Burying the future- A self obituary

It was just another time while I was wondering. So to say, looking behind in time. And just about a crazy night, when a friend quipped, that I should write about a Obituary for my self. Brilliant idea to put an obituary, before you are dead, we thought. I don’t know, but it suddenly occurred, while through the ears phones I could hear words fading into the rising pitch of music, what would I actually wish to be on the stone over my grave. And how so ever simple, it might seem, it was not easy to think it over and look at the end. So, as I thought, what it would be like, I assumed it would be for pure feelings for every thing that make up life. I would probably wish it to read, “ My life began as a fortunate kid, with a dad who was like a dad, a mom who was unlike any other mom, my wife was the first and the best (that’s all she bothered to know about, that’s the point, I tried to drive home), my kids, I am sure were mine (in more than one respect), my friends for ages remained like boys, my colleagues never could be selfless, the places were I had been, were all beautiful, be it the muddy alleys of hometown village, or the broadways lined with glossy façade. Life, as a overall package was good or I prayed for it to be. Though I realized late. Rather too late. Tried my best, to have the best squeezed out of it. I do not know if I succeeded, and now no one can help sort it. In the end just tried to cherish the memories. Basically, I loved you all, loved the nature, loved this planet, loved gazing at the blue sky, loved the placid lakes, loved the tumbling clear river, loved those who faded before me, love for those after me, loved the silence of serenity and loved the noise of worlds clutter, missed you all, most of all I miss this life. Will miss it. Given a chance would love to live once more, make it better next time. It might seem wishful for having such life. But then I guess that s what every one wishes for, the wishful things. In the end I cannot describe what formed my identity in the world. Which piece was I in the jigsaw puzzle board. And I suppose search of identity somewhere remains dipped in love for some thing or hate for some one. At the end the fact remains – I am dead and you are alive. And, I love you the most. Thanks for coming.

It appears to me however, though I am an hindu, I would prefer myself buried underneath a large stone, and if not this particular one, there is a better obituary written over it. I don’t know if any one carries or owns in this word, call it a stupid notion, I would love to own that six feet of ground, neat one, as a bonus with this life. And that the grave stone would be over green neatly trimmed green grass, with creepers curling over the grave stone. I mean creepers with some pinkish, yellowish, flowers. And it should curl around in a fashion to just enough for leaving uncovered the part of the obituary to be read by you. Dated : 1980-20XX. Please look into that and Watch it!”

P.S: Pssst, Helloo,.. Occasional visitors are welcome, long stay is not desirable. Here, I rest!

About the line..crossed

If its that line...i crossed it...walked along lil more..i found another..i crossed that too...i see another line down the way ..approaching...i wonder...should i cross this one too ..

P.S: While i surfed and pondered over a line...:P

At Sea

The weekend had arrived. A group of friends were heading to Pune. Another friend was already doing the preliminary round at the countries most sought tourist spot, his eyes gazing over the white sands, smooth skins and across the blue ocean. The cute friend was on the way to the capital of the city. Another punter some where, I guess, was riding his bike making arrangements to drench his throat in a dry state.

So by noon I was swifting through the streets of Bandra. Through the swarming people, under the billboards and on the road, cruising beside dreams homes of the celebrities, rich and the affluent and on the other side, the vast sea. Perhaps at that moment, it was the most perfect place I could reach too. And as I drove past the sea, billowing smoke, with gushing winds caressing the hairs and swiping the sweat from the face, I realized the sea was always there for me. I was at sea.

And while I was sitting at the sea side coffee shop, I saw a young girl pass-by with blue striped sleeve less tank top which hugged her seductively curvaceous body and frilled skirt over her toned legs. And the whiff of the perfume while she passed was enough for me to forget that it was AIDs awareness day. But I was at sea and I had music somewhere within me. So I smiled and she smiled in return. And for a while, the smile was so seductively inviting that would put the devils head to rest.

And when I gazed over the Arabian sea for some food for thought, I realized that for this while, I had no need for any nourishment. It’s a lonely planet and I was busy dreaming to sail at the sea.

Snapshot 2007

For a long time, I have believed that the beginning of new year is nothing but an innocuous increment of single digit.. And it was now long past new year night, while I got my spirits high over drinking spree with a young legend, listening to retro music from Beatles, Elvis, Jim Morrison, mesmerized with husky voice of Arooj Aftab and drifting to the gray shades, I realized that it is not as simple. Life never is. And as I tried to see through this prism, the incremental shift of one digit seemed like cruising 365 long days and long nights with scattered flashes of memorable moments in varied colors splattered over the wall. Some would fade and some would last for a long time to come. I guess, as I look back over the year, that the shades which I witnessed around me are one that are going to go a long way in my life.

So with the passing of the year 07, one might ask what was special over the year. Well, if I am to sight remarkable achievements to quantify and qualify the time I lived through, then I have none. Apart from the much needed possession of portable music stored onto the revered iPod, I did not gather any thing that’s worth boasting off. Of course I bought books I could brag about but then they merely are honoring the book-shelve much to the discontent of my conscious. And with that I have this confusion, where does the hard-hard earned money go. As for now, I should stop bothering myself much over it, for it’s a perennial question that haunts our survival forever.

I have not grown professionally to garner for my self certificates of achievements and likes of it.

With that I guess, if I would permit someone to look objectively there is nothing to be found of significance in 2007 in my life. Money, Success, Woman, Home, nothing. That just chills my spine.

But putting that aside ,if I were to justify what I have been doing all through the year, I can only give weird experiences and accounts of events I enjoyed. That’s what life’s supposed to be actually, but off-course…. dreams. And looking back I can tell that all the while I have been a spectator to this world around me, ..this peculiar and spectacular world around me.

I remember today about the last new year for 2006. Straight out of the flight on my way to home from Ahmedabad, I got down near the wine shop and grabbed beer can and waited on road side grasping the city preparing for the night. Since that day through this year I have been outdoors just observing. And I observed this while I was stoned Yes may be that’s what I have been doing without forming any judgments. And I cherished watching moments of joy, tribulations and triumphs in lives around me. So if it was from having been generously gifted with the presence of a Roger Water concert for me or watching the Scorpions Humanity tour in the company of people who shared the respect for moments enormity in which wishes come true, I have no complaints. And I remember the nights stolen from clutches of parental concerns, lying over the wet rocks behind Sea-Rock overlooking the sea on dark night, with guitar jamming with rocking waves whence for once I felt a free man. And I remember those evening nights when sitting over the wall near the bandra creek- over looking Worli sky line and its streets glowing under the neon street light …standing over its own reflection. For me, I had my own share of stupid silly adventures. I remember my first blind date wooed over internet and ended up at the Hawaian Shack, over drinks and a India Pakistan 20/20 finals. I wish she would call back so I thank her for a memorable evening and may be make up for hurting honest sentiments. And I remember someone telling me about a punter who driven for passion for a night, ended up getting caught by the disguised lady police. And we laughed over the misadventures. We always laughed at misadventures, that is a joy of youth. Fortunately he bought his freedom. Money buys free will.

And over this year, I saw changes happening around me. I began to keenly observe the smooth transition from carefree youth slowly gearing up to a responsible adult. I recollect the cute friend dressed as a bride. I remember my friend calling up and telling his encounters of his soon to be fiancé. I remember a friend calling from outside beauty saloon while he waited for his wife. Over his year many wickets went down, it felt like standing in a huge big marriage ceremony and I could listen to matured parlance I was till now unaware about. I saw a long suffering friend finding a ray of light at the end of the tunnel and still suffering with the trauma that comes to a pondering traveler at cross roads of life. Many questions and quest still remain to be conquered in the time to come, but this year, Life’s roller coaster ride came with full throttle and I for one see it unfold in its mesmerizing vagaries. But, I must confess, it blossomed this year to find a matured sweetness as in the writings of Twain, Chekov and the likes, all of which I rediscovered this year and these implored me to keep going and keep sifting my sight from one image to another.

All I can tell by the end, is that , I guess over this year I was high all the time and I mean literally. And I cruised over the roads, into the streets, the dungeons, pubs and discos, I flew into the skies and surfed over the waves rising high over Bandra rocks. And it was like a dam of emotions, which broke over me, and the thundering glory of youth fell viciously thrilling the senses. And may be it will take me some time to come back to my senses and welcome 2008. So over 2007 I felt so much, so many mesmerizing images and by the end I felt nothing. And may be in 2008 standing in the midst of white snow capped mountains and cedar trees, with the chilling wind blowing over my face that I would again feel thrilled with my interpretation of success which has started increasing thriving on coming in close proximity of fearless and liberated soul.

All this was I guess was possible it was all in this city, Bombay, aptly called Meri Jaan. For the best of my days after college have been spent here and in this year, where in people came and people passed by and in this year I cannot resist to express my affection which has no boundaries for this city which offered so much to me. So, Whether this city transforms to Shanghai or not, for it progresses or not…I do not care much. I have now got what’s termed as un-conditional love for the city . I love this city for what it was, for what is and for one time I can confidently say for what it will be..coz..it accepted me the way I and showered the best of what it had to offer my fortunate soul. Whenever I have plunged into the city, from the expressway or a touch down of flight, it always took me unto its arms, putting all the restlessness at ease with familiarity of home. And its been a truly magnificent experience as I saw the whole world in Bombay and from Bombay, which redefined meaning to the word love.

So I realized over this year, and tonight, that, wherever I might remain in this world or where our destines land each other, this is one city for which I’ll retain an affection unfound in words. Even if its for the universal necessity to cling on to something, then I’ll choose to cling on to something that for me was a true joy ride and shimmering reflection of life in all quarters comprised of the best of all you wonderful people.

Fragile dreams

The shinning eyes and
perked lips
The softness of voice
and your touch
A longing in the eyes,
for the tears,
A Clown bows
to welcome his fears.

Night, it lit,
with winking stars
Trying to soothe,
the bleeding scar
In search of flight,
it was a speedy drive.
Over the barren lands,
travels an stifled cry.

Your figure seated beside,
In the grief of the night,
I saw shadows hide.
The color of polish over the nails
Diamond pendants, golden chains
Quivering lips
And lisping sighs.

Children stuck in silly play
Lonely eyes and rapture of beauty
Echoing laughter
over wind swept hay.

I try to forget and
I try to remember,
Innocent smiles
and warm whispers.
A choked heart
With fear and joy
Murmurs a litany.
Silent prayer
to somewhere, some unknown.
For forgone dreams
and lit up sweet home.

Flowers of ablution
Over joy
and sweet pain
Few for the fragile dreams
broken in the rains.

Such a long journey

By Harish Mohan

(For the uninitiated, Thane is a suburb on the outskirts of Mumbai, and about 40 kms from Mahim.)

Happiness is a strange thing. The more you try to chase it, the more elusive it seems. But I guess its real beauty lies in the fact that you can only feel it when it reaches you, not the other way around.

My watch read 11:30 as I managed to just about have a glimpse of the time in the quiet lulling night, sitting on the steps at Mahim Beach. The splendor of the city shone in its stillness for a change, as an unfinished bridge blocked the full moon, shinning down upon the waters which were doing a little dance of their own. I have always looked at Mahim Beach as the common man's beach. Sure, Marine Drive graces like a queen resting in her shade of purple, and Juhu beach is the place where a man feels alone, in the swarming sea of humanity. But the stretch of Mahim Beach upto Worli is the sea of absolute stillness, lending an ear to every man who seeks his daily solace. I can't help but overlook the young married couple, while the husband murmurs in a loud tone, enough for everybody around to hear, about his successes in life and the wife looks on with a forced awe, probably out of her necessary captivity to fate. The man with a ragged look, the grey moustache and the checked shirt is silent, looking endlessly at the moon. The middle aged man has heavy wrinkles, as he prepares for his customary 20 min sojourn, while sitting on the beach, before he catches the last local and boards home to find a house to run. The rag pickers play around with the shells, with the large shiny ones being stuffed in their enormous ragbags, probably the biggest prize they will ever own, one that they would probably sleep the cold night on the roads with and impressions of crowning glory in their dreams.

With these thoughts in my mind, I boarded a taxi to take another expedition of its own sorts, as I prepared to catch the 1 hour train taking me across the city while showcasing a million little journeys in itself.

Getting down at Matunga station is a nightmare of sorts for those who always know where the next road leads. In the midst of total darkness, I shuffle, with skepticisms to guide me initially, only to be replaced by a total elation at finding myself with nowhere to go and just walking in the tunnel. The slow , idyllic walk is stopped with a mind numbing sight. A crippled mother , of about hardly 4'5 in height with disheveled hair, was combing her daughter's hair, just about matching her as she stood. The mother looked with eyes of promise at her beautiful young child and as I passed by in absolute numbness, somewhere I could hear the mother say to her "You are going to be beautiful someday, my child". I suddenly realize that I have to rush and run, whereby I just about manage to catch the last local and to my amusement, I find the compartment empty.

It is boarded, not surprisingly, by people from all walks of life, all bound by the two things that drive the city today, circumstance and necessity. At the entrance of the carpet, is a nearly naked old man, with strands of unkempt white hair laid out bare, as he sleeps like a child never wanting to wake up. Three old men, with their namaaz caps on, look towards the sky from their windows, murmuring their prayer, presumably. Despite enough places to sit, I go across to a group of people who stand to take in the unique Mumbai winds.

The Mumbai Winds. Sharp and cool at the same time, refreshing to some, a necessity to others. I watch a man, wearing the what is now common sight of a neat white sleeved shirt with two buttons open. He is old and haggard, with a bead in his hand and he is mumbling his prayers too. That is what has driven Mumbai despite suffering from 3 bomb blasts and every evil that has been inflicted to it till date, the NEED TO SURVIVE. Irrespective of faith and sensibilities, every man in this city is fighting to survive. Some in the maddening rush of their lives, and some in their own actions. And having lived 2 years in the city now, I have come to peace with such an act.

As the stations arrive one by one, I realize that this compartment is full of cripples and 'differently abled' people as this is the compartment of handicapped. I would have loved to say that I actually did not feel out of place, but the truth is, the only thing that i felt there was the feeling of dwarf ness. I felt like a midget before their spirit to live and to fight. The stations rushed by and gave me the once again familiar sight of apartment after apartment as I entered the suburbs, and the urban chaos around them.

As I finish my 45 min walk, with music in my ears as an accomplice during this journey of rediscovering life, I realize that every man has his own story to tell and his fortune to weave. And this journey that they undertake in their lives is a far greater battle than the one which I had just experienced.

Harish Mohan

Bright Side of the moon

Candidly speaking, birthday parties usually have not been with much jubilation for me. I must secretly confess that I have found attending or celebrating those a bit discomforting. And I must say, I have never walked the extra mile to dissect this eccentricity, until today. I realize that this is primarily because often I have got invited to birthday celebrations of persons I have been least acquainted with. I have noticed many a times, that as a matter of courtesy or may be norms of social networking, people get invited to places where one silently feels completely out of place. And in spite of the awkwardness of standing aloof in the midst of a celebration a with the plate in hand, smiling and greeting unknown but familiar faces, I have attended most of them. I do not know as to why do people have to put with something like this. For the rich I guess its networking, business, politics, wine, dine and women. Money, I guess teaches one to socialize. I guess that’s how it is between the rich and affluent. Though that’s only wild guess as my familiarity with that social circuit is limited. As for the general category of simple, humble, generous and jealous, I guess its sheer out of courteous respect for the invitation itself. As for me I put up with such social gathering purely in hope for great food and to devour the ornate visual delight. And by gods grace, relished both on rare but memorable moments. Secretly I have desired for soothing drinks to be a part of all such functions and sadly come to realization that it is still consider a taboo. Unless the functions of catholic or Sardar. But often I have gotten around with that impediment too. It is shameless is a pre requisite to squeeze joy from certain occasions.

But, then that is about me, sharing the celebration of people I know by face and not necessarily by deeds. Overall such parties just come and go with the residue of images of ladies that were not to be. But then its entirely different when it is with the closed ones. Till date those celebrations amongst a close knit circle have remained modest and occasionally marked by grandeur submerged in river of alcohol and great food. And of course these instilled like caressing touch of feather over memories.

Such was the case with a birthday party this Sunday. It was unplanned, with no balloons, no iced cakes and indeed of course no gifts. But of course a common present from all the invitees for the birthday boy. Invites?lets say just a bunch of guys who knew that they had to bump into each other some where in the noon. From the flexibility of venue and timing, to the expectations narrowed to zilch, marked this day.

For some reason, I knew I had to buy a cheap, but censored gift to kick start my home coming to the party. So bang in the noon I took a taxi ride and traveled over the sea’s to the tambourine woman and played my role. On the other side of the town two guys were lurking the street s of Bandra, looking for the single most luxurious gift that would imbibe the day the neat corners of memories. Obviously it was unintentional and unexpected but it turned out to be something that dipped the moments into flavors.

From the gentle howl of the friends calling us from the dimly lit room, I knew the party had begun. And then I eyed the valued gift for the day which supposedly has its righteous place in the cauldrons of the rich, gently resting on the humble floor. And even as it laid itself on dusty floor, it seemed very much at its graceful best with soothing welcome warmth around it. Perhaps it could also sense the feeling of belonging with the audience.

It was nothing less but the delight of Jack Daniels itself- the brand, the vogue, the statement for the moment. The most wonderful sight was the shine in the lascivious eyes of pride and greed to savor exotic smoothness on the palate. I noticed the rascals had inaugurated the beauty just a short while before our arrival, but of course, that was expected and I’ve learn to overcome jealousy. Nevertheless, soon we all watched the sweet poison drip over the ice cubes. Tumbling and tossing over ice cubes. As as I gasped the sight of rising cold misty fumes from the ice I could empathize its arousal by viscous ness of a première whisky. And as I lay there learning the definition of exquisite class, we all raised toast to Jack Daniels and Ambrishh Singh.

We celebrated the day barely two pegs as each individuals share of luxury. But I am sure we felt content, glad. And gently the chilled drink provided the much need warmth for hearts. Soon few bites of biryani were devoured from single plate with recollection days of brother hood running in back ground. And while savoring each sip of whisky, the conversations drifted from the good, the bad and the ugly in the world, to the sweet dreams behind the private eyes of the birthday boy. Over all it was a light hearted affair. And for a while as we played music, we all got lost in the moment. The soft numbers played, the eyes got closed, sometimes the plectrum played on the strings and sometimes hands rose up and fingers played over scales of piano in empty air.

And while I lay there I had thought about the cherished birthdays from the past and approaching birth days. And about many such celebrations that are lined up in the passing year and in the early season of the new year. Over the coming months many people will take new adventures, and I hoped all such celebrations are a light-hearted affair, some marked in grandeur of luxury and some with serene humility. I wish, all such days would be joyous with food, drinks and the ladies, all in sync with the music. And more of such days shall keep coming and bring in new dawn as to make them a celebration of life itself for the moment. And I sincerely wished they are lined up with Jack Daniels dripping the moments in culmination of desires blended with grace and pride and the perfect harmony of senses and music.