You and I let’s become friends !

I wonder were you could find the best conversations coming from two individuals. Whether at a coffee table or at some silent bar or just an evening walk along the public park ? I usually hunt for such talks over coffee with friends.
Not always you are accompanied by someone with your coffee , and it was one of those silent table moments where the warmth of the coffee mug between the palms fills up the void of a companion. Even the empty chair is usually lent to the other table in need. But somehow today it has no taker yet .
Then suddenly I see a soul approaching my table. I presume it’s for the chair to be traded. But to my surprise , he asks for sharing the table with me. My eyes turn wide open cause I have never encountered such thing before. I point towards the chair foolishly to this guy who has bombed into my table and to be frank talking to strangers is not my thing at all.
An awkward silence sets in for a moment before we break into a half-hearted smile to acknowledge one’s presence. I’m thinking in my head its possibly happening because there’s no table empty but my sight calls it for a fraud since there are tables lying vacant around. This is totally weird !  As our nonverbal dialect finally breaks into words I get to know he is aware that I come here regularly. Curiosity kicks in to understand what I’m really getting into. I immediately order a coffee for him but he politely declines it for his love for tea. Great ! shouts my mind, atleast an argument over tea vs coffee will easily set us up for a talk over the table. Before I get into say, my mind skips it and I end up asking his name. He says, “My name is Father ” . “Father? What a strange name ! What does it mean ? ” I ask. He replies, “I don’t know , I’m trying to figure it out. ” A guy with an interesting name would definitely have some interesting story to tell. I pop up the question , “So what’s your story ? ” .
 As the last sip of coffee gulps down my throat , his incredible story comes to an end . I take a deep breath to settle down the lump in my throat and gather myself. And the moment that follows meets with a deafening silence which was much more significant than the noise of words. His story was so similar to mine , I almost felt like it’s my story and only his words.
Born on the exact day as mine , I wonder how such details could even match. I know like every other child I came crying into this world , likewise even he did shed tears on that day. He said “In the initial months , everything was new and first-hand in experience. You don’t know what’s going on. ”  I assume I must have felt the same too. Then arrived the playful years of life. Buying new toys, enjoying funny faces and mimics . He would play with those inanimate toys all day with sheer excitement and also get sad if any toy gets broken just like me. Fun fact – even he used to hate homework  but would certainly be sitting with the books the night before exams. And finally as you hit the adolescent age , life started to taste sour lemons . Suddenly he felt like people are not getting what he’s trying to say. Opinions were usually found to  be perceived aggressively which lead to bitter arguments. Due to the lack of common interests , communication reduces to an extent were you feel like being ignored for everything. You feel deceived by the idea of love and end up hurting yourself. Life brings you to a point , were just expressing yourself becomes a Herculean task . The struggle becomes painful and leaves you crippled from within but you can’t help it. And this is when you beg life for atleast one person who could get it what it’s like to be me, cause everyone around has failed to understand . Probably that’s how he ended up at this table to sort of find a way to ease out his pain and make things bearable.
The sigh of despair could sum up everything he wanted to say but couldn’t say it. My empathy for this soul couldn’t hold up to myself and got immediately reflected through my eyes. He tapped me over my shoulder looking at the watery eyes and tried to cheer me up.
He asked me for my name. “Son ” I said.
The name clearly amused him and here followed the question “What does it mean ? ” .
I said ” I’m too trying to figure it out. ” . The two of us instantly break into this whole-hearted laughter .
Today’s table has definitely witnessed the best conversation ever between two very identical life stories. And how better could this end with –
Father and Son becoming friends .
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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 ” .

 

 

 

 

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.

 

​If I were you !!

So when does this battle begin ? It happens everyday, in every little instance. In all likelihood they’ll always stand to differ

He accompanies me while on my way to work and back home generally, fortunately he is free all the time and me on the other side simply occupied with my routines and other stuffs. It’s usually the same journey which follows everyday until one fine day it changed forever. Here’s how our journey began as we step out from my house that day –

Episode 1: We arrive at the auto-stand to reach the railway station .While waiting for an auto to arrive, He points me to this guy waiting behind me in the queue, looking at his watch every second impatiently, might be late for some real important assignment. He hints me to make a move upfront to help the poor guy skip the queue to save him some time there. But I somehow fail to gather enough courage to ask and I quietly slide into the auto as it arrives.

Episode 2: We rush to the railway platform since I’m bit late today. He distracts my sight towards this penurious lady sitting  with her infant in her lap near the walls of the platform, might be in need for some food to feed her child. He gives this look as if I probably know what he might say now but I disgracefully look down and make my way with the crowd as soon as the train enters the platform.

Episode 3: We catch our bus en route, today it’s quite crowded and I’m fortunate enough to enjoy this window seat. And suddenly he turns my head towards this stranger who is profusely sweating and exhausted as if he just ran a marathon to catch this bus, looks like he might need my seat more than me for now. But I simply turn my head back again through the window pane.

Episode 4: We get down at our bus stop and start walking towards our office premises along the footpath. He calls for my attention towards a skinny guy struggling to pull the loaded cart behind him on road . I carry this sympathetic look and simply enter the gates of my office.

Episode 5 : After a hectic day, we friends were enjoying ice-creams along the roadside. He asks me to notice the poor kid walking away disappointed, looks like he just fell short of few more coins to buy an ice cream for himself. I just stand and act like a spectator there.

Episode 6: While walking towards our building stairs, I usually avoid looking at this particular balcony. I know I will find this old little man sitting on his chair carrying that same old impassive look for years since I remember. I always struggle to make a comfortable gesture to him. Pretty well acquainted with this shortcoming he still provokes me by purpose. I accept my defeat and walk straight towards the stairs.

Disturbed with all the incidences he tried to indulge me into today. I make him stand in front of me and question his intent behind this play. His witty smile further gets me annoyed and furious. He softly utters “If I were you, it wouldn’t have been the same for you as well as for few others today,dear friend”. I just collapse down to my knees in tears because he was none other than myself in front of me. I was equally petrified with the one residing within me the whole time.  And there I finally discovered these two identities confronting each others.

Sometimes you need to lose some mind to win some heart.”

Love(a)Marriage

Alexithymia that’s all I can say when it comes down to talk about few things, particularly this one.

I guess the title makes an attempt to tickle your grey cells on my intent for this article. Let’s get it started straight from the incident where this idea took birth .

During a metro ride with my good old friend , he was talking about this girl he knew , so she is going get engaged soon but not with her boyfriend as it seems but the one she choose from her community under parental pressure. Now she has made up her mind to never look back and she will work out with her present. It didn’t feel right to hear about it . He too raised his reservation against this incident and wondered  how do people make such things work in reality? I didn’t have much to say in this and how could I ? Someone who never played either of these roles of love or marriage in true sense. Though enjoyed the freedom of having an opinion about it. I remember I came up with this statement – You know what , I think this ” Love and Marriage aren’t the same thing. ” if you see. I believe it meant more than those words had to offer.

Love as an emotion and Marriage as an act, both make an independent conception in itself. Together they can co-exist to represent an epitome of mutualistic symbiotic relationship. As now we are approaching this popular phase of mid 20’s  the so-called socially accepted age for marriage proposals. We could hardly find this question  not mentioned in our social meets like – Who’s going to marry the earliest among us ? I feel somewhere it asks for who’s going to dare to take the action first. The answers too feel like masked behind some real truth, some say ” Hmm , Might take some few years to look into it”. I guess this wait of few years is not meant for the marriage to happen but it’s actually spared for the love to happen. The idea of love later accompanied with marriage always gives this sense of delight within. But unfortunately some find it contentious when love seems to disappear like a beautiful dream after few years of marriage. All it needs is to have a blind faith in its existence to make the marriage or relationship run.

So as we hope for ” Love-Marriage ” , I would like to hope for ” Love-a-Marriage ” , here my definition with the silent ‘a’ helps to understand it better.

Love after marriage – we couldn’t deny the possibility of this happening either. I hope I may be wrong , But somewhere love gets protected from being questioned behind the bars of a relation called family. Do u love your family ? This thing rarely excites us when we talk about the L word as the emotion of family stands at par to any obligations of human emotions, its more than any emotion.

I don’t know when marriage will try to make sense for me but I do feel like ”  I’m running out of time for love.

The Unanswered !!

A fictional tale which answers to none…

Walking along the shore late night under the crescent moon light he was lost in this state of melancholy. He reaches out for a cigarette and a lighter from his pocket , lights it up and takes in a deep breath of smoke. The cool steady breeze just adding the beauty to the atmosphere is trying to steal away the cigarette smoke from the tip of his mouth. Even the smoke inside isn’t spared as if the air has it all to cleanse the toxic within. The moist sand underneath providing a comfortable cushion to his bare feet. The sea water rolls off his legs every time the waves run into the coastline.

On his way along the shore ride he accidentally stumbles over a rock under water. As the wave reclines back over his legs he finds an idol with the throne just visible above the surface. He digs out some soil to get this small Ganesh murti out , and washes off the mud over it with some water. He stares at the idol giving this smile of recognition as if waiting all his life to talk to it. He didn’t have much to say , just a few answers from this Almighty who act like the panacea for all the disorders in our living . He was always sceptical about getting any answers , never did he find anyone like him coming up with help when he needed the most. He speaks out-

” They say you know everything. That’s the  reason why you are different from me.

I hear their silence,
You hear their plead..

I see their laughter,
You see their tears..

I see what they receive,
You see what they sacrifice..

I know about their dreams,
You know about their fears..

But I do know something, dear Lord,

You created soil,
I created a cup..

You created darkness,
I created the lamp..

You created time,
I created its Age..

You created wood,
I created paper..

And above all ,

As you created me
I think I created you..

Isn’t that true  ? ”

As he finishes off this dialogue , a voice whispers behind him….

 

The last thing you might want to hear !!

Sometimes you happen to feel like that one thing is missing in your perfect story. I think I found that one thing in my story.

Lately I have been engaged in some strange thoughts regarding my uneasy sleeping experiences at night. Its like something is left incomplete that I am unaware of, even after winding up a fantastic day . So why am I not able to drown into a pleasant sleep smoothly ? Its like I am unable to find the last right thing to do before I end up closing my eyes .This hasn’t been felt before. I find myself dodge between couple of acts like reading some quick write-ups or blogs , listening to some soft romantic song or preferably a piano cover ( Titanic theme song recently being the frequent one.) , or Facebook news feed at last if none to the fill the empty space. Now I  feel like I succeeded in  figuring out the mystery behind this mini crisis I have been dealing with. I think I know what’s missing there –  “ I need someone to say Good Night “. Yeah that’s actually what is supposed to happen every night isn’t it ? I found it fairly believable since the last thing I have been doing is staring at the clock on the mobile screen, and I am like –  OK, its time now , close your eyes and try to sleep. But somehow my body clock has lost its sync with time. Amidst these discomforting feelings , one fine day I come across this small piece of paper treasured in my wallet for a long time. Not really  a number to dial-up ,In fact a message with those two words I have been deserted to. The piece of paper unfolded a sweet memory along with it.

A story from the early months of my job,  where everything was perfect except my work.Unfortunately I had been recently landed into a different profile which I believed wasn’t appropriate for me then, that too for my early days of learning period and even the shift duty schedule to ruin it all over .I was annoyed being  the unlucky guy to fill the place. Although with all the  poor attempts of my boss to help boost me up with the situation didn’t help much either. I was left alone with all my peer colleagues coming in the general timings. Luckily had these two great people around me to help with the ugly circumstances. My long time buddy cum roommate and a close friend cum colleague in my office , we use to hang out all the time . Somehow I felt like this thing it didn’t bother me much with them besides me.

As the rough month comes to an end , I am about to meet my boss for the change as discussed ago. I had my night shift the day before and had to wait the next morning for the meeting. Late night as usual I was engaged in a conversation with this special friend , and there she pops up with an interesting surprise for me . These sweet gestures used to be our best part, and also making it difficult for us to come with something impressive each time. She hides my surprise in the office before leaving today. I keep her on call while I leave down to her place, she instructs me to run down to our secret locker we had for our exchanges. Our secret locker used to be one of her drawers beneath her desk , and she use to hide the keys somewhere nearby. Getting it wouldn’t be much difficult at night unless the security guard finds something odd with my behaviour. I grab the bag from the drawer, lock it back and quickly run upstairs .

As I draw out the stuff from the carry bag, I find this familiar tiny dabba , the same old one which she used to carry during her lunch. Our guessing games comes to an end and I get the permission to open it up. There’s this paper slip kept over the wrapped aluminum foil inside. I keep the paper aside for a while and get my attention back to the box. I see a homemade variety of dried  ‘poha'( or flattened rice  that’s what it’s called , I never heard before googling it now :p ), and a lovely bar of  peanut chikki (or patti that’s what the locals call here ) . Me and my roomie use to have a lot of those during those chilly winters. She had been to her home recently , and brought this treat for me. I take up the slip and find this sweet message from her.

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Somehow I persuade her to keep the box with me forever. Moreover she was afraid what if I  get the dabba one day for office and our group might notice, how come I arrive with the box to office. Finally my day arrived, her wishes turned all fruitful and I get to return back to the place where I belong. Few days later, I plan out for a present in return. I buy one similar looking dabba for her, fill it with chocolate cubes she liked. Worked out those ribbon bindings and all to make it presentable. And that’s not it , I get a rose for her on my way to meet her ,that’s actually being the first ever I offered to someone. I do question my purpose now , what the hell I was trying to do ? :p I end up justifying the act as out of highest esteem I hold for her.

So feel lucky to hear a Good Night every night before falling asleep cause some do comprehend its absence.

Good Night !!