Journey to myself

Love Is NOT Beautiful ( Philosophy)

2007-08-23T08:06:00.000-07:00

No human life is untouched by Love and Beauty, yet, if you ask one to explain what Love and Beauty is none can give a definition which is complete in itself.

We all have heard these words since time immemorial, and we all want to feel and possess it. We long for it!

We have used it and often used it frequently. Their use has been so common and used for such a large group of subjects that many a times we use Lovely for a thing which is Beautiful and Beautiful for a thing which is Lovely. In fact, Love and Beauty are used interchangeably, quite often.

To what extent are we true?

Love is something which does not have a physical existence. Love is an ethereal blissful feeling of care, universal togetherness, and personal acceptance in original , natural and non-artificial form. Love makes one feel blissful by ones realization that someone cares for you and in turn makes you return that care, unknowingly. One feels and expects universal togetherness - and hence the use of the phrase: I want to be with you in every life etc - in times of material and emotional ecstasy and adversity. Though you can say that the explanation is not general to the extent it should be, but if you apply the same principles the you can not deny the holistic thought. The physical non-existence of Love is further reinforced by the fact that none of its attributes can be measured and defined by a quantifiable parameter.

On the other hand, Beauty is used only for things that has physical existence. It can be seen. Here again you can argue that Beauty, like Love, cannot be quantified, but you cannot deny its material existence. But it is possible to have a relative quantification of Beauty as we popularly do by organizing contests or votes, though, its absolute quantification is debatable. A group of people can all see the same Beauty in a subject and agree on it but it is not the case with Love. Is there such a thing or or even an attempt of thought to have at least a relative quantification of Love. No.

So, it is clear that Love has evolved only as a result of human ability to feel and does not represent any physical object and we are mistaken we if use it that way. If we do not have the ability to feel things and emotions, still the Beauty would exist. Beauty can exist without Love. But of Love does not depend on any physical object.

Therefore, Love Is NOT Beautiful.

Then, It also justifies that we are wrong in showing a lopsided Love towards something that is Beautiful. Why is it that we associate Beauty with Love? In fact we can argue and show that Love and Beauty are complements of each other. That is, any object or say a person who is Beautiful is not Lovely and what is Lovely is not Beautiful.

Beauty and Love are compliments. Or,

LOVE = Compliment ( BEAUTY )

.....END

She cant hear me; nor can I kiss

2006-09-25T08:25:00.000-07:00

10 years of pain....

....when I was in school, I was the poorest student in the class. She was the topper.

She didnt notice me.

I thought I have to study hard, and when I will be at par with her in studies, she will take notice of me. And then, I will tell her how much I love her.

I studied hard. I topped my school. I got into IIT. I got a good job. And when I thought, now I have achieved something and am in a better position to tell her what she is for me, I cannot find her.

She is lost; somewhere, in the past, behind the thick fog of time, and only her memories linger by my side...

I do see her on the roads she used to walk... only she cant hear me, nor can I touch or kiss her.

Walking on Newspaper lines (short story)

2006-06-06T14:08:00.000-07:00

I read in todays newspaper that yesterday it had rained heavily in my city, Delhi; thats an unxepected shower to come at the outset of the hot Indian summer, and had filled most of the pebbled roads, causing heavy traffic jams. I didnt knew it -- that it rained yesterday. I didnt notice it. Though the paper read so, I doubted it; and scrampered towards the window, opposite to the wall against which my study table rests.

As I slid aside the cotton green window drapes of my rectangular room, I could only see the bright yellow sunlight on the green tree tops; though, the ground near brown tree trunks were damp, dark, possibly from yesterdays rain. Maybe it rained yesterday! It was unquestionable that its not todays paper, as I had lifted it just minutes ago from the bottom of my room door.

I have been confined to my room for past two days. The lights and the air too. And the only thing that crossed the concrete 3D envelope of my room is the newspaper, which, the newspaper guy slid under the door. As I read, the next article tells in detail of the bomb blast that took place at the railway station thats just across the road to my room, few hundred meters away. I did hear a thud yesterday afternoon, but that was it. I felt that I have started imagining things, and tried to forget it.

Well, whatever the paper reads, it all happened in a different world. A world that has become alien to me in these past two days.

The world has frozen, except, that it still flows in the black printed lines of the newspaper.

I have been trying hard to listen, with my ears pressed against the brick walls of my room, but there is not a single hint of the movement of the world, and the only sound that i can hear through the thick walls is the cowing of ducks in the backyard garden pond.

Now, it feels like those split seconds which appears to be oblivion; when you look for the first time into the eyes of your lover and everything comes to a stop, and it feels like you are dead; like, when you fall from an aeroplane which has just crashed, and you know for sure that you are going to die after hitting the ground, and still you look down as death stares into your eyes. I felt like that. The rope with a noose hung from ceiling fan. There was a letter under the paperweight with circular post stamps, and it took ten days to reach me. There rests a chair under the ceiling fan.

Still something was missing.

I tried hard to find that out. The smiling rope hung, inviting with its wide open mouth, and I wanted to greet it with a similar smile, with a free mind. But something was missing....and it's becoming hard for me to stop myself from fusion with noose. Is it the music? Music that accompanies every ceremony. Music that gives every event a ceremonial touch, and makes that event a history thats remembered.

There was no music! There was no ticking of clock!

The table clock. Yes that is it! The ticking of the watch that ticks louder in such moments was missing.

The battery died down weeks ago. And so did time. I should listen to the music of watch, its ticking, which it plays in these last seconds, when u know for sure that u r going to die.

I must go and buy a pair of new batteries today evening. And I will. Let me step out of the room and walk into the directions of the newspaper lines. The way the newspaper lines flows.. wherever it goes.

The End.

------
Comments and Suggestions invited..

Time to Fly

2006-05-04T02:16:00.000-07:00

Long long ago, I knew
A kid. Small and plump,
But like a bird he flew.

Have you heard
The story of ass, who
Tied wings and jumped, to fly?
O gal, Have you?

That kid believed in it,
That he could fly.
Tied wings,
Climbed the roof, to try.

He lives somewhere
In the town I come from.
Hand in hand, he still walks
Besides me, when I am there.

He must be waiting
In the town I come from.
Hand in hand, we still walk
We keep mum, he never talks.

He must be waiting
In the town I come from.....

Going to see the kid
I was, yesterday.
I am going home.

Walk out

2006-04-14T11:10:00.000-07:00

Behind the transparent shining brittle glass, on the plywood selves, at the level of two-feet-childs-eye, were kept the expensive toys in red and blue and green and yellow. They were not for sale, the instructions read. They were for display, used as a decoration, to entice the beaming eyes of the plump kids of rich ( while their parents bought them ice-crems ), which even an adult could not have overlooked and prevented streak of smile surfacing on his lips, conspicuous to everyone around in the shop. How could I have.

Through the calculated slant angle of trignometry, my eyes stared through the glass at those fur toys and the metal guns, as my friends bought softies for us. There were two ladies close to me, whom I noticed later, on either side of the optical line that travelled from toys to my eyes. Both were dressed in red. One in red top and blue jeans and sports shoes stood beside me, probably married, as indicated by the faded line of hena between her parted brown hairs, but obscure enough to leave doubt. The other lady was dressed in a traditional red salwar-suit, had plaited long black hair which fell behind her shoulders, eyeslids carefuly smeared with black 'kajal' amongst which pearl-like eyes shone, and her white feets rested in the hole carved inside a 'juti', lines of red that ran along the edges of her feet were thick, so that a part of red could still be seen on the marble skin outside the 'juti'.

It would be difficult to say since how long her pearl eyes were watching the lady in red top, who stood ahead of and with her back towards the girl in traditional dress, and I could see the gloom in her eyes growing by every passing second. She watched the girl in red top from head-to-toe stopping in-between at the hips. Slowly, it seemed that all the energy around her, travelled and sank inside her, like a blackhole. Her voise died, her movements died, and for a second I felt that her bright face had also started to become duskier.

As I stood watching her face moving towards the oblivion, maybe she realised that I have been seeing her for sometime, and she said to her elder brother, 'I will wait outside.'

I looked away from her, towards the toys. I tried to behave as if I havent heard her say anything or seen anything and have beeing enjoying the background music. When she had walked out, I looked towards the girl in revealing red top. She was licking the ice-cream cone in her hand.

---------------
Behind silver glass, on plywood selves
at two-feet-childs-eye, rests toys mellow
in red and blue and green and yellow

Not for sale!
only to entice beaming eyes of riches kids, as they drone
while their parents bought them ice-cream cone

Toys
not even an adult could have overlooked
how smile could have escaped

Optical rays travel from toys to my eyes
parting two lady-in-reds' space
hailing from disparate financial face

sorry, too lazy to complete the poem

The Story of Rose

2006-03-31T03:42:00.000-08:00

I came across this story on some site, and think everyone should read it.
--------

Growing older is mandatory, growing up is optional

The first day of school our professor introduced himself and challenged us to get to know someone we didn't already know.
I stood up to look around when a gentle hand touched my shoulder. I turned around to find a wrinkled, little old lady beaming up at me with a smile that lit up her entire being.

She said, "Hi handsome. My name is Rose. I’m 87 years old. Can I give you a hug?"
I laughed and enthusiastically responded,
"Of course you may!" and she gave me a giant squeeze.

"Why are you in college at such a young, innocent age?" I asked.
She jokingly replied, "I’m here to meet a rich husband, get married, have a couple of children, and then retire and travel."
"No seriously," I asked. I was curious what may have motivated her to be taking on this challenge at her age.
"I always dreamed of having a college education and now I’m getting one!" she told me.

After class we walked to the student union building and shared a chocolate milkshake. We became instant friends.
Every day for the next three months we would leave class together and talk non-stop. I was always mesmerized listening to this "time machine” as she shared her wisdom and experience with me.
Over the course of the year, Rose became a campus icon and she easily made friends wherever she went. She loved to dress up and she revelled in the attention bestowed upon her from the other students. She was living it up.

At the end of the semester we invited Rose to speak at our football banquet. I’ll never forget what she taught us. She was introduced and stepped up to the podium.

As she began to deliver her prepared speech, she dropped her three by five cards on the floor. Frustrated and a little embarrassed she leaned into the microphone and simply said,
"I’m sorry I’m so jittery. I gave up beer for Lent and this whiskey is killing me! I’ll never get my speech back in order so let me just tell you what I know."

As we laughed she cleared her throat and began: "We do not stop playing because we are old; we grow old because we stop playing. There are only four secrets to staying young, being happy and achieving success."
"You have to laugh and find humour every day."
"You’ve got to have a dream. When you lose your dreams, you die. We have so many people walking around who are dead and don’t even know it!"
"There is a huge difference between growing older and growing up. If you are nineteen years old and lie in bed for one full year and don’t do one productive thing, you will turn twenty years old. If I am eighty-seven years old and stay in bed for a year and never do anything I will turn eighty-eight. Anybody can grow older. That doesn’t take any talent or ability. The idea is to grow up by always finding the opportunity in change."
"Have no regrets. The elderly usually don’t have regrets for what we did, but rather for things we did not do. The only people who fear death are those with regrets."
She concluded her speech by courageously singing "The Rose." She challenged each of us to study the lyrics and live them out in our daily lives.

At the years end Rose finished the college degree she had begun all those years ago. One week after graduation Rose died peacefully in her sleep. Over two thousand college students attended her funeral in tribute to the wonderful woman who taught by example that it’s never too late to be all you can possibly be…..YOU!!

Remember, growing older is mandatory. Growing up is optional.
We make a living by what we get; we make a life by what we give.
God promises a safe landing, not a calm passage.
If God brings you to it ... he will bring you through it. It’s better to try and fail, than fail to try.

"The Rose"

Some say love, it is a river,
That drowns the tender reed.
Some say love, it is a razor,
That leaves your soul to bleed.
Some say love, it is a hunger,
An endless, aching need.
I say love, it is a flower,
And you, it's soul the seed.
It's a heart afraid of breaking,
That never learns to dance;
It's the dream, afraid of waking,
That never takes the chance;
Its the one who won't be taken,
Who cannot seem to give;
And the soul, afraid of dying,
That never learns to live.
When the night has been too lonely,
And the road has been too long,
And you think that love is only
For the lucky and the strong:
Just remember, in the winter,
Far beneath the bitter snows,
Lies the seed, that with the sun's love
In the Spring, becomes the rose.

-----------------

I wish you all the colors of life ...!

2006-03-15T01:30:00.000-08:00

Color of Rainbows,
Fragrance of beautiful flowers,

Dance of butterflies, in the garden
Pride of Hills, touching the high sky
Calmness of river, as it flows

I wish I had all the colors of life!
And I wish you all the same!

Whisper of raindrops,
Flute of winds,

Blue of sky, and its vastness
Strength of sun, and its purity
Beauty of soft white moon, in lonely night

I wish I had all the colors of life!
And I wish you all the same!

Happy Holi!

Red T-shirt; Just For A Change

2006-02-27T11:28:00.000-08:00

My friend, who was waiting outside my room for me came in shouting with impatience, ‘Now, what is it that you are doing? Come fast!’

‘Abe, why are you standing naked? Showing your muscles to frighten others?’

‘I haven’t got any t-shirts to wear,’ said I, still deciding what to wear, puzzled.

‘You don’t need one. Come like this,’ he snapped. I knew he was very hungry; of course, he always gets hungry as it gets time for dinner. The mess is on the ground floor of the hostel for the employee’s, who are single, and since it’s an employee’s hostel there is no separate hostel for girls, or in a more decent words of gentlemen, for young beautiful ladies.

‘Ah! They all will run away if I go like this.’

‘Come on! Let them see what you have got.’

‘You don’t understand. I haven’t got anything to wear. One t-shirt is dirty; one is the torn one; one I don’t like; one I washed sometime ago and is wet; one I wore to the gym and is smelling of sweat.’

‘That’s why I say, come like this,’ he waited for a split second and continued, 'Or, why don’t you wear the red one, the one you wore yesterday for the movie,' he said that with a sarcastic smile and his face glew with happiness -- the happiness of the triumphed warrior returning from the battlefield.

Just two days ago I had bought this red t-shirt with other two; one green and other blue. We were out shopping in a mall that day when my friend had asked me why I am suddenly buying t-shirts with all colors under the shades of rainbow when I never wear them. Really, I never wore them before; never would I have if this thought would not have occurred to me: ‘this is the only time, imagine after five years, maybe I will be married, perhaps have children’s. Would it be possible for me to wear such bright colors then? And imagine when am grown old, and when I look at youngsters and their modern clothes, and realize that I never wore such colors in my whole life, would I not feel sad then? Maybe I will not, but why leave this only chance that I have got, that we all get only once. Let me wear bright colors. Let me live with the colors, for you don’t know from which moment your life will become bland and colorless.’ It was this thought that has brought a sudden change in me; to wear colorful clothes; eat all varieties of dishes, and every time you go out to eat, eat in a new place; learn about all types of instruments and trees and cultures and languages and people; experience new things, because life is all about change. So, it makes me feel that when I will be old and tired, and will sit down to summarize my whole life, in those late hot afternoons, dozing, before falling asleep, I would be able to go for my last sleep with a happy light heart.

‘Hmm.’ I looked at him, and couldn’t stop myself from smiling too. I took out the red t-shirt from cupboard. Wore it. Made my hair. And walked out with him to the dinner hall.

As we entered the dinner hall, I greeted all my friends with a smile, an occasional smile that we give when we cross a person we know, as they smiled back at me with wagging heads. But there was something different about their smiles, each one of them, something peculiar, it was not the regular ones that I have come to associate them with by now. It was broader, more warmer, that goes deep into the bottom of your heart.

I was taking salad, and keeping them on one side of my plate when another friend of mine came from back and remarked, ‘Red t-shirt, you look too confident today,’ and I could only give a sincere polite smile before he walked away.

When I took a chair, and greeted my friend sitting on that very dining table, he frowned,’ Red t-shirt! You have got a lot of confidence in you today.’

‘Oh, really! I do ? Why? I look confident everyday, every time. Doesn’t I?’ asked I with a bit of anger and a little bit of action to compliment it, hiding my smile that only an experienced actor can do.

‘Haan, you do. But today you look very confident.’ To divert the topic of discussion I asked him with a bit of curiousness where he was in the evening as I went looking for him to his room, and we talked about everything else, leaving red t-shirt aside.

*************

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Whenever you ask someone about them and show an excessive interest (though, it maybe a false interest sometimes) to know what and how it happened to them, and make them feel like an important person, they will always tell you about it, leaving 'other' conversations aside.

'141' words sentence

2006-02-11T09:49:00.000-08:00

This is the longest sentence that i have come across; the longest that exists has more that 1,000 words.

"The school sat among maples on a hillside that sloped down to the wide Taganac River, which narrowed and picked up speed and crashed over Bryce Falls a mile downstream near Morse's small rental house, his embarrassingly small rental house, actually, which nevertheless was the best he could do and for which he knew he should be grateful although at times he wasn't a bit grateful and wondered where he'd gone wrong, although at other times he was quite pleased with the crooked little blue shack covered with peeling lead paint and felt great pity for the poor stiffs renting hazardous shitholes even smaller than his hazardous shithole, which was how he felt now as he came down into the bright sunlight and continued his pleasant walk home along the green river lined with expensive mansions whose owners he deeply resented."

Its a single paragraph, from "The Falls" by George Saunders.

Love is a delicious dream

2006-02-09T09:57:00.000-08:00

"Love is a delicious dream; why should I bring about my own awakening?"

This is what Ambrose Bierce wrote in 'Beyond the Wall', after the protagonist lost the girl he liked.

One more ...

2006-02-06T09:06:00.000-08:00

One more year. One more day. One more Valentines day.

Only when my friend told me what he is planning to gift his girlfriend, did I realise, twenty-two Valentines Day had went past me and now look straight into my face. Twenty-two. Twenty-two is also important because I was born on that day.

Exactly a week is left. Exactly seven days. Seven. What a coincidence! Thats the month I was born in - July. Most of these Twenty-two years went without my knowing the significane of the date, 14 February. It doesnt matter, anyway, because the rest of them slipped through my fingers like sand. I was unable to hold it. The more I tried, the faster it flowed. And was gone.

Futile attempts that I make, though, I know its going to be the same. As it had been, always. Alone.

I dont know why? Everyyear, everytime, as this date arrived I distanced myself from everyone and everything. No more TVs, no more newspapers, no more markets, no more talks. I keep away from everything that reminds me that Valentines day is arriving. I fear to look at it face-to-face, as it smiles straight at me. Maybe I fear someone else being in my life, replacing my first love. I do it to keep myself away from getting closer to someone else. I spend a whole week with the image of my beloved, though she is no more.

And the week has started. From tomorrow there wont be a TV program for me, no newspapers, no going out to the market, no talks. And the last two days I wont even be getting out of my room. No more communication with this world, this letter might be the last.

I know the god will give me enough courage to do what i could not in the past, and I will be with her. In the dawn the sunrays would make her face glow bright, while she would look at the vanishing ship, far in the ocean; and after a long time I would be able to sleep beside her with my closed eyes, while she would caress my hairs with her soft hands. And I will hold the sand in my hand, and this time I wont let it slip through my fingers.

Troubles of The World ( 3 Sentence Story)

2006-01-19T06:58:00.000-08:00

It had pained and hurt the previous night, with bruises all around my body and countless broken bones, as blood flowed out from my cracked head.

I have been resting since past few hours, motionless, fully enclosed in the silent darkness, away from the troubles of the world.

But now, how beautiful this white moon in the dark midnight looks, and how soothing is the cold breeze brushing through my face, as I walk out of the graveyard with no troubles of the world.

What kind of rain I basked

2006-01-08T02:13:00.000-08:00

One day I was asked
what kind of rain i basked

Is it the musical drizzle
and zephyr as it sweeps...
when everyone is at ease
and my heart weeps...

Is it the heavy rain
with lightning and thunder...
when everyone is in
and my heart lies asunder...

Infact....

It was the musical drizzle
when we walked last season, and kissed...
only the memories I have now
and the kiss I missed...

It was the heavy rain
with lightning and thunder...
when we parted last
and she lay in grave, under...

Question still remains
what kind of rain I basked...
whether I relish her memories more
or detest the moment we depart...

I did it once again...

2006-01-04T04:43:00.000-08:00

On 1st January, 2006, as it being Sunday, I had enough time to plan at leisure the resolusions for new year.

Since the previous day I had bought three business magazines and three novels despite knowing that I am in debt of 19,000/-, I made it first point that i wont buy any new novel/story book, if, i have atleast two such books in my room which i havent finished reading. But to the utter disappointment to my bank account, it got degraded by 350/-, I bought one more book, "Selected Stories of O. HENRY".

After much thinking and analysis- while i went through the book having tea in the winter afternoon, with fog all around during lunch hour- I can for sure attest the theory that my bank balance is an inverse function of BSE Sensex. Am even thinking of patenting this theory, who knows I may get paid for such patents....Before I forget, there is even a news that BSE Sensex will cross 15,000 by year end which is at present around 9,500. God save me if my theory is correct!

Talking of patents, it had occured to my mind many a times in the past, what if, I get a petent for my name, Prem Prakash. There are a lot of businessman in Delhi which use either my fist name or the second, and mind you...they are earning lots and lots of profit...

Oh! how come I came to profits? You know thats the problem, I start from one thing and get dragged to the other corner of this world.

Well I was talking about my resolutions, and the first one you know by now,... and so I have got four novels on my desk at present, unread. There are many resolutions that follow, like, publishing stories by a set target date, achieving a set level in photography, going around far off places on cycle with my camera off-course, earning lots and lots of money, and making a roadmap towards having my own business office one day.

Well, before it becomes a list of grocery store items of my resolutions, I should stop here, and will mention others at a later stage if something interesting happens related to them.

So much to do in this life, and so less a time and money

2005-12-30T05:48:00.000-08:00

Too much, too soon is...

I had thirty-seven rupees and fifty paise in my pocket...

Thats all I had today evening when i got down from the bus, at Atta Market, on the way back to room. Toady is last friday of December - so you can imagine how much money would have had in my bank account- and had thought that i will get down at Atta Market and buy 'Business and Economy' magazine, and will walk back to the room and will. As it being a weekend, I had lot of time, and had planned that today's time I will spend reading it.

Unfortunately, the new edition of the mag' hasn't arrived. And I was not exactly depressed, but all my plans failed. So I thought i must buy some other magazine instead of that.....

....and looking for others, I ended up buying 'Business Today', 'BusinessWorld', and 'Money'.......

But then, will i be able to read it all?.....Well I think I can, as I finished the whole of the previous issue of Business Today in just one day, yesterday.

Content will that I was on my way back, and could not stop the temptation to walk into 'Galgotia Book Store'. I love going through books...and was soon absorbed in the books on the racks. Just to mention the intensity of it, I stood there going throught the books for more than an hour, oblivious of so many people besides me.

And the same thing happened here too...
Too much too soon...
I ended up buying:
1) The Best of Ruskin Bond 250/-
2) Shantaram 416/- (international best seller)...while browsing through it i loved it though I never heard of this beek before....maybe you can say, first love.
3) The Writerly Life (R K Narayan) 295/-

So here I walked out with a bill of 961/-....
Despite having only thirty-seven rupees and fifty paise...
....I had to use my credit card, and I am already in a debt of more that 19,000/- that i borrowed from my friends.

You may call it bad luck, or a good one depending on the view you take.

In spite of spending so much in a single buy I was happy. Happy because I was out with such a low bill, as while i stood there amongst the books I cam across many of the famous books that I have in the list "to be read". Just to mane a few, Midnight Childrens, A suitable Boy,
Train to Pakistan, Delhi and Nightingale by Khushwant Singh...and many more, but its not possible to mention all of them here.

So I have got a lot to finish and that too very soon....
I am currently in the midst of 'Great Expectation'(...started it more that three weeks ago, but coudlnt finish it yet.....); and 'The Best of O.HENRY'.

"So much to do in this life, and so less a time and money"

kya koi hai... jo mujhe yaad karta hai???

2005-12-13T11:12:00.000-08:00

"..tum nahein ho uss gali mein.. ,jahan the hum kabhi..
par aaj bhi, unn galiyon mein goonjTi hai tumhari-hamari awaaz

kyun baithe ho yun nirasH se..
jab baithte ho khamosh se, tanhayi mein..

suno to sahi,..uss gujare hue sannate mein..., aaj bhi sunayi degi wo awaaz !
..kya lagta nahein?? aaj bhi pukarta hai koi,.. tumhare naam se....unn KHOKHLI galiyon mein ...?

kyun,...ab kaho...kya aaj bhi kisi ko tumhari yaad nahein aati???"

November was a Bad Month

2005-12-02T07:59:00.000-08:00

I participated in "NanoWriMo 2005", which is a novel writing contest thats held every november.

All writers, amateur or professional can participate in this event online. In this event you have to write a 50,000 words novel, during the period of november month, i.e. 30 days. And if you can make it, you may win, and see your work being published.

During the initial days I wrote quite well, with good speed and ideas. But, because of my hectic work schedule at that time, the continuity was broken, and so was my dream to reach 50,000 words. Because of the interruptions i coudnt go with the same vigor, with which i started.

And here I am, with just 6713 words. It doesnt make any sense, now, not to me and neither will it to you. To you, it will just be a crap of events put on a white sheet. And to me?... Its a shattered dream. Its just an story which doesnt have an end, and will neither have it in future. Its just an story that has to be buried in the grave, too early in its young age.

The Great Scientist ( short story)

2005-11-28T05:24:00.000-08:00

CHAPTER 1

"Thats what they look like."

CHAPTER 2

"That's what they look like." said Dinkar, looking out of the window. We both looked at him, carefully observing his movements, while he was involved with his work in excitement. The excitement which an astronomer goes through at the sight of a new planet; the excitement you will have at finding the treasure box thats been hidden in your backyard for years.

"What is he writing?" I inquired, " Or, is he drawing something with the pen?"

"Dont you know, he must be writing some new formula. Something that will lead to an invention," was the quick reply from Dinkar, "All great scientists look the same."

May be Dinkar was correct, but i was not sure. He did look like those weird scientists unaware of their long ugly hair, who dont have time to shave, and if you ask them when and what they ate for the last time? They will stare at you with a blank face.

The only movement he made was that of his right hand, and his head moved as he occassionally looked at the passers'by, sometimes with a smiling face and sometimes perplexed, but most of the time looked down at the notebook on his lap. And he worked like that.

"May be you are right!" exclaimed I, "Just see his face, it looks as if he is trying to solve the toughest of the problems in this world." I still had doubt in what i said, but to an extent i did believe in it.

He was not the scientist who sits in his laboratory - like the one you might be imagining - with so many chemicals of various colors contained in flask about him, mixing them, with his face covered in a mask, and noting down the observations. No, he was not like any of them.

He was clad in an muddy old rag, torn at various places, and thick enough to hide his body features. His dirty brown hair came down well below his chin, and covered more than half of his face. The only part of his that was visible was his face through his hair, and his fist came out of the muddy rag as he worked.

The traffic started to crawl, and we kept looking out at him through the open window frame of the bus. Here was the inventor, the creator of new things, walking on the pebbled road. The only thing I could wish for him was that had he got a proper education, had he got noticed by the scientists community. But, here was the genious walking down the road of truth of life. And dont know how many theories and invention would go with him to the grave.

He looked towards us, with intent of smile, as if he heard my wishes and thanked me for that. I smiled back, though it was soon clear that he was not looking at anyone in particular. I kept looking at him as the bus moved on, and soon lost that photographic frame in the past, through which i had looked at him.

CHAPTER 3

The only thing that remains with me now, is a vague image of his, with blurred outlines, which always changes with time.

Whats There in Name?

2005-11-19T22:03:00.000-08:00

Name!.....Image!

You live for the Image; not for yourself, not for others, but only for the image.

As soon as you are born, you are given a name. A Name, that becomes your identity. A Name, by which everyone knows you. A Name, which means you.

Everything you do- whether its good or bad, right or wrong- you are identified with a Name. Imagine what would happen if you dont have any name. You would be like a blade of grass- amongst thousands in the field, a ripple in the river, a leaf on the tree, a sand particle in the desert. Have we ever tried to Name them? You could be a charming person like a rose, but still you are not unique- there are thousands of roses. You could carry urself in a dignified manner like a ripple, but you are not unique. You could be the creator, but you are still a blade of grass.

Have we ever tried to Name them? Imagine a poor child who begs at the red signal at the crossroads. Have you ever thought what that childs Name could be? What about the butterfly which appeased you with its vibrant color? Is there any Name for the drop of water which quenched your thirst when you were walking alone in the desert. What was the Name of the person who showed you the path way back home? Definately i would never know his Name. But he left an Image with me, which had flown down the river of time.

Then what is it thats more important? The Name or the Image? ....

Anyway only for the Name that we do what we do. We want everyone to see as someone big, i.e. our Name should mean something big. We always want to grow and struggle to achieve higher goals. So that others can say that He/Name is doing good, is growning. Imagine, will it all happen if there is no Name. We wont try to grow, as it wont be recognised. So for an individual the Name is more important than his Image. In a way we can say that Image is a subset of Name. And for a person who doesnt know our Name its the Image thats important. According to the situation, the thing by which others identify us is important.

The Murder (story)

2005-11-09T10:37:00.000-08:00

The dark trees went past my car at the speed of more than fifty miles an hour as I drove it on the empty road in the night. The streets were empty, except the stray dogs lying on the sides of the street. The wind was bitter outside, but I was sweating in my leather jacket.

The headlight swept across the dense houses as I took the turn at the corner of St. Anthony’s public garden, and braked it along the gardens wall with a squeaking sound.

My cigarette grew brighter than the moon as I puffed it in that dark night, still sitting there in my car. I opened my jackets top buttons to loosen my throat and took deep breadths before throwing the cigarette-bud out of the car window.

I walked forward with heavy steps, leaving my car behind under the shade of the dark trees. I took the first turn which led into a narrow passage. It smelled of filth as some tin cans passed under my feet. I was still sweating under the coat. There came few howling sounds from the other street and I paced up. I felt the metal of the revolver which was kept under the coat on my chest. I wanted to have another cigarette before entering the third house on the right. But there was none.

I jumped in through the window, and stood there motionless. The things in that room started becoming clear after some time as I stood there trying to calm my heartbeat. There was a marble statue of naked women with a pot beside me, just a foot away on my left. Her body was cold and soft, softness which I had never felt before.

Just ahead of me was the staircase, leading up into the darkness. With the softness of the statue I walked towards the door upstairs.

The door creaked as I opened it slowly in the stillness of the night. I looked inside through the partly opened door. As I stood there trying to hear any movement inside the room it was only the faint long howling of dogs coming through the thickness of the wall that I could hear. I slipped inside, pointing the gun, raised, in front of me.

It was a small but comfortable and warm room. Cool breeze was coming through the open window on my left, and diffusing into the warmness of the room. The street light coming through the window casted shadows on the wall opposite it. There lay a bed below the shadows. And there he was, sleeping like a baby lost in the dreams beneath the dark blanket.

I sat on the rocking chair near the window, facing the bed. With my back resting on the chair I hummed my favorite song as the chair rocked back and forth, lost in the softness of the naked women. How sweet were those days when we used to sit together on the beach and she used to hum my favorite song along with me. On those evenings, when the waves came and touched our feet, it was like they asked for our blessings, giving us the feeling that our love is eternal. As if our love will live more than the life of the ocean.

Tears trickled down my cheek as I hummed that song in the stillness of the night. The revolver in my hand was now lighter than earlier. He moved in his bed like a snake. And, just with the pull of the trigger the snake was dead, shot on his head.

The sound of the shot blasted in my head, and I woke up sweating in my bed under the shadow on the wall. I was shaking. Strong cold wind was flowing into the room through the open window. And the chair near the window was rocking.

The Day I was Late for the School (story)

2005-10-20T06:01:00.000-07:00

The sun was getting less hot day by day. It was the beginning of rainy season. The sun was shining bright, making circular bright rings through the hollow amongst the lush green leaves of the trees. It had rained heavily the previous night.

As I neared the corner of our school compound, I could hear the last lines of our morning prayer. I hurried on the bricks laid down in the mud, in front of my school gate. I was late. Again.

Our principal was a very generous person, and cared for all the students. But, that day he was in one of his unusual moods. He summoned me up, and scolded me more than what I was expecting. He had even asked me to come with my parents the very next morning.

It was third hour. I was sitting on the last bench, worried. What was I to tell my mother? How should I ask her to come and meet my principal? Will she be able to spare some time? However hard I may try, she may not come. If she comes she wont be able to get any home to wash utensils, wipe the floor, or get any such work which the big houses spared for her. In return for her work, she got some food home. Sometimes she would come home with few notes of rupees, tied at the corner of her saree, if some Lady in that pink, or blue, or white house was in a too offering a mood that day. My mother would keep it locked, safely, in the rusted box. I have seen her open it only in the beginning of every month, when I have to pay my school fees.

During the days of puja, she would come home in the evening, shouting loud for me. Whenever in the evening I heard her shouting like this, while I would be playing in the neighborhood, I knew she has got something. Something to satisfy me palatal desires. Without saying a word to my friends I would run. I would run and rush into the bathroom. Wash my soiled legs and hands, wipe it out clean with a clothe, and go into the kitchen without saying a word, and I would watch my mother while she would make fresh tea.

She will pour the tea in two old steel glasses, the smaller one meant for me . We would sit down on the kitchen floor, and have our tea. I listened to her as she said how nicely the Lady in that big house treated her today. How they all sat there together in front of small temple in the corner of that lady’s house, praying. After the puja, how she was served prasad in decorated brass plate. How the small kids in that house ran around her as she ate the prasad. While narrating she would smirk, have a long sip of tea before she continues again. At those time I would sit there too taking long quite sips, so as not do disturb or annoy her. Her stories didn’t interest me much and I kept wondering what she had in the bag beside her. Long after we would have finished with our tea, and she had finished with her days narration, she would still sit there, as if tendering that days thoughts. I mused as I looked at her tilted face, as if it all occurred with me. Soon, the silence would be broken by a babies cry from the neighborhood, or the sounds of the stray dogs. And she would open the bag, carefully, taking out the prasad , bananas, and coconuts, while I looked at them with beaming eyes.

That’s how we have survived since my father died three years ago, while working in the coal mine, located two miles away on the road going in the direction opposite to the market.

Once, a cold evening, while I was going to the market with my father, I had stopped on that road corner, and looked on the way to my left. And had asked my father, “Papa, what’s there in this direction?”

“Minu”, my father had said,” Far beyond the green fields, behind those big trees, there are big buildings out there. They have very deep pits, in which I go and work”. I couldn’t see anything, except those cattle’s in the far field near the horizon, grazing in the warm evening sunlight.

I wondered how big those buildings could be, and couldn’t contain myself. “Papa, are they bigger than our school building? Even bigger than that?”

“Yes.”

“And what about those pits? Are they as deep as the well that we have?”

“Even deeper than that”, he replied, as he moved his hand on my head, caring my hair with his warm hands.

Excited by the imagination of the depth of those pits I had asked,” What do you do inside that pit, Papa?”.

“There are a lot of people inside who work with me. I see to it that they do their work properly”.

“What if they don’t listen to you?”.

He said,“I beat them with my long stick.”, and I laughed. That time I wanted to be like my father, so big and strong. As we walked towards the market with my father holding my small hand, I felt so warm and comfortable.

--------

...this was taken from the initial pages of the story I am currenty working on.....The only thing i dont know at this stage is, how long will it take me to finish it...days, months, or years?

How does a story start?

2005-10-16T14:24:00.000-07:00

All stories come from a real incidence which occurs with the author, however small it may be. With the additions of events coming out of the authors imaginations, the story grows around that incidence, and finally evolves.

Since Six Years

2005-10-16T09:41:00.000-07:00

5th September 2005, i was sitting in the last row of the class with my best friends. Its not that we are backbenchers, but when we dont feel like studying, we do it.

Since last one hour we have been listening the words values, morals, and ethics again and again. That day all the seats in that large classroom were filled, as the other batch had joined us for this module, and so it was possible to dream all of this world without being caught by the teacher.

To me the teacher looked like Musharaff. Similar hair, moustache, spectacle and the lines on his face typical of that of Mush. With every word that he spoke, he looked more like Mush. It was funny, and i could not stop myself from smiling. Occationally, i tried to match my smiles with his words, when i thought he must be joking. And i tried to look at the expressions on all faces in the class, which i usually enjoy watching.

In the third row, just in front of me i noticed someone in red dress. Probably from the other batch. She was holding her chin in her hands and listening to the teacher, carefully. There was something familiar in her manner which caught my attention, and i wanted to see her face. I tried to bend left and then on right to have a better look, but didnt get anything more than a side glimpse.

As i was sitting, curiously, wanting to know more about her, a wiff of past memories sifted down the thickness of time and brought tears in my eyes, and i was beginning to feel week in my chest.

**************

Its been six years since i met Her last. I can clearly recollect that day, as if it all happened yesterday. It was the day of an examination. The gates to the examination halls were to be opened only fifteen minutes before the exam. Minutes before that, i was talking to Anjali in front of the gate. It was then that i had noticed a scooter that came and stopped near us, just few feets away, and had noticed someone walking towards us. Without a loss of moment i recognized Her, though it was after three years that we were meeting at that time.

***************

We had studied together in Hyderabad, in the same class. And when we were in high school She moved to London with Her parents, forever, leaving me all alone. That day i went on the roof, and had cried continuously for hours in privacy. I felt so week and broken that i didnt even went to see her off, not even to say goodbye. I know she must have wept too.

**************

As if the God wanted us to meet again, he gave us a second chance, and there we were in front of examination hall after a long gap of three years, in Chandigarh.

As She moved towards us, I said hello to her. At first she stood still for a moment, maybe trying to remember who this stranger was. But, soon i could see a beam of smiles surfacing on her face, brighter than the sun. We had hardly come to know that both of us are living in Chandigarh since sometime, that we realised that only few minutes were left for the examination to begin. We had moved in the gate, silently, looking in each others eyes, smiling. She was wearing a red dress, Her hair made in a long braid swaying sideways as she walked taking subtle steps.

It was a three hour examination and I had left the hall half an hour early, though there were few questions unanswered, which i would have got correct had i stayed in the hall. I was hoping to see her again, thats why i came out early and was waiting at the gate. One or two people kept coming out of the hall after an interval of few minutes. Soon the three hours were over, and i was searching for Her among the crowd coming out of the gate. I waited there till the last trickle of crowd, but She was not there. I ran inside, panting, on both the floors, searching in all the rooms, one by one.

The blind old man

2005-06-11T01:38:00.000-07:00

I was sitting on the last seat of the bus, near the window. The driver was swerving the bus at the frequent road corners very smoothly. Sitting by the window, you can see the half-closed shutters of the shops and the tired people walking on the road loaded with shopped items. It was like one of the fine rides in the bus through a market..with shops decorated with various types of lights.

On the other end of the last seat there were two people, a young fellow at the window, probably a bit elder than me, and a poor blind old man sitting next to him. Though he was blind and old, i found a passion in him. The first thing i noticed about him was the dholak which he was carrying...with its belt around his neck while he was sitting...he was wearing dark glasses..and was clothed in a dhoti and a kurta. It looked as if that tabla was his life and the best friend....and a means of retreat from this world where a handicapped man has no value. As, a person who can be of no use to us has no value in our eyes.

I still had around half-an-hour in the bus and enjoy the ride. It was around 10:30 in the night.

It would not have been long when i saw this old man standing near the door...probably he was getting down on the next stop. As he was blind he again asked one of the persons as which place is it, before he was getting down. The person sitting near the window said he should not get down at this stop, but the next one...and so the blind man waited.

Soon it was evident that this young fellow gave the old man a wrong advice..as the old man was getting down at the right stop, but this fellow stopped him. All the people started scolding this young man for doing so....and causing so much trouble for a blind old man...as the next stop is around 5 kms away...and the old man has to walk all the way back. There started arguements..and people also asked the bus conductor to staop the bus for a second....but the conductor was not listening and said the bus cant be stopped other than where it is supposed to....and why should he stop the bus for others mistakes. Soon, the young man, fellow passangers and the conductor were arguinig with each other.

The bus stopped on at the next stop..and i felt sorry for this blind man. As the blind man was getting down the young fellow went to him and gave him 10 rupee note for the expenses the old man has to bear and said sorry to him. He even got down with the old man and the last thing i saw from the rear glass of the moving bus was that the young man was helping the old man cross the road to the bus stop on the other side.

Throughout my way back the memories of that blind old man was in my mind...and was thinking why such things happen at all. Was it the fault of the young man?...but he had told later that he thought the bus will take the other turn and it will stop exactly near the place where this old man wants to go..Was it the fault of the blind old man?...may be he should not have listened to his advice. Are not the other fellow passengers responsible?..as they should have corrected the young man to avoid the trouble. Was the bus conductor responsible?..he should have shown a bit of humanity and stopped the bus for a second...Was i also responsible in some way? Was it possible for me to avoid this trouble to the blind old man?

Who was there???

2005-05-23T03:28:00.000-07:00

Today afternoon i went to sleep around 2'o clock. I had thought to sleep till 4:00 pm, so that i will have enough time after i get up to finish some of the pending works before i leave tomorrow for Hyderabad. As such i don't sleep in the afternoon's ...but, now all my neighbour's are gone home for holidays...and so i don't find anything to do...than sleep in the afternoon.

But, i got up at 3:30 pm itself. As soon as i got up, i found myself lying on the floor in my friend's room. His computer was besides me kept on a raised platform....and it was slowly falling towards me....and soon the monitor was resting on one of my soldiers, pushing me down. Still asleep i felt it and asked my friend to take his computer from my side, otherwise it may break. But, he was laughing and was in a mood to pain me. He told me to go to sleep....and started laughing. Annoyed by him...i said even if it falls nothing is going to happen to me...only his computer may break. Well, i tried my best, but could not sleep...and was again woken up in few minutes. I was pained. But, this time again i felt someone pushing me to the floor as soon as i opened my eyes.....it was not my friend, because the voice was different...my eyes were getting heavier...as if someone was trying to shut my eyes with both hands. Still with my eyes closed....i tried to get up... But, this time i found two persons sitting on both sides of me....pushing my down...with their legs crossed with mine. Someone was pushing my head down. My eyes got heavier in few seconds...and i became unconcious.

Hardly after few seconds, my eyes opened again. But, as soon as i opened my eyes...they pushed my hands to the floor...and my head too,,, with their hands on my eyes... The grip was very heavy....i could not see who they were. Whomever it would have been, they didn't want me to get up. I don't know the reason behind that. I tried to push myself up suddenly to overcome their force. But, always failed...after few tries...maybe they came to know that ...now its not possible to send me back to sleep. And suddenly the force was gone. I sat up immediately....i was on the floor....but in my room. I turned around with my eyes still half shut to see what was happening. But, no one was there...the doors and windows were still locked. It took me some time.....before i got up from the floor.

I didn't understand what was happening? Who was there? But, am sure that it was not a dream...because inbetween, my eyes opened for a number of times..and i am still able to feel that force. The only thing i can relate to this incidence is that yesterday, sometime after mid-night i came across a picture of a ghost on internet and has put that in my Orkut photo album..saying that its my best friend...and that photo is still there in my album when i am writing this. After getting up I found red marks on my skin, on my arms and around my chest......something like ...that is formed only after hitting the skin. I dont have any rational explanation for it. ....and nor do i believe in any supernatural power or ghosts.

My Dear Brother!

2005-05-21T01:57:00.000-07:00

Someone who takes
the time to ask me
how things are going,
whether I am taking care
of myself, if there’s anything I need….

Someone who,
through all of my life
has made me feel
special and loved,
cherished, even when
I was being
mercilessly teased!

Someone who
makes me laugh,
encourages my efforts,
sensibly stands
in my way if I am
in danger of taking
a wrong path……

Someone who by his
sheer strength of will
has shown me the power of determination….
I know I don’t often
show you how I feel
or even tell you
how much you mean to me

Guess now’s a good time,
on the day of your birthday,
to tell you-
thank you for
all you’ve done for me,
thank you for all
you’ve been to me…..
my dear brother!

My Shers

2005-05-18T21:15:00.000-07:00

my feeble attempt at Shayari
------------------------------

batana hai kathiN, bataoON kaise
bhula sakta naheiN, bhulaoON kaise
na milte tum, na ye gum ka aalam hota
ek gum he to hai hamare paas
is gum ko bhi, bhulaoON kaise

-----------------------------------------

Jitna kareeb jata hoon, utni he doori badh rahi hai
Khud ko jitna sambhalta hoon, khalish utni he badh rahi hai
Jitna bhulata hun use, uski yadein utni badh rahein hai
Jitna kareeb jata hoon, utni he doori badh rahi hai

-------------------------------------------------

kaun kahta hai, ki hum peete naheiN..!
tere gum, ke aansooN, kisi sharaab se kam naheiN..!!
nasha to hota hai, sharaab meiN bhi..!
magar, tere gum ka nasha, koi kam naheiN..!

----------------------------------------------------

koi sikhe, to unse sikhe..
nigah-e-jabaan kise kahte hain..!

koi sikhe, to unse sikhe..
sharmana kise kahte hain..!

koi sikhe, to unse sikhe..
nazrein jhukana kise kahte hain..!

koi sikhe, to unse sikhe..
katl-e-jamana kise kahte hain..!

INTRODUCTION

2005-05-14T20:55:00.000-07:00

Welcome to my blog!!

You may find it odd that the introduction is here, instead of the beginning. Yup, it is! But, when i wrote my first blog, i did'nt knew that i will continue it for long. I joined blogging so that i can complete my story( the first blog) instead of leaving it in the middle. It gave me a purpose to complete it...and now....with the same purpose, to write down my ideas and thought, i will continue to do so.

Enjoy!!
Prem

The Word That Never Existed

2005-05-12T10:42:00.000-07:00

Was it today? yesterday?...or the day before that? Well, i don't remember. Maybe i have started to forget things. Yes, i have started to forget things.

There was a time, when i was very proud of my memory. Once i remembered a thing, i never forgot that. Be it anyone, my friends or family, i always boasted about it in front of them whenever i got the chance.

But, i am not sure if i still posses that ability. These day's have started to forget even very minute things around me, as if i never knew it. It was when i was typing something last time, i got confused over the spelling of a particular word. I tried to recollect it.....i knew that word very well....i had used it a number of times. But, this time i dont know what happened? Though it was late in the night and i was very tired, i got up from my chair, and got the dictionary from the shelf in the corner of my room. I tried looking for the word. At the same time i was feeling silly as i was looking for such a simple word. I turned the pages...But, the word was not there. I looked up again..how was that possible?..but couldnt find it. There was no such word in the
dictionary. I know its not true. I know, the word exists.

Again, today, i looked for it in the dictionary, but could not find it. I know its not true. I know its a dream. I will look for it again tomorrow....and day after tomorrow, till i find it. I know its not true. I know its just a dream.

"ek rukaa hua faisla"

2005-05-11T05:47:00.000-07:00

"ek ruka hua faisla", a 1985 hindi movie. I saw it today and found it amazing. So, i thought i will post a small blog on it.

Its a movie shot in a single room, and has 13 characters. The story goes like this: a panel of jury members(12 members, the 13th character is the chaukidar) have collected in a room to decide wheather a boy who has killed his father is guilty or not? Untill a decision is reached no one can go out of the locked room, cant meet anyone else, and cant make or attend phone calls. A final decision is reached only when all the 12 members agree on one decision. Added to all that if they all cant agree on a single decision they will never be able to come out the room.

All the members are from different backgrounds. All the witnesses have proved that the boy is guilty, and the case is very strong against him. Initially, all agree that the boy is guilty, except our hero(i dont remember his name)...just because he was not convinced completely that the boy has killed his father. So, the discussion starts.....with amazing turns every moment. As you would have guessed by now what happened in the end, yes, our hero convinces everyone that the boy is not guilty....and the story ends.

I found this movie very interesting because it has shown that all the decisions we make about others are highly affected by our own good or bad experiences....and so were the jury's. When i saw it ...it was like i am watching a GD....how the hero changes all other minds by making them contradict themselves....it was great!

All the charactes are very strong, had captured their personal backgrounds effectively. Most importantly....you will never feel bored while watching it...as every moment something new and interesting builds up. A movie worth watching for all the old hindi movie buff's.

As usual i ended up writing a long blog though i thought to write it small.

enjoy!!

aaj phir hawa chali hai

2005-03-30T23:25:00.000-08:00

aaj phir hawa chali hai
pattiyan bikhreeiN haiN, tehniyaN tuteeiN haiN

aaj bhi yad hai, wo baariSH ki pahli hawa
jab kuch ankur phute the
kuch panchee aye the, in tehniyon pe

aaj phir wo panchee aye hain
gaye hain kisi aur ped par
ab ye tehniyan unhein anjaan lagti hain

aaj phir ek hawa chali hai
sapne bikhrein hain, armaan tute hain

aaj phir chali hai, wo barish ki pahli hawa
yadein aayein hain
kuch aansoon aye hain, in palkon pe

aaj bhi ayeein haiN kuch khushiyan
magar ab wo hameiN anjaan lagti haiN

maiN apne kadmoN ke nishaN mita aaya hooN

2005-03-24T08:09:00.000-08:00

maiN apne kadmon ke nishaN mita aaya hooN
kadam chalte hain is dagar pe.....
par ab ye thakte naheiN
aur ab ye rukte naheiN

main apne peeche usS kal ko mita aaya hooN
chale the jab hum saath-saath.....
par ab wo kadam saath naheiN
aur ab wo kal, kal naheiN

main apne peeche is dagar ko mita aaya hooN
aati hain yadein aaj bhi........
par ab ye kaaNtoon ki tarah chubhte naheiN
aur ab ye aansooN banke bahte naheiN

main usS yaad ko bhula aaya hooN
chale the jab hum saath-saath.....
milte hain naye dost aaj bhi
magar ab, unki koi zarroorat nahein

negative thinking?

2005-01-13T19:47:00.000-08:00

(i wrote it when i was replying to someone in one of the 'psychology communities' in orkut on this topic)

A coin has two sides.You can see only one at a time.Everything in this world comes with some bads and goods....and so does any event, situation, condition, we face.A majority of us see only the bad side of it, as it is the one which can be noticed easily by all of us.I have found out by observing many of my friends that, majority of us do that....and very few can see the other(good/positive) side of it.whenever, we face any event/situation/condition we go through three stages:
1)we face it
2)we analyze it
3)we conclude
Most of the time, people skip stage-2, and they go directly from stage-1 to stage-3.That is, as soon as you face it, you conclude that its something bad or good...without analyzing it.It is here, that, most of the time we end up concluding it to be bad, though there may be something good.Here, i just want to strees the point that you spend some more time on the stage-2 before going to stage-3.There is always something positive which we miss(as its simple to notice bad than good)

Endless Seashore

2005-01-12T13:01:00.000-08:00

I was walking...
...along an endless seashore
waiting for the sun to rise...
..the night to end.

As the falling drops of rain...
..are lost in the ocean,
my words...
..will also be lost........in the ocean of time.

Afraid of the high tides....
..unable to see....
..my own footprints on the sand,
which will no longer be there tomorrow.

I was trying to find myself.

with the sparkle of a light....
...and a thunderstorm..
there came a whisper......
.and someone touched my shoulders,
..and said,
"Son, don't wait for the bad time to go away,
just change the way of looking at it".

I still feel that warmth at my chest

2005-01-07T19:56:00.000-08:00

------

It was Monday morning. 80,000 dead in Asia. Over 8.77 lakh people affected by the disaster in India. Thats how the newspaper headline read. It was the first time a Tsunami wave has hit the south-east coast of India. According to the report given by the Centre over 7,000 were dead and, over 5,000 missing.

Various newspapers had really heart-breaking photos printed on the front page. One showed a women wailing over the dead body of her little daughter. That girl would not have been even ten, i suppose. The other paper had the picture of the Mass Burial in Nagapattinam, a coastal district in Tamil Nadu which alone accounted for a loss of around 4, 500 lives. 198 died in Chennai.

I could not keep myself at home. In less than an hour i was there. It was for the first time that i was seeing such a havoc in my life. I could see a row of dead bodies on the roadside, lying in a perfect row. There was a police officer standing with a register and busy talking on the wireless. Few other policemens were hurrying around him, dragging the lifeless bodies and putting them in a straight line. I thought, atlast the policemen have done something in a perfect way. Not for the good of the living people, but, atleast for the dead ones.

As i walked further and looked around, it was the most horrying scene i came face-to-face with, which one could not imagine even in dreams. There were dead bodies all around and their relatives were there, wailing. Everywhere you turn, you could only hear the cries and the mourning of the bereaved. All the man-made structures were to be seen only in rubbles. As if the nature is warning the humans that its the supreme power on this earth. The more we try to conquer the control over it, the more we will have to pay for it

Some people were looking for their loved ones, who were missing since the Sunday morning. That was when the Killer Wave first came. Could you imagine how they would have been feeling?...Yes, no one could appreciate it better than who have been in such a situation..Everytime you see a body lying a few steps away, the fear rises. You move ahead, with a lot of thoughts tormenting in the mind.....As you move your hands forward to turn the face around of the corpse...the hand trembles....you sweat....for a moment you feel not to see its face....and the curiosity rises....and when you find that.......that its not the face, familiar to you in any way....you feel relieved.....But, only for a moment. You again turn around and you notice another corpse a bit away....and again the feeling of weekness drowns you. This happens again and again as you keep looking for the bodies...moving around hastily....till your feelings gets fatigued, by repeated cycle of hope and weekness...untill you become numb...and you could not shed tears even if you happen to find that someone close to you is dead.

They were there. The crowd. They will always be there. Just to watch. Watch and gape! They just need a story to talk about when they return home. They have their dinner and sleep. As soon as the sun rises again, they forget what happened last day....and then they go out again in search of a new story.

I could not believe, its the same place, where i have been many times earlier, and enjoyed peaceful moments sitting on the shore, with my legs half-dipped in the water. The waves came, touched my feet, and receded, as if it carried all the miseries of mine to the depth of its vastness. And, this time i was afraid at the mere sight of it.

It was when i was lost in my own thoughts i heard people fighting. I turned back and saw that some social organization was distributing food to the victims. When i approached closer, it was clear that the food was not enough for all of them. And, who is strong will only get it. As my curiosity aroused by the fight died down...i heard someone weeping. It was a little girl. Just a foot away on my left, seated on a heap of stones. If you could remember the face of the poorest and the ugliest girl, begging, that you would have ever met; you would know what she looked like. I stood there. She kept crying. I didnt knew what to do. I just sat down. Maybe she was hungry! Yes, and how could she eat something if the people are fighting for themselves. Only a devil can dare fight those people and get something! She would not have got anything to eat. At the thought of it, i felt hungry. It was then that i realised that my wife had packed some food for me, while she kept shouting,"Eat it before lunch time, as you have not even touched your breakfast ",when i hurriedly left for office. I took the tiffin out and opened it. It smelled good, and i felt a sudden pain in my stomach. I moved it towards her, and waited for her to take it. But, she did not even move. She kept crying. I was looking for words to condole her....and at the same time felt angry, as i was giving her what she wanted. I looked at her and could not speak anything. And, then i realised, she needed something else more than the food. At such times its not the hunger or money which troubles, it becomes immaterial. How silly i was? How could not i understand it? How could i act like this? I wished i could flee from there.....I kept the food aside. As i moved my hand and touched her head, she suddenly thrust her face in my chest. She kept crying...while i felt the warmth of her tears on my chest.

It was time. We were standing in front of a nearby relief camp. She was to leave with the other orphaned childrens to the Childcare Centre. She was still holding my hand standing by my side..As i kept watching other childrens climbing the bus meant for them, her grip was getting firmer. As she climbed the bus i held out my tiffin and kept in her hand. It was the first time she looked at me.

I stood there as i lost the sight of the bus behind the building at the road corner.