Had a very distant day today. Distant is the right word for how I feel, though I haven’t used it to describe a day before. After all, we are always in a day, we live through it. But you would know what I mean- we have all been there. That feeling of loneliness in a crowded city, that strong urge to escape from people and conversations to hide in your room, that analysis of life so far and what is to come.Like an old reel of movie playing in a dark cinema and you are the only one watching. And when you feel this way, you just wait for the pain to pass.
Thoughts are difficult to control, sleep doesn’t take away the pain either- your dreams are filled with echoes of cruel existence. You look at the emptiness in the hall, the tree leaves moving under street light, the clarity of sound of falling water in your shower. Everything seems to have a life of its own, except you. You are too old to blame people around for it, it won’t work. Everyone wants to see you happy- since you played your part so well in the play, they don’t know how you feel. You were the greatest comedian, and no one ever saw you backstage crying. Besides how many people actually know you in this world in any case. You were all too secretive about your deepest desires and now they hurt you alone. They got a hold of you in this darkness. You just wait for it to pass.
But it will go away, it always does. This is not the first time you are going through it. It can’t harm you, you were build in this same hearth.Maybe the memory just ran week over all these years of joy. But life has its way of going in circles, and your inner metal won’t burn along with your outer clothes in this passing-through ceremony. You will come out shining again, devoid of all those fancy clothes you bought on the way. Renewed and glorious.
आखिर कब तक परछाईयों में जीवन,
धुंधला -धुंधला सा मादक चितवन,
ढूंढना जवाब सवालों का,
जिनका सन्दर्भ ही छूट गया,
कब तक करना यादों का विवरण,
कब तक विवेक से दूर हकीकत,
आखिर कब तक ।
बीते कल को फिर से जीना,
मुस्काते चेहरों पर आहें भरना,
वो चेहरे जो बदल गए,
कल के ऋतुओं की बारिश में,
उन चेहरों से महरम की हसरत,
कल पर गुमान की यह फितरत,
आखिर कब तक ।
Remember the days of Sand Castles? Vast, unexplored swathes of un-arable lands awaiting the touch of the magic of a Genie. The whole territory of nothingness belonged to you -King of Nothing, a proud title mind you. And you ruled the lands with the goodness of a divine king-created entire societies and civilizations, delivered justice with morality and set examples for all your subjects. It was a happy holiday home- a place you could visit in good times and bad.
But those days are long gone now. The real world came up with fancy tools like mobile phones, internet and social network and now your land of nothing is chided in public. You are not allowed to have that secret to yourself. It is either frowned upon or discussed anonymously on social networks where it is already conquered by majoritarian democracy. You are no longer a king. Your words carried little value in the real life ever since your birth and now even the virtual world scrutinizes your thoughts- they are filtered while passing through the democratic tools of likes, upvotes and re-tweets. You must join the united clamour of the republic to hear yourself. Maybe that cheer will make you feel important. Maybe you will go home with the feeling of being a contributing force in society once the demonstrations are over. But you already know that does not change the reality. You are no longer a king. No laws were pass against your unalienable right to kingship of nothingness, no revolutions took place in your lands- your title was taken away through non-violent, democratic means. How mighty a fall! The ruins of your castles of Sand still lie as dunes awaiting winds to dissolve them in the ocean of Nothing with passing time. No falling star foretold this destruction as it used to in the fables. Nothing really worked and you could have done little in any case to change course.
Here is your new title- a citizen in the land of nothingness and a speck of dust in reality.
नीड़ का निर्माण फिर,
फिर बनाना सूखे तिनकों से चंचल घोंसला,
नई डाली की नई महक में नए फूलों पर मचलना फिर,
फिर उड़ जाना पंख फैला,
मृदुल बदरी की घूंघट ओढ़,
नई दुल्हन की आसमा से होड़,
घूंगट की लज्जा, लज्जा में अभिमान फिर,
नीड़ का निर्माण फिर ।
नीड़ का निर्माण फिर,
फिर सवारनी नयी सरिता,
नयी बगिया, नदिया का छोर,
नए पर्वत की नयी तलहटी,
उद्गम वृक्ष, जंगल घनघोर,
और टटोलना कनक का सागर,
प्यास बुझाता संसार का गागर,
साधना विश्व-विशाल फिर,
नीड़ का निर्माण फिर |
He had always been a convoluted writer working hard to make his sentences difficult to understand for the simpletons who are kind enough to read his writings. She on the other hand was a smart, literal and linear brain for whom logic flew like smooth, golden magma- uncaring of the things that came on its path. Destroying all philosophy with disdainful, grammatically correct sentences and effortless coherence of sentence structure.
So when he was explaining how beautiful she looked in those open hairs, winds crossing some onto her face, she was taking notes of his shortcomings as a decent observer of feminine beauty. His tousled hair proving his unprofessionalism and his inconsiderate nature reflected in recommending unfurled tresses in the summer.
That night though, when they were walking under the stars, he was looking for inspirations and she was looking for answers. For hours they walked together till the clouds gathered and it started to rain. It was then, under that tree, they realized that they already had with each other what they desired from the sky.
Once again doth the salve wind blow
shaking the forest unperturbed for long.
The leaves have wrinkled shelled in snow,
the silent stars give rise to dawn.
Yonder ignites the lake in sunlit gild
In morning mist placid still
The winter sung a seven seasons song
and on the lake’s surface, ice still forms
This cold ice bridge in passion devours
for across the lake blooms the flower
Hidden from sight of all that pass
It lasted the winter
or has it made the winter last
But now in crimson sprinkles spring
colouring the woods of the defeated king
The snowy tint shades the hue
and wakes to life the colours true
Now the breath feels warm and fresh
bringing cautions of world distressed
Down in distance thaws the lake
the past ambles begin to break.
Then this spring that knocks on door
could fill with life the lives that sore
But then it could be a playful lark
For springs may come and shortly go
And all that is left is colourless snow.
Once there was a time when people would send pigeons tied to letters in search of their loved ones hoping the returning bird may do the wingless a favor and deliver their message while he raptured in the emotions of homecoming. A more pedantic and official way of sending letters especially for kingly urgency was through envoys and messengers. The differing histories here have given largely differing perception towards the two professions/species. The pigeons are symbols of peace, diplomats have few true friends and messengers- well…they are just busy not getting killed.
I today had the experience of sending a letter through a postal service which is unfortunate- because postal services today operate in a manner similar to how the arrow-messengers operated some centuries ago. They bear no emotional attachment towards your mail and they want you to follow the procedures as strictly as they do- by which I mean: The ‘from’ address should be on the left of your envelop and ‘to’ on the right. It is one of the idiosyncrasies of the post office people they have come to develop. Who cares what if you wrote ‘to’ and from’ in bold on top of each sections of address. “If you write it the other way, the letter will return back to your address”, informed the gentle post office attendant scratching my addresses on the official-looking brown envelop on which I had cello-taped the addresses meticulously. I am thankful for his kind noticing of my mistake though because no matter how much sultry that Bhubaneswar afternoon was, I sincerely believe that if he hadn’t redressed my blunder the letter would have showed up on my door one fine morning.
Maybe one day when they perfect the technology for teleportation, they would bring the pigeons back in the game. That would give the technology enthusiasts like me who like a bit of non-professionalism in the way things are done.
If the title did not make it clear, I should elaborate about my being- I am a highway dog. While reading this, some might find it hard to comprehend the possibility of highway dogs in a world full of thieves, beggars and highway men in whose honour stories and even poetry is written. So I got weary and thought maybe I should take the lead and write myself a prose for my category to read. If you find the individuality of dogs offensive, please don’t proceed.
When I say a highway dog, I use the adjective to distinguish myself from the other class of dogs that loiter earth and have been disdained by the euphuism ‘street dog’. I had a different upbringing and live in very different surroundings than the other sect which relieves me from the paranoia of strangers that affect the ‘street’ dogs. On a highway- everyone is a stranger. Also a lack of company means I am obliged to none to serve with loyalty (except for the gang of course, you always have to keep with your gang). Food is a constant struggle to fight for here as without any helping human hand we have to find smaller, weaker and slower animals to feed us. I am thinking of going vegetarian though, all this killing is breaking me down from within.
Someday, I will tell you about how life came to be like this for me and how the only life better than this, as far as I can see, could be that of a ‘lake-side dog’ who have the freedom of getting wet in the hotter days of the year. But as I am in a good mood for the day, I would rather leave the gloomy things for later. Have a good day ahead- keep sniffing!
I have accepted my defeat
Nothing more is left to confide
The mountains tall will speak of us
The stars surrounding will survive
But the time has come for us to part
Good Bye to you and have a good life
Leave your chamber
My princess come
Your voyage is set for sail at-one
Seven years , we pined for long
Been part of many a minstrel song
Though now we meet, we must away
For on this earth it is the last day
The city is empty
The minarets shake
A thousand miles you must take
Don’t wait for me
I won’t come
Nothing for me is now undone
You know better, don’t regress
Death is but a new dawn
In heaven and hell I now confess
We will be together before long
Look at the falling sky above
Look at the stars as they glow bright
The gods above are also sad
The heavens have a fight
Belated but our love was strong
In heaven we together belong
I’ll wait for you to live your life
Be merry, happy and rejoice
You were my only treasure-beloved
To lose you to gods is my greatest strife
But the time has come for us to part
Good Bye to you and have a good life