Another year went past. But a very defining and colorful year it was.
I found my painter girl, whom I had always searched for. More importantly, she loved me back.
It was a difficult year in terms of choices that I had to make. I quit Brainvisa, the best organisation I ever worked in. I had a calling to quit it is the best explanation possible.
It was a difficult year because I worked six months for the worst organisation ever, Sify.
It was a difficult year in terms of people I had to leave. I never looked back...
It was a year of guilt for many a night I felt guilty... and sad. Why do some have to suffer for others?
The year redefined my vision about my religion. Vedic chants and mantras made a deep impact. I made somebody my guru for the first time in life. I met Ananta Krishnan at Thiruvannamalai, and he has given me great insights and moments of truth ever since.
I think, secretly, he knows everything I know about my self and my life. And even my secrets!
More important than my guru and my gods is my goddess. My goddess has been misunderstood and abused ever since she took birth on earth. None realised that she was a god-child.
She shall be guarded well, henceforth. I will be her warrior of light.
I came to Dubai mid-2005 (though I think 2006 will see me gone soon). I regret coming here, but I now look at this as a great lesson in life. It made me value people who I missed.
All said and done, I had a hand in helping somebody's life becoming meaningful. More sublime and more purposeful. That somebody is me. That somebody is her.
I see my dreams and visions possible now. My goddess gives me the strength and courage to make things possible.
2005 will be remembered as the Year of the Koochie. And so will all years henceforth be remembered as.
Saturday, December 31, 2005
Monday, December 26, 2005
The love you dream of
Aakash loved Zena. They had nothing in common. They met only twice. She was a mother of a two-year-old son. She was married and divorced in Moscow.
Aakash was a writer brimming with stories to tell, which none wanted to hear. So he wrote his stories in a little black book.
He had met her first at a nightclub. He was with a friend of his. She was with a friend of hers. Soon, they started talking. Then, they started seeing each other.
He used to open pages of his black book and she would take out her translator. And it may take hours for her to understand a story he read out to her.
It was a matter of languages: English and Russian. They picked up sign language in the process.
Aakash never asked Zena to sleep with him. She never wanted him to sleep with her. They bonded in a way I cannot explain. She listened to his stories. She loved art. She appreciated beauty and poetry. She cried on his shoulders sometimes too for unspeakable sorrows, he guessed.
Zena a 32-year-old prostitute... She slept with a different client every night.
Aakash never understood her need for living her way of life, but he respected Zena. Because she set a price for her body, for her time, and for her effort.
And she could not be seduced by anybody.
She did not use her body or sex as an attention-grabber. No man could charm her into bed with his wily ways. He has to pay. You want sex, you pay for it...
(Many were willing to pay for it. None realised that their money was milk for the two-year-old back home.)
No man could force her into having sex when she did not want it. Moreover, she chose whom she slept with. Unlike most women whom he hated. Men who hated Zena and her kinds flocked to the easy women because they needed more excitement. More risk. More talk. They needed to boost their egos.
And because it was free. All they had to do was pay attention...
A short story of a movie concept in mind... wrote it so that I won't forget it like many forgotten others!
Aakash was a writer brimming with stories to tell, which none wanted to hear. So he wrote his stories in a little black book.
He had met her first at a nightclub. He was with a friend of his. She was with a friend of hers. Soon, they started talking. Then, they started seeing each other.
He used to open pages of his black book and she would take out her translator. And it may take hours for her to understand a story he read out to her.
It was a matter of languages: English and Russian. They picked up sign language in the process.
Aakash never asked Zena to sleep with him. She never wanted him to sleep with her. They bonded in a way I cannot explain. She listened to his stories. She loved art. She appreciated beauty and poetry. She cried on his shoulders sometimes too for unspeakable sorrows, he guessed.
Zena a 32-year-old prostitute... She slept with a different client every night.
Aakash never understood her need for living her way of life, but he respected Zena. Because she set a price for her body, for her time, and for her effort.
And she could not be seduced by anybody.
She did not use her body or sex as an attention-grabber. No man could charm her into bed with his wily ways. He has to pay. You want sex, you pay for it...
(Many were willing to pay for it. None realised that their money was milk for the two-year-old back home.)
No man could force her into having sex when she did not want it. Moreover, she chose whom she slept with. Unlike most women whom he hated. Men who hated Zena and her kinds flocked to the easy women because they needed more excitement. More risk. More talk. They needed to boost their egos.
And because it was free. All they had to do was pay attention...
A short story of a movie concept in mind... wrote it so that I won't forget it like many forgotten others!
Sunday, December 04, 2005
Amma died
Said some damn relative over the phone. He banged the phone down. He shouted, “She is no more, Trishna. Amma is no more…” Trishna was in the kitchen that day (for a change).
“Don’t worry, I am there for you. It’s only us now. I’ll take care of you,” said Trishna. “No… how could I be so blind?” said Aakash charging into the kitchen.
Next day morning…
Aakash was still asleep. He was tired. Exhausted. Death of a loved one is not easy to face. The alarm rang. It announced the beginning of another day.
He dragged himself from his bed to the bathroom. On the way, he stared at the ceiling. “Cobwebs in the corners, I need to clean this place tomorrow. I have to.”
Under the strong light of the single bulb in his bathroom, he shaved. “Hmmm… razor sharp stubble, I have got!”
A spider was spinning a new web at the corner where he had kept his soap. Whack!
“Got you, damn spider! Don’t you ever build your fucking web there…”
He turned on the shower tap. Hot water ran down his cold spine from the shower… he was feeling cold. But its only March, he thought. He closed his eyes.
He never had the guts to face flowing water. He came out drying himself; slipped into his favorite white shirt and blue jeans.
Combing his hair, he thought… “just short of being labeled a stud! But, amma said that I am the most handsome man she ever knew! And don’t worry, amma, I won’t tell dad.”
He checked keys, wallet, change, food coupons for dinner…. Well, all taken. “Let’s go. They can’t do it without me. I have to be on time.”
Went down the flight of stairs, and took a rickshaw straight to his amma’s house. He thought, “It’s been five years after I left home. I’ll be seeing her after such a long time. Wonder how she’ll look today?”
He reached his house. Lots of people were attending the function. All his uncles had flown down from abroad. His maternal uncle had specially come down from Kerala.
He walked in. Smiled at a few acquaintances. In the living room, sat his father and younger brother weeping. They were huddled together. In front of them was an earthen lamp lit. And beside it, his amma was lying as if in deep sleep.
“Amma,” he shouted. “See, I have come. I have come to meet you. Look at me. At least shout at me. Hit me. But talk…” Aakash just sat down next to his father. Nobody said a word.
The pandit came to him and whispered, “Son, we have to start the cremation. You are the elder son. Come with me. The time has come to say goodbye to her.”
Aakash stood. And did everything as told by his elders. This was the only time he never rebelled, never questioned a thing.
He had kept his promise. “Amma, rest in peace.” And he lit the pyre. He saw his amma burn.
He stood still. Till the fire had died down on the pyre. Till his heart caught fire.
He rushed back to his rented room. Undressed himself. Now, he stood naked in front of the mirror. He looked at his reflection. There were no tears. Was life so fast? He did not feel a thing. Was five years of separation so much that it broke the umbilical bond?
“I am free. For the first time, I feel free. No more worries. No more amma to take care of. Now, I can start my own life.”
He turned the shower tap. He remembered, “Amma always used to say you must always take a bath after you come from a funeral or cremation… you should put your clothes to wash…”
She was so loud. He always used to ask her to shut up. “Amma, just shut up, I want to watch a movie here.”
“Yeah, amma, I love her more than I love you. And so I am leaving home.” Those were the last words he had spoken to her. Then, he left home forever, and married Trishna… the love of his life.
The only condition Trishna had laid down was that after marriage she won’t stay with her in-laws. “Well, now at least that is taken care of forever… amma died a slow death because I left home without even a second thought,” thought Aakash.
There was no water in the tap. He burst. His tears welled up, and flowed. There was no amma anymore.
“Amma, just once, I want to tell you… I loved you more than anybody else. She is no more. She won’t come between us anymore. It’s all over finally. No more fights and hidden sighs anymore, amma… I did it. I did what I should have done a long time ago.”
He looked at the ceiling; his mother’s portrait was still smiling at him. The corner of his bathroom mirror where that spider was building a web still held an old photo of him in his mother’s arms.
He looked at the bed. On the bed, Trishna was lying in a pool of blood…
A mood piece dedicated to Sunill R Nair.
“Don’t worry, I am there for you. It’s only us now. I’ll take care of you,” said Trishna. “No… how could I be so blind?” said Aakash charging into the kitchen.
Next day morning…
Aakash was still asleep. He was tired. Exhausted. Death of a loved one is not easy to face. The alarm rang. It announced the beginning of another day.
He dragged himself from his bed to the bathroom. On the way, he stared at the ceiling. “Cobwebs in the corners, I need to clean this place tomorrow. I have to.”
Under the strong light of the single bulb in his bathroom, he shaved. “Hmmm… razor sharp stubble, I have got!”
A spider was spinning a new web at the corner where he had kept his soap. Whack!
“Got you, damn spider! Don’t you ever build your fucking web there…”
He turned on the shower tap. Hot water ran down his cold spine from the shower… he was feeling cold. But its only March, he thought. He closed his eyes.
He never had the guts to face flowing water. He came out drying himself; slipped into his favorite white shirt and blue jeans.
Combing his hair, he thought… “just short of being labeled a stud! But, amma said that I am the most handsome man she ever knew! And don’t worry, amma, I won’t tell dad.”
He checked keys, wallet, change, food coupons for dinner…. Well, all taken. “Let’s go. They can’t do it without me. I have to be on time.”
Went down the flight of stairs, and took a rickshaw straight to his amma’s house. He thought, “It’s been five years after I left home. I’ll be seeing her after such a long time. Wonder how she’ll look today?”
He reached his house. Lots of people were attending the function. All his uncles had flown down from abroad. His maternal uncle had specially come down from Kerala.
He walked in. Smiled at a few acquaintances. In the living room, sat his father and younger brother weeping. They were huddled together. In front of them was an earthen lamp lit. And beside it, his amma was lying as if in deep sleep.
“Amma,” he shouted. “See, I have come. I have come to meet you. Look at me. At least shout at me. Hit me. But talk…” Aakash just sat down next to his father. Nobody said a word.
The pandit came to him and whispered, “Son, we have to start the cremation. You are the elder son. Come with me. The time has come to say goodbye to her.”
Aakash stood. And did everything as told by his elders. This was the only time he never rebelled, never questioned a thing.
He had kept his promise. “Amma, rest in peace.” And he lit the pyre. He saw his amma burn.
He stood still. Till the fire had died down on the pyre. Till his heart caught fire.
He rushed back to his rented room. Undressed himself. Now, he stood naked in front of the mirror. He looked at his reflection. There were no tears. Was life so fast? He did not feel a thing. Was five years of separation so much that it broke the umbilical bond?
“I am free. For the first time, I feel free. No more worries. No more amma to take care of. Now, I can start my own life.”
He turned the shower tap. He remembered, “Amma always used to say you must always take a bath after you come from a funeral or cremation… you should put your clothes to wash…”
She was so loud. He always used to ask her to shut up. “Amma, just shut up, I want to watch a movie here.”
“Yeah, amma, I love her more than I love you. And so I am leaving home.” Those were the last words he had spoken to her. Then, he left home forever, and married Trishna… the love of his life.
The only condition Trishna had laid down was that after marriage she won’t stay with her in-laws. “Well, now at least that is taken care of forever… amma died a slow death because I left home without even a second thought,” thought Aakash.
There was no water in the tap. He burst. His tears welled up, and flowed. There was no amma anymore.
“Amma, just once, I want to tell you… I loved you more than anybody else. She is no more. She won’t come between us anymore. It’s all over finally. No more fights and hidden sighs anymore, amma… I did it. I did what I should have done a long time ago.”
He looked at the ceiling; his mother’s portrait was still smiling at him. The corner of his bathroom mirror where that spider was building a web still held an old photo of him in his mother’s arms.
He looked at the bed. On the bed, Trishna was lying in a pool of blood…
A mood piece dedicated to Sunill R Nair.
A kind of life
Well, it’s a kind of life that you lead in lonesome cities… LA, New York, Mumbai, Dubai…
You walk alone… and suddenly the street lights play behind you… you turn around only to realize that it is only your shadow.
You roam in malls and supermarkets looking at or picking up what others left behind.
You act penny wise and pound foolish.
You work and not an hour goes by without you reminiscing your good moments with her.
You sit hours in your small room wondering what to do, and before you know it, night has fallen. Another day has gone by.
You wake up and before you realize, you are coming back from work.
You wake up, go to work, work, eat lunch, get back from work, eat dinner, walk a little… sleep… days pass. Each day as if a mirror of the previous one.
You write:
“The corporate world’s a wheel, and all men (and women) mere cogs in the wheel.”
You start hallucinating. You start getting ideas. They disappear where they came from. Some days you eat so well, on other days, you hardly eat anything.
You fall sick to realize that nobody around will even ask whether you need water.
You are rich and then, suddenly you find yourself poor. With no money even to buy bread.
You walk to work. You walk back from work. You wonder when the work that you had set out for will be ready for you?
You walk alone… and suddenly the street lights play behind you… you turn around only to realize that it is only your shadow.
You roam in malls and supermarkets looking at or picking up what others left behind.
You act penny wise and pound foolish.
You work and not an hour goes by without you reminiscing your good moments with her.
You sit hours in your small room wondering what to do, and before you know it, night has fallen. Another day has gone by.
You wake up and before you realize, you are coming back from work.
You wake up, go to work, work, eat lunch, get back from work, eat dinner, walk a little… sleep… days pass. Each day as if a mirror of the previous one.
You write:
“The corporate world’s a wheel, and all men (and women) mere cogs in the wheel.”
You start hallucinating. You start getting ideas. They disappear where they came from. Some days you eat so well, on other days, you hardly eat anything.
You fall sick to realize that nobody around will even ask whether you need water.
You are rich and then, suddenly you find yourself poor. With no money even to buy bread.
You walk to work. You walk back from work. You wonder when the work that you had set out for will be ready for you?
The truths about love
Love is crazy because you leave people who would die for you for people who can live without you. Because you cannot live without them.
Love is unfair. Because one always expects more than the other.
Love is unbalanced. Because one always loves more than the other.
Love can be measured. Because you can count your heart beat.
Love is not blind. Because love always chooses the path of fire; the toughest road; the wildest journey.
Love is risky. Because you are not sure whether you will get what you love, and in the process you may lose all that you have.
Love is difficult. Because you have to forgive the other’s past deeds.
Love is jazz. Because you have to constantly improvise.
Love is blues. Because one is always sadder than the other.
Love is medicine. Because it gives hope. And hope is the only cure for our wretched lives.
Love can move mountains. Because nothing else can give you faith.
Love is the only answer. Because then you don’t need to say my god is better than yours.
Love is the only way. Because you don’t need to see your path. You make it.
Love is omnipresent. Because not all love the same way.
Love is a bridge. Because it joins your life with your self.
Love is like art. Because it imitates life.
Love is longing. Because there is always one wish which may never be fulfilled: you may not be the one she loves the most.
Love is being optimistic. Because I wrote ‘may’. She may one fine day.
Love is unfair. Because one always expects more than the other.
Love is unbalanced. Because one always loves more than the other.
Love can be measured. Because you can count your heart beat.
Love is not blind. Because love always chooses the path of fire; the toughest road; the wildest journey.
Love is risky. Because you are not sure whether you will get what you love, and in the process you may lose all that you have.
Love is difficult. Because you have to forgive the other’s past deeds.
Love is jazz. Because you have to constantly improvise.
Love is blues. Because one is always sadder than the other.
Love is medicine. Because it gives hope. And hope is the only cure for our wretched lives.
Love can move mountains. Because nothing else can give you faith.
Love is the only answer. Because then you don’t need to say my god is better than yours.
Love is the only way. Because you don’t need to see your path. You make it.
Love is omnipresent. Because not all love the same way.
Love is a bridge. Because it joins your life with your self.
Love is like art. Because it imitates life.
Love is longing. Because there is always one wish which may never be fulfilled: you may not be the one she loves the most.
Love is being optimistic. Because I wrote ‘may’. She may one fine day.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)