Something of Myself
Tuesday, August 30, 2005
Song in my head...
Song in my head after a long long time, think it to be from a Gupi Gayin movie:
Kotoi rongo dekhi duniyay
O Bhai re Bhai re...
Kotoi rongo dekhi duniyay.
And this is the bit which I absolutely love:
Dekho bhalo jone roilo bhanga ghore
Aaar mondo re hai shinghashone chode
Aha shonar phoshol pholay jahar
Dui bela jote na aahar
Hirar khonir mojur hoiya
Kana kodi nai re,
Nai re, nai re...
Kotoi rongo dekhi duniyay....
Song in my head after a long long time, think it to be from a Gupi Gayin movie:
Kotoi rongo dekhi duniyay
O Bhai re Bhai re...
Kotoi rongo dekhi duniyay.
And this is the bit which I absolutely love:
Dekho bhalo jone roilo bhanga ghore
Aaar mondo re hai shinghashone chode
Aha shonar phoshol pholay jahar
Dui bela jote na aahar
Hirar khonir mojur hoiya
Kana kodi nai re,
Nai re, nai re...
Kotoi rongo dekhi duniyay....
Random thoughts - not thought out
Endings are supposed to be difficult, are they? And what about beginnings? We are talking macro and micro stuff. We are talking serious stuff. We are talking stupid stuff. Stuff that makes up our lives.
Nations. People. Words. Cities. Communities.
Let go. Let in. Falter. Un-giving.
How do you feel when someone recedes away from you? Perhaps out of choice, perhaps out of compulsion, perhaps out of circumstances............... Betha ta kothay hoy? Keno hoy? Ki chai aamra? Kothay jeno, kichu ekta, kono rokom bhabe dhore rakhte chai. The incessant longing to hold on to things! Possession? Moments you share. You and Me. He and She. Two individuals. Just felt by them. Others can be a witness but can never actually feel what You and I feel. And then, at the blink of my eye...swoosh! Nike - Just do it! (Nice line Mr Nike Copywriter).
I tell people that I can let go. I tell mysef I HAVE to move on. But I so desperately want to hold on. When I was a little kid, and when Ma used to go to work. Everyday. Except Saturdays and Sundays...At times, half-awake, I used to pull her anchol and say - 'Ma, don't go today. Please.' At other times, I used to put up a post stick on the bathroom door saying pretty much the same thing!
It's an old habit. Old habits die hard, or so they say.
But do I really want to change myself? Can I do it? Can I leave dead bodies behind? Is there a tiny place left in me, my body, my soul, where, yet again, someone, somewhere might still punch a hole?
I'll be waiting. Carelessly.
P.S. Damn these slimy little things called Emotions!
Endings are supposed to be difficult, are they? And what about beginnings? We are talking macro and micro stuff. We are talking serious stuff. We are talking stupid stuff. Stuff that makes up our lives.
Nations. People. Words. Cities. Communities.
Let go. Let in. Falter. Un-giving.
How do you feel when someone recedes away from you? Perhaps out of choice, perhaps out of compulsion, perhaps out of circumstances............... Betha ta kothay hoy? Keno hoy? Ki chai aamra? Kothay jeno, kichu ekta, kono rokom bhabe dhore rakhte chai. The incessant longing to hold on to things! Possession? Moments you share. You and Me. He and She. Two individuals. Just felt by them. Others can be a witness but can never actually feel what You and I feel. And then, at the blink of my eye...swoosh! Nike - Just do it! (Nice line Mr Nike Copywriter).
I tell people that I can let go. I tell mysef I HAVE to move on. But I so desperately want to hold on. When I was a little kid, and when Ma used to go to work. Everyday. Except Saturdays and Sundays...At times, half-awake, I used to pull her anchol and say - 'Ma, don't go today. Please.' At other times, I used to put up a post stick on the bathroom door saying pretty much the same thing!
It's an old habit. Old habits die hard, or so they say.
But do I really want to change myself? Can I do it? Can I leave dead bodies behind? Is there a tiny place left in me, my body, my soul, where, yet again, someone, somewhere might still punch a hole?
I'll be waiting. Carelessly.
P.S. Damn these slimy little things called Emotions!
Thursday, August 25, 2005
Dirty living
I really don't know what I want. Totally and thoroughly confused. I wonder at times, if ANYTHING will EVER excite me. If anything will ever make me passionate. This is just drab living...'going with the flow', 'taking things as it comes', 'doing it because I don't have any other choice', 'moving on' because 'I have to'...
Aar kotodin?
Earlier, there was this will to fight, the will to burn, the will to strive, to seek, to find...yeah...whatever! It's like losing the reason to live. Incredible, isn't it, how one person, one moment, one laughter, one shouting, one single person can just keep you going for years and years? And just as I hit the question mark button, I realised that it is probably the one punctuation mark which neatly defines the state of my mind, my existence...
* * *
The other day I went to this shopping mall. I saw a child. About 3 years of age. She was so tiny. She could barely walk. She hadn't learned the art of it yet. She was holding her dad's little finger. Like I used to. Even when I was well past 18! And she faltered. And she fell. Her dad made sure she got up, made sure she didn't hurt herself, made sure she didn't give up...I saw them for about a minute. And it reminded me of a different world. One where I was not alone. One where I always had someone to lean on. One where one little finger always showed me the way. One lost world.
I smiled.
He has given me so much. So much to live for. So much to re-member. So much to just hold on to. So much to think about. So much love. It's weird 'cause despite all of this, I still do not feel like living. I am looking for an excuse. An alibi.
To escape.
We live to justify, do we? Huh! Whatever...
I really don't know what I want. Totally and thoroughly confused. I wonder at times, if ANYTHING will EVER excite me. If anything will ever make me passionate. This is just drab living...'going with the flow', 'taking things as it comes', 'doing it because I don't have any other choice', 'moving on' because 'I have to'...
Aar kotodin?
Earlier, there was this will to fight, the will to burn, the will to strive, to seek, to find...yeah...whatever! It's like losing the reason to live. Incredible, isn't it, how one person, one moment, one laughter, one shouting, one single person can just keep you going for years and years? And just as I hit the question mark button, I realised that it is probably the one punctuation mark which neatly defines the state of my mind, my existence...
* * *
The other day I went to this shopping mall. I saw a child. About 3 years of age. She was so tiny. She could barely walk. She hadn't learned the art of it yet. She was holding her dad's little finger. Like I used to. Even when I was well past 18! And she faltered. And she fell. Her dad made sure she got up, made sure she didn't hurt herself, made sure she didn't give up...I saw them for about a minute. And it reminded me of a different world. One where I was not alone. One where I always had someone to lean on. One where one little finger always showed me the way. One lost world.
I smiled.
He has given me so much. So much to live for. So much to re-member. So much to just hold on to. So much to think about. So much love. It's weird 'cause despite all of this, I still do not feel like living. I am looking for an excuse. An alibi.
To escape.
We live to justify, do we? Huh! Whatever...
Tuesday, August 23, 2005
Of Inspiration and Words
Have you ever met someone who has this thing with words? Like Prospero to Magic. Like Odysseus to Struggle. Like Milton to Blank Verse. Like Maradona to football. Whatever she writes, she decorates? Like a penchant for words? Like the alphabets and herself are in this intimate relationship? Something beautiful, something poignant, something silent, something awesome, something boisterous, something refreshing, something raw, something finished, something polished, something painful? Like when you make love and the rise and fall comes naturally, like easy... Effortless? Simple?
How does one do it? 26 alphabets. And this woman just pulls their string. Or may be it is the other way round, may be the words pull her?!
I did meet someone like this. Long time back. And I keep meeting her. And her words. A new world. A brave new world. Rare.
I am honoured. I wish I could try and be.
Have you ever met someone who has this thing with words? Like Prospero to Magic. Like Odysseus to Struggle. Like Milton to Blank Verse. Like Maradona to football. Whatever she writes, she decorates? Like a penchant for words? Like the alphabets and herself are in this intimate relationship? Something beautiful, something poignant, something silent, something awesome, something boisterous, something refreshing, something raw, something finished, something polished, something painful? Like when you make love and the rise and fall comes naturally, like easy... Effortless? Simple?
How does one do it? 26 alphabets. And this woman just pulls their string. Or may be it is the other way round, may be the words pull her?!
I did meet someone like this. Long time back. And I keep meeting her. And her words. A new world. A brave new world. Rare.
I am honoured. I wish I could try and be.
Thursday, August 18, 2005
Unforgiven
New blood joins this earth
And quikly he’s subdued
Through constant pain disgrace
The young boy learns their rules
With time the child draws in
This whipping boy done wrong
Deprived of all his thoughts
The young man struggles on and on he’s known
A vow unto his own
That never from this day
His will they’ll take away
What I’ve felt
What I’ve known
Never shined through in what I’ve shown
Never be
Never see
Won’t see what might have been
What I’ve felt
What I’ve known
Never shined through in what I’ve shown
Never free
Never me
So I dub the unforgiven
They dedicate their lives
To running all of his
He tries to please them all
This bitter man he is
Throughout his life the same
He’s battled constantly
This fight he cannot win
A tired man they see no longer cares
The old man then prepares
To die regretfully
That old man here is me
What I’ve felt
What I’ve known
Never shined through in what I’ve shown
Never be
Never see
Won’t see what might have been
What I’ve felt
What I’ve known
Never shined through in what I’ve shown
Never free
Never me
So I dub the unforgiven
You labeled me
I’ll label you
So I dub the unforgiven
New blood joins this earth
And quikly he’s subdued
Through constant pain disgrace
The young boy learns their rules
With time the child draws in
This whipping boy done wrong
Deprived of all his thoughts
The young man struggles on and on he’s known
A vow unto his own
That never from this day
His will they’ll take away
What I’ve felt
What I’ve known
Never shined through in what I’ve shown
Never be
Never see
Won’t see what might have been
What I’ve felt
What I’ve known
Never shined through in what I’ve shown
Never free
Never me
So I dub the unforgiven
They dedicate their lives
To running all of his
He tries to please them all
This bitter man he is
Throughout his life the same
He’s battled constantly
This fight he cannot win
A tired man they see no longer cares
The old man then prepares
To die regretfully
That old man here is me
What I’ve felt
What I’ve known
Never shined through in what I’ve shown
Never be
Never see
Won’t see what might have been
What I’ve felt
What I’ve known
Never shined through in what I’ve shown
Never free
Never me
So I dub the unforgiven
You labeled me
I’ll label you
So I dub the unforgiven
Friday, August 12, 2005
Doped
A bad habit. A wound inside my mouth that I cannot stop tonguing. Ever since I can remember.
An incredibly inexorable desire to meet people and know more about them. It's like unravelling an enigma all over again. Different people. Different styles. But all bounded in the web of relations. A slight quiver, a gentle touch, a nasty poke can so easily disrupt the flow of Being.
I guess that's what makes life worth living (or is it un-living?) Even if 99/100 people let me down, I seem to enjoy the process of knowing them. The initial reluctance. The did-you-know-i-do-this syndrome, the fear of not knowing what to say and then one night, one hour, one moment - a trembling hand, a resting shoulder, a mindless conversation and you know the process has begun.
And then, unknowing them. A slightly different journey which almost inevitably manages to leave a little scar. Getting close. And then being pushed away. Really far. Unreachable. But it's worth it. Forget everything else, consider the gamut of emotions. It's not as if they are a case study or an experiment by itself, but a living example of how wonderful or how tragic life can be. It's like reading a book. Watching a play.
And then, at times - very rarely - I try and know myself. Seems almost like an act, a performance that I have to indulge in for the sake of sanity. An identity I have to derive. An identity I have to seek. An identity I have to establish, nurture, govern, rule, possess, lust after and then, let go!
Am I an actor? A deceiver? A liar? A con-man? This whole business of writing - the genesis of it all - the search for words - the search for right expressions - the search for right punctuations - all of it...It seems so passionate at times. And then at other times, it seems so futile. Considering the business of life. :)
A bad habit. A wound inside my mouth that I cannot stop tonguing. Ever since I can remember.
An incredibly inexorable desire to meet people and know more about them. It's like unravelling an enigma all over again. Different people. Different styles. But all bounded in the web of relations. A slight quiver, a gentle touch, a nasty poke can so easily disrupt the flow of Being.
I guess that's what makes life worth living (or is it un-living?) Even if 99/100 people let me down, I seem to enjoy the process of knowing them. The initial reluctance. The did-you-know-i-do-this syndrome, the fear of not knowing what to say and then one night, one hour, one moment - a trembling hand, a resting shoulder, a mindless conversation and you know the process has begun.
And then, unknowing them. A slightly different journey which almost inevitably manages to leave a little scar. Getting close. And then being pushed away. Really far. Unreachable. But it's worth it. Forget everything else, consider the gamut of emotions. It's not as if they are a case study or an experiment by itself, but a living example of how wonderful or how tragic life can be. It's like reading a book. Watching a play.
And then, at times - very rarely - I try and know myself. Seems almost like an act, a performance that I have to indulge in for the sake of sanity. An identity I have to derive. An identity I have to seek. An identity I have to establish, nurture, govern, rule, possess, lust after and then, let go!
Am I an actor? A deceiver? A liar? A con-man? This whole business of writing - the genesis of it all - the search for words - the search for right expressions - the search for right punctuations - all of it...It seems so passionate at times. And then at other times, it seems so futile. Considering the business of life. :)
Monday, August 08, 2005
Streams of consciousness
It might just happen again. Or has it happened? Am I aware of myself or am I just being pretentious?
How does my mind think? Is it in sync with my heart? Isn't it sometimes just worth taking that bit of risk and putting everything at stake? What would life be without risks?
No it's not been long. Time will take care of it all. Just relax. But I can't.
This is myself at my very best. Yeah. BEST. Confused. Determined. Helpless. Deeply felt. In-communicable. Too much at stake. Told that to the old lady who walked past the other day with a mini-unicorn in her hand. She understood. Thank god for that.
But then I didn't want her to understand. I thought she'd say - 'No boy, go for it! It's worth it.' But then she vanished before I could get back to her and tell her again that I want to do it my way.
Life's been good to me. I am the one who cribs. Its made me feel some of the deepest emotions we can feel. And then it left me for the wild. The dark and dusty woods. Lost. Searching.
Found it. Here. Right here. And now....gone again!
Come back. You! Yes you!
P.S. To understand methinks is the beginning of the end.
P.P.S. What do you do when you understand and yet be just mute about it? As if you were blind.
It might just happen again. Or has it happened? Am I aware of myself or am I just being pretentious?
How does my mind think? Is it in sync with my heart? Isn't it sometimes just worth taking that bit of risk and putting everything at stake? What would life be without risks?
No it's not been long. Time will take care of it all. Just relax. But I can't.
This is myself at my very best. Yeah. BEST. Confused. Determined. Helpless. Deeply felt. In-communicable. Too much at stake. Told that to the old lady who walked past the other day with a mini-unicorn in her hand. She understood. Thank god for that.
But then I didn't want her to understand. I thought she'd say - 'No boy, go for it! It's worth it.' But then she vanished before I could get back to her and tell her again that I want to do it my way.
Life's been good to me. I am the one who cribs. Its made me feel some of the deepest emotions we can feel. And then it left me for the wild. The dark and dusty woods. Lost. Searching.
Found it. Here. Right here. And now....gone again!
Come back. You! Yes you!
P.S. To understand methinks is the beginning of the end.
P.P.S. What do you do when you understand and yet be just mute about it? As if you were blind.
Tuesday, August 02, 2005
Tennyson's Lotus Eaters
Why are we weigh’d upon with heaviness,
And utterly consumed with sharp distress,
While all things else have rest from weariness?
All things have rest: why should we toil alone,
We only toil, who are the first of things,
And make perpetual moan,
Still from one sorrow to another thrown;
And make perpetual moan,
Still from one sorrow to another thrown;
Nor ever fold our wings,
And cease from wanderings,
Nor steep our brows in slumber’s holy balm;
Nor harken what the inner spirit sings,
Nor harken what the inner spirit sings,
“There is no joy but calm!”—
Why should we only toil, the roof and crown of things?
Why should we only toil, the roof and crown of things?
[...]
Hateful is the dark-blue sky,
Vaulted o’er the dark-blue sea.
Death is the end of life; ah, why
Should life all labor be?
Let us alone. Time driveth onward fast,
And in a little while our lips are dumb.
Let us alone. What is it that will last?
All things are taken from us, and become
Portions and parcels of the dreadful past.
Let us alone. What pleasure can we have
To war with evil? Is there any peace
In ever climbing up the climbing wave?
All things have rest, and ripen toward the grave
In silence—ripen, fall, and cease:
Give us long rest or death, dark death, or dreamful ease
Monday, August 01, 2005
Words are not words for me. They are like People. They fuck me. They deprive me. They bite me. And they will kill me. Soon.
And I hate not having the right words at the right time for the right people. I missed the bus. Tried getting onto it. Held the railing. Wheels in motion. Pele trips. Never knew how to balance. Falls flat on face. Bleeds.
This is the end of the story. What are you waiting for? What are you looking for? You'd just be disappointed. I have an infinite capacity to disappoint people. And most importantly, I have an inifinite capacity to let myself down. Sometimes by using some words. And sometimes by not saying anything.
Words are not words for me. They are like People. They fuck me. They deprive me. They bite me. And they will kill me. Soon.
You sit back and watch. The Spectacle of Death.
And I hate not having the right words at the right time for the right people. I missed the bus. Tried getting onto it. Held the railing. Wheels in motion. Pele trips. Never knew how to balance. Falls flat on face. Bleeds.
This is the end of the story. What are you waiting for? What are you looking for? You'd just be disappointed. I have an infinite capacity to disappoint people. And most importantly, I have an inifinite capacity to let myself down. Sometimes by using some words. And sometimes by not saying anything.
Words are not words for me. They are like People. They fuck me. They deprive me. They bite me. And they will kill me. Soon.
You sit back and watch. The Spectacle of Death.
