xor eax, eax

Change the world or go home !!

To you…


There are memories I have, which are vague and fleeting. They cut me as much as they sew the emotions in. I live in nostalgia of what could have never existed. I failed to register it in the same light though. My memories don’t inhabit the same thoughts as yours. Its an unimaginable feeling. Perhaps I have fallen in love and I know no language to express it well. I am dumbfounded. I am numb. Once upon a time, I had so many things to say. Now I have nothing to say to you. Just like you have nothing to say to me. Yet I want to say some things but words are a foreign entity to me, and stories I weave are certainly not defaulting to what we used to talk about and the way we used to.

Call it anxiety or despair. Call it love or things far from love. Call it whatever. It is as intriguing and as disturbing at the same time. Blurry thoughts. Deep brreaths. Light. Darkness. All prevail. It is like there are some aspects of light from the window, that I do not really understand. And not understanding it, well, haunts me.

Quiet often I choose to take a long walk or a nap under the trees or a drive by the fast lanes in the company of incongruous silence. Still it stays. I have been reduced to a thing that only thinks about you; and do so in the quiet human desperate way. Last night I could not sleep till four in the morning. It is absurd the way I love you.

Work is busy and demanding and I am crammed up with ideas all day, yet I cannot seem to dislodge the visions of the way you would smile at me sometimes. It tumbles and violates all the necessary, makes way for itself fairly arrogantly and stays there as if it is its own territory, as if you have a claim. Then everyday, seamlessly, in many countless ways, I convince myself of ourselves and then sack the idea into the pit. Why cant we pack all of this and tame it into some kind of happiness we can together live? It is odd. This stubborn independence we all subscribe to. It strips us of love and leaves everything futile, mundane and inadequate. My wall is down; guards low and it is crazy that now, I don’t  even resent it.

Words here are shrieking in pain, yet I do not intend to share any of it with you. No more. Nothing more.

a world of words


In the recent past, I have been reading a lot. From behavioral economics to design patterns. From historical texts to speculative fiction. From abstraction of objects in software to the beauty of expression in poetries. From humor to the craving need for relationships. From crazy status messages to sensible artifacts that determine the crucible of civilizations. And as I read through these, I have questions. So many unanswered questions. Without much of avenues where I can seek the right answers to these questions. Possibly, I am wasting my time. Or perhaps not, because sometimes it appears as if I am about to have some kind of a eureka moment where I will be able to explain myself the cause and effect of all the things that happen. Something dignified, meaningful and simple to understand. Interestingly, the way we experience our world is pretty much driven by the kind of ideas that fill our minds. I thought reading will help.

Reading helps us clear our mental pipes but we need to also understand that it primes certain kind of behavior out of us in such a way that the air of spontaneity which we experience is sometimes entirely fabricated. This is true of any pre-conditioned experience. Call it associative activation triggered by the most recent and strong impressions of experiences one might have had in the recent times, or call it an automatic search for causality done by the human mind. It is more or less also about the cognitive ease that helps the situation fit in. It could be organic. Or it could primed. There are of course other unexamined nostrums, I am yet to discover. I believe my approach is more of that of an existentialist, than of anything defined by a label, a definition, a role or any other stereotype of whether theology or culture or society as a whole. I determine my being by my own values and consciousness than any preconceived category of essence. Therefore my reading and my findings are an amiable affair. Perhaps also a charming one, but certainly not goal-driven. In simple terms, in a way, you can call me a loner who loves doing things alone and all over again. Perchance, I am again starting to enjoy my solitude.

Recently, I found this newly formed Sanskrit foundation, who are striving to promote Sanskrit as a spoken language. The language is so structured, coherent and dates back to the early vedic era which inclines me to learn it. In fact I volunteered for it too. However, there is a catch. They are goal driven. While I want to learn it, I also do not want to compromise on the existentialist approach of enjoying it with some kind of task and goal orientation. I do not want to associate with it just because there is a need to keep it intact. To help it survive. I ll be dishonest, if I say that is true. My drive is more about valued independence and self reliance. The delicious sarcasm is that you can label that too as some kind of a drive. Well, then so be it.

The same goes about poetry. I found a group of poetry enthusiasts who are fun to listen to, and interact with, but at the same time, they too seemed to be driven by some kind of goal, of pushing and publishing their work; perhaps to derive some commercial value out of it. Or may be just some sense of satisfaction by the fan following. I have encountered this kind of a drive in such groups before, at least twice in the past and have managed to stay away from it. May be it is sheer madness but may be it is not. What about the absolute joy of writing? What happens to that? And a joy of reading that precedes it. Doesn’t that get compromised once you know, you are no longer writing to appease and express yourself but for enthusing others. That discourse is certainly debatable.

Here is another crazy thought. Our resonance and bias with certain said, unsaid traditions lead us to temptation. It infiltrates our actions and intentions. Is that freedom? Is joy freedom? Or is it some kind of illusion. I do not know. I am looking for answers. I have been looking for them since long. Quietly. Secretly. Perhaps it is just about the richness of interaction. Nothing more. It doesn’t provide any kind of incisiveness or profundity. It is some kind of illusion of validity that we all want to conform to. Is that true for all? Or is that also an individualistic notion that precisely I carry with me. I am yet to figure.

Anyway, I am enjoying the perplexed notions. As a next step, I think, I need some sane opposites to measure the chaos. If you have a frame of reference, do you have something to offer?

a collector’s drive


Reading can be so much. And the conversations that follow are even better. I am going through a phase, where ideas are occurring to me in bunches and I am sometimes flummoxed which one to choose and follow, and which one to leave for later. And they are in so much variety with its anchor in the soil ploughing a sense of intelligence, knowledge and experience in me.Whether it is technical, flawsophical, behavioral, emotional, ethical or something else, each of it has a dimension of its own where it is binds the unbound as a collection. So perhaps, I realize I am more of a collector. I collect as many gems as I can. Experience various forms of expression; whether is poetry, prose, painting or plain talk. Just like a kid would collect sea-shells on a shore. He has no idea as to what would he do with it later. The joy of collection is such. The joy of exploration is such. I wish to enjoy it while it lasts.

story of a tree


This is a story of a tree that I see every morning, from the porch while entering my office. This tree is my friend. I have spent countless number of moments with this tree; while talking to the clients; speaking to my sister in US; talking to my best friends about life and every big and small incident that is happening around almost on a daily basis; and many more such stories. While I talk to people on phone, I would run up the stairs to the terrace and be around this tree; play with its leaves; the green ones, the texture of which would be soft and green with strands; I would run my fingers alongside its tips and edges of each of the leaves, that would flock in kind of clusters, grouped together as if having some gossip of their own. The tree was a big one. Our office is on the second floor, and this tree is almost four stories tall. I remember so many other occasions where while i would talk, I would crumble some of the grey leaves that would have fallen from the tree. I would collect them, crush them into a bal and feel the meshy wool like splurge of those leaves; all of them invested and dried out. Doing this is synonymous to one of those habits where people sketch while talking on phone. It would be just a random doodle. Something like that. Perhaps feeling those those brown and grey dried left outs, in the twiddles of my fingers, would help me clear my thoughts a little more. Perhaps it is some kind of a catalyst. And while doing so it would not result in aberration of thoughts but clarity; not dispassion or loss of focus but in fact some rare kind of meditation you can say. I would just help me think. I remember sitting on the edged border of the terrace, beside the approach of the tree’s branches; sometimes making talks that do no matter, quiet often discussing nothings of our life, sometimes some hilarious incident that might have happened, and at times just sitting there without a reason, numb and heart broken; and some times just a small break from work; or may to just to see the sun set, or the aero-planes flying into the twilight, towards the moon. Those not so important moments of our day to day life. Those which seem so important and lively when you actually live them.

I have been in this company for around 3 years now which means the tree and I have been friends for the last three years. In fact to be honest it doesn’t seem that we have been together for so long. I am certain of the fact that I loved the best of my times with the tree when may be it was not its best; when it would shed its leaves and be like barren but in no more than three days or so; the leaves would come back; new and browinsh green. And every spring when this would happen I would recall the last year’s moment and say to myself – “Oh! hold on… Didnt this just happen some days ago?” Time flies fast. And in those fast flying times of life, the tree taught me a lot of lessons. I have had a lot of introspection and self actualization in the company of this tree. In fact I had recently written about it in one of my blog posts.

….And this is a new addition – seeing the leaves grow greener by the day. In fact there is this tree; tall tree; that one can see from the terrace of my office. I realize every spring when the tree’s leaves go brown, crumble, then fall; and then new delicate leaves appear; get greener by the day, and stronger.. All of this happens in no more than 2 day’s span. Whenever that happens, its like a the memory I d like to keep. Treasure. It is kind of rejuvenating and every year, when it happens, it occurs to me as if it had happened just a couple of days ago. It is SO beautiful to watch! It perhaps also resonates with our idea of life. How our mind is like a sieve and if we don’t let the ideas flow, they get stale and corrupt.. corrupting the sieve itself.. So it important to let the the fluid flow out of the sieve, so that fresh ones can fill it again.. This change is only natural and should be welcome to sustain the sieve… Much like the tree which sheds its leaves; all its companions that stayed with him through all kinds of seasons; good and bad; wither away in no time. All of them who also provided for the tree, bore fruits, made it look beautiful and content; they crumble, fall and die.. Or perhaps start a new journey… Be someone’s bookmark. Or may be just fade in the dust. Be nobody. Get lost in the crowd. The tree however continues to grow.. Make new leaves… Find new companions.. those get greener by the day.. And the cycle continues.


On Wednesday morning, when I reached office and I had to take a call, I moved out like I usually would and then I remember, I saw the tree was not there and I kind of got upset; I kept the call and went up the terrace to see what had happened to the tree. Did it fall down? Did the rain and thunder take it away? It was no longer there. They had cut it down. It was gone. I felt numb. I came down. Tried to forget about it and resume my work. Such things happen. So I attended and held meetings all day and then it was time to go home. I waited till the dark and then left for home. And however much it sounds silly to you, when I actually reached home, I wanted to write to the tree and cry a tear for it. I was sad for the tree. I was missing it. I have lost some friends with abrupt exits in life recently. Perhaps that was God’s way of teaching me that exits are important and do happen and there is not much we can do about it. This was no less a blow; but I did nothing of that sort to capture my thoughts or pay any homage to the tree, or even keep a silent pause in memory of the tree. Trees fall. They re cut down. I just didn’t want to think about it.

I went to the office again on Thursday and felt the same kind of void. When I came home, I struck a conversation with my cousin and we were conversing on how things change; how people grow up and grow apart; how our priorities change; how we are ready to sacrifice things in pursuit of some other ambitions without even a pause or a squeak. We are lost in our pursuits. It all turns and appears stale and meaningless sometimes. We want our dear people around. Our family, friends, partner – everybody per se, but we give up on all of them and later in small bits and moments here and there, in our helter skelter way of thoughts, also pine for them. Be nostalgic about them. But do nothing much about it. The whole thought of it that nothing will last, got me some shivering goosebumps; a fear appeared from nowhere and gripped me tight. A fear of losing what we have today. In fact I gave up my pretense and messaged my bestest ever buddy, that it would be nice to hear her voice for once. Its been long. We have had our complains with each other and we have had our feeling of guilt, yet no dialogue between us seems to clean it up. Anyway, she called in the afternoon today and I went upstairs as I usually would. I had kind of forgotten about the tree at that moment. I was glad she called but then I realized something was amiss. Yes. It was the companion who never complained of anything. The tree. It was not there. It was missing. And a lot of other things; unimportant things accompanied it.

The call got over. I came down. There was not much of work to do today. Or perhaps, I was not in a mood to work. I came home. Ate some nonsense. Yes there is pretty much of it to gulp around these days, figuratively. And when I was just lying down. I could not resist the temptation to get up, open my laptop and write about the tree. I wish it was still there. I wish this exit had never happened.

I miss you. Come back. Can you? Won’t you.


Wanted to write something dark and in Hindi. Started typing and this is what I came up with. I am posting it here, for the only reason that it gets archived.

vismit.. stabdh
niyantrit vivek hai ye
ya aatur
soch ka ghera

uss ashwa ki tarah
tha main..
na chhatra ki chah thi
na hi sapnon ka chalawa

na koi sankalp hi
bandh saka tha usse..
na koi saaz
na saadhan.
na hosh..
fir tum mili..
apne paash me,
jakad liya tumne..

din guzre..
samay beeta.
ek maksad dia tumne,
jeene ka..
hansne ka..
aur kuch bahane bhi
bevakoofi bhare bahane,
rone ke

ek darr bhi to dia
jo paaya tha
usse khone ka

dhadhakti aag si
ek chingari bhi dii..
ko disha dii..
sunsaan ko
shor diya,,
aur khamoshi ko
chitkaar bhi
pehchaan bhi dii
khud ki.. khud ko..
apnapan bhi..
ehsaas bhi..
itne saare sapne,
aur kavach,
sirf apne pyar ka

shesh bacha
hi kya tha..
aas dii tumne
aur aakhir me
niraasha bhi

aatur mann
chatpatata sochta hai
kabhi kabhi…
aabhari hoon tumhara

avgat hoon ab khudse..

pata nahi fir bhi
mrit ko zindagi dii tumne
ya zindagi ko maut.

bujhi raakh
ke kuch vileen avshesh
jinse shayad
abhi bhi
judi hai zindagi
kabhi main tatolta hoon
kabhi woh mujhe

uss ek dhoondhli yaad
ke kuch jale
bhoole bisre avshesh
kuch agyat rahasya
wah do paatra
aur ek chingari
jiski sulag me aaj bhi
kuch arthheen shabd
atake huye hon

O ashwa!
tu kahan hai.
kahan hai tu?
aatur aahat
main khoj
raha hoon tujhe
ab ye lukachhipi
ka khel
humse na hoga
laut aa
ab ghar jaane ka
mann ho chala hai!



The sun is long gone below the ridge lines… A moonless starry sky it is. I would fancy some rain here. That is like… Anytime!

Isn’t that a beautiful thought. A beautiful emotion!

Quoting Krauker.

“You are wrong if you think that joy emanates only…. from human relationships. God has placed it all around us… and all you have to do is reach out for it.”

- Jon Krauker, Into the wild.

Silence has its own music. I have had my encounters with it. Like Frazier puts it – “Verbs.. all of them are tiring..” Silence then is what i like most. So this silence today brought me to a pause, that made me think about the various things I enjoy in silence and solitude. So, I created me a random list. To my surprise, the list was long. Here it is.

I love the smell of books – old and new alike.. I love to see the twilight merge in the blue hour… Or perhaps staring into the infinity, absently in the distance, from on top of hill on an abandoned land… Climbing on top of a small cliff gives me a sense of achievement… Sitting on the jumbled rocks with my legs dipped in the running stream gives me peace.. Standing in the ocean when the sand underneath slips away gives me a high…

I love driving through a jungle like terrain to a place leading nowhere..To see the water riffle and then ripple; when I throw stones at the river to kiss its bed several times.

And this is a new addition – seeing the leaves grow greener by the day. In fact there is this tree; tall tree; that one can see from the terrace of my office. I realize every spring when the tree’s leaves go brown, crumble, then fall; and then new delicate leaves appear; get greener by the day, and stronger.. All of this happens in no more than 2 day’s span. Whenever that happens, its like a the memory I d like to keep. Treasure. It is kind of rejuvenating and every year, when it happens, it occurs to me as if it had happened just a couple of days ago. It is SO beautiful to watch!

It perhaps also resonates with our idea of life. How our mind is like a sieve and if we don’t let the ideas flow, they get stale and corrupt.. corrupting the sieve itself.. So it important to let the the fluid flow out of the sieve, so that fresh ones can fill it again.. This change is only natural and should be welcome to sustain the sieve… Much like the tree which sheds its leaves; all its companions that stayed with him through all kinds of seasons; good and bad; wither away in no time. All of them who also provided for the tree, bore fruits, made it look beautiful and content; they crumble, fall and die.. Or perhaps start a new journey… Be someone’s bookmark. Or may be just fade in the dust. Be nobody. Get lost in the crowd. The tree however continues to grow.. Make new leaves… Find new companions.. those get greener by the day.. And the cycle continues.

No matter how short lived, it is important to claim your space. Light your world. Celebrate. Live…and then.. May be write…

In words of Frazier – “A good day is a page, may be a page and a half.

So see you soon again. Till then let “joy” be your companion.


A resolution


No body knows what became of him. He neither. A lot had changed. What exactly did trigger it, is difficult to comprehend and figure out. Would it help if he had set a trail so that he could be found later?


(Disclaimer: This post is likely to be a conversation with self. As a reader you might not have insight about a lot of things am talking about. Also, in some places you might find me jumping topics like cliffs. So yes may be this is an incessant blabber.)


I wish to reason with simplicity. Entangled in the imperfections of true interests of man. Is it attention, companionship or more. Exercising the solitude for a romantic individual outlines a perfect base for either melancholy or exultation. Some treat this as conniving truth with a more steeper definition. Some connect it with the idea of inaction. That thought led me to look deep inside and debate – Which of that is true?

I now intend to write of every now and then, till things become as they should be. I will write of injury, of pain and of joy around. I d write of small incidents and big ones. Till am certain, as to who I am as an individual; and I hope towards the forward journey, I will come in close confrontation with self. This story will not be of a desperate futile effort to survive, but more. It will neither be a plea nor a call for help. It wil be more of a journal. An odyssey in itself. A trail. How it lures me again to identify patterns and observe; while most of what I wanted some days ago was to run away from it. Not know more than is needed to live it.

I dont recall why I stopped writing. But I did and I do not recall all of the events that happened and led to this. So far so long I was possessed by the quietness of the wild. Or was I just plain shy to accept me. Silence is considered as calm; but silence is at the same time mute. And at instances not needed. Is this one of them? I do not know. It is true that I miss intelligent companionship or in fact even companionship. But life has taught me a lesson and I have learned to contain myself. I have learned the value of royal exits. I have also learned that in the humdrum of life no matter what you do, you may as well be misinterpreted. So to say, I have known too much of the patterns of life and living, yet still I fall. Yet again I fail. Not to miss, I would parlay anything to avoid an anticlimax like this. I do not know how it will help. Yet I am led to believe that is the perhaps the right thing to do. To write.

The idea of freedom


Freedom is not worth having if it does not connote freedom to err.
- Mahatma Gandhi

However, freedom to err does not mean that you err on purpose. :P

So, what is the idea of freedom for a common man? And what does it actually mean?

These are some of the questions that got triggered by a mail that arrived in my box this morning. This mail was from Nimue, an avid blogger who i know for years now. She invited perspectives and opinions on the idea of freedom and belief in a character; fictional or real; that impresses oneself towards the idea of freedom or someone who you feel needs it more than anyone else.

For me these translated to a series of thoughts; freedom as a liberty to someone who has it by birth and freedom for those who earned it in their lives. After having read, observed and analysed both the kind, i feel that the idea of freedom, requires more introspection. I found a huge difference in the beliefs of the two.

The idea of freedom to a common man today is fairly limited, in terms of expression and freewill. It is freedom from suppressed notions and oppression.

You would argue the aforesaid to be true and I don’t disagree. However let me pose a scenario for you. In older days, when there was monarchy. A king would mean to be one of the freest individual of his expression, desire and freewill. However is his idea of freedom untouched by the conspiring courtiers, manipulated truths, flattery and endless whispers of lies in his surroundings? Is he actually free? I fear that is not the case. A person in his position of manifested absolute freedom, usually would find himself in a truth that he wants to see and the lies that he wants to believe in. Unless he is observant and aware enough of his doings for the subjects and is able to freely execute his plans for the greater good of his people, he is not free. He is free only if he is devoid of conspiracies and practice of unscrupulous tactics around him and still is able to do what he wants. And so I believe there have been an approach to grow them into philosopher kings; so that he is free of temptation and greed, lies and materialism; while at the same time is strong and driven enough to take charge of situations for his subjects which translates to free of fear. Freedom is taking the higher ground to look over others, not to command them or attack them, but to lead them to greater good. Freedom, in that sense I find very liberating.

Now about a common man. When I look around, I often see freedom observed among people, in a similar exploited sense. I see it as craving for immense power. Atmosphere of distrust. Antipathy. Organized propaganda. And greed. Lured into temptations, these have started to impress the mind freed from moral servility. Thus I believe, freedom that is aspirant to better external conditions; keeping aside the moral values and human dignity, is more of a kind of slavery to the unjust and irrational. It is not freedom in the truer sense. Or may be it is just freedom for an individual not to the whole as a society, and that in my opinion is more about freewill and less about freedom. Common men would almost always argue how their freedom is driven not by them but by the society they live in and mostly the society would make them curb on certain things, thoughts and ideas. My response to them is your freedom is less driven by external forces and more by your internal ones, if you choose to take charge, you are free. Else, you are no more than a weakling and a weakling is not free in his spirit, let alone anything otherwise.

Whatever freedom is today to man, it has become feeble and at the same time merely a thing of the external circumstances. Why I say so has a reason to believe that freedom in itself should also be free from the devious channels of unctuous hypocrisy, lies and human indignity. The society as a whole is plagued with false hopes and fear led by manufactured panics; much of the conspiracies plotted as an organized lie to manipulate the people as instruments tuned to power games and economic gains. With all the flattery and praise around for power, popularity and sometimes led by mere notions to get recognized, freedom is no longer a device for self-actualization. It is curtailed. Diminished to the infinity. Rock bottom you can say. Freedom should not just be of individual but of a society that he is a part of. Isnt this more of a gorgeous glamorous prison of unreality? Or has unreality become our reality?

With my reservations and fear of sounding pessimistic to you, I have to grind teeth to some harsh truths. People are flattered to believe that they are free, they live in a sovereign nation and have the freedom to choose, express and enjoy their apparent liberty. However little do they know that their thoughts are fashioned, crafted and aligned to the organized interest of those who want to lead. Their opinions as well are part of insinuation of lies; much more artificial and verily exploited, tied to the commercial and economic driven ideas of the capitalists. We choose to close our eyes to the injustice and inhumane that is prevalent and all around us. Whether it is an outcome of terror or choice is not the real question. The question is to the cruel coward that is sheltering happily in our minds. People have become morally incapable, ruthless and inhuman. Is this the idea of freedom we want to believe in? The eagerness to curry favor from those in power and to be in those positions has become the goal of a common man. This perpetual anxiety and the protection of personal gains at the cost of love of freedom and readiness to forgo liberty and justice for all is sometimes more than disheartening to see. Yet we do the same to others when we steer the lead.

Freedom, thus I believe is also liberation in the spiritual context that is also just, to the idea of a society than only to some individual. It is not just an idea of free expression. Nor is it only political freedom or freedom to do what you want. Freedom provides us the opportunity to attain enlightenment of soul. In the bigger picture that leads to comprehensive social and cultural growth, apart from the self actualization and self illuminance. This truth I find in the belief Mahatma had for freedom. And so did Gurudev.

Finally, let me leave you with some of the quotes about the idea of freedom.

“Violent means will give violent freedom. That would be a menace to the world and to India herself.”
- Mahatma Gandhi

“Freedom is never more than one generation away from extinction. We didn’t pass it to our children in the bloodstream. It must be fought for, protected, and handed on for them to do the same.”
- Ronald Reagan

“For to be free is not merely to cast off one’s chains, but to live in a way that respects and enhances the freedom of others.”
- Nelson Mandela

In pursuit of an answer


Have you had a dream lately? What was it about? Did you think about it?

These are some questions I asked me and here is what I came up with.

As a kid I often enjoyed my dreams. I believed and considered them to play a part somewhere in the real world that would matter. I believed that dreams somewhere provide us with the opportunity to re-live our past and influence our future in some ways. May be we could look at the possibilities in our life without a bias; live our fears and at the same expectations with uncertainties of how things may pan out. Much like what would happen in real life. Some of my dreams, now that I think of it, act as a checklist of where things can go wrong. Situations where we should be careful and pay heed to what can happen. And then there are some experiences that made me believe that Deja Vu is for real…And yet some dreams I pray should never ever come true. These are of gore, violence and shame.

Interestingly now that I realize, most often there was a pattern to how these dreams would start for me. It was no less glamourous or colorful than an exquisitely done pre-movie credits clip. Patches of different colours would sublime forming into circles, diffusing into one another, finally mixing into hues of dark bluish prussian tinge(much like it is in the blue hour) followed by stars and orbs creating beautiful patterns of dim twinkling light; sometimes gleam dark silhouettes of people turning to me with a gentle stare in the eye; much again like the starting credits of a movie. This is true, no matter how funny it may seem to you :O

Unexplained as it stands today why most of my dreams would suddenly merge into visions that still haunt me to date. Like this one. Kind of like ruins of an alley; decomposed with time, dark and dingy, kind of echoing strange murkiness leading into hallways, with staircase entrances with stairs on both sides and slide in the middle. These staircases would lead to big beautiful verandahs often leading to something like tower houses, usually found in all corners of a fort. The slide between those stairs strangely makes me believe were meant as water passage. God knows for what.

In other dreams, often flashbacks would lead me to scenes where am fighting on the move; sometimes with swords and other occasions with guns. Sometimes on a horseback in the ancient times and others much recently. Most of these I slay down as bogus as a result of my movie watching spree. Or may be this is what makes such movies interesting for me :P Don’t know which way it is. Or if it is both ways. According to some philosopher (that flawsopher is me :P ) our life and the direction we are headed usually banks or is result of three urges in human mind – the itch, the glitch, the switch. The itch is the wanna be desire, the craving that feeds the idea of a goal. The glitch is something that one faces when he/she pursues an itch. And the switch is denial of the pursued. This usually leads to another itch :P (You need to find an itch guard now :D Heheh. Kidding.)

So before we start, some background about me. I am a non violent person who would stay away from getting into fights as much as possible. So this is much of a contrast. And just to clarify, this is something that I dont want to be. I dont aspire to be. To be simply put there is no itch.

Yet here is the glitch in the “no itch”. :P (Ah! Difficult concept this is. Will take time for you to master :P )

Now on to the story.

I remember this part of a dream, where I had assassinated some Nazi General, who was shooting random people at will. While in this particular dream, I remember that i used a pistol to shoot him from on top of a building, I threw it away just after killing him knowing that I may need it again. His cry resulted in alerting the soldiers to come out of their garrison to secure the perimeter and alarming the bell indicating a high alert. Sensing that the alarm has gone off, I realized I had no escape and i took shelter in a school near by, where the children were made to sit, apparently guarded by some Nazis who were less bothered until the alarm went off. Soon we heard them talking that the soldiers were commanded to ask the group of children to appear before their commander. They were to stand in the school ground waiting for him to arrive. I am a reasonably tall man. Certainly taller than school kids. So, I was sweating with fear of getting caught and executed. (I dont remember what happened to me though.)


In one of the other dreams, I was part of such a troop myself(not Nazi though; and I don’t know which time this exactly was and which country). What I remember is that among the guys there would always be competition held(here is where the dream would start usually) where one could win a pack of cigarettes(I dont smoke either) and to be able to do that, one would require to accomplish a task that would actually give you run for your money. While these days offered some entertainment, other days most often would be tiresome and boring with not much to do. And then there were times that would give you a run for your life instead of money. The company would be ordered to cover grounds against the enemy fire, running right into them. The drill I felt, was a much rehearsed one – Fire and Move; which involves running towards the enemy in a straight line and then go flat on the ground, returning fire as cover fire for the next person who is supposed to gain some more ground. This would continue till we ve reached our milestone or till we have scared the enemy away or have them neutralized. While doing this, we often discussed how the words of our commandent echo in our ears like un-sweet symphony. Words often repeated during our briefing, would play like a background score, that none of us liked.

Something like – “The drill would end in three possibilities. If you dont run in straight line you d be dead. If you dont get down on the ground in time you d be dead. If you dont fire your weapon and cover your private you d be dead.”

To us, that meant there was a good chance we are going to die sooner or later. We were also told there is a good chance we ll encounter a rocky ground or a thorny bush if the drill is done as instructed. That did happen according to Murphy bastard. Everyone was determined to kill him if we found him. (I d feel this grudge against him, which is why I mentioned it here)

Murphy’s law states – “Anything that can go wrong will go wrong.”

This however, in all occasions is still better than getting killed so I always followed instructions word by word. Now, i never got killed, because I woke up every time.. but at the same time the pressure and fear of hanging by a thin thread of luck gives you much shivers and sweat than you could imagine. And I have lived it much like first hand. (Still unsure how this would feel in reality. And I do not want to know)


While I have often dreamt of heroic stories, there are also some funny ones that I never talk about, because I never wanted the objectification of a clown subjected to the audience with whom I d share such a story. Like in one of the dreams long long ago, (I was still a school going kid then) my report card gets eaten by a cow and my teacher wouldn’t believe and asks me to get the cow as witness.

Another story that was a milestone and I still cant stop laughing when I think of it.

I get to my school all dressed and when am half way through, I realize I forgot to wear my trousers :P Now this did give me shivers of shame as to how should i go back. :P All was good till I realized the mess I was in… (Hahah :D ) and when I woke up; O boy was it a relief!

Some of my encounters with people and places led me to understanding a lot things that I appreciate as of date and some that I still cant put a finger on it. One such story is…

As a kid I told my dad about a temple and a house(in a village) I had never visited in all my life. In fact didn’t even know about. This place is Nepal. We have some of our ancestral land there. When I described it to him, he was surprised yet he discounted this experience as just another story. I grew up and it so happened that I was in Nepal visiting some distant relatives after attending some wedding in Bihar.
This trip was an unplanned one. I had to accompany my grandfather to this place. When we reached this place, it was dark. We were offered our meals after which we went off to sleep. When I woke up, it was a beautiful morning. The air was chill and the place was serene. I decided to take a morning stroll. There was a door that led to the garden. I pushed the door open and I realized I have been here before. I had goosebumps. I had seen this place. I found the scenery familiar. When I found the temple, I was sure it was the place I had visited in my dream. I had lived this experience before.

When I came back I spoke to my dad. He then confirmed that he had an idea with what I had described to him, but couldn’t understand how could i possibly talk about this place when I didn’t even know it existed.


We all know about this. This is popularly referred to as Deja Vu. In other western societies this phenomena is known as OBE(Outer Bodily Experience still unexplained by modern science)

One of the feats that I most enjoy during these lucid dreams is to be able to fly. This is particularly interesting because this can be done in no matter what kind of dream I am in. The experience and visions manifested by the subconscious mind while doing this trick is incredibly liberating. It is a super fast way visiting places. Tele-porting is another trick I love to perform but it is not as fascinating as flying is :P

While most of what I shared above could be tagged as stories of subconscious mind playing the melody on a flute when it can, there are also stories that asks us to pause and question how possibly these continue to happen. How possibly these feel like making sense. Does all of it is nonsense? Or is there a story underneath that would be interesting to hear.

I don’t believe in religion. I don’t believe in God. I don’t believe in Evil. And there are other unexplained stories of my own that I dont subscribe to. Neither as a dream, nor as a reality. I wont mention them here.

However, time and again I do want to know what drives people to believe in spirits, God and Devil. I believe some of the unexplained stories that question the reality and science as we know it is what we attribute to these superstitions and beliefs. Dreams being a major part of it. Thus my reason to capture my experiences. Am sure there are other unexplained phenomenas other than dreams, that savages referred to as spirits and souls; intelligence that

“Does not know the bond of time
Nor wear the manacles of space”

These occurrences of hallucinations, clairvoyance, deja vu, hypnotism apart from others remain unexplained by science as opposed to others in the sense of dreams(work of conscious and unconscious mind), split personalities etc. that are explained to some extent.

Some of the experiences that we usually have could be well discounted as worthless, while some like aforesaid are universally accepted facts. I am now inclined to find the anthropological evidence as to how these experiences led men to believe in souls and spirits; which I believe could be the starting point of birth of the concept of religion. These spirits then must have been branded as good and evil; from good dreams and scary nightmares. People must have started worshipping what they were scared of – that is paganism; Sun God, Rain God etc. which led to idol worship later on as exaggeration of the same norm. By the anthropological evidence and history that we know of now, this led to the idea of supreme being – one God beating the idea of so many gods; which was difficult to understand and follow. These have finally led to the concept of spiritual gods these days; harnessing as much terror and politics and movement out of people as the movers desire.

When I started writing this post it was only about my silly dreams that I dont see so often anymore. Just to keep journal of whatever I remember of them; specially now that it has become rare. Most of these dreams just fade away as we wake up. While some of these dreams did repeat for me, I never saw them to the end. And realizing this at the very final instant every time when the dream was about to get over, I d sleep more just to see more of what will happen. It didn’t happen. Doesn’t work that way. I researched more to find that this is called lucid dreaming. (Am still digging as much as i can to find more and more about it.)

The idea of knowing about the history of religion and how it has managed to capture masses to drive them towards sanity and away from it to insanity, is much a paper for research. To me it is becoming a topic I d like to know more about. And the more and more I see and read about it, I believe people, politics and power play a huge part in this evolution. Be it Pagan worship, Christianity, Islam, Hinduism or Buddhism. Religion is either by product or crafted product of the needs of people; men and women, stronger and weaker, rich and poor alike. It is means of propagating masses to do or not do something; by ingraining a belief to not question its own existence. I on the contrary ask you to believe and lead a life that your people tell you to, till you are intelligent enough to validate, take care and question the need by virtue of which these rules should be enforced or dropped in your life to comply with.

The purpose of religion was to unite humanity, not to unite against humanity. Religion as we know it today, I believe, it unites less, divides more. Let us pause and think about it. Let us pause, and think like we think about our dreams in real and unreal worlds. Let us put evil aside. Let us jest with humor. Let us try to understand the unfathomable without superstition. Let us opine. Let us question.

(PS: Thank you for bearing with the typos and the grammatical errors that is very likely to have creeped in. I wrote it late in the night half dreaming and opining at the same time :P …plus I don’t have a proof reader :D )


O solemn beating heart;
To you I never speak.
Of moments churning out.
Or notions that I seek.

Jumbled thoughts that often roll;
In frank surrender of solitude.
Faint voice with blush that burns;
Why not in decisions you include?

Of pure muse I am a kin,
Those lift me fast and true.
Stretched out with open arms,
In shadows soft and hopes subdued.

Stealing colors from the sky,
I reach out for thy in pain.
You throb a lil in rhythm,
But lose count of it all again.

Arrested in your throb,
Oozing out of an uncut wound,
The rebellion gore now runs in vain,
Like a lover longs for moon.

The waves may sink and perish.
The ocean can scorch and dry.
But the answer we have to find
She and I cant happen WHY?

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