Wanderlust

The All Spark

2009-12-08T19:02:00.001+05:30

This is not the story line of the Autobots fight for the All Spark Cube with a cute Shia Le-Bouf and the super hot Megan Fox running between the Hot wheels with an attitude. It pertains more towards the frisson that many of us seek in the other person, in life, in all the things that our hearts aspire for, we dream about, pray for. But if it is not there, you might as well be marrying and living only with your mobile or blackberry which many of us cant live without... Come to think of it, lot of stories get written on the spark connection, or the moment when your heart skips a beat, the pulse races or you get a warm, fuzzy feeling inside your heart.

Relationships starting with the sense of attraction are definitely more passionate initially, but if not sustained, can end up feeling like someone threw cold water on you on a winter morning in bed. The fizzle goes flat like a soft drink left open for a day. Many of us seek this attraction at varying levels with a lot of success and less success, or become members of the Lonely Hearts Club. Sustaining this attraction once found is the toughest part, but there have been people who have met with considerable success and their glow even after 20 years of togetherness is proof.

Always tell each other that you are the most beautiful person in the world- both externally and internally as a person. Once you did think that your partner was beautiful. And if you say that, now there are wrinkles, cellulite, baldness and gray. Beauty doesn't last for ever, is what you can say. It doesn't, but if the love stops because of that, you too have aged. And how fake could you be if you fell in love for only the superficial things and not for the Real person.

Simple gestures of affection, like a hug, a simple kiss, a caress makes a lot of difference to the relationship and cementing the mutual affection.

Make the same effort to dress up for each other for special occasions, or simply once a week, plan something special for your respective partner, the same way you did during courtship. Romance is an emotion which is thus a state of mind. If you tell the mind that it was there, is there, and will always be there .. It will. The mind follows what you tell it to do. Haven't we been able to convince ourselves that the scum bag who broke our hearts was not worth it? And we were able to get over him or her. It works the same way. Tell yourself everyday, believe in it, and so will it be.

Always try and find the things that you like about the person or find beautiful about- it could be the smile, the eyes, the laugh, the very nature, the funny sense of humour. What you fell in love with , is what you should see. Time changes us to a great extent, but our very essence does not fade. It gets suppressed. Keep that essence alive for each other.

Sing and dedicate love songs to each other. A simple note saying 'I love you", makes your day. If you like receiving them, you should also give them, right? No relationship can work if it is one-sided. Do unto others as you would they do unto you..". Makes sense?

Smile, laugh, cry with each other. You lose touch with your emotions and expressing yourself, you lose touch with what makes you , you! Your humanity, your humanness. Nothing separates you from a cyborg/robot in that case, if life boils down to carrying out only your duties and existing, not living. Machines exist, we Humans Live! Don't ever forget it.

Now, comes the second part of relationships and existence- The All Spark which we call life.

It is normal to have people around you who might not be happy, but if you only are surrounded by unhappy people, it is time to do a reality check- do you only attract negative people around you, do you only keep trying to help them out , or do you get any help in return? Does it really matter to them that it is you who helped, or will anyone do. Then, if that is the case are you just not trying to delude yourself with a temporary feel-good factor, or are you genuinely making a difference. Remember, we transmit and absorb energy. So it is up to you to only keep attracting and maintaining negative energy around you all the time, or also make it a point to have positive people and their infectious, restorative energy around you as well. This doesn't mean you stop interacting with people who are sad. Try and make them a little happier, try and make them see the silver lining in the dark clouds of life.

Always remember, life has its ups and downs. But once it hits rock bottom, it cannot go any further down. The only way anywhere is up. And it is up to you to make it so.

It is good to have material desires- the latest Jaguar X6 series, the latest condo in Monte Carlo, the largest yacht, a 22 carat pink diamond, the jimmy choos, the Chanel and Givenchy gowns. But never forget that when it is time for us to leave the world, we will only take up that much of space as the coffins we are enclosed in, the pyres we burn on, or other ways in which our bodies are prepared to move on to the next world. At that moment, if you have only people who are clamouring for your funeral service to get over, so that they can get back to their work, their business, grab your property papers and possessions, your bank balance, or throw away all that you had so lovingly stored over the years, what was it that you really had been living for? Pettiness, quarrels, jealousy, bitterness, spite and all that negativity- no one who will actually feel sad that you are gone, say to themselves that they miss you, shed a genuine tear over you?

Think it over, and really Think... What has been your life's worth to those people to whom you think it mattered the most. If it is only your bank balance, property, jewels and possessions. It wasn't You that mattered. It was the package deal you came with. Sans that what were you, a friend, a lover, a caring benefactor, an aunt, grandpa, parent or child? Think and then evaluate where you stand and where you want to go...

Goats in loins

2009-12-02T19:47:00.004+05:30

Some sights make you scratch your head, like a sudden attack of dandruff. No flakes fly (eew!), but the cerebrum does tickle. A singular file of presumably male goats, each approximately 2 feet tall in height were seen walking placidly in the early hours of the morning through a busy market place. They had cloth bags or pouches tied around their reproductive organs... Loincloths?! Protection from dirt, or some other reason cannot be fathomed. Only that, you think this might be one of the reasons why there is something wrong in the air, or gradually an obsession is developing for the sign of Capricorn. Firstly, there is a movie titled 'The Men Who Stare at Goats', and secondly you see the celebrated four-footed actors walking around in loin clothes.. What next? A bra on the cow's udder and bulls wearing boxers..?

BONG FAMILY RECITAL- Part I

2009-10-28T12:03:00.009+05:30

One must take a peep into the mind of a typical Bengali lady, popularly called by the gentry as "bhodromohila". They attend even simple idol worship ceremonies to their friends houses; temples and common gathering points, dressed as if they were about to venture across to their own marriage altar. The ladies are unfailingly bedecked in the ubiquitous sari- ranging from silk to brocade; and jewelry ranging from the not so subtle to sheer gemstones that would even put the Queen Mother to shame. Avid lovers of rabindra sangeet, they also flock in droves to any cultural opportunity where artists are said to perform. Every lady is a full-mottled fantail, proudly displaying her latest shopping results on the ears, neck and arms. The husband looking moderately genteel in ethnic Indian wear, or, if the poor henpeck has been dragged straight from the workplace, strides in the slightly crumpled office wear. The expression says I may be a man, but the wife or "ginni" is 'THE' royal Bengal tigress after all; eliciting empathy from the rest of the male intelligentsia or "Bhodrolok". As soon as the venue has been reached, all the females flock around excitedly discussing the latest gossip, cricket celebrity game shows; sitcoms and their childrens' status updation. The males discreetly flee to the bar, post pleasantries, where armed with a whiskey or beer they settle down to berate the state government's dismal performance or the central government's thereof.

New Entrant: Hi Mrs. B, how have you been? You are looking very nice.
Mrs B: Thank you! (broad smile), I just bought this sari from X (a well known branded shop selling expensive sarees).
You wonder if the compliment has been interpreted by lady B as an affirmation that she generally looks pretty, or it is the sari that is making her look nice. Then, you start wondering if she took offense to being compared as a plain Jane otherwise.

New Entrant: And how is your family? (Hurriedly to deflect any possible assault)
Mrs B: My husband you know. The children are fine. My eldest son is in the US working for Company X (usually a top notch brand). He is earning '$$$$$' a month (which theoretically puts him on par with some Hollywood celebrities in terms of earnings); he has his own apartment and a car. He sends me gifts every two months and has been constantly telling me to come over and stay with him for a vacation. Maybe I will go in the summer/winter.(She nods with a proud smile).

(You cannot separate the Bengali from the motherland during the Durga puja celebration time; come natural calamities, or even a proven alien invasion to the city).

(You nod in agreement with her)

Mrs B: My daughter is married to Mr X's son.
She assumes you know Mr X. If you do, it is good for you. If you don't and say so, she looks at you with horror, as if you have landed from outer space since you DO NOT know the family her daughter has been married into. They are as famous as would be a royal family of the city.

You try and look hopefully impressed, admitting that you are ignorant; while the mind stores the name away for a reference check in posterity.

Mrs B: They are staying here in Street X. They are very happy. I have a grandson. He is 7 years old and adores me. Every weekend he comes over and spends the entire day with us. He is so smart- he plays XBox and sports (think only cricket or tennis); reads encyclopedias and was offered a double promotion in school since he is so intelligent and way above the average level of his class. I refused, since it is better to let him progress through the classes normally as there is no hurry to complete his education. (The dialogue speed, or rather rap would put Eminem to shame).

She nods again without adding anything else. Since it is a typical Bengali nod where the head moves not only left and right, but also up and down in a roundabout way; you politely nod your head in only one direction and respectfully smile. Little Einstein would make India proud, until you realise that the tiny tot in question, who has tagged along with his grandmother has a problem spelling 'business' but rattles off the latest Hindi songs word for word without a hitch. You suggest that maybe he holds the prospect of being an excellent singer or music producer.

Lady B, if open minded will appreciate your suggestion and also add prophetically that her grandson will be as famous as the lauded veterans of the music industry. If the lady is not so liberal minded, she will look positively insulted at the suggestion, stonily adding that he will only be a doctor, engineer or a civil servant. It seems that these hallowed professions are considered the only respectable careers to attempt. This mindset has hardly changed within eastern India for the last 200 years, even after the British left their telegraph poles, industrialization and law books behind.

Bull Discharge

2009-10-27T17:52:00.003+05:30

Writing per se should be an original, worth reading. Well, reading what seems to be deemed "worthy" is what makes writing itself appear subjective. What I may like to read and consider worthwhile is something you might not believe in at all. The result is a niggling, little displeasure at the back of your head, which grows into a full throttle migraine-like headache; if your self has been subject to someone's "worthwhile" pages and pages of utter bull discharged writing that would not even fertilise a weed root.

Talking about bulls and their faecal discharge- well I wonder why sometimes certain facts uttered; end up being termed as nonsense by the listening party, eliciting an explicitly enunciated- "bull*"! So, either we are paying homage to the glorious, ebony coloured, satin-skinned and bulbous nosed deity by sanctifying its discharged roughage; or we are nullifying something existing as concretely as water or maybe the sun. So they do exist; or you do spend your days in a rubber padded room-straight jacketed; or, you have unfortunately crossed over to the other side. So what I meant is that if "bullshit" is signified as equal to nonsense or a vague form of nothingness- then my dear, why don't you stand here for 10 minutes while I coax the bull to defecate on your shoes. The other option is that I empty a whole bucketful on you as proof. In either case, if you do posses the olfactory sense, you would have realised that nature does not make Chanel N 5 for free; or you would have bathed in it literally. And, if you do not possess the sensory organ, then the soft, thick and dark, goop of nutritiously rich manure is being applied on you as the latest bio-degradable version of 'plaster of Paris' for the sake of modern art. Either ways, I DO give you the choice to confirm its existence. Or, you might take the liberty of saying that bullshit or nonsensical equivalence does exist, but only in a parallel dimension. If you insist, give me half an hour to add a bottle of cod liver oil to my pet's digestive canal. If the post cod liver ingested bull and its diuretic discharge on your esteemed soles and broles, elicits a yell, I will simply defend my case saying that what was termed erstwhile nonsense by you, cannot exist in our dimension according to your viewpoint- therefore Q.E.D. If you admit that it does, I will say that it is now as a fragrant and moisturising lotion in the same dimension where you initially thought it existed.

Anyway, it is toast and tea time. Let me know if you would like to smell it or taste it.
I meant buttered toast, of course with my tea. Now, what were you thinking...?

City

2009-01-07T20:18:00.004+05:30

Motionless, coloured bodies of steel,
Blurred images, unending wheels.
Hurried faces, listless few,
Matted mongrel, his tail does chew.
Organized noise, silence cornered anew,
Hungry eyes scan for re-assurance true.
Memories forgotten, fresh and new
Moments stolen, unforgiving Time swift flew.

Jungle of lines, where Shadow plays games.
People and streets, only numbers and names,
Where Unknown sleeps with enticing mistress Fame.
Isolation and Loneliness, conjoined twins silently reign.
Blank lives, lined deaths, invisibly framed.
Honor and Integrity raped and shamed,
Truth wanders in alleys, blinded and maimed.
Hope cries to Salvation to wash away the pain.

Sleep

2009-01-07T20:09:00.005+05:30

The mist weaves through open spaces,
Wreath like fingers seeking in measured paces.
Moonbeams filter, intertwining in a lover's clasp,
The silent bat glides, hungry silhouette eagerly grasps.

Twinkling lights of night on distant shore,
Splashes the hidden boatman's ore.
A moan, a groan, a whimper and a sigh
Unheard night sounds stretch and fly.

Rows of gleaming silver curves and lines
With bated breath watching for ancient signs,
When expected stillness will answer to sound
And awaken from the motionless ground.

Eyelids flutter, some in a perpetual dark world.
Inwardly awake, Reality and Dream gracefully twirl,
Life is as above as is below, the nightingale weeps,
Soon will break the grave's dreamless Sleep.

The Stone by the Sea

2008-07-14T18:29:00.001+05:30

I sit on Stone. Bare legs feel the cold seep through the pores of me. I feel the texture, the smoothness, the slightly serrated under skin. Breath leaves no mist on the azure. No haze to clear, no sight I bear. I am in a mist and the mist is in me. Wind rushes through the corridors of Memory, moaning, whispering in pain and ecstasy. I am a figure in stone. The wind continues to moan. Eons pass by, I don’t question why. I feel vibrations from the other side. The waves continue to lap the shore. Sunshine warms my heart no more. The tranquil blue, the soothing green, the playful orange that leaped up at me. The Sea once more I long to feel.
The fins are at rest, the eyes downcast, the cold never thaws, but forever will last. The smile is frozen in time though the Clock continues to chime. Living flesh turned to eternal stone. Mermaid of Copenhagen is my name. I live in my mind and Wind continues to moan….

Second Skin

2008-06-30T22:00:00.001+05:30

Days go by, sometimes white and red.
Voices keep talking, inside my head,
Some full of laughter, some full of pain.
Echoing and pounding, they stretch and strain.
I say something, they hear something else.
Opposites collide, tangents align themselves.
And when it hurts too much, I slip this skin.

The voices no longer whisper, the tears dry unshed.
The cruel whispers are silent, hopefully dead.
Silence serenades, no shouts or screams.
Colours have transformed into a beautiful, pearly sheen.
Time floats by, the day is painful no more,
Red recedes, the blue silent waves lap the shore.
I am you and you are me.

Night is coming, the sun fades away,
The mysterious moon is dawning, so ends the day.
I keep walking, whistling fragmentary tunes to myself
Suddenly someone clamps my mouth, I can’t scream help.
I am pushed roughly against a stony, dirty wall,
The stranger forces, shuttered windows, no one to call.
The hands of mine push, he slips, he falls.
The throat I claw, he thrashes, then no longer moves at all.
I see his eyes; they no longer do see mine.
Danger is gone, now I am fine.

I stand up straight, I stand up tall.
The sinful dead, another joins the Dark hall.
I start walking, the night is beautiful once more.
Whistling resumes, fragments I encore.
I look at my hands, they have blood-how could it be?
I am unhurt and yet no one I did see.
I was walking back home and no one stopped my way.
It was another uneventful, colourless day.
The voices start again, clamouring to break free.
I am you and you are me.

I sang...

2008-06-24T15:43:00.001+05:30

Sometimes one wakes up in the morning looking at Grey. The eyes have turned monochromatic. The cold feeling stays, wrapping itself around like tendrils of ice, the fiercest rubbing cannot thaw. I am Kay, and the mirror pieces are in my heart.
The Snow Queen in her glorious magnificence is my best friend. And I celebrate “this is my December.”

Sometimes the threads of Lonliness wave in the wind like gossamer threads looking for an open,warm heart to connect to. The people walk past each other looking straight through. They see you and yet they don’t. Closed faces, hurried paces, people running their measured races. The hungry man looks for Hope, the addict for dope. I am Oliver Twist and the hunger is in my heart. Fagin with his nimble hands and many pockets is my best friend. And I celebrate “where the streets have no name”.

Sometimes the body shakes from within. The breath chokes and stops. The blood has been boiling for too long. The repressed voice strains to break free. Flashbacks of childhood on you, catharsis is unleashed. The victim is the inflictor, history repeats but you cannot see. I am Dr Jekyll and the medicine is in my veins. Hyde with his cruel visage is my best friend. And I celebrate “ a whiter shade of pale”.

Can you hear silence?

2008-04-25T17:12:00.000+05:30

The strains of silence ..amidst the cacophony.
In the noisy jungle and in the underworld city.
It could never be silent..completely silent.Even if there was no sound one could still hear the blood rushing through the ears, the whooshing each time the heart pumps life blood.And the whump of the heart beat. It is never an absolute silence.
Until.
Unless..
It is the second when the heart stops beating and at that infinitesimal point- Complete Silence.
After that point if the conscious mind registers, you gasp for air- the most wanted sound Life can utter, the same akin to your own baby breathing its first breath outside of the womb, or you hear nothing except maybe the Wind Of Life passing you by, or the Black Wings flapping and the most inevitable smile of all - more than the Mona Lisa, curving on the unforgiving Cold Face.
Bliss...

The last word of a line

2008-04-14T14:36:00.001+05:30

The stars are no longer clear but a haze,
The city so familiar becomes a distant maze.
Some dreams long ago I gave up to chase,
Life often presents a mysterious face.
People competing like rats in the rat race.
Not Gabriel the angel, we all fell from Grace.
People, their ancestry through DNA are trying to trace.
Bio- Diesel and Olympic torches are the latest craze.
Power always corrupts is a cliched phrase.
Self defence says- Women to protect themselves with Mace.

It is not a rap and doesnt even much rhyme.
Terrorism is a multi billion dollar organized crime.
Theatre is reviving and maybe so should Mime.
Tell me,40 yrs of age is old or is it Prime?
Global warming or a new Ice Age, are we running out of Time?
Sub prime crises,stability's no longer a dotted line.
Cricket is now a bid sport, but no body seems to mind.
Did you smile at me?.. Oh well I am fine.
The lustre on the dollar, seems has lost its shine.
The dog doesnt bark, in hunger it whines.
No more its an us, its only a 'Me' and 'Mine'.

Are we trying to sell Humanity, or is it already sold?
12000 INR and rising, its boom time for gold.
Ebola or HN51, who catches common cold?
New generation leaders are striving for solutions bold
Trying to break 'Another brick in the wall' mold.
Einstein predicted a third world war , so did Nostradame I'm told
I hope to be dead by then and not just old.

Thought we all for earthly Paradise could try
Maybe not too late, maybe our scriptures did not lie.
The greed for oil, Iraq is still getting fried.
Egos before Human life, the Darfur baby cries.
We can still Heal the World, if we promise -You and I.

The Candle flame's choice

2008-04-11T17:07:00.000+05:30

Ever wondered why one wakes up feeling blessed one day or Sinned as the feeling may be. Sometimes the heart feels and the mind ponders on the questions why-Who am I, why am I here, what about my true calling in life, is this what I am supposed to do....?
Questions course through either like the sudden gush of restless water, breaking out from the dam, or like the slow, sensual yet deadly un-coiling of the serpent lying peacefully in the sun. Both are forces of nature. Both individualistic. Totally overwhelm or in an instant pass you passively by. And you dont even realize why...
Ever watched the naked singularity of a candle flame, undisturbed by any wind in a closed room. Controlled heat, rooted to the wick. A dry cotton ball near it and the flame stretches, leans towards it, almost touching and yet not.But suddenly the cotton is alight. A few seconds hence and all that remains is nothing but a few floating strands of Black. The same flame in the same room.But now the room has only pure oxygen replacing the closed air. Does the flame burn?
The wick is not essential any more. The force is explosively combustible... more light than a naked eye could see.
The heat Searing , white or maybe blue
Blinding to most but dazzling to the fortunate few.
Wick= limited consciousness
Candle flame= You and I
Cotton ball= conservative consiousness
Oxygen- Unlimited consious potential/Awakening of the Self/ The Inner Eye

The cotton ball or O2?
What will you do?

Welcome!

2008-04-09T13:54:00.000+05:30

Welcome to my blog friend,
Finally took the step to start writing thoughts publicly rather than confine myself to a 200 page papyrus to account for all that I think, see and say. Or may be that sometimes the mind does not, nor does the tongue want to, but the heart does and the fingers follow..

My pages are not a daily journal, nor a marathon monologue
They reflect my perceptions only yet it could be a dialogue.
They could be the cloud on a sunny day, or the snow when you already blue.
They could be the wind to lift you away to an alternate reality glimpsed by few.

They are pages you and I write, we share , we hide , we dream
The voice to the hidden agony only the mind can feel and scream.
I say write on to myself and hope the words will speak.
To cherish memories and memoirs for a lifetime to keep.