Random Ravings

Images floating in dreams. A barking dog outside the window. That bit of greenery in a concrete jungle. The fallen tender mangoes. The smell of ginger tea. The invisible coherence that each of these images make is difficult to convey through words. Or am I a bad writer? Have words abandoned me? Poetry evades me. Words  flashes in front of me before I grasp the meaning. As I try to put them in order, they change the meaning by themselves. Together they mean something else. Something that I had never intended to convey. They deceive me. A life full of words. Spoken here and there. Never to be put together for the fear of being misunderstood. If only you could see what I see, I too would have abandoned these words.

The Hungry Tide

"...home is wherever I can brew a pot of good tea", says Nilima. In myriad ways, the novel unfolds itself to each soul. You find bits and pieces of you through out; sometimes even the whole of you. You identify yourself with Nilima. When she asks Kanai, "...the dreamers have everyone to speak for them. But those who are patient, those who try to be strong, who try to build things - no one ever sees any poetry in that, do they?". With Piya. When she says, "They just laughed when they heard my story. They had all been through something similar. It was as if what I had been through wasn't even my own story - just a script we were all doomed to live out." With Moyna. When you realize how well she understood the art of translation, persuasion, speaking for someone else. "Because words are just air, Kanai-babu. When the wind blows on the water, you see ripples and waves, but the real river lies beneath, unseen and unheard. You can't blow on the waters surface from below Kanai-babu. Only someone who is outside can do that, someone like you." With Kusum. The one who knew what she wanted and what to do. Sometimes with all of them. You feel at home among these women. Among the nature, among the Orcaella. In the river, in the wind, in the sun. You feel the river in you, the wind in you, the sun in you. Home is wherever one can find herself, as this book is for me. It was as if the book had given me what life could not. An assurance. An assurance that even your insignificant journey will be locked up there in the stars; that you are a part of the cosmos. An assurance that at last someone will be home.

"There are some nights when
sleep plays coy,
aloof and disdainful.
And all the wiles
that I employ to win
its service to my side
are useless as wounded pride,
and much more painful."

Today is one of those nights and here I am, burning the midnight oil to write something that has the fate to be a dull prose. This night has neither the beauty of poetry nor the mystery of any fiction. It is plain, silent and staring-into-the-eyes. It makes me wonder what life is to me; what this living moment means to me; about the worth of every deep-short breath. 

All of us need some love. Someone to understand us; to understand why we are the way we are. Above all to give some love, some happiness, some warmth to those around. If we all knew how to show some consideration to our fellow beings, wouldn't it have been easier to live here? Why do we judge people so much? Why do we accuse them without even listening to them? Why don't we talk to them, make them understand what is wrong-if at all there is anything wrong- instead of blaming them? Why are we so keen on proving ourselves every now and then? 

You think that you are a mess? Yes, you are a mess. Admit it. Understand that everyone around you is one. Talk about it. Get out of it. Can't you handle what is happening in your life? It's not just you. There are many. Take your time. Go through it. Get some help. Come out of it. Whatever it is, it's not worth taking your life. You mean a lot to others. 

Why do we refuse to learn?!!!

A fragmented me. Thoughts, memories, anxieties, hope. They make me who I am. It's all very simple. A fragmented vision of some poet. That's me. Was that so narcissistic? Oh, I am smiling!
 :-)

:-)

There is nothing as perfect as a genuine smile. You might not be perfect. You might not be the perfect personification of what I deem to be perfect. But if you can make me smile, even in this misery, that means a lot. I would be grateful to the stars if this Joycean Epiphany lasts a little longer than usual. So that I can be happy; be happy in my own little ways. :-)

The Grim Fairy Tale!

Just another night. Her hair was still wet. The evening rain was beautiful. She did not want to wipe it off. Her feet were still sticky. The spilled ice cream has a different taste now, she thought. She was humming the last song she heard. She was trying to recall the lyrics. She was in a daze. She was thinking about the kids she met on her way. Their eyes. How bright were they! She choked. She swallowed. She tried to sleep. She hugged the pillow. She slept.

Always! But Why?

That pain in your eyes, when you try hard not to cry. That lump in your throat when you try hard not to speak. After all this time? One may ask. And, always, you say. There comes a moment when you lose your hold on everything, everything that you yet managed to ignore, everything that you yet managed to hide. After all this time? You may ask yourself. And, always, you say. And you still don't know why!