Reality Bites. Real Hard.

XI


Mood: Devastated
Colour: Gray
Song: No Woman, No Cry (Bob Marley)




I knew it was the truth.

The undeniable truth.

In fact, it was the reality.
The kind that makes sure that you know when it passes you by.

The tipping point of the scale.
The scale between us and them.
The winners and the also-rans
The haves and the have-nots.
The patricians and the plebeians.

I had known it all along.
I knew it was what made the difference.
It was the great divide.

Yet, it I had never really felt it, or been touched by it.
I had very conveniently pushed it to the back of my mind and daftly hoped that it didn’t matter.
Just because she had never specifically mentioned it.
And so I presumed it did not matter.

But it did matter.
I had known that too.
And that had been pushed into the darkness somewhere with equal convenience.
Ironic that the most trivial of incidences got it out into the open.

It cut like a knife.
Hurt with the force of a million shrapnels tearing through your soul.
And it kept haunting me like a searchlight probing my dilated eyes, as if it was searching for the reason why I chose to ignore it so long.

I had been an idiot.
I was paying for it.
Tearfully, tragically.
Every moment of my waking hour.



Mood: Numb
Colour: Ashen
Song: Cuts Like A Knife (Bryan Adams)

Little Miss Sunshine

X


Mood: Reflective
Colour: Purple
Song: I Saw Her Standing There (The Beatles)




I can never forget the first time she looked at me and smiled.

She was standing there with a furrowed expression on her face pondering over the repercussions of the overcast sky, when suddenly a breath of life seemed to pass through her and she smiled.

It wasn't as if its was a picture perfect moment or anything. Nor was it as beautiful as paradise. It was in fact the most drab and dreary of settings. An overcast sky, two strangers and the hustle-bustle of a city arrogant to its seams.

Yet there was that undefinable something about the way she looked that very unforgettable moment, and more pertinently the exquisite manner in which her sights lingered on me which I shall never be able to set off from even the deepest throes of my remembrance ever in my life.

And then she smiled. And life became so much more worth living. A pure, precious and precocious smile. Tender and gladdening. Soothing and comforting. There was that wholesome angelic glimmer which makes one stop and cherish the experience of being alive and looking. And the innate warmth that comes from the feeling of being at home. Surreal, but nice. Very very nice.

If only it wasn't so momentary. If only there was more from where that came from. If only life wasn't so cruel to take away the immensely joyuous feeling just when it started to sink in. If only...


Mood: Lost
Colour: Black
Song: Afterglow (INXS)

Verbatim

To M...
Edgar Allan Poe, 1830

O! I care not that my earthly lot
Hath little of Earth in it,
That years of love have been forgot
In the fever of a minute:

I heed not that the desolate
Are happier, sweet, than I,
But that you meddle with my fate
Who am a passer by.

It is not that my founts of bliss
Are gushing- strange! with tears-
Or that the thrill of a single kiss
Hath palsied many years-

'Tis not that the flowers of twenty springs
Which have wither'd as they rose
Lie dead on my heart-strings
With the weight of an age of snows.

Not that the grass- O! may it thrive!
On my grave is growing or grown-
But that, while I am dead yet alive
I cannot be, lady, alone

-----------------------------------------

Dedicated to Ashok - A friend, philosopher and guide, for leading me unto light.

Wanderlust In Wyoming

XI


Mood: Mesmerised
Colour: Ochre
Song: Blowin' In The Wind (Bob Dylan)



What is it exactly about the black throes cast by a setting sun against a vividly coloured splash of sky, masking the settings in a surreal outline verily contrasting the bleak albeit resoundingly monotonic foreground with the brilliantly vivid and almost fluid background which sets the stage for a spellbinding theatre where nature holds stage day after day without fail, that tugs at the deepest strings of a man’s heart and makes him feel the incessant urge to give up all trivial pursuits simply for the sake of bearing witness to this incredible sonata inundating all your senses simply by virtue of its visual feast.

Welcome to Wyoming, I guess.



Mood: Nomadic
Colour: Blue
Song: Fortunate Son (Creedence Clearwater Revival)

Reality Continues To Ruin My Life

X


Mood: Mindfucked
Colour: Tan
Song: Imagine (John Lennon)


Again. And yet again.

I see people all around me, real people, going about their life with such abandon and zestfulness as if there is no tomorrow and I can’t help but chuckle at the fickleness of it all.

No. There’s nothing wrong with them. And neither have I been through hell and heaven that I can philosophize on the futility of this material world and it innumerable trappings.

It’s just that I can’t reconcile myself with the vagaries of this existence. I feel, profoundly at times, that I can see through this chimera. This whole infinitesimal state of being which we so happily possess and revel in - a state which we foolishly assume to be timeless and constant. It’s altogether another matter that I see all this only when I have time on my hands, like now for instance, which is ironic because it is this very time which renders our existence meaningless.

It just takes a few hours of nothingness to transcend me into this nightmarish reverie. (Yes. I do not want to believe that reality can be this bad!) I tread through the barren, marshy landscapes of my weakest moments, when I was so near to giving it all up, and am effortlessly swamped by the tidal wave of realization which just makes me question the meaninglessness of it all.

Firstly, the most basic ones.

Why this entire existence? When millions die every day for some reason or the other is there any rationale behind an existence which is entirely governed by chance? Does God play dice after all?

What is the reason for this mindless sustenance? What am I doing? Am I doing anything in the first place? Is anybody else? Even if someone apparently is, what difference does it make to my life? Or to anybody else’s life for that matter? People have lived and died for the last 2 million years. And will continue to do so for the next few years too. How many of them have mattered to this entire planet? Isn’t the entire deal of contributing to humanity limited by the collective memory of humanity itself? Don’t we continue to delude ourselves that somehow we are very important to this human race and its future for some reason is entirely dependent on us? Isn’t every generation made to feel that way? And doesn’t every generation live its life and go away only to be replaced by another babbling bunch of indoctrinated humans who are made to feel responsible for everything happening around them?

Who, or what, am I walking the walk for? Everyone, without exception, whom I know will die one day. So will I. So even if I somehow make myself believe that I am trudging along for someone or, in the worst case, for myself then is it all worth it? I mean when I know we all have a shelf life then why bother? From a materialistic point of view, if I knew that an object is perishable then would I really care about it that much? Don’t we delude ourselves by believing - that somehow whatever we have or possess, including relationships, ties or memories for that matter, is eternal – only to be tormented when that very thing that we considered perpetual ends up not living up to our expectation of it?

What is my purpose? Is there a purpose for each and every one of us? What happens to the purpose of those who are killed at birth or die unborn or are aborted? Or for that matter those who are born with some deformity – be it mental or physical or social? Or those who remain cut off from civilization as we see it – like the people of the ‘lost tribes’? People whom we conveniently term inhuman/cannibals because nobody instructed them to stop eating other humans much long after we stopped doing so. Or those who remain illiterate throughout their life. Is literacy such a big deal? How does it help in improving your life? What about people who came and went before literacy became a measuring tool? Can one choose not be literate and go about his life? Do poor people have a purpose? Does poverty or riches determine purpose of life? Is our purpose improving ‘the quality of our life’? Does ‘quality of life’ augur happiness? Do achievements augur happiness? Is happiness the purpose of this existence? Or is it something else?

Even if I assume that these questions are the ramblings of a deliquescent mind and that they somehow make some sense, or their making or not making sense does not really matter to me, then I am confronted with a further set of questions and doubts.

What do I want to be in life? Do I really need to be something in my life? Is everybody somebody? Even if I am supposed to be something, would I rather be what people/society expects me to be or what I want to be? Does either matter?

Why am I constantly supposed to do well in whatever I do? Isn’t it a physical impossibility? I mean if everybody is supposed to do well then who does badly? Isn’t 'well' relative and wholly dependent on someone doing badly? Is there disgrace in being that someone who is ultimately the benchmark for everyone else? Is he not serving a greater cause? Is doing well serving any cause?

Why should I be expected to tread the beaten path? Was the beaten path always beaten? Wasn’t somebody the first to tread it? Why can’t I be such a somebody? Why can’t I live life on my terms?

Why have expectations?

Why are we always expected to ‘move on’ seamlessly as if nothing happened? Do memories tantamount to nothing? Why is the inability to move on taken as such a disability? How do people ‘move on’? Are they differently equipped or enabled? Or are they inferior in the emotional department? What makes someone emotional? Are there different kinds of emotion involved in being attached in the first place and in remaining attached later? Isn’t attached just attached? Why is it good in the beginning and terrible later? If it’s that bad a deal and memories are expected to have a shelf life then isn’t the whole deal about relationships such a farce? Doesn’t it just vindicate my entire monologue about the fickleness of life and everything that is part of it?

Why is innocence so short lived? Why is shrewdness so highly regarded? Why are always expected to go higher and higher in everything that we do? How long can one run from good to better to best? When will we ever be satisfied? Are we ever satisfied? Are we supposed to be satisfied? What about the hunger-in-the-belly then? Why should we always take the turn which is more financially rewarding? Is money satisfying? Money is necessary but is it also the sufficient condition for life?

Does God really help those who stand and wait? Do we choose our destiny? What about those whose destiny is snatched away from them? Or those whose destiny is sold off? Why should we just live out ‘our destiny’? Should we follow what people deem to be right for us? Who decides what is right or wrong? How can we give up our decision making to someone else? Should we believe in people at all?

Why should I have a religion? When I don’t get to choose what religion I want then why should religion matter at all? Even I have the choice to change my religion, do I really need a religion in the first place? How does having a particular religion make any difference to my life? Does it make me more or less human? More or less fortunate? More or less talented? Who invented religion? For what purpose? Peace of mind? So that we could hate others in its name? So that we could indoctrinate generations to come in its name? so that we could fight wars in its name? To connect with God? Did God ask us to first have a unique name to connect with him? Does he really want us to connect with him? Does religion really help us to connect with him? Again what about the uneducated, the uninitiated, the uncivilized? Don’t they need to connect with God? Is connecting with God the sole responsibility of educated, civilized humans? What if somebody doesn’t have a religion? Does he lose out on something in life? Or for that matter does the follower of one religion have more fun than the follower of some other religion? And how does one follow a religion? By having a peculiar name? A peculiar dress? Or by just adhering to a banal, archaic set of tenets and preachings which are antiquated to say the least. Or by following inane practices and rituals which for some equally inane reason did not follow the Law of Origin of Species and the Law of Natural Selection.

Too many questions. Too few convincing answers.


Mood: Scatterbrained
Colour: Crimson
Song: Dream On (Aerosmith)

Memories Of Midnight

VIII

Mood: Bored
Colour: Gold
Song: The Departed Tango (Howard Shore)


Isn’t it quaint how we come across people who seemingly seem to be so like what we want to be and actually end up inspiring us but then leave leaving behind just a whiff of their endearing presence - something we foolishly and melancholically hold on to in the dear hope that that person couldn’t possibly have meant so much and left behind so little in the limited space and time that they happened to share with us and make a difference to - and in the process we just allude ourselves to the surreal experience called expectations which are nothing but a bunch of gut wrenching mental complications which we ceaselessly subject ourselves to in light of the same aforementioned irony that we choose to make a faithful companion through the even bigger gut wrenching experience called life, thereby constantly adding extra baggage as we go on from one place to another and from one person to another till we reach a stage that all this becomes so seemingly insurmountable for us that only seemingly explicable way out for someone who has been through this entire life changing travail and who wants to retain a respectable iota of sensibility and purpose in this abyss of depravity is to sit down and try and make some sense of all the nonsense that he has subjected himself to, just because of one seemingly meaningful and ultimately worthless person who he just happened to cross path with and who for no/every fault of themselves ended up mutating his life for eternity, and write a protracted and prolonged epiphany as a thinly veiled metaphor for the kind of no-full-stops life that he has led and which had to be curtailed because of the chanceless and timely entrance of that one person who was to bend the path of his river of life and in doing so give him the chance to take a detour through hell and back so that he too could experience the kind of impact a timely intervention by fate can have on a previously eventless landscape which was bleak to say the least and perhaps that provided the perfect setting for such a dastardly drama of life to unfold in its ethereal glory and subject its singular audience to the vagaries of the inhabited sphere with consummate ease and conduct a bitter sweet symphony whose every individual strain would transcend time and brain cell destruction to leap forth and present a concerto in attendance every time a train of thought would happen to haplessly venture in its godforsaken direction and serve a painfully lingering reminder of that one interjection in an otherwise fluid and grammatically prudent transcript of his life and leave with no choice but to reign in his expectations after years of aimless vacillation and put forth a treatise on the jobless and timeless existence of a tale of no consequence at as unearthly an hour as the dead of the night which by a remarkable conjecture of nature was almost the time when the experience has begun and then led forth by the maelstrom in his tormented mind let loose the sequence of spasmodic sentences which in spite of not making much sense hopefully do subject the reader to the same anguish and despair which the protagonist had seemingly happened to traverse through for a reportedly mysterious part of his life and simultaneously give a differential reading experience brought about not just by the obvious repeated references to an incoherent episode but also by the forced lack of a full stop in an otherwise seamlessly fluid discourse.


Mood: Still Bored
Colour: Black
Song: Comfortably Numb (Pink Floyd)

Opportunity's Bridesmaid

VII


Mood: Generous
Colour: Squeakish Orange
Song: You're So Vain (Carly Simon)


She wasn’t great. Or exceptional. Or even spellbinding.
Neither could she be classified as way above average.
Or anywhere near that either.
She was just about readable or mediocre, depending on whether you are in a generous mood or not.

She writes.
As phenomenally, perhaps, as the guy/girl sitting next to you in a half decent course in a somewhat decent college.
On a literary scale, it would barely register a hit.
She has never ever written up a storm. Nor have her writings brought about a revolution in Tahiti.
But for all she is worth, she is more famous than a million other people out there.

She was opportunity’s bridesmaid.
With destiny her cradle and fame her silver spoon.


Mood: Still Generous
Colour: Bright Orange
Song: Bang, Bang, My Baby Shot Me Down (Nancy Sinatra)