Chaos. That's my life abridged. Oh I may sound as though I have lived a turtle's lifetime on this planet. No, no. I am somewhere in the middle. Or may be just a quarter something.
I was told it had something to do with the star that winked slyly at me when I first opened my eyes to this world. I was told this particular star took a fancy to take us on a ride, a not-at-the-least-exciting ride, if I may add, at every turn we would take. And I was even warned that this wicked little star loves to delay giving us the things we deserve only to make us doubly happy at a later time. Now that is not simply wicked, that is disgusting. Well, it's good to know it's worked just this way for the others who share my star! As for me, the little devil is still playing its tricks.
Or maybe this star or devil, whatever that might be is just me? Maybe a star can turn a devil in no time when one decides to put the blame on anything but oneself? Or maybe the chaos is simply some phantom of an idea, that comes and goes when it pleases only to gnaw one's insides? Oh damn..I do not know! It's only getting all the more chaotic! And I hate the cacophony. So cut it. Peace.

To my personal Editor

Life never comes with an ‘Edit’ option. What can be edited are these letters that take form from our thoughts. What can be edited are those very thoughts that stop us from action. I have had a personal Editor whose nod gave shape to my thoughts. I have had a personal Editor who did not simply edit but believed every word born out of those bizarre thoughts. I have had a personal Editor who knows that though edited, I remain unchanged. And this remains unedited. 

SPOTS OF TIME

“You act like mortals in all that you fear, and like immortals in all that you desire. … How late it is to begin really to live just when life must end! How stupid to forget our mortality, and put off sensible plans to our fiftieth and sixtieth years, aiming to begin life from a point at which few have arrived!”

                                                                                      -Seneca

Sometimes just when you think you are leading life in the best way possible, you are taken aback by its immensity and are left gaping at everything you are yet to witness and experience. And yet for some others, life is still veiled like a beautiful bride, mysterious, standing tall in all her chastity. The latter are yet to enjoy the bliss that life can present to those who have lived it. Why wait then? What holds us back from plunging headlong into this beautiful ocean called life? To strike our arms back and forth cutting the cool waters, enjoying the warmth of the fiery ball, swimming against the currents, towards our destination! All it takes is a lean and a push to taste the waters of life!  Sadly, we are complacent in leaning back and taking life as it comes. We are happy watching it licking our toes and finally letting us being engulfed in its enormity washing away with it, our passions, our dreams.

Isn’t it time to pull up your socks and start chasing the running minute? Isn’t it time to search in you the key to your world of dreams? Isn’t it time to release the anchor that is holding you down from what you truly desire? Isn’t it time to begin to really live? All it takes is an act on your part. The lean and the push. Life, like a fount that flows off the brim of a basin, showers us eternally with opportunities, choices, chances, joys and sorrows. It is a perfect blend of all that we like and don’t, all that we fear and don’t, all that we want and don’t. The balance is perfect-if we only shifted our focus from the unfavourable. 

Success is not a deceiving mirage that evades the seeker; it is rather an oasis that steers one towards it through the path of hope and perseverance. A designer of lofty dreams often takes this path, stopping at nothing but the destination. When a dream dies, life starts to wither away. The path fades and the oasis dries up. It’s never too late to take a detour and follow your heart’s trail. Epiphanies strike you not everyday and when they do, awake to them; rise up to the moment of consciousness to realize the stuff that you are made of- because you are worth it, and because you are designed for it.

Voices Unseen

I hear voices. Do you? Well, if you do, I can be comforted.

Dreams for me are more than mere dreams! They are ready to play their scenes the moment the curtain falls. And what's more? They make sure they play on until I tug at the strings of my curtain at daybreak. But do they stop with that? No...They continue to play and re-play the scenes in my mind's eye for the rest of the day. The players you ask? Oh well...they can be anyone...someone I  bumped into during the day or someone from one of the previous plays; someone close to my heart or otherwise; or some random person who perhaps wishes to be a part of the whole chaotic play.

But these are quite ordinary I suppose. What tires me out is the constant play of voices inside my head. They aren't anything like the incomprehensible buzz that leaves one hazy; on the contrary they are quite lucid. Their eloquence, more often than not, leaves me stunned and makes me wish they would simply shut up. These voices are sometimes a monologue, sometimes a dialogue, a running commentary, but mostly-a cacophony! I have wondered many times about the script writer. Surprising how he never gets weary prompting these voices to play these alarmingly unending discourses.

I wouldn't be surprised if you wonder at this point if I am in the right state of mind. It’s quite possible that I am making a mountain out of a molehill. This, I suppose is not an uncommon phenomenon after all. For some, these voices take the form of a bird and for yet others they are simply their conscience, and there are few who offhandedly christen them as a hunch or an intuition. Maybe all of us have script writers in us, called by different names, and a dais all set to stage their crafty plots. And perhaps I spend a little more time than the rest of you, lending a pair of pitiful, invisible ears to my very own writer’s schemes.

That said, there is a voice asking me the motif behind this script of mine. Nothing at all. Maybe I am as jobless as the playwright in me craving for an innocent audience or maybe I wish to solely keep a check on my sanity. Well, I guess my purpose is achieved nonetheless. Next time delve deep inside you, lend your ears to the resonating voices and stay as sane as I am! So long folks!

INSANITY

     For no particular reason I am reminded of a deadly choice I took sometime back to go on a ride rightly named 'Insanity' in one of the theme parks. This particular ride was placed in the farthest end, away from the usual rides people love to take. I found not many onlookers near this ride and so decided that it is one of those uninteresting rides that does not send the thrilling chill down the spines of its riders. How wrong our judgement can sometimes be! And since I had enough adventure going on in my life already I decided this solemn looking, puppy dog of a ride would do no harm to me. With all the innocence of a toddler exploring a harmless looking electric socket my friend and I strode confidently to the Giant, sat on his lap and buckled ourselves up. What we expected perhaps was that the Giant would wake up to play Ring-a-ring-a- roses with us. Well, he had other plans. Initially he teased our judgement playing by our tunes. He moved ever so gracefully that my  friend and I exchanged the triumphant 'see-I-told-you-it's-nothing' looks! But what ensued is only a hazy memory. I was reminded of the colourful balls that lose colour in the hands of an over- enthusiastic  juggler.  We were hurled up in the air, pushed side to side and lifted off our seats, suspended in mid-air with our faces staring down at the concrete floor. We were completely at the mercy of those handles across our shoulders and those fragile belts we had so carelessly fastened across our now screaming bellies. For the first time in all the twenty six years of my life I wished I were thinner! Our lives now depended on those fastenings. I questioned myself for the hundredth time if I had secured the belts properly.
     I lay with my heart beating on the handle recounting the faces of my loved ones and the things left unsaid to them . A voice in my head was chiding me for having forgotten one or two faces I was bound to recollect during the last minutes of my life. I dared not turn and look at my friend  lest she see the pale, blood-drained, ghost-slapped face of mine! I could simply hear the faint voice of hers asking me if I were okay. The leather handles felt now like the arms of my mother and I held on to them fervently. The juggling went on for god-knows-how-long and all I could do was shut my eyes tight and scream my lungs out for it to stop! After shuffling us  like a pack of cards, swirling us around like a top, bringing us crashing down just inches away from the concrete floor and leaving us dangling upside down, the Giant finally decided to let us off. The two of us let go of the divine leathery arms and staggered to our feet. When our feet touched the concrete we felt reborn. The Giant seemed to have gone back to a slumber displaying no sign of exercise whatsoever. After a few minutes of swearing out loud and thanking our stars for keeping us alive we burst out laughing at our 'Insanity'.

     I have more than once wondered why some of us love to enjoy the rush of adrenaline through our bodies. To jump off a cliff or fly several feet above the deep blue sea or simply enjoy the drop from dizzying heights-we are possessed by some superhuman strength and confidence to perform these feats.  Sometimes I imagine there is some profound philosophy hidden behind the love for such extreme sports. Though my dear friend the Giant is really far from falling under the category of 'extreme' sports, his tactics did manage to leave me pensive. From the thoughtless decision to have a go at the ride to the near-to-death experience high up in the air to the blissful touch down- everything has left me bewildered. We are ready to take risks like these just for a few minutes of fleeting excitement. The adrenaline simply takes the upper hand there. But in spite of hours or days or even years of deliberations and contemplations some of us fear to take the risk that might change our lives for the good. Though we are aware of the fact that a choice made will have to go through the roller coaster ride anyway before the final touch down we fear a crash landing. 
     What stops the rush of adrenaline then? It isn't the fear of losing our lives then but something else. Risking our lives for a momentary thrill is okay with many amongst us. Then what is it that we fear losing while making a choice? Our pride? Ego? Self esteem? Public opinion? Honour? What is it that we fear losing? The answer is different for each one of us. It lies deep inside us, holding us down like an anchor. Well it's time we unplugged the drain and let the adrenaline pump up our spirit to enjoy this crazy , insane, roller coaster ride called life! You only live your life once. Live it making the right choices or rather the choices that feels right to you and plunge headlong into the immeasurable depths of adventure! Cheers!

Who gave letters its sound? Who gave unmeaningful letters a purpose? In vain I create a prosaic poetry only to realize that everyone is merely every others’ dream.

Fickle are the fingers of Fate that pour capricious tunes down the ears of her ardent listeners. Just when she plays a melody soothing to the soul, there is a discord that shatters the realm of peace. It leaves one to wonder if the music is a guile leading one from a mirage of serenity into a deep trench of ugliness. Her music brings many a soul together and yet she is complacent in striking the wrong note when everything 

seems perfect and in harmony.

But I do not want to judge her wrong.  Her music undoubtedly has also the magical power to heal all those gashes left by her. In no time, the Hurt move into an easeful state, forgetting the loss, the laughter, the love, the pain and the regrets…..And now, a flower has been plucked untimely and the fingers that plucked it continue to play those deceptively uncanny tunes in a vain attempt to assuage the pained soul. How I wish that my grasp had been a little more firm, a little longer! Helpless stood we watching her slip into an abyss unfathomable..

I realize with a pain unmatched that dreams and memories are the only havens where one can breathe life back into those who have innocently fallen a prey to the vile games of Fate.  I do not wish to forget the fragrance the little bloom spread during her short visit to our garden. And so I write in vain believing against all odds that I could bring her back to this cruel world for as long as words exist. I thrive, therefore, to try and make her immortal by giving a form to my thoughts. For the first time I fear failure.

FACES OF THE EXAMINED

Coming from a land that is steeped in emotion and aesthetics, it is not surprising to note that that every other commoner in India knows the navarasa or the nine Rasas of arts. Unlike the Occidentals we are not ashamed at the almost reflexive display of emotions. These little moments sum up the meaning of our stay in this world. Sometimes even the most mundane of activities is made interesting because of these rasas that are innate in each one of us.

We do not have to go too far in search of such artistic forms. One of the most unexciting activities as far as a person who is into the academic vocation is concerned, is to supervise students who are taking an examination. This is when an academician assumes the role of a cop and wears the robes of a judge ready to sentence anyone who puts a toe out of the line. The past history of the academician himself is never a matter of consideration and is most comfortably forgotten. So he goes about performing his moral duties- identifying the boy or girl taking the exam,scanning his pockets,purses,wallets or whatsoever for any suspicious 'bits' of evidence against them. Once this check point is crossed the stage is almost set for  what I started off with.

The Rasas. There is no better place than an exam hall to find all the nine rasas flashing across the faces of those taking an examination.

1. Hasya- the mirthful. He is the one who has a joyous countenance from the moment he steps into the hall. The cheer continues even after he receives the question paper and finds that it does not have one question he had so sincerely NOT prepared. He happily looks around the hall and feels lucky if his pen moves till the last line of a page.

2.Bhayanaka- the fearful or rather one who is full of fear. This can be spotted in both the sexes characteristically. They can be seen with beads of perspiration adorning their foreheads and hands that tremble to such a great extent that you are left with nothing but a deep sense of pity for them. The printed material gives them the jitters. Sadly the long days and nights of strenuous preparation does not often come to their aid because of their shaky confidence.

3.Bhibhatsya-the disgusted. From the allotted place to the paper issued to the question paper and to the guy sitting next to him everything disgusts him. Not to mention the ultra sharp glances he throws at the cop cum judge.

4. Shringara- the lover. Ah and this is the most interesting of the lot, the hopeless Romeo. He is there in every exam hall. His eyes twinkle with a false passion and these eyes go everywhere. His gaze can leave you squirming in discomfort. Yet he is completely harmless for all you have to escape from is his x-ray scrutiny.

5. Shantha- the serene. They are the most composed of them all. Confidence radiates from them and every question seems to have been framed keeping them solely in mind. Even time does not seem to trouble them.

6. Adhbhutha- the wonderstruck. Well the very rasa says it all. What we see is the sudden rise and fall of their eyebrows as their eye balls move from the left to the right across the question print. And in very rare cases the same look of surprise flashes across their faces on seeing what they have penned down themselves!

7. Karuna- the grief stricken. This group has the why-was-I -even-born look etched across their faces. To them the world seems to turn topsy turvy the moment their hands come in contact with the question paper. They can be seen chewing their nails or  pens or collar tips or god knows what else in addition to continuously breaking those hapless knuckles.

8. Roudra- the furious. You might wonder how this finds a place here. Though a rarity they are the ones who stare at their own words so intensely that you might think that the words might catch fire at the very instant. Their eyes are merely inches away from the paper and their veins pop out at their temples and wrists. We can almost feel them throbbing with determined ferocity.

9. Veera- the heroic. These are the triumphant ones who walk out of the halls with the sheer happiness of having done away with one more of those tiring tests.

Well now you know how a really prosaic activity can become extremely amusing with characters that catch our attention with a varied exhibit of emotions! After all life is all about such little amusements and the simple joy we draw from them!!