A World Of My Own

Everyday of this life is the sum total of two worlds – one that is shaped to our desires and the other of how life really is. If you are lucky, in a day, most things that come to pass will be parts of both these worlds.

But there will always be some days, when you would do all the right things and yet the only thing that you really wanted then in your life will elude you. It is difficult still, if you actually had that something for sometime. The heart, you see, has a way of holding on to moments, people or simply objects it comes to cherish. And it is then, more than ever, that the two worlds never felt more further apart. There is a terrible void instead that all the activities and objects of the second world are unable to fill in, as the mind continues to dwell in the only place it knows that dear thing still exists – the world of our desires.

Passion

The terrace offers a welcome solitude, broken only by the drone of planes passing overhead – a little too frequent for my liking. The cool, autumn breeze and the solitary darkness here are both missing in the street below. Light from a single street-lamp falls on the road, scattered through the foliage of the encircling trees – it plays tricks with the shadow of the occasional passer-by. And dancing to the flames of the lone street-lamp are scores of moths. They flitter in a frenzy now; most will be dead tomorrow, consumed by the very flames they desire so fervidly.

I am glad we, humans, have no such natural instincts to keep us bound and unable to explore. Free of such particular temperament that would lead us to a sure doom. But are we really?
What must it be like to burn in passion – to pledge it your very being and in turn be consumed by it… I wonder.

The Choices We Make

It all starts quite normally: a fascination for the foamy crests, forming and breaking and forming once again. It brings to mind the mariners of yore or even the present day surfers as they ride the tempestuous waves. And so grows a desire, albeit modest, to take a dip in those raging waters, to feel the sand being swept away from under one’s toes – nothing unusual about all these. On the shore, these waves seem so lovely and gentle – their roar subdued, crashing away harmlessly on the sandy coast. That is until, you accept their invitation and go deeper into their territory. There you feel their might and their unbridled roar. As the land slips away from underneath your feet, so does your sense of security. Those ‘harmless’ waves now have you under their power; buffeting you kindly one moment and tossing you around like a rag-doll figure the very next. Yet, there still remains a belief that you are very much in control and so you venture deeper. And it is there you catch the sight of a swelling giant moving silently your way. It evokes a response: it is that of awe and fear. Something inside you screams for the shore. But don’t give in just yet. Stay. Experience the thrill. And if you survive, which you quite often will, you would have lived a moment.

Life is immeasurable. Some do it in days, others in moments and no one can tell for sure whether a really old man in his peaceful death was a happier man than the guy who went out risking everything for what he loved the most. It’s all about the choices we make. It always has been. But more importantly, it’s about being happy with our share of choices through the lifetime.

Where the Mind is Without Fear

I have always found myself intrigued by theories like the Domino Effect or the Butterfly Effect and their manifestations. They have always been very fascinating; their demonstrations often pleasing to the eye. When I think about it, a large part of Dussehra’s charm was in its customary burning of the effigies of Ravana and Co. How a small fire would grow on to consume the grand constructs. Everything around us seems so big when we are kids; those structures, nevertheless, were enormous by any standards. And yet to watch them perish in flames that started off as a mere fire-cracker….
It is the idea of how a seemingly small, insignificant action can have outcomes entirely unexpected. So it is with life. Every action of ours has a consequence, which in turn is a product of our thoughts. Knowing this, can we ever let our minds wander? And if not, how do we then dare to think beyond the conventional?

Yesterday

This time, as I came back from McLeod, it was with a realization that it may be the last time for a long while before I’d return to Roorkee again. The milling crowd of rick-pullers at the station thronged the few passengers who had alighted in this undistinguished little town. And a myriad thoughts came rushing in with the question: “Kaun sa bhawan?”. Of how ‘Azad’ had jumped to my tongue so naturally and how this may be the last time ever anyone would unquestionably assume us to be students. Of how the next monsoons when the “Dehradun Jan Shatabdi” would return to Roorkee, running over with IITR folks, I wouldn’t be one of them.
It was 5 in the morning and the sky was overcast, with hues of sunrise. On the rick, while on my way to campus, the place never seemed more endearing or the weather more pleasant. It reminded me of the July here that I would sorely miss; the town that rushed to meet the hurtling train every new session. Inside an incessant chatter among scores of familiar faces. Outside the soft patter of the gently falling rain.

I remember from my childhood, the first time I returned to my hometown. It was 1994; two years after my family had shifted to this place near Delhi, where my father was working. Within this span of two years I had gained several inches and a degree of consciousness. This is when my earliest memories begin. I had the time of my life there in that place and the trip alone was enough to lose my heart to the countryside and its way of life. Games and harmless pranks with cousins, being chased around for a dose of playful licking, the restlessness of the lone soul unable to fall asleep on summer afternoons, the lanterns twinkling in the doorway as evening set in and the bedtime stories – they seem a part of a different life now. I remember vividly how upset I was on my way back home – the silent tears that were shed curled up on the upper berth of the train; its rhythmic shaking a slight comfort.

Between the two train journeys a world of difference grew. The years have been a series of journeys and escapades – some wilder than others, and with a fair share of joy and sorrow. Each experience was a lesson learnt and soon they were too many to remember. Growing up is tough. And probably because everyone gets their share of it, often underrated. Swamped under the task of all that growing up to do, moments became memories that faded or were carefully stowed away in those deep recesses of mind that are often unlocked only at moments when life stands still. Moments such as these. My countryside-dream melted away, as did others that dwelt in a mind untouched by the ‘wisdom’ that age is sure to bring. Back in those days, most of us longed to be so many things. Some of us still secretly do.

School days were like a long walk – from a bawling kid of which I have only a faint recollection to the awkward teenager – leaving a void in its wake. My college, on the other hand, was over in a heartbeat. And now lying down on the bed, whiling away my time, I wait for my job to start. There’s yet another vacancy to fill and expectations galore. I wonder what changes time will bring to my associations with the past – that old town and the people that came into my life in those four years I spent there; the shortest four years of my life…

In Azad, right next to our wing was a Jacaranda tree. And when the winter chill wore off, there it would stand bearing beautiful violet blossoms – the first traces of color after a spell of winter grey, even as the last remnants of mist hung about its branches. As spring gave way to summer, there they would remain – only a few now, clinging on hopefully, almost desperately; much like I was when the time to leave Roorkee drew nigh. They bloomed in spring and died with the summer heat like they always do; only the next time they blossom I won’t be around to cherish them anymore.

Pain

The world sleeps through… doped, drugged as lives are torn apart all around. Life goes around more or less normally even as Kashmir burns. A fate shared by the north-east and practically every region where India shares its boundaries with another country. Heck! even down south, where the “sharing” of boundaries is as frivolous as the Ram Setu (which itself is submerged under a layer of controversy thicker even than the surrounding waters), folks have had trouble of their own kind. Meanwhile, people elsewhere carry out their chores, blissfully unaware or rather consciously, steadfastly refusing to open their eyes to the doom of a dream that looms above.

A gross insensitivity you say? I believe that’s just a part of their survival instinct. Everyone finds a way; some choose to go out in style, guns blazing while some others duck for cover. One acts a hero, the other a statesman. And neither one is better off, for they have common fates.
Resilience is the key to our survival through ages. It is the ability of the human body and more importantly the spirit to emerge stronger and wiser through every misfortune, be it force of nature or a devilry wrought by human minds. Over time wounds are healed and hurts forgotten. And as an added safety measure an immunity is developed – a layer of indifference that thickens with every such recurrence. Consequently, no soul is stirred with reports of an act of depravity. The news is served in a matter-of-fact tone and is swallowed down the throat with a draught of morning tea, unchewed, untasted. Staple.

But what of those who choose to remember their pain. A pain borne out of unjust punishment and humiliation. Their wounds healed long ago, but they still bear these scars as a mark of their shame. This pain that feeds them gives them the strength to bear a perversion so severe that they descend intentionally into the same wretchedness they have come to detest. And like a pathogen, these men of violence grow. They breed and flourish on the very wreck they wrought, giving birth to newer grievances and consequently more tortured souls. Locked forever in this vicious chain – the makers of destroyers with their own creations.

Yet everything has a reason for its being: Pain helps us understand each other. And just as it enables a person to condescend to the depths of degeneracy, it helps one transcend the barriers of space and time to feel the suffering of another. To share someone’s grief one must have felt the very sting; only the memory of the pain instills in us a semblance of sensitivity. It is true after all that these thoughts have occurred to me only in my current state of wretched existence. Nothing like grief to bond people together. Is that why the Alcoholics Inc. form the closest, most trusting circles, I wonder…
Everyday, as we play our parts, live and interact with others, we tread this fine line between resilience and indifference, often unsure to which side we belong. A strong heart after all, is not necessarily a hard one.

The Times They Are A-Changin’

Reluctant to add any productivity to my hours, I browse through the pics on my lappy – More than 11 GB of memories frozen in time, and many yet to come; sorting them and adding suitable captions so that I don’t have any trouble placing them in the jigsaw of my life eons from now.  Life, of late, has been a hazy, swirling motley of rushing moments – almost a blur. And, I have been trying, with little success, to make heads or tails of it. Too many things to do, and too little a time. I am already past my halftime in the game that has been my life in the col.

Pre-final year is neither here nor there. It lacks the uninhibited enthusiasm and optimism of the freshers; the settled complacence of the sophomores; and despite the overhanging doom of placements, a desire to move the world – that is the hope of the final year. Third year offers ceaseless panic and unrest. It bodes the arrival of a time when even the most complacent, ambition-less among us need to stop basking in the warmth of our success in JEE. Already, there have been sightings of various firms at our doorstep, seeking apprentices. They disappear almost just as secretly as they arrive and with every departure, there are rumors adrift of more and more batch mates being twisted to the Dark side. Rest others are choosing sides – making one of those crucial, life-transforming decisions of their lives: GRE, CAT, GMAT, IAS…, prepared even to sell their souls to the Devil (read: sacrifice the bliss of carefree weekends) in order to gain an edge over those lesser mortals who remain clouded by uncertainties. People are changing and so are the priorities, or probably it’s just my perception that has changed. World around seems clearer, if not better. The insecurities of adolescence are giving way to concerns of entirely different kinds and a graveness of sorts has crept in, where existed until only a while  ago, an innocuous indifference.

The usual night-long bakar sessions are a thing of past. Though still fondly remembered, they have given way to random Google Group activities and certain other awful, inexcusable acts like taking shots of the whole batch’s course grades and then tenaciously compiling them before posting it for everyone’s benefit on the aforementioned groups (The icing on the cake was really the mails that followed, with everyone desperate to garner accolades for the dastardly act.).
Bhawan CCs are no longer home to the wildly, almost grotesquely, colorful games. The cheers, jeers, whoops and those long un-punctuated strings of profanities have been replaced by dull, morbid faces lit up with a fell hunger for foreign internships. Of course, the admin had their own plans. Nothing less than prayers would convince the ubiquitous Gmail to open. It was almost bitter-sweet to see Gmail loading in Basic mode; meant for slow connections, even that seemed too much for our poor wi-fi.

That apart, the insti is changing. High-rises are shooting up everywhere, as if by consuming the greenery that existed at those places a while ago. A Student Activity Centre (SAC) is intended to come up, somewhere in the gaon, which may very well be on its way for a makeover. The all-too-familiar Nesci, that has been witness to truancy and romance for over ages may soon then perish, surviving solely in the memories of its famished frequenters. An unfortunate fallout of development, so similar to those of growing up…
Ever so often, the thoughts linger on those innumerous, wonderful dreams that were conceived of a mind unrestrained; of strangled dreams, abandoned on the path of adulthood just so that each one of us could confirm to the norms of this world. We all wish to be different, and yet are scared to take the risk of following the path less travelled, hugging close to the comforts offered by a crowd. They say everyone is special… but then that’s just a way of saying that no one really is.

The Grim Reaper

The futility of our elaborate plannings became evident when this Deepawali, as I reached home, I received the news of an untimely death of someone I knew. It was a road accident – the usual case of a truck driver assuming the road to be his dominion.
Man proposes, God disposes. To me it appears to be a quote off  The Dark Knight peppered with subtlety: “I’m not a schemer. I try to show the schemers how pathetic their attempts to control things really are.” Probably God thinks on the same lines as The Joker: “Introduce a little anarchy. Upset the established order, and everything becomes chaos. I’m an agent of chaos. Oh, and you know the thing about chaos? It’s fair!”

Talking of God, I remember reading somewhere: most animals have been gifted with just a basic level of memory. They rely more on their instincts. This means that some time after a herd of deer has been hunted and a member killed and consumed, the survivors forget all about the incident. This actually helps them survive. They don’t live under the constant shadow of death and yet are wary of their predators owing to their instincts. (Imagine what would happen to your appetite, if you knew you were soon going to turn into somebody else’s morsel.) The Maker does have a sense of humor and he gave a lot of thought to this world in its making. He didn’t give humans a short-term memory probably because we are meant to do a lot more than just surviving (It’s a different issue altogether that some of us still choose to do just that.). But he gives them hope  beyond reason and the ability to move on.
Life is fragile, snuffed out in an instant. Still, with all the inevitability of death and the evanescence of life, it is the latter that is the stronger element of the two and has been cherished since the forging of this world. And beneath all this randomness of the post there is an order now in my thoughts and  I am glad… I live!

Life beyond Grades

Roorkee summer and the endsems – it doesn’t get any better than this! I am either sweating under the blazing sun or after a glimpse at the course syllabi. The room offers no respite from the heat either, and soon lecture halls and library seem so much more inviting for all the wrong reasons. Trudging along the dreary road back to Azad one such day, I find a rick-puller under the shade of a tree, swiping off the sweat from his face. Remnants of his youth still lingered there somewhere, but flecks of white peppered across his head were in stark contrast – a witness to the grim struggle that was his life. I wonder, for the rest of my way back, about life – with all its unfairness and ironies, and despair and regrets; and yet the innate sense of hope within it and the joy of living. I wonder what secrets my future conceals….

Tempting fate

I have no clue how they work – the Almighty and his Providence! No matter how hard I try to reassure myself about all the “I make my own destiny” crap, I grudgingly admit that at certain times all you can do about a situation is sit back and watch it unfold, helplessly. And when things do go wrong, as they will, all one can do is wring one’s hand (or others’ necks!) and curse their misfortune.

All my elaborate plans and dreams have just wasted away, leaving behind a sour taste in my mouth and a scowl on my face. And leaving others still, susceptible to my venom-laced sputtering. I had tried, all this while, to keep my expectations to a bare minimum. I was cautious against raising my anticipations too high, too soon. But hope, like those glowing embers of fire, have a way of rekindling into flames with even a hint of a gust.

As ever, in spite of everything, a thought had lingered somewhere – in the deep recesses of my mind – foreboding me: It was all too good to be true. And now that premonition has come true. Life is back to the dreary old routine – so predictable. No more plannings, no nervous uncertainties. I have nothing more to look out for….