Deceased

Witness. Mute Spectator. Paralyzed. Silent onlooker.

Observing everything. Good and evil.

Not participating. Not preventing.

Not appreciating. Not discouraging.

Passive.

Tired. Yet aware. Awake.

Often disgusted. Sometimes elated. Transient.

Never enough to last. Nearly impervious.

Who’s right? Who’s wrong? Does it matter? Who cares?

Indifferent.

Still watching. Eyes wide open. Day after day. What's trending? Incidents. Deaths.

Till it’s your turn.

Then……………… Deceased.

The Hill

The hill had ears… it knew all our secrets… it listened to us sharing them... we knew it did… because of the winds… it was windy up there… almost always... noisy winds... but it would hush up when any of us opened up to the others about something… it liked secrets… we didn’t mind the transgression… we knew our secrets would be safe with it… it wouldn’t let the winds carry them away to people who weren’t supposed to know them… we trusted it like we trusted each other.

The ride up there was not easy. Halfway up we had to get off and then walk the rest of the slope pushing our bicycles along. We didn’t remember why we started going up there. There was nothing up there. An old tree… so old it didn’t have any leaves. It had strong roots though… part of which was above the ground. We would lie down and rest in the little cradles between the large branching roots once we reached there. No one would talk for a while. We would listen to what the winds were saying… and they had a lot to say. They’d tell us about the other people who went up there. They said a man would come on Sundays. He’d drink toddy and cry and curse. It was where he used to meet with his lover… long before any of us were even born. They didn’t marry… she died… before he could ask her. But he still came here… remembering… grieving… drinking… forgetting.

The hill had immense wisdom. It knew thousands of stories. It was there for thousands of years. It had met thousands of people. People who found time to go up there and tell their stories… like us. It taught us about love, loyalty, lust, longing and a lot of things. It taught us to fly. Once we were done listening to its stories and done telling it ours, we would take our bicycles to where the downslope began. We’d get on and then look down at our village. The winds would caress our faces… telling us not to worry… not to be scared if we’d fall. It’d tell us to let go… and we would. Kicking off the ground we’d race downhill… so fast that our heartbeats would echo in our head… so fast that people who saw us would call us crazy… and reckless. But they didn’t know what it felt like to fly… they didn’t… they were too old for that… we weren’t. When we sped down the hill on our bicycles, the wind lifted us off the ground into its arms like it did with the birds… and we’d fly.

Suspended Animation

I'm on autopilot, just going through the motion
I'm alive, but in suspended animation
I'm not present, I'm lost in contemplation
I feel so small, I've lost all sense of proportion


There's no real problem, just my warped perception
What's wrong perhaps is my misguided interpretation
All stemming from an unrealistic expectation
But I can't free myself from this unhealthy obsession


No dearth of advice, each with good intention
I hear everything, nothing elicits any reaction
Disappointed, they accuse me of procrastination
They never understood my consternation
This nemesis of mine is my own creation
I'm stuck in suspended animation...


P.S
I've been told that the rhyme is a constraint but I think I've used whatever space I could within it to put across the idea.

Rediscovery of Faith

I’d say I was born into faith and later grew out of it, though not completely. I believe faith, for the majority, is an inheritance. It’s existence pre-dates our own. In a manner our parents proselytized us. I was born a Hindu and raised a Hindu. It became my reality. I was ‘introduced’ to a lot of dieties, all of whom apparently were very rich coz they had ‘properties’ everywhere Mom and Dad took us for family outings. I was taught to pray to them coz that was what you had to do to make your wishes come true. Of course, I had no reason to doubt any of this… mothers never lie, do they?

It was all well until I was put in a school where I had to stand up and chant a variety of hymns three times a day. The new ‘obligatory’ tag that came with prayer took the feel-good factor out of it. It became more of a chore. By the time I was done with that place I’d been unwittingly de-proselytized. The process was aided by a new awareness that intentionally I’d not been ‘introduced’ to a few ‘other’ Gods whom some of my ‘other’ friends got along well with. Other catalysts were the realizations that miracles were too few to be convincing and that the rhetoric surrounding answered prayers were based on a flimsy premise.

Then came the rebel phase. I took it upon myself, seeing as how it was my constitutional right( Article 19(1)(a)   ;P ), to question everything. Meanwhile, God was forgotten. Well, not quite. Break-ups are messy and I wasn’t ready for one. Me and God were just not-talking-to-each-other. I would taunt with status updates like “theist by force of habit” and later I’d try and propose a truce with “atheist who prays occassionally”.

This self-centred state of mind served me well for a few years. I thought I was about ready for the inevitable break-up….  but suddenly Identity cisis struck when I went from being a final year Btech student to a jobless Btech graduate. For a while it felt like the whole world was conspiring against me. It scared me. It felt like my existence was inconsequential in the grand scheme of things. I felt powerless. Occassional prayers started becoming frequent. I started doing the touch-your-forehead-and-touch-your-chest thingy regularly when I passed near temples. I kept telling myself these were nothing major. It didn’t necessarily mean I was deserting my rationalist contemporaries.

But today I found myself taking off my shoes and entering a temple. I prayed with folded hands. I didn’t even stop my hand from reaching for sandal paste and applying it on my forehead. I don’t know what I am anymore. I know I’m far from being ready for a break-up. I’m afraid I’m entertaining thoughts of marriage and settling down. Maybe it’s time to get over my commitment phobia.

Trance…..

Am I dead…?

I can’t feel my legs… or my arms… where am I…?

Don’t panic… don’t panic… breathe… just breathe… wait… I can breathe… I’m not dead… I’m not dead…..

Oh god it burns… my chest… feels like I’m breathing fire….. Fire!!! am I a dragon now…?

Wait… how…? re-incarnation…? is this shit possible…?

But why a dragon…?

Dragon… oh… oh, Khaleesi… Mother of dragons… embrace me… and protect me… hold me against your ample bosom…..

No No No No No stop… why am I thinking of Game of Thrones now…?

Wait… if I could just open my eyes and see where I am… come on now… lift them… come on… you can do it….. Fuck! eyelids are so damn heavy…..

Shit, it’s so cold… someone please switch of that fan… Fan! Oh my god, yes… I can hear the fan…I’m in a room with a fan… but… which room…? my room…?

No… can’t be… the floor is so cold… and damp… huh…? why am I lying on the floor…? and why is it so damp…? it’s freezing my ass..

Wait… my ass…Oh shit! where are my pants…? my clothes… where are my fucking clothes…? No No No No No… can’t let anyone see me like this… cover up your junk you fool… come on…

my arms… can’t move… my arms… Noooo… No No… stop… don’t panic… breathe… Noooo… No… can’t… can’t breathe… head… spinning… Noooo… please… stop the spinning… stop it… please… I can’t… can’t stand it… can’t breathe… I’m floating… spinning… floating away… this is it… I’m dying… floating… into oblivion… I’m coming… I’m coming George Clooney… wherever the hell you floated off to… I’m coming… there’s no gravity anymore… there’s no nothing anymore…

F    : Dude, wake up… come on man… wake the fuck up…

Me : Hmmmm….. my head… hurts… where am I…?

F    : You’re at my place and you look like shit… was it your first time yesterday…?

Me : Uh.. yeah.

F    : Thought so. You passed out on the floor. Now, put some clothes on and get outta here. You’ve got class in 15 minutes.

La Vostra Luna...

I know you still spend hours at the balcony, looking up at the black sky searching for me. I've been hiding, but you already know that. From behind the smokescreen of these grey clouds, I see you. I see the anguish in your eyes. I can hear the strained notes of hope from the strings in your heart. I can almost read the accusations in your mind. I can see the ripples of questions beneath the ambiguous expression on your face.

"Why do you always do this?
This running away when you hear words that make you uncomfortable... disappearing just like that. Then you keep me waiting till you've sorted out your issues. I stay up teary eyed all night searching the sky, wishing I'd never said those things which upset you... wishing you'd just come back. You hurt me so much and then you reappear... and you want to take it up from where you left off, as if nothing had changed in all these days you've been away, as if my feelings don't matter at all.

But I keep quiet. I never tell you how much you've hurt me because the moment I see that crescent curve on your face, the lopsided smile that I've missed so much, I forget everything else and fall in love with you all over again.

But you're cruel. You take and take and take and when I feel empty and used, when I question you... you vanish again.

But this time you've been gone too long and I'm scared.
Have you forgotten me?"

No...
if only you knew, I'm right here behind these clouds. I've been here all this while, watching you... discreetly.
But I cannot let you see me. I won't show myself to you again. I know it is hurting you. I wish there was another way. The pain will wither away your hope and one day... one day you'll go back inside and close the doors to your balcony forever.

You tried to reach for me and you touched me... not with your hand, but you did touch me. Alas, I'm not what you see from down there. I'm barren... rocks and craters. I'm alone and my soul is cursed to wander alone without any destination. Even though I'm bound to you by an incomprehensible force, and through you to the blue sphere you call home, I'm destined to be alone.

The Aleph

I've been reading some very interesting books lately, the latest of them 'The Aleph' by Paulo Coelho. The Aleph, he says, is a point in the universe that contains all other points, present and past, large and small, and when you are in that point where the Aleph exists you'll experience a seemingly endless trance.

Confusing...?

Well, that's Mr Paulo Coelho for the uninitiated among you... always associating life's simple aspects with such loony philosophical constructs.

For us less spiritually oriented people, the Aleph simply is that place in a room or a building or even a city where you always feel more confident, more at peace with yourself and more present.

Going by that definition, I have a lot of Alephs... one at home, one at college, one at the Aluva Railway station....... oh and I had quite a lot of choices for an Aleph in the Kannur bound Intercity express that I used to board from Aluva. Yes... because of some weird personality defect my Alephs are toilets.

Now, if you are done with the 'Ewww' and acting all grossed out, let me explain. A toilet is the only place where you can truly be alone the whole time you are there. It is the one place where you can feel the lightness of being( and I mean that both literally and philosophically).
Presently, my Aleph is the fourth floor boys toilet at ACE Academy, Hyderabad. It is the one place where people dont disturb me much(except for that guy in the adjoining toilet who's always singing the National Anthem while he's in there).

Actually, it was....
Until some prick started inscribing his life's ambitions on the walls of the toilet. Reading through that 'great' piece of literature that this guy regularly updated, it was obvious that all his thoughts revolved around one particular girl in his class. The walls were full of 'colourful' statements in which he had expressed how 'hard'ly he'd fallen in love and how 'strongly' he felt for her.

Now, I downright loathe people who deface public property and this guy was filling out the walls with the girl's name. One day I got fed up of this.
I was so pissed I took out my green ink pen and wrote in big letters on the wall...
"Atleast spell her name correctly you asshole!!", because I had done some ground work and there was no girl in the institute with the name spelled the way he did on the wall.

Next day, his reply was there, written in red ink.
"Sorry **", and then there was the girl's name with the spelling mistake corrected. That whole day I asked around if anyone knew a girl by that name. In the evening someone said she was in the canteen with her friends. I went to the canteen. There she was.... and damn was she beautiful!! The perfect combination of beautiful and hot.

I ran to the toilet and wrote on the wall...
"I understand what you are going through. Be strong brother......

but fucking stop dirtying the walls of my toilet!!"

P.S
He hasn't yet replied to that comment. So I'm assuming that was the end of our joint attempt at a potential best seller in the Young Adult fiction genre.

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