Wednesday, 25 December 2013

Ruben!

It was supposed to be my day; but they had all the fun. Paul was singing ‘shervone koraale’! Dominick was dancing with Eric and Basith. By the time Lashak made ‘Druvzuska’ cakes and apple pies. And it was almost dark outside. Before we finished cakes, delivery arrived! Chicken and chips for all! And we celebrated the day, for it was on that day I got a call from ‘Amazon’. And an additional job was always luck.

Ruben was not there. I had asked him to come over for the day. But he couldn't make it as he was not well. He was happy about my Amazon job when I called him and asked me; if I remember the days when we carried a bundle of resumes every time with us, and dropped copies everywhere in Luton, Milton Keynes, Dunstable and High town. Job hunting kept us busy always. Finally Ruben got a call from ‘Sports Direct.com’ at Coventry. We spent some busy days and moments of uncertainty together.

He said missing those days. And that made me feel sad and I said “those days will be forever missed and never forgotten; and hope you would get better soon.”

Ruben and I did ‘job hunting’ together. Job hunting was not an academic time pass; it was part of university life; like assignments and seminars.

One afternoon Ruben took me to Milton Keynes. He said he had an appointment there. And a part time job was knocking around. He was not sure about the number of vacancies but knew that they were recruiting people, so thought of taking me along, to make it together.

It was high time that we hardly took any rest after the classes, spending everyday out searching for a part time job. And we both were desperate that we received no calls.

We met with Fred, the floor manager in ‘Honey Top’. He asked us to leave a copy of our CV, Passport and NI number with the lady receptionist. He took us to a hall where we were asked to wear a long white coat, hygiene caps and safety boots.

It was a huge factory! And freezing inside! There I saw a lot of people in different lines doing the same job all the time. Making the sandwich! The belts in each line were carrying neatly placed bread. They were filling different varieties of vegetables, sauces and mayonnaise on top of them.
The belts moved so fast that they couldn't make it sometimes. They even missed one or two slices! They made mistakes by filling wrong sauce or wrong piece of vegetable.

I saw a man there, walking slowly all over the place, looking around and checking dispatch lot and shouting often. He was not wearing white like others. The people he was handling and shouting at often didn't understand what they were doing. They made mistakes, struggled to keep up. But for him, in there, it was simple and easy. He walked freely; relaxed whenever he wanted. He gave instructions and earned respect. And many among them would certainly hope that, one day they could be that man. He acted like a real hero supervising many people.

When we came out in the same hall, taking his caps off, Ruben said he liked the place. And he was interested in night shifts. Milton Keynes was just one hour drive from our university. And if we take a weekly pass its almost affordable in ‘Arriva’ (Bus service). Ruben was already ahead calculating even the expenses and savings. I was not sure about getting a chance as I was not asked to pop up by Fred; neither did I have an appointment.

Fred was verifying passport and NI (National Insurance) number in his office. Ruben was called in. It took almost ten minutes to finish the interview. Interview means explaining whatever we saw earlier inside; hygiene, safety and some other basic instructions. When they ask; “Any Questions” interview is over.

How was it? I asked him when he came out.

Forget it; Ruben said.

When I asked ‘why’; he said, “They have only one vacancy at the moment”

I asked him “Is that a reason to forget it?”

Ruben was quick to reply and he said; the guy who gave him the reference told him that it was not that difficult to make it for both of us; because they need shop floor laborers all the time. And that was the reason why Ruben took me with him to Milton Keynes. And he felt bad that Fred wasn't ready to take two.

Fred came out and told me not to worry as he had my CV with him and said he would definitely make a call whenever a vacancy comes up. That wasn't unfair from his side.

Ruben was asked to show up on coming Thursday.

Any way Ruben did forget it; he decided not to take that offer; though he shouldn't have done that. But I couldn't forget it. This is how I would remember Ruben always.

Ruben was my batch mate; we studied different subjects but attended classes in the same floor. We became friends on a Halloween day at the students center. I hope wherever he is; he is doing good and making good friends.

And now when I got a call from Amazon, they decided to celebrate it, for Amazon job didn't require me to shift from Luton. Amazon wasn't far and they were happy for me.

‘Shervone Koraale’ was at its best of times. Everyone was singing it and everything was fine except, Ruben couldn't attend the great ‘Amazon party’.

Saturday, 21 December 2013

An Extended Existence


Proclaim! In the name of thy Lord and Cherisher, Who created man out of a mere clot of congealed blood!

Obsessed or not obsessed really matters. When you doubt your memories; obsessions do what a ventilator does when you are medically vegetative. It gives hope, time and assistance to extent the existence. It gives an option to rewind and restart. And it gives a chance to repeat and reappear. And an unimaginable repeated reappearance begins to build existence.

Why do we have ventilators in our hospitals? It makes an extension; perhaps a mechanical extension of existence. And therefore it creates an external subsistence. And it gives hope of recurrence and survival. And hope at times gives everything. And your life, liberty and pursuit of happiness are all about that hope.
An extended existence is always conditional, limited and restricted. But the hope is unconditional, unlimited and uninterrupted.

So, when you are obsessed and persistently double checking things; you create an extended existence of your own alter ego. When you doubt your memories and continuously double check what you have done, like me, you are obsessed too. And no one would ever tell you that; whatever you have done is absolutely well done.
I can see only repeated reappearance and persisting sameness everywhere. As if I am trapped in an impassable maze; which is dangerously confusing.

Wherever I walk and whatever I see force me to rewind to the beginning, to double check and to realize, how tiring is this treacherous confusion!
But it is nothing but hope that makes it repeat. The hope for a fresh beginning; without doubting memories, makes us to rewind it. But it repeats the doubt and makes everything reappear. And an obsessed one would always be in a maze, which is an impassable one; which will be forever confusing and never be solved.
An obsessed one may not reach the destination of hope. But hope will insist him to rewind and recheck. Hope will make him sick and helpless.

There is a fringe of accessibility in obsession; beyond which no psychic vibration can really answer you, if you ask, am I really gone nuts? And once you infringe the boundary; you would even refuse to ask, am I really sick? And when you realize that you trespass the sacred obsessions; you would forget to ask, am I really a goner already? Rest is freedom. And you realize that you are no longer obsessed and free at last.

And what you need is everlasting peace and prayer.

All praises due to Allah, Lord of all words; The one God to whom praise is due forever.



Wednesday, 18 December 2013

The Silence of the Lizards

I used to believe that god has given each and every living being a fair potion of grief and solitude in a life time. But I don’t feel it anymore; because I think lizards on my wall have had more than their share. They are terribly alone, sad and suspiciously slow. It seems that they are being confined to an insurmountable solitude and a perpetual grief.

I sometimes think that, they are wasting their entire life by being extremely alert all the time. Some other times, when I see them staring relentlessly, I feel that they are waiting for ‘someone’, without knowing who is that ‘someone’ and when and why is he coming anyway?!

Their never ending surveillance and uncompromising observation even without blinking at harsh tube lights is bit scary sometimes. For it appears to me, to be an ‘informed waiting’ for an approaching destiny; which will be an unbeatable one, for sure. They crawl to a slow and refrain from making any noise; and move as if they encountered a terrible bad omen. They look scared and spreading scary silence all around all the time.

Now I know how much solitude is too much; because I see it every day with scaring silence of the lizards. Even if there are two lizards on the wall, they are apart. There is an illusion of separation which divides the wall and makes them apart. Each of them seems to be the sole survivor of an apocalypse or a holocaust and abandoned after having lost everyone and everything.

The enduring silence persists all along, and day by day I get used to it. There are different ways to be brave and different ways of being brave. And I believe that, they are brave being silent; and persisting silence will bring endless endurance, to both of us.

Monday, 25 November 2013

Ayo

Ayo was my good friend. She used to give me good movies and sometimes selected songs of 'Boney M'. "Still I am Sad" reminds me off Ayo singing in the kitchen in a bright, pleasant and extremely fresh Sunday morning.

I played music every evening since she left '59 Tavistock Street'. And in that evening, 'Boney M' was singing 'still I am sad'.
"Now I found the wind is blowing time into my heart
When the wind blows hard we are apart
Still I am sad"
And I just slept off.

It was Ayo’s boyfriend who woke me up. He came to collect Ayo's letters.
I gave him all the letters addressed to Ayo since she left Tavistock Street.

Late in the evening is not really a good time to wake up. But before even forced to realize that lonely ‘nowhereness’; it should have been understood that; it is not really good an idea to sleep late in the afternoon.

Ayo was my good friend; and she left Tavistock Street last year. And after that, there was hardly any music heard early in the morning. And weekends remained lazy and lethargic. She used to make 59 Tavistock Street pleasant and maintained it till the time she left. She used to play ‘Boney M’ and ‘Akon’ every morning. She asked me not to cook during Christmas eves and New Year nights. She used to make ‘Concoction rice’ and her special ‘Plantain cakes’ for me. I remember, she likes Chinua Achebe very much as someone well-known from her place. She used to give me old classic movies. But during week days I hardly met her.

Ayo came to 59 Tavistock Street long before I did. She was not the first one I met when I moved in. It was Falu; And he actually welcomed me to 59 Tavistock Street with his own way of strange smile. He smiled at me and said “my pleasure” when I said “nice to meet you Falu”. He used to visit me often even after he shifted to Canary Wharf. And I often asked Tomy, Falu’s one and only sister, if she hears from Falu recently.

Late in the evening I would always find it difficult to figure things out. Everything appears strange and scary late in the evening. And I feel it a time when you realise the intensity with which you committed to memories. You would find yourself terribly homesick. And the worst part is perhaps that, sun sends strange lights that peep in to windows making weird shadows of shapeless edges.

I don’t remember the first movie Ayo has given me; but it was ‘The Curious Case of Benjamin Button’, she gave me last time.

One night when it started snowing in Tavistock Street, it was Ayo who called me down and said ‘it is all white out there’ already. And when I looked outside it was like cotton balls floating all around. That day I heard the sound of silence for the first time in my life, and the silence was remarkable and uninterrupted and that December lasted long with the silence of the snow.

Ayo’s boyfriend was happy and said ‘it was from bank and O2 (mobile service provider) you would get maximum letters on a regular basis. He left saying he would probably pop in next month. I asked him to tell Ayo that I would definitely miss her ‘Plantain cake’ this December.

It is no longer an evening now; it is almost night. And shades would certainly have some shapes. Tommy was getting ready to leave for night mass. It was already dark out there in the Tavistock Street. And I think this time I really miss my friend.

Thursday, 26 September 2013

Obsessions

Obsession is no longer about double checking things sometimes. Obsession is the willingness to commit to the memories and the reluctance to forget. And obsession is the acknowledgment of the repeated reappearances of the past. Many a time obsessions give a pause to all reliefs and make way for the reappearances of certain encounters, disappointments and even helplessness of the past. And in a state of being obsessed, memories would refuse to stop haunting us.

Obsession is not upsetting thoughts that appear frequently, anymore. Obsession is the compliance of genuine courtesy to the past we left behind. Everything we see, whatever we hear and wherever we walk is another sequence of repeated reappearances. Obsession is the willingness to accept the similarities. Everybody is obsessed and forced to feel déjà vus all the time.

I am obsessed, and if you are obsessed too; never be reluctant to commit to the memories. It is the obsession which makes us believe that we too have loved once and we too have walked that way and we too have lived and we too have the right to be remembered. And obsession makes us reluctant to forget. And we exist for we refuse to forget.

Wednesday, 25 September 2013

The Silence of the Snow

Surprise that, Orhan Pamuk came to Tavistock Street on 22 July. And asked me not to remember the year, for later it would perhaps appear nonsense to realize that, he gave me his 'Museum of Innocence' even before he actually started to write it.

It was a strange dream. I was watching Pamuk's interview and his speech after having received the Nobel prize; and just slept off.

I don't know the reason for all my dreams being strange and eccentric.

It was a birthday gift. And I was quite sure that nobody would get it as a birthday gift at least for next five years. So it was a unique gift; rather the only gift I would refuse to thank for. But I told him that I know the fact that acknowledging an ‘act of giving’ like this is a gentleman act. When he was about to leave, I scribbled on the wall; I may be obscure, dubious or even irresolute; but I would never be reluctant to remember and commit to memory.

It was Ayo’s boyfriend who woke me up. I gave him all the letters addressed to Ayo since she left Tavistock Street. And Pamuk was still on the screen thanking his readers and well-wishers after having received ‘Nobel prize’. And he was concluding by saying that “he writes; for he is afraid of being forgotten”. Since battery was almost empty I plugged it in once again.

Late in the evening is not really a good time to wake up. But before even forced to realize that lonely ‘nowhereness’; it should have been understood that; it is not really good an idea to sleep late in the afternoon.

Ayo left Tavistock Street last year. And after that, there was hardly any music heard early in the morning. And weekends remained lazy and lethargic. She used to make 59 Tavistock Street pleasant and maintained it till the time she left. She used to play ‘Boney M’ and ‘Akon’ every morning. She asked me not to cook during Christmas eves and New Year nights. She used to make ‘Concoction rice’ and her special ‘Plantain cakes’ for me. She liked Chinua Achebe very much as someone well-known from her place. She used to give me old classic movies. But during week days I hardly met her.

Ayo came to 59 Tavistock Street long before I did. She was not the first one I met when I moved in. It was Falu. And he actually welcomed me to 59 Tavistock Street with his own way of strange smile. He smiled at me and said “my pleasure” when I said “nice to meet you Falu”. He used to visit me often even after he shifted to Canary Wharf. And I often asked Tomy, Falu’s one and only sister, if she hears from Falu recently.

Pamuk always find it difficult to pronounce certain words. ‘Civilization’ was a classic example. He talks like a child sometimes, and appears extremely humble in interviews. Late in the evening I would always find it difficult to figure things out. Everything appears strange and scary late in the evening. And I feel it a time when you realise the intensity with which you committed to memories. You would find yourself terribly homesick. And the worst part is perhaps sun sends strange lights that peep in to windows making weird shadows of shapeless edges.

I don’t remember the first movie Ayo has given me; but it was ‘The Curious Case of Benjamin Button’, she gave me last time. One night when it started snowing in Tavistock Street, it was Ayo who called me down and said ‘it was all white out there’ already. And when I looked outside it was like cotton balls floating all around; and the silence was remarkable and uninterrupted and that December lasted long with the silence of the snow.

Ayo’s boyfriend was happy and said ‘it was from bank and O2 (mobile service provider) you would get maximum letters on a regular basis. He left saying he would probably pop in next month. I asked him to tell Ayo that I would definitely miss her ‘Plantain cake’ this December.

Pamuk concluded his speech in Stockholm Concert Hall. And I switched it off and thought of watching it next time when he visits me in my sleep. It is no longer an evening now; it is almost night. And shades would certainly have some shapes. Tommy was getting ready to leave for night mass. It was already dark out there in the Tavistock Street. And I think this time I miss my friend.

Monday, 23 September 2013

I See People Only in Slow Motions

Saturday nights are always special. George Street would find it difficult to make way for the cabs. Even when taking a tight turn, drivers would probably refuse to down the gear. There would always be someone drunk, having a narrow escape and feel satisfied with abusing the driver. Drivers always wait in a long line in their cabs one behind the other; perhaps down to the ‘Eleven Screens Cinemas’ at the street end. They pick people from ‘Liquids’ and ‘Galaxy’ and sometimes from ‘Royal casino’. And most of the times they are asked to stop on their way at ‘Roosters’ or ‘Peri peri’. The night would remain incomplete without ‘chicken n chips’. Every street would smell fried hot potatoes.
Cab drivers assist drunk girls to get inside. And if you dare to condemn those midnight beauties they would probably say that “I may be drunk, Miss, but in the morning I will be sober and you will still be ugly”!! Bouncers would find it hard to keep peace among the fighting ‘cow boys’. People dance in the ballrooms.

And when I enter the ballrooms, I see people only in slow motions. Many people would dance in the ballroom. They drift along the vast reaches of the ballroom as if nobody is watching. They sometimes float down the corners clasping in the hands of each other.
Every night I used to walk these streets in the town centre. ‘Brewery taps’ and cemetery fence line the Vicarage Street. Cemetery looks beautiful like a garden. Maple trees and bougainvilleas make it colourful. It never reminds me of any wandering bloodthirsty vampires. Cemetery was just behind the night club. And do not expect silence around in the weekends.

Girls bob ‘up and down’ out in the street as if they refuse to get rid of the hangover. Love knows no reasons and waits for no logic, it just happens and when they fall in love, taxi drivers continue to refuse to down the gear and George Street would find it again hard to make way for the cabs. They are drunk, Miss and in the morning they would find no reason to believe that they ever fall in love. I remember the story of Narcissus; the Greek hero who denied the love of nymph Echo and as a punishment, “he was doomed to fall in love with his own reflection in a pool of water. Unable to consummate his love, Narcissus pined away and changed into a flower that bears his name the Narcissus”. You would find it out in the cemetery.
And again in the ballrooms, I see people only in slow motions. Many people would dance in the ballroom. They drift along the vast reaches of the ballroom as if nobody is watching. They sometimes float down the corners clasping in the hands of each other. They dance all through the night. And I used to walk these streets all around.

Tuesday, 27 August 2013

Repeated Reappearences

I don't remember when I went to see the waters for the first time. All the beautiful seascapes I have seen thereafter  have become part of my memories. Once memories were music. They redeemed emotions and retained them with rhythm, melody and harmony. Some other times memories were fragrance  and colors. They perceived past and preserved them with repeated sensations and similarities. Memories make me believe some of the moments smell the same and I am  familiar with these odors. Memories were often colors.  And they create unbelievable illusions. It appears that life is an indispensable sequence of  deja vus. Everywhere I witness encounters with disagreeable reappearances of familiarity. Even my first encounter with new situations appear to be a reappearance of similar occasions I have already experienced before. Familiar  compilation of different colors, similar melodies and familiar fragrance make me feel deja vus all the time. And among those melodies, some remind me of long lost get-together(s). Few among those many colors remind me of long route road trips. I find people are busy making merry. They move around, they laugh, they ridicule and they even forget to remember themselves.

I feel my past has got enduring existence when I find inevitable sameness everywhere. The same old fragrance, colors and melodies make me refuse to believe that whatever appears is not a reappearance. And my return from these deja vus was the realization that whatever appears beautiful, colorful and fragrant has substitutes in memories. And the end of these deja vus would be an unfamiliar encounter. Where nothing would really smell similar, nothing would appear familiar and no object would reflect familiar colors anymore.

Another time when I went to see the waters; it was the endlessness of the waters that made me obscure. The uninterrupted tides repeatedly reappeared. And I found an agreeable reappearance of sameness one after another. Same old sea again. But I never refuse to watch these sameness and familiarity, no matter agreeable or disagreeable. Perhaps these inevitable similarities would be responsible for making me an insider. I hate being insecure while having strange encounters that make me always an outsider.

And as memories appear,not all my thoughts are complete and perceptible. And I always love to see the waters and their agreeable sameness and uninterrupted reappearance. I feel it is a perpetual demonstration of my deja vus where I can find a great source of comfort and company.

Sunday, 25 August 2013

Gecko Calls and My Pursuit of Happiness

That is a 'gecko call' again, desperately seeking my attention. I have lizards all around. They approach my feet unnoticed. They crawl along the narrow shades of the terrace wall. Few of them guard my late night possessions. My life, my liberty, and my pursuit of happiness, on my terrace, during late nights. They keep guard over my nights. I have never had such a loyal company anywhere. They watch over me when I read, when I write. They take positions and move, if not always, around, when I walk on my terrace. Some of them never come out from the tube frames; as if they have been strategically deployed there! They hardly chase any flies unless and until flies come in their way. They never blink and keep a perpetual watch over me. I feel it as a genuine and caring one. They never even blink at the harsh tube light. When I touch the walls, they respond. Sometimes they stay back. They shed their tails but they never try to escape.

I sometimes feel that lizards follow when I walk on the streets. I hear gecko callings all around sometimes. I have trouble sleeping in the night. I feel lizards fly around me. Perhaps a hallucination. But does it happen when I sleep? Freud's 'dream psychology' is insufficient'. I will ask my sister who studies psychology.
Lizards watch me every night. And it seems that I slowly begin to enjoy their company. They chirp when I take my cloths off. They gaze when i walk naked. They stick their tongue out at me when I masturbate. When I go to bed, I never see them on the walls. And I never find where they come from. I feel that they keep listening to what I murmur. I am having their unconditional attention. And I keep talking to them. I expect some day they would respond. Some day they would start really talking to me. And I have more stories to tell them. But as of now they are just watching over me every night. A perpetual obligation from which they never try to creep way.

They sometimes remind me of those nights when I was suffering from fever. Those nights were hard. When I was terribly ill; monsters used to fly around me. When I closed my eyes; these shapeless monsters used to float around. Those nights were all hallucinated.

Lizards offer me a ceremonial guardianship. They crawl behind one another until they get to their positions. An unsolicited and unconditional company during my late 'night hours'. So far, the 'blinks' of mine and theirs must have been simultaneous and agreed upon each other. Otherwise I never see them blink. They hardly move; and if at all they move; they crawl to a standstill all the time. And this is how I was forced to stop ignoring them. They are dedicated. Whenever I talk to them, even busy ones slow to a crawl. Whom should I apologize if in case I fall in love with one among those many lizards. Answering a gecko call becomes an imminent inevitability. I submit myself to all unaccountable hallucinations of mine. They protect me and they validate my pleasure seeking. And there is another gecko call again. And if I answer it, they would never stop calling me and I would never refuse to answer them!!.

Independence day Kites

Yesterday was independence day. In all the years of the recent past, hardly any day of festive brought me something to be remembered. They have always been making their way to oblivion. When I woke up in the morning, there were already celebrations started off on all the terraces around. I thought I woke up bit late! It made me confused that; was it the freedom to run kites that we got in 15th august 1947? For that many kites were making their way up above the buildings. That too in a verity of flashy colors in different verities. And they were countless in number. A majority of them were in Indian tricolor. And to my surprise; I have never seen kites even in Calicut beach in so abundance in this kind. And it was not just running the kites that added to their merry making; but it was also very much part of the day to break the threads and make other kites go off the path and then make a strange noise.
People were a lot everywhere, on all terraces. And among them were kids with playful mischief. Some of them were trying to eat kites. Some other were busy tearing it off and yet some others throwing away the kites in pieces and getting new one to try with! But none made any objection. They were free to do whatever they wanted to do. And whatever they did was absolutely well done! Any way it was interesting, noisy merry making all around. I had no kite and I didn't know about it either. Otherwise I would have bought a few kites for the day. I really wished that I had a kite. And of course I felt bad.

Every one was busy running their kites. No one spares even a single moment. Firm with their kite running so high and damaging other kites. That is how they satisfy their pursuit of happiness. And it is important to make sure that no one get a chance to make one's kite overfly. Any one watching this splendid kite extravaganza would definitely love to fly a kite right then and there. That much festivity filled the moments.

The building; just the right side of mine was still under construction. And the workers and their families were staying in the ground floor of that building. And I have seen a boy there often. And in these sound and fury of the celebration; he was also watching from the top of that building. I couldn't understand whether it was happiness or wonder that made his face so strange looking. He was watching each and every kite flying in the heights. And looked at those magnificently flying kites one after the other. And in a regular interval he looked at the laughing kids who run the kites, most of them were at his age, and he looked at their patents helping hold the threads, whenever the wind blow and take the kite on along its way. And when kites change their direction, he also walked the same direction looking at them. And he walked all over the terrace looking at the kites flying so high. He seemed to be too tired of looking at the kites and the kids who fly them every now and then. Another pursuit of happiness; but an uninterrupted and helpless one. But still he was staring at them and of course at the kids too. He continued to do so. Whenever the wind blew; kites made a quick turning. And it accompanied an interesting sound something he was not familiar with but; now he learned to expect kite, making that interesting sound. That made him laugh. A joyful laughter. Then he suddenly looked at the kite runners. But no one was looking at him and he had no kite either. Then he again started looking the kites in the sky. I felt that his small neck was aching after looking up so long. He was looking down for a while to relax so that he can resume watching the kites afresh. And looked all of them again one after the other. To my surprise; all of a sudden he started rushing down on the stairs like an athlete. It made me afraid that he might fall off the steps. I too rushed to the corner and looked down. A kite was their on the ground. It must have been a lost one. Any way he felt like treasured all of a sudden. An unexpected and invaluable gift. He grabbed it with extreme pleasure. He hold it firmly on to his chest and rushed up. I was waiting to watch him having a kite on the terrace. But when he appeared unfortunately the kite was damaged. It might have happened when he rushed over the stairs. And also he might have never thought that he couldn't fly it without a thread. He was helpless. What happened was he got a damaged kite and that too by coincidence. That's it. And nothing good was going to happen which makes rest of his day a happy one. And I was not sure whether he was really expecting something that kind of miracle. Any way he was trying to fly it by holding at the end of the broken thread. But that was too short. And he was not just trying; he was trying so hard to make it fly. He even ran two three steps to give it a push. I feared that he might fall off the terrace. I was not sure that if he knew that the kite would never fly! But he had no other expectations but to try. I don't remember what kind of thoughts filled my mind that time. Even if I didn't know his name I called him by some name. But it was the family on the front terrace who turned back. I called him again and this time he heard me. I asked him to come down. He didn't understand anything and didn't respond. But I insisted on him to come down. Half willingly he climbed down the stairs. I too went down.

His hair and cloths were dirty. But his smile was beautiful and innocent. He never asked me why he was asked to come down. I asked his name. Aravind. I gave him some money to buy kite. Not just one kite but a handful of kites. To my wonder , he thought he was given money to buy kites for me! But when I said it was for him; I felt the dirty dust on his face vanished all of a sudden in the wind. Perhaps it was his gratitude to me that filled his eyes. His eyes were shining. He smiled at me and I smiled at him too. By holding the money strong he ran away.

Aravind was trying to fly his kite. This time it was not a broken kite. But a new one. Like those at which he was staring since morning. A beautiful and colorful one. Now his kite has a thread which will make it fly as much high as it wishes. And he would never feel bad if in case the wind takes it away from him. For he is now having at least ten kites. Kites in a verity of colors! But may be because he was not familiar with flying a kit it sometimes refused to fly. But he was happy trying with his own kite. He regularly looked at my terrace and smiled at me. Whenever the kite flew a while and fell at his feet, he used to smiled at me. Sometimes little shy. Then again tried to make it fly. Thus and so he used to look at me and smiled at me whenever his kite flies and falls. Sometimes he was looking the kites which kept on the floor. And he kept a small stone on it so that it may not fly away. He laughed wholeheartedly for a moment as if he became a billionaire all of a sudden. And I wished may that laughter be there on his face forever. Those kites were having the colours of his freedom. And I felt his laughter was indeed of the freedom. He was still smiling at me..

Thursday, 15 August 2013

Darkness

And at the end it is darkness again.
Inception of darkness at the end of the day
It is the darkness which makes the difference
Breaking these two excitements of the entity
The dawn and the twilight..!
Life In a way, taking a walk from darkness to darkness
Realizing the intensity and insularity of darkness
I made it time and again enough to get lost in-between
I made it time and again enough to wander and finally to be nowhere
It seems to me to be more than real,
more than live and more or less love
These are not excitements any more.
I hope I will be too busy to get excited
I hope I will get long lost dawn back
I hope I will get long lost twilight back
Because I realize it is the darkness which makes the difference
Darkness is nothing but the solitude at it's best!
And it happens every now and then all over again around me!!
(and it isn't the end....)

Tuesday, 2 July 2013

Solitude; I mean an insurmountable one

It was last weekend I washed my cloths last time. And it was yesterday, in the evening, I found that I was left with no washed cloths. Yesterday I was not in a mood to wash; and I spent the whole day in my room. Sometimes I feel that life is very much about routine. Since I didn't wash my cloths yesterday, I have a reason to take a day off today. I have no idea when will I really feel like washing my cloths next time; perhaps an uncertainty which is strictly confined to my immediate surroundings. And for that kind of reasons I feel sometimes that life has hardly anything to do with discipline and submission. All I know is that, at times, life takes a pause to rearrange the disorders and makes sure that cloths are washed and everything appears normal. sometimes it is inevitable as I fail to keep up. It was a rainy month of some not so long years back I had a puff of a cigarette for the first time; and I never tried it again since then. Sometimes I feel that there is an insoluble unresponsiveness inside; unresponsive even to lethal venom perhaps. I am having long nights. This month almost eighteen nights. Perhaps some of the longest nights in my life. I am not really sure about the numbers; eighteen or nineteen may be much more than that. I am not good with numbers. They always confuse me. They make me feel that I am mathematically disabled; almost beyond repair. I wake up in the morning everyday; no much doubt about that; because I see people get themselves in a hurry in the morning, sitting on the terrace, feeding the doves sometimes. free time is slow time always. I have friends. In fact quite a lot of them; even in the north western coast of north Atlantic Ocean. I hope they are all doing good and making every moment of their life a memorable one. I have cloths to wash, I have classes to attend and I have people around me to be made feel that I behave reasonably normal all the time. And this time I feel that won't fail trying to keep up because I find solitude is an insurmountable one

Stories of impossible bullshits

Pablo Neruda came to ALM hostel in 2007, and comrades in the hostel said ‘come and see the blood in the streets’. I love comrades for I too have seen old cowboy films, magnificently telling stories of impossible bullshits. And I too have decided once to taste alcohol to overcome the impossibilities, to break the chains and to mould myself into a cynic. But in my case not all my decisions will ever get instigated. I love comrades for fighting back every now and then even if they are unaccompanied. I feel that since every immediate moment demands a hopeful jump into an absolute unknown, better make an unaccompanied attempt. Sometimes it takes me a while to understand the surroundings. I am confused whether it is ALM or Tavistock Street or some other place where I have never been before! All I know is that I jumped into an unknown. Unaccompanied comrades of mine laugh at me for my undesirable confession and my unsolicited surrender. They deserve attention; if I fail to identify my immediate surroundings and fail to forget.
Robert came to Tavistock Street in 2009 just before the Christmas week. And that Christmas was full of ‘bivarova’; some polish wine or beer or whatever I don’t remember. For him Christmas was all about finishing bottles! And for that reason I had to make him feel an uninterrupted and unaccompanied Christmas Eve. Christmas time is snowing time always. And when it is snowing I could feel the dew point becoming gentle and going below the freezing point. And I don’t need any physical realities to make it happen. Excuse me once more for being obscure and incomplete. Now dew point is below freezing point and it is snowing here in Gujarat.

Strange platforms!!



Calicut Railway Station:- 12283 Durantho Express, as always late in the night. Someone seeks my attention! She had my attention for a while and arrival of my train on platform number 'one' has been confirmed. I boarded the train; and nothing unusual in boarding a train as hundreds of others doing the same every day. Everything appears normal. Train reminds me of those journeys which I have never been able to travel with you. Let me let you know that journeys of all kind would normally be a pleasure; but not always! Delhi is quite a distant destination, if it is a train journey. And; almost an unfriendly environment would probably trouble you at least for a few hours in the beginning. These journeys have been part of my desires and perhaps of my hopes for a long time. And now I am used to it. Long journeys with short pauses for a crossing or perhaps for an engine change! I could easily understand how you would feel when you have to travel alone. Though I have never travel with you, nor have I sat beside you on board but still I can imagine the loneliness and difficulties you would probably have to face in a journey of this kind. I made all my journeys unaccompanied. If you ask me if I am disappointed; I would perhaps say that, I would prefer in my life not to accept or regret a gift I have not been offered. This is of course a long journey and doesn't matter who makes it; but I am always concerned about your train and your journeys and certainly not about your destinations. My fellow travelers remain strangers and I suppose few of them are holiday makers!

I am almost in the middle of my journey and after leaving rails behind, between two extremes, here I am waiting for another passing. Another pause, certainly unexpected!! Many a time life is too serious a matter and a state of repose until something expected happens. But still hope is too genuine a reason makes us move on. Journey never ends here; engine resumes journey with annoying horn; but certainly makes us alert. Long 'not taken roads' ahead..., unmanned level-crossings, strange platforms!! As I am not able to travel with you; you always mind the gap.

Thursday, 25 April 2013

I don't like it here..!!

I don't remember the year but July 22nd was a saturday. Just another coincidence as always. Everything remained the same, except my age. My surroundings too appeared having no unusual surprises for the day. I doubt the memory of my surroundings. I feel they always prefer to ignore my presence. I keep on watching their strange appearances all the time. When I watch them here it seems I am apart. What if one day I am no more to check whether I am being remembered or not?. It is true that I left nothing significant anywhere. It was just coincidence that I met people, talked to strangers, made them feel something and sometimes nothing, laughed at jokes, loved, and quarreled. And it was again a part of that coincidence that I too have studied once the same subjects with hundreds of others. I too have walked the same way all alone. I too have ignored the warnings coming late for the classes and I too have had friends there once. But it doesn't give me any privilege to be remembered as I remember them all. Different times at different places meeting hundreds of those strangers passing them for once and for all. Leaving behind turning points of time and space sooner or later.! I am having delusions all around. Of all those troubled delusions I have, the most uncomfortable are perhaps the swaying trees and their falling leaves, making me feel apart. I have uncomfortable distractions. Though I hate the state of being obsessed, I doubt I am obsessed. Memories want to be in love with something which could be a great source of comfort and company. I read, write and often rewrite few of them again. I am even reading my favorite ones twice or more. Why would I be worried thinking of some coincidences happened somewhere around my surroundings if they don't even feel my presence?! Another time in July it was snowing all around me. I remember the year and it was 2009. But not the day; I don't remember that coincidence any more.

Sunday, 21 April 2013

Snowing again...!!


I admit mistakes of memories, their presence in my obsessions and their unwillingness to be accountable. But still it doesn't change any thing considerable. I always remember the silence of the snow when it falls without any break. But I think I sometimes forget that it is cold only in memories. I feel like putting jacket on. I have hallucination. Experiencing something which doesn't exist my immediate outside. I have trouble feeling it all the time. I have trouble that nights get extended. It is snowing all over. I find no reason to sleep when it is snowing outside. I find people feeling comfortable when they are together. They walk in the night, they smoke and they throw snowballs. It never hurts anyone. They are for me those who come from places unknown. But I see them whenever it is snowing. Many a time they pass me and leave me behind. Sometimes they take a while to feel my presence. But it hardly happens. I always feel great jealous of long route lorry drivers. They drive long distance their own. I always imagine them crossing the falling snow all along the long way. It is a remarkable night when it is snowing. And the most obvious of all my hallucination is '59 Tavistock street'. A wonderful place to be. I think I start seriously missing another far away countryside. Which is just a passing landmass for those lorry drivers of 'sainsburry's 'superdrugs' and 'river island'. I once tried a part time job in those long route roadways. Another obsession of unaccountable memory.! There are poems I am not able to write. Like an unfinished and interrupted snowfall. I always feel sad about that. I can walk my own all the way to the end. I think I find comfort with the silence of the snow. Now I am walking unknown paths and it snowing all over again. I walk the whole day, whole evening and sometimes the whole night perhaps seeing early hours of the dawn. What matters is the silence of the snow. People passing me. I sometimes watch them making love. Together they make it all about breaking the silence, interrupting the snowfall. I find distance from love making strangers. On every path there is somebody who never finds people identifies his presence and offers him a company. I really don't care. Another handful of things which make no difference to my life. I walk a long way. May be a new way, a new night may be. East or west, i don't know, perhaps too early to fix a direction. Place unknown and strange enough for yet another handful of things which make no difference. And I always prefer to watch things that make no difference to my life. The silence is much better and comfortable.