WHAT DID I DO?

Dark. The night was as dark as the heart of a murderer. But I felt safe. Mother was beside. Her warmth protected me against just anything. All my anxieties wither away- just one touch of hers, does wonders to me. The quiet night, was only destined to be quiet for a while. But we were not supposed to know yet. I felt the eternal quiet- a night, so calm and peaceful- an assurance brought about due to the sense of another being present beside- one whom you could touch and trust.

I lay lost in thoughts. I couldn’t sleep. I was just too happy. Everybody had been so happy that day. The day I was born. Father said that he had not ever been happier- than the day I was born. I knew he had spoken the truth. His eyes had never lied to me. My mother had probably guessed that I was not sleeping. She had started to pat me… gently. How come mothers know that? I could never understand that.

It had been an unusually quiet night. So quiet, that I could almost hear my own thoughts. I turned in my bed. I could see father. I think that I had got the best father in the whole world. Mother had been complaining since a few days back about “difficult days ahead”. I never understood what she meant by that. But father! He had never complained- about anything. He had always made sure that we were happy. He said- “It’s a man’s shame that his women complain. I would never let my little princess cry”. And he was a man of his words.

There were noises. Distant noises- coming closer- slowly- then rapidly. And all of a sudden- it ceased to be a quiet night. There were cries everywhere. People ailing. Crying out in pain- agony. People angry. People, in rage. In panic, in despair. It was a moment in my life when I felt all the human emotions- simultaneously. What was the cause of this commotion? I wondered.

Suddenly, I felt myself being lifted up by such a force- that I was being pulled back onto the firm ground from the land in my dream. It was mother. I could see her crying. Why was she crying? Father was beside her. The look on his face… What was it? Could that be fear? No. But it was fear. A strange helplessness- despair, had crept into him. I had never seen him like that. He looked at me. I tried to smile. But I couldn’t. I felt that my doubtful, uncertain glance at him had only weakened him. We were running. Like fugitives. Like animals being hunted. But why?

I saw people on the road. Some were holding up torches. The flames from the torches were not as bright as their eyes that shone with mad pleasure. Some of them had swords. Some- knives, spears. They were beating and killing everyone. I could recognize some of the people who were running along with us. Those were the people, who were being killed- tortured. We ran faster and faster. The noise around was unbearable. May be, we were dead. And we were in hell… What else could it be?

Suddenly, I had fallen off my mother’s clutches. And before I could realize what was happening, my mother had ceased to run. In fact, she had ceased to move, talk or cry. She was not… was she? Where is father? I looked around. Some of the men with swords were holding him. I started running towards him. He looked at me, and when he fell down, he was still looking at me. The men with swords were coming closer, towards me. I was not running. I was not crying. They were standing, now, facing me. Judging me. The noise was dying down. I could now see, only their eyes staring into mine. I heard myself say, “What did I do”? And all I could hear was, the echo of silence…

DIYA

The swing was swinging. Only, no one was on it. It was as though an invisible being was the master of the swing. The sight of it- it gave an odd pleasure. The swing was doing what it was suppose to do. An order in things that exist- for the sake of existing. This is how it should be. This is the way I like them, to be.

***

Some time back, I met a friend. He was a good man. But he let things change in his life. Disrupted the order of nature. And his life was never the same again. He was repenting. I felt always happy to hear people say that. Approve of my ideas. It feels good to see people share your belief. Say ‘you were right’.

***

That is how my life is. The way it should be. Not an inch on this side of the life. Not one inch on the other. Just there. Where it should be. Where it would stay safe. Uncomplicated. Traditional. Natural.

***

In my life, there was no place for madness. The way I am, is good. I saw someone on TV the other day, who said something like- “.. chaos happens when an unstoppable object meets an immovable one..” That is exactly what I hate. I am immovable. And I don’t like unstoppable objects.

***

I found this girl near the Jogger’s Park gateway. About twelve. She came unto my waist. Covered in rags. She was unconscious. I took her to the hospital. The sight of her, back at that moment- was disturbing. It was as though- it reflected the poverty of the entire world put together. I couldn’t help it. It was not in my system.

***

She stayed with me. Always. I had to teach her to talk, eat, walk properly. There was this sense of another being beside you- constantly. I was trying to get used to it. Meanwhile, she gave me a name. ‘Dada’. I didn’t know, what that meant. But I thought, I should probably give her a name too. I asked her, what her favorite name was. ‘Diya’. She became that.

Diya was an unstoppable object. She spread throughout. Like water, like fire, like life. The extent to which she had influenced my living- I had no time to think about it. There used to be a bird inside me- that usually popped to remind me of time. But it doesn’t do so anymore. It was as though, it had gone away from me. I was not myself without it. The bird was free. And I am never. Or so, I thought.

***

She liked to swing. I bought her one. I could see her. Full of life, whenever she was swinging. It was a pleasure to see that. It brought me something that I had never experienced before. Happiness? Sorrow? Elation? Depression? I don’t know. But whatever that was, I felt good. Like never before. I felt like I was living to see her swing. But one is suppose to live for oneself. Then how is that, that I’ve come to like this feeling. This unconditional love for the girl in rags, who had no name. ‘Diya’?

***

Something was not well. I could feel it. I was trapped between her world and mine. And this was not alright. When my one feet was in my world, the other was in hers. This was not me. I was never like that. I was beginning to experience traces of chaos. I was beginning to see nature being man-handled. When you’ve carried a belief for this long, it always felt hard to see it crumble. I had never seen me the way I was now. I was beginning to sense danger.

She had made a drawing. She just loved colours. I always found her attracted to colours. I liked black. And white, at times. But she liked all the colours. The brighter the better. The drawing was full of colours. Just like her. But I never liked colours. And she was making me like what I did not like. I hated her for it. But I loved her for it. This was the beginning of chaos. I was crumbling the drawing. I was crumbling her smile. I could not stop myself. I was torn between who I was and who I am. I could see tears in her eyes. I felt tears too. But I felt like they were coming from one of my eyes. She was trying to tell me something. I could not hear what that was. I was beginning to collapse. I? I didn’t know, who I was.

***

The swing was swinging. Only, no one was on it. It was as though an invisible being was the master of the swing. The sight of it- it gave an odd pleasure. The swing was doing what it was suppose to do. An order in things that exist- for the sake of existing. This is how it should be. This is the way I like them, to be. The swing was swinging. But there was no one on it! And why did I feel happy about it? She was not present on it anymore. I was no longer ‘Dada’. I was I. I should feel happy about it! But why was I not feeling so?

***

May be this was why people liked to change the way things should be. For the fleeting moment of happiness that they get to experience. To sense their heart getting heavy and light all at once. I now knew, why they liked it. It was a part of nature. It was a part of the order too. One can never evade it. One has to live with it. Chaos completes natures’ orders. It completes the life with nature. But I had lost my chaos. My sense of being complete. And I need to be complete. I needed to find Diya. I would go looking for her. I would like colours. All of them. I would be ‘Dada’ forever. That was who I am. Who I should be. That was what nature had planned for me. I would bring back the order in my life. I would complete my life. I would bring back, my Diya…

******

Goddess of Sin

For more, the heart and the senses yearn. Deprived of pleasures, a million around. For more, it screams in agony. The scream becomes the pleasure then. Forever a necessity- yet reduced to some cheap luxury- it stays up there. Awaiting for the being to reach it. Taste it. Feel it. It stays up there, untouched and welcoming. Its virgin surface spilling purity all around. Purging moral from air- the minds, vacuum from the sense of penance. Pleasure, they call it. An omen of sin.

Strange are the ways, the mind of a human works. Somewhere inside, a clock ticks- a constant reminder of being human. The animal within, put to sleep. A sleep, when awoken- seeks the pleasure. Or tries to seek. What is pleasure? It wonders. It was, after all, created by the same Creator. A kin to hope- brother to grief; sister to happiness and a cousin to pain! Why then these barriers? Why this cage? A desire to melt away the irons of moral- creeps in the animal and gives it the strength. Strength so strong, stronger than mind, itself! Pleasure- the magnet, emerges out- winner!

Pleasure- lies in things forbidden. Pleasure lay within guilt. Guilt, a proof of pleasure, experienced. Pleasure, felt. Enjoyed. Guilt is- the child. Why shun the child? What sin has the child committed- to be left abandoned? Denied? Pleasure becomes, the wronged lady. Doomed to bear, the burden of guilt. What was my sin? Pleasure wonders. Is it crime to be the way I was created? Is it my fault that the animal is awake? There could never be, an answer- ever! Guilt is guiltless- and it is only fair, to accept it.

Branded- the omen of sin; left to rot deep within the layers of thoughts. Thoughts of so-called God-fearing souls. Hypocrites, who fail to accept creation, as it is. Fail to see, the beauty of it. Refuse to embrace the truth. But deep inside- the animal lives- killing the pleasure- or trying to do so. Death was something, that could never reach pleasure. For the urge to kill becomes the child of pleasure! And so, the pleasure lives- doomed to live a half life. Neither out, nor in. Neither felt nor denied. A fate so cruel- waiting to be changed. Waiting for the doors within, to be opened. Waiting to emerge out as not an omen, but a Goddess, of sin!

DIL SE...

00:01 am, 12th May 2009

The bus was gliding through the silhouette of hills and trees. A white ray of light from the moon- highlighting the roads ahead- the moon followed me, wherever I went. ‘E-Ajnabi’ from ‘Dil Se’, filled my heart with joy of unknown happiness while the moon filled my eyes with dreams. I like dreams. The song always made me dream. But today, it was special.

I was in the ‘middle of nowhere’- with only the moon above me, and ‘E-Ajnabi’, inside me. I didn’t remember, what happened the day before. Not that I should. Not that I would. And I didn’t care about what lay ahead. The moon was there, as ever and so would be- ‘E-Ajnabi’. So many things, flashed through my mind. Yes. I would be voting for the first time in my life! I would be home, in few hours time. But now, I was- in the ‘middle of nowhere’- with the moon and ‘E-Ajnabi’.

‘Ghost of the smile’ that I had smiled, earlier that day, had stayed back. I didn’t want that to leave me. I needed all the happiness that I could get- to carry along- into the day ahead. It had already become, my best birthday, ever with 'the ghost of my smile’ aftermath my birthday celebrations, the moon, the place somewhere at the ‘middle of nowhere’ and ‘E-Ajnabi’…

THE TUNNEL

There is a tunnel that has no exits. The exit, it has, but cannot be seen. The tunnel has no light, no windows- to let its travelers have a peep. What lies beyond is not for the eyes of the traveler. And when one indeed sees what is beyond, can never travel again. Yet, every traveler tries to guess- the sight beyond the tunnel, dark. Most keep guessing, while a few claim to know. A few others just don’t bother, and a handful- well, they might actually know! The tunnel has a definite structure- a kind of maze. It has its sources and a destination. The travelers travel together- sometimes alone- but most of the times, together.

The tunnel has in hold, many surprises for its travelers. And each traveler, takes in these surprises in different ways. The tunnel keeps a track of all its travelers; judges them by the way they take its surprises. A traveler must never displease the tunnel. For the tunnel, always expects its travelers to like its surprises. This tunnel also has a strange sense of humour. Sometimes, the tunnel starts playing games with its travelers. The travelers must play along. For if they don’t, they won’t be able to move on! They get trapped. The could neither turn back, nor move ahead. Wicked, though it may sound, it is, but a part of the path that the traveler has to take, through the tunnel. The tunnel, knows.

How long is this tunnel? That is subjective. How big is the tunnel? No one knows. For the travelers never have known that they are in a tunnel. The darkness inside the tunnels has prevented the travelers from knowing the truth about their path. Some of these travelers have tried to light the lamps. But these lamps failed to help them know the truth. Instead showed them lies which took them ahead- towards their exit. While many other travelers, have ceased to find the truth. They prefer to take in the surprises, not to displease the tunnels- and move ahead on their journey- safely. Safely? Their ignorance is the source of their safety. And this ignorance is their bliss. Is this what the tunnel wants? Its travelers cease to try and find the truth? No. It wants the travelers to try. For only then, it could show them lies!

Through the darkness and through the lies, as the traveler journeys along, the tunnel unleashes its final surprise! The dark humour of the tunnel, never ceases to test its travelers. A few travelers, who’d traveled enough, know all about this surprise. The tunnel is not “entertained”. Yet, a few others are completely taken aback! And the tunnel, celebrates! For, the tunnel is particularly proud of this surprise. Some of the travelers, try to fool the tunnel. The tunnel humours them. It lets them believe that it is being fooled. And throws in this surprise, so suddenly, that they never get the chance to even realize that they were the ones that were fooled! The mysterious, yet the most precious surprises of all- exit. This surprise, puts and end to the games of the tunnel. It helps the traveler, realize the truth, see the light. And this surprise, answers the travelers. Strange is this tunnel- the dark, cruel; yet great, merciful, is this tunnel, called- Time!

THANK YOU, ALL...

Hey all..

Your comments for my previous post, LOST, really helped me out. But the reason for my deleting the post- I just thought it made my blog depressing.. But your comments shall always be cherished!

Once again.. Thank you all...

LOVE- LOST & FOUND

[Based on facts.. I thank the unknown traveler...]

A slit. And I’d break free. I’d float into a world where there’d be no suffering. A world, free from misery, guilt and treachery. A world, where I can be myself, and live for myself. A world, from which I need never return. A world which would be mine.

I took the knife into my hands. I positioned it over my left wrist. The knife was shining- smooth and sharp. Just the way it should be. The setting sun shone its blood red rays over the knife. And the knife- looked jubilant.

I could see myself in that knife. No. It wasn’t me. My eyes were never bloodshot. This was someone alien. No. And I put the knife down. I turned around. I could now face the mirror. I could see a stranger.

A stranger- who’d lost his smile. A stranger- who cried like a child; who hated himself for what he’d become. A stranger- who was in me; whom I’d never invited in me.

Her eyes. It grew large every time I surprised her. Oh! She laughed like a baby! A laughter- that had no sleight, no grudge. It seemed, as though she grew younger, each day.

And one day, when she held my hands, I looked into her eyes. There was no one but she and I. No world, no universe. But she and I. I spoke. Only she would hear it. I smiled. Only she would see it. I loved. Only she would feel it.

But when she started to speak; the stranger crept in. For I was incapable of hearing what she said. And she would never love this stranger if she’d never loved me. No. It was this stranger, whom she’ll never love. Not me. She’d love me. She has to love me. But the stranger wouldn’t leave me. So, I’d kill him. I returned back to the knife.

The knife was back- over my left wrist. I heard a cry. Somewhere, on the road. It made me pause, for a moment. It delayed my journey.

I saw a baby. Round the corner- left out to rot. The stranger, lifted the baby off the trash. The baby stopped crying. His eyes grew large. He looked surprised; amazed at his own luck! The stranger was ebbing away. It was now my eyes which looked into the baby’s. The baby smiled. A smile, so pristine; sans sleight, sans grudge. His nimble fingers, gripped my shirt. And- my smile, returned…