In search of lost, unknown & concealed.

When every new word I come across pins me to surprise, when every usage of its leaves me drooling for more, I stand with an unsettling desire to just give away myself to writing. I know it sounds a bit far fetched but I can't help shrugging it off either.

A good quarter at work station is dedicated for the personal quest of discovering the lost,  digging the unknown & unveiling the concealed. What puts me through 9 hours of strenuous (comfortably risk-free to others, otherwise) is the hope that I shall I one day run away from this. Into far off fields. Into distant meadows.

When I write guides for daily bread which nobody follows, I dream of writing the intertwined tale of overrated totalitarianism & underrated poverty. It remains a dream but the guides etch onto portals, thus onto web & finally read by 'users' who don't know what their author is going through, or to that point, who under sun he is.

The work places resembles London in its smell. In its ambiance That nostril disturbing caffeine hovers in the air, remains still, justifying the much quoted plasticity of work stations. Its painful to read emails which have subjects lengthier than their bodies.

I get back home to read something or watch something but eventually end up sleeping into a slumber. An early morning call from her wakes me up to put me through another day of never ending torment.; of whose extermination I can barely dream but not blessed to live through.

People are talking about friday releases in the loo when jitters cause them to shake their heads before tucking it in. Is it an attempt to establish two unlikely phenomena & desperately trying to make their ends meet? I wonder.

Documents confiscated, schedules upheld & life suspended in disbelief. I dream of her & a day out with her but that too seems like a far off bliss.

I try to put up a smile to every bystander's face in which I am keeping it up; the only thing at which I am recording some consistent success. I dread a phone call & rather am happy keeping to myself. She is an exception though.

Where would all this reflect? Should I stop for once, look back & feel gifted to write this? Or should I curse my agonizing irony that compels me to write 'that' ?

Three figures!

It being a Saturday and me being an employee of the most generous organization I've ever come across in my life, we were fed with hot pizzas in this cold weather. I pushed down one through my throat into my stomach but the walls of throat were asking for me; this time in the form of not a substance but a fluid. I fathomed its requirements and walked lazily towards the cafe.

There's a paan shop adjacent to the cafe where I trade in money for cigarettes and as I was lighting one, I overheard a vehement discussion going on among three familiar voices and I readily knew whom those voices belonged to. They were Seniors.  At Work. Equally generous towards a young and freshly recruit like me; always. I hung my head while the first wave of smoke escaped my lips and walked towards the entrance of the cafe. The voices were still on top of their optimum; catching the momentum of crescendo that was ignited by the collective denial of new formation of Telangana.

Three of them; let me name them Ram, Shyam and Kishore. Ram and Shyam occupied one side of a table as they share the brotherhood of smokers and Kishore on the other side; to spare himself from the adjacency of smoke that runs through his ears!

Ram and Shyam were facing their backs at me; and so Kishore's face complemented mine. There was a hiss Kishore let out and that alarmed the other two people and the voices dropped flat like an insipid kite that drops flat when its string loses the connection somehow with the anchor.

I knew it was about Telangana - the region where I hail from but not one of three seniors. They belonged to the counterpart of Telangana and boast the vainglory of being belonged. I never cared less about that. I always saw myself as the resident of the Capital. But not pertaining to any specific region to be judged by or to judge.

I slowly occupied the same table but on the other row, and they threw smiles at me for which I responded with a faint one. When all our brains were running the film of Andhra - Telangana; none had the capability to pause the film and to bring the concept of 'co-worker ship' onto the forefront.

They emptied their cups of tea, blew out till the stubs in their hand died and walked away past me towards the counter to clear the bill off. I sat there. I stared at them; they were dissolving into obscurity. They were merging into oblivion. Three figures. Yesterday they were colleagues and today, they have been counterparts.

How I wait for tomorrow to run into them with a smile and I'd love to see their faces changing colours. But I always see them amiable co workers who always smiled at me with pure hearts. Should I now say Jai Telangana?

God must save us.

Its amazing how change seeps in when its expected the least. Change in perspective. Change in outlook. Change in perceiving things. Change in interpreting them. Wonderful. With such lives of span a water bubble, we give it serious thoughts and much serious plans we draw.

We plan almost half a century of life from now while driving back home and none can assure that we drive straight back home without any cliche in between. We are too occupied with our thoughts that we take trivialities for granted. If only we live each second of our lives, in constant pursuit of being better, informed human beings tomorrow.

We establish likes, interests and we reinforce them with experiences that encounter us everyday. Each experience counts in some way or the other; adding strength to our interests or blowing them away to pieces by establishing newly discovered ones.

We chase people, we ignore the chasing. We begrudge things and but we invest in owning them. But a time comes when we realize all that but by then, the bubble will be ready to explode. We look back in retrospect on death bed. Moments count then. There. When they say they do, we laugh them off saying 'Words on Death Bed'.

We are too busy in trying to be informed that we lose track of common sense. Too much of knowledge is also too bad, in a few cases. But the 'few' has become mainstream. People senselessly chase flashy dreams that they forget what constitutes the ground.

God must save us!

Writing's calling!

Writing to me is a funny thing to look back at. When I almost resolved not to try my hand at writing, it just came back to me, as stronger & fiercer as ever. I now write this piece to check on myself where I stand. Owing to the repercussions on personal front, I almost forgot how it feels to write. But when I retrospect, its the only saving grace I've ever resorted to.

Writing, on the other hand, serves as a period dysfunctional outlet to me. That's one thing which I sometimes hate but it never hates me by not letting me mumble for words when I need them the most. That crown pizza and the conversation over it triggered the dying interest inside me to try frisking my pen again.

However, when reading pushed the writing to back seat, it silently turned its back on me and occupied the last row. It never retaliated. It just behaved as if it knew me and I would get back to it in no time and so I did. Settling for less seemed comfortable, non fussy but projecting myself to those risky meanders of life by giving myself a chance to live thousands of lives in one now seems the fitting choice.

When all said and done, rain drops were pouring down.
I with a dying stub in my hand ran my fingers through my hair.
I slurped the tea from my cup and stared ahead at the dawn.
It silently pointed its looks to the destiny that smilingly settled far off there.

Ambition never did bad to them. It served the purpose of personal success. On the bigger picture, it gave them much nobler causes to live & die for. For me, to embellish my world with those little, lucid & known words, here stands the last chance. To grit it out, to pen it down and to wave it off - comfortably in the faces of creed obsessed fascists.

Here it is, Writing is calling. For good or bad, the path found and treading it begins shortly. This may sound as an instigated ambition but a good 3 days of thought went into this.




    

That smile

Where do I belong when she refuses to take me in? Do I stand in the foyer, glancing all around to find a place to step in? Will I just walk my way out & disappear into the green alleys of a park nearby?

When the newly found adulation for post rock is echoing in my ears & quite oppositely, my white shirt refuses to attract any warmth within the cold walls of work place, I look around desperately for her warming look & assuring smile that I always fail in finding at.

The informed, the gifted and the revered are constantly trying to soothe me but her absence is too large for them to compensate.

I belong now to such a world where people pretend to be happy or perhaps, are they really? I walk with drooped shoulders & my hands disarmingly tucked into pockets, staring at unnoticed pebbles that decorate the path to cafeteria. I feel the pinning smiles of acquaintances on my back. I tilt my head to blow off those smiles but the oxides of carbon I blow out of my mouth only adds to the proliferation of those fake.

The left vertex of my lips slightly extends into its left which denotes a faint smile.

That smile, they think, is a response. That smile, I know, is a retaliation.

One of those little niceties.

Monsoon invades the city. Living through the first downpour of the year took me back to 2011. What a fantastic years 2011 was? Things were way too perfect to complain about. Rooting back to present, I drive through shimmering rain whose drops gleam when vehicles' lights pass through them.

I see the roadside vendors pulling back their showcasing planks of hand made products from getting drenched. One downpour can actually snatch away their monthly earnings. I smile from inside the car which fails to penetrate through the semi tinted glass of my car's window to reach one of them. They stare at my car with a fear in their eyes, anticipating a wheel splash of stagnated water. They clench their fists to close their eyes to live through one more four wheeler's ominous stunt but I fathom that fear. I decelerate my car  while its tyres stylishly land into tiny pits of water & emerge ravishingly, yet harmlessly in pursuit of another ones. Water doesn't splash & then, one of them rises on his knees to peek his head on par with my shoulder level, locate my car & waves a hand with a giant grin across his lips.

I catch the sight on the rear view mirror, smile to myself & drive forward in search of another footpath entrepreneur to reassure him that he is actually cared by somebody. 

Something about self on a dry wednesday afternoon

How many days has it been I have written about myself and the advancements in my life? Too many. I suddenly get this dejected feeling of not devoting enough time to think about myself.

I am slowly settling down in the new company. Its walls don't seem strange anymore and the road to office of which's manholes and speed breakers, I am aware of their presence of.

I have always thought every year of my life as a formative one so far but the real formative period is this, trust me. My behavior, my state of being are taking meandering curves, surprising everyone, sometimes pleasantly and sometimes, not so pleasantly.

I struggle everyday to make a stand, often do I fail but then convince myself that the initial times are turbulent and all this is not uncommon.

My hope for her return still resides safely inside me, though the outer being doesn't express it any more. Its just like an unheard musing of the self.

Almost no alcohol, sobriety is slowly consuming me. I have my set of problems but this time, I feel a little optimistic to myself because I am making peace with the fact that all those can be solved.

Anger needs to be addressed.


Later then.