This is just a four-liner on how I felt on just another typical office situation...
The telephone rings, by my side
"Pick up!!!!" - all shout, far from wide
But why should I, just loosen the tie
Weekday though, I'm sleepy high!
Friday, October 22, 2010
Sunday, September 26, 2010
Escape from a Dream
While descending to wake up, I discovered an abnormal difficulty to open my eyes. The eyelids were restrained from any movement, they were so heavy today. It would be the fluids that hung over the lids, clogging the opening, I thought. An overnight's rest is very much required for the eyes which remain open throughout the day, seeing more unnecessary things than necessary, and being forced to open again immediately after momentary blinks of refuge. But it was not the fluid. Had it been, it would not have been that strong, that made me feel like my upper and lower lids have been sewn together. I was as much terrified as I was surprised, for the thought of a world without vision was unimaginable. Then to rescue my thoughts from peril, numbness of skin gave way to realization - there was something heavy that rested over my eyes. A couple of split-seconds later I found that my right hand. folded and rested just below my forehead, played the villain's role during my 'awakening'. Then as I slid my hand away, it rubbed my cheeks and chin, both thick with beard. "When was the last time I shaved?", I asked myself. I could not answer - I did not remember. The situation only worsened, when a couple of questions remained unanswerable - why did not I shave, and before that, were I the type of a person who shaved frequently? I was shocked to come face-to-face with my own state of depleted memory. That was a rendezvous I had had only in the worst of my nightmares.
There was more in store to add to this camaraderie of revelations - I was not able to recollect who I was - I had lost my identity. "Hopefully it has got to be somewhere in my pensive", I thought. I had to find it. But then why? What would be the use if I found who I was? Questions and counters sparred in my mind. Terror had started toppling my stability, and I almost gave in to it. To my rescue came this thought - "I have this sense, this feeling of physical existence, and I have this basic human philosophy at my command, unaffected. It is this peripheral memory which is the only thing missing, which cannot be summoned. That means I have left my sub-conscious, but not attained full consciousness yet. Can I term mine a semi-conscious mind? Yes! It should be! I am semi-conscious now!"
As I enjoyed with awe that rare delay while transcending from sub-consciousness to consciousness, a slight fear of somehow falling back to the sub-conscious forever flickered. Yes, spirituality has been for long sought after, but did I think "now that I have found a way, let me take my time; not so soon"? I should have, for else, I would not have pinched myself so hard that I jumped out (from my bed, I found later) and cried in pain. Yes, I was back, I recollected my name (and verified it with my records, really!). I sat back in a chair nearby, lost in contemplation. After a long time of thought, a sigh of contentment came out from me, I was happy to have experienced and escaped a dream in a different realm altogether. From then, all that I have been thinking about is: "When will I be able to dream next? How will I be able to take that dream to the next higher level?".
Tuesday, August 31, 2010
Time warps in real life
We are blessed with a wonderful life. But are we enjoying every bit of it? Certainly not, atleast you know in your case I am right. We run along the most part of it, just because we have to, just because we have not been provided with options. Those who run along, if they have their eyes closed, will enjoy the run no better than a dancer who steps up without music, rhythmless. But with open eyes, a much more clearer picture appears, a canvas that infact not only helps us to
rewind the run without affecting the target or due, but also to evanesce to a deeper level of pensive. I will cite an experience of mine that exemplifies this.
I was late and so i couldnt have breakfast at office canteen. I kept cursing my incapabaility of getting up on time, thanks to the late night wash of clothes which could have been done a day ago. In me developed the sort of feeling as if my gut is contracting, seemingly protesting against my helplessness-turned-non-chalance. This somehow reminds me of the Non-Co-operation Movement envisaged by Gandhi and his likes. It pains when the gut calls. But not like when somebody else, say a beggar, calls for the sake of not his gut alone, but for lots of his/her dependents: marasmus ridden children and the grown-ups, who, like wise men say, are used to their very state of misery. These calls go unheard and unattended to, by majority of the contemporary folk who already consider themselves the generationext, who have mass excuses of "how disgusting", or "no time for all these clatters". The old lady at the roadside today morning, no specialty at sudden notice, seemed to represent a big population, so much developing in its vision of its flamboyant cultural and technological prosperity, yet so blind to let remain the needy needy. Her wrinkled skin made her face look like one of the many ripples frozen midway while its transit, as though the coldness of death waiting at the shore has had its effect-death is too cold to handle. Its cold waves overcome its heavier counterparts- those liquid ones of life.
The ripples unfortunate enough to be born near the shore are caught not unawares by the coldness, frozen and left half cadaverous awaiting a meager blow to be crumbled down. And the sparks of hope are only shallow, above the bare sand that stretches underneath. Blurred pictures like these and dull colours roamed my mind as the old lady passed my me, our eyes never breaking contact. But everything bloated out soon, as i realized those eyes had much more to say beyond the apparent plainness - stories which deserve more than a look brimmed with sympathy flowed out of them. And to me, it felt as if a beehive ruptured. Nothing except hymns of bees trumpeted inside my head - shrill, and dragging me back to those deliriums i spent amidst drowsy colours which in vain I opposed. When I was back the lady had disappeared - but only for a moment to be discovered again on turning back. I ran back to her, called her "amma", she would not hear. Probably she was deaf. Or if she had been blessed, she wasnt - miseries must have given her strength to remain far from all madness even when right amidst a clattering crowd.
A swift set of steps was enough for me to catch up with her in a couple of seconds, she wasnt in a hurry. Me too. I took from my pocket all coins i had, and with contemplation, i gave it all to her. Poor being will atleast have a lunch to keep her up and walking. And this time it was as if the ripples were back to life again. I could see them moving, curving as her lips tried hard to bring out a smile which had been lost way back- at some place, some point of time which had no milestones or signboards to trace it back to. And I had just restored it. I was then the happiest person for a moment.
The realization wasnt completely a new one. There had been moments similar in presentation but offering lesser takeaways - blame nothing else but the ego which had cocooned me in till now. And more were in store for me, what a blissful morning I had. A subsiding grudge over the missed breakfast was not in my mind anymore. At tea-time, i was all set to replenish the lost breakfast through snacks and coffee, and with good justice to this i started attacking the "medu vadas". As the 11 o'clock sun, through its warm, filtered greetings invited me to the good times ahead, the bygone memories kept me back with equal thrust. I yearned, to be back, dropping out of the unpredictable future - if only i knew to lag behind time. But it's time i corrected this attitude. Stepping up to the challenges with a strong hold on the past is the need. And pulling aside only means catching up is not possible. The from-undated dilemma of choosing my cup of tea finally is about to arrive at an answer. A kitten, the weakest i have ever seen, appeared from behind the trolley in which tea jugs and snacks were kept. A sunken body on a skeletal frame succeeded the head which was held loose on a thin neck - but there was a flicker of hope and anxiety in its stride, I was interested in the personality of that small creature. I was looked at, for a moment. I felt my shoulders sinking, and after a moment's roam in one of the sub-conscious corners, my mind resettled to find that my legs had not failed me, I havent collapsed yet. I am sure the creature noticed my momentary breakdown, and, as though understanding everything completely, it reduced its ferocity in eyes a little, and passed over to attempting to get something palatable. It limped around the trolley, staring at every single person having tea, anticipating among the crowd somebody human enough to show a tinge of kindness to this one of their tiny feline friends. I threw over a "medu vada", which the cat ate with excitement. I thought it will want more, but no, it gave a last glance, and strode away.
Were the old lady and the cat running back in time? Or atleast they were "pause" keys to the blind race I run for, I am thankful to them for the memorable pitstops they gave....
rewind the run without affecting the target or due, but also to evanesce to a deeper level of pensive. I will cite an experience of mine that exemplifies this.
I was late and so i couldnt have breakfast at office canteen. I kept cursing my incapabaility of getting up on time, thanks to the late night wash of clothes which could have been done a day ago. In me developed the sort of feeling as if my gut is contracting, seemingly protesting against my helplessness-turned-non-chalance. This somehow reminds me of the Non-Co-operation Movement envisaged by Gandhi and his likes. It pains when the gut calls. But not like when somebody else, say a beggar, calls for the sake of not his gut alone, but for lots of his/her dependents: marasmus ridden children and the grown-ups, who, like wise men say, are used to their very state of misery. These calls go unheard and unattended to, by majority of the contemporary folk who already consider themselves the generationext, who have mass excuses of "how disgusting", or "no time for all these clatters". The old lady at the roadside today morning, no specialty at sudden notice, seemed to represent a big population, so much developing in its vision of its flamboyant cultural and technological prosperity, yet so blind to let remain the needy needy. Her wrinkled skin made her face look like one of the many ripples frozen midway while its transit, as though the coldness of death waiting at the shore has had its effect-death is too cold to handle. Its cold waves overcome its heavier counterparts- those liquid ones of life.
The ripples unfortunate enough to be born near the shore are caught not unawares by the coldness, frozen and left half cadaverous awaiting a meager blow to be crumbled down. And the sparks of hope are only shallow, above the bare sand that stretches underneath. Blurred pictures like these and dull colours roamed my mind as the old lady passed my me, our eyes never breaking contact. But everything bloated out soon, as i realized those eyes had much more to say beyond the apparent plainness - stories which deserve more than a look brimmed with sympathy flowed out of them. And to me, it felt as if a beehive ruptured. Nothing except hymns of bees trumpeted inside my head - shrill, and dragging me back to those deliriums i spent amidst drowsy colours which in vain I opposed. When I was back the lady had disappeared - but only for a moment to be discovered again on turning back. I ran back to her, called her "amma", she would not hear. Probably she was deaf. Or if she had been blessed, she wasnt - miseries must have given her strength to remain far from all madness even when right amidst a clattering crowd.
A swift set of steps was enough for me to catch up with her in a couple of seconds, she wasnt in a hurry. Me too. I took from my pocket all coins i had, and with contemplation, i gave it all to her. Poor being will atleast have a lunch to keep her up and walking. And this time it was as if the ripples were back to life again. I could see them moving, curving as her lips tried hard to bring out a smile which had been lost way back- at some place, some point of time which had no milestones or signboards to trace it back to. And I had just restored it. I was then the happiest person for a moment.
The realization wasnt completely a new one. There had been moments similar in presentation but offering lesser takeaways - blame nothing else but the ego which had cocooned me in till now. And more were in store for me, what a blissful morning I had. A subsiding grudge over the missed breakfast was not in my mind anymore. At tea-time, i was all set to replenish the lost breakfast through snacks and coffee, and with good justice to this i started attacking the "medu vadas". As the 11 o'clock sun, through its warm, filtered greetings invited me to the good times ahead, the bygone memories kept me back with equal thrust. I yearned, to be back, dropping out of the unpredictable future - if only i knew to lag behind time. But it's time i corrected this attitude. Stepping up to the challenges with a strong hold on the past is the need. And pulling aside only means catching up is not possible. The from-undated dilemma of choosing my cup of tea finally is about to arrive at an answer. A kitten, the weakest i have ever seen, appeared from behind the trolley in which tea jugs and snacks were kept. A sunken body on a skeletal frame succeeded the head which was held loose on a thin neck - but there was a flicker of hope and anxiety in its stride, I was interested in the personality of that small creature. I was looked at, for a moment. I felt my shoulders sinking, and after a moment's roam in one of the sub-conscious corners, my mind resettled to find that my legs had not failed me, I havent collapsed yet. I am sure the creature noticed my momentary breakdown, and, as though understanding everything completely, it reduced its ferocity in eyes a little, and passed over to attempting to get something palatable. It limped around the trolley, staring at every single person having tea, anticipating among the crowd somebody human enough to show a tinge of kindness to this one of their tiny feline friends. I threw over a "medu vada", which the cat ate with excitement. I thought it will want more, but no, it gave a last glance, and strode away.
Were the old lady and the cat running back in time? Or atleast they were "pause" keys to the blind race I run for, I am thankful to them for the memorable pitstops they gave....
Friday, August 27, 2010
Midnight cry
It is with an unclear purpose that I start this blog. Still there is some omen. Something cries out of me in this midnight hour, something that pushes an otherwise ordinary brick out of the wall. A commoner in all aspects, I have been eager to speak out since a long time ago, always. But my gutless nature never allowed me to pull off this post of inaugural blog. Probably this is to no one that I write, but certainly no one's comments are barred. Here I start writing, all jinxes on a novice are present for accompaniment, but I believe hope prevails over possession, and so it lies before me to be proven.
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