Just is. And then some.

Another one, who tried to fight
the course of the stars:
with torchlight,
shining bright at the moon
trying to confuse the few
that still stood a chance
to make a change

You are who you are, the end of the day. And who you are is defined by where you come from and what got you there, or what was an obstacle in getting where you think you would have rather been.

Growing up in a small town, everything that I had ever known was around me in a five kilometer radius. At school, I was defined by my elder sibling. Outside of school, I was defined by who my father was, and occasionally by who my mother was. (very patriarchal indeed)

Three years ago, I traveled to an unknown city and settled there. I needed to learn responsibility and independence. Most of all, I needed to figure out whether I was any different without all those definitions that I thought had constrained me. I needed to know whether I'd still have a personality outside of the little sphere that was my comfort zone and if I did, whether that personality was any different from who I'd been.

You've been molded into a certain way becomes your idiosyncrasy and there's no denying that those constraints have had a major role in defining you. You evolve out of some, and out of some you don't. You are who you are, at the end of the day. You can't choose to be different. You can't pretend to be any different. You don't fight it. You don't succumb to it. It just is. And you just are.

I don't even know any more if all the communication that I indulge in is for socialisation or if its just a form of catharsis that seems to work for me.


I'm not talking about the bleak conversations you have in college before class, or the few forced minutes you spend with an old friend when you realise you have nothing left to call a friendship any more.
I'm not even talking about that abstract no-introduction discussion you had with the stranger on the bus the other day about misguided bus information, or when you told the grumpy man off, you know, the one who chases little puppies to the other side of the street?

What I am talking about is.. for example.. this. Or the last five emails that I've written.
What IS the point of that? If I retrace the last five years of my life, that's what I do. When I'm not in the misbelief that I'm actually living a life, what I'm doing is recording experiences. The music that I hear, the interesting facts that I read this morning, or the latest book or movie that's been driving me crazy. Facebook really very incredibly discovered (or created to market, you never know) was the power of 'sharing'. And that's what we love.
The accomplished or those thought of as accomplished like to be heard. But the rest of us, you know, the audience, well we would love to be heard, but not as much as we like to speak. Or share, rather. And listen, sometimes.
And when we're not under the delusion that we're actually leading a meaningful life we find our own way of catharsis.
This, for example, is mine.

The Pensieve to my Soul ....err, not really

I can perhaps call myself one of those fortunate (or unfortunate, maybe) souls who does have tangible memories. They exist in the journals I kept, in the diaries I never completed ..AND the least likely of them all.... in my Gmail inbox. I'm not too proud of the role and impact technology has had on me growing up. It's like embracing the fact that the Kindle can never replace a real book and that a TOI news app really does not feel right when you want to sip your morning coffee and read the paper (even if the purpose that morning really is only procrastination before starting your day)

Coming to the point of this blogged stream of consciousness... I stumbled upon something just a few minutes back. It's a little embarrassing but it reminds me of a time when I had the courage to do just about anything. It was perhaps the naivety in the thoughts of a thirteen year old, or I was just undaunted by the opinions of others due to lack of experience with those opinions, back then. Dated the 23rd of February 2006, I found lying peacefully in my inbox, an email that I had written to the then President of India, the honourable APJ Abdul Kalam. Quite an idol of mine then and even now, I wrote to him about my ambition and my dream, of becoming an astronaut. Now, now, don't groan I know it was quite a cliche ambition but I was dead serious while it lasted. And you never know, there is still time to somehow wind up in the field of astrophysics (not really, but we can dream can't we) and if all else fails, well, and if I strike gold or stumble upon the bucket under the rainbow I can probably buy my way up (literally)

the end of the half year that was two thousand and thirteen

If you thought you were lazy, you haven't met the flies buzzing about in my room. Their name is quite the paradox because they don't really do much flying. Maybe science offers an explanation, such as the altitude difference. Because the ones here, well, they're pretty much the dormant version of the species. Sure, their autonomic system is pretty dandy. They still manage to escape my clutches as I try to clasp them in my fist, pretending to myself like I'm a frog trying to tongue-trap my dinner. But their motor skills...hmm not so much. They wouldn't make any parent-fly proud. They wouldn't make good candidates for any red bull advertisement after downing ten cans of it, even...hypothetically, of course.

As for anybody who has Ophidiophobia, count yourself out. You wouldn't need the sight of an actual snake to pee your pants, the thing called a millipede (that I just managed to trick out of my room, phew!) is enough for that. The millipedes here help redefine the integer 1,000,000. Not only are they faster than the flies around here, they refuse to leave your bedroom and go around in circles till they make you dizzy.

Enough about the wildlife here. And it's not like I'm even living in a forest, really. This is pretty much the most advanced town in this district of Uttrakhand. Almost kills the environment-friendly scholar in me as I count the blessings urbanisation has brought to us city-dwellers. Not like I ever thought of myself as a city-dweller before. But  short trip has been enough to knock some practicality in my head. My head, which is the nest of many a moth that while traversing the distances decides that it is just the right moment to make that pit stop.

A little time and a little change and the wonders it can do

Recently, I took a trip to the land of my ancestors, to my roots. When I hear the name of this land, I think of about three to five things before I recall vaguely in my head that I myself hail from this land. I think - paan, ganga, bhojpuri, old people and aashrams. And I'm not that wrong, in fact I am quite accurate. It IS unfair to generalise or to associate a city with a few keywords but it is bound to happen. A few adjectives that I missed out however can fortunately be covered because of the experiences of the last 24 hours to be exact and I shall list them as follows: paan, potholes, politics, paan, and insomnia. The last one is very much subjective, but then again, so is this post.

It struck me, however, and not for the first time that I have been brought up very differently from anybody I know. It was like there was nothing to build on except the immediate and we had to start from scratch we actually did and we actually built something new. Foundations seem to be overrated but I guess they are in substance foundations that have just evolved and moulded and mulatto-ed and turned into something new. 
Part of this experience did involve holding on to something and to the place where I come from, and where I SHOULD belong, and all this while while I was waiting to experience it I did not realise that I had, already. That I didn't need to because roots and ancestors might be a cause for a meaning but at the end of the day, you may live where you live and that may be anywhere, but you are who you are and you ARE the people who made you who you are.

A Paraphrased Ode to what spread like Wildfire

When I first saw you, there was a sparkle in my eye. (In hindsight, it was probably the reflection of your beautiful gorilla glass)
You came to me at a time when I was young, inexperienced in the land of Smartphones, and I often felt that I did not deserve you (your pricetag sent jitters down my spine)
Yet you were a gift to me and I grew to forget your pricetag, and I began to associate you more with the everyday joys you gave me.
You kept me abreast with everything novel in the land of technological geekdom, and I felt like I was in reign, I felt like William the Conqueror.

But I soon realised that a twist in the plot was inevitable, there would be a dark side for us all to witness, sooner if not later.

There I was, in a new place with your smartness and quiet brilliance to guide me, and rather than admiring the beauty with my naked eye I chose to see it through your navigation system if I was travelling, or through your 5 megapixel camera if I was sightseeing.

Every realistic need of mine had been replaced by your technological insight and guidance, and without you I felt... almost handicapped. 
What was once a mere condition of symbiotic existence, developed into a fixation, and that made me realise, that it was time I made up my mind.

I had to stop this anthropomorphism before it got the better of me.

Perhaps that is why towards the latter half of your journey with me, the symbiotic relationship developed into a cruel dependance, that was fighting unbearably to coexist.

Yet I held onto you, for longer than I should have.. because you reminded me of the days when I did not know so much, when it was easier to just let go of inhibitions, of consequences, and of reality.

This morning, when I woke up, I had a Desire to move on. And I was perhaps not fully ready to, but I had to fastforward that part in order to be able to, to be able to house the DesireX.



Disclaimer: This is a work of expressionist fiction. Any resemblance to reality is not intended (on the other hand, it might even be completely intentional)

Sound tracks

It's funny. Where things started from is often the way the finish. There's always a similarity between the start line and the end, more so when there's absolutely no feeling of accomplishment.

You sit here, and you pack your things. The music calms your nerves, a little. The coffee jolts your brain, a little. The sound of your hollow breathing. periodically. voluntarily. The grimace that appears. Shaped like a half moon. That's absolutely involuntary. That's a sneer. It's all so funny the way I see it now. So funny.

time ++

the music changes

And you find some meaning. You find some purpose. When you're not looking for it, it finds its way to you. And you are reminded, once again, of why..why that breathing is involuntary, but only when you're not focusing on it. 

It's a sigh

You realise this only long after they've long left this world, that you didn't have enough of them. Even when you tell yourself that it was more than enough, it feels like you had one conversation too less, one experience together too little. It never seems like enough. And sometimes when it's the right time, you think of them.. and a few tears escape, they feel cold on your cheek.. and you wipe them away, along with the memories that you've been drowning yourself in. And all emotions, from the past, present and past of the future merge in one.

Bubble bubble toil and trouble

We are all miserable. Even when we are happy, we are subconsciously waiting for the next bout of misery to arrive. In fact, we thrive on misery. Misery is the Meaning of Life. Profound, isn't it? And when we are actually miserable according to the well-carved definition drafted by society, psychology and circumstances, then we try to be less miserable. We don't do what makes us happy, but we do what makes us less miserable with respect to the earlier state of miserable. And that's the whole circus and process. The bigger meaning of life. We are looking for easier ways to handle situations, we tell ourselves that we are 'trying to be happy' but all in all we are actually just trying to be less miserable. And that's when we start to make all the wrong decisions and choices in this state of horrid horrid misery and we choose an easier form of misery. It makes us feel better, for a while, but not for too long. This easier form of misery is like the wolf in sheep's clothing. But we don't see the wolf, till it is too late, till the truth strikes us in the chest through the forgotten armour. (we left the armour at home safe in it's closet cause we thought we'd bought a ticket on the happiness express) Then, when it is only just too late, through the thick, red, suffocating blood that slithers slyly from our throbbing skin we start to understand the meaning of misery, the meaning of LIFE. Cause you see, the meaning is what you tell yourself it is and it requires only so much time and experience to understand it.

Post-epiphany Criticism

It's just the point of view, and the perspective you hold. And that depends on - (a) your environment (b) how willing you are to actually be a part of your environment. If you completely cut yourself off and decide to remain inside your head and fester that thought process, even if wonderful things are trying to happen to you you will not let them. This reminds me of the whole 'the secret' by Rhonda Byrne concept (which I haven't read, by the way). But I'm not saying that positivity attracts positivity. That it sort of obviously already does, but how in the world is it possible to say - okay I'm going to be positive now? You can perhaps psychologically fool yourself into in after acquiring the skill with practice, but it doesn't really work that way. So how exactly do we transcend from the zone of not being susceptible to our environment to letting the positivity in?
I think we can do that through the process that critics like me call 'Forgetting' (sorry about the cynicism its all a result of the literary criticism theories we've been submerging ourselves in at college)

Today I had an elaborate discussion with a friend. She was criticising my behaviour and I was, with a lot of confidence and passion, contesting her own opinion about it. I concluded in quite a believable way (I was proud of myself) and actually proved my point very well. But at the end of the conversation, she was not convinced at all, really. She firmly stuck to her belief and her point of view, because that's exactly what it was, her point of view. How she felt because of me, because of things that I had done to her directly and indirectly and I realised that she was so effected by them subjectively that she could not possibly look at the situation objectively and out of the personal context that she was basing her criticism on. I realised then, that it did not matter what I said to her, she would not be convinced. She was not willing, and it was not that she was unwilling consciously, she was not even aware of the possibility that she could look at it objectively.
Now, I'm not saying that I know it all! Personally I'm in a situation where I'm so wrapped in myself and in my emotions and in the subjective context of my life that I cannot possibly try and understand it any other way, even if for my own good. It's just a very difficult human trait to acquire, perhaps even impossible, and I wish I knew how to do so. Guess I shall just have to revert back to the process that seems to work a little- 'forget' what I'm thinking about and keep my brain cells as active as possible in a non-destructive way.

The greatest epiphany of all times

JEALOUSY. Indeed the worst of emotions that could exist. It reduces you to this base, raw existence drawing out all the self-confidence, rationality and sense that you ever had. Changes your personality to that of a passive aggressive person with paranoia who is ever critical both intrinsically and extrinsically.
Jealousy. It blinds you. And it burns as it blinds you, consuming you, like a flame. Engulfing you in its wretched warmth. And when the flame dies down it leaves no ashes, just an eternity full of suffocating smoke and what's left of you.

The Intervention

I've been too self absorbed lately. I've over indulged in my emotions and lost out on what's around me and what's actually important. Meaninglessly I've spent hours in solitude or in absolute frustration and all that I've managed to accomplish is the creation of a whole lot of negativity, both inside me and around me. This is an intervention publicly on my blog to remind me and all of you out there who have called yourself 'lonely', 'not loved' or 'depressed' in the recent past.
Look outside yourself, no not at the sun shining or the birds chirping- all that IS natural and beautiful- but look at all those who you could help instead of just indulging in self pity because that, my friend, will not get you anywhere. Come out of it, or at least acknowledge the fact that you have to come out of it and you will see that the world is not such a bad place after all.

Shifting and siftings

It's a warm afternoon, and I'm covered with dust from all the packing. I'm sitting here in a corner examining the shape of my room currently. Watching it as it seems to get clearer, yet emptier. Reminds me of how I felt one day early in July when I was sitting on this very bed with this very blanket and wondering to myself where I was and what would happen to me next. I just had shifted to this room, and I felt like I had accomplished something, and though I was alone and I was scared I was also excited, with the prospect of this new life of mine. And today, I'm moving out. My time here is complete. This room has been lived in, and life on this street is now over. The stray dogs won't run to greet me any more, and I won't feel the feeling of independence that started from these very streets and these very localities as I learnt to live by myself and take care of my needs. I will never get that chance to grow again. I will never again get to transit from dependent to semi-independent. But I do have another positive feeling inside of me- that this experience too will be a new one, and I will learn again, and I will grow another way. This room has been mine and mine alone and now I will move to another room, and I wonder what turn life will take there?