Whisper to me

You are beauty, you are destruction; you are the energy I feel and the cause of my listlessness. You are that little speck of glowing hope in this moss colored world that keeps dreamers like me marveling the stars. You are all of that and more. But alas, I am still that little pigtailed thirteen year old waiting by the river bank.

You are the night at the darkest when it’s magical; you are the wonder that lights up the soul. You are all I want but alas, the river is too wide and my boat is yet to come.

You are what turns, the quiet little book loving, me into something out of the Shakespearean plays on the oncoming of spring. You inspire the sonnets that ballets the moonlight peering from my window. You sing to me in each raindrop and I dance to your melody. But alas, the waves are now surfacing and I stand keeping count.

You seem to make the flower scent intoxicating; enough to get me drunk. You seem to make the breeze whisper your voice but never enough to make me want to go away. I still stand at the river bank, my lover, for alas I cannot swim.

Hey there, yes you.  Are you listening to me? Can’t you hear me calling out to you? No, don’t go away. Give me chance. Won’t you? Stay with me for sometime. Please?

Here, a peek into the core coal of me; give me your hand let me protect you from what lies there.  Deeper than the trenches of your worst nightmares, that’s how strong these traits run in me. These gruesome shades are a part of me, darling, this is who I am. I’d ask you to run away with me but I can’t. I can live with myself and my deeds but I’d never let a shadow of it fall upon you.

These words, how I cherish them and how meaningless they seem at the moment. Querida, I want to whisk you away from here, to kiss you through the bars of a rhyme, to lace my fingers through yours and take you to the stars. What wouldn’t I give just spend an eve in your arms. I am out of turn here-so out of place. Surely you can see that?

You are my morning breeze, darling. Untainted and pure. You are my strength and perhaps, my greatest weakness.

You know we can never be. I’m the King of purgatory and you’re the ocean mist. But as dark as the night may seem, know the light’s never far away. I adore you from the depths of my soul and underneath the darkness, a heart beats.  I could say go on, live your life and forget we ever met, but I’m too selfish for that. I could make this easy for you but I won’t. I am the Devil.

I will watch you every second of my being. I will delude you, deceive you and con you. Behind your every lie, every pain-you’ll find me. I’ll be your greatest fan and your worst enemy. I will give all of what I am. I could leave you and make this easier for both of us. But you know I can’t do that. I will stay with you. I will make you and break you. It will destroy me but I will do it- just so no one else can. You mean too much to me.

When it gets too hard for you; find me. When it becomes too easy for; find me. You know the place between love and lust, that’s where I’ll always be.

28th of July.

Do you remember the time your favourate ice cream sandwich melted before you could devour it?

Or the time someone ripped out a page from a book you lended them?

Or when you lost sight of someone, you loved, in the morning sky.

It’s so sad when that happens.

Unscrambled and overcooked.

“Did the chicken come before the egg or did the egg come before the chicken?” asked my five year old cousin. I looked at him, smiled and said, “I don’t know.”

As the years have gone by, I have felt myself to be growing intellectually with each passing day, but I still feel that I know less and less every second. Information is expanding at exponential rates and for every news article on Barrack Obama one reads in one newspaper, there are ten more on different pages that have to be skipped due to lack of time. In this scenario, it would be only the naïve who would refuse to accept that they cannot know everything.

I am no exception. Over the years spent in school, I have accumulated quite a lot of knowledge regarding various subjects. I have tried to indulge in diverse areas, from the numerical mysteries of Math to the inevitable variations in Economics. Yet there is a gap. The theorems of Math which I so easily apply to the cornucopia of questions my mentors are constantly testing me with seem vague and obscure when juxtaposed with a ‘real’ problem. The graphs in Economics which I so easily analyze in the examination hall look alien when I try to analyze a ‘real’ situation. The problem here, as I see it, is thus- I see the pieces of the puzzle but have only a hazy idea of the completed picture. This, then, is what I don’t know- how do I apply that which I know?

Take for example the subject of Thermodynamics. Newton’s Law of Cooling and the Laws of Thermodynamics were good friends of mine by the time I was finished with the chapter in school. Confidently, then, I acquiesced to answer a few questions my friend had. The first one stumped me. “Why does it get colder as the altitude increases?” I grappled in my head with the equations I had learnt. Unable to answer, I walked away, ashamed and dejected. The point is that school does not teach you everything. The simple things are lost amongst the complicated theoretical scenarios one has to commit to memory.

Though at times I felt partial, not knowing the real picture; the complete picture, but as Thomas Gray as so rightly put, ‘Where ignorance is bliss, ’tis folly to be wise.’ I don’t have to know everything, whether the chicken came first or the egg, it is of no consequence; what matters is how I utilize what is given to me. It took me a leap of faith, an unwavering confidence in myself, and a couple of cartons of chocolate milk to realize that no one is perfect and no one knows everything. Looking beyond the textbooks, looking at everyday little ‘things’ that we take for granted, I find, is in a way more important than what we learn in class. The ‘gap’ between knowing and knowing everything is one that will never be filled, but the least I can do is to know well what I know.

Oven Logic.

Ever wonder what it would feel like?

Ever deliberated what would happen?

If the world slowly started to dissolve

Fading away into the oblivion

Ever felt the touch of the colors?

Or felt the bars of the rhyme?

Ever wondered what would have been?

If I wouldn’t have wasted all this time

Would I ever be compelled to see the rain again?

When it’s hundred and twenty outside,

Would the memories still haunt me?

A funny thing to ask when the devil himself is in aide

Would I ever hear the reverberation?

Of the waves crashing wrathfully on the shore,

Would the Champagne and Caviar always remain a wish?

Or will they ever be something more?

And so I sit,

And ponder.

Where am I stuck?

I wonder.

What is life, what is love?

What is anything, when there is nothing more?

Is it of the loss or is it of the gain?

Or is it nothing but the dark side’s allure.

Is it something larger than life?

Or like slashing through your skin with a bare knife?

Or is it like the drowning in the great big blue?

For drowned I am, thorough and through.

You gotta eat, darling.

Freakonomics

Scarcity: resources are limited. Nothing is enough, no one’s satisfied. Greed, insatiability and voraciousness, it’s inculcated in the depths of our souls. It’s pretty simple, actually; it’s all human nature.

What we are taught is how nothing such as ‘bliss’ exists. Human is on a never-ending quest. What he wants, he can’t get; because whatever he has, is never enough. What he studies is Perfect Market, Perfect Competition, Ideality; something that can not be achieved. Every concept begins with numerous impossible assumptions and ends with the oh-so-famous conclusion, ‘This can never be accomplished in the real world.’

We chase after the impossibilities and give away that minute in a million, that one infinitesimal, yet immeasurable moment; life. We want perfection. Romanticizing the reality is our favorite pastime. Marginalizing our happiness is another. We want to compete, for the sake of competing. We want a commodity just because someone else has it. Our possessions are not for ourselves, they are for other people to yearn for. The most satisfactory accomplishment is that spark of desire, we see in our competitor’s eyes, and the knowledge that the ‘competitor’ can never have what he so badly wants. It’s cruel, really; it’s human nature.

As Giner remarks, ‘The mass is basically amoral, superstitious and ignorant… mass man… is not really a member of civil society; he is manipulated, unfree and alienated .’

Human is not a social animal, nay. He is a social enemy.

Thou be damned: 8 Seconds to Venus

The eyes,
Yielding eyes, watchful eyes,
A lover’s eyes.

Slow breath,
Heart rate. Cardiac arrest?
Spotted to the ground.

Oblivious,
To all but one,
‘Do you see the light?’

Drowning slowly, clandestinely,
Clock ticks. Last words;
“Oh heart, behave somewhat.”

Kathak

Living in a third world nation, I have become familiar with the dangers of the conventionally defined roles, the customary thinking, the traditional social norms and also of the discordance that may lie buried in illiteracy and dogmatic totalitarianism of society. It has made me vigilant to the significant fact that economic and social “unfreedom”, in the form of acute indigence and disparity, can make a person a vulnerable victim in the violation of all other forms of freedom. A society that frowns even on the most microscopic of issues is one chained to self created limitations and I believe these limitations need to be surpassed in order for it to progress.

For a woman to deviate form the norms of the society, is to commit a crime; then be it voicing out an opinion or staging a century old allegory. Dance leads one to a domain where no walls are impenetrable and nothing unconquerable. However, such abandonment is esoteric, especially in a closed society as mine where dance is considered a waste of time and effort.

Two weeks ago, I was asked to substitute for the dance teacher. I stepped into class and looked at my pupils. I noticed in them an enthusiasm, a desperate urge to learn. In their innocence, they made me feel like a painter with a revolutionary idea, who had been given what he needed most- a blank canvas. I started off with introducing them to ‘Aamad’, the opening piece to any Kathak choreography. As I explained the movements, I recited to them the ‘Warrior Story’ I had once heard from my teacher. Each movement symbolized the personality of the warrior; a warrior who fought for the sake of his family, honor and land. A warrior who carried on despite being on alien grounds, fueled by nothing but hope and an all consuming desire to win. The dance portrays the obstacles he faced and the wisdom and valour with which he overcame them. While performing it, I saw my reflection in the mirror and I felt akin to the warrior. With sharp angular movements and perfect synchronization I led my warriors on to the battlefield. Battle against those who do not recognize individual freedom regardless of gender and religion.

The forced internalization of norms, in my view, is akin to Laing’s concept of ‘Murdered Self,’ where the aspirations and desires of an individual are taken away and the individual losses an eponymous quality- that of individuality. Similarly, by denying the right to dance or indulge in any activity that may deviate from the society’s prescribed role of the individual, the society takes away the identification of the person, in turn, making him a second rate carbon copy of the society’s ideal being.

In the bleak picture painted by the totalitarians, I’ve found dance, Kathak, as my leading force; the light at the end of the tunnel. It has taught me to smile and gracefully sail through the ups and downs of life; to appreciate each movement for what it is worth, and what it signifies. Kathak has taught me the significance of each movement, no matter how small. I’ve learned appreciate the mundane events. It has introduced a whole new dimension that is open to all perspectives, where age, gender and race are meaningless. As long as the passion is there, the world is mine to conquer. I have learned to think outside the box and depict emotions, through movements, that our society has forgotten to feel. It is a most beautiful kind of literature, depicting the most intricate theme in the simplest of movements.

Perfection?

How does one define perfection?
Is it something idyllic or flawless or something absolute or definite…?
Or by perfection do we imply that something is so absolute and definite that it becomes flawless and in turn idyllic?
That itself forces one to question the authenticity of absoluteness.
Is anything in the world actually absolute?
Is there always a Truth or Lie? Right or Wrong? Good or Evil? Black or White?
Or are there shades of grey?
If there are, then on what foundation can they be judged?
And to what extent are they negotiable?
And to what extent do we allow them to be.
This, in turn, leads one to wonder,
Is absoluteness or perfection truly there?
Or are they just a mask, a curtain for us to hide behind?
Or a figment of our imagination
So we can console ourselves,
And abstain from facing the truth and our own weaknesses.
But can it, in reality, be done?
As Robert Louis Stevenson once said,
“You cannot run away from a weakness; you must sometimes fight it out or perish.
And if that be so, why not now, and where you stand?”

Positively Engulfed

A time will come when all the madness would reach it’s maxima; insanity will rear it’s head and surely, the doors of perception shall be wiped clean. The world would no longer seem an illusion. Nay, it’ll appear as it is: chaotic and torn by destruction; reckoning a ‘War Zone.’ And out of the curtains someplace, sometime someone will cry out, “Halt! Thee shalt not fight ‘ere, me Brothers, ’tis a BLOODY War Zone.” Laughter would echo and the fire’ll be lit in hell. Hell? Or in thy soul? Either. What difference, anyhow?

In all this, people, people like me, will bang their heads against the wall. No, not because mankind’s at it’s end but because it’s fun. Fun, fun, fun. Try it.