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.

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.

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.

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.

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..

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....)

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.

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.

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.

Moon, The dream stealing thief..!

Tonight I am not that happy having few stars in the sky. They are not many in numbers but certainly there are more than one.They are pacific and chosen few and scattered here and now and there is a deep distance between them, But still the moon, the dream stealing bandit, shines all around and all over again.

So I am sad that, it happens as much another time.

Moon, the sneaky double dealer,

Cheated me into believing him a well wisher's fluke.

I always made wishes far beyond dreams and reveries.

And today I am left with questions unanswered and disappointed,

When it is about to make another awful sleepless night.

Tonight I am not that happy having few stars in the sky.

I am sad that, it happens as much another time.

Another full moon..!! I was told that; "see the moon and make a wish"...!!

I just couldn't be anymore unhappier to have missed my chances to be the happiest...!!

Am I not courageous and strong?

Now you listen to me
I salute my blathering alter ego, who now lies buried deep,
He, who always made me fight for those who made him make me fight,
And made me strong always to win the battle of titles and love and many others. 

Now I am retired from the fear of being forgotten,
And tired of being strong, tough and courageous.
But he deserves not to be humiliated, but a decent expel,
Which perhaps serves the least dishonor..!
I fear sleepless nights adding extra hours I feel uncomfortable, lost myself in the darkness
I am not prepared sleeping with my long shadow.I guess it happens all over again, But this time it is not my friend whom I miss
I think I just miss my alter ego..!
But still I made him apart not to be disgraced.
I made him away to the place unknown.
I am not worried that you forget me
because I am no longer afraid of being forgotten..!
Now you tell me, Am I m not courageous and strong?
Now you salute me and honor me
because I deserve it for a great deal of genuine reasons.

Festival of colours

Tavistock Street, 22nd July 2009Another festival of colours.!! I used to collect colours. I used to touch them and often I used to feel them. But I could never make them happy. Still my habit continued to be the same, went on collecting colours and colours continued to dominate my emotions with deeply coloured reveries. I believe that the ability to see beauty in everything I wanted to be in love with has a right in itself to get them and be with them. And today here I am , watching things that hardly make any changes in my life. Everyone was making merry in the festival of colours. I said take my colours too. I gave my colours, I let them free and made them happy..!! Then I thought I could walk freely and unnoticed, because everywhere it was the festival of colours. After that it was obvious that I wanted time to pass quickly. But sadly I was strained and forced to be a witness watching the passing of every second of every hour.! Still colours were not far from my mind. For me; collecting colours was an unstoppable wave of touch and a great source of comfort. Some times I miss that touch so much. The moment I came to know that my presence has been detected and my movements are being recorded, I revealed that I am no longer collecting any colours even if I miss their touch so much. But I genuinely hope that colours are happy..!!

We Know All the Tricks..!!

on Wednesday, 02 November 2011 at 00:40

I think I have to make the precise choice of the absolute meaning which could serve the purpose of being a great source of comfort and support to begin with; so that I would be able to express, confess and furthermore shed my tears as I have never been able to do so for the last few years. . I would consider “Tonight I can write the saddest lines”; But strictly and certainly for tonight only, that too because I was genuine and sincere but fortunately failed to pretend on a regular basis. I am happy that I have been shunned and ignored over a period of not less than one year not because of any sort of mistakes of mine; but because of the ‘misdeeds’ that I never ignored and avoided them and their discrimination and favouritism. I am sad only because I believe that I didn’t deserve such an abrupt end that appears to be a failure. But I am extremely delighted to realise that this is a deferred success and an intentionally postponed triumph. Still I am sad on behalf of my innate weaknesses and for the sake of my revered emotions.!! even if I am happy here at a safe distance; it irritates me to hear from the lonely warehouse and dark christmas room in my memory that "we know all the tricks to bring you the treats"..!!! and my memories will never stop haunting me as it never did before.

Portraying the ‘Islamic’ Middle East; The Zionist Screenplay and the Repertory by Popular Media

I disagree in the name of Allah, the beneficent and the most merciful, with those who advocate violence and terror in the name of Islam. And I am deeply and completely convinced by the truth that the act of terror has nothing to do with the set of guidelines exemplified categorically in the holy Quran and of course with those people who have better understanding of Quranic revelations and certainly not with those who go astray. But having said that; the portrayal of Islam and Islamic world based on a very bigotry and intolerant propaganda of popular media which has been the characteristic of the narrow mindedness of the western perception of Islam and Islamic culture is something which can never be accepted. To understand the core issues and conflicts in the current Islamic world in a fair and unbiased perspective, one has to primarily use common sense which unfortunately often appears to be largely uncommon in the midst of economic and political interests. Getting a legitimate portrait of the colossal turmoil and disruption in the Arab lands, with the reality as it cannot be detached from its contexts of immense significance, appears to be risky and impossible to an extent. We have been discussing a historic Israel- Palestine conflict over a hell a lot of period, fighting and executing the nasty autocrats of the north African and middle east region and imposing a well structured ‘Democratic’ or ‘Transitional’ governments. The leading link throughout the sequences of events which craft the exclusive story lines of ‘Islamic Middle East’ is nothing but massacres and unending causalities. Consequently people in the Middle East are destined to live in deep crisis no matter whatever names like ‘Palestine conflict’, ‘overthrowing autocracy’, ‘UN- Resolution’, NATO-Intervention’ , ‘war on terror’ and recently ‘Arab Spring’ you may suggest to the entire process of Zionist propaganda.

As long as the politics of portrayal and the propaganda of broadcasting of Islam and Islamic world continue to be the same as it has been over a period of technological and economic ‘paramountcy’ of western and Zionist lobby; the process of regulated system of stereotyping Muslims and Islamic way of life will prevail. As one among those millions who have been continuously and systematically misrepresented and misinterpreted, I would certainly not demand any ample alternative means of covering Islam and portraying middle east, but at the same time as an Indian, who learned to respect the diversity for the sake of unity, I would plead my friends to realise the reality rather than advocating the stereotypes. All the burning conflicts in the region possess a long history and an origin which can be traced back to several decades. Since Israel came in to being as a self declared Jewish State in 1948 the entire history of the Palestinians as they are the legitimate owners of the land seemed to have been forgotten. Since then the entire torture under which the innocent Palestinians suffered severe cruelty from the Zionist extremists appeared to have been portrayed a legitimate counter attack from the Israel in order to prevent Islamic extremism. The irony of the history and the tactics of the portrayal succeeded to an extent which made us forget the fact that the innocent Palestinians were paying the price for what happened to Jews under European racism and holocaust in which Islamic world has nothing to do with. Today we are forced to start our debate by beginning with the rights of Israelis.

Muslims as a community and Islam as their religion and Middle East as their land are very familiar to western world not necessarily through an impartial and fair perspective but certainly through an embedded and well structured portrayal. Muslims usually play the role of villain in their movies. ‘Jihad in America’ is a notorious example. The western media funded and controlled by the Zionists made the perception by and large throughout the world by repeating the sensational revelations on a daily basis that the Islamic threat is a perpetuating danger which we have to live with. This is how the course of stereotyping succeeds in creating misconceptions among the people in western world. Religious identities of Islam like ‘Burqa wearing woman’ and ‘man with a long beard’ helped their job easy to mark the link between Islam and extremism more colourful. I do not wonder how the atrocious Israel succeeded to be recognised by the international community while the legitimate owners of the Palestine that is the innocent Palestinians are still left at the mercy of the brutal Israel forces. But I certainly wonder how the resistance of these innocent people has been portrayed and identified as the violent act of Islamic extremists..!!

I have genuine reason to say a million ‘No’ to these cliché portrayals and repeated misrepresentations of Islam and Muslim world by the western popular media. And I certainly do not believe that the ongoing outrage against Islam is a spontaneous response but I find it rather a pre planned and well routed paranoia which has been deployed systematically throughout the western world. That is the reason why we have seen in Italy the state banned burqa where a total population is nearly 60 million out of which the Muslim population is less than one and a half million. Imagine how small the number of Muslim women even if the whole Muslim women wear a burqa. The number is undoubtedly e negligible. But burqa has been banned and wearing burqa is punishable. What a ludicrous act..?!. I am extremely worried about the fact that this culture of news broadcasting and portrayal of Islam not only through the news channels but through the films will have serious impact in future with more severe dangers. As the western youth seems to be the most entertained and least informed generation the world has ever seen, seeing their hero chasing and killing the Islamic extremists in a thrilling movie; creating the notion that Islam is of terror and Muslims are terrorists and they are the enemies of the west. So in that world the heroism is eradicating the Islam as it is perceived as the major threat.

As the repertory of Islam by the western popular media succeeded in creating the picture of Islam as a spectrum of representatives starts from Bin Laden from one end , Saddam Hussein next, Hosni Mubarak and Colonel Gaddafi in the line; the entire world tend to take the stereotype in to account. So many questions which make me worry as a Muslim. Why don’t the philanthropists identify those who want a never ending turmoil in the Middle East? Why do the Arabs not want the rest of the world to identify the Middle East as the real beneficiaries of Islam? Why does ‘Middle East’ always appear related to bombing and insurgency? Why there is nothing good about the Middles East comes out through the televisions in our dining room?

I am extremely unhappy that the number of people who strongly believe that Islam is of terror is large in number all around me. I hardly get chance to talk to them. And it makes me feel very bad to understand the fact that if I am this much worried how worried the Palestinians would be?!!; Who have been tortured, attacked, deprived of dignity and dispossessed and displaced to refugee camps for a long period of time. This note is certainly to my friends to whom I wish to talk about these controversial issues. This note is to those friends of mine who recently willingly or unwillingly favoured the Zionist screenplay and the repertory by popular media of the portrayal of Islam. God save innocents all over the world.

On the Day of Eid

It is on the day of Eid that people hug deeply and keep hatred away from their hearts. And it is on the day of Eid that some people get categorised into the group of winners. And the winners are those who carry the good deeds and endeavours they have been doing throughout the holy month until the next month of fasting that is the month of Ramadan comes in the next year. And it is on the day of Eid that I expect and do really wish to be hugged. I do not want to be forgotten when there is an Eid for me to expect wishes. I do not want to be uncertain when there is an Eid for me to be remembered. All these matter a lot for the reason that I can’t bear it to any further extend as it really hurts me. I can no longer be a gentleman, if at times ‘remain silent’ appears to be a gentleman act. I extremely expected your wishes on my birthday but you didn’t. It was much awaited and most anticipated. you used to send me birth day wishes, you used to talk to me on my birthdays, you used to give me birth day gifts and you used to make me happy. It took me twelve months to realise this piece of information that I sometimes do love someone and sometimes don’t. And this is the time when I really feel that I don’t want to be a ‘nobody’ anymore anywhere; neither on facebook nor out on the street, coffee shops, pizza huts wherever you all use to get together nowadays. I would really like to be loved as you loved me once. And what now is nothing but I really expect Eid wishes from you especially dedicated for me. But if you forget this time again, doesn’t matter, and I will never cry, but Insha Allah, I have years ahead and I will wait for certain to make sure that I am not crafty but genuine. But you can never make me a fool because of the very true reason that I am not a sinner nor a saint. And finally, you can never laugh at me for the reason that I am not mad but necessarily and genuinely sensible.

Blockbuster Lokpal, Chartbuster Hazare and Other ‘facebook’ Super Hits

Popular agitations and public protests have been largely fashioned and embroidered as a ‘get-together of groups out on the streets having a facebook birth to share in common’ regardless of the issues and matters concerned. In other words celebrating the scope of ‘social networking’ beyond the cyber space. The ‘facebook model of mass protest’ begins with Egyptians right from the much heard, most viewed and best copied ‘Tahrir Square’ , but it does not end there. It spreads across the borders. Bloggers, facebook friends, online activists, writers across the countries join together on the steps of the capital cities singing the hymn ‘power in people is much stronger than people in power’. And what happens is; perceptions become headlines and emotions and sensations, to a large extend, continue to dominate the debate. Film stars and other celebrities reach out to the public and tagging a flamboyant label on their empty luggage of public interest. Our screen heroes showing their thumps up through micro blogging sites and the entire events turn out to be a national best seller story or a youth roaring success. Further, television anchors extend the span of their shows by coming out of the studio to a rather busy coffee shop right in the middle of capital cities to have a livelier debating feast.

Among the so called protests commenced so far across the globe, starting from Egypt then Sudan, Bahrain, Libya and recently London, the India specific side of the story is the most up to date and in a sense significantly ‘hottest’ in the list. All these outrages do necessarily share something in common and that leads all of us to a robust equation of ‘connecting through chatting to meeting’. But India could have chosen a better craft of storytelling. Our great nation, the world’s largest democracy had exercised its prior general election two years back. The country; where around 70% of its estimated 1.3 billion population are less than 35 years of age and of course many of them indisputably first-time voters, appointed the new government in the office through the world’s largest free and fair democratic election process. And it was the 15^th general election in our country. We the people of India are enormously au fait with democratic system and parliamentary government. Now the major cities in the country are on an emergency like situation. Despite the fact that there are effective mechanisms in our country and we are dealing with our problems, spotting the culprits and punishing the robbers in our systematic way of procedure even if not as speedy as someone would want to, we are challenging the primary principles of democracy and the basics of our constitution. And the solution is a systematic self correcting course of actions without damaging the supremacy of our parliament and pre-eminence of our constitution. Law cannot and should not be made out on the streets of Delhi or Chennai or Bangalore.

Here is a Gandhian rights activist, Anna Hazare , Few spiritual leaders including an affluent Yoga teacher, and a group of youngsters seem to have trivialised Gandhi’s well experimented and well succeeded principle of ‘sathyagraha’ by ‘demanding’ instead of ‘urging’ as Gandhiji had applied sathyagraha as an effective tool to get things done. Protesters go on ‘fast unto death’ proposing a demand to be approved contained by a specific deadline. If Gandhiji was alive he would have gone on ‘fast unto death’ against these protesters! But remembering the cliched statement that, ‘India is a land of paradoxes’ makes things quite unsurprising to an extent. We have done huge enough to Gandhiji quite early in the post independence history. He conferred his life on a long lasting struggle for freedom of our country and in return we shot him down brutally! India indeed is a land of paradox! It took us more than three score long years to have a debate on the fundamentals of the Gandhian philosophy of ‘fast unto death’. We trivialise, misuse and underestimate the message and meaning of ‘fast unto death’.

What makes Hazare’s movement lively and sensational? Is that ‘sathyagraha’? It is not the case; if it was the factor no one would have ignored ‘Irom Sharmila’. She has been on her ‘sathyagraha’ for eleven years. Then what makes Hazare a national hero? Here comes the truth of the perception v/s reality debate. Here comes theory v/s practical debate and here comes the emotion V/S action debate. Hazare is getting tremendous support from the ‘netizens’ of metropolitan cities where figures showing an unprecedented ‘diffusion of internet’ happening recently. The protesters having glamorous Bollywood stars on their side and are making politics and politicians our enimies. Pointing fingers at politicians for what is going wrong is likely to become an area of interest for media. And the Bollywood stars make the protest an issue of ‘public interest’. Now the anti corruption protest turned out to be an ‘anti constitutional’ disagreement; a disagreement on the fundamental principle of supremacy of parliament.

Fight against corruption is the only way out to ‘reconstruct’ our demolished ‘incredible India’ from being a ‘country of scam’. Corruption and corruptive elements in our system should be terminated. No questions about that. Now the scam after scam has put our system on trial. Let our elected representatives’ act on behalf of us. Let the shrine of our democracy function fairly. Let not a chosen few overact against the fundamentals of our democracy and parliamentary system. And let not politically biased activists hijack our right to protest for petty political scoring. And let not forget the primary reason for us to hug each other that “WE, THE PEOPLE OF INDIA, having solemnly resolved to constitute India into a SOVEREIGN SOCIALIST SECULAR DEMOCRATIC REPUBLIC”.

London Riots; the Criminality of a 'Most Entertained and Least Informed' Generation

London has been a riotous trench for more than a half week time period. Hostility and violence initially broke out in Tottenham in north London. Now the chaos extends to spread through major cities. Despite the reason behind the outrageous retort by the youngsters in the country, the entire shape and flow of the so called protest has been largely hijacked and the control has been profoundly taken over by the gangsters, anti social groups and certainly the criminals of the pockets in the city. The primary indications and the manner of the riot suggest that the protesters demonstration in Tottenham against the deadly police shooting has nothing to do with the ongoing insurgency which causes a major law and order threat in the country. The British history can never be quoted anywhere in any context without referring to the history of riot, revolt and rebellion. The empire has seen many of its kind and even devastating than the fresh violence erupted this weekend. But the only difference is that, this time they are facing a huge stone pelt and an unprecedented fury from the youngsters on their home ground. The statement of the prime minister David Cameroon that “if you are old enough to commit these crimes, you are old enough to get punished”, indicates the retaliation is soon to be set off. Starting out investigations, setting out probe squads, recalling the parliament and arresting the suspects; the courses of action and formalities have set up and moved on. But the story never ends here. Britain has a long way ahead and that too politically, socially and morally blurred to pick and mix the possible clues to answer the question ‘what made London riotous and what went wrong?’

It has been more than two decades when a similar riot erupted in Brixton and Toxteth of south London in 1981. Things have been changed and England and London in particular has moved on. But some realities still left deliberately unpicked and wilfully unattended. Both riots seem to have something to share in common, and that is unfortunately revealing the old-fashioned racist countenance of western entity. The issue is as old as the British history and not likely to have an abrupt end. This topic is simply another much debated historic shame on the entire western world. Now what brings an attention from a youth perspective to the fresh violence and extraordinary riot in London? What is robust about London riot? The answer is strange but true.!! The course of events happened in the cities for the last few days is unparallel and unprecedented; no doubts or questions about that. But these events have become all of a sudden organised, shaped and directed sharply to certain targets. A genuine protest against the fatal police shooting became a sequence of organised crimes, robberies and loots throughout the cities. And interestingly the shops and stores which were massively looted and robbed can be listed under the similar kinds. Who hijacked the protest? What are they protesting for? Do you believe those who plunder ‘sports stores, and ‘electronics shops’ and stealing whatever comes in their hand are protesting against any of the recent policies of Cameroon Government? Or are they responding against the economic turmoil or financial down turn? When people all over the world watching a riot victim has been burgled by a group of people live on television, there must be a serious moral crisis and a profound humane smash up somewhere in the society. These people have to be dealt with.

And the active participants in the riot have a proven track record as all of them were native Londoners rather than just landed foreigners. An average London youth seems to be a walking ‘multi brand advert’ wearing new generation ‘Adidas, Nike, Reebok and so called brand weights from head to toe. And fortunately or unfortunately they are ‘most entertained and least informed’ generation. They are frustrated not because of the global warming, or recession or food crisis in third world countries; they are frustrated and highly desperate simply because they are stopped and asked by the shop keepers for their age proving identity when they are about to pay for a bottle of alcohol. They don’t like to confront with the fact that they are below 18 and buying liquor is illegal. They are frustrated not because of the growing credit crunch, but simply because they are stopped and searched by the security when they are about a feet distance away to escape to the street with a stolen item in their pocket.

London has to work hard to restore the normal life and to rebuild the wrecked city. As the ‘Olympics’ is only a few months away, it is important to ensure the internal security and infrastructural safety. Another good Monday will reopen the streets of inner London. Time will heal all the chaos and uncertainties. Tomorrow will never be the same for sure and of course another bad week will be added to the history of the great city. But above all one thing will remain the same, and that is the first week of August in 20011 was an awful week. I am not sure whether the answer to the question that ‘what made London riotous’ will ever be debated or not...!!