The Un...

A carve on the branch of a tree

A carve on the curve of a bent

A carve on the stone ancient

A carve on the being of humans old

A cave in the trunk of a tree

A cave in the dark of night sky

A cave in the stone of a mountain

A cave in the heart unseen

A beat in the slap on a cheek

A beat in the clap of a song

A beat in the meter of the heart

A beat in the unknown silent night

Vacuum flowers in a newly grown cavity

From existing unused untouched cave

It does vanish just by a carve on that edge of the cave

Gives life a bent until the edge creates vacuum again

Silence descends in vacuum

As it also does after noise

Vice-versa too holds true

As has this very thought (from sleep?)

**Well the last line just hints as to how this post came up. It was one of those few breezy nights when sleep doesnt need to sleep and mind keeps wandering in the lanes that it creates for itself. The start three lines came as a flash like a flashboard already existing in one such new lane and subsequent boards read the coming lines forming the above thought which got painlessly delivered within few minutes of its birth. Its finally, just a thought...anyway

Debt

It was a wintry evening. The cold of the winds pressed itself against the heated breadth of the land assuring comfort for the ever agonized life on it. Living beings seemed to thank the ubiquitous nature for having this part of the year in its calendar; may be it too has a reminder, they thought. Life was finding reasons to live life, to give life even to lifeless beings; they too should experience the joy of living, if at all, it should be now. Birds too seemed to respond with their sharp, short chirps and frequent fluttering of their small wings letting the coolness of the softly blowing breeze caress every being of their tiny body. Life was finding way into its presumed home, the place where it had been longing to live. It had always wanted to get into as many little hearts as possible and capture the over-growing world. Now was the time, the moment. Give people more and more reasons to live and they will be yours – was its motto.

Silently accepting all this without a revolt was a dark figure half lying on his sofa. Dark made not by God in complexion but by nature through its present composition. The hidden sun looked helpless in helping this being from looking brighter, from looking lively. All seemed to die down in the vacuum present in him. Few sound waves had never found their way into his ear drums. Especially, the like of ones which were getting bombarded on him now, “You know what a burden you have become on me?” Only ‘You’ reached him. Rest of the sentenced redirected itself in every other direction but him. That alone could help the sentence stay alive; who doesn’t want to live!

“Are you listening to me?” shouted the voice. It was vociferous but more silent in magnitude was his mind. Closed eyes seemed to bind calmness within him, neither allowing the people around to have it nor getting polluted by their idealness. “Whole life I have spent with a hope that one day you will take care of me. A day will dawn when I will be able to rest without any botherations and live a life which will give me peace of mind. But you!” His eyes opened and stared right into his father’s. “Were those statements addressed to me?” they seemed to say and closed as soon as they thought the statement was over. There was vacant emptiness in him that did not want to come out. It, too, wanted to capture as many people as possible in this world of increasing restlessness. Give its calmness, or as people said laziness, to people and make life peaceful or full of boredom, as people like to frame it and talk about it. Then the world will be its. Life gave vibrancy, meaning to living. Emptiness too gave the same things but not to the people within whom it resided but to the people around that person. Emptiness flag read – If people want to be peaceful, let them learn to accept me.

A long silence followed. A change clambered with it. Altogether new experience seemed to move into the alcove of his being. Unable to bear the restlessness that galloped seamlessly, unrest set in his eyelids. Out of frustration they opened to see the light outside which stayed unruffled in the shirking silence. They followed the silhouette of an old tired figure crossing the threshold and bang shut the door. The light was short-lived. Darkness alone came from that end. He turned, moved, swiveled and looked in every direction possible. His senses lost sense of directions. He didn’t even know whether his eyes were open or closed. He tried making it out. But eyelids didn’t respond with any sense of touch. Rather the space around his eyes didn’t reflect any sensation of his eyelids or its movement. Or was it that his nervous system too stopped assisting him as his father had?

The restlessness in him grew into desperation. He didn’t want darkness, he didn’t want silence. Father, where are you? Scold me, shout at me. His throat too looked to have taken leave of its master. This threw him in a sense of frenzy. A man who was composed and indifferent a little while ago had suddenly grown wild. Even wild weeds take time to grow. But this one was as instantaneous as thought. He was not able to see. Not able to speak. Not able to hear. Not able to feel anything except for the growing mound of heaviness within him which was weighing him down to the same steady sofa which, just a few minutes ago represented sereneness, peacefulness, emptiness. He let out a cry, finally. The cry reached crescendo and some sound vibrated his throat. A streak of Light flashed. Eyes flew wide open. Ear-drums reverberated and heard his voice; a shout of dismay, of agony, of respite.

He got up. Involuntarily, his right hand moved to his right where a table lay which looked right next to the sofa. Dim light around helped him to recognize the lamp on it. He pressed it on and a sigh of relief swayed him back to peace. He tried to swoosh away this nightmare but he soon realized that this was not just a dream. It was the same thing that had happened in the same house years ago. His father had never crossed that threshold again to come onto this side. He had never let himself seen again. He had left his son as one left a bad bargain in the market. The son had deserved it…

* * *

As he thought of that day, he remembered how very much he didn’t want it to happen again. Yes, he had deserved it but now he didn’t. Days had rolled by from that day like pages in his biography which was never written. Now he had become a respectable person in the society, though more so because of his father’s reputation. He had been striving hard to earn the same for himself, but his father always overshadowed him. He didn’t get dejected, on the contrary felt proud. He had been missing his father, but he loved his life now. He had never seen him again in person, but life showed him his ideals at every stage. He saw his father in every rung of his success. He knew he owed his life to him. He got this life because of him. And he wanted to make him proud of this. Today was the day. He will be meeting his father at the church. Father, I am coming…

Dis'Guyz'ed

“Hi Guys, How are you all?”

“Common Guys, lets move…”

“These Guys, My God, will never improve…” As these thoughts of “Guyness” were craving for getting carved in my mind, I heard a scream from behind, “Hey Guys, you here? What a pleasant surprise!”

My mind, as though, a part of the Surprise-Provider group, answered them, “Isn’t ‘surprise’ part of Guyness?” But only I heard it. I sincerely acknowledged my brain for being so very considerate in answering the call.

I slowly moved out of the over-populated canteen and a thunder hit me. Ashwin was getting into the college compound. An historical event was about to happen and I was there to witness it. The thought though was short lived. Soon I realized that there was some uniformity in the actions of most of the people around me. Standing straight, shoulders a bit curved forward, eyes-bulging out, staring at one and only one single point, the locus – Ashwin. This gave an appearance of a huge circle (or circles) with Ashwin at its centre and every other person a point on its circumference with circles all the time shrinking in size. This looked to be an act of anti-universe-ism to the ever expanding nature of our universe, or as are the North and South Poles of a magnet, Matter and Anti-Matter concept in nature but anytime more close to Prof. K. S. Shridharan’s notes on the board (if any) and its extinction from our mind, the very next moment.

What followed next didn’t follow any laws - Newton’s or Einstein’s. Soon a treat was planned on the occasion of such great importance and magnitude - the incarnation of Ashwin in the college compound. It looked like an annual event of convocation better, when someone graduates out of our college - graduating from our college, an annual event? I doubted. But this doubt soon vanished with reconfirmation of our faith in the ‘open-mindedness’ of the staff in here. First name on the long list of participants of the party – Mr. Keshav Murthy, Principal of the campus!

Familiar sounds with over use of ‘Guys’ noised the whole environment. The event maintained its standards of giving supposed joy for the next 365 days with an exception of unscheduled next darshan of this deity – Ashwin. DJ, shouts, dance and other routine things at the party began in no time. This soon followed with a Farewell Party to this renunciant who gave away everything – classes, books, exams and even money for the ‘safe’ functioning of our great, unique, one of its kind college. We knew that our college had been existent due to quite a few renunciants abandoning the comforts of the college and staying in the hermitage of their palaces for the welfare of the humanity at large.

The dark serene night was lightened with people-men and women, guys and gals each more qualified than Dhruva in terms of body detachments, for them to be given a place in the sky. Wondered – soon there may not be any night due to the luminance of the added stars of our monks. Why should not they be given that status, anyway? With full detachment they were giving up ‘everything’.

Synonymous to the Last Supper with its disciples, our English teacher was giving the Sermon on the Table (asynchronous?) for he was to retire this year. Only object of non-controversy being the absence of Mary Magladene next to him (say cheese, Da Vinci here! Click!).

The end came towards the beginning of the day. Remebered my cliking Start button for Shutting down Windows on my rotten PC. After the crowd receded, I silently approached Ashwin. A familiar smile greeted me. “What man!”, gesturing with both his hands in semi-circle horizontally indicating the big party, Ashwin continued, “THE Guy thing to do, right?” and we both rolled and laughed and laughed.

One thing struck me and got stuck to me. Ashwin had called me ‘man’ and not ‘Guy’. What I saw next was a book by Dave Barry – A Guide to Guys. The page said,"The difference between men and Guys..."

Joy

My eyes opened. An excruciating pain pulled my eye-lids back piercing the eyes. A few moments passed by in anguish. I never thought I would have to go through all this in my life. As time ticked by, my body got accustomed to the pain. The pain became bearable. My beaten body lay motionless on the uneven ground. This was an unusual experience for I could not feel my body, as though paralyzed, yet the pain continued to hit me. Some more time passed. I expected help. But none came. The devastation had been massive. My eyes opened slowly trying to adjust to the ostensible light of the setting sun. The view was clear. The proud building which generally blocked the setting sun had lost its stand. Nature proved itself to be stronger.

A distant cry jerked my insides to the peripherals. It was of a small child. This struck me. Where was my child? My ears twitched to reckon the direction of the cry which seemed to die away. Where are you, cried my throat. Barely was it audible. A pleading scream pierced the silence of the destruction. I tried my best to get up and move. It was now that I realized that my right arm had lost its upper flesh. It was bare; maybe there was no more blood to bleed. Arm had become the heaviest part of the body. My body fell under the weight of a mere arm. Yet, I had no choice. I had to get up.

Mustering all the courage, my legs lifted the body. A smoky dust of the rubble around made the place misty. The rustic view added to the wrath of my burning eyes. The broken windows and walls kept hitting the legs as I tried to clamber. I tried moving faster. But something, as though reading my thoughts, hit my legs and my off-balanced body was to become part of the rubble again. My left arm tried its best to make the fall less painful. It landed on the breast of a cold body. First sight of the body sent an acute chill across my spine. The mouth of the body was gaping at the stunned night, as though calling me, for the last time; eyes staring right into my eyes, now reflecting my helplessness. A soul-less drop of tear oozed out of the corner of my eye and fell on the tender cheek of my son. He was dead. My tired fingers closed his eyes even before they learned to see life. I did not grieve. Something in me kept me detached. It asked for something higher.
The cry of the child screamed in my ears and brought my body back onto the feet. The grim breeze continued to be the villain. Carrying my trembling body and praying for the little kid to cry at least once more, I kept walking. As I waited, I kept waiting. No sound came. A drop of sweat for the first time came dancing down my cheek. Water. Yes, I was thirsty. I knew I was thirsty, but my throat did not ask. I was tired and each step required an effort equivalent to the strength required to move an unwilling elephant nevertheless my body never asked for
rest. My eyes begged each ray of light entering it, not to enter yet my eyelids did not close it. My voice alone betrayed me.

My feet kept taking me, unconsciously, until it reached the place where I could see a kid suffering under the load of an iron cupboard. Cursing my incompetence, I tried shifting it with my left hand. Weight seemed movable. I closed my eyes. Calling for all the strength I could, I pulled the cupboard with both hands. Anyway my throat had lost its ability to function. Any pain would go unnoticed, at least externally. But I was to be proved wrong again. Next moment I trembled. I fell. Under the efficient working of the hinges in my knees, my body effortlessly sank to the ground. I heard a cry, a cry of relief. Then I heard my throat that had not budged from moving any of its vocal cords earlier, screaming to its full strength. Silence vanished. The sun too vanished as though cursing its mocking existence. A veil of dark black clouds covered my eyes. My eyes got the much awaited close. Relief surfaced. Peace at last…

* * *

My eye-lids flickered. A soothing hold on my left palm tightened. It was my wife’s, sitting on a weak stool of an emergency hospital setup for the treatment of all the sufferers of the earthquake, smiling and crying at the same time. I could see her grieve over the death of our child but happy to see her only support, now taking her support. I turned to see my right arm but it did not exist. Another part of me had deserted me. I was happy that though I would not be there, my hand would always be to take care of my only son. A face similar to my son’s was staring at me, silently. I recognized him to be the one whom I had seen under the iron cupboard. He slowly came to me and kissed on my cheek. A smile broke on his lips. A tear from my eye acknowledged it. Something in me had got its answer. I could see my son in his eyes. I could see Joy in his eyes…

Lucifer`

there lies the gloss of life in the tender petals of creation where the creator kept the most treasured life, part of life nay, life itself!

Self?

So guys here it is...finally my Blog (Ah! so tired of repititive questions on, me not having a blog!)
All my fans can now very easily do whatever they wanted to do with my Blog (than me!)

For others, well here is Rampy
Photographer by passion
Philosopher in succession
Philanthropist by nature
Gregarian by social
Self without an attribute...Peace subtle`