Hope to renew hopes

Let’s make it quick. Very quick. Gotta sleep. But have to write it too.

I know the curtain might close soon. So, I look up sometimes, and see that I am free. Free from the thoughts of knowing you ever. Free from the feelings I stash in my heart. It’s all vacuous, you know. My eyes search nothing. They don’t haunt the dead. I lift up my overtired and weary hands. And I try to set them on the plane away from the memories of mind, heart, flesh and soul, that can ache. I look there. And yes, it lightens the burden. No pain. No remorse. No fatigue. I mean who would have thought that, a complete lonesome away from all sentimental things, is worth more than to you sometimes, than the sounds of the living which are beyond what you think you can take. But you know, the reality isn’t up there in the stars. It’s here. And the curtain isn’t closed yet.

I try to hold it within. But that isn’t helping. I try to be someone all the way different than who I was, you know like an actor. But that isn’t making any difference. No matter how much I try, I can’t help but sigh under the weight of my growing burden. Yes, I meet up with people. Sometimes new people. Just like the one, I met last week. We had talked for hours. I really had a moment there, after years of reeling. And as the heat grew, I began to wobble all of sudden, until the burden is too much. It soon became unknown. And I was crushed by its weight.

Was it 1st inning or life’s game is over already? I try forgetting the things I’ve messed up, and the memories, I thought I wanted to keep forever. But that is not as easy as it seems. Flashbacks in mind, catch me in a queer cage. Mind doesn’t stop deciphering those memories. And, I am caught in this in a peculiar way! I suddenly can’t answer to people I go out with. They ask if I am alright? Where am I held up in thoughts? I can’t hide it, nor can I show it. My serenity is not disturbed. But I do confess, I am not myself lately. But, I hope to change. I hope to renew these hopes.

I yearn for what tomorrow brings. I do hope that it makes all lives, including mine, worth living one more time. Peace conquers the burdens. Heaven and hell both schedule a meeting to decide fates. And when I sleep, I actually feel rested.

Doorstep of my mind

Can you scream? How loud? Is it loud enough to catch people’s attention? Is it loud enough to scramble through their brains? Yes? You are already one step farther than me coz I can’t scream.

Sweating and gasping while struggling to write this, a million thoughts come and knock on my head. My vision frenetically search for the door to answer. I desperately try to not look the same as yesterday or day before that, when the thoughts came to me, but turned their back on. They didn’t even leave a trail on where they winged their way. I don’t wanna loose them today. I can hear them chatter behind these dark walls. I can try and hear so much, but this silence inside is still prevalent. In fact, the thoughts themselves are struggling to come inside and make some sense. They wanna drown inside my forehead covered by the haze. They wanna press the panic button, which I don’t see.

I can hear them talking about Choices.

Choices? Like, how I chose to win or how I ended up defeated. I know a lot about the choices we make and how it determine our lives. People aren’t the way they are because of some shitty past or some glorified history. None of our loved ones influence either. If we choose to sit, sob and moan, we get hit by a train even if we are not on its tracks. Sounds crazy but that’s fact. Choices do matter. Choices in life may turn out to be good or dire, but we have to make our way through the right doors. Our decisions may land us knee deep in swamp, or otherwise sway us to glee or strife. Who knows? Not even your God knows what your life’s journey has in its pantry? Don’t stay crippled, no matter how ill physically you are. Rise and search that door with me.

Its been an hour, since I have been searching fanatically for that door. All permutations, combinations I try, yet I am not even close. Its very discourteous of me to let my thoughts wait outside. But my mumbling, they can’t hear. I want to scream, but that has proved impossible to me. Though I can rhyme, but I can’t sing. I’ve lived enough to be able to rhyme, yet I have always found more critics of my rhymes. That’s easy no? Criticizing someone’s work. It’s so easy to find imperfections. But if you ask me, I would say every work matters. Mine, yours, my building’s watchman’s, your office’s peon’s. So what, if my work pays less and yours more. It pays my bills, and I eat meals as many times a day, as you do. Although I started a little late in my career, but I have been fighting all alone, and I have dealt with so much at a time. Too much goes in and attack my head. But I never completely broke down and I never expected any empathizing hug from anyone. At least a little zeal, this passion, and hunt for meaning of life, have kept me go on. But if I look in my surroundings, I often see people who talk about their job with upsetting mood, but I have never met someone who doesn’t tell his hobby with passion.

I even summoned up my memories of past relating to erotic daylight, while unsteadily touching the dark walls and trying to pass a thin chord of my touch across the wall. But my heart is weaving songs so soothed songs, that even silence can’t hear. It seems almost impossible to reach to them. My mind begins to slow and I begin to be more anxious. The objective was so clear. I just had to open the god-damn door. But I am left with this feeling of despair. Thus a conclusion ! I am …

All of sudden, the lights starts circling around. They are phosphenes. Oh wait ! They are rainbows of colors now. What are these beautiful pieces of puzzle? A static thump and rhythm start touching my eyelids with a forceful verve as thoughts begin to pile up at the doorstep of my mind. They have waited long enough to enter the universe. Now they want me to release them through my mind’s sight. How stupid of me. I could never see the door. The door was always inside my head. And now this another door of ‘Hope’ is waiting for me, coz I have found the trickiest clue of its whereabouts. The door of hope has invited me in and its gonna close all the doors of torment behind. Lets find it. I know the rules. And there’s no turning back.

Lend me a hand

Like a tree I was standing alone in a corner at the road, when I asked myself, “Am I that poor soul?” No. Poor is the soul that knows nothing. I am not talking about the seeds of education. That’s more of a formal custom. Though I am enriched by those seeds as well, yet I am emphasising that I am not at all giving a damn to them. This is about being a human. Of course I am a man, human being, sagacious I am. Not any beast or some cruel. I am my own nation. Whatever a human does for living, I do it too. Living is not a cruel truth.

I think I can’t stand there anymore. The trees stand for centuries, so all alone, in a vacant lot. Have you ever contemplated about a tree? My opinion is entirely different from yours. Their branches are like our limbs. Close your eyes and see in the mind’s eye. They are like us and not like bugs who have wings. Like, how we die? We mostly die laying down. Mostly. And, trees die standing up and up and up, unless they fall down. Right? By the way, I am not acknowledging the trees right now. I am not praising them, even though they are praiseworthy with words like beautiful, strong and sturdy. But I am not doing that.

What am I doing then? I know nothing. God has already sold my poor soul. Maybe for a penny. Nobody could save me. I just talk about being there, among them, doing that, with these, following those. Silly I seem. Yes, I was or maybe I am like a tree. But I was left alone. You said, ‘Love me!’ and I did. Then another one comes, and orders the same. I do understand it now. You helped me stop feeling cold. Yet, it wasn’t worth what you asked for. You left, then another left and then another, until the last one. Some strings remained ‘attached’, mostly vanished. “Are you a saint or a fool?” someone asked me. And I seriously didn’t have any answer. I am known with the antonym of saint, mostly, among all, for some reasons and for the stories I told them.

Where will it end? This noise inside my head. Lend me a hand. Mine are too busy holding my ears. The noise is intolerable. Sometimes I stand, firm as that tree in the corner. Sometimes, like a stone I lie, under the broken tree on the same road. I could recover if and only if I had shrieked this affliction of my heart, this illness, to that passing bird, but I am temporarily unwilling to speak. And they don’t understand the language of silence. Actually nobody understands that.

All I need to do is change my way. This lack of hate, and this madness are waiting in the room across the road. I don’t know what’s in their store. It’s a multi brand outlet. People get cheerful there. Rejoicing their time, endowing varied gifts. How beautiful are those busy feet of men and women on the street. They are actually on the walk. Door to door. Telling everyone how amazing things are in the store. Soon everyone will see those recreations, God has planned for all. I should also experience that.

But wait. “I don’t have feet” I look down. I am actually a tree. This was all just a dream. This was all just an illusion. I am not a human being. I am not a human being.

A year, indeed, has passed

Let’s write something. Shall we?

A year’s gone by since I last typed something for myself. Yet, I still feel it at least once a day, whenever that song comes my way, while my favourite playlist picks random tracks. I didn’t really know what I thought wouldn’t happen, or in more appropriate words, would happen by dampening that initial thoughts. When the year marked this anniversary, I remember, while crossing that bridge on one of the strenuous, perhaps never peaceful highway with a friend of mine. Rushing to the client, I hadn’t really deserved at first. But somehow, I managed to perform well that day. Of course, it was my work anniversary. And I should have been happy, at least should have appeared like so.

Yes, we all have those memories to share, as the years pass along. We laughed at how the higher authorities, like always, acted with biasness. How we had to walk for a change around our office premise, talking no-nonsense. Sometimes more sensible talks happened, in those peak summers, than anything happening inside our senior partner’s cabin. We will remember those moments to cherish, just like the sweet childhood memories when we first paddled on our new bicycle. We fell. We stood up. We fell again. But never stayed down, for longer. Memories will always compound memories, of course, with a few exaggerations to be had, as the year pass along.

Sometimes a thought knocks my head, like a lover’s flame, and tries to break that sense, not unlike others, and yet still a haunting figure lingering my soul, remains uncluttered. I called a shrink the other day, and told her the situation. She said, I am absolutely fine. I just need to cut the overthinking and start enjoying the small moments. Small moments? Like pressing the cafe latté button on the coffee machine and observe how it slowly starts filling an empty white cup, with exactly same quantity every time, and with an identical sound it makes, sometimes irksome. “Does this come under her ‘Small moment’ definition?” I ask myself.

About work? Well, entrepreneurs they make, like a soft drink factory. They say they fill that magical aerated drink like substance called knowledge, which actually they don’t fill, we get it ourselves from the unlike brains we deal with every day. And then, they put a cap on each of us with their logo and send us to different money providers, just like the bottle’s top which doesn’t let that fizzy things come out of it, until the consumer push it so hard at centre, while equally pulling the corner of it upside. I actually enjoyed being in such an unenjoyable situation at work. But that made me feel less non-ordinary. So, this isn’t what I should be doing, till my next work anniversary.

Muddled in my thoughts, while looking at usual faces, talking on their Bluetooth device, bluffing about their achievements or preparing for their promotions, I think I should get out of it, this very moment. Still I sit alone, though made a bunch of friends. How surreal each moment being spent here and nights after this, where I hold my dreams and plans and then, a promise I usually make to myself, that tomorrow I will definitely do something that gets me one step closer to them. And then a new day comes. And all those promises get vanished, with the millions of travellers who walk the same road every day, same time, and towards same destination. And that destination, my friend, isn’t what you had dreamt of, the other night.

A year, indeed has passed. But not like the year I dreamt of.

 

One day PASS in heaven

“I can’t write about it.” He said with a wheeze and headed for the exit. He brisked up his pace, but I was fast enough to stop him. After shushing him with a wave, I calmed him down. I knew he could come apart at the seams, which he wouldn’t if he was there with me for a while. Tears doesn’t show the frailty. In fact, these are characteristic of strength and aspiration. We loose someone, we shed tears. That doesn’t mean we are weak or spineless. We are human. Crying is one of the perks of that. And why not to cry, in the memory of the one who gave birth, if that person isn’t any more.

“Mother”. Such a simple word. Such a beautiful meaning. But with a special tenderly attachment. I know he misses her so much. I know how much a mother misses her son, even after she departs from this world. I can do nothing to make him feel any happier. And on mother’s day, forget it. I know nothing can fill the space he keeps for those sunny memories.

So, I thought I could do one thing. I could write a blog for him. This is for you buddy. And of course to every expert mother. [Every expert’s first choice http://godrejexpert.com/single_used_pack.php]

I went there, where they keep all the merry spirits. Spirits who are always in seventh heaven, on cloud nine, walking on air, with joy. Saw her carrying a smile, sitting on a chair, in a corner, watching earth. I went straight to her. She looked at me and gave a warm smile. It was like she knew me. But how come? I didn’t ask her this witless question. Instead, touched her feet and asked for blessings. Then, I asked her to give me something which I could give back to him as a present. She said, I can’t take any physical object from heaven to earth. Nothing. Not even a leaf or a bit. This was really disheartening for me. I took a one day pass to heaven, in exchange of one year of my life, just to comfort my best buddy, by bringing a gift from his mother. I knew this might not give him any tranquillity, but it could be something he’d keep with him always.

With a desolated face, I was about to move back, when the mother asked me to stop. She said, “Bring my words to him, Can you?”

At first I couldn’t understand, what did she mean, as I couldn’t take any paper or recording from there. Then, I realised that she meant my brain memory.

I quickly nodded and perched on the floor attentively, next to her armchair.

She started speaking –

“From there I left, if truth be told, I never left. I lodge in your heart. It’s beautiful in here, I see. I see it every day. I know you’re strong enough to swallow the feelings that try to emerge many a times, without skipping a day in your restless life. I am, in fact, very proud of you for that bold attitude of yours. You are my one true source of happiness. I know, there comes a time, when no matter how hard you try, still exhibiting a smile turn out to be the most difficult thing. Don’t feel disgruntled or upset in the crowd. Don’t feel luckless. Because you’re not. I see you every day. I’m with you in all the uneasy situations. Don’t be a naive, by complaining the life you got. Nobody got a perfect life. All that matters is the one true feeling of contentedness. Whatever you do, whatever makes you happy, whatever brings satisfaction to your puzzled brain, just be grateful for that.

Never feel guilty for you couldn’t pay attention to the little moments when I was with you. Just keep your eyes on the dreams of yours. I think of you on this day. I think of you everyday. You gave me the gift of being a mother. Eat your fill. You look so weary and hungry, Son! If you don’t eat, it really pains me. So, eat well. Laugh much. Grow smiley curves. Fill that emptiness with laughter. And I’ll be happy, wherever I am. With love…”