Find You

They say a good writer is one who writes about his own experiences, a great one who writes about the experiences of others. I disagree. There’s only with such depth and with such ardent details one can write about the experiences of others, and that’s why I’m going to tell you my story.

CHAPTER 1

“Sam! Get up!”

“Mmmmm”

“Get up, Sam! I’ve been calling you since an hour now. I am leaving for my Yoga class. Get up or you’ll be late, which I am sure you do not want to be.”

“Okay Mom.”

“Breakfast is on the table. Eat it before you leave. I am leaving now. Bye!”

“Mmmm”

The alarm in the phone beeps again. Sam switches it off and gets up, now realizing that it is 9am and there is no way he will make it to the office before 10 if he stays in bed any longer. Hurriedly, he jumps off the bed as if a bee stung him on his leg, and goes to his washroom.

Sam lives in a dainty flat in Dwarka, Sector 3 with his Mother for some eight years now. His father had passed away when he was a boy of two. Sam doesn’t remember much of him. He feels bad for his mother, though. Sometimes, watching her handle everything alone and go about without a companion makes him want to give her everything she ever desires.

“You can marry again, you know. I will not have any problem. Rather, I will appreciate you getting some help and more happiness.” He had told his mother several times, to which she always gave the same reply “All I need is you, Sam. You be good. That’s all I want.”

“Oh damn it!”

The uninvited February rains had graced Sam’s first day to the office while he was just a few blocks away from the destined building. He would have to find a taxi soon. He would hate to show up on the first day of the internship, with his 6ft figure drenched from head to toe. He hadn’t ofcourse, grabbed the breakfast that his mother had so meticulously prepared even though she half-knew he wouldn’t have the time to eat it. She worried for Sam’s boyish attitude the most. “He is the best son!” she would tell almost instantly to anyone asking her if she had trouble with raising a son all on her own, without a father to discipline him. Not that she did not believe it. She believed every ounce of emotion that that sentence could carry. He really was a good son. At the age of 21 he had grown up to be such a wonderful lad. All his worry and care reminded her of his father all the time. Oh, how he used to worry about the minutest of things when it came to her. And, later when they had a beautiful baby boy, he would do no less with his affairs too. Little did he know one day they will have to fight their own worries without him. But Rekha didn’t have much to complain about. Not now when she had made her peace with the horrific car accident. Not anymore when all her struggles seemed to have paid off in terms of how perfect her little boy was growing up to be. She knew that no matter what life throws at them now, she and Sam will find a way.

Letter

Words from the letter I wrote you flew away into the sky as the wind blew.

They all went missing darling but I saw where they flew.

Some knocked on the window of the poet who was daydreaming while his morning coffee brew.

While others went far away in another land and wrote a story new. 

But the ones drenched in your sillage came back to me as the morning dew.

Good Poems

Let us leave this place where the smoke blows black 

And the dark street winds and bends. 

Past the pits where the asphalt flowers grow 

We shall walk with a walk that is measured and slow, 

And watch where the chalk-white arrows go 

To the place where the sidewalk ends.

~Shel Silverstein

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If you are a dreamer, come in. 

If you are a dreamer, a wisher, a liar, 

A hope-er, a pray-er, a magic bean buyer . . . 

If you’re a pretender, come sit by my fire, 

For we have some flax golden tales to spin. 

Come in! Come in! 

~Shel Silverstein

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Life is funny isn’t it? 

Just when you think you’ve got it all figured out,
just when you finally begin to plan something, 

get excited about something,
and feel like you know what direction you’re heading in, 

the paths change,
the signs change, 

the wind blows the other way, 

north is suddenly south, and
east is west, and you’re lost. 

It is so easy to lose your way, 

to lose direction.
And that’s with following all the signposts.

~Cecelia Ahern

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To sip every flower and change every hour is not realism but romance which must not enchant the court. 

~V. R. Krishna Iyer, J | 1978

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Do not stand at my grave and weep
I am not there; I do not sleep.
I am a thousand winds that blow,
I am the diamond glints on snow,
I am the sun on ripened grain,
I am the gentle autumn rain.
When you awaken in the morning's hush
I am the swift uplifting rush
Of quiet birds in circled flight. 
I am the soft stars that shine at night. 
Do not stand at my grave and cry, 
I am not there; I did not die.

—Mary Elizabeth Frye

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Mad Girl's Love Song

By Sylvia Plath

"I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead;

I lift my lids and all is born again.

(I think I made you up inside my head.)

The stars go waltzing out in blue and red,

And arbitrary blackness gallops in:

I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead.

I dreamed that you bewitched me into bed

And sung me moon-struck, kissed me quite insane.

(I think I made you up inside my head.)

God topples from the sky, hell's fires fade:

Exit seraphim and Satan's men:

I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead.

I fancied you'd return the way you said,

But I grow old and I forget your name.

(I think I made you up inside my head.)

I should have loved a thunderbird instead;

At least when spring comes they roar back again.

I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead.

(I think I made you up inside my head.)"

Will you?

So when you'll remember me, forty years down the lane,
Will you be able to picture me without much pain?
.
Will you remember me just as a pretty dress and well kempt shoes?
Or you'll remember that July night we danced on the muddy road like fools?
.
Will you paint a quaint, dainty picture?
Or call me the devil and angel's troublesome mixture?
.
Will you tell the fables of all the songs we sang under the June sunlight?
Or just give away a smile whenever that coffee shop comes to sight?
.
Will I be the morning bagel you casually grab,
Or the old Sheryl Crow record that I know you have.
.
Will I be a part of the countryside memories you brought,
Or your each day's silent last thought?
.
So when you'll remember me, forty years down the lane,
Will you be able to picture me without much pain?

Still walking..

I love walking! More so on tattered, untamed paths. Well, I know these are not the kind of words you would use to describe a path but then, what really is, right! I mean, I always feel like I'm falling short of words to describe something. How can you aptly sum up what you feel about something into words? So anyways, as I was saying; I love walking. And thinking about random things!

~Excerpt from a piece I never began, never finished.

तिनका

एक तिनके भर की थी ज़िन्दगी
उसी को टटोला, उसी को तराशा
उसी में सफल्ता, उसी में तमाशा
और उसी से जोड़ ली तूने जग भर की आशा।

पर एक तिनके भर की ही तो थी ज़िन्दगी।

अब इतना बोझ उठाए कौन
अब तुझको ये समझाए कौन
कि दुख़ के ये जो प्याले हैं
मिट्टी में मिलने वाले हैं
इन प्यालों से तू डरता है
डर-डर के सीधा चलता है
सूरज को कभी देखा है
कि वो कल के अंधियारे से डरता है?

कल को किसने देखा है
सब जीवन का लेखा है
एक कल से तू घबराएगा
एक कल पे तू पछताएगा
तो ये तो बता के जा तू
कि आज कैसे हस पाएगा?

इक तिनका डूबा प्याले में
मिल गया वो भी भु-अंधियारे में
तू पल-पल सोचा करता है
कि इस आग में बस तू जलता है

पर तू तो बस एक तिनका है
खुशियों का खज़ाना जिनका है
देखो उनके द्वार खुले हैं
आशा-निराशा से वो परे हैं

फिर आखिर इतना रोना क्यूँ
हसने के मौके खोना क्यूँ
खुशियों की जो बारिश है
तिनके पे पड़ने वाली है

हसी-मग्न जो प्याले से ध्यान भंग करते हैं
सुना है उनके प्याले जल्दी टूटा करते हैं!

The meeting (Part 3: Underneath these stars)

It is Saturday night and all she could see in this blinding city were the stars on this clear night! So pretty and bright! Alluring with peace and away from the clutter of life! That's when the idea hit her. Were these stars as innocent as they seemed? Afterall, they have witnessed mankind's greatest secrets and sins in silence. Maybe they smile every now and then thinking how humans are trapped in complications created by themselves. What are the reasons for inception of all the problems but humans themselves! They have created borders and class divisions, deceptions, secrets, rivalry and what not. All of it for what? Alas! Upon contemplation, how simple animal lives seem now. Humans are trapped in the system they have created themselves so much that they will never realize something as simple as this. It only needs observational glimpses to understand this. Something that is only possible from outside the system. Something that these stars see. But even they are not spared and they know it. Every now and then humans attach the burden of their desires to a falling star. They pretend that the ones who have left have now become one of the many stars. The cliché of a lover is always associated to the stars. And why wouldn't that be? Nobody deserves to be as happy and as carefree as them. Humans have this habit of including everyone in their grief stricken lives. But she found this thought amusing. Afterall, the starts are as much a part of it, aren't they? Two lost lovers breathe under the same stars, as do the prey and the predator. There is no escape now. They might laugh at the misery underneath their existence but that does not make them any less a part of it. And as she was thinking this, somewhere someone was thinking of her, while looking at the stars and it was then that she saw a falling star for the first time.

The Meeting (Part-2)

You have destroyed me in the most unlikely and wild ways. You have destroyed me so much that anything less than an addiction doesn't travel through my skin. I have become what I always feared. I am now on this inexplicable quest. A journey that might never end. The only end to this seems to be the end of me. I am now yearning for it and my soul is in an unending agony. My heart is now deprived of any desire or ability to get up, it is crawling in a direction of its own, looking fiercely for the drops of passion to rejuvenate it, like a wounded beast.

The day you left was the day I breathed last. It was the day since when my body is searching for its soul.  It is 2 am in the morning and I haven't touched my bed since days. why would I? When you have captured it with your memories. When it doesn't look the same anymore. The creases of the bed shout vehemently for the warmth of your presence. They are lying in a wayward fashion, to be tamed. The way we tamed each other. But now, everything is still. The air that wrapped you here has disagreed to move. It wants to hold on to your impression, lingering in the air, as long as it is here. You took away your presence but you couldn't take away your sillage. Your sillage, which is like a misty, warm winter morning. When everything is calm and serene. When the weather holds a mystery in itself. It is rare like the sun-kissed dew in the winter morning. Yet, it is addictive like the snow. Snow that falls upon us and touches something more than the skin. Snow, for whose arrival many cultures wait year long. Like I am waiting for you, my snow in this summer. 

A soft breeze at window takes me to the moon and the stars. How I used to laugh at their misery. The moon is the biggest cliche, I used to claim! I never could imagine how the writers could give moon such amorous meaning when all we had to do for the same was to look into each other's eyes. Only now do I feel the pain. It is not the moon, it has never been. It is about the other person. The moon is just a symbol, because looking into each other's eyes is not always possible. As I gaze at it, a million memories, and a million other thoughts come to my mind. I trail the sky with my eyes. Why did I never see its beauty before? The writers were not wrong. It is a beautiful cliche. Underneath this beauty is the world sleeping, unaware of what it is missing in the silence of the night. And then there's me. Trying to find my summer-light in this night. 

How I realize now that I had not known anything. I discovered myself the day you left. How I always felt that literature was superficial. How I could not connect to Shakespeare. All seems at ease now. Maybe it's a good thing you left. I am now realizing what I always disbelieved in. Literature is not all drama. Literature is not exaggeration if the reader can connect. But little did you care. You were your own simple kind, not getting indulged into the intricacies of literature, art, or the cliches. You believed in what appealed to you. No reason, no logic. How I admired that! 

It's four in the morning and all I can comprehend right now is that I cannot do without you. All I see. All I hear. All I feel. All I think about. All I hope for. Is YOU!

Dissecting the social oomph!

The past few days of my life had been rather at peace. Not that things have changed their course, but I had. I had decided to spend my time speaking less and listening more. Seeing less and observing more. How is the social setup around us? There can be varied answers to this particular question depending upon how you broaden or narrow down your perspective. Or, that what dimension of the social setup are you approaching. Ponder upon this for a while and see the varied aspects that come to your mind.

I am talking about the thinking pattern of the people. Where their priorities and worries lie and what matters to them the most. Maybe you guessed it, maybe you didn't. In any case there's more to it. For starters, one thing is for sure that the major force driving human behavior is the tendency to be accepted, to be socially accepted as one of them as one of interesting personality with amusing qualities. If you ask me, there are very few who want to stand out. The rest just want to be accepted as a part of the whole.

Then there is the second theory (obviously already theorized by some psychologist. Still have the patience to hear it again); that the way people bond quickly is by criticizing a third subject.The third can be a person, it can be some event, etc.

Then there's my third theory, that such bonding solely based upon criticism doesn't last long.

Combining all these three we get the kind of people we all see around us. The kind of people I see you complaining about in your status messages, in the quotes your with the caption #truetocore #bitchesbebitches

Actually what I am talking about is the tendency of the human mind to keep itself busy all the time. The need to amuse it. We all find little risks exciting, don't we? Be it the risk of being caught criticizing the third person beind their back. And, why won't one risk it? It carries the mouthful reward of increasing social bonding, and being accepted into the desirous group as someone who's "not a total bore", if I may. The functional perspective would be that such negative social interaction is functional to increase self demand and put oneself in attention. This is usually done not with the intention of demeaning the person but, increasing self worth. 

I am observing these tertiary relationships all around me. And it is upon close observation that I devolve upon this conclusion. As Sheldon ( from The Big Bang Theory ) would say: this is what tertiary friends are for, bitch it on!

At this point it is vital to differentiate between 1. When criticism comes into the communication first and then does bonding.

2. When people have bonded and then they indulge into criticism.

I am talking of the relationships of the first kind. The third theory solely applies to this kind. Afterall, one who isn't good to others behind their back, isn't good to you behind yours [ citation needed]. 

Now, I leave you at this conjuncture to revisit your thoughts which I had invoked in the beginning and weight the views I have pur forward.

Till then, be a social butterfly!

The meeting. (Part 1)

The crisp sound of the water. The sheer waves which the sea seems to have worn like yesterday's clothes. The ever continuing flow of the air, which sets everything in motion, just like she once had set his existence into motion, giving a direction same as the air seems to be giving to the water. The water, how much he can relate to it right now. Just like the water he also is unaware of the direction he will head to the next moment. The water. Whose existence is not independent of all other elements. But the wind is giving its gentle yet electric touch to the whole sea. Maybe she touched many others also the way she had touched his whole belongingness and put all the lost years of his life into question. The water, touching his feet and going back reminds him of his state of constant delima that which has now been swinging his life like a pendulum. The water. The water is distracting. It seems his long lost twin at the moment. But this whole place is a distraction in itself. The sand is the only thing that does not seem to be in motion. It thinks that it will be where it is, continue its life peacefully and in tranquility. What does the sand know what the future holds. What does it know of the gentle waves that brush it gently will actually turn into a wild monster one day, flowing it off its own ground. No, let the sand be unaware. Let the sand think that it is the main piece of amusement. Let it believe that it is the humble sand, whose malleability makes it desirable to everyone. That the fact that it is so pious that people come, make sand castles of it, change it, destroy it and go is a sign that the sand is loved. And despite everything people will want to see it as it is. The simple, easy to deal with, who allows everyone to leave a footprint on its existence. How little did it know that all the people are desirous of is to change the way it is, and its appearance. To change it into a piece of amusement and nothing more. That she wanted to change him into a person completely devoid of his original characteristics and appearances. But this is a win-win situation. What did she know that one fine blow and the sand is back to the way it was. One can change its appearances but not its characteristics. The sand also distracts him. It seems as if all of the things at peace here are shouting in unison the story of his own life which only he can hear. That each element of this place is him and he is the whole beach-side. Still he doesn't know why he comes here everytime he feels down and out. Maybe there is magnet somewhere buried deep alongwith his lost days which attracts him to this very place, and none else. 

It has been quite some time since he came here. His T-shirt which was dancing with the wind in gaiety and making love has been silenced by the rain and does not have the energy to trace the direction of the wind anymore? Was that true love? One that can be silenced by even the littlest of rains. His T-Shirt rests in disagreement, clenched to his body like a crying baby who comes home to his mother to seek the only true love and affection. His mother. He did not show her his face after that incident. How could he? He did not even think he will even show it to his own self again. But fate has the different sense of humor. It comes to your rescue when you are less desirous of it. It was busy mocking him when he was praying onto it. Fate. A sweet tragedy.

Looking back. The year that was, at NUSRL.

It is probably the urge to take a peaceful break from this exhaustive moot research in a surprisingly humble June evening which spurred me to go about writing this piece. Nevertheless, as the desire to write about the past year of my life ensued, I could not distinct it from NUSRL and thus this piece acts as an insight into the life here; that was and that will be..

I remember my first day, entering into the castle of my dreams. Blimey! Law School finally! The feeling was a spitting image of how the protagonist felt in Alice in Wonderland. Verbatim. It was like, the ending of the first chapter of my life and beginning of a new one. Everything was different. It wasn't school anymore and above all, it wasn't home anymore.. I'm not much of a sobby cry-baby who'd weep at the name of leaving home and being away from parents. Instead, this is what excited me, to be away, with new people, in a new city and under my own 'jurisdiction'. I felt like eighteen. I knew we'll be in touch over the phone and I'll visit them in the break. Taking into account, as excited as I am always for everything, I'll have to admit I had my moments. Nevertheless, as every hosteller would tell you, the key part of your hostel life is your roommate. Luckily enough, I got someone with matching interests and 'decent' room-habits, that I never had any issue. But, I've seen people having most issues with their room-mates. People, this isn't home anymore. You used to live in your manor, this is a labour's deck. This is hostel. Learn the art of adjustment. Period.

As in any law school, you will find people from all caste and creed here. Not going by the literal meaning, the friendly ones, the reserved ones, the mooters, (Read Denny Cranes and Alan Shores) and non-mooters, the brainy, the sloggers, ones who will volunteer for everything from stick to stone and ones you will see in the library only, the party people, the stoners, the sobers, Consti law experts, the research experts, ones with internships from the top law firms under their sleeves and the ones quite away from all of it. And well, then there'll be you. Remember Legally Blonde? How Elle Woods flashed in that Pink attire in a crowd full of Black Coats and Gowns. Well, that may be the feeling at the first instance. You might feel a bit out of place, a bit different from the rest. If you do, I will say hold onto that feeling because you know what gets Elle a job at the most prestigious law firm in the end of the movie.

With compulsory CREs and Research Papers from the first semester itself, you wouldn't know when the semester will end in between all those committee meetings, trips, seminars, and well, god bless the compulsory attendance and 30 CATs per semester, you won't even have the time to care.

Talking of lectures, well nothing will sound obvious to you anymore, you would start questioning the most fundamental things there are and defending the controversial ones. You will love some subjects and loath some. You won't love all of the professors here but you won't hate all either. The whole minus the former is the reason you are here. There is this professor I used to make fun of, and one person I knew I would never respect, in the first semester, he stands to be my favourite at the moment because the person has knowledge of everything that comes under the ambit of sun. The way he relates law to a thing which seems grossly unrelatable is impeccable. You name it, he has it. Nevertheless, there will be some you will choose for the vital purpose of completing the sleep you couldn't grab last night due to the new episode of Suits. Oh, to tell you, endless movies and season after season of any show that's on the hit are exchanged here like candies.

The only reason I was reluctant to go to a city like Ranchi was due to the location. And going by the location-determines-the-weather logic, trust me it's the reason I love it the most. The pleasant winds and humble sunrays of July are the most welcoming. Ranchi would never fail to surprise you with a few water drops here and there, every now and then. The first two months, I used to be most amused by its weather. Given that I've spent good amount of years in places like Tripura, Srinagar and Assam, Ranchi still continues to be my favorite when it comes to the weather:  A moderate city: Never too hot & never too cold. Then add to it all the places you get to visit. A half of the trips to all of those famous falls and dams financed and facilitated by the University (devil's grin). Then you'd be seen spending your Saturdays in Floats (the students' favorite bar) and Sundays hogging at Brunch.

Being here, in a city known primarily for  developing its educational hub, you'll naturally acquire acquaintance with students from BIT Mesra, XISS & Xavier's to name a very few, and life would start to get even better with all of those fests you will attend. As time will pass, you will book outings for eating and hanging out and exploring new places on your inside-Ranchi expedition. For the rest, as lazy as it may seem, we flipkart everything from pin to Pullock & earplugs to whole ensemble. The flipkart guy is so much a part of NUSRL now as are the stray dogs.

I can go on for a considerable length, but to sum it up for you, being in NUSRL has changed my perspective towards a lot of things, I thing that is what any law school does to you, it untangles the prejudices in your mind and then presents before you the atrocities of life and of law. But, as a great man has said, "Change can only be brought to a person who is willing to change" therefore, the best advice I can give you is to come to the law with a free mind!

PS: This is one year old, introductory piece. Alot has changed since then. Period.

PSS: Nothing! Too excited to shift to the campus! 

THE STORY LESS TOLD

It’s been 52 years, 52 long years. But the walk on the beach felt the same even today after all these years. Not that he had the chance to come everyday here and let everything loose along with the cool breeze. Nothing much had changed, except the fact that he walked a free man now. The air felt nice, whispering ‘welcome’ as it blew by his ears. In a strange manner, he could sense that the beach had missed him too. But most of all, it had missed them all. He had missed them both..

Thoughts came pouring into his mind without any restraint or pace of time and space. It was a day just like today, in the autumn of 1972. He remembered his sister playing in the sand and his mother shouting after her. How he adored them. If only he knew that they would leave him very soon, he would have probably let them know how much he loved them. 

Somewhere in the horizon, he could see two individuals. Intrigued, he walked towards to them. He knew them and they knew him. He smiled.

1988

Neo is a 36 year old lad with a clean-shaved look, bright eyes, and a forehead slightly large. He has jet black hair, is 6ft 2inch tall and has a look that speaks of purpose. He is not known as a person who likes talking much. He lives alone in 31B, Gystic Street since the past year or so, and the neighbors have barely ever exchanged any pleasantries with him. They always saw him with no smile and usually a little frown on his face and footsteps pacing quick, but reasonably large steps. He probably didn't have any friends as he never brought anyone over. And probably, he didn't want to make any because they remember how he refused to accept the pie Mrs. Anderson made for him, or Mr. Brown's offer to do the lawn for him. Neo, probably wanted to remain alone. The neighbors could know less..

1962

Neo lives with his parents in 21 A, West Street. He is a 10 year old kid with a chubby look, bright eyes, and a forehead slightly large. He has jet black hairs which are always messed up. He is a lovely child who is probably the neighborhood's pet. The bright child is known for throwing questions which people have no sure answer for. "Why do you always take the name of god when you don’t see him curing your leg." once he asked Mrs. George. And when Mr. Black was sweating doing the lawn, he asked; "Why do you do the lawn when the grass has to grow again?"

Neo, is full of life and will make quite a cheerful & charming lad, the neighbors remark. The neighbours could know less..

Sometime between 1962 and 1988

It is a bright day, the clouds have made way for the nescient sunrays to come and play with Neo.

“Get up, Neo” How soothing this voice sounded.

“Yeah! In about a minute.” Neo grumped.

“It’s about time, Neo. We have to go. Now, don’t you do this to me again! You promised me.” The voice was still soft.

“Okay Matilda, look I’m up. Okay? Will be downstairs in five. Tell mom too!”

“That’s good. I’m going to tell her. Be quick, okay!” The excited voice fainted as Matilda rushed towards the stairs.

Matilda, Neo’s sister was a girl of grace and kindness in her teen. She was a soft-spoken, favorite-of-the-family kid. Her Mother, Mrs. Flinch is the sole earner of the family, a woman of wisdom and bearer of worldly matters of the family. The family plans to go by the beach today. Mrs. Flinch’s job at the drycleaner’s rarely ever gives her the time to take the family out. Today is one of the few days when there is ample time. Today is also, the last time the family would go to the beach together to see the soothing calmness before the coming of the final storm.

After returning from the beach, they see a short, black man with a pot belly sitting outside their cottage. The man upon seeing Mrs. Flinch requests a word in private. Mrs. Flinch nods and directs the kids to go inside. Mrs. Flinch appears in the home after 15 minutes with red, swollen face that speaks of tears. Neo makes several attempts to ask his mother what made her look so devastated but she would talk about the supper instead. Neo would know soon..

It’s 10 in the morning. Matilda would be in school. Mother also did not come to wake Neo up for the college. This never happened, where is she? Neo goes downstairs to check and calls for his mother. All he gets is the breakfast in a tiffin and a note which says she’s gone to Ryan’s house and would return soon. Ryan was Neo’s classmate in school. He has the personality of a stinking rich person. The trousers always too low to reveal is hipline and the brows always high in arrogance. The wallet loaded of cash and arms loaded of a new girl each day. Ryan’s father was the owner of three drycleaning outlets in the city and rumor had it that he had acquired huge sum of money through unrevealed means.

It’s 11 in the night. There is no sign of either Matilda or mother. First it seemed to Neo that mother took Matilda with her to someplace but if that’d have been the case, mother surely would have returned by now. Each passing second is increasing Neo’s anxiousness by bits. He thought of going to Ryan’s several times but dropped the plan as he had promised mother he would never visit that place. Not after what happened between Ryan and him in High School. Whenever Neo thinks of Ryan a small part of his brain starts playing this little video where Ryan had beaten Neo and called his mother names after falsely accusing him of stealing Ryan’s Armani watch, only to be found later in Ryan’s bag. Neo did not protest in return as it would have costed mother her job. He would never do a thing to bring mother down. He already thought of ways to support her. A phone call interrupted the wave of thoughts in Neo’s head.

“Hello, is this Mrs. Flinch’s house?” Came a hurried voice.

“Yes”

“I’m sorry to tell you that she and her daughter are dead. Come and pick the body from under the bridge.” With these words the phone call ended.

Suddenly the world came to a halt. Did he hear it right? His mother? And little Matilda, the only people he had in this world. Are they dead? DEAD?

Neo hurried to the bridge and as told found the bodies underneath. It is raining. The streetlight reflected through the water droplets hitting the road created the effect of fireworks. Or is it the world crying over Neo’s loss and the light scattering in pain? Neo did not bother. As he ran towards the loving body of his mother and sister, he saw a vehicle turn by. He ran towards it but could not see who was inside. However, he saw the car number. AS XX 9999. The same number as Ryan’s father’s car. He knew why was it here.

3 days have passed since the fateful evening. Neo has no clue what he is going to do anymore. Deep submerged in thoughts, he hears the doorbell ring. He lets it ring for a minute or so. It was as if his limbs were paralyzed. He gets up to see the door, Ron is there. Ron’s father, like Neo’s mother works at Ryan’s father’s dry-cleaning. He is Neo’s best friend since childhood.

“Hi Neo”

“Hello”

“I heard about..you know. I’ve come to tell you something.”

“Ya, tell.”

“Neo, my father was there.” “He first kidnapped your sister and held her as hostage. Then he called your mother. He killed them both, Neo. Both in a go.”

“What? What are you talking about? Who? Why? What did they do?”

“Ryan’s father. He killed your mother because she knew about it. And she refused to be a part of it.”

“What? Tell me everything clearly.”

“Ryan’s father smuggles drugs to the affluent class to be sent abroad. They send their clothes for dry cleaning which are sent to them ‘loaded’ by the workers at the dry cleaning. Your mother also did this, first unknowingly but then she knew. After that she refused to be a part and talked to my father about it. He told her to keep quiet as there is no harm she is doing intentionally. But guess she was disgusted of this, she talked to Ryan’s father about it and wanted to leave the job. He called her that day to talk about it. She said she wanted to leave the job. Said she cannot be a part of it. He resented and tried to keep her in. He said she had signed the contract that she knew about it and then he threatened her.  Said he had Matilda. Mrs. Flinch still did not wanted to be a part. She begged for Matilda and swore she wouldn’t let the word out. But he killed them. Killed them both, Neo. I am so sorry.“

Neo was quiet for a moment. Suddenly, he spoke;

“What contract.? You talked of one contract.”

“Wha..Ya..Yes! She signed one, like my father did. It said they’d not disclose the thing about smuggling the drugs.”

“In their house. He does not keep it in the office, that is sure. Father handles the documents.”

“ I have to get that. I will get that. That should help..”

“But what will you do?”

“I will get the documents, produce them in the court of justice and that would reveal the culprit, and maybe then the police will start the investigation they’re so reluctant about.”

Neo is in the West Jail. He has been imprisoned for 4 ½ years for trespassing and burglarizing the house of an affluent Businessman of the town and beating up his son. The poor boy then needed 40 stitches in his scalp, face and neck after being hit with a wine bottle, gouged with a set of keys and beaten with a rock. The neighbors say Neo turned thief in desperate need of money. This serves him right. The neighbors are right..

It has been less than two months after Neo was released. The morning newspaper read:

“Neo, 36, was sentenced to 51 1/2 years in prison this week for robbery of a midtown dry cleaners.

He walked into Regal $2.25 Cleaners, 3955 E. Speedway, on Aug. 26, 1988, and ordered an employee and customer to the ground at gunpoint before stealing money from the register and an open safe, according to court documents. On the way out, Neo stomped twice on the customer's head.

He fled in a car driven by Ron, but were caught a few miles from the scene.

The robbery took place less than two months after Neo finished serving 4 1/2 years in prison for beating Ron, son of the owner of the same dry-cleaning who caught Neo burglarizing his home. The student needed 40 stitches in his scalp, face and neck after being hit with a wine bottle, gouged with a set of keys and beaten with a rock.”

The neighbors say Neo was burning blind, trying to harm the people who helped his mother when she was in dire need of money and a job. The neighbors still have no clue..

Being Narcissist.

Image Courtesy: http://g.psychcentral.com

I am a Narcissist. I asked a certain friend to define Narcissism. 'Self-obsession' came the quick reply.  I tried it with others, things didn't go well with them either. However similar both the terms maybe, I feel the latter too harsh a term to define the former. Go to the Wikipedia Page, and they enlist it also as a social or cultural disorder alongwith being an Axis II problem. I didn't take the pain to read further about this disorder..

Okay, a little backdrop. Why all this random blabber on Narcissism, you ask? Well, while talking to an old friend recently, who happens to be tormented by her boyfriend, I concluded the discussion saying 'If you ask for my opinion, Narcissism is the ultimate capsule to euphoria.' which eventually led to another discussion.

Anyway, returning back, I always see people perceiving Narcissism negatively and equating it with selfishness. However there is a thick, fine line of difference between the two which more than often, people seem to overlook. Narcissism is not being obsessed about yourself. It is not thinking you are the most superior kind there is, but loving yourself for whatever little/big deal of a person you are. It is appreciating your choices and your decisions. It is not waiting for others to approve you. It is the belief on yourself that whatever you did, was the best of your wisdom and you will never loath yourself for the same because what you did was the best of the possibilities and choices at that point of time. Narcissism however, does not include the element of looking down at other people and their choices. That maybe an element of self-obsession but not Narcissism. Narcissism, as far as I understand it, concerns you and your own self only. A narcissistic person can very well be happy with the choices of other people as well.

Narcissism to me, in one word is self-contentment. Yes, it is a peaceful compliance with yourself. Yes, it is falling in love with your own self. And, no it is not being too blinded by you and your own self only. It is not related to self-pride, as most may say. Narcissism is the path between self-loathing and self-obsession. Narcissism is taking charge of your own happiness and not depending on others for appreciating you. As far as I believe, a Narcissistic person won't be bothered of  people hating him/her or being judged, as the personal opinion has much more weightage than the society and its opinions. All the negatives attached to Narcissism go into the category of being, let's say, over-narcissistic or, self-obsessed.

Narcissism is the acceptance, inner contentment and being happy with who you are. This might be a narrow perspective of Narcissism but, this is how  I understand the term and the concept.

SELF LOVE DOES NOT EQUAL SELF CENTERED!

In between then and now

In between then and now

Lies a horizon. Unreachable!

Lies a memory. Unforgettable!

Lies a song. Unheard!

Lies a picture. Unpainted!

In between then and now

Lies a world.

Undiscovered and unknown!

A nascent life, a nurtured promise.

In between then and now lies the last word,

We ever exchanged.

And the unending silence,

Which now seems to have existed since ages.

The mystical glance,

Which said stories yet remained silent.

In between then and now

Lies all my hopes, all my life.

Unfettered and unrelished!

Yet as fresh as the morning dew.

Yeh vyatha bhi kuch ajab si

Na sukun hai na shauhrat hai

Yeh zindagi bhi ajeeb hai na?

Na dard hai na dawa hai

Par mareez hoon main

Akele hi lad rahi hoon roz ab

Na kisi ka intezaar hai mujhe

Aur na hi kahin jaana hai

Phir bhi ek baichaani si hai

Na kaam hai na araam hai

Ghadi ke kaante yun bhaag rahe hain par

Ki theherna bhi gunaah lagta hai ab

Ek daud si lagi hui hai

Na talab hai na bulaawa hai

Phir bhi bhaag rahe hain sab

Kai sawaal hain zehen mein mere

Jinka jawaab khud mein ek kahaani sa lagta hai

Pathik toh aa raha hai

Par raah ab dikhaayi nahin deti

Kahin chal padi hoon mein

Manzil ki laalsa nahin hai

Kyunki ab toh raah hi manzil ban gayi ho jaise

Yeh zindagi bhi badi ajeeb hai na

Na sukun hai na shauhrat hai..

Being selfish!

Bini Mishra, a good friend with whom I live in our own 'professional ivory tower' was generous enough to write this piece for the blog. Thank you Bini. We've made endless entrepreneurship plans together, one of them will sure come true one day.  

The other day while listening to the philosophy lectures with enthusiasm (This is a rare occurrence not because I don’t love it, but an overwhelming urge to be mentally silent or rather sleep.) struck me that actually there is a very fine difference between “individualism” and “being selfish”. The first definition of individualism and selfish, when I type the words in an internet search engine I are that “Belief in the primary importance of the individual and in the virtues of self-reliance and personal independence” and “Concerned chiefly or only with oneself “, respectively.

Hold on! The piece would not be establishing the words of “self-reliance” or “personal independence” here. These are too far-fetched words to stay unbiased in the mind of a teenager.

There are times when you have given people surmounted importance in your life and have been treated as “taken for granted”. There are times when you are given fake care in return of genuine ones. In situations that demand cold reactions should we upheld our individualistic characteristics or wait for Karma to teach them a lesson?

It is human nature that never changes.

Let people come and tell you that you are rude. Let people spread words that you even don’t know about yourself (Rumours? Yeah!). Let people blame you that you don’t fit in.

Seriously? Do you have time for unwanted and weak-rooted generosity?

Do ask for the 10 bucks of your parents’ money that you had lent them.

Make them realize that helping in exams never helps, in fact being a parasite never does.

Remind them that you were the one who saved them when they were misjudged by everyone.

Show them that you do have a side that is far better and can be worst even, if called for.

Warn them that nothing matters in-lieu of your own “the-self”.

Allow them to tag you “selfish”.

Isn’t “being selfish” the new trend?

People! The next time a talk about you arises, remember Nathaniel Godwin had invented headphones. Put them up and let it pass! After all, selfish people seldom give a damn!

A gloomy tale.

Image Courtesy: loverofsadness.net

I agree to this, as I may,
Life was never all happy & gay.

It was hard, it was miserable.
Sorrow was the only thing stable.

I was hungry, desperate to be fed.
Working day in, day out for a dole of bread.

But I had something, guess it was my soul.
And now it's gone, someone came and stole.

I stand in front of the mirror but I cannot see,
The whole human, I once used to be.

I take a ride down the memory lane, to some degree
Oh look! There stands the old me

I'm all sweaty and filthy I look,
As the family's dinner I cook.

It was a bad day, our landlord is in a fury..
Father could not pay the rent and now he has to hurry

Landlord shouted at my father. My father is pleading,
He said he'll seize all our sources of feeding..

And then he said something about me, I don't know what it was
Because Maa came and dragged me in. But now I know the cause.

That day was my last. I'm no more a life,
I somehow breathe, somehow survive..

Now there is an emptiness inside me. I'm hollow.
Unwillingly submitting to the directions given to follow

I feel like a toy. Only used to play
The game is over. I'll soon be swayed!

Different minds.

Photo Courtesy: http://www.galleries.co.uk

I was watching news report about the demise of Sh. Balasaheb Thakrey and the little wanderings of my mind made me wonder, "Why is it that people have different ideals?" For the same set of circumstances, why does everyone has a different approach?

One answer to my question can be, it's because they have different viewpoints, different manner of perception.

Now again, if I ask why people perceive differently, one possible explanation that comes to my mind is that because they have been-raised and lived in different circumstances, their experiences are different and thus their perception.

Sounds good enough, but is this the most satisfying answer? I went on and re-questioned myself..

Perception, if I am to define, means how you look upon at a problem, at its causal reason and the probable solution you think of. But again, that's my definition. Yours may differ. Perception forms the basis of how you're going to treat a particular situation.

Then again, their are different levels. One is the lowest level. Where you yourself are not sure about your understanding on the matter and seek other's view. Then comes the moderate level; where you are quite confident about your view and also are open to other views. Then comes the extreme level; where you are highly confident about your view and contest any conflicting view whether verbally or, well, through physical force.

But let's give it a thought again. If ideals are all about perception, varying from person to person, depending upon their personal experience and other factors, can a particular ideal be right or wrong? If no, then why all this fight? If yes, then how do we determine it? Maybe people deem the morally acceptable and majority opinion as right. And this thought gives my mind solace. The unending self-inquisition ends.

That's the thing about ideals. None is absolutely right and none is absolutely wrong. It all totally depends upon which one you've been subjected to and choose to believe.

Let's breakup!

I'm ill. My condition is really severe. All hope is lost. Even doctors cannot help it. I suffer from severest of the ailments. I suffer from stress, depression and anxiety.

Hello, I'm a 21st century teenager. These ailments have been the most faithful companions as of now and have stood by my side through thick and thin. I cannot zero upon the cause but, yes, I don't have to worry about the financial condition of the house, money-management or the meal. I have better things in life to worry me. I have to make sure that my outfit goes with my footwear, that I have a wardrobe that's 'in'. I cannot afford anything around a java phone, it has to have one of the latest OS. I must possess a DSLR otherwise my condition will be nothing less than hideous. Not to mention a notebook/laptop, an mp3 player, psp, xbox. They just fill in the basics. Then, of course I have to look good all the time. Who knows I might just bump into some movie-director or get awarded the most handsome/beautiful face of the nation while strolling in the streets! Size 2 they say? No, that 'was' the hottest, blonde size. It's size zero age. Now, this means more of gym-work, yoga and if not, then at least dieting. Don't you know all the fat people will die early? Now, after all this I have my school/college work, all those assignments, project works, research, internship, maintaining a good CV, lots of googling, wikipedia, printing, lord save me! Then I have to excel in sports, dramatics and other co-cirricular activities. I've to stand out in everything I do, parents say so, I seriously need to have the midas-touch. But that's not all! I have to watch all the latest movies, all the shows that are 'in' and I have to have a collection of all the cool songs and manage to be online on facebook, Gtalk, windows messenger, whatsapp and all other app/website my buddies use. The thought of doing well, getting into a good college, a good degree, a well-paid job, excelling in all walks of life, doing better that pados-ki-pinki, being relative's pet as my parents want, and living upto my parent's expectations (Yes! I'm a superman!) always resides in a corner of my brain. After all this how can one not expect anxiety, depression and stress to hit me! As they say, life is complicated afterall. How can I be spared? All this tells I'm normal, I'm human, I'm living.

But, today! Ah! Today is the day I'm getting rid of them, today is the day to let go. Oh my faithful companions, let's break-up! Why, you say? Well, because I realized. Realized that they're no good. If not anything else, they only magnify my fears, make the situation appear even horrendous. Just this, only one reason! I see so many people trying to complicate their lives when the simple rule to live life is to live it! When you complicate life, expect more, over do things is when you become sick! Competing is not bad. What is bad is to compare. Take it or not but you cannot be flawless, you cannot be the magnum-opus of every field, the plethora of perfection. They all make you sick, really very sick! So I think it's time we all hold our heads high, make a straight face and say it aloud "I dump you! I'm breaking up with you, and for the good!" And live our life as humans and not robots. Even the-intellectual Spock was once moved by his emotions, we're mere humans. All this load is torture and it's time to bid adios!

One wish!

So one day while he was asleep
In his soft bed having dreams deep

He suddenly woke up and was surprised
By a voice and the light of what the room comprised

"Get up my son, get up and come to me
From today your life will be a glee"

"Come to me and make a wish
And it shall come true in a swish"

"You can ask for anything you want
But only material gains I shall grant"

"Oh mighty lord bless me with happiness
For each & every material thing I do possess"

"But I cannot find it ever lying around
To be simply picked up from the ground"

"But my dear son" the lord said, with pride
"Happiness. It can only be found inside"

"How can I give you something
Only you can seek and bring"

"Ask again and I shall not object
To any possible wish you subject"

"Then oh lord!" He began again
"Grant me peace with no bargain"

"For peace is what I loose
When I have everything else I choose"

"My dear son", said he starting to fade
"I cannot give you what should be made"

"Ask me anything else that will forever last
For your time is running fast"

"I can give you all the wealth
You desire for till your health"

"Oh no lord! Blessed I am but with pain
To be satisfied with this material gain"

"But bless me with love to give and receive
With the people who always deceive"

"No my dear son, I cannot
Give you the best of the lot"

"With your choice your lord is most elated
But helpless to give what should be created"

The world started to look grim
And then the idea hit him

"Oh lord but you must say yes
To what I am to confess"

"I do not have the mighty power
To get a drop of the divine shower"

"So blind I am to myself and the world around
To see happiness, peace & love to be found"

"So bless me my dear lord and let the world be
As it is, oh! Enlighten me!"

"So I can see the world around
With happiness, peace & love-bound"

'Most happy I am" said the lord smiling
And enlightened him, his soul shining.

And now the man had an euphoria inside
And, peace & love now cannot hide

For now he smiled like a newborn careless foul
And never complained for he had peace in his soul

And he loved, loved with all his might
Because he had things in his heart all right!

This poem won third prize at Symvad Literary Fest, 2013. It also was published in the December 2013 issue of Estrade, Writer’s Club at the British Library, Ahmedabad, India.

Also received a special mention here.