xor eax, eax

Change the world or go home !!

To you…

December3


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

August1

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

August1

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.

Vote

July21
Darkness
s..w..e..e..p..i..n..g
through the corners
of light,
consuming
me
in its might.

Dense.
vague.
like a plague
s l o w l y
through the end of days
wrecked feeling
in so many ways.

“Forgive me.. Forget me.”
- read the note.
Confusions only
it did promote.

I read it once.
I read it twice.
Speculating to change it
to something nice.

“Forgive me… Forget me.”
Four words you wrote.
I wonder how
what it does denote.

I wish it were
just the first two
followed by a phrase
- “I love you.”

Forgetting
is such a difficult task.
I wonder why
and how could you ask.

Yet I try and
do it everyday.
And each day I say
I shall do it today.

But…
“Forgive me.. Forget me.”
As I read the note
I foolishly hope
You’d change your vote.

posted under PunchBag | 1 Comment »

apratyashit veg

July20

vayu veg me,
lehrate
tumhare kesh..
tumhari aankhon
se tapakta
nirnay..
aur stabdh
apalak
tumhe dekhta main..

bhay, sanshay
samvedna hai,
ya aagrah
me choor
ye aankhen..

darti kyun ho tum?
main hoon.
rahoonga..
har mod par,
har pal
tumhare saath

chahe
fir woh
mujhe tumse
door karne
ka path
hi kyun na ho..

vaada hai tumse..
har kshan
tumhari har pukar
par aaoonga

na arth chahiye
mujhe, tumse
na vyakhya..
na aagrah
na utsaah
na klesh..

main hoon
tum ho
ek soch hai..
aur beete samay me
ek dhundla pratibimb
humare hone ka..
jiske na hone
ki ek sashakt
kaamna
kar rahi ho tum..

dukhi mann hai mera bhi
lekin usi me basi
ek hod bhi hai
ki ussi tanmayta se
woh karoon
jo chahti ho tum..

kaanp jaata hai man mera
dhadhak jaata hai dil bhi
soch kar
ye sach hai
ya koi daravana sapna

bhatakti likhawat me
jaane kyun
tumhara naam
likh jaata hoon
anaayas hi

kaisa samarpan hai ye
maun,
aur aatur bhi
khinn,
aur karunamay bhi
aahat,
aur jeevit bhi

kanth har pal
saansen tatolta hai
aur main
tumhari yaad.

samast chhod aaya tha main
ki tum akele na chhoot jaao
aur chhod gayi tum
hichke bina
ek pal bhi

jo tumhari aankhon me
tab dekha tha
woh satya hai..
ya jo ab dekhta hoon
Woh

kaho..
sunn raha hoon..
kaho..
sirf..
agar kuch kehna ho to
sunn raha hoon main.

ehsaas ki pratyancha
par khichi hui dor ho tum
aur main zehreele tarkash se
nikla hua teer
jisse na ab apne manzil ki sudh hai
no hone ka bodh
woh to bas nikal chala hai
talaash me
kisi anjaane ka dil cheerne
ya kadachit
anant me vileen hone ko hi.

posted under PunchBag | No Comments »

story of a tree

June15

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.

QUOTE
….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.

UNQUOTE

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.

ashwa-bandhu

May24
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
anamantrit
soch ka ghera

badmast…
bekhauf..
beparwah..
uss ashwa ki tarah
tha main..
jise,
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..
dishaheen
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
jisse
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
maano

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!

Write…

May6

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.

¯\(ツ)/¯

contentment

April23

Strange that we find contentment in not who we are, but who we are trying to be. Yes the former is limiting but isn’t that also capable of joy in small moments. I had a very friend who was perfect at handling me in everything. My small setbacks and not so small ones too. The best pal one can ever wish for. A godsend. She was so much in tune that all of it seemed almost effortless. Effortless to the extent that I would refer to as magical.And I would wonder what did I do to get such a friend. Was I just plain lucky. Or did I earn it. I was happy to have her around. And I hope it was the same for her.

Much later in the story, when she was struggling n crumbling with some tragedies in her life, she let it out that and I realized there was so much effort involved at her end, to make it seem “effortless” to me. She held back her anger, her disappointment. I don’t remember many occurrences but then I was not even aware of it, until lately, when the bridge came down. Now when I look at it, I really value that feeling, that person and those efforts. And I feel blessed, but more than that I feel guilty and irritated that I screwed up and I didn’t realize. I was unaware.

I am of a different kind. I make efforts but I also don’t hold things back. I am who I am and some times that costs me big time. I am as understanding or as rowdy or as jerk as I was. I hold no disguise. Thats perhaps also not right. May be I should. I am not sure but I cant seem to put up with the idea of sharing yourself without sharing who you actually are.

So do I make efforts? Yes I do. I did. Then why does it go wrong? Why aren’t we friends anymore. May be as two individuals we are different, but whatever it was, we did strike the right chords. The time we spent together was no less than good music. It was special. It is worth the effort to play it lifelong. It certainly was. And when that thought hits me, I feel left out, guilty, lonesome and angry.

Life becomes a small world if we don’t reach out for people and keep busy in the humdrum of our daily chores. I have done it to me. May be to punish me or teach me, or may be because I have lost my sense of focus and direction. This business, while it keeps us all engaged, when you actually look at it from a distance, there is not much ground we ‘ve covered. We re good at something and keep getting better or worse at that; while the time trickles away quickly and neatly. And whenever that thought occurs to me, I try to immerse into doing new things. Taking up new hobbies. Random excursions, small yet random things to surprise me; keep me hooked and engaged, but the issue with that is that I don’t seem to finish most of them. They seem low hanging fruits but they continue to just be where they are with not much movement. I pursue them in parallel and that makes me fickle minded. I am not dedicated to either of em. I do this and then that thinking I will love to see me accomplish it and the time passes by. I do accomplish some of them but most of them continue to be unfinished to-do lists. That brings me back to the same vicious circle, where I seek solace and contentment in not who I am but who I want to be.

I sometimes fear if my whole life will pass by doing just this, just like that. Just like that. When will this odyssey end. Will I ever find solace. Will I ever find a companion who would love me for who I am, and not for what I can become or who she would want me to be. Having said that, I know I would willingly accept the change, most of it, if not all. But certainly I don’t like that idea of a barter. I know am at loss but thats that and thats how it is. May be some day I ll learn.

Carthage

April19

Atop a small hill witnessing the sun set. I don’t know whether it was the urge to get away from things and schedule or whether it was to create one. May be it was just a grand scheme’s appeal to better the day up a notch. I took my car and drove into the jungle like terrain. Parked my car at a place among nowhere, surrounded by small cliff like structures. Feel like committing self to something absolute, whether life or truth or beauty, I have no clue. But a complete surrender to some higher purpose. We live a life of schedule and order and need. While at the same time I do not wish something extraordinary. In fact ordinary drives me as much towards itself. Ordinary is being lost in crowd. Its about being content with what is there. Does that kill the drive or is that another drive in itself. Like if I talk about this feeling I had today. Staring in to the infinity, absently in the distance; I don’t call it sad. Nor is it some kind of joy. It is perhaps some kind of an un-understood void. Or much like some kind of musical rivalry with the silence.

Have I become intensely private? Or am I just tight lipped. One thing is for sure I do not voice my opinions in the public. Is it because am not too sure of things. Is it because it is shallow? Or is it because I do not conform to the idea of acceptance. Or perhaps it is just a mask I am not ready to shed yet. What if I sound silly with those expressions? Does that bother me? Could be. Or may be the outlet is too narrow and does not suffice. Its a crusade on self. It is intrusion of ideas. It is fuzzy mixing of still incomplete truths, which only a disguise can confirm as well as contain. Curious fish!

Clear sky… Blurred eyesight… Twinge of twilight; merging in the blue hour in an abandoned place. Much needed respite. Now its time to go.

« Older Entries