To Paint Play or Pray

 

There is so little left of life that no one can afford to miss one bit of a moment to experience joy, laughter and bliss. As a child we were all born happy. Others could only stop us from experiencing what we found to be happiness - like stopping us from jumping into a puddle or getting drenched in the rain or just watching a metamorphosis. Happiness is just there 'within'... by nature. 

And then the child grew and started to look around for supportive happiness, a form of dependency to make one happy that seemed impossible 'without' others permit. Happiness expected to be derived from others, other things or other's things - a commercialized concept of modified and nurtured happiness. The idea of happiness we picked up from people around us and from leaflets in magazines to exploit man's search for satisfaction. The claim that the better watch is the costlier watch, the better car is the yacht, the better (pent)house is the one on the rooftop that no one would otherwise want, the best drink is the one that oozes out of a civet's butt and the best food is something that is covered with gold that the body can't even absorb. And we fall for it...

This Veblen Effect of purchasable happiness moves us to find ways to bring in the moolah to gain the content to find what it promises. Some buy things while others go after people. Finally, we have our warehouse and storerooms full of things we do not use and our boardroom and bedroom with people we cannot trust one bit. This search for finding something lost either puts us in a vicious circle or takes us on a carrot and stick ride. 

Art turns beautiful and develops a character when the artist sublimates; but sublimation sinks the artist into the challenges, problems and issues he faces subtly yet with a subliminal effect. The end might bring in a smile but the journey would have been a walk through silent pain that only the artist would know. Sports on the other hand, would be a diversion indeed - to play that shot, to hit that target, to checkmate... that requires focus and concentration before experiencing that exhilarating sense of ecstasy - but that too comes with a quid pro qua - the sportsman has to be in a particular state demanded to reap the particular rush promised. Meditation and its associated jing bangs also can take you out of reality - like a drug - yet the reality awaits with its jaw open and shiny, pointed teeth waiting to swallow you whole when you come out of that cuckoo world. 

What is happiness then(?) Where is this 'joy'(?) When does one attain bliss(?) I have reached a phase in my life where I render it a privilege if I can find someone happy and consider myself fortunate to be in their company. That gratitude gives me a chance to be at bliss. I think when we wonder why God put us through a rough patch in our life and ask why our facade of happiness was shattered(?), it is perhaps to remove the filth that covers our eyes, to make us see the false and the pretentious lies floating around us and clean the rubbish we had to put up with while creating a space to accommodate simpler and truer essence of life. Every journey changes the man who undertakes it and every scar has a story to tell. Until then, Paint, Play or Pray... everything for a while.  

Nude at Crossroads

There are things we build with hope. Hope they say is what keeps us doing what we do and without it, we are as good as dead. Hope brings forth optimism, a willingness to move forward - despite every reason one has not to do so. Hope, is a thought. 

To lean on Greek mythology and look at the lore about the emergence of hope, it starts when Pandora, the first woman sent by the Gods as a form of punishment to man (interesting isn't it(?)), could not withstand her temptation and opened the Box of Troubles with which she was sent, that which she was cautioned not to open (interesting again, isn't it(?)) This mistake arising from her impulsive curiosity was realized only after the damage was done and all the troubles were out (interestingly typical once again(!)) Well, almost... 

Pandora however was quick to cover up and managed to shut the box before the final 'trouble' escaped. The one that remained. The only one that managed to remain. Though intact, nevertheless, a trouble. This in fact is the reason for all the trouble, that makes man take and endure the rest of the troubles. Perhaps, the worst form of trouble. 

Guess what that mischievous trouble could be... well, indeed, it is 'Hope'. The one that makes us feel that everything will be alright, that everything erred can be forgiven, forgotten; the lost can be rebuilt, the sickness would heal, the dead would rise, a few still alive would die, the clock will slow down for us to catch up, the lost will be found and the found could be lost; every puzzle can be solved and every problem resolved; the crooked crook can be caught by her horns and thrown into a burning bush of thorns; hope, is what makes us walk through burning coals of torture, climb the pricky ladder of indifference, cross the burning bridges of chances, break the glass ceiling and endure the pain to finally meet the blind lady of justice and win the battle against lies, betrayal and double standards and war against the hypocrites - everything with nothing but an invisible armour of 'hope'. But then, that is what hope does... makes one feel unconquerable while exposing what a vulnerable, empty, depending fool he is and pushes him soon into the embarrassing dark dungeons of regret and shame.    

Every man must fall, every river must rise, every stone will turn to sand and every grain of sand to stone, every tower will fall and the earth will still move even if we don't wake up at night. There is nothing to hope for and trouble ourselves. Every other trouble erupts from outside - except hope. Why bother ourselves with hope(?) Losing hope is the best way of not being distracted, attracted and becoming stubborn with our pursuit. When standing naked and with nothing to hold on to at the crossroads of life, look back and be overwhelmed, stay stranded in oblivion - brooding over things you cannot change or see the three turns ahead and move ahead without hope, without expectation - that is perhaps the realization they call 'nirvana'. 

A Daily Dose of Love

 "रांड सांड सीढ़ी सन्यासी इनसे बचे सो आये कासी" 

(Raand, Sand, Seedi, Sanyasi - Inse Bache So Aye Kashi)

- Kabir :)

'The four' Kabir asks every thinking, sensible and rationale man to detach himself from to move towards 'Kashi'. 

Makes sense when you see them to be the forecasted encounters every man will find enroute to 'Kashi'. Those temptations that will test a man's virtue, intellect, courage and wisdom before being considered worthy of reaching 'Kashi'. Kabir reminds us to be saved from the scripts and games of these unpredictable four if one wants to be single-minded in attention, focus and concentration to reach 'Kashi'. 

But, what is there in 'Kashi' upon reaching there(?) What's in store in the literal as well as figurative Kashi(?) A bunch of lost souls who got in there, landed there, found their way there... or perhaps the enlightened lot who will not speak and would rely on everyone to find their own way - waiting to blame it on destiny if one finds and if one doesn't/cannot too. So we have a bunch of disconnected people who have walked past dangers and temptations and know that each person's journey is unique and cannot be replicated. There would be those who would have found the meaning of life in the meaningless nothingness of nirvana. So basically there is nothing. So what is the point of going to Kashi(?)

The fun I think is in the journey rather than the destination. If we focus on the journey, we miss the destination and vice versa. Isn't it(?)

Isn't human life about being there and fighting through strife(?) The identity of a human being (the answer to the basic question, 'Who are you(?)') does not lie in our our name, age, gender, position or any other silly societal given's - that would be too lame even if we agree to it with the slightest expectation. Our existence lies in our action - in what we do. In the verb and not in the noun, adjective or compliment. We are not who we say we are; rather, our actions explain who we are - even without saying a word. Words fool while the truth lies in silence.   

In our search for rest, calmness and a piece of peace within the facade of life and its briefings, we miss the beauty of chaos and the adventure of moving through it. The test of virility is not in choosing to be impotent.

 

  

 

The Three Kinds of People

In a recent conversation with my son, he mentioned that we should not be cutting ties with people; this was after we were wondering about being independent and self-reliant without bothering or disturbing others. He reminded me of an earlier conversation we had when I had mentioned that it is not ideal to to be dependent and lost nor wise to be independent and alone but quite reassuring when we can be 'inter-dependent'. He added on, 'We have lost too many people who we couldn't get along with and we are left with only a few... let's not lose them too.'

This was neat and timely. The books say, people either go towards people, avoid people or move away from people. The first two are surprisingly sympathetic and pathetic. Those who move towards people with a sense of neediness to be accepted, respected and loved are those who need constant validation; those who avoid are the one's who have been affected during earlier interactions with certain kinds who would have broken a trust or even better - betrayed them. The third kind are the complacent ones... with no need for validation nor fear of being betrayed - they simply move away minding their own business with self-assurance. Which one to be or not to be, is our choice and ours alone.   

Personally, I have committed to be of the third kind. Superimposing Transactional Analysis to these three types, this may also be compared to being a dependent child and transforming into a selective adolescent/adult and later maturing into a spaced-out individual. While this may sound and appear to be a personality trait, it is a dependent variable based on our situation. It is retrospective. 

My son seems to be right in content yet we may have to differ in perspective. For some considered lost, who walked away, who shut doors, who live in a scripted delusional narrative do not deserve to be with you for better or for worst. At this point, we may not know what we appear to be or which category we get slotted into by others. That is upto them and we have no control over it. The best I can say to those who have taken their time to label and slot me into a category of their convenience, I may be guilty as charged; but, the charges are guiltlessly accepted...  

Ditches and Hitches

A smile is all that you look for when life is sloppy and you don't seem to get a hang of it.

A smile even from someone unrelated and distant can make your burden light.

A smile when the stretcher rolls, a smile when a file moves, a smile that disappears at a turn and returns to appear once again for a lifetime. 

A smile is all it takes to make it's greedy cousin - the laughter - poised for a while.

For the past few weeks I have been facing this strange issue of a reemergence of unprompted memories at the wrong time in front of unexpecting people in the most inappropriate way. These moments happened while seated on a dentist's chair and when asked to bite into a mould to get an impression or when the nurse was trying to pump out the aftermath of a few procedures - when I was expected to stay still... but couldn't. It was the return of the uncontrollable happiness and laughter that were part of my soul a few decades ago. When this imploring excavation and restoration was happening in my mouth with two, three people hovering over my face and asking me to keep my mouth wide open or shut tight, I was erupting into laughter. Why(?) Because I was recollecting old jokes, silly ones, funny ones, stupid ones, creamy ones that were once shared among friends and closer ones and with whom I have cracked up like there was no end to it.

Well, this time, I was not going to stop... I needed this happiness. Something lost over a couple of years in the past. A dark phase of my life. A phase I wish can be wiped out. A phase when I was made to feel guilty and ashamed of everything about me... like the demons could gaslight anything (kuch bhee) and were there to snatch what was 'me' out of me. Laughter and smiles are like a thunderstorm and rain that quenches the earthy soul that clears the slate. That brings back memories, a new strength, a new possibility and lets you throw a birdie at people who are there thinking that they have the power to restrict or control it. It is this happiness - even if it is in front of strangers - as embarrassing as it can be that every man deserves to have.

Life is fun. Especially when you can see possibilities past the ditches and hitches... 

Hocus Pocus Focus

Why is it that we don't break into a laughter these days(?)

Why is it that we can foretell how a story is going to end even before reading the book or watching a movie to its end(?)

Why is it that we don't get fooled by people's behaviour - no matter how much effort they put in to conceal their intentions(?)

Well, perhaps if you are wondering why, the reason may not be that you were suddenly miracalized by a magical wand and have been loaded with a sack-load of wisdom. Neither does it mean that your years of investing in knowledge-accumulation has finally started to pay off nor does it imply that you have been suddenly awakened with realization from a session of pseudo-science like yoga, accupressure, accupuncture or even tantric hocus pocus. 

The actual reason for being able to reason, rationalize and reach a conclusion even before getting excited without a boring conversation or never-ending observation is because of a process of data assimilation and identification of patterns of thought and behaviour and being accustomed to experiences of knowing what that would lead to that comes with ageing with unwalled experiences. Its like being able to predict the movement of a vehicle looking at the indicator - it could be as obvious as that. 

While idiots may call it a gut-feeling for loss of better words, a intellect-wannabe may recall it to be Deja or Voulez Vous. To break it into simpler language, this factor to reach quicker conclusions on where the path one takes or someone else we observe taking could lead to - like the prognosis a doctor makes - comes with age; 'age' that provides experiences on exposure to stimuli that are at times pleasing and many times... unpleasant - like the scent of a woman or maybe the scent of the woman. 

We look in awe at the elderly who can predict the future of our current experiences and situations in life and may even look upon them as a sage or as some divine incarnate. But, we could be a big butt wrong... for the more a person is exposed to multi-faceted stimuli without judgement or preference and the more endowed he is with opportunities considered vain, unvirtous and condemnable that make him corrupt with experience, the better chances he has to be likeable and to be seen as a person with a halo by all. Only the wisest man siting there giving advice knows what a SoaB he is on the inside... Quite a predicament isn't it(?)

The fact is, as long as man has access to good, clean and an unconditional supply of air, food, water and sex, he will remain a Saint. Deny any of these and he becomes a Saint Bernard. While we all know that a well fed cat never steals, the problem with the world today is that we have made these basic and elementary human needs 'inaccessible' not only by making it unaffordable but by making it undeservable through values imposition - values that become barriers and burdens than anything of brilliance. Exploration in forbidden territories begin with denial and the enthusiasm to do so is sustained by the way one is able to justify their way until they reach a point of unguarded, unguided, unquestioned orgasmic explosion that comes with the risk of expulsion. The one's who find it, remain quitely seated with a smuck smile of bliss while the others who run around searching for it like a blind, headless chicken in a dark maze at night, may meditate to cool their groins. 

Life is simple. And in it lies the beauty of our salvation.        

The Recoiling Whip

 

Poetry and art, they say, are not to be explained.

They are to be understood and interpreted as the viewer pleases.

If explained, they cease to be poetry or art as they turn into a prose that is as much a narrative.

Life too swings on this balance - on one hand when logic strikes and makes us see everything as right and wrong, left or right, black or white; while on the other, we see life as an emotional essence that needs to be felt - unexplainable and uninterpretable. 

Then there is also the grey line between that black and the white... the crossroads at which we often st(r)and. Where pieces of the puzzle we try to solve, the riddle that we must resolve, the maze through which we fix our gaze - all seems to fall right in place. This is a God forsaken land where only truth triumphs, where one is true to their own self, where the exchanges that happened did so in the quiet darkness of our souls - the mutely comfortable point where remotely isolated truth gets segregated from the bashful lies - even if it cannot be proclaimed loud. The fantasies - implored and explored - every thought that could possibly bring an unstoppable mischievous smile. The facade.

Companion is a partner with whom your secrets are safer than it would be if it were with you; a person who judges not yet is excited and looks forward to hear and share about what one experiences; a soulmate with whom one can share thoughts and thoughtlessness as if one were speaking through a mirror. Mirrors are fragile and tend to break... still, reflections are as needed as a companion. When the journey into the next wilderness continues, away from explored and more accustomed paths, the vulnerability of being broken (yet again) does creep up like a recoiling whip. Yet, it moves...  

The Burning Child

You left me in the morning when the sky was turning gray,  

Slipped out like a whisper, like you had nothing more to say.  

No note, no explanation, just the echo of your name,  

And here I am, a child, left alone to bear the shame.  

Did you think I wouldn’t notice, that I wouldn’t even care?  

Did you think I’d just forget, like you were never there?  

But your absence carved a wound, a scar that doesn’t fade,  

And I’ve spent days in silence, choking on the blade.  

I grow up with questions that no one could explain,  

A heart full of anger, soaked in bitter pain.  

Where were you when I needed arms to hold me tight?  

Where were you when the nightmares haunted me at night?   

Did you ever think of me, or did you block me out?  

Erase me from your memory, erase me from your doubt?  

But I am not so fragile, I won’t be cast aside—  

I am the storm you left behind, I’m anger’s fierce tide.  

So here’s to you, the ghost who walks the halls of my past,  

The mother who abandoned, who never thought to ask.  

I don’t need your reasons, I don’t need your lies—  

Just know you built this fire, see it burning in my eyes.  

I’ll rise from what you left, stronger than before,  

A girl who found her power in a mother’s open door.  

And when you look back, if you ever dare to see,  

Know that it was you who made this fire inside me.

Promises To Keep

My children, in your eyes I find my light,  

Two stars that guide me through the darkest days,  

In every smile, you banish every night,  

And fill my world with hope's unending rays.

Though paths are steep, and I have walked alone,  

Your laughter lifts the weight I bear with grace,  

In every step, you’ve made this house a home,  

And in your love, I’ve found my sacred place.

A father's heart, though weary, beats for you,  

Through all the trials, I stand to see you grow,  

For in your joy, I find a strength anew,  

A love that only we three could ever know.

So here I vow, with all my soul and might,  

To guard your dreams, my son, my daughter bright.

She The Woman

Oh, woman of the silent night,  

Your hands have toiled without applause,  

In shadows deep, away from light,  

You gave your all, without a pause.

The world has turned its gaze away,  

No laurels cast upon your brow,  

Yet day by day, you fight and stay,  

Without a word, without a vow.

You bear the weight of others' dreams,  

With steadfast heart, though few may see,  

The quiet strength that softly gleams,  

The fierce resolve to simply be.

For all the deeds that go unsung,  

For every tear you do not show,  

Your worth, to which no words have clung,  

Is more than you could ever know.

So here’s an ode to what’s unsaid,  

To every task you’ve done alone,  

Though thanks are few, and praise has fled,  

You are the rock, the cornerstone.

Oh thankless one, you stand so tall,  

Though shadows cling, and light seems rare,  

Your spirit, it surpasses all,  

A beacon strong, beyond compare.