Finale

19th December, 2014.

I must admit, I’ve been on a writing binge for quite a time now, and well, I assume that if anything, it has been tormenting to the unfortunate readers of mine. Though there are only 4 followers, or so my blogger dashboard suggests, I maybe am guilty of raking your brains with peculiar blabbers. I started this blog near 2013, if memory serves me right, and it was some people I know who urged me to write things up, hence this page.

No it is not my blog anniversary, or bloggeversary if someone puts it as so, the reason of this rant is entirely different, and maybe an exuberant news to some.

But first, I must congratulate an old friend of mine, who after being in deep dark for long may have found the new light. Or as he had put it so eloquently, the meaning to his songs and life. Congratulations brother, I wish all the good for you. And I hope may things be great for you!

After quite conspicuously burning some old letters that I wrote again which weren't to be read, along with some meaningless stories in a bonfire (maybe I will write again, if such demand is made), and spending my whole day reading sandman comics online (after lots of search, it wasn’t easy!) I went out for some fresh air. It wasn’t my intention to write anything today, and thus this sudden decision.

I won’t be writing anything for a time, I am leaving for a hiatus. I am taking a break from everything. I know, none of my readers care, and actually, people will be happy! I mean I've been ranting about things that make neither sense, nor much of a difference to anybody. I wrote whatever I felt (which I will continue) but there’s too much. I need to sort certain things out. First, if your typing speed is slow, and much of your knuckles are swollen by constant wall punching, winter makes it worse! It is painful. Then there is this factor which was crucial. Even I wrote what I felt like, it always had an event in the background. Every time I wrote something, there was an incident or an event that led me to type these things, which varied in nature. Sometimes it was just someone’s visit to my sandcastle, sometimes just a meaningless verbose that I engaged in, a rude remark and my subsequent guilt, it was always an incident, that made my days interesting, all of it are turning now into vestiges of days gone by.
There is nothing interesting that can make me write. It is boring, I am losing my marginal sanity on the edge of eternal boredom and nothing feels right. There hasn't been any bromide conversation that I cared about for a month or so, there is no poetry, or the futile attempts, only some blank words that floats around and I cannot pen them down, the urge is not there. As I said, nothing of nothing is going on.  It's a void. I can't write with a void.

And then, there are these nightmares. Almost the same one every night. With the same scene, with the same characters and person. Worst is, I can't talk about it to anyone. The one whom I need to speak with so badly has left. And I can't persuade her to listen, can't tell her this. That's one agony I need to deal with.

I was advised to read or write, or anything to distract myself until there is any development, I have been doing it, and now, the bag is empty. I have finished almost all those books which I left unfinished for various reasons, and there is nothing to write. When a person like me is left to his own devices, there is a slight problem. After a while, the devices start malfunctioning, deviating from their actual work and in turn becomes more loathsome.

 So yeah, no writing for a while. Go on, burst some crackers and fly some confetti, I won’t be whining about for a while. Well, not that anyone even cares! Maybe next year (2015 that is), I cannot give a date, but I hope things sort out, and the pain comes down, or the wait is over, and may something triggers to make me write things. So that makes me say, merry Christmas and a happy new year in advance. May your next year be more awesome than this one and may you guys find love. And don’t give up on waiting! It’s better to wait. All the good things to those who wait! I can and maybe will wait…

Some letters remains, need to burn them. Well, almost everything is ash here. Grey, cold ash. So why not?

Regards.

p.s- I know no one needs me, I am hardly a person who can make any impression and perhaps the last person to cross anyone’s heart or mind, but if it needs so, I will be here.
Next year! C’est fini.!

"All the Lonely people"

18^th December, 2014.

This is perhaps for those who are somewhat lonely people. Its almost 8 in my clock, and right now, I am in my rooms, quite comfortable and cozy, in perfect condition to write this rant up. I know it means nothing, to anybody, but I think writing this up will help. Help who? I do not have the faintest idea. But I cannot stop myself, and here I am, to rant and blabber. The days are strange anyway, so I guess…

I boarded the metro from the university, after a long day, and my destination or what I believed was to be Malviya nagar metro. Meeting with her highness (shubhangi, I met her at the archives, the uber cool girl I mentioned in some post I believe) was due, and plus, I needed some material for the preparation for the exams. She agreed to help me out sorting things up, which was not too much. So we met. After a few smokes and endless debates and discussion, I took her leave around 5.30, and left for home. The metro at university is basically empty around that time, so there was no effort to find a seat. Plugging the earphones in, and against my powers, I dozed off. I don’t remember what song was playing first. I wake up from my doze turn sleep only to discover that I am at qutub station. Two stations further than my actual destination.

Evenings in December are chilly. A cold gust of wind welcomes me at the deserted station. A very few person de boarded with me, and were obviously heading towards their homes after herculean day. I on the other hand was the stranger here, quite lost. The song playing in my music list was ‘all the lonely people’ by the Beatles. Quite amusingly, the song was clear to me, the lyrics somewhat were the questions of my own consciousness, or rather my bedazzled soul. “All the lonely people, where do they come from. All the lonely people, where do they all belong!” where do I belong now? The question that I should’ve asked to myself was “what the hell am I doing here?” but the song was overpowering in many levels. I don’t even remember what the levels were. I was just lost in thoughts, pondering over the turn of events that occurred rather haphazardly recently.

I didn’t wanted to, but somehow, certain things are unavoidable under certain circumstances. The evening mist was slowly enveloping the area; the qutub minar was standing in the mist lost in its own history, pondering over the reason of its existence. The vegetation below was turning into a dark, mysterious forest, and the violet sky was borrowing light from the orange street lights.

I have observed those who are basically going through a certain period of bewilderment and loneliness always acts on impulse, rather than logic. Since I was at a wrong place at a wrong time, the logical thing to be done was to just change the platform, get another train and head home. Instead, I tightened my muffler, the sole companion of my winters, comfortably around my neck, and against my better judgment, came out of the station on the road… “Where do they all belong?”… I decide to walk. Downright stupid decision, but I was in no mood to judge myself over such trivial issues. I admit I am very inept regarding the routes, I turned my gps on my phone; mehrauli was just 30 minutes of walk. So, walking it was! “Where do they come from?” I don’t know, where do these people belong, and where do they come from, Paul McCartney has been asking this question for almost decades, and the answer is still in the dark. I kept walking, the cold was totally against my fashion faux pas I made today, but it wasn’t the cold that bothered me, it was the events, and the things which happened. I kept the song on loop; I guess I wasn’t paying attention to the song anymore, I just wanted to walk. Walk until something happens. Anything! The cars, the horns, the people, the barking dogs, the luminous orange lights and some shady characters underneath, smoking and leering weren’t my issues anymore. They were just some figures in the winter mist. Occasionally I glanced on my mobile, as I said, inept with routes I am, and maybe a hope, that maybe now, there would be a message, or a call. People often confuse over being alone and being lonely. Sometimes, it is the same thing. Sometimes, you’ll find yourself in the middle of a huge crowd, and not one face will be of your acquaintance. Walking hasn’t been a problem to me, so it wasn’t much difficult. What proved otherwise, was to keep up with the train of thoughts, I couldn’t. All I was able to do was to remember, I will know if there is return. If a comeback is done. … “Where do they come from?”… After 35 minutes or so, I reached the bus terminus of mehrauli, it was crowded and loud, and I was both deaf and nonexistent. My legs were rebelling against the unnecessary ordeal. Bhulbhulayia (a monument on the opposite) stood old and proud, the witness to a history of centuries, and perhaps a witness to my question too. I looked up, but there was no answer. The phone never rang.

Maybe the lonely people belong nowhere. Maybe I can just hope... After all...

I board on a bus, grab a seat with a window wide open, I let the wind thrash my face for my stupidity, there was no need for this. I change the song. Heh… irony of life, another song by the Beatles “let it be”. Singer- Paul McCartney. The bus leaves for my home.

Regards.

A message

17th December, 2014.

I believe, or so I have this preconceived notion, that I can’t paint, I can’t sing, I am nothing of any artist. Surrealistic tendencies are an enigma to me, I don’t understand being comfortably subtle, but I can write. So, I shall. I don’t care if someone likes it or not, if you don’t, its fine. If you do, that works for me the same!

I initially had the intention to write something about “subtle happiness” but I guess, it can wait. I need to speak of something else, and I would feel obliged if my readers (the few of them who exists) would spare sometime over this. I know you are probably busy, reading something else, spending your evening either all alone, introspecting or with family and may or may not care about this blabber, but still, feel free to share this.

There is no happiness around, not today. The unfortunate incident that occurred in Peshawar, Pakistan, which I am sure nobody is unaware of, is something that kills all the joys and happiness, even if it is momentary. If there is death of 132 innocent children, massacred with blind rage, shredded with bullets, I doubt that there would be any happiness. I don’t know if I have any reader from Pakistan, if I have, I would like to say something. We, your wretched neighbors, with whom you are in a constant conflict since 1947, too are bleeding through our hearts. I know, I know that the present issues we are conflicting upon are not going to solve with a whiff, but set them aside for a moment, this incident alone surpasses everything else. I, we, stand with you in this.

As for I myself am concerned, I need to say more. I surely cannot feel the agony you (the people of Pakistan) are feeling. To be true, a fourteen inch screen is inept in every way to make us emote about anything, apart from lust. I see the bloodstained floors, the destroyed walls, the ceilings ripped apart from those bullets, which flew unnecessarily and blindly on those poor souls. I cannot fathom the sheer pain that befell on them, when a mother knew that his son is not coming back, when a father lost his sanity when he saw his daughter’s bullet ridden body, the brother and sister who lost their sibling, or the friend, who now knows that there will be none who would stand in front of him with a bat, or come running with a ball. I am sorry; I cannot feel the pain you are going through. And I know that saying “everything will be alright” is meaningless, and hence, all I feel is helplessness. There was this woman, anchor actually, from the news channel ARY news, I can feel her helplessness. She cried while her show and I felt that same pain. We can’t do anything! Apart from holding a candle light vigil around India gate and that is our limit. We can condemn it on social media, hashtagging things, but we are helpless. I hear the mother cry, the father’s scream that sends cold chill down the spine, but all I can do is type this blog, an attempt to make something worthwhile. I feel we are helpless. The big daddy USA, us India, even Pakistan herself is helpless. Yes, maybe with an effort, we will be able to eradicate those terrorists, but right now, we are helpless and nothing can change that. I can’t hold your hands and say calm down, because there is no point, all I can say is, even by the lowest margin, I, we, feel the pain, and I guess my whole country is feeling the same.

I know, there are certain fanatics, who’ll say that the religion itself, Islam is violent. Bullshit! By the smallest iota of common sense, I know that no religion cannot be at fault, it is us, humans whose twisted definitions and interpretations changes our perception. Well, if Islam can give birth to poets like Rumi, Hafeez, Khusrau, saints like Nizamuddin Auliya, then sirs, the fanatics I mean, you yourself are at fault! I fail to believe that, whose language is so beautiful, it can’t be anti-human by any means.

And I must say, people like Gandhi, mother Teresa, and now Malala Yousufzai, they are eternally stupid you know (those who understood, good)! You’re working against an evil so big, that your courage and rebellious nature is outweighed ridiculously! I mean, you got shot in the head Malala! Get the message already! Step down and save yourself from the horror that awaits you. There is no place for a square peg in the world of round holes you phenomenal idiot! Don’t be a complex issue to people like me, us, who are cowards, and are lacking the tremendous courage you hold! We are left to our devices, so when someone like you appears, with a blinding light, we are confounded, thus this statements are made.

I won’t say or rather compare those terror outfits, those spineless bastards with any animal. Animals have this much sense of sense and morality, they pick up fights of their stature. You guys lack the balls! If you’re so pumped up, I dare you to get a face-off with the army not with kids and harmless people! If you want a fight so badly, grow some balls, come forward, and show your face to the army! But no, you can’t! You say you fight for the god’s kingdom? That you’ll get heaven? You don’t even deserve hell. As I kid, I read a story, ‘the selfish giant’ and it was clear that god resides in children. They are void of schemes and sins. You, by shooting at 132 school kids, killed gods! And as far as my knowledge on religious scripture goes, Quran never spoke of massacring innocent children. But I guess I am writing this in vain, there is no point.

I don’t know. I can’t seriously say that I feel your pain and mock you, the people who lost something irreplaceable, but I can assure you that my country, regardless of our conflicting issues, are with you, standing by your side. I know whatever we do is not enough, but people like me, or my unfortunate readers, this is somewhat our efforts to stand by you. If there is any Pakistani person reading this, sir, ma’am, brother, sister, friend, we are here for you.

Regards.

#indiaforpakistan

The rude muse.

13th December, 2014.

I know, I may have stated before that I won’t write anymore, but writing is something I can’t stop indulging in. So yeah, either enable me by keep on reading, or find something more useful to do in this fine evening and an equally fine weather.

Speaking of weathers, I woke up this morning to be greeted by a new fog, quietly engulfing the city or my locality at least. And it has been raining here since the afternoon. Well not exactly raining, I don’t know in the least what to call it, but I will refrain from going into a grammatical debate, or a debate of nomenclature or etymology.

As I was saying, the day started with a fog, and usual to my nature, I was kind of sucked into a delusional abyss. Winter and I share quite a history I guess. And it’s a quite strange one. There was a time when I almost died, perhaps the winter of 1993. I was just some 1 or a half month old, and almost had a brush with death. Thrice! I won’t delve much deeper into that, as to what or how, but long since I was made aware of this fact, I had a different kind of attraction towards winter and her antics. She has been rude and lethal to me, both in the aspects of physicality and emotional content.

 Believe me, when one comes to know about his almost short mortality, perceptions about a certain things change. Mine did too! It’s always the winter when something traumatic has occurred in my life. She is cold, harsh, unforgiving, damaging, and almost destructive. Yet, I can’t stop myself from loving her. Her cold touch shreds into my skin and freezes my bones, her foggy shroud makes my vision opaque, both inside and out, and I can’t see anything. Yet I love her. Maybe because winter gives me a reason to think and introspect about things. Yes, she is harsh, but it is not her fault!  And to be faithful, it is always winter only when something beautiful has happened. Something poetic, something criminally unjust, it was always her. But it’s okay. I think we both have something in common. Practically misunderstood by everyone maybe. Maybe that’s why she is illogically rude to me. Or maybe it is her love that I confuse with rudeness sometimes. In any case, I know she will keep destroying me. All my attempts to be safe will fail, regardless how hard I try. For the rest of my life. And it is so calming. It was one winter when I came to exists. Maybe it will be a winter of my destruction.

It’s windy out there. I can hear the windows smashing. It is going to be cold enough. I shall take my leave. I need to go for a walk, feel the cold. Its been a while.

Regards.

P.s – this has to be the stupidest rant! I apologize to my readers. I will try and makes sense in my upcoming blabbers.

winter of discontent

07th December, 2014.

December, by all means, started with two things. A sincere but broken heart and a raging mind. Oh by the way, I see I have a new follower, and I must say that I am surprised! And I can’t take all the credit. I know that my rants aren’t that good to attract readers, so I shall thank the guy (person and friend, who himself owns a rugged blog!) who mentioned me in one of his blog. And you, my dear new reader, who goes by the name Ipsita (I was going to use terms like nom de plume or nom de gurre, but it’s stupid at times), I welcome you here, in the world of pure blabber, spontaneous outbursts and occasional emotional cries and whines (though I prefer to refrain from doing the last one, but since I am no less superior human being…). Please be comfortable, and feel free to opine, criticize, read, laugh, smirk and whatever a good reader does.

Let’s just get over with the rants, shall we?

As I was speaking, December started where November ended, in a state of stagnation and loneliness. The person has ended all the contacts with me whatsoever, and I am just left to my own devices, and I do not have many devices to go on with. I don’t have a huge number of friends, I can actually count them off on my fingers, and as far as indulging in the habits of substance abuse is concerned, one goldflake large size doesn’t helps. I tried to reason with the person. I know it is stupid and vain, for we possibly cannot reason with feelings, but if one is adamant to deny every iota of feelings, and doubt the self, I guess, it becomes our responsibility, not just as the “lover” but as a friend too, to hold them and assure them that everything is okay! I tried too, I promised her that I would put her together if she falls; yet, I am here, falling into an abyss, with practically no one to save me. I know I am a damaged good and that’s about it. I don’t say that I am betrayed, but I just am going down. Slowly and in a manner most lethal. Broken and damaged. I know she had those feelings for me. Everybody lies, but they cannot lie this much.

If one looks out of my balcony, across the roofs on the other side, one will see a waving flag. A yellow flag, with an insignia of OM and lord Shiva on it. I don’t know how it is relevant, but it reminds me of her. The waving flag in a winter afternoon and an empty chair that was to be occupied by her presence. So easy it is for some people to break certain promises they made, along with the hearts who held them above all. But I guess, I don’t matter anymore! Or even if I do, she is not going to admit it.

Raging mind I said! I am trying to keep myself busy in the pages of Agatha Christie, Conan Doyle, and Nick Meyers. Even Engels and Marx, and I am quite successful through the day. But the moment I close my eyes, everything from sandcastle comes back flooding. One bloody year! And people want me to move on! Why? No reason whatsoever has been provided to me. And I know the person is not even concerned. I don’t know. I know if I give my reasons and plea, almost everyone will admit in agreement, but not her. Well, what can I say? I can’t just forget! I am too cursed for that. I don’t forget. I am trying to build this wall, but I can’t save myself from this haunting.

Well, I just hope that she realizes what she meant to me. And for once and all, just come back! You’ve done enough damage already and you only you can make it better.  Go through your journals and everything, you’ll know you're in love with me too. Stop denying yourself. Comeback!

That’s all I have to say, dear bohemian! C’est fini!

Regards.

p.s- to my new reader, if you're reading this, i read your blogs too.you write good! keep it up! and thanks! cheers!