />An instrument of your liberty.<br /><br />The air has changed,<br />And so shall the land and its face.<br />Apocalypse of your delusions,<br />Has finally crossed the horizons.<br /><br />Come, the chiefs and sing thy songs,<br />Wreak havoc, like never before.<br />Let Chaos be at peace.<br />I want to see then,<br />How will they keep their heads so neat,<br />Or shall be swallowed by defeat.<br /><br />And from the ashes of this vegetable world,<br />Shall be erected another realm,<br />Of the brave and the free.<br /><div style="text-align: left;">Or lest a sanctuary of their dreams. </div>zahir_shttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09421854581345685075noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7536211390732019137.post-8411445917514982892008-07-08T23:58:00.002+05:302008-07-09T00:08:12.508+05:30BlameIn fury and flame,<br />We play the game.<br />After nightfall,<br />Ashes glow;<br />And we're not the same.<br /><br />What were you saying again?<br />Me was almost off the mark!!zahir_shttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09421854581345685075noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7536211390732019137.post-13232128322871640462008-07-08T23:57:00.000+05:302008-07-08T23:58:06.164+05:30The Certain Principle of Uncertinity.He resides in the sail,<br />He resides in the wind.<br />He's why you pleasure.<br />The outcome of thy leisure.<br /><br />A secret treasure:<br />In existence his, denies.<br />In the forgery you find,<br />The truth of his lies.<br /><br />The angel and the demon,<br />Can't together be.<br />But without them...<br />Even the shadow of you,<br />I shall not see.zahir_shttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09421854581345685075noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7536211390732019137.post-27558236610602351342008-07-08T23:55:00.000+05:302008-07-08T23:57:11.813+05:30Her way.Her vision foresees the enchantment,<br />The ale and the night.<br />Her shadow incomplete,<br />Knitting in the ashes, as she moves again.<br /><br />A forty other years,<br />She's looked behind tonight,<br />Powerless.<br />Its her night to cry.<br /><br />Forfeit her song,<br />When the baby cries.<br />He takes her by the hand,<br />And foots step on cold sand.<br /><br />The night she drifted,<br />From the adopted shore.<br />She's never looked back.<br /><br />At the sun she stare,<br />That was her way.<br />What could have been the past,<br />No heed she pays.zahir_shttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09421854581345685075noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7536211390732019137.post-34854423064435542612008-07-08T12:54:00.004+05:302008-07-08T23:50:56.078+05:30India resigning.I woke up pretty late in the morning, it was past the breakfast time. As routine I struggled for the morning news paper. Page and another went by, news of the common man, for the common man...by the uncommon. A frequent deaths by the hands of some avaricious kin, the attempt of an immature lover to etch liking on the skin of the loved, prices the common man pays for the most trivial of the follies. Another leaf of happenings of a perpetual cycle go by...Indian Embassy mowed down by a maniac with explosives...<br /><br />Indians we are and the exuberant legacy of our understanding and non-violent approach towards the whole of universe is well publicized of, but can nothing erase this blot of cowardice from our valor and self esteem? The common man and his problems are in plenty, and there must be attention given to it, but what attacks the nation, attacks you. I mean, now-a-days doesn't even the fear of slavery drive people to uphold their heads on their own straight necks? let alone glory be the driving force. Today he has trifled with your gates, that means he has enough guts to break into your home and get his hands around your throat. Indians are an intellectual people and I don't deny that, but what agitates me the most is that our leaders-who represent a hundred million and more of us in the globe, hide behind the elegance of civil virtues in the face of opposition to our fearless existence. Filthy sophist cowards. Take for example the so much hyped N-deal, what's with it? If our very lovable leaders have a history of childhood negligence I may understand their erratic behavior and their sycophantical attitude but they did have ha very stable head I suppose, for they managed to top the race.<br /><br />All in all, there is a great loss of pride, a pride for the future, all thy glory rests in your shadows that's about to dissolve in the night. Then I must add, what is the need for the critically acclaimed freedom? Mightn't we only be needing some sophisticated administration? and for the lesser torments we have our illustrious civilization to back us, don't we? Well I also add that this does not fit well with me, as it may with some spineless creatures I share my land with.<br /><br />In the end someone's need to do the straightening and as of today, that someone seems to have depleted the from the scene. Or do we need an Ironfist to remind us the responsibilities that must be put back into consideration?zahir_shttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09421854581345685075noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7536211390732019137.post-36260001027086089232008-06-20T03:04:00.002+05:302008-06-20T04:23:43.950+05:30Coming back home.The steel key shafted into the doorlock and her fatigued hand turned the levers opening the door of her:their; new flat. It was around four and she fell on the sofa and did not bother to decide o which rack she wold put her shoes, she did not bother that day. The ripe sunshine beamed on her from behind, that gave her golden hair. Her numb eyes stared at the grey television screen; how much longer could she bare?<br />'Should I break off? What more can I possibly do? Then...'<br />Questions.<br />Illogical possibilities that don't come true till you see them, or they stare at you, long enough till you break down. She looked at herself, 'the head is giving me problems, need to do something about it....' Her body lay on the sofa, Sleep was enforced.<br />Done.<br />Something is hurting again...the shoulder now...something always has to hurt I guess, she thought, or else you'd lose yourself. But some things she knew are fatal, they cling to you like a shadow; shadow of the midnight's dream. What is more important? What is worth? Is it? she sat on a merry-go-round and then she could never get off, not that she didn't have the ticket but more that she could never make up her mind. But why? Its a perfectly fine marriage, I need to hold on a bit more, Shouldn't I? or....<br />'Tara!...' Her husband Girish called, he was home. Must be nine, i slept too long, she thought. As she got up blood that flooded her skull came gushing down and the memory of the day's accident buzzed up. He stared at her, she could not stare back. Through the glass anger his, she could see, but that wasn't her fault, was it? What if...?<br />'Ae Tara! Have you gone blasted deaf? Where's the food? I'm starving.'<br />Forgot. Daily chores.<br />She got up hesitantly, with her frozen shoulder; still in her uniform...The grey , the white and the grey. Shirt buttons open...no bother. Somehow she did not bother tonight, although she wanted to...She paced to the kitchen.<br />There he was, pathetic...in his vest loose and unsuitable for him. Hairy armpits...how she hates them. Couldn't he see I was sleeping, all tired and troubled? came all on me...food!...but he did see me with him...but...she thought she wanted to say this, but then would it be very healthy for the relationship?<br />'Umm...'<br />'What are you staring at now? No food...Fuck...I'll have to eat the left overs now...'<br />'You could...'<br />'No thanks, why don't you? Oh! wait a minute, you must be full, na? Nice meal you both had. Weren't you a bit close? for 'just an old friend?' and you did seem happier than ever...'<br />'We're just old friends...please spare me.'<br />'Never, I will nor spare you nor your bloody friend...'<br />'He has nothing to do with this...please just let it be...I'm sick of it.'<br />Her voice almost choked, eyes were about to cry. She was breathing heavily, a lot of things got stirred up, a lot of problems...<br />Rajesh had nothing to do with this, nor anyone else...why does he have to have such a problem? What is my problem?<br />'There! Why do you love him? Don't you love me? eh? Answer me! bitch...'<br />He spat his poison all over her, his face was red and his eyes grew bigger. His face was near her's. She could smell his breath and all the rot that lay inside and as the words fell on her something went off.<br />Questions? Answers? Me? You? Love?<br />'I hate you. I do. I love him. Ya...'<br />Tears swept her face and she ran inside and sat on the bed and cried. Girish could not move for a few moments...his eyes had died away. Like a wounded animal, he backed the kitchen wall and stared at the floor.<br />Tara took the whiskey bottle out of its rest, poured it in the steel glass, and drank it. Filled it again but the malt was now rocking her head. She could also see her dark image in the glass sway. Everything was falling apart, the more she held it tight the more it slept away...like sand in your hand. Girish came in, fuming; his pupils had dilated and he held his jaw tighter...<br />'You...whore...get out of my house...out now...I've had enough of your liberal culture.'<br />Data in...data out...no processing.<br />Tara's hand slammed the steel glass on the table and pushed Girish to the wall...<br />'Culture? You...tell me about culture? You bang that bitch what's-her-name everyday and you mister tell me about culture? eh? I just laugh with a friend and I'm a whore?'<br />'How dare you...I wouldn't ever think of it... '<br />'Just shut the hell up...I was there with Shama during her abortion...When she aborted YOUR bloody child...and not you...You're just a worm...I feel like puking when I look at you...'<br />Girish's head blew to a billion pieces. He couldn't look at her anymore, he was no longer the holier one.<br />'...'<br />Girish's face melted and he came closer to Tara and held her.<br />'O Tara, it wa...'<br />Tara pushed him away.<br />'Get off me....<br />You know what? Hell with you and your love. I'm leaving.'<br />Processor out of order? She doesn't think so. Questions do come back, they never leave. Maybe they even come with to to the after world or your next birth, but they do come back, big. Why did I come back any way? Where? She thought...Worth and worthlessness. Who decides.<br />Next day Tara stood in front of the same door, the key in the slot.<br />Home?...Next?... ... ...<br />Sigh.zahir_shttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09421854581345685075noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7536211390732019137.post-82328638901380395282008-06-09T19:49:00.006+05:302008-06-09T23:31:27.743+05:30ShareThe air had been quite unmoved by the darkness of the night, the street light was flocked by those same moths again; they are the same everyday, he tried to count them every night as he gazed into the darkness beyond the florescent Lucifer. He had nothing to do, his labor was to wait, till one day an infant sunray comes screaming to him and takes his misery away. He did not know what he had been suffering from, he did try to overhear the doctors' conversations, their muffled voices through their gas masks.<br />From the window he returned to his bed : home, still staring out at the world. Moths, blindness, fence, a cot and hardglass window. There was a shed in the compound that the boy could see, the shed with open window...you know the ones with the wooden panes and all...a curtain fell out in the winds. White laced air fluttered over the jet blackness. Well past midnight the sky grew denser, a more solid black. Tears fell, distilled water, tears of the Night God. He saw the rain for the first time in the florescent spotlight.<br />All illuminated droplets like the tiny eggs of the Glassdragon or a thousand moths that had flocked the sun and fell: only still ashes.<br />He went to his window, square it was- sealed in the wall meant only for light. He was watching the rain for the first time; mud, frogs, water...adventure. A torrent had started rummaging the glass surface from outside, his pale fingers tried to touch the cool nectar but did feel nothing, his skin was accustomed to only cloth and metal. The thin cloth over his skin and the metal cot, the metal walls which were expensive but he didn't know. A small cell, a world of nothingness compacted in white, like a demon's mind and the window his eye...a white cyclops world.<br />No complains, no arguments, life and breath...bare and basic necessities- his share of happiness. But he too prayed, not for anything deeper than the flesh; he wanted the pain to cease, he knew no words, few sounds, few touches and fewer feelings. Klick-klok,Klick-klok,Klick-klok....like a surfacing snake which slid across the fragrant mildew over his memory, in the atrium of his chest a needle screamed as if trying to pound its way out. Delicate hands, one trying to see trough the glass and other through the chest. The scene of the window was washed away by the water, a river of colors like a playful sync, the head thudded the glass, the needle was about to come out.<br />In time...<br />The middle of the window became a river of flame, slow like flowing lava, moonlight lava. His pupils dilated and in a gasp a thick red liquid spouted out of his mouth. It was rich, red and translucent, it stained the sun red. Wasn't it wondrous? Pain ceased, his head felt like his hair, and his body became his clothes. He breathed a kiss, to his bloodlit sun, his soulless body fell over the window and down to the floor. What a waste! In a room lonely and awfully alone, his mark on this world lay.<br />His share of love, of ecstasy, of pain and of happiness; lay...there...in this share of his world.zahir_shttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09421854581345685075noreply@blogger.com1