Stampede – A way not to die .

“Next station Parel , Agla station Parel, Pudhil station Parel ” , I tap on the video , 04:56 / 07:38 mins. I usually hate to end Kenny’s video midway, but the rush behind me warns me to prepare for leaving the door as the train seems to approach the station. I pause the video, press the lock button with my right thumb and place it in my pocket. I tap the shoulder in front, “Bhai Sahab agla station utarne vale hai na ? ”  He confirms with a nod behind his back.

As the train descends to stop on the platform, I get down in motion of the train, balancing myself with few steps before I stop. I turn around to reach out at the foot over bridge amidst the crowd which just dropped off along with me and a few waiting eagerly for their train. As I climb upstairs, I hear water hammering over the roof of the bridge heavily. I see faces chatter around as many were unprepared today for this unanticipated rain. Although mummy told me to carry my  umbrella even today, it meant to be more of an unnecessary burden to carry in my bag after all the receding rains for the season stopped almost a week ago. As I approach the downstairs towards the exit, I see people hovering at the end steps waiting for the spill to end. I’m able to  see some water accumulated on the ground over their heads. I take a few steps till I reach the human blockade created over the steps and stand along a corner.

It didn’t feel like cursing the rain today, deep down it was at least something happening amidst this mundane journey to work. I try to enjoy the leisure time for a while before I start worrying about being late to the office. I quickly lost myself reminiscing about some rainy incidents and noticing some faces around me, meanwhile the crowd seems to have gathered behind me and I could see people getting filled up over the steps to the length of my sight. I could realize probably the people who were even equipped with umbrellas also being stuck to make their way to the exit. Although some time pertinent individuals were hustling their way by each step through the crowd which almost looked like some snakes seeping under the patch of still grass. And probably as the stacks re-adjust themselves to fill up the voids , the push and noises begin to insinuate the inadequacy of the space.

As the thrust and squeeze surges to inconvenience, an anger arises within to make efforts for withstanding the force, with the expectation from people to act little sensible now. As forces seems to paramount the strength of the feet to hold ground, fear charges in to make my instincts warn for an unprecedented danger. As my voice turns behind to shout at this inessential idiocy from the crowd. The weight stormed upon me leaving me uprooted of my feet as I stumble upon the stairs with the chain of falling human dominoes and get dragged over the heap of people down the stairs. While the fall had its moment fear was invaded by a bit of embarrassment as my pride went for a hit. But by the time I find my body stuck against the stumbled bodies on the stairs an excruciating pain arise in the chest with the masses of flesh constantly slapped upon. I felt my body dead locked under the weight of bodies below my neck, unable to move even an inch for a while and my neck badly twisted towards my shoulder. Luckily the head lying over some limb saved me from some real damage against the floor. Now anger rebounds within at my fate after the sense of realization of this mishap. The site turned into a disaster as these mad mob were trying to escape over the bodies before they tumble upon us which pretty much looked like the herd of deers turned wild as their death springs out of the water to attack. And before the body could think to regain its strength to make a moment to bring itself in a position to breathe. A foot step falls straight upon my face . This hard hit to the face blows away my consciousness for a moment before I could comprehend the reality. Resentment kicks in with this feeling of disguise to see myself end up at such indignified state of life, the life which always valued the very nature of care and compassion . A state of despise emerged for the entire humankind and this body form felt like a disgrace to carry.  It shattered the entire institution built around the belief of being a human  after witnessing how animal a human can turn into.  And another hit comes hard at me cracking my neck bone, tears roll down the eyes in the form of absolute grief to live for such experience. The body lied numb in vegetative state deprived of the very soul just like a carcass rotting out in the open.The sight soon turned dark as a body slams upon my face which buried me completely, resembling the last dirt thrown on my grave. Air becomes heavier and sloppy to snuggle through my windpipe to the lungs and the wait turns into an interminable eternity.

The act of stampede characterises weakness and submissive standard of living which discloses a larger harsh reality.  And a quote rightly put to ponder upon –  “What use is our anger if it’s only at the way we die – not at the way we live ” .

 

 

 

 

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Picture Perfect !!

Every picture always depicts a story unseen.

It feels quite different today, with the absence of all that jittery feeling of emptiness I dwell into everyday. Even the early morning sunlight is bright enough to kiss my skin from the silhouette of the trees grown in my garden. The aroma of the morning dew is replaced by the faint smell of burning woods, probably its the water kept for boiling on the woods in the neighbours. It seems to be a good time to hold my brush.

Today I feel like to paint you and it never felt so strongly before in all these years. It feels like some old revered memories are rushing back like dying waves coming down to hit the shore of my thoughts with all the energy they hold . You were beautiful, you were not meant to be re-created. I never held the skills to make you my subject to paint , you were simply beyond the bounds of possibility. Probably it was always the fear paramount over my skills to fail at this endeared task. It’s somehow easy now, after all these mammoth sized anxieties have subsided to mere aphids after losing you.

I quickly take a look at the easel lying at the corner and bring it to the right place, and start to search for my essentials.  I slip out a clean sheet of paper from the covers, the paper looks great with that rich white colour spread evenly outright till the edges and seems powerful than ever for all the nothingness it holds together. The acrylic tubes can still be squeezed enough to get the work done. I reach out for my pockets to find the pack of cigarettes empty and now I need to buy one cause it’s going to be a long sitting and lately I have realized without one its difficult for me to hold my brush still . I pick some crumbled bills and buy myself a pack of cigarettes and a couple of charcoal pencils. And finally its time to bring you down on my paper.

I close my eyes to picture you, it’s always easy to find a perfect image of you in my mind, it appears so clear with every intricate details , each holding a story to reminisce on the moments we lived together. I hope you would find some attributes captured so perfectly which will make you realise even your mirror somehow missed out on those and you would surely jump back to life to view in the mirror to confirm . In no time I see my hands moving over the paper so elegantly like an independent craftsman who knows his work well and have probably done you a million times over. It certainly feels like as if I’m running my fingers over every inch of your skin and my brush trying to imitate it perfectly on the paper with the varying pressure over the tip of the brush resembling the grooves over your skin.  The thoughts in my mind are blurred out during this whole time till I realise it’s finally done and my brush is resting on the palette.

I take a moment to look at this creation and its perfect. I can see your hairs come out exactly as desired, you could notice the invisible spaces between the fine strands of your hair. Flossy and shine they fall over your shoulder perfectly.  And how could I possibly go wrong with those eyes, those sparkling brown eyes have some irresistible charm – the possible doors to your soul which never betrayed your feelings. And the fine tiny wrinkles at the edge of the eyes if you observe carefully. Even the slender long eyebrows arched over escalates the beauty of her eyes . A clear brow which slides down at the centre over your nose and the smooth hairline running down to the sides ending at the ears hiding behind your hairs and I took special care while building the side lines cause I could feel them fit perfectly in my hands every time I hold you. That perfect smile you wear makes me fall for you each time I see you and fixed with those delicate lips pared to perfection. Did I mention the texture of your skin, its smooth like silk and that special glow brings joy to faces. Probably you were just flawless to define.

I wish you were here in real to praise you than this mere replication of yours. I stub out the cigarette in the ash tray and rise to I pick up the portrait to find a place on one of my walls . As I enter the room , I see an empty frame and a dozens of  this exact painting hanging on the walls. To my surprise , I find a note on the empty frame. The note unfolds a shocking reality of me suffering from something termed as anterograde amnesia- its losing ability to create new memories . It made my heart sink for a while, but I realize everything falling into place. The feeling of emptiness and these exact same paintings hung on the wall. But I wonder why this note is placed near the empty frame. Probably its only the memory of you which has stayed intact all these years, and this painting somehow helps me cope up with my memory disorder. I create another empty frame on the wall with the note and hope the next time I feel like to paint you it would bring a new memory of having an empty frame with a note waiting for me.

 

Into the dark and lonely

I’m about to enter inside now. The endless darkness is going to consume me all over again as the world crashes down behind the doors . The sole purpose to invade this mysterious space everytime is to decipher the enigma of chaos created overtime. Past encounters have been kind of a let down , after all there ain’t any method to ensure an infallible outcome. They say only an englightened few souls have mastered the way through it ,and rest all others are struggling all their lives to create a conducive environment within.

The deceptive illusions are the real monsters that intrude from nowhere in the dark and you fall prey to their splendour visuals , leaving you defeated in your own territory. And the poor you are left helpless with no soul present at your rescue.

Going unprepared seems unwise, so I gear up and take my positon, a few deep breaths and I rush into the dark with the doors closed behind.

It’s absolute dark in here, the darkness is spread over the entirety of the space contained within these thin walls which you are familiar with, but still delusive enough to fathom the depth of the space. I couldn’t stop but embrace its beauty and the fact that I completely own it.

Even before I could realize time measured a change , I notice something happening. The darkness is suddenly fading away and I see fear turn into reality.

I see myself sitting on a bed ,  it looks familiar . Ahh! its my delhi room , I’m probably on this same mission. Terribly tiny tales filled on hallway wall. Road leading towards the metro. I’m travelling in the metro. We are sitting in a cafe, she is looking down hiding her face from me and its dark outside the windows. Tall building , powai lake in front from a sky view, its raining ,me at the balcony , music being played, book in my hand – Curfewed Nights , Kashmir man white face pointed nose. Have to  travel to Wagoora to meet Amir Wani ,trapped inside powergrid substation boundaries since things are out of control outside, he tells me a story never heard before. India map turned into terrain map, green patches and mountains. China, now its a world map, russia and a big chunk of land, a long strip of land southeast , Bali trip, on scooty tall trees on both side ,fancy clothes. The experiment of desire. Eleven Minutes. Bigbooks. Parcel placed over the newspaper,govt, current affairs. Pick up mobile, whatsapp – CR broadcast, morning shift ,medu vada before catching the bus , office control room , grid , pmu plot analysis ,oscillations, paper publish, US. Travelling the world with her, she’s beautifull, her dress , smiling at me when mummy is feeding me with her hands at home. And I finally realize its too late now the battle is long lost.

I open the doors and make way for light to guide my vision. Its an another easy defeat, this poor mind will never keep calm, its constantly restless as a willow in a windstorm. This wild creature has no boundaries and certainly can’t be tamed to silence.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Mirror, Mirror on the Wall !

Mirror mysteries are always fascinating, Imagine the mirror that always reflects the obvious truth if someday shows up with something that you don’t believe in. It will freak the hell out of you.

“My mirror, you look suprised today.

 What’s the matter ? 

I see nothing unusual to my appearance that should concern you.

But your gaze somehow indicates I am unable to see the obvious right away.

Are you sure something is unfamiliar or is it just a mere illusion of yours ?

As I see everything is still the same –

The heart is no less broken than before.

The eyes are still dry and pale tired of crying. 

The dark circles can’t get any darker with the countless nights devoid of sleep.

The hair is all shabby and mess and the beard has grown long over the years.

The smile is invisible as if the lip line never knew it could get any wider.

The skin has long lost its glow beyond repair.

Then, What’s the difference ?

Your fear is driving me crazy besides you are the only one I could trust these days.

I wish I could see the difference and rather get suprised by you.”

As he drops his head down disappointed, deep inside he knew what the mirror meant to say but didn’t have the courage to acknowledge it. After all he couldn’t stop thinking about this girl he met last night and who seems to demolish these walls he built around himself again making him vulnerable and weak and he definitely holds no strength anymore to bare the pain again. This girl simply challenged his prejudice about love and the idea of giving up on someone he defined love was difficult for him to even think about . True love is meant to happen only once , is what he made himself to believe all this years. 

And the truth revealed by the mirror stood against this belief. Knowing the mirror would always reflect this inevitable change for forever now ,it is just the matter of time when he will stand in consensus with the mirror , he tries hard to hold his tears and looks back into the mirror but this time it’s with the smile of acceptance and the change is visible.

Do you remember me ?

This conversation was just hanging around the corner to finally intrude our talks but I felt to imprint this on my blog forever to help us whenever we feel that way again.

    Not that I haven’t heard from you for long. Its just that I haven’t heard  you well for long. Lately our talks are summed up with  the regular blunt gestures, somewhere lacking the substance I seek. The questions still sound the same it used to be then , only the answers have changed during the course of time. There’s this strange feeling of losing track of you no matter how regularly we might talk. Since the present seems less encouraging than the beautiful past , I truly fear about the upcoming future. Lately , It seems some efforts are needed to help us build that conversation and I’m not able to find the right thing to ask cause we have never worked out this way before. I guess, this struggle is growing strong with a depreciating sense of empathy for the other. 

     As all I know every story shared builds empathy between the storyteller and the storytold. Hence with recent irregularities​ in the series of our life stories, all I’m losing is my sense of empathy for you. Such problem didn’t find a place in the past since much of the trouble was averted with the excitement to share even the silly happenings that we care. Nowadays it’s more about keeping it brief and unornamented. 

Earlier we enjoyed the leasure to talk anytime and everytime and now its about categorising it like the ones necessary to tell and not so necessary ones to compensate for lack of time as it is understood. And with the time passing by all the little stories are labelled  not so necessary ones,and all I’m left with are the final conclusions with the absence of the tiny details making it hard to feel it the right way you want me to. 

 Don’t you feel the urge to pickup​ the phone and dial someone while these little incidences reiterate in your thoughts ? What’s​ holding you back ? I admit nowadays I see myself suddenly stop too. I’m still not able to picture what’s holding me back but at the end I couldn’t help myself but succumb to silence. And with every failure , all I could see myself giving up easy on to being silent and impassive.  But dear I would like you to know I think about you and only you every time when there’s a story either Big or Small , Important or Silly as it can be, is dying to be heard. And with every such unsaid story ,I think we are struggling more to ask the right thing.

The truth is  I’m terrified about the idea to have ever known you any less than yourself. And I always believe its you someone I can always count one , the one who would know me inside out, the one who’s not needed to be remembered of any moment of my past which he haven’t heard before. If any such unspoken stories accompany you in your solitude and make you feel like to be heard, the only right thing I would ask be –

“Do you remember me ? 

 Cause I do remember you.”

Congratulations!

Weddings and receptions everywhere, seems magically everyone found their perfect match. Talking love and tender emotions have suddenly become an act of the past. Here’s how I fancy a special moment would be shared by the sweet couple at a wedding ( an adaption inspired from e e cummings poem ).

So here you are said he

All for you said she

Can I feel you close ? said he

This much close ? said she

Time lost count as you walk down that aisle said he

History saved , I almost trembled for a while said she

Four years wait , we made it through said he

Being apart was tough , but I always believed in you said she

I wanna hold you tight for long as time said he

Just with care , I might squeal but that’s fine said she

Your beauty ! – ineffable and divine said he

I believe your eyes knows it more than mine said she

Warm and Alluring , thy words I feel said he

Its my heart in thrall to your irresistible charm said she

The pleasure I seek being with you , nowhere I find said he

The care and empathy you show , there’s no such kind said she

Is it love ? said he

Love , if you will said she

“vuoi sposarmi ? ” said he

“Sì , I do ” cried she

( Audience rise in applauds )

They were meant to be said they

Congratulations! said he

Congratulations ! said she

Oh Tears!!!

I call out for you to be my guest tonight.

 

Hi Tears !

Nice to meet you. Look at you, haven’t changed a bit since my knowledge of you. Might sound a little quirky, but I happen to call you today for no reason. Yeah and I’m completely sober and sane if you have such doubts now, and I don’t wish to demean the very purpose you serve. I know you have many more reasons to appear, but today it’s just you. I have vague memories of you associated with my childhood although the recent ones have been registered well. I suppose your occurrence has reduced with time, not that the reasons are falling short, it’s just that I have learned to hold you on for few. It’s always something else that occupies my mind and heart when I sought solace in you, but today let’s just talk about you. I fear I ever gave a sound thought about you all these years and I must admit I barely know you for real, how is it to be you? I mean all that enormous amount of human emotions you hold in that tiny little drop. I couldn’t possibly fathom the gravity of such measure you could carry within you with my inept mind. I’m just aware of the ones you shared with me, what about the billion others I’m oblivious to. What is it like to experience those countless short-lived journey of yours on billions of faces that you come across ? I mean a lifetime wouldn’t suffice to explore your treasure of life experiences. And I could imagine how rich your treasure chest would be as the stories collected over these years would be no ordinary ones. I mean tell me how intense would be those emotions,  on the face of that Survivor who opened his eyes to witness the devastating site of bloodshed after the attack, to be on her face while she couldn’t fight anymore against those monsters holding her against the ground, giving her pain. On that poor schizophrenic who is struggling hard for life to understand what is real. To be rolling on his face who’s unable to make her realize how it feels like dying inside.You equally stand for the better and beautiful side of emotions too like the one on the faces of those parents to see their new-born child after trying for long. On that artist for the love bestowed on him by the millions cheering for him, on this old proud face who retired from work today after serving his duty for years with sincerity. In those spiritual moments of  ecstasy and joy when they understand the philosophy of human misery. Your indifferent nature towards joy and sorrow reflects your egalitarian trails too. How different does it feel to look on whom you appear ? Like how big and strong where the emotions when the Mahatma shed one or even the mighty Hitler for that matter and how small where they when the kid along the roadside shed few out of hunger. According to Hindu legend, even Lord Shiva couldn’t hold on to his strong feelings, the single tear from his eyes fell on the earth to grow into a Rudraksha tree. It’s unreal to empathize your strength to hold such emotions in all these cases. I fancy about your different pathways over the faces once you drop out of the eyes and finally disappear for eternity. Like the ones emerging from the edges and running along the sidelines and finally getting soaked into our pillows, or the ones running along the cheeks till you drain off over the tip of the chin. Sometimes getting wiped off by hands before reaching the lips while traveling along the nose line , some odd little times you get to reach over the lips but you kind of taste a bit salty over the tongue. It’s better you don’t leave back visible stains on our faces , or else every life would have been an open-book to read. I wish you could be collected and preserved to revisit the emotions you hold on for. I wish you were vocal to we people to make us realise what’s really going on within.

Tears waited all this long quietly holding on to my eyelids to hear me and finally rolled away from my eyes like it always does.