Of love, regret, and misery…

April 25, 2016

I am not my own self tonight; feeling like a pressure on my temples.  I close my eyes, I try to think of you, I fail miserably.  Each time I close my eyes, I feel the headache all new again.

Why are you so much far away?  I think of that poem from Gitanjali:  “O fool! Try to carry thyself on thy own shoulders!  O beggar, to come beg at thy own door!  Leave all thy burden on his hands who can bear all, and never look back in regret.”

Why me?  I was a fool, but I did seek to leave all my burdens in your hands.  Never did I regret.  “Sab daagh haiN is dil mein, ba_juz daagh e nadaamat..”  Then.  Why.  Me.

Alone and lonely, I sit here waiting for a single glance of benevolence from you.  To bring me out of this misery.

Under the infinite sky when we stand…

April 24, 2016

Under the infinite sky when we stand, with nothing but stars above, and the milky way going across, silence becomes the word of moment.  We feel.  We fill our hearts with the infinite love our Lord has endowed upon us.  We feel, in silence, what we don’t speak in words.  Peace so serene that even an embrace is unasked for.  With hand in hand, we look up into the sky, walking on the milky way with our gazes.

Why does it feel so real? So real to brings tears to our eyes?  Tears of fulfillment?  Tears of joy?  Tears of separation?  What?  The sky is dark, the stars are shining, the breeze is gentle.  When do the desires creep in?  Why does the mist turn so dense like it’s a bar on lungs?  Like we’d choke up with a pang so miserable that our hearts will stop here and now.  A sudden heaviness; a half-tear under the eyelid.  Why?

My Lord knows of my heart.  When we two — the two eternal souls — stand beneath the sky, speaking no word, with hearts leaping with happiness of being found by the other, the good Lord watches awestruck, taking immense joy in the serenity of the moment.

And do we cry? No, we don’t!

Of shining pearls and a flying peacock

April 15, 2016

Content I am.  With a smile on my face and a glow in my eyes.  That I had just been in a dream. Moments flew on feathery soft wings.

We smiled for no reason but for being happy.  We gleamed.  We shone.  Not like a firefly, nor like a diamond, but like a pearl.  Soft and milky white.

That we rode in parching heat, like it was a breeze of early summer mornings.  That we pulled off the road, so that the time should halt.  That we fell into embraces like how much we belonged there.  That we tasted the nectar like our lips had never tasted love before.

How would it matter what we were? The two eternal souls randomly collided in the complex machinery of existence?  Why would it matter?

That we existed is truth. Like the peacock that flew right above our head and no one else but we two saw it.  If we two had not noticed it, would it mean that the peacock never existed? It did.

Lose. How else would you live?

February 23, 2016

“Say I am sad.”
“Said.”
“Did it help any?”
“Don’t know..”

He knew nothing of it.  He was lost.  He was not dead.  He survived.  He was still surviving.  He existed; he was not present.

“Thoughtcrime is death,” he muttered.  He needed not worry.  If thoughtcrime were real death, he would be dead already.  But he was alive.  At least, he existed.  He wished he did not.

Being unpersonned.” The word struck to him as something.  He wished he be unpersponned.  “Is that even a word?

Surrender.

And who will lose? You? No, you won’t.  An occasional evening of feeling down is not losing.  Neither will I; how does an unperson lose?

Losing is not not-being somewhere.  You keep on living afterwards. That’s what it is.

Mapping Bramhapuri on OpenStreetMap

December 31, 2015
Map of Bramhapuri on OpenStreetMap

Bramhapuri, Chandrapur, Maharashtra

I’m working on OpenStreetMap these days mapping the places wherever I go.  Have a look at this town.  It was almost unmapped just a week ago (except those two main roads).  It’s still nothing near complete, but seems good enough to show off, isn’t it?

A caravan of mourners

December 4, 2015

I am afraid of this wretched evening.  Sitting in a corner of a whole emptiness is me.  Clock ticks its seconds.  Evening passes by.  “Waqt ke sog mein lamhoN ka juloos, jaise ek kaafila e nauhaagaraaN..”  In sorrow of time, this procession of moments, like a caravan of mourners..

Things need not be this bleak always.  But evenings are not things.  Evenings don’t understand.  Perhaps, evenings are like people trying hard to make you happy.  Evenings don’t know to leave you alone when you need to be left alone.  Evenings are hell in the same way as Sartre said “Hell is other people.” Evenings are not nights.

I woke at 1 a.m. last night.  It was the same room, but the emptiness didn’t feel empty.  It rather felt serene.  Why can’t we have all nights and no evenings?  I’ll perhaps need some other evening to find an answer.

Last night, when I was awake, I was actually feeling calm, at peace with myself.  If I think of it now, it feels like it was a complete different person.  Perhaps, it was me; a me very different from a me I am at evenings.  I checked my twitter.  I read my book.  I hummed my poems:  yuuN gumaaN hota hai garche hai abhi subah e firaq, dhal gaya hijr ka din, aa bhi gayi wasl ki raat.. It feels like – even though it’s a morning of separation – the day of staying away has just gone, here comes the night of togetherness..  At night, even separation doesn’t feel like a separation.  At least, it didn’t feel like that yesterday.

But it’s not a night yet.  It’s an evening, and a wretched one at it.  I am sitting in a corner of a whole emptiness.  The clock is ticking its seconds.  The moments are passing in a procession, like a caravan of mourners.

A nightmare that didn’t even come true

November 22, 2015

We are together. Then falls night.  Everyone goes sleep.  The house has four rooms, a whole house quartered into four rooms from the centre.  I’m sleeping in the front one, with several others.  You are sleeping in the side back room, on a “baaz.”

Morning.  You wake up and come in the front room; normal.  Master asks, “She LIVES here?”  I am affirmative.

No one likes you in the house.  I loved you even when it was morning and we were awake.

Getting used to a new life (?)

November 20, 2015

This is one of those times – and such times occur a lot lately – when you have nothing to say. It’s around 10 in night and I’m sitting here wondering why do beards grow on men.

I hear the news that things are going good with me.  At least, I am free from the worries that used to trouble me when I was still alive.  Things have been sorted out now.  Everything has been put in place, where it should have been (rather than where it belonged).  Getting used to a new routine has not been that difficult.  I wake up in the morning, I go to work, I kill time, I call it a day.  Nights bring some respite.  Sleep brings few hours of real non-existence.

If you ask me, I am content with this new life (if we are allowed to call it a life in the first place).

You’re a whole life I miss

October 30, 2015

You’re a whole life I miss.
This song I found just yesterday –
This song we never listened together..
It will be one of those, the first among them all, that we will never listen together.

I love you.  I do.
I’m sorry.  I hold myself a lot I won’t say this thing to you.
I am happy.  I am living a life.
I don’t want to be the hope – once again – that  we’ve lost already.

No, this is only today.  I don’t cry often.
I felt like sending you a mail.  I didn’t write that one.
This is what we’ve come to –
Songs never listened, mails never sent…

I know you’ll read this.  I know you’ll cry too.
I really don’t want to make you cry.
I want you to let me slip into oblivion.  I want to help you do that.
And I’m still making you cry..
Can you forgive me for this, ma?

Of an evening in December ’14

January 24, 2015

Exactly what were his thoughts he did not know. It was an evening, already getting dark out. He was hungry with little idea about what he would have for dinner. This was not very unusual for him. He had had many evenings like this. This evening was not a different one. He was just sitting doing nothing. “I’m having a little headache perhaps”, he thought, “but it doesn’t really feel like an ache. It’s more like something is stuffed pack in the skull and it’s making pressure from within.” It was not unusual.

He lay back for a while, rested his head on the pillow. Eyes closed. Trying to feel his breath. It was such a silence. A servile fan whirling above his head. His hunger was making a call.

“Why do I need to be so tense all the time?” he thought, but then he suddenly shirked off the thought and started staring at the fan. He was still not feeling alive enough to get up and get something to eat. “It’s just a waste of life”, he murmured. He could find no reason for anything he was making through.

Today, it’s place A. Tomorrow, it’ll be place B. He had no affinity to places, but these places grow up on one’s self. This cot crackles when he jerks off on it. These bed sheets and blankets and pillows – no, he doesn’t have any attachment to them. When he leaves them tomorrow, he won’t feel any sad, just a little hurried lest he couldn’t go if he makes it late. Then it would be an end. He would find another cot to jerk off on.

What was it that was holding him together so long, he wondered. He was not sure. He was not sure even if he was still held together or was already fallen apart. “I would save this question for some later date”, he said to himself. Was he afraid? Perhaps, he was. But what was it that would make him afraid; he was not sure. It was only an evening, not the end of world.

This will take him nowhere, he knew. But it was not that he was planning to go somewhere. He was content in standing where he was – but this goddamn headache or whatever! The evening was getting darker. Some kids are playing in the backyard downstairs – happy and yelling. They’ll get tired and go home and straight to the dinner table. Mother will ask them to wash hands and such. Good kids. Mama will hold them close and caress through their hair. Kids don’t have headaches.

It’s useless, he muttered. Why on the earth that it was those kids and their fathers and not him? He was not sure if their fathers had headaches or not, but he was sure they don’t jerk off at least. He knew happiness doesn’t come for free, but he was tired of this headache, this constant buzz he was holding in his skull for so long. Something was missing. It had been months since he had been in bed.


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