There is this strange lull in the times of this otherwise hyper-activity phase of merry-making. It is this deathly stillness that we the residents of Dreamorperish fear the most.
All of us dislike them but I hate storms.
No, not because of what havoc they are capable of wrecking…not even because of the dust that waits for you to sweep it out of your house, your room or portico. Not even because of the trees that fall, buckling to the fatal blow of the ghastly wind.
But because of the memories that every storm brings along with it. The memory of the day when Christopher-the Bamboozle knocked at my door.
Centuries of conmen put together would fall short of describing what gut Christopher was made of. He was the champion of his trade. Swift of hand and quick of tongue, this heavily built man was by far the most courteous of his tribe though.
It was his easy charm juxtaposed with a true cold blood manner that aided him on his trails for hapless victims.
Just as I sit waiting for my tea to brew strong enough, my thoughts float back to the day. The day of the raging storm that knew no end. The day Christopher-the Bamboozle knocked at my door…and they day he confessed his dislike for me.
It was a stormy August afternoon in the country side of Dreamorperish. Marked by the typical lazy Saturday afternoon, it was a day to just sit back and catch up on some sleep, read a book or listen to some of ones old favourites on the radio.
All of a sudden, stormy winds started blowing, the winds howled, the trees swirled, the rooftops sounded with the pitter patter of raindrops…which soon gave way to thunder showers.
The sky darkened as if Divinity had spurted vicious, black ink on to the sky. No birds chirped. No crows croaked. The streets of Dreamorperish were de-peopled and I had this inexplicable stir in my head. Something seemed to be amiss. What was it, I was not to learn until about another hour.
I sipped some water and headed for the bed. Pulling over the sheets on myself, I prayed for the stormy rage to subside. Something told me it portends a not so happy event.
I slept for a while, not long before I heard the knock on the front door. I curled up in bed…not wanting to go out. Knock again…twice …thrice…with an ever increasing intensity.
No, I cannot ignore those hammerings on my door! I get up and go out to check who that is…I have been nursing a headache for two days now…something tells me I must not go.
I fight every instinct, resolute to go give the one who disturbed me a good piece of my mind. The storm is at its peek. It knows no end…
Christopher standing at my door…with a butcher’s knife…screaming to be heard in the midst of that storm.
“I have come to kill you, Harris,”, said he, mad with rage. I do not know the reason for his anger.
He aimed at me…whilst I duck to escape the blows he dealt with that abominable knife.
I rushed back in to the house, with Christopher close at my heels.
I screamed, but no one listened. No one came to my rescue. Oh! The storm was to blame.
He deals another blow, and now I run behind the parlour, all around the table. Christopher keeps striking…he is not the one to exhaust and stop.
“I have come to kill you Harris”, says he again. Now I have reached the rooftop…hoping against hope that some one hears my screams. Oh! The fools are all huddled inside their homes.
I know I am cornered. Christopher knows it too…slowly, but surely, he inches towards me.
I still remember that look in his eyes from the day he came to kill me. There was disgust in those black, fiery eyes. They burnt with rage! Rage for me…what for, I am yet to learn.
My end is near. I await the final blow…and then Christopher speaks, “Harris, it is not for no reason that Dreamorperish town calls me mad. Why I come to kill you, I am sure you know”.
The storm is going strong and he has to scream even harder to get his words across.
“But Christopher”, I try to make him see reason, and he hushes me with a wave of his hand. “Hush, you fool”, says he, and strikes. I can feel that knife cut deep into my heart…I scream but no one comes to my rescue.
I am incapable of uttering any more words…and he is quiet too. He strikes again…this time my head bears the blow. I am bleeding all over…and screaming, as if I am possessed. Christopher has pinned me against the wall and counts every time he stabs into me. I cannot talk. The storm is still blowing and going strong. I cannot talk. Christopher is mad, so he has no words. Our eyes do the talking.
While his flash anger and inexplicable frenzy, mine flash the look of one who is lost. He is the vanquisher, and I am the vanquished. There is fear and upheaval in my eyes. The look of a dying man, who has no one to his rescue, is no different from a rebellion of sorts…if it were in him, he would strike back…if it were in me, I would devour the very being of Christoher. But I cannot move now. I am on the floor…breathing my last. Christopher, sitting by my side, and weeping. It is not without a reason that the rest of the town called him mad.
Suddenly he strikes me again, one final blow dealt to me, and I am a dead man. However, not before my final words to him. I promised I shall be back, wherever he was, to avenge my death. I am dead now. I am lying in a pool of blood.
The storm still goes strong. Christopher is planning his escape, and he is successful in managing one.
I hate to see myself lying like that. So vulnerable, so helpless. A part of me is still crying for help. The storm is finally settling down to mild howls, whispers and whistles.
It is not before a week that the local police discover me. Thanks to old Mrs. McKenzie who reported by absence…I still remember her savouring those afternoons when I read to her after she was forsaken by her son.
A prayer has been said, the soothsayer has laid me to rest. The people of Dreamorperish have wept a tear or two, and some even forgotten me. But I have not forgotten that fateful storm. I have not forgotten my promise to Christopher. I still writhe at every storm that blows past Dreamorperish. Sitting on the rooftop of my house, I keep looking for Christpopher. I shall return for him. I am a man of my words.
Oh! The disgusting storm, it will halt now, only to throw up images from that day. Chrishtopher, I am right here, awaiting that knock on my door…every passing storm, every possible day.
P.S: These words are an attempt at a technique of storywriting/general writing...to write from differnt perspectives. More to come from time to time.
Tuesday, May 3, 2011
Sunday, January 23, 2011
The Stranger on the Platform
It was a regular Thursday. Like any other-work interspersed with thoughts about life and beyond. Some more work, and then plans to reach the station on time.
I had a train to catch, with a right foot that causes me to limp occasionally.
It was at a quarter past six that I decided to finally 'pack up' and leave. Early though t'was, but considering my not-so-mobile condition, it was clearly time to go.
I found myself at the platform at 1930 hours, on the dot.
Catching the 2210 hours, Lucknow bound Lucknow Mail, and waiting on platform no.16 is like second nature to me by now.
Some rajma-chawal priced at Rupees 20 for a 320 gram packet ( I could not help but read it, as the price was mentioned so big and clear) came to my stomach's rescue.
1945 hours, it was, and I was sitting on a bench. Cold winds blew and the winter chill made the few people (waiting for the train or preparing to go to sleep for the night) hanging on to every word the announcer uttered, shiver.
Not many people for that time and platform though.
I usually enjoy watching the on-goings at the railway station; each announcement reminds me of episodes, places, people and triggers countless thoughts in my head. Simply put, I do not struggle to while away time.
So, I plugged myself out to the tune of some Hindi melodies from the days of yore, when all at once I realized I am being ‘watched’.
Adept at it now (by virtue of the ‘over-protective and respectful sentiments” of our men folk towards women), I chose to look away…thinking whether I should get up and leave.
A few minutes passed and I quite forgot about it as the radio beckoned me yet again. After some time I threw a careless glance at ‘the spot’ and the stranger was gone. I heaved a sigh of relief.
Phew!
I was in for a bit of a shock as I turned my head the other way. The stranger was standing right in front of me, asking whether I could move to one side and give him some space to sit down.
Considering there were other vacant benches nearby, my first instinct was to bluntly refuse or even walk away.
I thought for a second, and made some place for him, plugging myself out yet again.
It was then that I realized that the stranger was trying to initiate small talk with me.
Announcements and pushcarts were the only other sounds that broke the silence there. I unplugged the radio and asked him to repeat what he had just said. Here I shall try to quote our conversation, almost verbatim:
Stranger: Madam, where are you going?
Me, quite nonplussed: wherever my train has to take me!
Stranger, trying to carry the conversation on: Madam, still, where to? Which train?
Me: To Lucknow; Only one goes from here and I know which one is it. Thanks!
Just as I was about to plug myself out yet again, he said,
Stranger: Madam (with some hitch in his voice, as he must have sensed my discomfort)…
Me: Yes?
Stranger: Actually madam…
Me, thinking to myself whether I should just get up and leave…who all can I summon for help,…
Stranger: So madam, don’t mind please, actually…I was observing you for a long time…
Me: Yes. Okay…
Stranger: Madamji, actually I am an army man. Madamji I saw you sitting alone here on this platform, only woman…and the police in that corner (he pointed to a far end of the platform) are not too sober. They made me leave my bench there, hurling expletives madamji. So I came here, as I saw you sitting, just to sit or stand by your side to keep you safe.
Goes on, and madamji, I have seen life, and many people, I can understand who is what kind of a person. So please do not mind, I just came in case we have a situation here.
Me, smiling: Ah! Yes, I can see you are an army man (his hair cut, posture and way of sitting cross-legged gave him away).
Where do you come from and where do you go?
Stranger: From J&K madamji, and I am going to Howrah on T.Duty.
Me: Okay. Where from, in J&K?
Stranger: From Uri madamji.
Me: Oh. It must be rather cold up there?
Stranger: No no madamji, not very, just a little below zero at times…and we are all used to it.
(He smiled)
I felt humbled by that remark.
Stranger: So madamji, are you from Kashmir?
Me: No, from Uttarakhand, though I was born and brought up in Lucknow.
Stranger: Oh okay madamji.
(On some second thoughts)…are you from an army background?
Me: Well, yes and no. A lot of my family and friends and their family have and still serve in the Army.
Stranger: Ok madamji. So you definitely know a few names of divisions and units?
Me, laughing: Are you trying to test my knowledge?
Stranger: No madamji. Nothing like that. I trust your words. (Smiles)
Me: Thank you. I understand. (I too reciprocate his smile)
Stranger: Madamji, an army man has traveled far and wide and as one I have seen the world and life from close quarters. We do a lot for our country and countrymen, but we do not get the respect we should, madamji.
Me: I quite understand your words and your sentiments behind them. I am with you on this.
Stranger: Yes madamji, it shows you understand.
(By this time more people had started getting on to the platform, and there was quite some hustle and bustle. I had not cared to check the time off late. Some people I noticed were staring at the two of us talking.
Soon, a middle aged man walked by, and asked us to shift and give him some space to sit too.)
The stranger and I resumed our conversation.
Stranger: So madamji, when we come to civil life, we find it difficult.
Me: Yes. I understand.
Stranger: We are honest people madamji and people just want to make fools out of us. This, when all we want from the Nation is some respect.
Me: Yes, I understand. I truly can.
Stranger: So madamji, I am also happy that this time our General saab is an infantry chap.
First time for the Army madamji. He is a very good man madamji.
Me: Ah. (smile)
The third person: Ah, so you are both from the Army?
Stranger: I am. Madamji has family and friends/their family who have or are served/serving the Nation.
Me: Yes. (smile)
All: smile
The third person: The Army, it should really be respected. The army men do a lot for us. High time we acknowledge them and respect their gesture towards the Nation, towards us.
Stranger, smiling: Madamji also thinks that way.
Me: Oh, absolutely. We should move away from jingoism though, and feel more often and in a non-contextual way. Yes!
Stranger: Yes madamji. (smiles)
The third person: Very true. (smiles)
Also, there is some not so good news about the Army lately. Not a very nice thing.
Me: It is with every organization. Exceptions are always there. But why don’t we focus on the good instead…it clearly out weighs the bad?!?
Stranger: Yes madamji. Yes…we have a good General Saab now. He is taking good care of us. These things keep happening. We try not to lose our morale at such times. Our officers help keep our spirits high.
Me: (smile)
The third person, smiling: Nice to hear that from you. Good. We are happy to know that.
(Announcer: Train so and so, from NDLS to Howrah to depart 3 hours late than its scheduled time of departure, from platform number 14. We regret any inconvenience caused to you by this.)
It was 2100 hours by now.
Stranger: Okay madamji, I will go now. My train is at 0030 hours, but I must go.
Me: yes, you must go to the designated platform. It was nice talking. Happy Journey.
Stranger: Okay madamji, same here. Happy Journey to you too.
Jai Hind madamji.
Me: Jai Hind! (smile)
The third person, smiles: Okay (waves to the stranger)
(The stranger smiles and leaves)
The third person: Amazing sentiment. We definitely need to respect them more.
Me: Yes! The Nation must!!
The third person: So, what about you? Where do you study/work?
Me: I work with the TATAs.
The third person: Oh! Another great organization. A few of the honest ones at the top. Good!
Me: Yes.
It was 2115 hours by now. My friends came calling so I took the third person’s leave.
After a few minutes passed, the train chugged into the station. We boarded and got ready for our journey.
I do not know whether the stranger understood that he was preaching to the convert all this while...or rather he did...for he singled the third person out in the conversation...including me in most of his assertions.
I was quite dazed for most of the time that night. There are some moments in life when you cannot quite figure out why or how something happens. You just sit dazed through them, trying to make the most of these poignant moments.
It was one such night.
It was quite a Thursday. Unlike any other!
- On the night of 20th January, 2011 @ the New Delhi Railway Station.
I had a train to catch, with a right foot that causes me to limp occasionally.
It was at a quarter past six that I decided to finally 'pack up' and leave. Early though t'was, but considering my not-so-mobile condition, it was clearly time to go.
I found myself at the platform at 1930 hours, on the dot.
Catching the 2210 hours, Lucknow bound Lucknow Mail, and waiting on platform no.16 is like second nature to me by now.
Some rajma-chawal priced at Rupees 20 for a 320 gram packet ( I could not help but read it, as the price was mentioned so big and clear) came to my stomach's rescue.
1945 hours, it was, and I was sitting on a bench. Cold winds blew and the winter chill made the few people (waiting for the train or preparing to go to sleep for the night) hanging on to every word the announcer uttered, shiver.
Not many people for that time and platform though.
I usually enjoy watching the on-goings at the railway station; each announcement reminds me of episodes, places, people and triggers countless thoughts in my head. Simply put, I do not struggle to while away time.
So, I plugged myself out to the tune of some Hindi melodies from the days of yore, when all at once I realized I am being ‘watched’.
Adept at it now (by virtue of the ‘over-protective and respectful sentiments” of our men folk towards women), I chose to look away…thinking whether I should get up and leave.
A few minutes passed and I quite forgot about it as the radio beckoned me yet again. After some time I threw a careless glance at ‘the spot’ and the stranger was gone. I heaved a sigh of relief.
Phew!
I was in for a bit of a shock as I turned my head the other way. The stranger was standing right in front of me, asking whether I could move to one side and give him some space to sit down.
Considering there were other vacant benches nearby, my first instinct was to bluntly refuse or even walk away.
I thought for a second, and made some place for him, plugging myself out yet again.
It was then that I realized that the stranger was trying to initiate small talk with me.
Announcements and pushcarts were the only other sounds that broke the silence there. I unplugged the radio and asked him to repeat what he had just said. Here I shall try to quote our conversation, almost verbatim:
Stranger: Madam, where are you going?
Me, quite nonplussed: wherever my train has to take me!
Stranger, trying to carry the conversation on: Madam, still, where to? Which train?
Me: To Lucknow; Only one goes from here and I know which one is it. Thanks!
Just as I was about to plug myself out yet again, he said,
Stranger: Madam (with some hitch in his voice, as he must have sensed my discomfort)…
Me: Yes?
Stranger: Actually madam…
Me, thinking to myself whether I should just get up and leave…who all can I summon for help,…
Stranger: So madam, don’t mind please, actually…I was observing you for a long time…
Me: Yes. Okay…
Stranger: Madamji, actually I am an army man. Madamji I saw you sitting alone here on this platform, only woman…and the police in that corner (he pointed to a far end of the platform) are not too sober. They made me leave my bench there, hurling expletives madamji. So I came here, as I saw you sitting, just to sit or stand by your side to keep you safe.
Goes on, and madamji, I have seen life, and many people, I can understand who is what kind of a person. So please do not mind, I just came in case we have a situation here.
Me, smiling: Ah! Yes, I can see you are an army man (his hair cut, posture and way of sitting cross-legged gave him away).
Where do you come from and where do you go?
Stranger: From J&K madamji, and I am going to Howrah on T.Duty.
Me: Okay. Where from, in J&K?
Stranger: From Uri madamji.
Me: Oh. It must be rather cold up there?
Stranger: No no madamji, not very, just a little below zero at times…and we are all used to it.
(He smiled)
I felt humbled by that remark.
Stranger: So madamji, are you from Kashmir?
Me: No, from Uttarakhand, though I was born and brought up in Lucknow.
Stranger: Oh okay madamji.
(On some second thoughts)…are you from an army background?
Me: Well, yes and no. A lot of my family and friends and their family have and still serve in the Army.
Stranger: Ok madamji. So you definitely know a few names of divisions and units?
Me, laughing: Are you trying to test my knowledge?
Stranger: No madamji. Nothing like that. I trust your words. (Smiles)
Me: Thank you. I understand. (I too reciprocate his smile)
Stranger: Madamji, an army man has traveled far and wide and as one I have seen the world and life from close quarters. We do a lot for our country and countrymen, but we do not get the respect we should, madamji.
Me: I quite understand your words and your sentiments behind them. I am with you on this.
Stranger: Yes madamji, it shows you understand.
(By this time more people had started getting on to the platform, and there was quite some hustle and bustle. I had not cared to check the time off late. Some people I noticed were staring at the two of us talking.
Soon, a middle aged man walked by, and asked us to shift and give him some space to sit too.)
The stranger and I resumed our conversation.
Stranger: So madamji, when we come to civil life, we find it difficult.
Me: Yes. I understand.
Stranger: We are honest people madamji and people just want to make fools out of us. This, when all we want from the Nation is some respect.
Me: Yes, I understand. I truly can.
Stranger: So madamji, I am also happy that this time our General saab is an infantry chap.
First time for the Army madamji. He is a very good man madamji.
Me: Ah. (smile)
The third person: Ah, so you are both from the Army?
Stranger: I am. Madamji has family and friends/their family who have or are served/serving the Nation.
Me: Yes. (smile)
All: smile
The third person: The Army, it should really be respected. The army men do a lot for us. High time we acknowledge them and respect their gesture towards the Nation, towards us.
Stranger, smiling: Madamji also thinks that way.
Me: Oh, absolutely. We should move away from jingoism though, and feel more often and in a non-contextual way. Yes!
Stranger: Yes madamji. (smiles)
The third person: Very true. (smiles)
Also, there is some not so good news about the Army lately. Not a very nice thing.
Me: It is with every organization. Exceptions are always there. But why don’t we focus on the good instead…it clearly out weighs the bad?!?
Stranger: Yes madamji. Yes…we have a good General Saab now. He is taking good care of us. These things keep happening. We try not to lose our morale at such times. Our officers help keep our spirits high.
Me: (smile)
The third person, smiling: Nice to hear that from you. Good. We are happy to know that.
(Announcer: Train so and so, from NDLS to Howrah to depart 3 hours late than its scheduled time of departure, from platform number 14. We regret any inconvenience caused to you by this.)
It was 2100 hours by now.
Stranger: Okay madamji, I will go now. My train is at 0030 hours, but I must go.
Me: yes, you must go to the designated platform. It was nice talking. Happy Journey.
Stranger: Okay madamji, same here. Happy Journey to you too.
Jai Hind madamji.
Me: Jai Hind! (smile)
The third person, smiles: Okay (waves to the stranger)
(The stranger smiles and leaves)
The third person: Amazing sentiment. We definitely need to respect them more.
Me: Yes! The Nation must!!
The third person: So, what about you? Where do you study/work?
Me: I work with the TATAs.
The third person: Oh! Another great organization. A few of the honest ones at the top. Good!
Me: Yes.
It was 2115 hours by now. My friends came calling so I took the third person’s leave.
After a few minutes passed, the train chugged into the station. We boarded and got ready for our journey.
I do not know whether the stranger understood that he was preaching to the convert all this while...or rather he did...for he singled the third person out in the conversation...including me in most of his assertions.
I was quite dazed for most of the time that night. There are some moments in life when you cannot quite figure out why or how something happens. You just sit dazed through them, trying to make the most of these poignant moments.
It was one such night.
It was quite a Thursday. Unlike any other!
- On the night of 20th January, 2011 @ the New Delhi Railway Station.
Monday, October 11, 2010
I am muddled in the head...
It is yet another day, and no, I am not one to live life as if it were a dreary chore.
But I am muddled in the head...so much so, that I don't know what am I to do, whether I should speak to people, if I must do what I want or what I am expected to be doing.
My head is whirring with a thousand (perhaps that is an understatement of sorts) thoughts...about life, and death, and the futility of it all.
About relationships (of any kind and form), about work, about anything and everything that qualifies for 'anything' in this life. And then there is the 'next'...
Like the past two posts, this too goes live sans proof reading...my head and mind, both refuse their office.
If you are reading this, perhaps you understand or have been through such a phase yourselves. If you have not, you just might some day...i find myself ending up 'searching' for ways to cheer up on the WWW. My head is clouded, perhaps shrouded...I feel I am lost.
Here's to everything and anything that qualifies as a confounding factor in life, everyone and anyone who has ever been confounded ( more often than not) by life, death, and everything in between...
It is this whiz and whirr I hear,
It is not my mind, or head; It is just Fear;
I do not even know if it is so, for fears don't baseless-ly show.
I am shocked and shut,
Too tired to think, I say;
I am confused and confounded by Life, and Death, and everything in between,
Too numbed and muted by it, those and them; too lost in translation.
There is this uneasy gloom that o'erhangs,
As if there is something abrew...I am inert, to everything and everyone,
'Ere long, I hope it will melt away or is that making a wish too soon?
I feel this heaviness weigh me down,
I can feel it as I would an iron slab o'er me.
I lose a beat or two every now and then, and I also lose some peaceful sleep.
Quietened me all this has,
For I know not where to begin,
All my irrational acts I think,
Are a mechanism to just coax me to break this jinx.
Yet, here I am,
All confused and confounded;
Yet, here I am,
All the more dumb-founded.
As I pen this little piece, I hope it all ends,
As I share with you my thoughts,
I hope I don't turn insane;
I'm sighing and breathing heavily,
Yes, that I just did.
As long as , these tricks, just loosen the lid.
I wish to shed a tear or two,perhaps to make myself feel at ease.
This sense o'er-hanging my heart must be sent packing with haste,
I look forward to sunny days and not let this Life go waste;
Here's Hope and a prayer for peace to my mind,
All I know is that my Maker is rather kind;
He will tighten the hold only as much as I can bear,
For as they say, "If He has put you in it, He will see you're out of there!"
But I am muddled in the head...so much so, that I don't know what am I to do, whether I should speak to people, if I must do what I want or what I am expected to be doing.
My head is whirring with a thousand (perhaps that is an understatement of sorts) thoughts...about life, and death, and the futility of it all.
About relationships (of any kind and form), about work, about anything and everything that qualifies for 'anything' in this life. And then there is the 'next'...
Like the past two posts, this too goes live sans proof reading...my head and mind, both refuse their office.
If you are reading this, perhaps you understand or have been through such a phase yourselves. If you have not, you just might some day...i find myself ending up 'searching' for ways to cheer up on the WWW. My head is clouded, perhaps shrouded...I feel I am lost.
Here's to everything and anything that qualifies as a confounding factor in life, everyone and anyone who has ever been confounded ( more often than not) by life, death, and everything in between...
It is this whiz and whirr I hear,
It is not my mind, or head; It is just Fear;
I do not even know if it is so, for fears don't baseless-ly show.
I am shocked and shut,
Too tired to think, I say;
I am confused and confounded by Life, and Death, and everything in between,
Too numbed and muted by it, those and them; too lost in translation.
There is this uneasy gloom that o'erhangs,
As if there is something abrew...I am inert, to everything and everyone,
'Ere long, I hope it will melt away or is that making a wish too soon?
I feel this heaviness weigh me down,
I can feel it as I would an iron slab o'er me.
I lose a beat or two every now and then, and I also lose some peaceful sleep.
Quietened me all this has,
For I know not where to begin,
All my irrational acts I think,
Are a mechanism to just coax me to break this jinx.
Yet, here I am,
All confused and confounded;
Yet, here I am,
All the more dumb-founded.
As I pen this little piece, I hope it all ends,
As I share with you my thoughts,
I hope I don't turn insane;
I'm sighing and breathing heavily,
Yes, that I just did.
As long as , these tricks, just loosen the lid.
I wish to shed a tear or two,perhaps to make myself feel at ease.
This sense o'er-hanging my heart must be sent packing with haste,
I look forward to sunny days and not let this Life go waste;
Here's Hope and a prayer for peace to my mind,
All I know is that my Maker is rather kind;
He will tighten the hold only as much as I can bear,
For as they say, "If He has put you in it, He will see you're out of there!"
Thursday, October 7, 2010
The Art Of Killing Time.
It is always an art. Yes, it is...for time is rather precious. More than that, and than the act of butchering something so very precious in nature, what is Time?
It is something which I read somewhere, a few people commoditize and yet others treat as a scarce resourse. We might choose to kill it or for that matter be forced to!
What is important here is not that we or you or I or someone 'kills' time. The question here, L&G, is, "how"?
Stories have been spun, journals (or not?!? ;) ) have been written, films have been scripted, songs have been sung, and words exchanged. All strive to answer or answer in their own capacity the unspoken, omnipresent and omnipotent question: how do we/i/you/kill time?!?
And then there is something called 'demographics'...I extrapolate it to the demographic alignment to time-wasting or killing tactic. Better read as, "time well spent is hardly time killed".
Recounting a few examples:
Children would read/play/talk/eat/sleep
Adults would talk/shot/cook/clean/read/...
The elderly would sleep/read/tell stories/listen to music/watch T.V/...
Your pet would snore/bug you/rub itself against the wall, your feet, the sofa/eat the other lesser mortals for fun, food, or game/...
The politicians would talk/talk/talk/do nothing the rest of the time/...
The sportsman would pose for a magazine/talk(after all he too is a human)/eat/shop/...
The teacher would study/read/share her share of howlers and good stories/...
To cut the long and dreary story short, each one of us 'kills' time in her own way.
Coming to the center of my world, I write/sit in a corner and think/stare blankly at the wall in front of me/sleep @ work/ walk/ drink plenty of tea and water to kill time. The beauty and art lies in the fact that how well can I (enough of putting 'you'! first) and you or we benefit from this act. How well can we 'hone' our skills whilst we utilise this 'bloody' (after all we are 'killing' time) opportunity.
More often than not, I resort to read or write...even sketch for that matter.
What do you do?
It is something which I read somewhere, a few people commoditize and yet others treat as a scarce resourse. We might choose to kill it or for that matter be forced to!
What is important here is not that we or you or I or someone 'kills' time. The question here, L&G, is, "how"?
Stories have been spun, journals (or not?!? ;) ) have been written, films have been scripted, songs have been sung, and words exchanged. All strive to answer or answer in their own capacity the unspoken, omnipresent and omnipotent question: how do we/i/you/kill time?!?
And then there is something called 'demographics'...I extrapolate it to the demographic alignment to time-wasting or killing tactic. Better read as, "time well spent is hardly time killed".
Recounting a few examples:
Children would read/play/talk/eat/sleep
Adults would talk/shot/cook/clean/read/...
The elderly would sleep/read/tell stories/listen to music/watch T.V/...
Your pet would snore/bug you/rub itself against the wall, your feet, the sofa/eat the other lesser mortals for fun, food, or game/...
The politicians would talk/talk/talk/do nothing the rest of the time/...
The sportsman would pose for a magazine/talk(after all he too is a human)/eat/shop/...
The teacher would study/read/share her share of howlers and good stories/...
To cut the long and dreary story short, each one of us 'kills' time in her own way.
Coming to the center of my world, I write/sit in a corner and think/stare blankly at the wall in front of me/sleep @ work/ walk/ drink plenty of tea and water to kill time. The beauty and art lies in the fact that how well can I (enough of putting 'you'! first) and you or we benefit from this act. How well can we 'hone' our skills whilst we utilise this 'bloody' (after all we are 'killing' time) opportunity.
More often than not, I resort to read or write...even sketch for that matter.
What do you do?
Tuesday, August 31, 2010
Why!
Why , why & why... is the sky so high?
Why, why oh! why...are men always in a quagmire?
Of course they are fools, so they will see no reason...
If common sense is uncommon, they will 'show' it, not to be satisfied with just the saying!
They will say something, but feel the other way.
What is on their minds, they dare not ever say!!
It is a crime unto their tribe, if they ever speak out their minds.
Therefore, you see, so difficult to deal with them one finds.
Why, why & why...is the sky so high?
Why, why oh! why...are men always in a quagmire?
Of course they are fools, so they will see no reason...
If you are to fall for one, it would be as cold as being put in prison!
Yet, you shall strive, and try till eternity.
Though, they will be blind, and deaf, and show total apathy.
You shall reason with them, only to be shown the door.
The only saving grace will be then, a prayer, and hope until you can hang on to it, for sure!
Even if they feel just as you do, they will never ope their lips to say so is the truth.
And if they say something, which drives you to madness, take it easy, dear woman, it is a sign of hidden fondness.
He will sneer and laugh, and cold-shoulder you.
He will ignore you, and torment, and say could-not-care-less too.
Yet, you must be patient, for that is what he wants.
A woman who is patient to his child-like tantrums.
He knows he is weak, and just fears to lay bare,
His heart, as he knows it, once broken, is beyond repair.
So, he just acts difficult, to assure himself,
Of you, and your virtues, and values, for he cares.
He knows what he wants, but he hides it from you.
For he knows not how genuine is the heart that beats within you!
So keep showing it woman, show him that you care.
Let not one moment of opportunity pass you in despair.
Hope, if you not lose, who knows, there will be a day,
When you and your man, will lay all secrets bare.
That day you shall see, how strong you are.
How meek he is and how insecure.
You were made by your Maker an epitome of strength,
To be shaken, and tested, to any length?!?
Yes, that is not fair, as you would believe.
Yes, it is not fair play, though they do as they please.
But the Maker has kept it thus, for reasons not plain,
He knows only you can take that much pain.
Yet, be there by man's side, come storm, hail or rain!
p.s.: if you find similarities, it is because we are all cut out from the same fibre... :) !
Why, why oh! why...are men always in a quagmire?
Of course they are fools, so they will see no reason...
If common sense is uncommon, they will 'show' it, not to be satisfied with just the saying!
They will say something, but feel the other way.
What is on their minds, they dare not ever say!!
It is a crime unto their tribe, if they ever speak out their minds.
Therefore, you see, so difficult to deal with them one finds.
Why, why & why...is the sky so high?
Why, why oh! why...are men always in a quagmire?
Of course they are fools, so they will see no reason...
If you are to fall for one, it would be as cold as being put in prison!
Yet, you shall strive, and try till eternity.
Though, they will be blind, and deaf, and show total apathy.
You shall reason with them, only to be shown the door.
The only saving grace will be then, a prayer, and hope until you can hang on to it, for sure!
Even if they feel just as you do, they will never ope their lips to say so is the truth.
And if they say something, which drives you to madness, take it easy, dear woman, it is a sign of hidden fondness.
He will sneer and laugh, and cold-shoulder you.
He will ignore you, and torment, and say could-not-care-less too.
Yet, you must be patient, for that is what he wants.
A woman who is patient to his child-like tantrums.
He knows he is weak, and just fears to lay bare,
His heart, as he knows it, once broken, is beyond repair.
So, he just acts difficult, to assure himself,
Of you, and your virtues, and values, for he cares.
He knows what he wants, but he hides it from you.
For he knows not how genuine is the heart that beats within you!
So keep showing it woman, show him that you care.
Let not one moment of opportunity pass you in despair.
Hope, if you not lose, who knows, there will be a day,
When you and your man, will lay all secrets bare.
That day you shall see, how strong you are.
How meek he is and how insecure.
You were made by your Maker an epitome of strength,
To be shaken, and tested, to any length?!?
Yes, that is not fair, as you would believe.
Yes, it is not fair play, though they do as they please.
But the Maker has kept it thus, for reasons not plain,
He knows only you can take that much pain.
Yet, be there by man's side, come storm, hail or rain!
p.s.: if you find similarities, it is because we are all cut out from the same fibre... :) !
Sunday, June 6, 2010
For They Were There...
Here's to 22 May, 2010!!!
And to 'Them'!!
I was scared, nay, petrified. I would perspire at the very thought of it. The minute I stepped close to one, my heart skipped not one, but 75 beats a minute. I would look, and stare at them, as they surfaced, and then vanished, moved either up and up or down and down. Ceaseless. That motion had me on the edge. All exercises to bring on the 'calm', failed! Big time!!
I remember creating quite a mess for those who tried I get the hang of them. Unabashedly, I would tell them that they would only end up making a fool of themselves and the entire effort would embarrass them in the bargain.
When I entered spaces and facilities that would qualify as little less than high rises, I would scurry to spot fire exits and elevators. I would excuse myself and run on the hunt. I would cite excuses to the tune of 'being health conscious' (yes, I can almost hear some of you grimace and sneer ;) ... so hush, hush!!). I would even quote the last deadly encounter I had with them...almost 10 years back.
One day, I found myself desperately seeking the fire exits, so much so, that my younger brother patted my back with a congratulatory pat, and said, "now that's what we call 'survival instinct!'
Nay. I was not embarrassed, for I was sure I could never ever do it again.
I was so very petrified of getting onto escalators.
Then came the 22nd of May, 2010.
Three of my pals from college and I went gallivanting. Agenda: to loaf around. We stepped into a shopping mall and my heart started racing. While the rest of them headed towards the escalators in the basement, I ran to the nearest fire exit.
They were sweet enough to follow suit and climb the stairs with me.
Each time they obliged. At times they waited while I hunted for exits and elevators, and then waited until we got the chance to step into a relatively empty one. Soon, 'twas time to return.
No, they said, they would not let me run to look for fire exits or elevators now. My heart stopped beating and I looked as if I was freshly out of some high end sauna. I coaxed them with my smile first and then cajoled them with a thousand 'please-s' and more.
No. They were not going to listen. Not today. I had to do it they said. My usual reasoning that they would waste their time and I would embarrass them, took me no where today. They were simply not going to listen to any of my pleadings.
I remember their words, "we can wait for you Vasu, for an hour, for two...even more. Today, however, you have to step onto it!"
"You must conquer this fear". Nay. I did not give in. I did not budge. We stood their. five minutes passed, and then ten. It was soon twenty minutes of pleadings and encouragement...and then thirty. People passed by, watching in amazement, for each time I would step closer to the escalator and then inch backwards. After uncountable "please excuse me-s", and constant you-can-do-it encouragement from the trio, I stepped close to it again. Then ran right back.
It was an hour later that they said, "okay, let us make a deal...one of us steps onto it before you, and one after. One will be right next to you, holding your hand." Again, we stepped closer to it, one of them stepped onto it. I shied yet again.
Finally, they said, "what are you afraid of?". "Of falling and tripping onto it," said I.
"We will not let you fall. One in front of you , one behind, and one by your side. We say step, and you just step. Don't fail us then. Again, we will not let you fall, Vasu", said they.
Finally, all said, " trust us. We will not let you fall.".
The last of their so many words got me thinking. Here were three friends, who had been patient long enough. If that day, I would not have stepped onto it, they would not have said any thing. Yet, I would have lost. This struggle against myself, and the fear of escalators. Also, some amount of respect in my own eyes.
One stepped. The one next to me held onto my hand. "Step", said the friend, and I did. I lost a beat, and while the third stepped after us, I felt comforted, and reassured. It was a moment of mixed emotions. Of having conquered this ten-year-long fear, of being blessed with friends so patient and kind, and of the knowledge of being in safe company. Then there was this feeling of , "what a fool I had been all of these years.
They then made me practise. Twice and then thrice, and finally a fourth time, before we left for home. They 'yay-ed' me throughout. They patted me on the back. They celebrated my little victory. I can never ever forget the alertness with which each would be perceptive the minute I would step onto the escalator, for they knew, that I was scared.
I am no longer scared of getting onto one. Albeit holding hands. Yet, there always is a first time...and always a first step. Thanks to the trio! I feel so precious and blessed!!
P.S.: Could not help keeping this one short. They merit the details. :)
And to 'Them'!!
I was scared, nay, petrified. I would perspire at the very thought of it. The minute I stepped close to one, my heart skipped not one, but 75 beats a minute. I would look, and stare at them, as they surfaced, and then vanished, moved either up and up or down and down. Ceaseless. That motion had me on the edge. All exercises to bring on the 'calm', failed! Big time!!
I remember creating quite a mess for those who tried I get the hang of them. Unabashedly, I would tell them that they would only end up making a fool of themselves and the entire effort would embarrass them in the bargain.
When I entered spaces and facilities that would qualify as little less than high rises, I would scurry to spot fire exits and elevators. I would excuse myself and run on the hunt. I would cite excuses to the tune of 'being health conscious' (yes, I can almost hear some of you grimace and sneer ;) ... so hush, hush!!). I would even quote the last deadly encounter I had with them...almost 10 years back.
One day, I found myself desperately seeking the fire exits, so much so, that my younger brother patted my back with a congratulatory pat, and said, "now that's what we call 'survival instinct!'
Nay. I was not embarrassed, for I was sure I could never ever do it again.
I was so very petrified of getting onto escalators.
Then came the 22nd of May, 2010.
Three of my pals from college and I went gallivanting. Agenda: to loaf around. We stepped into a shopping mall and my heart started racing. While the rest of them headed towards the escalators in the basement, I ran to the nearest fire exit.
They were sweet enough to follow suit and climb the stairs with me.
Each time they obliged. At times they waited while I hunted for exits and elevators, and then waited until we got the chance to step into a relatively empty one. Soon, 'twas time to return.
No, they said, they would not let me run to look for fire exits or elevators now. My heart stopped beating and I looked as if I was freshly out of some high end sauna. I coaxed them with my smile first and then cajoled them with a thousand 'please-s' and more.
No. They were not going to listen. Not today. I had to do it they said. My usual reasoning that they would waste their time and I would embarrass them, took me no where today. They were simply not going to listen to any of my pleadings.
I remember their words, "we can wait for you Vasu, for an hour, for two...even more. Today, however, you have to step onto it!"
"You must conquer this fear". Nay. I did not give in. I did not budge. We stood their. five minutes passed, and then ten. It was soon twenty minutes of pleadings and encouragement...and then thirty. People passed by, watching in amazement, for each time I would step closer to the escalator and then inch backwards. After uncountable "please excuse me-s", and constant you-can-do-it encouragement from the trio, I stepped close to it again. Then ran right back.
It was an hour later that they said, "okay, let us make a deal...one of us steps onto it before you, and one after. One will be right next to you, holding your hand." Again, we stepped closer to it, one of them stepped onto it. I shied yet again.
Finally, they said, "what are you afraid of?". "Of falling and tripping onto it," said I.
"We will not let you fall. One in front of you , one behind, and one by your side. We say step, and you just step. Don't fail us then. Again, we will not let you fall, Vasu", said they.
Finally, all said, " trust us. We will not let you fall.".
The last of their so many words got me thinking. Here were three friends, who had been patient long enough. If that day, I would not have stepped onto it, they would not have said any thing. Yet, I would have lost. This struggle against myself, and the fear of escalators. Also, some amount of respect in my own eyes.
One stepped. The one next to me held onto my hand. "Step", said the friend, and I did. I lost a beat, and while the third stepped after us, I felt comforted, and reassured. It was a moment of mixed emotions. Of having conquered this ten-year-long fear, of being blessed with friends so patient and kind, and of the knowledge of being in safe company. Then there was this feeling of , "what a fool I had been all of these years.
They then made me practise. Twice and then thrice, and finally a fourth time, before we left for home. They 'yay-ed' me throughout. They patted me on the back. They celebrated my little victory. I can never ever forget the alertness with which each would be perceptive the minute I would step onto the escalator, for they knew, that I was scared.
I am no longer scared of getting onto one. Albeit holding hands. Yet, there always is a first time...and always a first step. Thanks to the trio! I feel so precious and blessed!!
P.S.: Could not help keeping this one short. They merit the details. :)
Monday, May 10, 2010
Whatever will be , will be!
How often have you paused in your tracks to wonder that there is some force, some dynamics at work, that adds that final push or blow to what you have planned? That you can plan, but execute you will on subject to that 'will', that you could at best be content with the fact that you tried, and that as they all say, "man proposes and GOD disposes"?
Let me not get you to think that I am those behaviour-books-preach-this Type A/Type B person. Nay, I am not one to sit back and do nothing for I know I cannot decide what will be.
I am one who knows, that whatever will be, will be. Yet, my sweat and toil can and will eventually tilt the balance in my favour. In your favour, in our favour!
I often am left thinking how trivial and spec-like I am before that unseen power, that order, that force! And I bow, in obeisance!! However, I also appreciate that there will be a few who will counter this thought, with perchance a logic flawed, or otherwise. I am staying put. I swear allegiance.
Here for you L&G, a humble case in point.
My recent trip to Bombay ( no come what may, I still prefer to call it Bombay), though deserves to be chronicled in a separate post.
All my bags packed, I left for the station-lock, stock, and barrel. The station, true to its reputation, is bustling with activity. Security, travellers, the occasional stray dog, porters, stalls, A.H.Wheeler-there were these and more. The B
infamous Bombay humidity irked me, as I dragged my feet towards the platform. I was so overwhelmed with all that happened for the week I stayed there, that my otherwise quick feet refused their office. I wanted to stay a bit longer. And then there are 'signs'. I did manage to reach the platform and soon enough, the train chugged in to the platform. "This is it!", I said to myself.
I still had to check my ticket status, and I dial the railway enquiry number. The train engine blows its whistle loud and clear. Time to say goodbye. I am straining my ears to listen to what the IVR says. "Passenger 1, booking status- followed by a loud whistle- interrupted by yet another loud one-current status,- porters yell, passengers scream, rush, madnees on the platform,"
"Passenger2, book...whistle, rush, scream, whistle, waitlist."
What did I jsut hear? "Waitlist". I try again, to no avail. I call up a friend to check on the Internet.
Yes! The ticket remianed unconfirmed. And I stay on for another week.
I rushed to the counter to get it cancelled and head back home. That voice in there is mumbling... it says something... I try to shut it up..but my mind speaks louder this time, so much so that I end up thinking aloud...
Que Sera Sera...
Yes, whatever will be, will be! and commitments half-met will ensure that they get completed, unless ofcourse, tehy are meant to be left unfinished.
Let me not get you to think that I am those behaviour-books-preach-this Type A/Type B person. Nay, I am not one to sit back and do nothing for I know I cannot decide what will be.
I am one who knows, that whatever will be, will be. Yet, my sweat and toil can and will eventually tilt the balance in my favour. In your favour, in our favour!
I often am left thinking how trivial and spec-like I am before that unseen power, that order, that force! And I bow, in obeisance!! However, I also appreciate that there will be a few who will counter this thought, with perchance a logic flawed, or otherwise. I am staying put. I swear allegiance.
Here for you L&G, a humble case in point.
My recent trip to Bombay ( no come what may, I still prefer to call it Bombay), though deserves to be chronicled in a separate post.
All my bags packed, I left for the station-lock, stock, and barrel. The station, true to its reputation, is bustling with activity. Security, travellers, the occasional stray dog, porters, stalls, A.H.Wheeler-there were these and more. The B
infamous Bombay humidity irked me, as I dragged my feet towards the platform. I was so overwhelmed with all that happened for the week I stayed there, that my otherwise quick feet refused their office. I wanted to stay a bit longer. And then there are 'signs'. I did manage to reach the platform and soon enough, the train chugged in to the platform. "This is it!", I said to myself.
I still had to check my ticket status, and I dial the railway enquiry number. The train engine blows its whistle loud and clear. Time to say goodbye. I am straining my ears to listen to what the IVR says. "Passenger 1, booking status- followed by a loud whistle- interrupted by yet another loud one-current status,- porters yell, passengers scream, rush, madnees on the platform,"
"Passenger2, book...whistle, rush, scream, whistle, waitlist."
What did I jsut hear? "Waitlist". I try again, to no avail. I call up a friend to check on the Internet.
Yes! The ticket remianed unconfirmed. And I stay on for another week.
I rushed to the counter to get it cancelled and head back home. That voice in there is mumbling... it says something... I try to shut it up..but my mind speaks louder this time, so much so that I end up thinking aloud...
Que Sera Sera...
Yes, whatever will be, will be! and commitments half-met will ensure that they get completed, unless ofcourse, tehy are meant to be left unfinished.
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