In response to The Daily Post’s writing prompt: “Flangiprop!.”
All families have a nasty little habit of renaming things and people around them. We do it based on certain special characteristics of the thing or person. I’ve done some renaming myself. I call myself ‘SAM’, my wife ‘BACHCHA’ (meaning kiddo). I renamed my dog and he has plenty of names – ‘BOBO’, ‘DOMBU’, ‘BUCHU’, ‘DEEBO DAABO’, ‘SHREKA’, ‘OMBO’ when his actual name is Shrek.
So… I’ll assign the word ‘Flangiprop’ to my dog dancing with a hoop around his belly. Seems kind of funny… Think about it – Shrek rotating his belly with a hoop around it – ‘Flangiprop’.
The word in a sentence – I saw my dog ‘Flangipropping’ today!
In response to The Daily Post’s writing prompt: “Singular Sensation.”
How I wish someone of my taste reads everything I write and tries to know me better. He/She needn’t be a genius. Just a concerned, conforming and an inquisitive person.
I need someone who wants to understand and know the thoughts that occur in my head randomly. They needn’t have the ears but must have the eyes to see through to inside. Every gaze must acknowledge me. It’s not the approval I seek, just a conscious effort to calm a very anxious mind. The nerves that never settle, always need a calming influence. Someone who understands the sweaty palms and the floundering words. The eyes that fail to look into others eyes and the lips that fail to break into a smile.
I just wish for a voice to break into one of my dreams and foretell my path. One that balms every single hurt that pegs me back. Erases the memories of the people who’ve pretended to care for me, never did and never could… simply never had the time. One that makes me forget the people who only remember me on special occasions except for real friends who have my consent to call me when they want to. I just wish for a real well-wisher that can tell me what to do without setting any expectations.
I just wish to laugh again knowing full well that they won’t ask me,”Why so happy today?”
I’m a 125 kg man. 6ft in height. Good enough shoulders and a pot belly. In many a countries I’m overweight and some might argue to make me book 2 tickets just for myself to fly around. Just Kidding – I’m not that fat or am I? Don’t know and don’t care.
I can’t care less about my looks. It’s not a case of a scared and suppressed man who’s heard and hates the word ‘Mota’ (Fatso) way more than his own name during the course of his life. Even if the latter part is true, I believe no amount of ragging, nudging, pushing, or loathing can subdue the inner spirit that says nothing is impossible. This is no delusion. There are times though when I think, what it would take for me to prepare for the inevitable, that last ray of light that gets noticed in my head, the moment I realize that I’m eventually unprepared for the worst. How do you prepare for it? In this dynamic world with all sorts of things loose on the streets that can kill you any second, I don’t think I’ll ever be ready for the last light or the last night.
I may not know the answers to some questions and yet, I believe that they aren’t tough enough to figure out. I’ve seen enough competitive years to know that the times when you are stuck is nature’s way to bring forth the lessons that you may have missed while dealing with the course that nature itself designed for you. I’ve been chubby and to an extent – fat for my age. I was born heavy, lived heavy and am surviving (rather well) heavy. I hate figuring out the measures of my blood or the proteins or carbohydrates. I hate thinking that I am sick. If I ever am, trust me when I say this, the news WILL fall on deaf ears like it always does. I don’t plan to live long. It’s never at the back of my mind. I don’t like and want the funny things that come with some spectacular end. I don’t want money. As long as I survive on my own, I’m glad to have not bothered a soul with my issues. To those whom I’ve already bothered with my existence, I thank you from the bottom of my heart for being there when I truly needed you for without you, my boat wouldn’t have had the wind it needed to set sail.
So whats the point of this post? I know you’ve all heard this message a trillion times before. However, I’m trying. I’m trying to start believing in the figure I see when I look into the mirror. It’s an exercise some of the new souls in my life are having me do. They say acceptance is the key for me. I want to start a new, reinvigorated and stress free journey, one that fulfils my dreams and mine alone. I don’t see anyone becoming a part of this voyage, for I can’t see far. But I believe that if there is a part wherein another soul has to intervene, they will know their purpose and will only add new meaning and colors to it. Everyone has to start somewhere. I refuse to see this world in the way it comes to me. I see a lot of good happening and this shall forever be my endeavor – to see good for that’s what invigorates me. I will go beyond the damning filth that’s always presented first, to find the truth and whether it’s worthwhile to pursue. I will not stress to find what doesn’t concern me.
I will strive to find what’s right for me and will not be lazy. I aspire to create a vibration, a flow of light that truly defines my purpose (yet unknown). I invite the energies that are destined to become a part of me.
I aspire to erase this shadow of doubt that destroys the purity of my form. I’ll follow my gut.
This town is a fledgling town.
It’s the extra chilly on top of bhel, a ship ready to sail.
It’s a pike grabbing the nuances of the big fish, the demands though are childish.
It’s a mesh of mushy asphalt, the claims though are ridiculously tall.
It’s like a rose bud, shimmering with a drop of morning dew, the spirit though is dud.
In the sun it cries from pain, for a man won’t trust another again.
In the rain, the cool breeze satiates the soul, makes me forget every pothole.
The scenery here is epic, the greenery is chic.
From beyond that tall skyscraper they call building, it’s the nature I hear calling.
In response to The Daily Post’s writing prompt: “Journey.”
The time of hope and persistence, honesty and dread, karma and belief, brought with it a surreal series of change. Break it down – the time into fragments, for each is as magnificent in its own right, a bag full of teachings, shining brightly upon my path. That path and where it leads, I know not.
The all-knowing, all giving power that rises within us in times of desperation – is like lights beside the runway to guide not just the stable but more so, the unstable planes. Nothing teaches us more about ourselves than such times of desperation. I learnt a lot.
Yes I was scared. Yes I was confused. Yes the pain in the heart was ever bearing and the brain, paralysed. Yet every stone that hurt me, only powered me, to go that much further. To look for my destiny. To smile at the sight of the end of the earth and sky, that horizon, which I knew would someday be mine.
Desperation when used properly is possibly the greatest tool we can own. Enough of it makes us fearless, uncaring. It shows us the true strength of our character. It gives us clarity on the decisions we make. It guides us to that juncture where we either rise or fall. It stretches us beyond our limits to possibly achieve the unthinkable, or get us ever closer to that “Eureka” moment.
The simplest formulae to tapping and reaping from even the rough times is to say to yourself – “these trying times are another bundle of opportunities”. And believe in it. Keep repeating it to yourself and condition yourself to just do the right thing, the humane thing. There are a million wolves waiting for your shivering carcass to show through your thinning skin but don’t care, don’t bother. I met my long cherished goal after walking on a daunting and humiliating path that forever shamed my self-respect and yet I rose and came through.
It doesn’t shame me now, to proclaim that I went through the mud to reach that Lotus and the effort I put into it. To have got my hands dirty in a coal mine to get to that Diamond. Life seems so complete now and how I wish it would last forever the same way with no further hiccups but then, that wouldn’t be fun, will it?
Bring it on!
Amidst these day dreams and winding roads,
The burning asphalt trail,
Dodging this game between sun and shadows,
The fear turns my face pale.
Leaving an inaudible world behind,
I make a screeching right,
To stop and fight.
I end up tricking my anguish and life apart,
The light at the end of my tunnel was now shining bright.
The burden off my back and shoulders to start,
I see the plains and the green that await me open and wide.
Guess this is what they mean when they say,
Grass is always greener on the other side.
This tryst with time,
These moments of victory,
These moments of significance,
And some not so.
A treasure in the making,
Of experiences as vivid as colors themselves.
I seldom inebriate,
I seldom celebrate.
But the first sparkle of light today,
In this Spring,
Ignites a reinvigorated need to splurge,
To once again test the depth of my being,
To once again dip a toe in this sea of pain,
Wake this demon child that I once put into deep slumber,
And vowed to never wake it again.
This sudden feeling of calm even as I merely write about it,
Is so menacing, so pleasuring,
The demon child smiles,
For it gets to play again,
In the dark and rowdy waters,
My tears of happiness.
My world has no discrimination,
It isn’t bathed in fear –
Of being looked down upon,
Of the unknown.
Of that parasite under the carpet,
Of death underneath that living breathing carcass,
Of running and gunning for that ever elusive prize.
When all that I came in and will leave with,
Is a soul.
A self-nurturing yet powerless form,
Misunderstood and unanswered.
I like to think of these chills as
My soul trying to shrug off the uncertainties,
A way for it to relax in this chaos that embraces my body like skin,
A way for it to absorb the vivid forms and colors of nature,
Air water sun and all.
I like to think of each day as another passing glance,
Over that field of opportunities,
To feed this soul,
To do 1 good thing for that solitary beacon of hope that truly belongs to me,
That one trustworthy mate that teaches you,
The difference between good and evil,
Right and wrong,
Pleasure and pain,
Want and need…
See that road?
Flanked by fields of ashes of all that the dead ones touched.
See those corpses walking?
All in their ties and suits.
That swanky walk,
The elusive persona,
Light as feather, silky smooth.
Those deep hollow eyes,
The tiny black holes,
Still wanting, still needing,
Thirsty for more, hungry for more,
Their eyes meet yours.
They think they talk,
A shriek in pain is what you hear,
Crying, craving for attention,
To find an undeserving place in your life,
Pleading for an exception,
To a rule, this one rule of your existence,
“Live and let live”.
I just look away,
Like you aren’t even there,
Like you’re dead,
Like my past.
P.S. – YES! You are dead to me if you won’t let me live.
From being an addict to a neat sober life, from being a couch potato to burning my muscles again, from losing my job to regaining one in one of the largest MNCs in India, having to plan for an overhauled life when there’s none left in my soul. I’m fighting each day and every hour of my existence, for revival of my body and soul. I’m living better, I’m eating better. Striving to host a chapter that powers me to dream of happiness, completeness, an error free foray into being who I want to be. I’m dying to see if I’ve learnt from my mistakes. It’s history repeating itself to test me, break me, shake me, wake me up from my slumber. For the past few months, change has been the only constant.
My attitude has changed. Never once did I think of running away even while perfectly knowing the agony each phase brings with it. For the first time I’m ready to give life a chance to come to me. For the first time I’m giving myself a chance to roll with whatever life dishes out, to fly with the wind, even snowball. Never once did I say “NOW WHAT?”.
In December, they told us to start looking elsewhere for a job for the project here had ended but they’d try to absorb us in. In January they hinted they won’t absorb us for the sake of well-being of both the company and my career. I thought it was a very valid and wise move. I have way too much experience to get absorbed in a team where people of nearly half my experience would work above me only because I didn’t have hands on their technology.
To me though, it gave a chance to get out into the world and to see if I’m any better than the man who joined this company nearly 5 years ago, to test my skills, to gauge my self-worth, yet again. For some adventurous reason, I rather relished this challenge and instantly knew I had to leave for my betterment. Both, the company and I, had realized that moving on was the better option for each of us.
This is the new, aged me. The earlier, the younger me would have tried busting their balls for having sacked me, for I had way to much ego. I’m learning to think past my ego and think of all the betterment that any opportunity brings. I’m letting people stay themselves around me. In short I’m trying and giving up my inner force that made me change people around me. I’m letting them come to me. I’m letting life engulf me in its arms. I’m not afraid of leap-of-faiths anymore. I’m running full seasons, gaining new leaves while shedding the useless and old ones.
Moving to a new city offers me an opportunity to start from scratch again. Not only will it give me a chance to meet new people, it’ll also give my wife a chance to settle down at a place that she knows and loves. We’d together forget the horrors we faced in Delhi. This time we are wiser, capable of paying our bills from day one and free of all debt. Oh yeah I forgot to tell you all, I’m finally free from all debts and it is so relieving. :D
I’m so passed my past now. While I waited for my offer from my new employer, life also threw me a chance to get even with my past. A chance to understand that I was never wrong, for all I’d done was lose a battle of love. I now know what happened, had culminated to a better today and an even better tomorrow.
This waiting period also threw me a chance to get out of this country for a while and land in a place that has forever intrigued me – United States of America. I got to witness the miracle of a new-born baby. I’m so happy for you brother! I got to see a culture far advanced than ours. A thinking not swallowed by petty religion & caste. The ability to talk to and smile at strangers. I got to see the affluent middle class that’s provided for by the government in ways Indians are still dreaming about. We are so unwilling to learn. I got to see the real order, not the one borne by chaos. I got to see a willingness to accept laws and a hesitation to break them for it may harm another human being. I got to drink better hazelnut frappes. I inhaled fresh clean air in the middle of the town, oh how much I miss it back here!
Future is about smart choices, about creating better opportunities, and working hard to bring them to fruition. It’s about learning to adapt and curb your instincts to see past your preferred options and your preparation to dive into a better realm that provides foundations for better plans and people & resources to execute them . I can finally back myself to think positive and not worry about failures for I’ll never miss a chance to learn and grow and become the man who dictates the wellbeing of his loved ones. I grow!
A ruffle of your hair,
The eyes of the feigning clappers,
Eyes that ooze jealousy when your name is read out.
A pat on the back,
A sudden turn of the heads,
Heads still bewildered while you answered first.
The adoring parents,
Shouting out loud in the audience,
Realizing their son played a role none in the crowd was capable of.
Those happy rides home,
After the parents teachers meet,
The opportunity to brag.
A peck on the cheek,
A kiss on the lips,
For she can’t hold herself back anymore.
She has to give in,
For she doesn’t see anyone but you,
A trusted beloved to share her life and love with.
As it turns out, my rewards are hardly derived from my elation. They are compounded by the emotions people around me portray through their actions. Anyone else recognize themselves through this post?
The weather has been lousy as hell for the past two nights. Raining when it should be Spring with cool winds and new shiny leaves on trees, locking me up inside my house. Not only does the rain snatch my sleep but (I have a tingly feeling about this) also gives the Delhi government a reason to brag about how we, the end users are getting reduced electricity bills when actually, there is no electricity to use at my home 🏡. ;)
The reason why I’m having to post from my mobile!
I would dearly love to give something like this a try but I’m so damn lazy and confused 😕!
In response to The Daily Post’s writing prompt: “The Transporter.”
A lot has changed. From the time when a tiny boom box painted the rainbow of sounds across our home, as it churned out melodies after melodies on the radio and cassette player, to today when I have my sound at my fingertips. The smell of food that filled my heart will forever remain attached to the sounds I heard then. I see my mother in the kitchen, now and then. One ever so busy mother, with a job at hand, making sure all’s in order for lunch while me and my brother freshen up and change into regular clothes.
The table cleaned, waiting for a flurry of dishes be placed on it, to embrace them, to taste the curries that filled them. The table loved us. While we dearly waited for my dad to arrive, on his scooter, “Priya”, the sound of which got everyone into action. The table, all dressed, invited the hungry ones. Hungry ones always found the way. What would normally start out as lunch with sun-filled eyes ended in a blur. Somehow I don’t remember a single thing I did after lunch, probably clean the table and sleep was all I did till my pretense of being grown up finally showed through – then I studied, had to, never knowing why.
Today, while I wait for my maid to ring my doorbell and prepare what SHE calls food, I recall those afternoons, for I took them lightly, for they may never happen again. Such sweet memories and each one has a song for it. Like a straw that flows, I’ve seen a lot along the way, things appalling and shambolic, things that make me hum tunes, from the distant past. Tunes I won’t forget. Some Things change and how and Some never can!
Here is one of those tunes that reminds me of those lunches, the siestas and the pretense I now call “Studying” –
This is a dream. My mother and I land in US from an early morning flight on 14th January 2015, only to be greeted by the greatest news a ‘to-be’ uncle and a ‘to-be’ grandmother on a foreign land could have – the birth of an angel in our family. My brother and his spouse have made an incredibly beautiful baby – a 6.7 pound miracle. If I ever said anything about the loveliest thing I’d ever seen – then let me scratch that ‘coz this is a sight to behold. Let me present to you the latest addition to our family – Sara Mishra!
Our joy knows no bounds!
I totally second your opinion and a Happy New Year!
Originally posted on Photos, Tech, Music, and Musings.:
Many lament what they describe as the decline of hip hop and more specifically it’s being diluted in the interest of broader reach and higher profits.
First off duh. That is what record companies do. They are profit driven and care little, if at all, about the art of music.
Secondly as my wife points out hip hop will survive no matter what is thrown at it. Additionally I offer that hip hop has grown to the point that it can hardly be contained as one category. For a long time I have contended that what I hear on the radio that is labeled hip hop is in actuality often hip pop. Hip pop is what I have dubbed that which was concocted as a more easily distributed, controlled, less offensive hip hop derivative having been stripped of originality, authenticity, or any semblance of sociopolitical relevancy. Admittedly catchy, but not…
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This is where I stalled. The best I can describe my absence with, is I’ve been on a journey for a while. A journey to self-destruction and resurrection. A journey to see my ends. A journey to know the truth and self-worth, to live a tale worth telling. And it has come at a price. I’m lost. I’ve lost.
The burden of responsibility now forbids my senses to feel again, see again, hear again, think again. I fail to see how I got here. All that I am is truth. This is all I can be and yet I fail myself and others. The pain of understanding the world and people around me has got the worse of me. It’s becoming difficult to embrace myself for who I am. Because it’s dark. I’ve seen it. Something that’ll swallow me whole. I can feel things building inside me and they are a lot of weight to carry. The days are heavier and nights are sullen. I’m a ticking time bomb and time is close when I’ll explode. An explosion that will blow up their happiness to pieces and no one, not even me, knows what that’ll do to KING “ME”.
The ingredients of goodness inside me are depleting fast. I’ve got to come out. For inside me is burning anger. Case in point are these sudden urges to beat myself up. These urges occur when I’m happy about something specific or when I’ve sated myself. It’s not uncommon for me to feel bliss in pain but earlier, these feelings had a time and place. Not now. They just take over me and then possess me for days and days.
I’m different these days – angrier, surprisingly vociferous and scornful. I’ve always been different. My interests were different. I enjoyed pain and this is something I’m particularly proud of. I intentionally venture into the darker side when I’m aware of joys in brightness. But this tendency is at it’s peak now. I’ve started keeping myself on the edge. I break into moods I’m very unaware of. Life has become a game of hide and seek. Seeking while I’m hiding, in plain sight, yet creating thunders for myself and enjoying them.
I’m trying to find the psychology behind my actions that sometimes seem downright foolish. I’m forgetting more, trying to remember less and yet my dreams play out the drama for me, every night. Libation seems fruitless. So I tried exercising, trying to burn out all my excess energy, so I can remain calmer. It worked for a while, while the pain persisted. Once that went, so did the workouts. And now I’m free again with all that unburnt energy and no pain. It’s all like Forrest Gump. I do things without knowing why I’m doing them. Like these orders were etched inside my brain to be carried out now.
The song above describes me aptly. King Me – try looking for it’s meaning and you’ll get a number of absurd and pervasive results. I have my version too and it goes something like this – It’s a state of a narcissistic mind. One that’s trying to indulge for itself. It’s keeping yourself so high and untouchable, that a connect is almost impossible. It’s destructive. It makes you see and feel things, makes you sway from your path.
Why does King Me kill me? It’s because the world functions on people. People and things are the world. And when I can’t see beyond myself, I hurt others. Only in my case, since I have no one else to hurt, and so I hurt myself. I put myself through paces that are laid on death bed. And it burns. I have the marks – deep and unforgiving. People often tell me that I need to talk more but with what I have and what I do with it, my words fail me too.
That’s for a post later. Right now – Merry Christmas!!!! I’m looking forward to a new year filled with a lot of fresh opportunities and pain, because without pain, there’s no gain!
The way I am, I prefer to consider that everyone is struggling and are unhappy in their own right. They got lemons and failed to make lemonade out of it, just like I failed on umpteen occasions. Now here’s why I do that:
This way I never mean to do any harm to another human being, at least knowingly. And still there were times when I was made a complete jerk off. My home has often been a shelter for some people who’ve fooled me into believing in their plight. It’s only later when I’ve had time and space to explore their side that I’ve come to know how foolish I really was. But I don’t throw them out, just try and resolve their concerns with me, if any. When they find out, that I know about their truth, they automatically leave out of guilt.
Even then, I believe, till the damage can be repaired I won’t mind sheltering people for I have, in my own right, done a good deed. I also feel this is one way to live stress free, by taking satisfaction in the fact that you’ve done a someone some good and forgetting about it, than pulling the heartache of the betrayal along in life, which eventually is a baggage not worth of our time and energy.
I can’t really recall if what I’m going to talk about was my summer vacation or the start of long Dussehra holidays in October.
What I remember clearly though, is the sweltering heat, the yellow iron gate guarding our yard, my brother who had playfully climbed on top of the gate while me and my mum stood by the front door watching him play.
Now let me describe that yellow gate – it brought a unironed symphony to our home. It was a pale yellow, sturdy, 2-flanked metal structure that opened directly out to the beauty of the world. When it opened, the hinges creaked in a staccato rhythm. The 2 flanks hinged on iron rails on both sides, upholding the fence on either side. Looking from where I and my mom were seeing it, the left flank of the gate was lower than the right, leaning in from the top edge where they met (or should’ve met). Which meant that when the gate was shut using the latch on the top, it left ample gap at the bottom for stray dogs to wander in and out of our lawn, absolutely unhindered, an opportunity not many dogs missed considering the ginormous mango tree in our yard for the shade. Not that they really needed a gap, for the gate had rectangles cut out inside it, ones that made the gate, a practical sham!
Why am I talking about the gate? It’s this gate that I often dream about. One that opens to someplace unknown. Having yet to feel and cross it, the gate seems like it’s built of grey smoke only to fool my eyes. The fear of everything covered in orange haze/smoke on the other side, numbs my legs like I’m magically flying. When I look around, I find myself on an abandoned railway platform. The trains chugging pass fast and in huge numbers, watched only by a pair of eyes waiting for a trigger, but nothing happens. Nothing ever happens!
I often wonder what the dream means? Am I scared of abandoned railway stations? Am I scared of orange smoke? Do I love my legs so much that I fear for my life having no sensations in them?
Or is it my place of zen where I wish to be all the time?