It’s All in There!
Joy, sorrow, fear, loath, passion, aggression, beauty, kindness, forgiveness, remorse, repentance, realization, relief, pain, pleasure, purpose, peace, pragmatism, serendipity, adulation, boisterousness, blushes, cacophony, creativity, confusion, diligence, decorum, dance, drama, efficacy, effectiveness, enigma, effervescence, faith, futility, grace, hunger, happiness, humiliation, intimacy, inertia, jokes, kinesthesia, love, life, levitation, maze, mars, mesmerism, naughtiness, opulence, plunder, pace, purge, quarrel, queasiness, recklessness, races, success, surprises, tantrums, trepidation, touch, voices, vacuum, zombies………….the list goes on and on and on…its just that awake, alive and kicking it could think of so few words to describe about attributes we attach to dreams .
Fantasy, hallucination, dreams, call it whatever you may – its about thinking, feeling, experiencing and living in the non-existent but something which is so real that it shakes you up and makes you take notice of it and feel what it intends you to.
It may be the morbid world of virtual reality concocted in our minds but they can get as real as real can get or better, or as far as truth can stretch itself. One might surmise it as the poor man’s passport to richness, an artist’s stroke of genius, a scientist’s aspiration of breakthrough, a film maker’s magnum opus, a student’s view of higher study, a sportsperson’s sojourn to success, a philosopher’s hope of life, God’s dream of mankind, a child’s dream of fantasy, …take anyone who you want, any living soul or may be even those that fail to satisfy that criteria, everybody does dream.
The doors of our mind’s limit are extensively researched into in this inexplicable yet intricate and interesting journey of pseudo-reality. In spite of all the euphemisms and adjectives that may ascribe to dreams as a figment of imagination built on castles in air with the foundations of fallacy and pillars of fantasy, they are as unfathomable as the deepest of the deep oceans or the complex contours of human existence.
There is more truth in viewing dreams in a pragmatic and prosaic manner by enjoying its vivid nature and borderless beauty and endless creativity or to put it right the abundant opportunity they present us to stretch our definitions of “possibility” with regard to anything that we can connect to rather than to question and query its veracity and infallibility.
Whatever may be the mental picture that dreams create they are so full of life… so lets dream and DREAM BIG!!!
JOURNEYMAN
Of unceasing joy emanating from cruising in a luxury liner,touching the skies in a Concorde or the lilt with friends in a train ,being crushed in a crowded local bus or simply jaunting on foot for the pleasant feel of a walk ,travel is a treasure of our times.It is an abode of experience ranging from joy to anxiety,hope,despair,conquest,capitulations bundled under the stratified aspect of human emotions and expectations.Perhaps life by virtue of being a journey with a final
destination clouded in confusion,unclear about its termination is the most enthralling and enchanting journey of all kinds.
Travel as in literal sense holds a lot for us to explore but the metaphorical dimension of travel is as enthusing and inviting to unravel its beauty and glory.Man ,by virtue of being a bundle of emotions rides far through and unknown distances through his thoughts.In that sense the growth of every individual and of all collective entities in this universe can well be measured by how far we progress from a virtual “ground zero”.
We never travel between destinations.It is always something more than what the apparent terms convey.Every initiative of a journey carries with it some expectations,some goals to be met and tasks to set right.Unmasking the very essence of our journeys are our emotions.
One of the most powerful illusions of travel that we ever tread are through our dreams.Inexplicable contours of human complexity are brought to the fore in this unconquered reality of our lives.Sometimes they are the spark behind our actions and are the impetus propelling our vision in an otherwise monotonous,moribund, mortal motions through the trek called life.
Dreams ignite minds,moot ideas,introduce innovations and impart information.They are the mystic miracles that cast a spell and bewitch our minds to act in a way they tend to make us traverse.It is in this imperative and undeniable spirit that they are
a journey by themselves of unexplored territories and as pointers to the impending future.
The concept of time,of a past ,a present and future mirages into an oblivion in this journey (of dreams)encapsulating theories,sinking logic and stumping rational.They are a truth by themselves that transcends,tranquilizes and trepidation,tell-tale evidences of which have been showered upon us.
Journeys such as dream scale us to new heights and make us what we are not or rather what we were not to be.Looks like this journey of mine has traveled to end in a dream but the reality is that,in black and white I have put down something for you to read.
try-l-n-err-OR
I had a decision to make,to think and to choose and to do that final plunge,cut off all other options,narrow it down to one and do what ? Impinge it as the title for what i have set to write .Whether it is going to be right or on reading this i shall be taken for a ride is left to be seen.
So,what do you make out of whatever you have come across until now.It could have cringed upon your nerves some thoughts,set some stones rolling or at worst left a dazzled void of emptiness and fury for having spent your worthwhile time on some innocuous drivel that has left you deflated and you swore not to reach for such scrap again.
Don’t try to fool me that you are the same person you were moments ago you glanced this.It seems to be drifting out of control lest i make a conscious attempt to swerve my ship from the abstractness that has plagued all the while and has cast a cauldron of shadow upon my aim.
In simple words i wish to blurt out in as lucid a manner i could about something that hit me and prompted me to do what – write this.So ,let me begin atleast now,you have a decision to make and what i set out to do was to highlight that decisions are all that we make.
Every moment,every second either consciously or not,for the good or otherwise ,we decide to do something or the other ,but imagine what if you had the power to be what it all that takes to be one ,one of a very special and sacred and scarce breed of those who could DECIDE for themselves.Got my point.
How incredible it would sound if we could just decide.If i have not convincingly put across the crux of the matter that i set out to convey,it is that all powerful conclusion that you arrive at and keep riding on it without any lookback hunching on your shoulders.
There is one thing that has become abundant in the world,options galore and it is in this gallery of choices hangs our passport to our future whether to just skim across,skimp with carelessness,take a careful look,observe get immersed losing trail of our path of progress or DECIDE and be the damn person who could be hailed as ‘THE DECISION MAKER’ .
What if we had the clarity of sunlight ,the audacity of an autocrat ,the strength of the great mountains ,the dynamism of a volcano ,the swiftness of a flowing river ,the skill of a sculptor, the power of a DECISION MAKER.
What precisely is all that stands as a roadblock between the person you are and the perceived hero of our discussion – what else but CHOICES.How better would it be if there were no choices.No decisions to make,an end to the rumblings ?NOT really.
The finesse lies in being able to muddle us out of the pool – the plethora of options and to be that doer ,the implementor ,the leader ,the honour to catapult us out of the self-deprecating mess ,to conquer that final frontier ,to leap past the last hurdle ,to choose from the myriad shades one that suits you ,I MEAN TO DECIDE!even if it be from trial and error.
Gladiator
An amphitheatre of sorts in a place you would not expect to find.The gallery filled with a spectator ,only one but in full throttle;the battle ,the war zone and the fighter are one and the same.Viciously swooping in on the inherent conflicts ,perpetually haunting the participant,the sole one ,the virtuoso performer,the intriguing complexities continue to baffle;It is a pilgrimage though,but of a different kind where the worship is long over before it has begun in the muddle of stinging,rocketing thoughts vehemently struggles its creator.
The mind is the minefield where the thoughts are the torpedoes.Wincing amidst the might and the strength of its waves each one of us are gladiators in our own right. Where conviction,courage,character,power,tenacity,willpower are put to test.When the internal conflicts are more precarious a trudge than any of the wars the world saw or will ever have to see. It is a predicament of sorts,of a big sort to be or not to be something,to win over the illusion that is as illusive as its might and from time to time to address the other things around which are to be confronted regardless of our will.The wail of the performer is a long drawn one ,one which is neither seen nor heard but which does exist and projects itself to be known only by its bearer.None but the one who wears its weight will know the suffering ,the pain and the agony.
It is a trifle for others who neither recognise its presence nor its prowess.Only at times do the better understanding ones ,those who are capable of empathising and sympathsing faintly read the fine print and that too depending on the skill of the chief of the orchestra ,the master of ceremonies,the inventor of the invincibles to conceal the flagrant trauma within.
Whether it is known or unknown,heard or recognized the battle continues everywhere in each soul and it is always going to be so perennially,for we are all,every single mortal manifested to be born and fight as a GLADIATOR !
VICTOR’S PREDICAMENT
Victory-does the word ring a bell? Mankind in general dies to succeed,craves to come out in flying colors.The point of focus has always been the pinnacle.The very basis of our lives seem to revolve around success so much so that all our time and energy is devoted to something we perceive as triumph.Is victory all that sweet?Does it deserve so much attention? Is there a flip side to it?
If one were to look at things from a slightly different perspective,perhaps if we were to get to the bottom of what it means to emerge atop one might get an insight into our queries.
To start with,what one sees as victory,success and triumph may not be all that it was meant to be.To be able to discern what it means to us and in the right sense is a challenge by itself.It is imperative to get our ideals and goals right at the first place.
If one has crossed this hurdle,then comes the next phase.Are we involved in a rat race where we have let mob tendencies get the better of us or is it a sustained effort on the right lines for a cause that speaks for itself.Surviving and moulding ourselves in the proper framework is very important to justify the efforts that go into the process of perceived victory.
To go through the expectations,the nerve-wracking demands of the self and of others and to pull ourselves through this stretch for wants that could be clouded in self-doubt ,looks like an unnecessary burden that we have chosen to clad upon ourselves with the least desire to do so.
Let us assume that we are out of this -what? The processs and the progress to victory has been done.The accolades start to pour in. Eyebrows raised,glances exchanged,your level props up and a whole new dimension of you emerges to the extent hyped beyond the throes of your wildest dreams,that you start to believe all that is happening to be real,your foot that were aching to find a steady footing on the ground are now flying in stratas that you never thought of before.You are thrown into a zone of make believe world to which you may not really belong and yet the comical paradox is that you are not only immersed in it but you also start to think that it is your way of life.Any takers for this line of thought? Has this not happened to the so called victors.
Men and women being made into heroes in their times when they are not ready to face the full impact of what follows from the purported victory, who lose thier way in this illusion and take to reaching levels not in line with their abilities and fall from a great height and are not able to take in the impact of the declension.what a fall?what a thud!
Fallacy has taken the place of foreseen victory.All love for life seems lost.In this fast paced world where media zooms to make heroes and zeroes in no time,the real victors are those who can decide for themselves, play with a level head and cool intellect,those who can see things the way they ought to be and be the triumphant in the true essence and spirit of the word and where victor’s situation is not seen as a predicament of sorts.
NOBLE OUTLAWS
They came, they saw, they conquered. This would be an understatement. They have existed for eons, but not in this role. Only in the recent past have they changed colors to a more modern outlook from a profession that was looked up with dignity, fear ,adulation , anxiety ,fear – in short respect. Time has taken a turn and with that have the men and women in this yard, to chores that might give us the liberty to call the ‘Noble Outlaws’ of this era. It is a local phenomenon though, but it has a global face, even if it is not a portrait of perfection that could be painted on a canvas or as a deed noteworthy in any recognizable pattern.
Who are these people? They are noble, no doubt. Are they outlaws too? It seems so and it is worth a thought. Is it not then some kind of a paradox when they are both noble and an outlaw? Are they the Robinhoods of modern times? Does this constitute an ethical debate? Well, if there have to be ethical debates there would be none, but ethics do play a big part as far as the original perception about this profession goes. Give the ethics a backdoor to exit, or a go by at least until we are done with our discussion.
So, now the crux of the issue. Who are they? They are the prophets of knowledge in the pilgrimage of our learning, the ones who supposedly open the flush gates to the contours of our grey cells. The commercial vendors of a commodity called ‘education’ in an age where everything is weighed against the currency and given a say in the sensex.
Give it a thought. the name of the game is fair. At least that is what they seem to project it to be. Why not pay them the buck when they promise to pay the bearer of their scientifically designed courses a trip to Mars and a whale of a life via orbits hitherto unseen regardless of whether you have the time and the hard work behind you to deserve that.
Noble it is for a miniscule minority amongst a mass that helps them amass, who sleep in the dreams coded for them in the minds of those capitalist altruists.
Commerce in education has come to stay, having a say and the poachers are having a field day, everyday .why would not they when they are reciprocated by the same virtue that connects them to their customers – to make it big, come what may. Have slogans that say ‘whatever it takes’, proclaim authority, monopoly and charge in their domains, their reigns of terror, in their undisputed territories of wholesale duping, of an unimaginably large number that accidentally turned naïve at the prospect of a bright future.
Think of it some moment, some day, and some time, for the information imparting industry is cracking it rich by making gaping holes in your pocket without giving back much. Their custom-tailored courses are designed to kill you and the moment you fall prey to their entrapment you join the wagon that takes you to your final destination. They may have noble thoughts, but the sheer weight of the number they romp in and assure to steer you into those unseen nebulous galaxies they turn into outlaws and we give them the room for that. Spare a thought, if not for the scores of thousand of those around you making themselves a party to those huge quarries, at least for the one who is a part of that
Group – you, for some saving grace, before it’s too late.
SLEEPY HALO
Ever wondered how the road to your death smelt like?What are the sounds that grace you on your venerable march to your final destination.How you are treated to,in the journey to your graveyard,in our beloved nation.
It is like all hell let loose( even if it be so that you are destined for heaven).The epiphany of few young mad men on display.All their histrionic skills come to the fore.The drumbeats,the crackers it is like a parade commomerating a great achievement,like a time of celebration.Perhaps,the celebration from bondage of a soul that was struggling in the whirl of the world,wailing and waiting to free itself from the cudgels of confinement,one might presume.
May be the crowd that leads the way does not wish you to feel alone before you have to eventually embrace loneliness.That is why they make all the cacophony in the world in a travail that is considered to be a mark of commiseration.Dancing,dreaming they do lose control to get a whiff of what the man of the moment goes through.It is ultmately brotherhood,one might logically interpret that leads them to behaving this way.They too wish to feel what it means to be liberated in the true sense of the word.
The promenade does not lack flavour too.The perfume for the dead is the aroma of roses strewn about with careless disdain all over the place in the path of permanence.For,once in their lifetime the subject deserves attention,at least a causual glance if not anything else is theirs for the taking and to be looked at is what those guys around are trying desperately to get for the man in the question.Like a metaphorical symbolism of the eternal imprints of the person passing away lie those flowers all over the place.Also some noble intention of providing a refreshingly different breath for the passers by is unwittingly welded with the ceremony who are otherwise left to smell rotten on their respective routes.
The sounds do not lack the rhythm.There is that cadence and at regular intervals the bursts of fire rips the ears apart,the occasional whistling,the ethereal dance .It looks like these people are bringing the best out of their kitty to assuage the pain
in the last lap of the eternal ride.Is it joy, pain, a motley of emotions or sheer sense of duty that they want to do enough justice for what they were paid to do.
At one end it seems gross mockery of the dead,on the other hand it sounds like a frivolous set motives not of any particular importance to be analyzed or dissected to this extent.Certainly not for us to unravel,atleast when the protagonist of the play seems to be in a state of Sleepy Halo of beatitude and bliss!
Truth about truth
The truth about truth is that it is not true about anything true in its truest form for truth in its truest form is not true about anything true
RiTeLy RoNg
In the ornamental world of words, there happen to be bitter sweet truths, true lies, utterly beautiful ideas expressed with shadowy pellucidity. The dark light of creativity that intersperse the bright lull minds, which elucidate the cheerful silence, the loud muteness or the flagrant simplicity that signifies blatant modesty.
Polarized unison of ideas stream through with purposeless aim and immaculate imperfection flanked by diverging cohesiveness and dithering focus. In between, there still runs the channel of insignificant wisdom which in all fairness might be insipid inspiration to an unsure progress in the lost direction of a blurred goal.
The journey might be placidly rugged or painstakingly peaceful, strewn with redolent blandness, marked by diminishing progress. It could be a fictitious reality with frivolous seriousness and fraught with frail strong points. The composition might vary from pejorative affirmations to meek diatribe studded with charged lacunae of sleepy dynamism and seductive freedom.
The works though, with all their fervent carelessness, fiery indifference, veritable fallacy, disoriented purposefulness and muddled clarity must not cease to continue for only from the process of being rightly wrong, the epiphany emerges. Out of cluttered calmness are born the thread of fresh thoughts, profound styles and a whole new perspective that help one establish amongst the prying, cynical and obsidian eyes. Ultimately it is the passport to give you the right to proclaim your rightfulness even when you wrong, that is if you write right the art of being rightly wrong!
What an ace !
life moves at a pace ,
in a haze
for some may daze,while others race
there are not many ways,but to fall in place
in the path of existing arrays
for few it is a craze
but not many succeed always
still life moves at a pace
and for some in haze
one day you go for a blaze
some other day you may be hard to trace
yet each one has his own ways to keep up the pace
a lot fall out of place,some escape with a graze
only a few can keep up the pace
yet life ticks and tricks always
a sudden fall from grace can throw you in a maze
with no heart to show your face
you may feel erased
yet life moves at a pace that leaves you in daze
for,once the things that fell in place
may be the very cause of you to go out of place
with race for place
at a pace that sets everyone ablaze
leaves many in daze and haze
due to craze or grace,
life in its own pace
moves always
until those last few days
when your breath falls short of pace
then this crazy world throws you out of place
with only a few garlands on you to embrace
that’s the time when you pray,what an ace ?
what an ace,
from the one who makes us puppets and plays
well really what an ace !
the fastest in this world of pace.
