Two men and a movie

Movie about a real life scenario.

A: That’s really some art.

B:What?

A: Its an art to portray a life in such crafted manner. I say, nice movie, great talent.

B: Hmm. I see. Yup, great movie.

A: Don’t you think it’s a talent to make such a movie. Don’t you think, that it’s a skillful art.

B: I guess, that’s too much into it. It’s a nice plot, good acting, and innovative technicalities, refined nitty-gritty, formed into a nice movie.

A: Ok. What do all these people feel when the watch movie, some cry, some laugh, some even find inspiration, or dejection, some form opinions, dialogue on counter opinions. Isn’t it an art to stir a soul..if there is something within you, to stimulate ones senses.

B: yeah dude, that’s some talent. Brilliant skills. Ha!

A: Why is it that movies, music disturbs emotions or sensitizes a person. Isn’t that in a movie theater one discovers more human emotions than in reality ?. Is it that in isolation and darkness, one accepts the emotions which otherwise one is cautious about.

B: Whats up man?. Well, That’s the magic of movies and music.

A: You sound so cold, as though, you mean nothing changes in the world with such forms of creativity and dialogue, no inspiration to be taken from movies, no stories, no idols, no music…as though all that is a waste?

B: Its only magic dude, all this is a magic, it sounds like that , it feel s like magic, but those inspiration, desires and those heightened sensations ..that’s all temporary, fickle and impermanent ...a phase…and thee moral of the story: That’s all entertainment. And it too is an industry. So what’s food for thought for few, is bread-butter some and Of course, glamour, glitterati, and fame for others, some one like me. That’s the irony.

Whisper, into my ears

words of despair

tale of a parting lover

holding broken strands

stitching moments together

left for time to repair

my girl, its not a love song

he just told me, he doesn't care

my girl, its been long

long enough to feel you near

sing to me, touch my heart,

I don't remember, but a secret wish

to go cold, with a bleeding scar

they are for a reason,

he told me,

like lingering past,

Another sweet memory

my girl, just hold on

he told me, hes scared

my girl, he ain't coming along

letters on the floor now fly bare

Feather

So I set my imagination fly,
instructing left brain be free and high,
let the clouds burst wide open
And a feather float from the sky,
doesn't matter even if it takes a nose dive.

Swim for a moment in the stillness,
over this cold empty thin air.
Laugh and wish for those
who couldn't be here
fleeting colors in the crystal maze
like smiling moments in a heart ache.

let it sing through mist and hue,
for caressing cold breeze bathing you.
under silent starry night
float behind a longing stretched,
till the never ending deserted road
dance for a while in your fizzling tender mold

let it fly with your secrets,
a veiled beauty behind the fog.
to unknown prayer, before the flickering flame,
trying to rise above gravity,
for heart felt song.

Can you feel the pricking velveteen,
of the souls skin,
bordering the unconscious realms.
As the feather dips,
tracing beads over these strings
and smears itself into blue ink.

P.S Laying there in the bottle
into the soft stillness of the night
flying it drops
as lofty imagination sets to write.

A bizzare trail.Hmm.Maybe tale.

One late night, I was at the my seniors dorm room. Known as one of the most stingy rooms, with papers, books, wires, gadgets, shoes and toothpaste resting on floor. While, he was on one side of the cot, resting by his guitar. I was on the chair and in front of me, some how squeezed amongst the papers, pens, books, table lamp, speakers rested his laptop. The room was dimly lit and I was there listening to Pink Floyd blaring from the tape. So I clicked Ctrl-Alt-Delete and the screen prompted me the password. The slight beep, slightly awakened him and casually brought him to realization of another living presence in the room, apart from the cock roaches and lizards.

Me: “ What s the password? “.

He smiled and said, “ I’ll give you three clues. Take a guess.”

For a while I thought, rascals so freaky even in his sleep.

Him: “ It’s the first name of Indian Actress.”

( Pause )

Him: “ The world runs on it. “

( Pause )

Me: “ Hope ? “

He smiled.

I guess I was brilliant then. One of those moments when my self-esteem rocketed sky-high. And I must say, the trivia, that dimly lit night and the answer, has remained with me for a long time now, literally, like a haunting Blues Nightmare. The answer was right, but deep down still sounded incomplete.

So me and a close friend, one day harped on another concept while on our frivolous chatting sessions on net.

Me: “ Tell me what runs the world. “

( typing a reply )

Him: “ Hunger”

Me; “ Precisely”

Then again there was one destined evening, I was walking with a beautiful chick ( who I knew was going around with my friend). So there was cool breeze blowing and it was a wee bit romantic atmosphere and we were taking a brisk stroll.

As usual, I went ashtray with winds and started with my series of serious inquisitiviness for stupid questions and I went ahead asked her, as a matter of fact, “ Tell me, just like that, what do you think runs the world.”

She: Love.

Me: Don’t you think it’s a bit shallow. I thought it was hope and hunger.

She: Is it shallow?. I thought a lot got written and sung all to dig deeper into it. And in a broader sense there are many kinds of it and in some ways, I think Love constitutes both- hope and hunger.

Me: Yeah. May be. ( reflecting now, I think, women have this talent, of shaking up your confidence and an sweeping self confidence to silence any argument.)

Or, May be, sometimes I think, I could have missed out the story that could lie behind her eyes and her experience.

Then the other day, I was this little kid. We were sitting in a garden. She fiddling with some book and me watching over her shoulder. During our conversation, I asked her

Me: “ Okay, kiddo. Tell me what runs the world?”

She, looked at me puzzlingly, then contemplatively into her thoughts and I wondered about curiosity taking shape.

She: “ I don’t know. You tell.”

Me: “ Common. Take a guess “ ( half expecting reply of some silly science)

She: God, may be.

( Sighs. Kid?!. Silence).

So I glanced on the road side. There was this, old man, in soiled Dhoti and Kurta and by his side his wife, wrinkled and wearied. Both sat on the mat laid on the ground, squatted next to mud flower pots, statutes and other artifacts lined for sale. As the old man sat there relishing his bidi, I wondered the things that would be on his mind. May be he was not relishing his smoke, may be he was just smoking away his own worries of a daily wage, children’s future, away into the air. By him stood a carved beautiful statue of goddess. I must say he would have made efforts to make those elegant curves. Some would see hope, some an idol. For him it was something to fetch his living. I thought ah! Perceptions like statues of clay. May be god dwelled in faith itself and that’s why perhaps he asks faith out of us. So go not to house of lord, go to the house of faith, and you shall find God.

Alas, it kept coming back. As I said, the question remained like a blues nightmare, crawling into daily chores, every now and then. And one, day I was talking to this close colleague of mine. He’s sort of sporty, go-getter guy, straight out of his masters in business administration. Although I can say, a friendly guy to get along with.

During a casual chat, I asked him, “ Dude, what do you thing runs this world?”

He glanced up from the worksheet and starred at me and like empathizing with me, smilingly said,

“ Passion, Goal and for us most importantly- Targets.” ( Broad Smile)

( Silence)

Him: What?

Me ( with my smile): No. I was expecting you’d say, Petrol.

( Silence. Laughter)

Him: And in an election year, the words Power, bro. If you know, what it means.

( Long Silence)

Him laughingly: Am I missing something here?

Me: No, I was just thinking what happened to those three- Beauty, Dream and Desire!.

( Silence )

Him: Well I guess, they went out to find, ooh la la, Miss. Happiness, who used to sit beside, but I now hear, they rest in acquaintance with Mr. Sad.

And he winked at me. ( Laughter).

Brilliant I thought.

But I can tell you, the most close I came to finding the answer was with this guy I know. One, who’d be practically having zero emotional quotient and a superb IQ.

So on net, I quipped with him: “ Tell me man, what runs the world?”

Him: “What man!! . That’s an easy question man.”
Him: TESTOSTERONE

( Mad laughter on both sides )

And I thought, very close. Almost right.

Me: “ But wouldn’t that be under the subset of Love, Lust and Hunger”.

Him: “ Don’t disappoint me man. Every thing boils down to procreation. Its how civilizations survive. “

Me: Yeah. Very true. I had forgot about you. You dog!.

Him: That I am!.

For long I thought, may be that was right. Procreation. Essentially giving life to run the world. But not all sperms survive. Not all species make it. We are just superior to a few. Scientifically speaking. And some say, sex is over-rated.

And then the other evening I stood with this another guy chewing bubble gum and smoking cigrattes, standing at the bus stop. I told him this long trail for a silly answer.

Me; “ Yaar, what do you think ? “

Him: “ What ?”

Me: “ I mean you, know, What runs the world ? “

( Intense stare with a smile)

Him: “ Dude you are asking the wrong question!. Essentially, what do you do when the worlds running? “

Me: “ What ? “

Him: “ Run. We got to board this bus. “

( Laughter )

Him: I was thinking, you know.

Me: What?

Him:You don’t have to be worried. Even that bastard, Mr. Sad, managed, something best out of this world in those three.

Him: Beauty, Dream and Desire!

(Silence. Laughter)

Me: May be. And now the question is where the hells Miss Happiness?

( Laughter)

Him: At home, with Innocence and Ignorance, while Mr. Money is out on the streets sweating out.

(Silence)

Me: And what happened to Peace?

Him: Ah-ha, well, well…well… she’s sleeping with her Knowledge.

Me irritably: “ You’ve any idea what my question was ? “

Him: “ Look man essentially what you tell me, a lot of is a Fact. And as for the world, as the Gita says, its all an illusion.”

Me: “ Oh yeah, Fiction! “

Him: “ Yeah, a few Facts and Fictions”

( Silence )

And he gave his characteristic so true, Mad Laughter, for our mutually understood utter stupidities.

So, we both looked outside the bus window. For I guess completely a minute.

He turned, half looking at me and half looking outside the window, down at the people on the streets: “ And in case now, you’d be wondering what’s that distinguishes between fact and fiction, let me help you-Welcome to Reality”.

( Silence)

Him ( Chewing gum, chewing, chewing): Look man. Ah-hm. Life is simply like the good beautiful fiction, the bad part is we got to live with reality and we got to live with some ugly facts.

(Silence)

(Laughter. Mad Laughter.)

( A bizarre trail. Hm. May be tale )

Whispers: Life ?

Distant Whispers: “ Wake up. Tea.”

(Wife with a cup and saucer )

Of 2008 and 2009.

Every one on blogosphere , or even in this sphere of life, holds a desire to talk about the year that was. Well, I think I am no different. And when it comes to it , it is scary. For if I go back into the reflection of the year that went by, I wonder, it went by, and yet again with so much, that its difficult to put it in words. Well, may be it happens with every one, and each one feels or carries something good, bad, happy or sad, from one year to the other. In some way or the other it is special. But I guess, there are only a few in your lives, where in, you just don’t know what hit you. And you silently, or daringly, or lovingly, embrace the wind of change. And if you are some blues kind, perhaps, you can look into the future, not with any certainty, but with smile, and feel precisely the drift. Sometimes, with smile, sometimes, with momentary love for the past, sometimes, just like that, for a dream.

As for the moments that went by, for me. Hmm. Well, amazing. From the stand alone point of view, perhaps, I can only share, that what I have witnessed is nothing but meeting some destined fate. I am not the kind, who ever believed in it – fate and destiny and all that. Not that I have ever taken an extreme position against these words, in fact, I have never taken any extreme position. Still, in one way, I feel, sometimes, you get a knock on your head, and if you can add up the coincidences of events around you, one can feel, that the existence of hidden mystery that life is, sometimes sneaks at you teasingly. And at times it is difficult to distinguish between the smirk and a smile. You know to shy away and walk further ahead. For a while, I remained agape, for a while, I knew, that something is in store for each one. And that something, would come to you, one way or the other. Its just a matter of time. But the waiting is worth it, I guess. It is not often but I guess, some times, in waiting, lies the only hope; hope for the best things in life. Hope for things to fall in their places And may be all you need to do is flow in the stream and take care, not to topple over.

And of the year that passed by , I got married. To share about it, I can say it’s a big event in life. One, that comes with a pleasure and bewilderment for the change in atmosphere both outside and inside. Something that happens with any new change, first day at school, first time at college, first day at work and then for a while an era collapses on ,day of marriage and another journey begins. One in which new hopes are born, new dreams are sewed and hordes of castles are built in the mind (which itself feels to be in air). Lots of things happen for the first times and I will share only that, time passes like a ride on the magic carpet, all you need to be free and floating and in the right spirits.

Then there was my ( our ) glorious moment. For a long time, I had been thinking of going to the mountains. Many times, I rolled my plans but they all rolled off track into the abyss. But in this year, they trekked upwards till some 18000 ft. And in a way they elevated some confidence in having high hopes.

Gurudongmar Lake@17,000 ft - Yea !!

And then some how on my way, I stumbled upon this point.

On enquiry the significance of the point, the locals gave me varied interpretation:
Zero point is essentially zero point. Essentially a dead end.
Its a point, where the road ends. The adventure begins.

P.S : For those, in new dimensions of life and in year of great recession. Best of luck!. Best of hopes!. Whatever. Keep walking.

Swirling Red Wine

So I see into the depth of her eyes,

Like many of us lonely

seeking answers from time

And I sink deeper in the red of your wine

Standing far from you and still

drowning into the core of your darkness

for little joys and heavy pains

I desire the nakedness of your soul

Hidden truth of a bleeding heart, I harness.

Oh, many a lives play their silly cards

Betrayals, guilt and mystic true love

Unfound, still forever lasts,

Destiny smiles, as you slip the touch

One of hidden desires

you tried to hold so hard

Cup of Memories fills with moments

which you live and left behind, so far,

mingled with shine,

flowing from your eyes,

ones which moistened and

deserted forever,

the softness of lips parched,

heaving for burning moments which

died, unfinished, left ajar.

Till one night...

Its perfectly silent today, inside the room. The monsoon is somber and melancholy. But its different. The winds are blowing out and the crows are croaking far into the drenched trees. But inside the room, its only the sound of wheezing wind and its moist coldness over the skin. Pricking coldness and lovely sound of wind and me.

I am as sane as I’ve been of late. With not much drunken heaviness on my head, though there is a strong desperation for a smoke. Growing stronger by the minute. The eyelids are feeling light, not swollen and heavy, after a long time. Lighting up a cigarette in this wind, under the dark clouds, into its stillness, but I am resisting it. Knowing fully well, that I’ll give into the strong urge, sooner. Just that I am thinking about the perfect silent place where I can soak into my cigarette. Go to some place, smoke and some how think about this silence and stay in it. If nothing, just stare into its emptiness and stay in it.

What I remember of recently is the last weekend. It was sort of a little celebration for the new apartment into which three of the friends had moved in. Usually, whenever I’ve entered into their place there is this music. Not this time. I was told it was by the sea-side with a sea view from the balcony. Escorted by and behind Haria, I walk to the balcony, it was a dark evening and I could not see any sea. It was pitch dark to see anything but the road lit with street-light and the slums that line the beach side with the black tarpaulin.but I could hear her. For a second it felt I could hear her scream for me, but I could not figure out, was it angry, brooding, gloomy, or just as powerful as the amazon.

Soon we were stretching ourselves on the couch and started drinking. That’s usual, we drink when we meet. And we drink heavy when we all meet up. Mostly we drink, till the bottles are emptied. Then we smoke cigarettes. We smoke them all the time. Till the cigarette packets are emptied. Then some one drives into the night. Gets another bottle of whiskey and few packets of cigarettes. This night was no different I remember.

I guess there was a little difference that I can recollect now. It was mostly silent that night. Usually we play music in the back ground and we drink and we smoke. Soon the music gets louder. Sometimes it turns to a noise. Noise to cut us off from the thinking. Sometimes the music is noise to take us away into thoughts far away from the frustrating week long life of servitude, of boredom. Week long days where in we try to somehow contain the restlessness and manage to keep the spirits at some reasonable level. But into this night we had all decided not to play music right up our ears. It was played into a different room , with a soft number, just barely audible to hear and we started talking.

Every one could sense Chandra’s mood. His bearded face was unflinching clear about his frustration and angst with routine life. For reasons that he tells us he doesn’t know. For reasons I think he knows and each one in the room could feels. The answers he knows but chooses denial. We start talking. We talk gibberish. Things which are of little value to build a prosperous life. We talk shit, so I feel. But anyways, we light up cigarettes, fill whiskey into the plastic glasses, and we talk shit. We try to remember the good old college days, spent at the cemented platform under the tree. Comparing our present life to the college days. Remembering how each one enjoyed the aimless life that we led. As we speak of college into the subconscious we try to recollect and compare our school days to our college days. In school, when we all had purpose, single minded effort to a goal called college. When the world was limited to your goal and your success and the struggle to success. When we were in school we thought we were brilliant and consciously tried to enhance our efforts in direction of our goals. When we wanted to prove more. The energy levels were high. And compare college days where we effortlessly lost the identity earned in school days. Where in we appreciated the world around and remained agape with the diversity that lay in front. When we first started to cherish smoking, drinking, getting high on soft drugs and adventured with our lives. Never realizing about what lay in future. And now we reflect back up all of it and remember them and talk about it and ask questions. Irrelevant questions.

We talk shit. A lot of crap. And gulp all the drinks we have. Trying to ridicule the world or appreciate its diversity. Still trying to define the meaning of the word success. Only that now it is different. Its simply unclear. The desires, the needs and the wants. Desire for calmness inside ourselves, desire for dreams, desires for sexual cravings, desire for money, desire for happiness.

Then Haria spoke, “ There are no answers to such musings, that life”. He speaks it with so much ease that its puts to rest all the discussions. Sinking in the very feeling that its another of those aimless conversations and fruitless discussions about past, present, future and useless sentiments.

After exhaustion from all this talking, we just walked into the balcony. Drunk and exhausted we sit on the hairs, on the pavement. And stare into dark night. Over the road. Far away where the sea roars. Ambrishh tells me to watch the sea in the morning-it looks beautiful, as if he wants to see its vastness in that particular dark night and may be he could still see it into this eyes. We all lay there silently, occasionally talking something. Enquiring about friends. Ambrishh asks, “ How’s Pandey doing”. I tell him “ nothing much, haven’t spoken to him in couple of days”. The conversation ends. Then the silence dawns. We talk about how much none of us wants to go to work in the morning. Then the silence dawns again.

I do not know what they were thinking. I lay there and listen to roaring sea. The wind blows through the trees making wheezing sounds. The curtains blowing into the air, rising, rumbling. Its feels cold over the skin. Cold and silent. There is this amazing balance in the nature. The howling sea it tears apart the silence of the night, yet silence and coldness prevail. Like two opposites in perfect harmony and respect for each others might. Like silence whispers the strength of void clear to the winds. Like darkness breaths on the face of the light, silently proclaiming its omnipresence in the universe.
And we remain spectators.

It feels similar today. The wind roars, the silence of solitude prevails. There is this gentle feeling of depression that takes over. The pulse feels lower than usual. But I ‘ve started to enjoy it that way. I realize I like these useless conversations. I realize I enjoy this aimless drifting. I enjoy these cold howling winds in the monsoons. I like that balcony. I like the company of friends. I like us sitting around that center table, with plastic glasses, empty bottles, morsels of food, and the useless discussion. And I know, time will change, someday the table top will no longer be cluttered, but may be with a vase sitting on squeaky clean glass pane. And may be someday we would be standing behind glass window and pull the strings to open the Venetian blinds, look outside and want to walk away and escape into the night- reflecting.

Sometime I think, we all at our ages, realize, we all keep drifting away, leaving so much behind. Into our own choices. Into our individual destinies. Unconsciously, drifting like these winds, these times. Till one night…

P.S: Reflections in the blues tempo.