Roar!

At every tick and tock of the clock, the world moves an inch closer to its peril, the most stupendous of views get horrendously mocked, there is death and there is birth. Distortions mangle meaning, sense and real beauty, and life grows in its sour insipidity. Falsehood thrives, half-truths rule, lies sit on the throne, eavesdroppers twist stories, manipulators win accolades, the self-centered and greedy ones are called the wise, black is seen as white and deadly venom is finger-lickin' sweet.

The moment you sense grey area in an image that is portrayed as clear, clean, sincere and simple, you need to get out and run. Run for your life. To a simple mind that has not been exposed to the dirtiest of the games, these things are beyond comprehension. The more you spend time understanding what this actually is, your mind badly needs to be repeatedly alarmed that you have already started to reel down and the monstrous storm is sucking you in for the kill. Even your honest search for truth will go against you, because the ones who you seek truth from - intentionally hold the wrong signboards that is sure going to lead you to hell. The scene gets intense when you are playing your dice at the behest of people who you are trying to defend, the same people who have already stabbed you and you do not know it yet, and you get to know of this just before your death when you accidentally put your hand back to touch your own blood-stains and understand that the object sticking out is the handle of the dagger poisoned and plunged fully in, long ago. And there is no means to escape death and live again.

So you die. Lub-dub, lub-dub, lub-dub. The last few beats of a heart that willfully over-looked mistrust and betrayal because it believed the whole world to be good. The final moments of a life used and exploited, and now thrown away because the time is done. The land of the living does not house the dead ones. They bin the expired products and bury their dead, not to see them again. We are just resources and commodities, and not men and women with a heart that bleeds passion. Ah, this passion - they very well knew - needed to be juiced out before the heart stopped its beating.

After your final breath and giving up the ghost, the story doesn't end there. Time shall roar. Yes, roar. It shall roar with the loudest of voice awakening the dead conscience of the liars, the exploiters and the back-biters, and would correct their hearts to goodness. Why do you not think harm for them? Why should they not die and disappear? No, that is not the cause a real fighter, who has seen and been in real fights, would clench his fists for. No principled person would ever fight 'over' trivialities. He would just stand, not acting like a bitten dog losing his composure, but would just stand and grin. The grin that tells many stories. Is it not too much to think if they would ever be directed to goodness? Yes or no, do not care. Oh, just do not care when you know that you mean no more than a rotting corpse to them. But hope for the best. Let them be infested with greater blessings and the springs of life. God doesn't judge us according to how much we endured, but how much we could love. And what else are we really left with, but to wish everyone all the goodness and to show our love to the weak and the meek in every form possible. Let the whole world be blessed, despite its villainy and deceit.

Nicer Yesterdays & Brighter Tomorrows

Introversion and being alone have always been romanticized. You get time to smile at your own funny self, look at the mirror and practice a few weird expressions, take a walk to the lake nearby, sit in the quiet and write poetry.

Our musings have in its vibrant strings the music of our lovely past. The good past. The past that once made us sink into that forever reverie, but for a moment. The past, that is far too old and the one that is recent. How great would it be to keep our lives rich with the nicest people on the planet! People whose loveliness that would never change and their liquid jaggery of sweetness that would never stop dripping, though we be indifferent during our not so good times.

The model of our happiness should not be driven by/depend on just one person. There needs to be multiple people in it, each of them assuming their own roles perfectly well like how the jigsaw pieces would sit in their right places to solve the puzzle. There needs to be a convex sense of belief applied to it. If we allow ourselves to be amused by just one person, we would just end up succumbing to their many qualms and mood swings that we are not privy to and end up spoiling our own happiness. It is always a wrong thing to point fingers at others. We need to understand and accept that we could be the misfits of the equation. If there be need to walk away, we need to gladly do it with a smile and in silence - because it is always a nice thing to regard the happiness of others better than our own!

These are sillier things. Lilliputian of issues should not be given free pass to bring down the giant of your personality. We need to deal with bigger problems, clean deeper wounds and mourn the forever loss of sense and sensibilities. No one escapes eventualities. There is a world to defeat and conquer, or that we fight the monsters of our own making. Or that the issue is a blend of both. The real problems and the unreal ones. We cannot waste our time thinking about facades that have already fallen. Where we really need to put our thoughts into is to build monuments out of the wreckage!

We could be smiling outside but crying within. Our songs of strength could only be in words and in tune - short-lived, evaporating at the touch of the heat, dying when the music stops. We need to come out of our cocoons. The cocoons that we have ourselves built. The ideas that we think are the ideals. It is time to take a re-look at our position and perspectives. Real strength lies not just in forgetting the unpleasant memories, but also in fighting life's battles, after which you jumping sky-high with the loudest of shouts, the banner of victory waving in the wind.

They say that we should live in the present. But if our present is filled with all of world's unimaginably burdensome problems, would we just not fall into that dark pit of worries and sulk all the time! There is no point in running away from all of life's issues and finding havens to hide. Tests make us strong. Gold becomes purer in the refiner's fire. Nicer yesterdays and a tougher present would always mean brighter tomorrows.

So cheer up! May your face be adorned with the most genuine smile!

Wordplay!

WARNING!
Strictly not to be read by those who check the newspapers for page three content every morning!

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By the dead sea, a song.
A song that resounds in all places where you find a human soul with a heart. A heart that is full of love. Love that is sweet with a tinge of mauve. Mauve shouldn't mean anything meaner than straight. Straight in both sexuality and thought. Thoughts that roar like waves. Waves that come and go. Go and come back.

Back, to the dead sea. The sea that makes you float. Float like a bad egg. Bad eggs make you sick. Sickness can be of the mind. Mind that is the most sharp could also be the dumbest. Dumb, because of the confusions. Confused, because what it sees could be all too strange and new. Newness that is riveting and beautiful. Beauty that goes beyond the skin. Skin?! Nope, no dirtying. Let me go back.

To the song please. Pleasing to the ears. Ears that hearken to goodness. Goodness of all people. People, small and great. Great stories, they say, have humble beginnings. Begin, and you shall not be able to stop. Stop?!, okay - stop doing things that hurt. Hurt not the weak and the pure at heart. Heart always wins over the mind. And mind, after much travail concurs in the end.
The end.

Quicksand!

" My tears are like the quiet drift
Of petals from some magic rose;
And all my grief flows from the rift
Of unremembered skies and snows.

I think, that if I touched the earth,
It would crumble;
It is so sad and beautiful,
So tremulously like a dream. "

- Dylan Thomas

When your mind is overcome by your heart, your thoughts become a shaky edifice. It shakes so bad that you reach a point where you want calamity to cut loose and consume your beliefs - ending everything. A sincere soul lays wait for its mortal end when it knows there could be a billion butterflies beautifying the scenes of the other life. A life where you would want to live with the best of your memories captured from your dead past. Immortality is only sweet, because you enter it through the gates of your death, walking over your own funeral pyre.

Getting sucked into that void, the quicksand of thoughts, where humane will fails and babels of imagination crumble - is painful. But one must destroy that pot of rotten old ideas that had defined one's being so far, breaking dogmas and set conventions, opening up to the newness that is life, a life free from the perils of mechanization. Because mechanization begets boredom that starves and murders love. 

So where do I rest my thoughts? Do I allow them to fall down and become broken pieces? Or do I metamorphose? There is confusion and trouble within. Then vaguely comes clarity after much delay. Then the smile. So - metamorphose - I choose to go with. Into a being that never stops to grow and be impressive. But straightforward in its simplicity and kindness. Not to give in to high-mindedness, yet to stand apart in humility. To rebel, to rage, to fight and to die. For the weak, the loved ones, the poor and the dejected. 

Why don't we go to the shore, get into the waters, stand still and allow the waves to roar over us and caress our thoughts? Why don't we just allow love and other beautiful things to rule our lives! Why. Don't. We.

Bean, Butterflies And One Long Banana!

I can see your mind dancing with an YAY sound. Oh no, stop it! It reverberates. Yay. Yay. Yay. And one final very long irritating yay. Would you stop doing that!, I shout again. But you wouldn't listen. Since when have you become such pervert! - I want to know. Pull your thoughts up from the dregs. It is just a story. A story with three different species, yes of course with one human in it. Do you not worry - I shall definitely take your thoughts down to the muck. The muck that you always love to sniff and smell. But wait, don't do it all by yourself. Let me teach you how to do it, so you do it well.

The guess is right. Bean is the human. Oh yes, the same Bean from the Pogo Channel. He, duly, is the hero of this read. Mister Bean. 'Duly', really? Hey hey, can't jokers be heroes at least once! C'mon, be fair. You cannot just laugh them away all the time. They're important as well. Very important, particularly for this read. Tune your mind and say, Mister Bean the hero! Ah good, that's how you say. MISTER BEAN THE HERO!! See, I made you say; so now - its my turn to yay.

Back to the story. This happened in a forest few days back. A dark forest. A forest where there was no one. An empty dull forest. And Bean went in to say hi to the Banana. Yes. The One Long Banana. They said - there was no other banana like this. Because the color of this was black. Pitch black. The other day, this came even in the news telecast. The papers read that there was just one such banana in the whole world. Right away, Mr Obama announced in the Congress that the United States need to send in the SEAL squad to rescue the banana from the banality of the forest. He wanted the banana to remain fresh all the time. So it was decided that the NASA would provide all the technical support and Nolan's producers would fund the project.

Lo and behold, Mister Bean reached there before the SEAL. And lo lo and behold, the banana - the One Long Banana - was lying dead and wasted on the ground. Surprisingly, butterflies were swarming around the fallen rotting banana. Not the bees. The butterflies were beautiful, unlike the special banana which was pitch black. They were in multiple colors. Blue, green, red and some more weird mix. The Bean who went to say hi and eat the banana, changed his mind. He wanted to catch one of those butterflies.

So he ran after them. Ran so hard. The thing with the butterflies is that if you go near them, they would just fly away. And the fun run started. The scene was so amazing to watch. Bean and the butterflies. Just one Bean and so many butterflies. And the running behind. But he couldn't even catch one. Every trick was failing. When he ran back, he stepped on that rotting One Long Banana, fell and broke his nose.

Mister Bean with a bleeding nose. He was lying down. He and the One Long Banana next to him. He looked at the banana like a husband would look at his wife wanting more. I shouted at him - 'You idiot Bean change your expression!' Now he knew what to do. He took the banana, peeled its pitch black cover and held the lump in his mouth - with the major chunk projecting out.

The trick worked. The butterflies that were scattered came one after the other and sat on the banana. Bean went ecstatic, but was in control. He wanted more. More. More. More. He closed his eyes. Opened. Some more, he said to himself. More. More. More. Now, there were a hundred butterflies sitting on the One Long Banana which was sitting on Mister Bean's mouth. Swiftly, the idiot pulled both of his hands and tried to catch few butterflies. He did catch a few. They were in the palm of his hands tightly held. He was so happy. But lo - when he opened, all were crushed and dead.

Moral of the story, if you want to eat bananas don't run after butterflies. Most of us start sprinting and half-way down the track we want to jump into the waters and try swimming. Hopelessly funny, some of our interests are! However confusingly complicated our lives sometimes can become, in the course of pursuing our interests - let us not cause harm to others at any point in time.

Peace. Be happy.

In Honour Of All Women!

I am a man and I respect women. All of them - right from who you spitefully call a prostitute to the one who is praised as an angel. Yes, I respect them. Friend or not so friendly - I respect them. Moody or free and jovial - I respect them. Quiet or talkative - I respect them. Attractive or not attractive - I respect them. I have never been into a love affair with anyone all my life. But that has never stopped me from quietly observing them and taking note of the beauty that emerges out of the complexity of their nature. They are exquisitely beautiful - everyone of them.

Some lose their temper fast, some have a bad ego, some appear cranky at some point, some are overly sophisticated, some don't like men at all and some think they are always right. So what? Let them be. Aren't outbursts quite natural even with you? I have always believed that there are reasons behind how one reacts, even though the way they react may not appear to be so nice. Because you would be astounded yourself to find that deep down - they could all be so loving and kind. If you still allow yourself to be carried away by a few bad encounters you might have had in the past and continue treating all women like scum, there cannot be a man as wretched as you. Truly, you have to open your eyes to see the many that are always smiling, the ones that are serene and believe in peace and the quiet, the genuine lot that are sincere with their words and would do anything for love, the pure-hearted that are incapable of duality and masking their intentions, the kind ones that are quick at lending a helping hand and those that are faithful.

The bias that clouds our judgments needs to disappear; or we would only complain and frown all the time. Few idiots get into relationships with a set intention to say goodbye after they lose taste. There are some who call off weddings in the last minute (citing silly reasons that do not even remotely relate to adultery) and live their shameless lives as though nothing ever happened. There are also a vulgar few who get married and then look out for other flesh. I sincerely hope they make a law to emasculate such men in the public. 

A real incident. The story of a very kind woman who was married for over 25 years. The husband called off the marriage - because, at fifty, he gave in to lust and wanted young flesh. After the divorce notice was sent, word spread and everyone around got to know. They were all very supportive of her. Her brothers took her to their place. They made plans. Plans to kill the rascal who ditched the wife of his youth. But oh dear, you should have seen the way she screamed at them with tears flooding down her cheek. 'Don't you dare even think of doing such heinous nonsense, he is my husband!' were the words - stressing on the 'MY'. I was there. Shocked. To say such things even after being cheated and left stranded alone - could by all means be only one thing. Divine. My eyes almost watered listening to those words. She still lives with a hope that her husband would one day change and return to her.

To truly understand the heart of a woman, you should talk to your mother. I sincerely wish every man be taught to cultivate the habit of being kind to all women. Kind to them, irrespective of whatever lifestyle they might lead. They deserve respect. Sincere respect. For just being who they are. For just being. WOMEN.

Decadence!

The most cruel of all despotisms rests in the oscillating state of our mind between what we believe to be good and bad. For our mind can inflict such nasty duress if we are caught at fault by our own measure of morality. Some have become total lunatics walking nude on the roads as madmen and some have ended their lives committing suicide - not been able to overcome the pressure.

While there is a general belief that morality is a totally relative measure, there ought to be a basic objective sense to it. For I am a firm believer of the beautiful blend that subjectivity and objectivity can generate. Such a thing is necessary for the world to truly progress. For - if there is no practical referendum, we would run into unwanted issues. Because the offenders would easily find an escape by presenting their suggestively bohemian tendencies - as their sweet intellectual excuse.

You would be baffled to listen to few of the stories that float in the city because of the yo-yo IT lifestyle. Hear it firsthand, it would be even more disconcerting. Debauchery is on the rise. The orgies of the mind tarnish the purity of thought. People are willing to experiment before any serious commitment and there are provisions to try out what is fantasized in the private. The moral decay has reached a point where we have learnt to say chills and okays to detestable acts of uncontrolled passion. May be we have gotten used to so much perversion that our minds have struck a sorry compromise - only to enable more decay.

Whatever be it, surprisingly goodness has still not reached its expiry. I was really ecstatic knowing how Mr.Satyarthi made us all proud last week. Trust me, there are so many nice people living their silent and modest lives - adding beauty to this world. We see simple deeds of kindness bringing smiles to the hearts of many. There is a group in Bangalore - that works to rescue girls taken into flesh trade. You should listen to the brave stories of those young girls and the way they were rescued. I know of a man who shared a note with me which reads as follows.

Dear Men.
Every woman deserves to be loved, not to be lusted after. Love doesn't mean that you need to straightaway try getting into relationships with every woman you see and that, it should end in biting each others lips and dirtying your bed. Do not add blemish to the repute of the real men the world still houses. There ought to be a basic sense of respect we need to show towards all women. Talk, do not flirt. Joke, do not hurt. Compliment, do not fantasize. Correct, do not judge. Help, do not make them indulge later. Be considerate. Be good. Be a man. Not just to those you know. But to everyone.

Dear Women.

Think not - that every man is after your private parts. That wearing skimpy dresses would impress all men - more than sexually. But be sure that almost all men would fail the test of bed. So, be mindful of your steps. If there be an ugly past, do not allow yourself to be taunted by it. Let not your initial defloration provoke you to more promiscuity. Forgive yourself. Do not repeat the mistakes of your past. Be wise. Be happy.

They say, compassion is the basis of morality. So, let us love. Let us not dwell in the past and accuse, but forgive. Comfort. Console. Spread smiles. Feed the hungry. Light lives. Accept everyone into our fold with open arms. How else could we wage war against decadence which needs to be defeated and burnt to ashes! Let us fight. Fight, till we die that valiant death.