A Thought On Killing

People kill. People think they can conquer someone by killing. People think death is strong... stronger than life. They are wrong. Death is never stronger than life. Life is strong. Like truth is stronger than a lie. Death is a lie. Life is the truth. People kill. They think they have conquered someone by killing... yet what have they conquered really? A body?! A body is already lifeless without the spirit. How scared were they then of the spirit they try to kill? Killing exposes fear. Fear of something far above what they can bear that they decide to silence. Killing does not silence. Silence is loud. The voice spoken within is louder than the noise of a thousand outside. Killing ends the body not the spirit. The spirit lives. Lie dies. Truth lives. Body dies. Yet the soul wanders. Killing only sets the spirit free to wander. The body restricts. Death liberates. That is probably why people do not find the liberty they seek till they die. That is probably why it takes more strength to live than die. Thanks to the killer. Thanks to God... 

All for what?!

"For the sheer fun of it" the words sounded too familiar especially when in the hunt to hear it led me somewhere in the middle of nowhere making it more surreal. Running after money, running after promotions, running after a job just slipping away, running after a mortgage yet to be paid and running on and on one after the other, at some point of time, we would be surprized if we ever stop running. We would probably be hopeless if we did not have a reason to keep running. What if we do stop some day, look around and do something that we are totally passionate about... say for 'nothing'?!...

The world would call us stupid enh?! probably refer to it as madness?! or perhaps a professional suicide?! and as we slow down to hear these being said, we panic and strain to run faster to make up for the speed lost while stopping to listen rather than give it a thought.

Everyone is a human afterall at the the end of the day... right?! Won't it hurt running too long, so fast and enduring the race without knowing what it is that that we run for and how far the run or where the destiny lies?! Poor mortals we! Dare not stop! Run on!

The one who stops to listen to his heart, hear the rhythym of his soul, let his mind rest, allow the wind to take its course and route the sail... would he dare to venture into the pathless path of the unknown mystery giving space for time and tide to take its own course?! Fear! the fear of an unknown phantom sometimes is larger than life. The fear to be alone, the fear of loneliness, the fear to take the first step towards independance when dependance seems more secure... those fears that kill us a million times before death takes us once.

What is this with us humans?! We want everything to be immortal and endure a never ending fight with time. We apply the best beauty lotions that promises us wrinkle-free skin, those hybrid creams that promise us instant fairness, those great hair colours that promises to give us an instant cover-up for those spooky greys with a sheen and shine that comes extra, those teeth whiteners that will give our teeth a glow, a glow so bright that it could solve the problem of bad street lights in the rural India, all those products that will promise us ever-youth, defy age and keep us immortal denying us of the self and destroying everything connected therewith including self-worth and self-respect, which by the by is not packated and sold making ourselves a mockable ridicule by going to the farthest extent to escape the clutches of the impact time. For what?! To live for ever and ever more?! Who are we kidding?! One can walk out of a beauty salon after a full days TLC and walk straight into a speeding truck to be crushed to a pulp and to be scrapped out of the ground by a local street cleaner and sent straight to the morgue for post mortem where hyper-chlorinated water will be used to clean before finely wrapping into a cloth fit to lift a cockroach and dumped into a box fit to hold bullcrap before being sent home in a lousy vehicle fit to move some worthless nothing... Oops! by the by was I mentioning us?!

Thats all life is and all the hungama and dhamasha! The wild chase to defy time...

Bottomline: "God pours life into death and death into life without a drop being spilled." Author Unknown

Want To Touch Her

Been trying to get some concepts into an idea that emerged... so took a while to sit and blog. However, its nice to see the counter hits increasing. Then about the pondering obviously uncouth (they are mine), think I am trying to have a system in my madness trying to arrange them; so have papers, charts and diaries strewn everywhere and am trying to network between books, transcending between literatures like a child lost in an amusement park. Whatever...

Yesterday, in the night as a friend and I were waving good nights to the kids across the house, we were silenced as we proceeded to hear the winding of my friend-that 9 feet long black cobra-around a cat. Undefinable screaming of the cat found no mercy with the reptile. The silence becoming stronger with every coil... The distant death was profoundly obvious and the mystery of the night camouflaged it quite well. We both looked at each other and said, 'its over'. Just as we said that, we heard a hungry whining of an ambulance speeding across the road. Another somebody at the grip of death... the siren silenced too at a distance. We looked at each other and said, 'think they will reach in time'. Hope and despair... both in silence endured. With every day going by, the coil just getting tighter, the siren just getting louder and death ineveitable.

The kiss of death, like a lover's kiss, a delightful surprize when mutual. Have I feared death? Never! Has death feared me? Suppose not too! Been kissed just as much as I have kissed it too. Never wanted to die several times fearing it-before dying that one time once and for all.

At the moment, I remember that little girl whose mother had died; who never knew what death was-she probably thought that her mother was sleeping a little longer than usual and there was a jobless crowd of people watching her sleep, quite strangely. The next day after the burial, when I felt that reality would have kicked in and she would begin to feel her absence, I went to see her and watch how a little child was coping up with pain. Reached her house and there were people consoling her father. My eyes searched for her and she was invisible. Kept moving till I came to the dining table where on one end her mother's garlanded photograph was kept. With the maximum stretching she could do, she was trying desperately to reach the photo frame (thats how small she was). Just then, I saw her and she saw me. With a relief, she came closer to me, hugged me as usual and asked, "I am trying to reach my mom; can you carry me and take me closer to my mom I WANT TO TOUCH HER". If there was anything that has killed me, this was it. To be in that place and to realize this innocence, even the uncouthed barbarian would have moved. Carried her. She touched. She looked at me and said, 'I miss her'. Tried very hard not to let that drop of tear clouding my eyes not slip away infront of her.

Bottomline: "I am prepared to meet my Maker. Whether my Maker is prepared for the great ordeal of meeting me is another matter. " Winston Churchill

First Encounter With Death

There was a program I was watching on television about tatooing; this is something I am fascinated about yet I had and still slightly do, a sort of bigotry about the ones who get it done. There was an young lady who came along with her mother in this program with a photo of a very beautiful girl in hand and wanted the same tatooed in her calf. The girl she said was her sister and she kept blabbing about how close they were et all... the twist of the story came when she mentioned that she was getting the image of her sister tatooed following her first death anniversary. However, stranger was the story that followed... This tatooing lady had gone out for a party and had returned late on that fateless day to find her sister lying face down and when she tried to wake her up she found that she had collapsed beyond return. The interesting part of the story did not stop there. The tatooing sister was pregnant during this incident and was filled with mixed emotions-guilt and sadness to be specific following the loss. Guilt was due to her absence during her sister's suffering and sadness as she would miss her sister during her pregnancy. The mother of twists followed now... this sweet lady delivered a girl who grew up to look exactly like her dead sister in the exact same spot where her sister had died by chance... Wow!

This incident actually brought into me reminiscence of Jeba. Jeba was one of my best friends in primary school. The kind of person with whom you write your homework et all. His mother was a very sweet lady and I used to admire the way the house was kept-always organized and clean-quite contrary to the ever present havoc and catastrophe in ours. One day Jeba didn't come to school and later that evening I was told that his mother had died and Jeba was there besides waiting for his father to fly in from some country. This was the first news of death I heard. Never understood. Still don't. He wa so young and such huge a loss? He had walked in after school and his mother, neatly dressed as usual in her crisp saree, was lying in the bed as if peacefully sleeping, he later told me. He had gone and tried to wake her up and as his attempt to do so, grew louder, neighbours stepped in. Still kills me as an adult trying to empathize what a child would have gone through while trying to wake a mother who would never wake. Jeba never understood death either at that point. Later Jeba never came to school... was told that his father had taken him with him... never seen him so far. Its a small world afterall and I still remember this child.

Bottomline: Just once we die and just once we live... yet just how many times do we die to live just once?!

Turn After Turn

Things are taking an interesting turn during the recent past that can be written in to the most beautiful book that often emerges out of the author's grave. Assault to my soul and the need for sublime acceptance of whats happening and keeping them all under subtle cover, hiding beneath a turmoil of self-rendered torture... know what,... I can keep going on like a writer in full swing yet I chose to retain my calm and maintain that highly beneficial silence at the moment for the best interest of all; lest i sway.

Can kill a Man only once... right? Can't kill a dead Man over and over again... right? Then if I may ask, 'if Lord it is not mine and was never meant to be, then why and from where this desire?...'

Somehow, the way of punishing is so different in the hands of the good God above. It just not scars the mind yet also kills the soul. This is even harder when you have to live to see yourself die.

Bottomline: However, life is such and such is life... so be it...