random.

27th April, 2015.

Okay, since i have nothing to do right now, a small entry won't be harmful. I am a bit tired and as my previous rant might have suggested, not entirely well and I have not been to see the doctor yet. Well, um... i don' t know. There is a poetic verse that goes around my mind that I am still writing inside my head, but as of right now, I will put in on hold, for there are three blog stories that will see the daylight first. One of them is too close to me because that one was created in way back in August of 2014, while i was engage in those silly conversations on whatsapp. Since then, I wanted to complete it. And now that it is complete...

Well, I am keeping awake myself these nights, writing one after another, but one day, i will stop. until then, the destruction of my heart will continue. For
                                                                     "what can be more a pleasant way to die?
                                                                       than sincerely asking your heart,
                                                                       to bear on and be still?"

Ta!

love!

Refute.

27^th April, 2015.

My pulses are beating faster than they should and it feels like my chest is going to burst out open. I am short of breath and I am gasping like a fish out of water, dying, events of my rather mundane life passing before my eyes like pictures in a bioscope. Ever seen a bioscope? Well, Google it, I am not going to tell you everything! Huh! Geez!

Hah! No no, I am not really dying, not yet, not today! Although I don’t know if it would make any slightest difference, but I am not dying right now, I have plans and I am hell bent to carry them out before time runs out. I have a bucket list, a love list and mad hatter list.  Tick tock tick tock the clock runs pass. But if I casually calculate, I have enough time, fettered with the uncertainty of the time yet to come. Calculating isn’t my strong suit really, and so my above comment really makes sense, does it? Hah! Now you are reading the above comment trying to find the lost sense of humor I left there. And now you are laughing that you actually read that comment. Heh! Human psyche and their assumptions. So easy to conceive into their preconceived notions.

 That reminds me why I am here. Assumptions. I see people have a lot of assumptions about me and hold misconception about my being. Now, I really don’t give  one fuck, two fucks, red fuck or blue fuck for that matter (no I am not angry or high, but I like cussing, I’ll explain), but I do like to refute and set the record straight. Or so I believe! And although I do know that I am much better than a common lot and that gives a lot to boast, but then, I am human too and alike anyone, I am vulnerable to criticism and misgiving theories. Let’s see what those are.

People, or most of them, or some of them think that I am an idiot. All of us are for that matter, in one way or the other. And I cannot blame them, for I am indeed an idiot. I don’t even disagree. But then, idiocy is a matter of perception I believe. Well, it is just that it really isn’t necessary that you have to be the depot of knowledge and stuff, super smart and philosophical. Even they tend to be idiotic at times. So, here I am! I have a good knowledge about human hearts, I am well read, I am boastful, egoistic, megalomaniac and perhaps more, but at the end, I am still stupid. Foolish actually. I remember this poem

                                   “Show me a heart unfettered with foolish dreams,

                                    And I will show you a happy man”.

So, I am happy! Yay! Are you happy? That is exactly what you need to know, because I see people, their hearts loomed by the uncertainty and they are vigorously trying to calculate the outcomes. For the love of lord, will you stop? And be an idiot? Will you stop with all those sleepless nights, haunted by your past and scarred by your future? I mean, someone else is trying to take your hand and pull you out, but you made that pit your home dagnabbit! Be stupid, burn shit down, love like an asshole and do not pretend that you are happy if you are not! Shees! Believe me, you are not the first one to bear trauma (I hope you didn’t), nor the last one (I wish you don’t) people! Like, seriously, it is not like that one of your own family member tried to kill you when you were just a year old, is it? Yeah, that’s another event in my life and I fucking survived it! Take it easy and appreciate what is being given, not what you lost. And if anyone of my readers is reading this, even if the whole fucking world goes wrong for you, remember, I love you. just be awesome idiot.

People believe that I am too quiet a person, unable to get angry, and I withhold my emotions, be it any! Yeah right! Baby, you never have been inside my brain! It is a world of chaos. Just under the surface, I am roiling, ready to burst forth any moment. I just keep myself under constant check. Why? Last time I let my emotions out to their full, I hurt my mother. Pretty bad. And words hurt badly. A lot! I made it a point not to hurt anyone else. Instead, my sole intention has been to comfort those who need it with my words. (That reminds me, Trisha was low again! Dammit woman!). I always am trying to tell people that if you are angry, hurt, or feeling negate, take it out on me if you need to, but stop hurting yourself, but I think I am not very good in making people believe that! or else why would it be like this that even after knowing it, some of them aren’t here? Well, they will be back. They always had been back. Yes, I have a broad spectrum of emotions and I got it from the man, as my brother has this same issue. We both are fucked up psychopaths in our own accord. We love to our full, we hate to extreme that it might get lethal; we can give our hearts for the people who we care for and we can carve the heart out of the people who will hurt them and we are easily misunderstood. Especially me, for I have “mastered” the way of control, people do have a hard time in realizing that if I am pissed off with a stupid behavior or am serious. Yeah, well.

I don’t have an ambition. Okay, I don’t. I have a dream. And that’s all I need. I want, nay, I need to be a professor and that would be someone like a crossover of Dr. House and Mr. John Keating and somewhat a pinch of Hannibal Lecter (excluding the cannibalism of course). And plus, I will open a bookshop, where you can read, write, discuss books. With coffee!

I am too sentimental. Nope. I am not. I am, as Scott. F. Fitzgerald said once, a romantic. I have that desperate knowing that nothing will remain forever and thus I keep hoping, dreaming, calling, loving and do everything that I do. Sure, it has its own disadvantages. I am always in love and I believe that everything that is going wrong will come back right soon. Soon enough. Yes, right now, there are some who aren’t here, irritated by my consistent and unfaltering faith in them and in my emotions, the unwavering love that I hold maybe is too strong, so much so that some won’t even see my face or won’t even recognize me, but why shall it mean that I should stop? I was, am, and always will. A man keeps his word!   As Goethe said once,

                                           “If I love you, what business is it of yours?”

So, yeah, romantic, sentimental, hopeful, asshole, idiot, psychopath, a mutant (have you ever seen me quitting or leaving people behind even if I should? That is a fucking power!) And always here, I know what I am doing and believe it or not, I am right! I cannot be wrong when I say, “darling, I was always, and I always will be.”

Well, I don’t know that if there are anymore assumptions or not, or even if I am right about these ones, I just was going through an old diary of mine and I found a list I was asked to make. I never posted this, but I don’t see a reason why I shouldn’t!  I do stupid things always and that is what defines me. I am what you can conveniently call a madman. It is said that madness is just like gravity, all you ever need is a push. I, on the other hand, let myself go, jump off of a roof and let gravity (madness) do its job. It has been working fine, and I know I will hit the floor, bite the dust and poof! Rishi Bhowmick’s gone! But until that happens, let not the rumors misguide you about me. 

Well, now I need to go now. Remember the first thing I wrote in this blog? Well, it is really happening, in a much amicable way than I wanted it to. But don’t worry. Even if it becomes my last entry, I have a backup plan.

Love always.

Regards.

                

p.s - I hope all are well with the earthquake, although, mother is in silly shock since she has a bad memory of my father being in Gujrat when there was an earthquake in 2002 or so. I remember her fear stricken face.

Thicker Than Blood. (4th blog story)

19^th April, 2015.

                                                  Thicker than Blood.

After completing his final lap, Abhru climbed out of the swimming pool at Saket sports complex only to find 39 missed calls on his phone and 7 sms from Geetanjali,  repeating the same message “Abhru, call me, it is urgent”. Drying himself with the towel he glanced at his diver’s wristwatch. 08.10 am. It has been his schedule for the last 4 years, to complete 50 laps in the swimming pool every day, from 7 am to 8 am. Geetanjali was well aware of his schedule, as he made it sure that nobody disturbs him around that time, obviously it didn’t took much of his acumen to realize that it must be really urgent that she called so many times, or she wouldn’t have done that. Contemplating all this, he was just going to hit the dial button on the screen when the phone rang again.

“Yes?” Abhru said. He never greeted anyone with a formal ‘hello’ over phone. Especially to his friends.

“Bad time? I know you were swimming, but it is really urgent” Geetanjali sounded a bit off than usual. Something wasn’t right.

“No, no, bol kya hua?”

“It’s about Shubha, well, I don’t know if it is really a problem or not, but…”

“Oh”. Abhru rubbed his temple. If it was about Shubha, or Shubhasree, it wasn’t going to be pleasant. But still, it was Shubha. “I guess this would take long. Can you meet?” Abhru asked, still drying his hairs and donning his vest.

“Yeah, yeah sure! Where?” Geetanjali’s voice sounded relieved, like she was waiting for this particular reply.

“Saket crossing bus stand? I’ll be there in 20 minutes” Abhru said.

“Okay”.

Shubha has always been a bit of trouble to her friends and family, especially her irresponsible and quite impossible attitude and sudden changes. Naturally, Abhru wasn’t excluded from it either. But lately, she has been way too much of news to everybody. Sure, the occasional silliness or behavioral changes aren’t unnatural, but she has been doing things that shouldn’t be done, and there is no regret or remorse that she shows, instead, she is quite vocal about how people shall leave her alone if they aren’t feeling good around her. “God knows what she has done now! I am fed up with this and her!” Abhru murmured while tying the shoelaces, and finally slinging the kit bag on his shoulder, leaving the changing rooms. Buying a cigarette, Abhru’s mind was trying to figure out all the possibilities, the worst case scenarios that might have taken place. Glancing at his watch for one last time, he revved up the bike and sped off to the rendezvous he fixed for the meet.

“Thank you for meeting up Abhi!” Geetanjali remarked, embracing him in a glad, relieved manner. She and Abhru knew each other through Shubha, when she introduced each other at a movie and since then they have been quite good friends. “I really didn’t want to bother you, you know. But I didn’t knew what to do” her voice was trembling with uncertain doubts.

“Nah! It’s okay! I am always here to help. Even though…” Abhru said absently. “Well, what’s up?”

“It’s Shubha. I don’t know how to put it, she isn’t well” Geetanjali started, a cloud of uncertainty fear loomed over her face, and Abhru knew, Geetanjali is not that type of girl who can be intimidated easily. “She hasn’t been picking my phones, she hasn’t been replying to my texts for the last 8 days, and no one else has any idea of her whereabouts. I don’t feel it good Abhi!”

“Well, you know her! This isn’t the first time that she is doing such stuff. She does turn out a bitch at times! I don’t see the need to be afraid.” Abhru said, lighting another cigarette. “Surely you are aware of her crap! You are her bestie, aren’t you?”

“Yes, indeed, but still, mann nahi maan raha Abhi!” She said, taking a drag off the cigarette Abhru offered her. “I know she does that, but she never had ignored my calls before, she always picks my call. And lately, she has been acting strange. She is like, um, I don’t know, not herself.”

“Hmm… so, what do you want me to do? You do know that she has moved out of the house and she have severed every contact with me, right?” Abhru said, is gaze fixed on the rushing cars on the streets, which was going to get clogged with the morning rush.

“I don’t know, I really don’t! But I have a bad feeling about this! That’s why I need your help!” Geetanjali said, putting out the cigarette and tossing gum in her mouth absently.

A few moments of thinking and two more cigarettes later, Abhru stood up finally, stretching his arms and cracking his fingers. “Okay, come on.”

“Where?” Geetanjali asked, quite amused by this sudden decision”

“To the epicenter of all the fucking trouble, and to meet that jumped up little bitch”! Abhru remarked, hoping on to his bike, “To Mehrauli”. He said.

Abhru didn’t realized that today was  going to be one of those days when all of a sudden, everything was likely destined to go in a berserk mode, and all one could do was watch or try to fix things up. Shubha has been one of those people in his life who, in a matter of speaking, was a walking chaos even though he was sure that most of her misgivings were plainly a by-product of universe’s own jokes. He always believed that Shubha wasn’t entirely the reason of her irresponsible attitude, but he also believed, and told her at times that irresponsibility is just a matter of personal choice, and anyone can be better. But ever she listened to him!

“Open the goddamn door for fuck’s sake!” Abhru screamed while relentlessly banging and knocking the door, as a certain but unwanted feeling drowned him. “Shubha! Open the damn door, dammit!”

“Oh my god, no…no!” Geetanjali broke down with the fear of something that wasn’t even supposed to be there to be afraid of! Her legs went weak with that one fear that overlaps every other fear in the world.

“Right, this isn’t working.” Abhru said, keeping his composure, which was necessary. He always believed, and quite rightly, that panic is the worst emotion, it always curtails the necessary function. If a problem is to be solved, calmness is the first thing one will need.

“Shall… shall we call the police?” Geetanjali queried who have lost the idea of her whereabouts and was weeping.

“No, no need of that, not yet.” Abhru said, with the calmest tone, which might have provided some strength to Geetanjali. Fumbling his kit bag, he produced a small pouch with 4 or 5 metal clips and shafts. Picking two of them, Abhru kneeled in front of the apartment door, inserting the shafts into the doorknob, where usually the keys go.

“What are you doing?”

“Picking the lock; learnt it from Google, and we really don’t have to call police.” Abhru said, as a matter of factly, as he tweaked the knob, finally unlocking the door with a click. “Good thing that I made this tool kit!” He always was learning things that didn’t seemed necessary at initial glance. Pushing the door inwards to enter the apartment, he stood still at the entry, looking into the apartment. It was exactly like he had assumed. “FOR FUCK’S SAKE!”  Abhru entered the rooms, annoyed, followed by a weeping and frightened Geetanjali.

It was nearly 1 in the afternoon when Shubha woke up on her bed. The curtains were removed, allowing the sun to shine right on her face, blinding her momentarily. It took atleast 5 minutes to gather her state and condition and as she was trying to remember what had happened or where she was she noticed that her room was cleaned up and smelled of incense sticks are room freshener. She heard some metals clank that came from the kitchen. She was almost going to scream with fear when someone said “Oh good, you are awake! Go have a bath first, and then we’ll talk”. Jolted with a fright, she turned only to find Abhru sitting on her chair, calm and poised and looking right at her.”

“How did you…” Shubha started to ask but was interrupted with a serious and intimidating tone. “The bath! Now!” Abhru said, rising from her chair and leaving the room. His voice, Shubha knew, he always used this one voice that wasn’t to be disobeyed. Although he didn’t raised it, such a voice that wasn’t to be taken lightly by any way. She went to obey the task that was given.

20 minutes later, when Shubha came out in the living room, she found the dining table has been cleaned up food was waiting. Actual homemade food. And the whole apartment was cleaned up. The packets of chips and wafers weren’t on the floor; the stale pizza from three nights ago was probably down the toilet. The bottles of rum and whiskey weren’t there where she left them lying and to her horror, the small pouch of weed wasn’t on the table. Instead all of these, she found Geetanjali wiping her hands and approaching her to give her a hug, and Abhru, sitting on the armchair, his hands clasped near his chin as he intently followed the Australia – new Zealand match, and the whole room looked like it was refurnished. It was just cleaner than before.

“Sit down, Shubha!” the familiar baritone that came from the chair, as he switched off the TV and turned towards her.  

“how did you get in? I changed the lock!” Shubha demanded, sitting down, her eyes red as in effect of the marijuana she had been smoking and the drinks.

“Doesn’t matter!” Abhru said “it really doesn’t matter how we got in, you shall ask, why we had to break in.”

“Okay, why?” Shubha exclaimed. “Why the hell are you here? Especially you! Hadn’t I made it clear that you are to stay away from me?”

“I called him Shubha!” Geetanjali said, “I was afraid! You haven’t been picking up my calls, you weren’t answering my texts, and you aren’t even yourself! I was really scared. I was at loss, and I thought that only Abhru is the right person to…”

“I am 28 years old, I guess I have the freedom to choose whether to pick your stupid damn calls or to reply you or not! And as far as he is concerned, you really don’t need to be here!” Shubha replied, only to regret it slightly. Even if she was high and was having a hangover, Shubha knew that Geetanjali was her soul sister. She knew that Geetanjali had done what she felt right. Geetanjali kept quiet, taken aback with such a reply, but Abhru wasn’t.

“Yes, you do have that freedom. But you don’t have the freedom to treat your friends as pieces of shit just because you are having a breakdown!” he said, his voice wrapped with an unnatural calm. “Just because you are irresponsible, of which you boast so triumphantly, and uncaring, doesn’t gives you the fucking right to treat everybody with such a shitty behavior. You want to die? Here’’ Abhru tossed a kitchen knife from the fruit bowl towards her, “slit your wrist right now and get over it.”

“Please stop doing it”. Shubha said, annoyed and irritated.

“Stop doing what?” Abhru replied, equally irritated.

“Stop giving a shit! Stop pretending that you care. Stop pretending that you look after me, you are not my…” Shubha was going to continue when...

“NOT YOUR WHAT? NOT YOUR OWN BROTHER?” Abhru shouted, frightening Geetanjali who sat in the chair still weeping for that previous remark. Even Shubha looked shocked. None of them or his friends has ever seen Abhru Roychoudhari lose his temper or raise his voice. His calm and intimidating manner, his rasp and deep voice did the job always. “NOT YOUR FUCKING OWN BROTHER? IS THAT IT? Yes, I am your step brother, yes, my father did marry your mother and I was a side luggage, so? SO WHAT YOU FUCKED UP BITCH? SO WHAT? How does it make any difference? How the fuck does it gives you the reason for your shitty behavior?”

“I…I didn’t…” Shubha tried to respond.

Still raging and gritting his jaws, Abhru continued “Stop pretending that I care? What do you know about care? I changed your bloody diapers when you were yay high! I stayed awake for nights singing you lullabies so that you can sleep when Pops and new Maa were sleeping, dead tired due to hectic night shifts at work! I took care of your bleeding self when you were sick or had exams you bloody unapologetic, ungrateful bitch! I don’t know what I have done to gather so much hate from you suddenly, you can hate me all the fuck you want, but never say that I pretend to care about you. I am your brother and I will always care even if you don’t appreciate it! And I don’t care about your problems, but you cannot be allowed to mess with other’s lives!”

“I didn’t wanted to say that Abhi, really! I…it was not my intention. It is just…” Shubha wept. A sense of remorse, to her own amazement dawned over her as she never saw her brother get so raged. Sure, she was a problem to him at times, but he always loved her more than a blood brother would, it was true. His calm, smiling demeanor and that large heart had always comforted her and she never had thanked him. She never felt to do so, and today, that afternoon Abhru lost his composure and that was her fault. Or so she felt. Weeps turned into intermittent sobs and Geetanjali now much poised and calmed, sat by her, holding her near her heart, letting her cry, as Shubha continued repeating that she was sorry, begging for forgiveness from Geetanjali, her soulmate. After all, asking for forgiveness is never too late; Abhru taught her when she was just a child.

Abhru’s anger melted away too, for even though she was a pain at times, she was his little sister, then be it his step sister. Her smile was something he would’ve killed for. Picking the knife from the floor that he threw at her, he took her head to his chest, something that Shubha always liked, for she found herself safe there. “Why didn’t you talked to me ‘paakhi’?” he asked, paakhi was her nickname he gave. “Why this self destructive behavior?” he asked.

“I don’t know. I felt so alone these days, rejected, abandoned, crushed…”

“Toh? What kind of silliness is this love? Okay, forget about me, you have been a pain in the arse to me, but think of Pops, Maa, Geetanjali… they all love you, this girl who is by your side right now, do you know how much afraid she was for the last 8 days?”

She knew. Even if she didn’t pick her calls or replied to her texts, she knew. And it indeed was stupidity in her part. She was stupid and she knew it, but her only problem was that she knew it and didn’t know how to act on it. “I am sorry, dada…” she could only manage that, choked by her own tears.

A deep breath lets itself loose from his chest and he smiled, “it’s okay now! It is alright. Now! Enough of this Shakespearean tragedy! I need to eat, you need to eat, and dear Geetanjali here is an amazing master of culinary arts as I reckon. Shall we?”

“Yes, sure” Shubha said, wiping her tears. “But I need you to do one thing, throw this shitty Cobain t-shirt for the love of god! Hell, sod it! I’m gonna go through your wardrobe and you need to have a new set of apparels! It is time that I come home.”

After 5 months and 7 days later, Shubha laughed on something, Abhru found his lost sister and Geetanjali her friend. Maybe Shubha was right, it was time that she came home.

“Food’s getting cold!” Geetanjali yelled with joyous tear.

                                                            End.

The Monk who helped me

22^nd April, 2015.

So! There are too many things, overwhelming things, and I don’t know where to start. Let’s do it from the beginning I think! But firstly, I would like to send my gratitude to the monk I met at ISKCON temple. A random stranger and a perfect teacher. I hope not to meet him again, really I don’t! Why? Well, I had the world’s strangest conversation and I guess it is in best of my judgment to write it down. But if I needed to meet him, I will always find him in my sandcastle, which by the way has gone under a complete renovation. Spit shine floors, new curtains, and all new paint and cleaned up. I have been scrubbing the floors and now, it looks like a castle of a king and not of a madman. And the people in it, the will be happy to find the new things!

There was not a precise plan for ISKCON by the way, I just happened to be there for no reason at all. I sat in the hall, the place where they do the aarti and pujo, when I met him. 25, bald head, orange tunic and a calm, serene but confident demeanor. To be frank, my first impression regarding him was that was like everyone else here. The guys who are begging to god for this and that.  The men who might are asking for jobs, or for marriage or this, that. Women might were asking for the same things, you know how things are! And me? Wasn’t I begging? Wasn’t I there too? To be truthful, I was. Yes indeed I was. I was begging for everything I don’t have. After all, I am human too, vulnerable to such things. I am no better than the ones who are reading this and neither from those who are not reading this. But this isn’t about what I was begging for. It is about him and me. Was I destined to meet him, or he was just a manifestation of my questions is a different question entirely, but I do believe that there is a plan for all of us. Or so he said. I knew this, but really never paid attention to it. All I thought that why or how, not what! WHAT is the most important thing to ask?

Okay, I must start explaining. Do you want lemonade first my dear? Be comfortable and lie down, I have a story to tell!

As I said, I was sitting in the hall, when I saw him. He came out of nowhere and asked me, in the most polite manner, “is it okay if I sit down here?”

“Sure, sure” I said, without paying any attention. I was much engrossed to what was going on around me. He squatted down and fixed his gaze on the idol of “Gaura Nitai”. Visit to the temple, you’ll know.

I saw, or rather observed that almost everyone lied down completely in front of the idols in genuflection. That, which must offend many, made me laugh. A giggle actually. I was amazed by their vulnerability and I mocked them, when he turned to me and asked why I was laughing.

“I am not laughing; I am just amazed by their weakness.”

“And you? Are you not weak? Isn’t it the reason why you are here? Aren’t you here to ask something from him?” he asked, pointing towards the idol.

“I really don’t believe in god.” I said, annoyed by his audacity. Truly I was annoyed because he was bothering me.

“No, I guess you don’t. But you are here for a reason. You are here to ask something, and it is nothing to be ashamed of. After all, he is the one who has everything to give, and even though you don’t ‘believe’ in ‘god’, you do have your set of beliefs.” He said, looking right into my eyes. It was the first time that someone had done this, looking and saying what was really obvious. Normally people don’t do it.

“Would you mind telling me what you asked for?” he continued, now facing me, putting his all attention towards me. I was at a loss as to what to say. I really had no idea from where to start as I really wasn’t there to ask anything. But then, I would be lying if I say I wasn’t. I said, “I don’t know. I am going through a tough time, and it is not good. Maybe I want things to go alright and fine again.”

“No, no, things will be fine obviously, they are bound to. Tell me what you asked for” he asked again, only this time, he was reading me. I know that because I do that all the time, reading and trying to get to the actual reasons.

“It’s about me and the certain issues with a particular emotion.” I said trying to be stupidly cryptic. It was enough I suppose.

“AAHHH!” he smiled largely and amicably. Like he knew exactly what was it, as if he was my elder brother with the deepest knowledge about me.  “Hmm, well, I suppose there is a person involved too! Tell me; was the “emotion” from this person too?

“Yeah, I suppose so!” I replied curtly.

“No no no… not suppose, tell me in surety, was there?”

“Yes.”

“Okay, good. Tell me, if you don’t mind, is your ‘particular emotion’ clear? Are you certain that you aren’t just trying to conquer?”

“Conquer?” I asked him, now I was totally confused. Firstly this guy was a stranger, that too in a temple. The last thing I needed was a theological lecture. But it wasn’t so. What he said was philosophy and logic.

“Yes dear boy, ‘conquer’. Look, I don’t know what has happened, and I don’t even want to know, because it is your life, your emotions and your privacy. But it is easy to assume that whatever has happened wasn’t in your favor. And that has made you a conqueror. Not in a royal way, not like napoleon or Alexander, but it is egoistically. You want him/or her back not because you’re in love, but because you are egoistic. You want to win, but not rule or love. Sure, you are sad; you have the right to be sad. It’d have been very unnatural if you weren’t, but instead of doing it right, you embarked on a conquest, it will make things worse. Sadness, my dear boy is not a good tool. You see, everything is made to get fixed. There is nothing that cannot get fixed, because god never gives you a problem that cannot be fixed. You think that asking god or whatever you believe in will get your lost friend back, but how can he if you yourself are not ready?”

“I… I don’t follow! I do have hopes, and I do pray to the one I believe.”

“Ohhoo, but you are also being negative, aren’t you? You are losing faith and that’s why you are here. To restore your faith. But it cannot be restored because you are not letting it. You are so angry that you are questioning your faiths and beliefs which made you a romantic in the first place. It is like doubting your mechanic or your doctor and asking them to do it in your way. Believe me; the mechanic knows how to fix the car far better than you do.  If everyone knew how to fix a damn car, there would’ve been no need for them. Krishna is a mechanic you see, he knows your needs, desires, and he heard your demand or plea the first time you asked for it. But if you don’t let go of the steering wheel, if you don’t let go of them, it won’t be fixed. You doubt that you won’t be the same again, that it is over. You wake every morning begging, crying, maybe blaming too, but in the same moment you ask him to fix you, arrey! but first you need to calm down no? Look, it is relatively easy to understand in this way, this person of yours, was he or she or whoever, do you believe in his or her individual? Do you respect his choice and freedom?”

“I do, yes!” I nodded silently, paying attention to his words, engrossed and lost.

“When you were with the person, did you wanted to the person to be your shadow? To be with you always?”

“I did yes! I always wanted to be together, never leaving.”

“That’s what was wrong! You started wrong in the basic dear boy. That’s what is wrong with most of you, or us. We all start loving but we don’t see that we are doing it wrong. Loving someone doesn’t means that they will be your shadow, following you everywhere. If that’s what you want, get a pet for yourself. Loving someone means believing in them and respecting their privacy, letting them in their own world because their world is your world too when you love. But why shall it mean they have to be there always? They too deserve their time rather than always making time for you, for they are an individual entity as much you are. Their happiness quotient is not always about yours really, and neither shall be your happiness quotient be about theirs. If that is what it was, then you never were in love, it was just satiating your temporary lust. If you thought that your partner has left, then you are in the wrong my dear!

Suppose you and your partner are in a room and one of you have to use the lavatory, would it be good if you follow your partner or s/he follows you when you need to be extremely private? How awkward would it be?” I laughed at this question so hard that some of them stared at me.

“Yes, you see? They are really never gone. I used the metaphor to make you understand that nobody ever leaves us, never. In this world, the feeling of love and respect is too powerful. If you are in love, and if the person is not there, it is for the moment itself, and our lord Krishna is just doing what needs to be done. Our emotions are too strong and there exists both positive and negative emotions. If you only think that your love has left you, then it will seriously leave you and the person would never be back because you drove him away. Or her, whoever that one person is. But if you believe that they are here, indeed here, then don’t worry. Because you believe that your love is here, then it is a positive sentiment, and since your love is here, then the person will be back regardless how far they are, it is a bond we share. It is a bond you have made and it is really too strong. If you, without the slightest doubt, believe in yourself, then be happy. Be happy for whatever is happening and rejoice. Strip yourself off of all negating sentiments of failure and abandonment, because frankly, you didn’t failed in loving, you just made the wrong use of your emotions and made it toxic. Be free and happy and do not long for the person. Do not long because the person is right there when you close your eyes and smile, right in your heart. The person is just having his/her free time, knowing self. Let them be. Let Krishna guide you, and guide your partner, the one you think has left.”  He said, completing this long and arduous anthology. I was about to reply when he started again,

“You know, there is a poet. Jalaluddin Rumi. A Sufi poet. He said, and I quote, “lovers never finally meet somewhere, they are always inside each other”. Now, for him, his love was his god and devotion, but all the same, it was love! He didn’t went out in a conquest to find his love, he found his lover inside him. Similarly, your lover didn’t went out leaving you in the cold, she is right inside your heart, but since you have made your heart so corrosive with wrong sentiments that she might will leave. Let her be on her own, she will be back in her own accord. In the meantime, while she is out, I would suggest you to clean your heart which is her second home too. Be happy that she is not here for the moment and clean it, thanking Krishna or whoever you believe in that you got the time for a renovation. You do that my dear fellow! You will be fine and happy and she will be back because your love and her love are both catalyst to each other.

 Just believe in god’s work and his ways and surely believe in yourself and the person! HARE KRISHNA!”

It was nearly 7 in the evening, after all this, the guy murmured some mantra or something under his breath, thanked me for the talk and left. I never asked his name, he never asked mine. I guess it was the time for aarti or something, but I left too, I didn’t need the aarti, I just had the “charanamrit”. I had a final look at the Krishna idol, and after a good time, I smiled for no reason. I bowed my head, touched my heart and left. I had some work.

So, here I am, two days later, cleaning all the cobwebs and dust out of my heart, my sandcastle. It has been quite a time that the sunlight hasn’t been inside the rooms; I forgot that they are so big and spacious. I forgot that the castle isn’t made of stones and mortar, it is made of my emotions and I had forsaken my responsibility towards it. I was so engrossed in one thing that I overlooked the fact that the castle needed cleaning. A castle is as good as it is maintained, the reason why so many castles are in ruins today. I have scrubbed out every inch of this big structure, the gardens are watered and the dungeons now have lights with no dead skeletons. There is no darkness now, just bright lights. Truly, I wouldn’t have noticed it. It is ready to welcome and accommodate and as the monk said, I never lost my faith, I know that someone is doing what needs to be done, and I really do not have to fear anything. There is a plan for all of us and I just am letting the mechanic do his job, respecting each decisions made by the universe, the gods and the people who lived here and might have gone for a while. I thank you universe, and I thank you dear monk. Hare Krishna my dear friend.

All the love and regards.

The king of sandcastle.

p.s – I see your glass of lemonade is empty, let me refill it, I have plenty now!

Well, Fuck!

18^th April, 2015.

Hello my dearest readers, who, by my accurate assumptions are having a great time! As far as I am concerned, I might tell you the truth. I am high! Really really high. Though I really do not appreciate it. Hmmm… I don’t do drugs, not alcohol, weed and other stuff are neither in my reach, nor do I want to use those, they are lethal. The easiest thing I have is cough syrup. Or the more polished term is dextromethorphan, the base in cough syrup. Hush! Don’t tell my mother now! She already have enough of shit to deal with, I can’t be another reason of her problems. The shit is strong. I won’t do it again. Hell!

I feel, exhilarated, exuberant, vocal, and sleepy. I feel like screaming, or grabbing someone by their collar and ask, the fuck is wrong ? Though I am not hallucinating. Not yet, I guess the dosage was not that high. The basic rule is, if you are not a borderline junkie (I am not), do not even try to be heroic. I mean, what is the point of OD-ing and dying with nothing to go on with right? So, almost a quarter of bottle it was, in one go. And then we wait, for the hit. That sudden hammer to your head and everything starts spinning in a speed of light. Okay, not a speed of light, but a good deal of speed. Everything starts distorting like a bad signal in radio, the sounds aren’t correct and everyone seems to be lip-syncing with the static. I heard that people get addicted to it because it is cheap, over the counter stuff; I am not addicted to anything, so I won’t be using it again. Okay, that didn’t sound rightly placed. Will anyone help me reminding what am I missing? Or better yet, why did I want to get high on the first place? Dhuur shaala. Bhallagena. How do people manage being stable? I'd so love a talk right now. And maybe some deferred senses. 

This is some bullshit. Pardon my language. Or better yet, go jump off a roof, I don’t give a heck. This is not a story, not anymore man. There is no story, and as far as stuff go, I don’t even care right now. I talked to doc a moment ago, she said I have been laughing unnaturally, people say I do not laugh much, just a passing smile they see if they are lucky. Is it? I don’t know. You tell! You, the great common lot of liars and freaks and messed up bunch of people who know everything about screwing things up…..

Being high is neither good nor bad. Not good if you are in public or in company. There are chances of breakdown, and it becomes worse if there is none to speak with. Good thing is, I am neither in public, nor in company, hence I can manage any breakdown. Well, there is one, but  it is in better judgment that I shall refrain from fucking up things worse than they are already are. Oh wait!

Well, to be entirely fucked up is one thing, I know too many people with too many issues, but I guess I am better than a whole lot of fucked up people. No I am not getting philosopher or anything, but what is the point of existing if you can’t even be truthful to yourself? And top of that, lose hope for everything? Isn’t there magic anywhere? Is everything a farce? I am not Jack Kerouac or Morrison or Cobain or Marley or HEndriX. But in my sense of common sense, it says, you do not need to be fucking high to do anything. Nothing but a pinch of belief in your emotions and compassion will do.  You just need to believe that you are there and even though life gave you the sourest lemons, there will be a lemonade-seller around you, who might have the perfect recipe to calm your nerves. But then, it is an old notion. getting fucked up is the new trend. People get high for different reasons, some to have fun, some to replenish the bygone things and some just to hide their, um, sufferings and pain and whines and cries “oh my life fucked me up!”. I am high because I wanted to. And I am! But does it mean I will change within the next 60 minutes? No! I may am a stupid joke of nature, a creature of habitual naiveté, and probably the most obnoxious arseshole the world would see, with a crumpled heart, but I do not change, I do not suffer from personality disorder. I can hardly lie, I promise around people like I am selling some kind exotic chocolate and I turn I get…nothing. But I don’t regret it. No. I do not regret ANYTHING! The world needs a guy like me, a fool in the king’s court who will make you laugh with stories and mocks. The king didn’t laugh though. That’s a bummer. I am trying and trying, but the king sits on his throne, sad and gloomy. Laugh already dammit! I am running out of jokes! Even good old Charlie Chaplin ran out of mockery and jokes in the end. It’s okay though. I am hopeful. About everything. Even this, drunkenness cannot take my hopes away. Nope sir, not my hopes. Not my fucking hopes and beliefs and the morality that I always speak of, keeping promises. Hmmm…. Too many stuff to let out, and I am still not speaking up. I am still asking the gods to leave my sanity to the edge, there is no point in being sane and practical. I go around with my heart as the beg bowl, but that is it. Nobody is answering the phone, the doors are closed, and the castle is empty. Dammit, I need to sweep the whole castle now. Alone! Pffft…and here I was, with a little black book of poems. Will you please like to hear something? No? Well, sorry I bothered you and your coffee.

Well, I need to get going. I feel like puking. Fuck this shit dude! You people, enjoy your vicissitudes with the same apathy and melancholy, go on with your masks and hiding behind the curtains, your shoes are peeking out though, look down! Go on with trampling over a heart, you won’t feel the need… Heh…have a good night dreaming. Love for all.

Laters!

Oh and, p.s, do they give hangovers? The syrup? I would like some tea right now and maybe forgiveness from a dead spirit. Would anyone like some tea? Please? I do brew good tea! The door's open, and kettle is just heated, do come in darling, lets have some tea and talk!

i am just adding something before i forget, please opine to it fellas. which of the following sounds a better story for the next one?

Anesthesia
Letter from Past
Sibling Rivalry

Love!

The Wrong Analogy.

Wrong! Wrong!
Every analogy seemed wrong for you.
The moon? a rose? the first drop of a silver rain?
Are not they too commonplace?
Used and morphed by ancient poets and ballads?
Or a summer's sun?
No, too easy, too common!
Then?
If I reside in your heart, as pure emotions,
what are you?
Nothing!
You're nothing.
In the entirety, you are everything!
The poet, the poem,
the muse, the nymph.
The theory of chaos,
the peace to my heart,
poison to my sanity.
You're the sky, not the cloud,
not even the essence of eucalyptus tree.
Neither the song of the mockingbird.
You don't deserve an analogy,
you are the analogy!


p.s- this one is from the register. it has been a while since i wrote a poem. apologies!

just a long night to spend. (and an old poem)

14^th April 14, 2015.

It’s almost close to midnight. I started this post writing about choices. The choices we make and the freedom we have. But I just deleted it. I never do that. If I start writing something, I make sure I complete it and post it up. But not tonight, I suppose. It was, in my personal view, too much personal and informing about me. I try to refrain from doing so, something that I have been reminded about every now and then. Me being too quiet about myself. Oh well, won’t it be much more wonderful if one finds on their own rather me telling?

Since I won’t be writing that blog, I might as well write something else. How about…

Hush now,

sleep!

it’ll be over,

just in a moment.

The clock will stop

racing you. time will freeze.

And you’ll too!

Let it out,

it is fighting.

Let it drape you,

the icy sheet, see the light

welcoming you.

Hush now,

you are tired.

Let it drain,

slowly, surely the rage will calm down.

From crimson to black,

from liquid to muck!

let it drain.

There’s not pain,

not anymore.

It is over.

hush now,

sleep!

and rest in peace.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxx R.B xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

p.s – two things, firstly, if two mind readers are reading each other’s mind, none of them is reading anything.

secondly, “this side of paradise” by Fitzgerald and Mein Kampf.

Storytellers, Poets and a Message

10^th April, 2015.

“You, there! Yes, you! Is that a glass of wine in your hand? Or is it a cup of coffee? Or a cake? Well don’t bother telling me what it is. Tell me, are you comfortable? On the sofa or your bed or wherever you are while reading this? Of course you are, I know it! So let me tell you something. If you are reading this, with all the comfort around you, then believe me, you are not dead. No, you might are sad and gloomy for now, and so unfortunate to stumble on this piece of paper, but you are not dead. You are very much alive my friend. If you are reading this, then you are alive. If that’s not enough to celebrate, I cannot tell you what is! Though what I can do, is ask you to live, write, eat and fall in love and stay there and give him/her all you have. Nothing can be more exuberant than that. Create stories like this one and be a storyteller or poet. And the day you figure it out, you won’t need this message anymore. All the love, regards, Antigone.”

The piece written above, I found it in a book, on the last page. Whoever owned this book wrote it with a red pen and donated it to the college library where I spent most of my time during college days. I still don’t know who was she, but I love her. Okay I said she because I know it is a woman, much older than me, like 10 years older. The handwriting was clearly of a woman and plus, Antigone, being an alias, is a female character from the Theban plays by Sophocles. I found the book in the literature section during my first year, and since then, whenever I found the book, I read that message. Not because I wanted to figure it out who she was, but for the last line that said “create stories like this and be a storyteller, or a poet…”  since then, I have been following her instructions, and still trying to figure it out.

Well, does anyone know what Dastangoi is? Anyone?  No? Well, it is an art of oral storytelling in Urdu, presumably originated during 16^th century. Quite a beautiful term, isn’t it? Dastangoi. Something that you can repeat over and over without losing its meaning. But why am I speaking of this? Well, keep patience my dears.

My father (note to self, I need to write about him too), has always told me that the toughest job in the world is nothing but the art of storytelling. That and making people laugh. If you are telling a story, the first thing that you should remember is how to get a grip over the heart of your readers and listeners. To make them stay and follow you into the world you created is the hardest job of all time. Same is the thing with poetry. If you can’t tap the emotions of the person who reads your works, you are no good. I think I am in agreement with my father in this matter.

Strictly speaking, I am not a storyteller. I am not even a writer of any sorts. Though I will not call the stories I wrote false or something. But calling them readable will be a dire insult to those who are more apt than me in writing. I don’t know if I ever was successful I making anyone stay and read it completely, or was I ever able to touch someone’s heart ever. But still, since someone asked me how I write or wrote such “good” things, here is my answer; I hope it will be sufficed and will quench the queries.

Well, it is true that there is something going on inside my head. Always! Like right now, there are 25 different situations in my head, with subsequent characters and their emotions that range varyingly throughout the broad spectrum. Those situations are basically nothing but the things I see on the road, metro, bus, or anywhere. It happens while I am travelling or walking or just am sitting quietly on a bench, looking at people. I know I sound too clichéd, but there is no other way I can put it. I don’t even know how the characters come into my existence, but at times, I become the character, feeling the emotion that s/he is feeling or will feel or that reflects the situation. And that’s it. If the character and the situation survives, it goes down in my register, and then in my blog. Though in fairness, I have written only three stories on the blog although there are more than 18 stories around. I didn’t posted them for this reason or that, and I don’t want to post them for no particular reason.

As far as poetry is concerned, I believe poetry can be found anywhere. But mostly, it resides in the chaos of our hearts. Although I might have lost my touch on that, but my heart is still in a chaos, and I might find the poem I need. I am giving it time.

Now, coming back to the question why I am speaking of this, there is no reason at all. Or maybe a random reason. Or maybe too random to be random or not random at all! Two days ago, I went to my local library, and I found a book of poems. Tattered, torn and with page marks. The book belonged to someone called Seemita Anddy, and the year is 1981. I love old books; there is so much in them.  Well, I randomly opened a page which was marked, and guess which poem I found?

                                                “Gather ye rose-buds while ye may,

                                                  Old time is still a flying:

                                                   And this same flower that smiles today,

                                                   Tomorrow will be dying.” – R. Herrick- page number 71.

So, what does it say, the poem? Quite strangely, it reflects the message I found 4 years ago by Antigone. She told me, or anyone else who read that, to celebrate and live. There is nothing else to do instead of loving, reading, writing. I might die tomorrow, or might drop dead right now after writing this. So I am gathering my rose buds. And although it is a tough task, I am not quitting. Not yet. Antigone asked me not to. I don’t know her, but she might was or still is an amazing woman, for person who can write such a thing on the back of a book and then donate it to library is anything but ordinary.  She wanted us to read her message, and she was successful in terms of speaking. Reading the poem reminded me of that message, the handwriting and the deep meaning inside. Yes, I am yet to figure something out, and I am waiting for the day when I won’t need the message any longer, but until then, I will keep up this silly task. I am too stupid I assume, following some random person’s whim and fantastic instruction. But then, if everyone became smart together, life would be boring.

 Also, there is another thing.  Quote by F. Scott Fitzgerald, which said – “I’m not sentimental- I’m as romantic as you are. The idea, you know, is that the sentimental person thinks things will last—the romantic person has a desperate confidence that they won’t.” I tend to believe in this quote and I assume I am a romantic, in a way or other. That might explain why I am like this. And why not anything like anyone else, like normal people. I am just trying to do something that people generally overlook. I try to find stories, not inside books, but in human heart. And I believe that everyone has got a story to tell, no matter how silly, morbid, stupid, funny or inspiring it sounds, there is a story. And if by chance you don’t have one, you can always make one. Just look for yourself around you. It is not easy, I know, but it surely is not impossible. And who knows, your story might is someone else’s too!

I think I have spoken far enough, but if I was to take liberty and add something to Antigone’s message, I would say, “If you have scars, don’t hide, don’t be in the wounds. They are there to show the world that you survived something. And maybe, it will be those scars only which might make you loved. And maybe someone is!”

So, where is yours?

Thank you Antigone!

Replaced

07^th April, 2015.

Hello there my dear, agonized, taunted, traumatized readers! Enjoying a fine April evening? I assume you are! Isn’t it a great evening? With the crescent moon and the slight calm breeze, I guess nothing is wrong at all, and it shouldn’t be. I on the other hand, being self ostracized from the trivial banality and the vain, incessant vanity of the day to day conundrums, and trying as much possible, to stay away from the vestiges of the regular drama of the subtle things, am here, writing and trying to surpass the already lethal days and obnoxious nights. Although to be truthful, there is no insomnia anymore, I am having sound sleeps at night indeed, which is a rarity in itself, it came with a cost. A cost of lost vaunts that was a default character of me. I lost the way of talking, rendering myself speechless and the ability to think and present some solution to anybody who needs it. As someone named me “Mr. Manipulator” due to my excessive talks and solutions, I might am losing my ability. But enough of me! This particular rant is about someone else, and I, like always, am sure that she won’t read it. Although she is well aware of my writings, she doesn’t have any interest about them, so I can write without being bothered of her knowing.

Well, how is it, how does it feels, to be replaced? To have your emotions replaced by apathy? hmm... well!

After long and arduous planning and programming, I finally met Trisha on 4^th.  Trisha, a good friend and a better person. I’ve known her for quite a time now, and it was after about 5 months that we met. Now the reason of this meet was quite stupid, and I have no recollection of the reason why I am writing it, but since it has been eating me up, I might as well write! Maybe it was something about her recent heartbreak (really, now I have to stop attracting the heartbroken damaged people!), and though she is good now, coping all the banality the life gave her continuously for the last 2 and a half years, I guess she wanted to talk. Yeah well! Talking is what I did, but I will refrain from describing about what I said, it is bullshit, and plus, I am more concerned about her, being a friend it was/is my moral obligation.

Now, if I was asked to describe Trisha, it wouldn’t take me more than 10 seconds to do so. Quiet girl, smart, soft spoken, good natured, bit naïve but not stupid, doesn’t have temper or tantrums, which is not seen in girls of her age. Yes I am generalizing, if it offends any feminists, go away now! She was like that in school and I had this idea that she would remain such afterwards. But now, I am certain that a great emotional push can indeed replace the initial characteristics with something new. She too had undergone changes that were not anticipated.

Well, in a nutshell, she had a bad breakup a while ago when she was blindly in love with a good for nothing arse. I don’t have to give out any details, but she was in a bad place. Well, if compared to the recent events in my shit life that lacked any excitement, she was in a worse place. So much so, she visited temples and places for answers, but as usual, the gods are made of plasters and paints, so there was not any respond. And as she proved it, she has much more emotional content than me; all kinds of wrong thoughts were roiling inside her which was quite natural. What was totally unnatural was the change in her. Yes, people change, but they are gradual changes, taking place in their own accord and in due course of time. But if you go under a change right after something drastic, it isn’t a good thing. I know that because, as much it sounds unbelievable, I am not the person I was in 4 years ago. And that too was drastic, even though I am.... Well, coming back to her, she talked, mostly about me, more about herself. There were questions she asked, simple but confounding questions, and for the first time, I was out of answers. Even consolations found their way out the window and all I was left with were more questions.

What indeed was answered, indirectly, was the fact that we all have replaced our emotions and attitudes, like something has been pulled out of us and something entirely alien has been installed, and we lost everything we had. I keep saying ‘we’ because there are people like me, Trisha and others, in a huge number, who were something else and are now something, someone else, just because we failed. She kept asking, where was our fault, what went wrong? And indeed it was a good question, for all I know; we did our best, made the feelings strong and the bond was great, but then, poof! With a snap of finger, we changed. And why? She presented an argument, that we are too kind and caring, we roam with a bleeding heart and that became the reason of such atrocities. We are ready to extend our hands again and again, presenting our hearts on a silver plate and that is what expected from us, so it was easy to end. I guess she wasn’t wrong. But then, I neither agreed nor disagreed with her. She needed to speak, and for the first time, I saw her angry, the temper going at critical levels, though she kept her composure, I did saw her right through her mask. And I was happy about it! Atleast, she is able to cope with such shit, given the fact that the guy was/is still an asshole to leave a person like her, and taunting her too! But I suppose it is her matter to deal.

I don’t know why I am even writing this, I guess, somewhere I agree with her. Why? I don’t know, I don’t want to know, but I am sure that I am not that guy anymore, I am replaced. I don’t know what went wrong, or if I was unable to be like every other guy, with shit attitude and did not follow the new trend to be practical these days. I do miss that old me, jabbering and waiting for the evenings to come, now I am threatened with shit stuff, and the head burns are replaced with nothingness, I keep my heart beating and hopes up. I guess she wanted to know how I do this. Well, it is just me! A stupid, fucked up court jester, a clown, making everyone else happy with my witty replies and care. All I know is, we’ll continue to be like this and our hearts will get broken, replaced with a void soon!

But she made one thing clear. Despite of her being another Trisha, she said, and I quote “I pity him, you know Rishi! And I pity all of them, them with the ability to break hearts after giving us hope and reason to love. I pity them because, they might will get someone else, or they will stay alone all the way, looking for love when it was right in front of them, it will be their fault. We were right there in front of them, we loved them with everything, and there will be no one like us! Atleast, we didn’t left!” well… I hope she wasn’t wrong! She reminded me of this song by “poets of the fall” –

                                                        “why do we sacrifice the beautiful ones?

                                                          How do you break a heart of gold?”

So, this was all! I guess now I need to leave! I am high on cough syrup and a concoction of honey, holy basil and ginger!

Ta!

p.s - love always!