Yes, I Do Need To Write

Beginning is something which is the most difficult task to do when you belong to the community of procrastination.

Its been months that I haven’t written anything, read anything or done anything meaningful. Actually long vacations have a tragic effect on one’s activities. You don’t sleep till late in the night, you don’t get out of bed and you don’t seem to be doing anything but hogging around for daytime sleep, for food or for that matter anything in which metabolism is not required.

So, this has been the case with me ever since May that my holidays started. Yes, there were plannings, to go here, to visit a friend there and to get a pair of jeans or a sturdy bag or Puma chappals. But plans remain as plans for me. To rot at one place for about 21 years and not even going out at the time of vacation would be something intolerable. But abiding by this intolerance, I stayed at home doing nothing.

What did I do at home for about 3 months? Literally NOTHING. I was trapped in an infinite loop of Eat+Sleep for all these days with my stomach bulging out. Oh! Didn’t I tell you about my plans of GYMMING. Hell yes, I planned of going to the gym regularly but to my dismay (consoling myself) I couldn’t. That happens man, it’s okay.

The unholy tale of procrastination doesn’t end here. It has other parts too like Gangs of Wasseypur and Dark Knight. Punch me for this that I haven’t watched these two EPIC movies yet. And I have watched Cocktail. Bang. Who the hell punched me (startled)?

So the nights were long (even the days were) and the best time pass for me was to open facebook and scroll the page up and down and hear the clock tick tock (sounds interesting, right?). I was the most boring and dull person in the whole vacations if you ask me (or my Mom for that matter). She was the one pissed most with me.

May, June, July, August…ohh did I just say August? It seems so. August is my favourite month. The Yo boy of them all. Coz it’s my fucking birthday in August :D A bloody lazy person was born in August. But surely talented just like the likes of Antonio Banderas, Roy Keane, Henri Nestle, Andrew Sullivan and many more prodigies. Who knows what’s there in the hat for me, what might just pop out and bring good fortunes. 

A believer I am, in God (now, Yes). And right now I am thinking that all of you are ready with your shoes, slippers, tamatars, andaas, jhaadus and what not to just throw at me and hurt me in a way that I have been hurting you for all the bullshit that I have written above and for wasting your much valuable time.

PS: Sorry folks, hope that now I would write something sensible after months.

A Dismal Thought

The coolest star, the sun is showering its light, the scorching heat, the sweat tripping off the face and you feel like jumping off the cliff into the river in order to quench the thirst of your impoverished body and suddenly you hear the clouds bellowing. The rumbling dark clouds rubbing against each other producing some light effects and igniting hope in the heart of that destitute and frail body that it will rain and cool down the burning skin.

The ever thinking mind of the human contemplates that it will rain sooner than ever. At the hind of his brain, a thought germinates, a vague picture appears and a question arises from nowhere, that will it rain…will it rain today? A timid contrast plays on in his mind, at one end there is hope, at another, dubiousness. This dilemma makes him forget the miseries he is suffering from and harnesses the new thought which is at the other end of his brain. The boisterous clouds don’t perturb him now as he is not thinking about the clouds, the sky or the sun. His mind is sifting through the two phenomenons of hope and doubt. The two ends set out on war against each other, the war between hope and doubt initiates with a raging thunder louder than that in the sky.

In the sun, the rickshaw that he is pulling or the boot he is polishing or the cattle he is walking or the charcoal he is laying on the road, he forgets it all…he forgets all his work as the two ends meet up in his mind. Entrapped in this mind game, he can’t think of anything, a helpless creature he becomes.

As he is dissolved in his work and the mind game, a small drop of water falls on his face, it drizzles and he is startled. Suddenly the war between the two ends ceases to exist. He looks up towards the sky to feel the benign drops of rain touching his face giving him the solace he wanted all these days. The rain ends the incineration that his body was suffering from long. It ends the war in his mind, between hope and doubt.

Hope is the phenomenon which gets the human going when he is down on his knees, hope gets him towards the shore and hope gets him to his destiny. Sometimes it’s the other phenomenon which makes him forget about his problems for a while but in the end its hope that gets him through. Never lose it.

Some Things Are Better Unsaid

How often does it happen with you that you are watching a movie and there comes something and that same thing happens to you at that moment only? Sounds strange? Yes it was quite weird when it happened to me.

I was watching a Bengali movie Antaheen where the actor (Rahul Bose) had met the actress on internet and they used to chat without actually knowing each others’ identity.

So it was around midnight and I was talking to J, yes she is a girl and my closest friend

Midnyt Yellow Moon

Feeling the cold breeze when I move out of my hide,

To feel the eternal bliss one could ever experience,

It comes as a whim,

To see it every single night,

The urge is so strong,

That I don’t pay attention to anything else,

It holds me so firmly

Never lets me go away,

Not for a moment it allows me to shut my eyes,

Its mesmerizing beauty

Flows in the whole night sky,

Slowly coming out of the dark clouds

And illuminating the clouds,

With its never diminishing shine,

All night long,

There atop I see the Midnyt Yellow Moon.

It comforts me as a pillow,

Completes me in the lonely nights,

Seeing it endlessly,

I get lost in the emptiness of the night,

I feel alive in the dead hours,

It bestows happiness upon me,

Like the happiness a mother gets in hugging her child,

Every night I feel the same,

Talking to the Midnyt Yellow Moon,
Trying to reach you, feel you.

The Reluctant Believer

Parents imbibe certain values in their children which they think would help their tiny tots in becoming respectable figures in the society of hypocrites, well there do exist a faction of people whom you can call considerably upstanding. The parents would teach their children to be truthful, honest, kind, merciful, polite, and the list of “good looking” words goes on until infinitum. The biggies are hopeful (I don’t know why) that their little ones will suck up all their teachings and will turn up to be good citizens. Well, it’s their duty, I know, but isn’t it forceful feeding to the kid about your own ideology and asking them to absorb your peremptory norms.

Rewind time and let’s go back to my childhood, where my parents would keep my after playtime evening time booked for reciting some bhajans or kirtans with my siblings. Irony is that I liked doing it back then, with my cousins, it was actually fun to do, walking and singing the bhajans and grinning after looking into each other’s eyes. And if you ask me to do that now, I will surely hang myself upside down. Back then I used to do it not because I was spiritual but because of the fun involved in it and lately I have realised that am not at all the same.

God, another word which is slowly evanescing from my assorted psyche, the powerful word for most mortals in which I used to believe (I still do a little). God, soulful immortal, my parents told me to believe in, and I did for a long period of time before my lost and wandering (don’t know for what) mind ceased to think that god exists. Hit the rewind button again, I used to fold my hands in front of some idols and pictures, which my parents described as GOD, I believed. God to me is not more than fiction and talking in Indian context, the Geeta, Mahabharat and Veds are simply splendid jobs done by fictitious fiction authors. I maybe wrong here but that is what I BELIEVE now.

Caste, in India pertains to stigma and the society is pigeonholed into it since ages. Being born in a middle class Brahmin family, the prejudiced caste system should have been caricatured in my mind but my family was miles away from it except for one thing which I will tell later on.
Hit the rewind button (okay, it’s the last time), I received from my parents to consider everyone equal regardless of caste or race and yes I still believe in it unlike a few other things. There were people from lower strata of the society who would visit my grandfather for help or guidance and he would treat them as one of his own, not maintaining a gap called casteism. He/she would be given tea/water in the same cup/glass and no difference was being kept with those people. So growing up seeing what my family believed in, I believed. 

Who will hit the forward button to know the other one thing? I don’t really have to go back to my childhood to tell you this. I often tell my father (jokingly) that I’ll marry a girl who I like whatever her caste may be; my father will frown upon this and will say that you will have to marry a Gaur Brahmin girl only. My mother and I would laugh endlessly just to see that frowned look of my father and his same old words.




PS: My parents would be vexed if they see this :P
    : Avoid typos.