Monday, August 11, 2014

The Block

*** Found this in the recesses of the Drafts section. Can't even remember if it's I who wrote this... Anyway, off you go into the wild, little post. Happy New Year to anyone still foolish enough to check this space for updates ***

The number of times I have begun trying to put down a post has been more than ably matched by the number of times I discarded the same. Having been so far removed from this habit, I think it rather presumptuous on my part to label it a 'Writer's Block'. For someone who has not posted anything in over a year all claims to this rather tenuous label 'Writer' are long forsaken.

And still I come back desperate to say something and hopeful of being heard. Even if that which is inside is not shouting itself out. Even if all I have left to convey are dull silences.

"What are you thinking?"
"How can you think of nothing?!"
"It's a talent!"

And this is by now a running joke whose humorous aspect has long since run far away. And yet, I do think of nothing in the sense that I am thinking of nothingness filling my brain like ink and yet not assuming the tangible shape of a 'something'. Maybe I am thinking of 'something' disguised as 'nothing', held back only by my own lack of vocabulary for its expression 

To anyone who thinks I am drunk, depressed or desolate; things could not be further from the truth. I am content, work is good, travel is hectic, my needs meet my means halfway. And yet, the human in me wants more. More time, More downtime, More facetime...

And therein lies my dilemma - of not finding the time to express the nothingness in a more meaningful way.

Saturday, March 15, 2014

There is this one...

There is this scene in 'Fight Club', where the insomniac protagonist attends some sort of meditation/empowerment session, and the guide asks everyone to close their eyes and visualize their power animal, followed by their power word. For some reason, Edward Norton sees a Penguin, and hears the word 'Slide'. 

There is this one moment in our life, when something simple like a butterfly's wing flap alters the entire course of our story. 

There is this one visitor, who speaks of one experience that makes us realize the value of everything we hold and everything we don't. 

There is this one written work, which makes us pause and reveals a new meaning every time we read it.

There is this one act of kindness, that makes us forget all differences and act selflessly.

There is this one person, in whom you find your mirror. 

Donnie Darko in 'Donnie Darko' sees a man-sized bunny, who says nothing, but some-how constantly reminds him of a greater purpose, or bigger responsibility ~ To restore the time-space continuum.

Which is that one moment, when you finally say "I have arrived"?

Which is that ground you can call home? 

Which is that one thing, other than yourself that you trust more?

What power does it give you, to know that, you have finally imprinted your existence?

How does it feel to look at yourself through someone else's eyes? 

Quite often, its difficult to zero in on an exact moment when we tipped over. Its a slow gradual change, which grows within us un-noticed or intentionally. Nevertheless, its a difficult excercise to repeat or explain or teach some one else how we exactly went through it. This is when 'memories can be trecherous'. We selectively remember what our brain wishes to remember. 

There is this one experience, where no single element of it needs alteration. 

There is this one event, where just being present makes all the difference.

There is this one conversation, where just being silent conveys all that is to be said. 

There is this one journey, where the journey itself is all that matters and not the destination.

There is this one challenge, which will tax all that you are composed of and bring out a new you.

Not every discovery is made amidst war, adversity or necessity. Some of them, do gently mist down upon us quietly in silent moments of tranquility and recollection.

There is this one story, which you can write one  whole day, and still come back and write some more.......

Hoping to come back and write some more....

Tuesday, February 04, 2014


This dense land calms me
with its long narrow walking lanes,
hard soil with coarse trees
and the feel of my father’s steps

In that plot on my right I could see
joys of communal farming, places
where toddy fell on the ground and
the little smiles around that patch

I forget the harsh sounds that
echo in my years of my father’s name
being called by kids half his age
stripped naked without a respectful tail

I forget the mounts that my mother climbed
and insults she took while hungry and tired
with me in her belly and mind
and her futile dreams of happiness and light

And I measure each sound here, each breath
in this land, study the dead bodies and
the live ones. To learn the secret of the beasts
who raped this paradise of warmth