Love is...

Love is not something that can be lost and found,
Love is not the ever changing favourite tracks of sound,
Love is not a spectre to conjure,
Love is not something to be unsure..
Love is not a feeling, because feelings come and go,
Love is a decision, that you keep once you know.

A parable? A search.. a journey..

It takes a rope to draw from a well,
But from an undug well,
It takes more.

Knowledge has its price,
But its value is knowing whether its worth it.

Many burdens can be carried in a lifetime..
Yet lifetimes may last only as long as the beares wishes life.

Fickle as may seem a parable unknown,
But the depth of its meaning often opposes its fickleness.

A search often takes you far from the known,
Yet at the known is where you must arrive..
What matters then is that whether the journey was worth it.

Journey one must, for even the most stagnant trees grow in depth and height..
But what you do when you meet with other roots and branches,
Decides whether your journey was worth arriving at the end of your destinations.

Emptiness

Like looking down a great dark abyss
spiralling in grief without purchase
being conscious yet not in control
what we hold & what must we let go..

Grip is not without grit
grit can't emerge within hollows
vast spaces of nothingness
can't bear the passions of living

fear, love, grit, stress...
can not exist in emptiness.

Keep going...

It feels like I'm out of a deep comatose state of mind.
I don't really remember the last time I felt anything like myself.
I'm writing not just to kill that long cold silence in me, but to
fight that dead state of mind. To thaw out the freeze of 'me'.

I remember 'me' tip-toeing in a park to make the perfect photo of a
butterfly. A 'me' doing push ups after returning from office to stay
tough. A 'me' baking a cake for my grand ma's birthday... A 'me'
ordering an extra large birthday surprise cake to be directly sent to
my dad.. that's the last special thing I could share with him.

Always wanted him to be proud of me. Praise came more spairingly from
him than summers in the antartic.
So many plans, hopes of getting to spend time.. maybe after his
retirement.. and now he has fore-gone retirement for more permanent
resting plans.
They say that you can't defeat a man who won't give up.. My dad was
that, so was my grandad.. Fuckin stubborn, lived by their own
rules..No regrets and no bloody care for social masks.
Been wanting to do that myself.

For now, I'm glad to just realise that I'm breathing still.. and
knowing that no amount of toughness of mind or body can prepare you
for life.
One thing though I must absolutely learn to preserve..
The desire to keep going.

He just left, just like that...

He's gone, I know that, because someone told it to me and my mind
confirms that memory, while I wait for his mortal remains to be
brought to me to confirm it once again.
I have already faced that situation over and over in my mind. I see
him shroud in white, his face the way I remember watching while he'd
sleep.

It's a long wait.
The longest that time ever lasted.
The clock ticks on mechanically, night passes into day and the sun
rises, the birds chirp. The dawning of the day never interrupted by
the death of my father.
The birds come chirping at my window sill waiting to be fed by my
father. Even the birds had a right over his time, everyday, unlike me.
I go to get the feed, I place a few fistfuls on the sill. The birds
alight but don't eat. A couple of them peck at it, then they watch me
and I watch them equally curious. I think to them, your feeder isn't
coming back. Maybe they understand, maybe not. Then I move away and I
enter my own private hell.
But something shakes me out of it. It's sounds, too many people, but
one among them has brought me out of my despair, temporarily I bottle
up my grief. I call the family doctor, he arrives and then I tell him
everything. I register the shock on his face. I know why that
expression is plastered on his face longer than it should on any
doctor. He had checked my father's annual test results, just a couple
of days before his death and they were okay.

After he leaves, I stand sentinel over my mum's room, no one enters it
on my watch. My earlier sorrow has now transformed into a cause. My
mother needs to be away from the howling audiences.
I keep them at bay. They plead with me, they curse me, they accuse me.
They tell me that my mum must cry. I know better. I stay sharp. I coax
them away and at times shove away a few. My mother rests from the
tranquilising effects of the meds delivered into her.
Then the hour comes, I have to let them have an audience with her.
I restrict them when I can.

Finally the flow of people ebbs. I am slowly losing my courage. In the
final few quarters of the hour before they bring him, I lie down
beside my mum.
I am scared. For once I don't know how I will react. Will my mind
remain in my control? I know not. That scares me utmost.
I remember a few words of courage. At such a time, those words which
give me some hope are that of a friend's mother, she feels closer than
any blood relative.

I'm almost dragged to him amidst all the crowds. I excuse myself and
go to the restroom and borrow strength from the words of a loved one.
I emerge from the restroom with a renewed strength. Again there are
people holding me, prodding me, I shrug them off. I move closer to the
mortal remains of my father. I stand there, observing his serene
expressions. A brother holds me and makes me sit fearing that I might
faint. I don't. I just stare blankly. I see why I have so little space
to crouch beside him, as in life, so in death, too many people have a
right over him.
I notice mum crying, caressing his lifeless face which hasn't a single
expression of pain. His eyelids are ever so slightly open, like he
might just wake out of his slumber.
I brush off that thought, I do not wish to dwell upon such things.
That's for myself, later.

They take him away. I'm glad it wasn't a stark white shroud, but
instead a soft maroon blanket that I use daily.
I stay strong, for a while, then locking myself away from all, I cry
out in grief, yet it's gentler than my first screaming anguish of
denial and shock.
I've been practical for long enough.
Crowds swarm me, I calm down.
Again I look at my mum and bottle up.
There's a long way to go before I can rest.

''I am with you, I can't believe it!''

To know that you were with one who cared for you, and who understood
every fiber of your being, and who would not abandon you even in the
most desperate of circumstances, that was the most precious
relationship a person could have and both Jo and Anwesha cherished it.

It wasn't a very long wait before Jo saw Anwesh half walking, half
sprinting while dragging a noisy wheelie-bag. There was a mad grin on
Anwesha's face that seemed steadfastly pasted there with fevicol,
thought Jo.
The smile was both continuous and contagious, it reached Jo's lips too.
She was glad to be in time.
After a half hug which she wished could further prelong with a deep
kiss, Jo directed Anwesha to the pre-booked car.
As they took their place in the car, it began drizzling and little
droplets of water rolled down the glass screens of the taxi.
Everything seemed to distract Anwesha, from the wipers on the driver's
screen to the sights and sounds of the new city. Jo however was
focussed on Anwesha alone. Her gaze hardly shifted away from Anwesha
all along the journey.

The statues swarthed in golden paint, the brightly dressed people, the
unseasonal rain, everything seemed to amaze Anwesha, she scrutinized
it all with a strange curiosity. Jo wondered if that was to avoid
contact with her that anwesha was distracting her elsewhere.

Anwesha in her mind recollected the surprisingly arousing touch that
Jo had chanced upon during their first shared taxi ride. She didnt
want yet another occurence. Plus she knew as a matter of fact that her
city was much less rigid to sapphic identities or infact, most people
were least bothered with the lives of others.

So they travelled on in the city that was once titled the presidency of Madras.

They reached Jo's hostel room after all the registrations and bills
were settled. After arranging the bags and other things, it was now
time to arrange matters of the heart and mind.
Anwesha's heart felt weak suddenly as she let go off her defenses. Her
dam of feelings broke and she hugged Jo who was perched on the only
cot in that room.
Jo felt Anwesha's limp structure being racked with sobs as Anwesha
continued hugging her fiercely, repeating just one line over and over
again,
''I am with you, I can't believe it!''

A very short end...

She was so occupied that she almost forgot, she rushed to the
kandepohe with a pinch of salt to find them burnt. She went to tell
him it would take time, only to finding him hanging, dead.
The salt was left out both before they were burnt.

Not exactly envy nor possessiveness...

..

The fact that her friend is going through a major transition in her
life gladdens me, while at the same time leaves me disheartened. For I
remember a time, when I was involved in drawing a little smile on her
friend's face through my genuine flattery and a few humour-worthy
one-liners.

Fate however had other plans for the friendship between me and her friend.
There was once a time when I awaited her return from her friend,
waiting late into the night & seldom falling asleep as she returned
from her only close female friend on campus.
Then there was a time when I expressed my true admiration for her
friend's writing skills. Her friend truly has an amazing knack for
writing adjectively effective descriptions of all experiences through
her writing.
Then there was a time for envy and a fair bit of possessiveness as she
thought and assumed that I loved her friend more than her!
Then for a yet unknown reason, her friend refused to accept my
existence in her life.
For long hours have I suffered my mind to try understand what might
have led to her such behavior towards me. I have done no ill towards
her, and so I have no reason as to why she refutes my existance. I
have always respected her in all possible manner, yet..

Today again I felt disheartened by the thoughts of her friend, I felt
displaced without her presence although it was for a few hours. I
wished her good night though I had not slept, because I had no good
word to offer her.

Why do I feel this way? What do I do about it?

Memories

Clearing cache..

We all wish for amazingly impossible things that do not exist in
reality so that we could travel back in time, increase our I.Q etc.
Of all those amazing things I wish for, I often think of a device that
would selectively erase certain memories from my life, help me breathe
easy and live better...

Of all the things that can effectively affect our mood and
productivity, memories usually play a grand role. They affirm our
beliefs and values and also have the power to completely destruct our
self beliefs and confidence thus rendering us helpless.

There is not much we can do about our memories, or so I had thought
until that fateful day that the person I truly loved for over 3 years
just passed over our memories like they never really existed. In less
than a year after we had unceremoniously separated, she refused to
accept that such a relationship ever existed between us. To add to my
anguish she spread lies that it was a one sided affair! If I hadn't
secured her hand written letters to me, I too would have come to
probably eventually believe that all of our memories were probably
some unfortunate mid-summer dream!

While I even today continue to be tortured by those memories, she
happily lives in her sweet Lalaland where none of these memories ever
happened! More recently I saw a facebook post with her photo. It
haunted me for days together, she looked tired, punished. I wondered
why. Was she in trouble? Should I help? Will it be fair if I ignored
her as she has ignored the existence of our memories. That would
definitely be the easiest thing to do, or so I had thought. But my
memories of our good times didn't let me rest a moment. I felt that I
was ignoring her in troubled times.

I am a person of my words. I do not do promises, but if I am to give
my word to someone, I will keep it till life flows through my body.
Sigh...
That is the trouble. I am often told that I take life too seriously.
Maybe that is the case. But, in any case, that is the only way of
existance that I know.
Therefore I decided to call upon an old acquaintance, a friend, who
knows everything that happened between the two of us.
She advised me to ignore the entire thing. Easier said than done. But
after great turbulence and much thinking, u came to the conclude that
the friend was right. I must not dwell in the past so much so that I
get stuck in it and can't find my way back.

So this ends with me unfriending her on facebook.
That's how this post ends, never to hopefully have any sequel to it..

For a friend..

What do friends do when you tell them that you had a heartbreak.
Do they feel sorry for you? Do they try to cheer you?

This is is what I do..
(a friend recently spoke to me about her tale of love.. sort of lost..
I was chatting with her on Whats App, here's a quick rhyme i composed)

While we carry on to find him,
Who will considr u b4 all else even wen conditions r grim..

Just look at d stars shining out there,
There's a lot of time to spare..

For neither are u old nor of weak heart,
I'm sure u will find ur muse..
& there lies all that u would ever need to start,
A chance anew wid greater enthuse...

P.S. Forgive the sms lingo, i wanted the blogpost as real as it gets.

a dying man's word you must keep...

Strike me if you wish to,
But, strike my heart deep.
That's where the pain is...
If a dying man's word you must keep.

In a single strike release me,
May you not have to stab me
Over & over again,
For the pain will continue in vain,
While death defies me from my sleep...
I hope A dying man's words u will keep.

Let my death be absolute & ultimate,
I ask not for rebirth nor for change in fate...

For it is better to embrace nothingness in death,
Than to keep going nowhere in blind faith.

For me who has cared neither for silks or gold,
Care no more to live till I grow old.

And if my words make your heart fail your guts,
Then hand me the poison vial without any ifs & buts.
Make sure it be deadly that which touches my lip,
Foremost Burns my heart very deep,
So that I feel nothing nor do I weep...
I hope a dyin' man's words you will keep.

GHOSTS

GHOSTS

Screech..
A sharp swerve, instinctive survival reflexes kicked in and the car
was braked sharply at the roadside.

A sharp sensation rose from the back of my head and slowly died out.
I waved an assuring hand at the couple of cars who had stopped by to
check on me.

Rickshaws stopping or swerving mid way without signalling are a common
thing in my city. No wonder the people who'd noticed the fiasco were
concerned about me!

I let my head clear, the pain stopped. I composed myself. I was
driving to a friend's place for her birthday, I should try not to look
ravaged.

I reached her place and called her to join me in the car, another
friend was to join. Waiting for the birthday girl I got out of the car
to stretch my shaking legs.

My heart was pumping fast, adrenaline flowing through my veins had me
all high strung. Thank God for the quick reflexes. I didn't think I
had any! For a second i felt like Van Diesel! Only for a second, the
next second I drew my mobile out of my pocket and messaged 'her'
friend.
When your love is taken from you, you try hard to get it back.
I intended to try understanding her or atleast die trying. Yes, I'd
seen the rickshaw stop a lil before me but i was busy thinking,
understanding her. Usually I would have slowed down, but my mind
wasn't concentrating on the road.

I messaged 'her' friend to do me a favour and look after 'her'.

I got back in the car, started some light music, nerves needed quick
calming. I didn't want to ruin my friend birthday by being all high
strung.

My friend's arrived, we went for a drive, I was unusually quite. These
are my close friends, the birthday girl 'C' asked me. I joked about
it. We went for pastries. 'C' sent another friend to get the pastries
in the car, it was raining outside.

'C' was direct, she asked about 'her'. I told 'C' about 'her' and the
dream she had. 'C' said, another person in my place would've been
enraged, she was glad i wasn't. You should give her time, we girls
think a lot and complicate things beyond reason sometime.
I smiled and then we had pastries and I drove 'C' to the church and my
other friend to her home.
I was as careful as I could be on my way back.

While checking my head wound, i contemplated. We all have ghosts,
skeletons in the closet. What matters is how much we let them haunt
us.
I too have mine and nice stories they'd make but I've slammed my
closet shut and if ever it creaks open and i see the dementors make a
beeline for me, i call upon my patronus of all things good.
And so far the patronus has prevailed.

I Suffer..

I suffer, from a part of me,
Dead and left behind that no one may see..

I weep not, neither cry,
For long days have gone by..
These cheeks once tear stained,
Have I known cried in vain..

Numb they may have become,
But they don't believe in giving up, she'll come..

But do I want that any longer,
We won't ever be together..

That I know for sure indeed,
For what I had sown has not/will not be reaped.

Then why carry this deadweight,
Why can't I get my mind straight?

I Blinked...

I blinked. The sun was in my eyes. I shifted the chair to position myself better across her. She was sitting there looking right back at me.

“Incoming Transmission…”, the mobile message tone broke the trance which was one of the several that I would have in the next three quarters of a hour. I was waiting with her at the airport for her departure. 

Ten days ago I was at the same terminal awaiting her arrival to Maximum city.

She smiled a dopey smile at me, one that I had seen several times over skype and yet considered it to be brighter in person. My thoughts were racing back to that eventful Sunday when I replied to her blog query and also to the email she had sent on my gmail  i.d. The same day evening was spent chatting away to a complete stranger about random stuff. The next week was full of text messages and silly sms jokes, the week after that came the Facebook requests and so it went on. It had cultivated itself into a beautiful relationship.

How I wish I could update that on Facebook!
No, it’s not time yet. Not cause I’m unsure of the relationship but, simply because I am unsure of reactions and I am not yet ready to face the questions yet.

Me & She @ the Kanheri Caves

After five whole months of revelry, we were to finally meet for a real tete a tete. I was unsure of how I should address her and how would I go about to ensure that she had the best of the time. But over the ten days of her stay in my city, everything just seemed to take care of itself without much ado. Plans fell into place like they had always meant to be! A visit to the Gateway of India, the Haji Ali Mosque, a trip to the Kanheri caves and national park with its lion & tiger safari where she thought that those savages and their cubs were cute! Little does she know that one of those lions had recently killed a zookeeper. But all that didn’t matter for now. All that did was she was sitting before me, ready to leave.  I wasn’t. Maybe she wasn’t too.

The last four days that I had spent with her suddenly felt like a distant dream… a mirage!
I knew that it was something I was supposed to get used to, I comforted myself that at least I was having this feeling again and in that I was glad. I wouldn’t forget all those moments spent together.

My day dream was cut short by a smoking-like-chimney arab fellow sitting beside us. She noticed my expression and asked, “you can’t stand smoke can you?” I had just stirred out of my day dreaming and mumbled something incoherent.

The time kept ticking as I made small talk with her while my mind played narrator.

The mobile buzzed again, it was the alarm, it was time to say our good byes.

A short hug, see you soon (on skype ofcourse!) and she was gone past the terminal gates in a blink. This time I did not.

A Stray Song

I love sitting on the stairs and watching the hustle and bustle of this great city, as people pass by doing what they think they must. 
A few days ago, I sat just like that; while I sat staring at the monotony of human routine, a stray K9 came up to me. I got a packet of biscuits from the general stores right outside the building gates and sat back offering it to the dog, and the stray dog offered me the random rhyme written below...

This picture of a stray was taken at Alibaug last year. This ain't the stray that helped me with this random rhyme. I was so busy typing out the words on my mobile that I forgot to photograph the stray doggy, and by the time I was done typing, the doggy had long gone...

I bark, I scare, I howl,
you pass me by, as u see me scowl..


You see me as you rush by,
on the street as I lie..


Watching you hurriedly walk,
and at times I choose to stalk..


As you wave a shooing hand,
I'm hoping if a chance I stand..


That it might be your happy day,
and you might feed a starving stray..


Most often I get kicked at,
I don't think too much, I leave it at that..


But seldom does a caring soul,
come along with biscuits and a milk bowl..


I jump, I wag, I prance around,
not for the food, but my love newfound..

I remember myself as a lil puppy,
all the love, kids, & once again I'm happy..


Those were the best days,
of my life as a stray..

All I now wish is, for a biscuit or two,
a pat on the head instead of a 'shoo'...

How I feel about you...

If only you knew,
How I feel about you...
You make my day woman
and go away whenever I do,
I don't know how I shall live without you...


I know its true,
that's what I feel bout you.
I hope & pray that you do so too...

When in love...

The anticipation,
The yearning, to
Be wanted
Be understood,
Be needed
Be felt,
To be shy
Be touched
But to feel deep within
be warm,
Be fulfilled
Be consummated.
To Feel secure,
to be complete
That's a decimal of a quarter of a conscious feeling when in love,
with her who is in love with me...

My coming out story...

It seems a long ago that I devised a plan to carefully play my cards and present my preferences to my mom. I've been wanting to talk about it ever since. So here it is...

Never have I planned my life, I live everyday as it presents itself to me. Yet, for once I felt the need to structure how this act would be performed. I tried several times to create an ideal conversation. But it somehow refused to appeal to both my instinct and better judgement. Until one day, I read an advertisement for a play. It was not any ordinary commercial play, it was an experimental theatre act written by Chetan
Datar- 'Ek Madhavbaug'.

The play showcased a single actor (actress actually), a mother. Living all by herself, as her grown up sons pursued their careers elsewhere. On one eventful day she receives several blank calls, frightened and frustrated she threatens the caller with dire consequences. The threats finally instigate the caller to speak. The caller accuses her son to be a faggot, and further adds that it is due to him that the caller's son has attempted suicide!
This news shatters the mother out of her wits. She goes through the personal belongings of all her sons. To her shock she finds a pendrive in her youngest son's belongings revealing diary entries of his troubled childhood where he was confused and frightened. He expresses his feelings abundantly; tears flow as fast as words, streaming down the mother's cheeks as she imagines the turmoil her youngest son went through.
The play ends with an enlightened supportive mother who stands by her son's side as they visit her son's partner at the hospital. The partner survives the suicide attempt and they live happily ever after.
An alternative end has also been suggested, wherein the youngest son suicides like his partner who committed suicide due to parental pressure for marriage.

It was a lazy saturday morning that I read the advertisement. I was to meet my three school friends for a dinner followed by a slumber party that night. The play was on sunday, late in the evening.
My mind was already contemplating.
I might not be a long term planner, but the things I do in everyday life, I do them in a very orderly manner.
That night, a part of me wanted to share my anxieties with my friends, the other half was worried sick that I would jinx the situation. I decided to keep mum, my friends did question me. They always know..
I might deceive the world with my one act plays but there are few who always sense my trouble. These three school friends are amongst the people who know me really well, my maternal grandmom who I call 'Ajji'
and my maternal aunt who I call 'Aaii' complete the list.

The next morning as I made my way back home, I chalked my plans.
After the lazy sunday lunch, I told my mum that I had read bout this advertisement in the newspaper for Chetan Datar's play.

A little about Chetan Datar. He is a most prolific playwriter and director. Sadly he passed away a few years ago at a very young age. Chetan was also my mom's childhood friend. Chetan and his brothers often played together with my mum and her friends. She often told me about how he was a quite little kid, but a very sound man indeed! He was younger to her by a few years. The last she saw him was when she had visited our old  abode in South Bombay.
She tells me, "Chetan asked me to join him for a cup of tea at his place. She had to decline, although she wanted to catch up on all those years. But, she had an appointment to keep. Now that I think about it, I too wish to have met him, he has played a major role in my coming out story.. Sigh!

My mom agreed on my plans to go for the play. She knew nothing bout the subject of the play. Dad wasn't at home that sunday, we had dinner quite early and headed for the theatre. We purchased two tickets and took our seats. There were few other people in the audience.
The play began..
and ended...

We stood up, applauded and left the theatre. It was a very strong subject and an essentially intensive drama. Mom was quite on the way back. I started talking bout the various other Indian perso nalities who are supposedlygay.. As we reached home, my sis asked me bout the play. I took her to our room and explained the situation to her. She asked me to sleep beside mom that night and explain everything to her. I gathered
my guts, lying beside my mom, words which are usually my forté had now deserted me.
I asked mom how she found the play. She expressed her liking for the actress and the scraipt. We chatted a little about Chetan Datar.
Once again I gathered a little courage. This time I atleast had the courage to tell my mom that I wanted to
tell her something that was connected to the play. I saw the expression on her face change and I lost my strength once again.
That was it, I couldn't do it anymore. My sister was sleeping on a single bed beside ours. She frantically gestured me to start talking, I gestured back that I couldn't. I was terribly choked up. It felt like
an invisible hand was choking me, denying me my freedom of speech.
Finally my sis got out of her bed and onto ours and told mom that I wanted to say the same things that the youngest son in the play had told his mother!
That was plainly put. My mom got the gist of things.
There were a lot of tears and drama about why I didn't tell her bout this earlier.
Ofcourse, she also asked me about whether I was sure bout this. So then I had to tell her very objectively bout my first relationship with Sreelakshmi. Thankfully, there weren't any pointy questions!
Mom kept asking me though, why I didn't tell her about this earlier. I told her frankly that, I wanted to get a job, put aside some money...create a cushion around me in case things turned ugly, which in some cases they have.

This awesome lady is my mom btw...    :)

Mum rebuked me saying how I could possibly think that she would desert me for this reason! After all her argument was right, she's a mother. Then again I was just taking care of the contingency plan.
I slept in fits of an hour or so as our chat had continued till 4 in the morning.
I was extremely exhausted after all this. I had made my mom a few promises. That I would not go public with this and also not tell it to my dad till she thought that it was the right time.
I told her that if I meet a trustworthy person who asks me, then I shall give a thought to revealing my identity.

That's it... That's my coming out story! 
So, alls well that ends well I guess! It's one step ahead in the explorer's quest... The next step is even more exciting, and it involves a venust lady and courting and blushing and the works! :)

Anwesha the Explorer solemnly declares that she is smitten ;) Nay madly in love with...
This is already too long a blogpost, so my fair reader, you shall have to await my next blogpost :)

I am just a kid...

I am just a kid, 
I know nothing about anything.
you may ask me about the math and tell me about the planets,
you might try interesting me in the arts or bore me about new gadgets...


What care I about your sciences, math or arts...
I see the sun set in the west & in the east it starts,
I feel the call of the early birds twittering away for a worm
and that is music enough for me to last me any storm.

I have seen the turtles lay their eggs, when they feel to watch there is none...
and I have seen the crocs dig there by till all I counted was- one.

These are my friend's pet turtles

Yet, I have counted him amongst the hundreds that have hatched on that turf...
and make a run from the beach and through the sand to reach the surf.








Such uncountless things consume my thoughts,
whatever I have learnt, to me nature has taught.
Hence, do not seek me amongst my kind,
The true me, there you shall never find.
for I am just a kid,
I know nothing about anything...

What doth ye desire?

SILENCE…

The one phenomenon that assures peace.
You can silence things, you can silence animals and you can silence people. Whether you do it through coercion or force, it does not really matter.

What matters is, “Can you silence yourself?”

The very few times I have been able to attain just that, I have been at peace, almost like a trance... like as if absolutely nothing could affect me. 

 

Today was one of those exceptional times that I could achieve that serenity. In that frame of mind, a singular question resonated in my mind...
All of us at some point in our lives question the raison d'être. The causes usually vary from family and friends, career goals, vengeance, many a times it’s just for the love of life and discovery of the new.
All these reasons create a desire, a strong sense of wanting, that ties us firmly to life as we know it.
So we live on…

For someone who has little or no care for those things, the question in my mind repeats itself. Why life? what doth ye desire?
It resonates in me, like the echo of bells even after they have stopped ringing. It unsettles my mind and I sense it flinch.

Desires… I seem to have run out of those.
When I see a lone bird across the sweltering skies, the blades of grass decorated with the summer’s dew, a doggy wagging its tail at me even when it knows that all I can afford is a pat or a rub, it gladdens my heart. There are several things that are capable of making my mind smile, be content, and rejoice in those little joys that fill my existence with warmth and hope.

But these are not what humans define as desires, desires are those that lead you on, desperately… keep you going even in the toughest of times and fill you with the hope and the fantasy of achievement even before you have partially accomplished your task to fulfill a desire.

Yes, I do have my share of family and friends and they do care for me. I had a set of goals for myself—to get into a good college, to excel in at least one extra-curricular activity, to graduate with distinction, to become a journalist and then an editor. I have scored successfully on each of these tasks.  I have also been in love, once in my life… it was beautiful indeed! I have shared my life with the person I thought I could not live without, and yet here I am pretty complete even without her. And no, I am not bitter towards love or for that matter the very person I loved. It seems pretty much like been there done that sort of a thing. Yet, I shall not say that I have done all that one may in a lifetime. However existence does not excite me.
I do care for my loved ones, and my work. But that desire, I feel is not strong enough to keep me tethered to life.

And again I come back to the same question— what doth ye desire?

I visited my granny yesterday; she asked me what I wanted as a birthday gift. I replied, ‘nothing’. She continued, “I have received that answer from many, and yet I know that in the heart of their hearts, most desire something and a few desire someone. Yet, I find you actually meaning what you speak and this I understand through my years of experience.”
She went on to add, “You seem to care for nothing you own, like life would be just the same without those things, and even with people the emotion is repeated. You care for them in your own little ways that sometimes even go unnoticed.
What exactly appeals to you? Why do you behave like a bairaagi (hermit)?—
What doth ye desire?”

Hmm… and there again I come to my central idea, my difficulty with existence which questions my very raison d'être.

And now I am unable to silence myself.
One word describes me best—the one word that has been ruling my life since the time that my realisations exist—STOIC.