Stranger In Strange Land

I love travelling in trains. Travelling by bus is too restrictive in terms of comfort and travelling by air is too expensive for my shallow pocket. Travelling by train gives me an illusion for a length of time where I shall be in the company of people that are unknown to me and watch them with no embarrassment as they too does the same to me.

Almost 99% of the time I travel alone. My travelling around is a part of my job that sometimes necessitates me to go meet clients at far off places in advising them in their premise security matters. Though I plan to read a book on these travels I end up eventually, gazing out of the window, or sitting at the door savoring the landscape pass by. And I will never miss the opportunity to wave my hands to little children who weave their hands to the people who are in train, not really knowing who is acknowledging their enthusiasm. For some reason it gives me immeasurable pleasure to make those kids happy shout and squeal in glee when I crane myself out of train door to wave my hands at them.

And most of the times I happen to travel with people who are not alone. Families, friends and colleges who occupy themselves in their own complacent little world sharing food and simple stupidities. Some of them play games if they happen to travel in big groups.

Though my profession blessed me with extreme confidence in making conversation to a stranger and capable of leaving a lasting impression on them (good or bad), I prefer to watch people in silence. One thing I would never miss while travelling is to check the reservation chart that’s glued at the entry of compartment door. I will familiarize myself with the fellow travelers within my vicinity. Their names ages and travel destinations and the crooked side of my mind is even capable of picking someone who is eye-catching within the coach and try to get their details. I do all this for some sort of passive fun.

Sometimes I do go out of my shell to initiate conversation with strangers.

A week ago I travelled to Bangalore from Mumbai to attend a friend’s marriage. It was a 24 hour journey and started by 2130hrs and ended next day same time. I am pleasantly surprised to know that two of my fellow travelers are foreign travelers. Ralph a 19 year old guy and Katrina a 24 year old girl boarded the train before I finished my scanning of reservation chart. I trailed behind them to see if I could make conversation or rather to be of assistance if needed.

Over a period of time I have been observing lots of young people from European countries visit India from multiple entry points. They travel with rucksacks on their back and show confidence quintessential an inspiring. I have an honest admiration for them as even now an average Indian girl or boy does not have such courage to go backpacking in a different country. They carry a book that’s as thick as my country’s population that perhaps explains them things that they need to know without human intervention. I even happen to read a chapter out of that book that specifically warns a foreigner not to trust anyone who is trying to get closer to them in their adventurous journey.

It pained me a bit, but I have to bow my head to this stark naked truth. There are incidences of exploitation where these revered guests of our country were robbed, raped and even murdered. A truly shameful blotch that tarnish the image my country for which I apologize behalf of the people who respect a guest by the dictum of our scriptures and culture. But then good and bad is not limited by the geographic, religious, social or cultural boundaries.

Before I could open my mouth another competitor loud mouth bellowed at them. Asking a very common (Common for an average Indian) but a very embarrassing question if they were married. Ralph replied with a smile that they were friends. And I took a step back voluntarily listening to the charade of my unknown brother and Ralph skillfully ducking and ditching the questions that are not worth answering. The night went by just like that.

Next day when I was awake around 0930 both of these guys were awake and submerged in their own reading and watching the scenic landscape pass by with an occasional mute whispers amongst themselves. I finished the usual ritual of cleaning myself and having nothing much to do I contemplate again to initiate conversation.

I know that their destination I just three hours away and I could not let an opportunity lost. I stepped confidently before them and said Hello. They were gracious enough to respond my greeting with a smile and tried introducing themselves. I picked half a way and told them their ages and destination. First their eyes grown wide and smiles even wider. I just brushed off my projected intelligence of consulting the reservation chart with a stupid smile on my face.

I find Ralph very talkative and enthusiastic wherein Katrina was a little skeptic about my allowed intrusion. Perhaps I made a bad impression with my unruly long hair and reserved smile. Within a few minutes I came to know that they were from Scotland and England respectively. Fortunately my obsessive love for a Mel Gibson’s movie (The Brave Heart) came to my rescue and I started talking of Bag Pipers, William Wallace and Scotch whisky. Ralph opened up almost immediately and we were drawn in deep conversation while Katrina was listening to us with a kind smile on her face.

Those few minutes were wonderful we tried to understand culture perspectives about so many things that are diametrically opposite and commonly dominate everyone around globe… Politics, careers, attitudes and getting harmonized with world in general. There was also some discussion stepping back to past as we talked about British rule in India and grudges carried forward. Ralph was a little hesitant in knowing what does an average Indian thinks of British when he happen to confront one. I was very glad to inform him that the younger generation no more thinks of past and assign the guilt and sin to the British counterparts.

Whatever happened was a historical fact and perhaps need of the hour at that time. Colonialism not only united our countrymen towards freedom but also made them learn so many things that otherwise could not have been learnt by us on our own. It’s greedy and imperfect to expect any civilization to reach a level of perfect moral righteousness coupled with rapid advancement and humane tolerance. Ego as we see it a vice is actually a prime mover towards growth. I see a core of focused determination within that wild fire that burns selectively or perennially.

We also discussed about how majority section youth is still shackled to the ideology of elders, those who chose to be within the embryo of family and confined society. It was an educative experience to learn different perspective from people who has been travelling in parts of world though they are young enough to be taken seriously.

From my own side I suggested that they should speak a lot to people rather than being dependent on the tunnel vision a book provides. Visiting a new place is always an exhilarating experience, especially when one tries merging in to the local culture.

As they say… when in Rome… Be a Roman… Both of these good people alighted at a station called Hubli and bade me goodbye. It would remain one of the memorable incidence in my life.

Another thing I wish share…

How nice it would have been… if we happen see life as a travel in a train. Me meet people and make friends with them and probably get emotionally closer to them and… then either we or they… get off the train. But we seem not to carry any residual strain of losing them. We just smile and go about our own life. This is the kind of detachment philosophies try to explain us when it comes to personal relations.

I wish I could understand my own observation implicitly… But I cannot…

I am there

I will hide her right behind my ribs…
Right beneath my heart from harm’s way
I will take all the blows for her…
Right on my face… right on my chest for night and day…
Don’t you know that I love her?
I would kill myself if I were to keep her safe all the way…

Sau Dard Hai

Stillness In Nothingness

I hope I will be able to express the vacuum that’s building in my heart from past 72 hours.

I also hope I shall not be biased in my observations qualifying only me to be the sole victim of circumstances. I hope I am still oriented enough to see what went by, what’s with me and what needs to happen. I hope I shall seek my strength from everything around and everyone who makes me feel that they are mine.

I am a little different or made to be little different because of my surroundings. Dominance inside home and apathy outside home made me chose silence and shame. Profoundly reserved I seem not to have evolved in right way at right time. It was a retarded growth in a sense and I could not quite move above the hurdles that come natural in way. When other guys were involved in doing things and making possible I only used to dream of those. The pent up emotions of love and being loved were partially fulfilled with fantasies. Since I could dare not in real life to be associated with a girl I waited for a miracle.

Internet was the miracle I found as time passed by though which I made so many friends. This is where I found her. I saw the softness in the guise of innocent interest. I sensed the mischief genuine that has no motive else than bringing up smiles from either sides. I watched as pain shared with weakness and strength oscillated in tandem. I discovered that I found the one that my heart was searching for all the while.

It was a perilous journey in many facets. We needed to check so many compatibilities within us as we should have. But never did we think about them as we were so happy just thinking about each other. We met and realized that we really exist for each other and our affection for each other is as we envisaged.

It was not just a bed of roses. We had had our own thorns buried deep inside that bled us as we bruised each other. Perhaps one was trying to sculpt the other to reach an ideal perfection that makes us more suitable, amicable and adoptable. We seem to have succeeded in that. The geographical distance between us never made us feel we were missing something. We were always a call away and longed to speak to each other within the next possible moment.

When we met (Which we did four times about five years ago) we were so engrossed with each other that we forgot that we were risking our safety at a place that’s fused with skepticism ego and arrogance. We had to leave each other eventually as the places we used to live are apart. But we lived with a hope that we would be together someday.

And those five years in which we could not meet made us go through changes that are enforced on us. My own self was always looking out for an opportunity to junk everything I had in my hand and go near her to make a new life. Her life guided her towards qualifying to a better and productive human being what real world demanded.

I seem to have noticed not the natural premonition that should have been discerned. Not that she went astray but she was made to see the other side of life in which harshness and objectivity are the benchmarks towards happiness. Her heart definitely should have rebelled to have her head bowed. I know my girl. She is not someone who would let something push me away from her soul so easily.

But she is a girl. She is subjected to equal and opposite lethal forces that rip her heart mercilessly and yet expect her to stay intact. Her needs are not her anymore. Her life is guided by strings of dreams and desires of her family and her immediate surroundings. She is slowly drawn in to a quagmire that’s so appealing externally and so draining internally.

She was taught to call this REALITY.

I was not blind to all this though. And deep inside my own egoism or perhaps helplessness made me believe that we could make so many things possible together. I was too near sighted to see just what’s before me and could not see what lies beneath. I should have realized that when I loved a princess I should at least be a warrior who risks his life. I just thought world is filled with nothing else than us. It was too ideal and perhaps too stupid.

But am I wrong to have faith??? I was so sure that we would build our own world brick by brick. I could have relied upon my resilience and persistence with her beside me. There were so many other practical matters that demanded immediate attention in which I too was carried away.

She was drifting and I was swimming towards her riding rapids. I could make it possible after five years to see her in person and… it was a disaster.

Whenever I think of it my eyes go misty. The wound shall remain raw bleeding and deeply gushed and shall never heal. The wisdom of LET GO is not at all working with me. It’s not my madness or obsession. It’s a plane truth that I saw her bloom moment by moment in my heart and filled it as time passed by.

She is amazingly beautiful. She used to see herself as a caterpillar in her yester years but she turned out to be a butterfly like beauty. She is so delicate in her demeanor and so melodiously soft in her voice. Ready to release and explosive laughter and let silent tears run unabridged. Her anger if were to be confronted is no less than a blast wave. But her sense of forgiveness makes one forget everything. Her curiosity is not really followed with the required quantum of patience. She simply chose to seek a simple YES or NO after a while that makes me smile. Her outlook sometimes makes me feel dwarfed before her. She is a born leader when she chose to be and yet so fragile if she senses that she made an error. She could make heads turn with her grace and poise and shall not get carried away by intended appreciation. Her silence is a knife cutting so mercilessly with its rough edges. Her loyalty is fierce to the point of destruction… and sometimes to the point of self destruction. Her ambitions could not be termed as calculated but with absolute conviction. Her family is so blessed to have her amid. Her friends are so worthy to be with her and claim so proudly that they know her. Her discretion over trust emplaced on her shall be well shielded. Her suspicion if germinated could make life miserable. Sometimes I wonder if she loves chicken dishes more than her family and me. Her taste in finest silks, fabrics and jewels make me cringe in fear. And her interest in compounding her already heart breaking beauty makes me flustered.

She needs to be treated with utmost respect that’s not sycophancy. Her love and loyalty must never be questioned even to make her irritated. And dare not trouble her when she is asleep or about to sleep… she will become a tigress provoked. Explain not the concept of utilitarianism and esteem. She would always go towards esteem. You need to get yourself mauled and bruised and dilapidated before she sees your point. Then onwards what you get is true compassion and you will definitely forget what you underwent. If she wishes to talk about some stupid movie let your senses not guide you towards boredom for she would make you never forget that movie again. She is not interested in politics and it’s a distinct possibility that she would suddenly invade you with multitude of questions about what why and why is why.
She has an artistic side that try recreating simple things with childish devotion. You need to pamper her in every conceivable way to make her believe in herself when she is so low for no viable reason. She needs loads of love and attention and also needs her own closet of privacy when she indicates.

If I take a step back from the cauldron of my own ego, I could see how deeply she is torn. Her wounds are not visible to anyone but herself. The real problem is she won’t even let me know clearly what she is undergoing. Perhaps she is scared of my own vulnerability when I get disturbed over it.

She could not talk to me for more than a few seconds. And this time she could not come to pick me on my arrival and drop me on my departure. She could have hidden oceans of tears behind her big eyes and made her heart stop… lest the beats be heard all over to see me in real. She just looked at me not really looking at me. Perhaps she wanted not to look at me for she may go weak on her resolve.

I felt so sad but humble and folded my palms in genuine reverence. To thank her honestly and truly… for all the tiny things she done to make me so happy for a few worthy moments of my life. Anyone who happens to witness would think that we were saying goodbye to each other.

But only our hearts know that we could not do that to each other. Whatever may come we shall always think of each other. Whatever happens I shall always be ready to leap forward… to be of any usefulness to her if she implies or insinuates.

I just could not see anything around since I left her on Tuesday by 1248hours on 22nd September 2009 at the back streets of Basweshwar Nagar. While walking in shock I received her call and could listen to mute whimper in her throat. I could take it no more and ran back to where she parked her car… to see if she was still there.

But she just drove away…

I promised to be loyal to her wellbeing, pray for her safety and to be instrumental for her happiness. I shall do everything within my ability to make the above come true. I even assured her that I will try not to meet her on any pretext if that keeps her safe and makes her not explain anything about me to anyone. She wanted all the evidence that’s with me to be destroyed but I do not have the heart to do that. I can never do that unless I see my own end come standing right before me.

I just cannot let her go. I can not quite understand if its faith or obsession. I believe it’s not obsession because I am yielding to every pressure that’s coming before me through her pessimism. I hope she will have gathered her courage in future, to be herself in giving me a place in her heart forever the way she would have given place in her heart to certain people who are close to her. I pray for the day she confidently steps before me with eyes gleaming in nostalgia and says hello. I shall never let go that opportunity to brim my eyes in tears that I save for her from now onwards. I may not be able to feel her through touch as she would certainly belong to someone by then. But with eyes that I could see and ears with I could hear… I still need to admit that I am so inadequately blessed… even after all these years of struggle to be happy and to claim that I belong to someone.

Previously I proclaimed to the people I know that I love her truly and dearly. And today I proclaim to the whole world that love her truly and dearly.

She is one and only… Maacheenaa

How are you???

How are you??? She asks me…
I hesitate saying anything...
Cause she appreciates not truth…
Because…
She knows the truth…

Dead Rose

A rose cut off from its stem
Makes a girl in love happy…
When it wilts… it’s thrown away
Then it dies alone…

Tears

Waves of pain hit my heart...
From deep inside...
Few salty drops…
Seeped down my cheeks…

Surgery

Going under scalpel is something I am terribly scared of. But on the other hand I term it as a memorable experience to undergo surgery for some reason. As we see it women inevitably undergo surgery when they give birth to babies (Thanks to the modern wonders of medicine that made cesarean essential for whatever reason but the bottom line is to mint money). For us males who are hot blooded and courageous to the impossible physical extreme in hypothetic sense, would surely tuck our tail deep inside the crevice of our hind legs and run towards the nearest direction that looks inviting and vacant.

The horrendous experience perhaps that made me realize the possibilities of physical abuse awarded else than by my dad (when I refuse to study my books and go play all night) is a hospital nurse. She is one of my dreaded dreams even now, when I happen to dream of my childhood. I underwent treatment for some stubborn skin ailment that permitted this sadist looking elf to poke my butt with needles as if my buttocks are free to use pin cushions.

Anticipatory premonition was another thing I learnt while she looked at the prescription with small eyes and then looked at my cowering self with big eyes. Then she used to leisurely pull out a bottle of penicillin and thrust a diabolic looking needle in to that to suck permitted poison deep in to bowels of syringe. Afterwards she used to raise that killer instrument high in the air to check if air bubbles are there. By that time my heart is getting exploded in series, and she plunged the air bubbles out. Then in a deliberate death raid she used to walk towards me and pushed me on to bed as she pulled my preteen diapers a little lower at back till the otherwise seductive swell of my young buttock see the light of day. This event of course never gave me a smug sense of achievement but terrified me to peak. I used to close my eyes shut and used to get perplexed whether to beg or scream at god. If he is there why did he allowed aliments, and if he did allow them why did he give humans an intelligence to invent syringe, and then… why did they chose my innocent buttock to be a victim with no legal protection program???

My facial muscles slowly stretch to expression of honest emotion of pain from blank look of utter disbelief. Then I used to wail at a noise level that’s otherwise considered noise pollution and eligible for prosecution and subsequent punishment. Somehow no one prosecuted me or punished me.

Gone are those days and I now am healthy enough keep off the limits of hospital ever again.

But then I remember an experience… rather unique that happened a decade ago. I underwent surgery. Not worthy to bag a presidential medal for courage under fire… yet… it scared me and I came out of it alive. And that surgery surely left a sweet mark that makes me remember that I underwent surgery (I am not sure of I have perforation marks still persist on my derriere and I can’t twist my head in that crooked angle anyway to discover their possible existence).

I worked on an industry shop floor and sometimes used to operate machines. As usual I was clad in oil stained rages and was using a bench drill to make a hole on 5mm metallic strip. The cotter pin that binds the drill head to its column was not properly tightened and I was happily drilling a hole singing a song in loud voice that merged harmoniously in to the resultant ambient noise.

Suddenly some thud sounding noise over powered all existing ambient noises and some reflex within made me pull my hands fast out of the vise. My left hand was not fast enough and the drill head almost weighing 70 kilos came sliding down and entrapped my left hand little finger in the vise and drill head. For a moment I could believe neither what happened to me nor why white colored coolant liquid is turning crimson.

A colleague nearby saw what happened and screamed to shut the power and people came running to me and pulled the drill head up and I pulled my hand back to see a finely mashed little finger that decorated with sprouting blood. I don’t know if I rolled my eye balls in my sockets but everyone else around made me feel like I must have done something like that.

Frankly speaking I was unable to sense the kind of disaster I underwent. When people started giving me courage and looked deep in to my eyes offering conviction that contradicting their own impression made me scared shit and then… I screamed and… this time I really rolled my eyes and went slack. I was not totally unconscious, but if people are willing to lift me on their shoulders and carry me why must I mind??? It’s a life time opportunity till I happen to encounter a miracle similar to that anyway.

Suddenly a cab came from nowhere and I was pushed in to it and taken to nearest hospital. They lifted me off cab and put me on caster wheeled operation table and ran towards an operation theater. Out of all this chaos I was alert enough to discover that one of the medical personal was so pretty. She later turned out to be the doctor who was assigned for that surgery.

I was not sure if I really made a ruckus to attract the attention of that angelic looking Doc or scared at the prospect of allowing these monsters to chop off my little pinky. And I was screaming in English using choicest expletives directed at no one in particular. That made most of the people gape at me as they could not see any link between what they are looking at and what they were listening to. I mean… I was wearing oily rags and looked like a pauper and screaming in such English that’s literate’s forte. That reason being… I can’t scream in my own mother tongue that’s Telugu. Because in the place where I live no one understands Telugu and might misconstruct my incomprehensible uttering’s to a delirious stage of approaching coma. And I wanted not to use the local language in which I was proficient too but profanity expressed in English is universally respected (Despite the disgusting content in it) but in local language universally despised and deplored.

Then that pretty Doc regained her poise and asked me not to worry and plunged a syringe in to the base of my finger as I looked in horror. My subconscious recalled all horrors of being poked with a syringe but somehow I did not scream. Perhaps the pain of my crushed finger was over powering and I could not sense that sting like stab.

Within few seconds my pain disappeared totally as hand felt numb. I did not know I was locally anesthetized. I looked that that pretty Doc and she smiled at me. Trying to make me feel at ease she asked me about the accident and I was giving answers with half baked reservation as I discovered that she is impressed with the conflict of my looks versus my demeanor. And she gave me a sweetest smile looking deeply in to my eyes and told me… It’s not gonna hurt a bit and she turned around.

I believed her with all my heart. Perhaps her magic touch took away the pain of my crushed Pinky or perhaps she has this soothing effect on wounded people like me.

Then she turned around. And I discovered a sparkling scalpel in her rubber glowed hands.

And I screamed in terror. She suddenly started looking like a demon to me though her smile was so benign. I almost jumped out of the operation table but for the quick reflexes of a muscular male nurse I was pinned down and squirming under his grip helplessly.

To my utter surprise this time that prettiest Doc turned a witch look a like. She glared at me grinding her upper and lower molars in unison and screamed at other to cover my eyes. And they followed her orders gladly. I was enveloped in darkness and even felt a strong hand clasped my mouth as I started whimpering.

I was really pissed of at that pretty Doc. Perhaps… she was working swiftly as she wielded her scalpel like Joan of Arc (I think Joan of Arc did not wield a sword… but for hypothetical purposes we assume that the pretty Doc is Joan of Arc wielding a scalpel). I could listen to my own flesh and splinters of bone was cut and remade to something that could be sutured back to shape) then they bandaged my entire hand and took me out of OT and dumped me on a bed.

Even then they did not remove my blind fold. I waited patiently till I sensed the pandemonium to get subsided. Then with my right finger I slightly pushed my blind fold a little to look through a lean crack and looked around. No one was paying any attention to me. Good… now I pushed the bandage to as deep as it could give in to look in… and… wow… to my utter relief I could see my pinky tip… looking pink like a baby in cotton diaper.


They did not cut off my finger. I was about to scream and dance but suddenly remembered that pretty demonic Doc with her equally terrifying male nurse. It’s a unique experience on my part to undergo surgery that way.

I had my hand in sling for almost two months with a metallic brace on my finger that’s tied with a strong rubber band to my pinky. Doctors advised me to pull and curl my finger against the potential energy of that rubber band to gain its total operational integrity. I could distinctly feel that I lost sensation of my finger in some areas. On my follow up visits I told doctor (Not that pretty Doctor) I told him that I could not feel the touch sense in some part of my pinky. The Doc asked me not to worry as the nerve cells would grow back. I looked at him the way money lender looks at a pauper. He looked back at me the way a rat trapped by a rattle snake. And said… looks like you know about human anatomy a little. I said yes. Then he said… that’s good… live with what you have, and worry not about feeling on your pinky.

I never saw that pretty Doc again or underwent surgery so far.

I hope to live rest of my life that way…

(A loving tribute and happy Birthday to endearing Maria Jasmine… Today… The 9th September)

Loyalty

Loyalty is often a confusing term to me. It’s the most impressive virtue I happen to like over a period of time. All the lessons and wisdom I learnt in my formative years emphasized and stressed the importance of being loyal to the chosen perspective, philosophy or a person.

It demands absolute devotion that must withstand withering winds and sometimes guide us towards our own destruction. Being loyal to someone is a form of being innocent too, because we implicitly trust what we chose to be loyal about and do not slip or slide sideways.

I think I experienced that kind of loyalty with my childhood friends and it paved my way to look towards horizon of life. Dad used to tell me about the quality of being loyal and being a school teacher, he must have understood the concept in pious terms. But a deep rooted conviction was embedded by him within my heart that always seem to make me hesitate before looking in to the justifiable options of… wondering whether loyalty pays as we believe in someone whose integrity is questionable in terms of total moral strength.

The rapid development of life style seeding on – the – spot priorities and making ground for strategic benefits of future is the criteria to chose or rejects loyalty in the present world. Perhaps its essential to develop a killer instinct in this world where values have become Dog eat Dog. It’s like building a building a sand castle on beach before thinking of constructing an edifice. I used to feel the huge responsibility in building sand castles when I was a kid. Our home town was not near any natural water resources where abundance of sandy shores is nearby. So if we were to build a sand castle we used hunt for a place where new houses get constructed. They bring truck loads of sand and heap them near construction sites for later mixing it with cement and rocks to make it in to concrete.

And we sometimes were so lucky to avoid the wrath of the security guard. We used to scream and run and climb Sand Mountain and while climbing our little feet pushed deep in to sand and jump down and do so many unspeakably adorable things. Then we used to build sand castles with one leg buried deep in sand and while our little hands worked out in constructing conical heaps of sand castles. The castles of those who are experts used to look like Red Indian tents. After a few misadventures even my igloo looking sand castles started looking like Red Indian tents (Don’t know the right word for them)…

Yikes… I think I am veering towards another thing (I love to become a child again and hence my thinking always go towards childhood)

So… I started realizing an uneasy feeling when I exited innocence and entered life. Somehow and somewhere I used to recount what I have done so confidently in the name of loyalty and happened to encounter unpredictable and adverse results. I even become so brash in teaching a father figure in one of my jobs about being pragmatic and practical about being loyal towards what we call CONTRACTUAL OBLIGATION in a job. That gentleman looked at me with pain in his eyes as he was at the verge of retirement and served his employer loyally, but suddenly realized why certain incomprehensible events in his career where he was made a scapegoat.

Then I turned my attention towards loyalty in personal relations.

I am and I have been and I shall be loyal in personal relations… with my friends and even those whom I did not meet as well on net. What I meant is my healthy respect towards their faith in me was never disrespected. It’s not about my endeavors to reach my own smug self esteem, but somehow I never felt the need or relevance.

Another aspect that deeply affected me is love affairs. I thought one must be loyal to someone he loves. I still believe in that principle despite I find events in which one could not agree more to be flexible and look towards life and its better opportunities.

When I happen to share the grief of my friends who were mercilessly dumped by their lovers I used to tell them that it’s a social conditioning process. That is similar to a baby trying to walk and fall and try getting up and walk… and walk and run… and… stop…

Somehow this logic of mine did not work wonders in my own life. I cannot blame those who made me feel ignored as they developed their own reality after they started differentiating the taste of sweat tears and smiles. My introspection made me see how foolish I have been in being so free and so ideal. Perhaps love is to be given no more respect than any other emotion that goes ephemeral and stays endemic. When two people forget that they are plagued by so many conflicts that rip them apart in minuscule to monumental way and yet feel the comfort of each other’s company, not thinking of anything else and suddenly realize that the sense of comfort is a fleeting moment and only realty stand before us like a fire breathing dragon… they tend to take cover…

My own mistakes are lack of ambition in materialistic development, absence of seriousness in manipulating situations towards a favorable end (through the methods are socially accepted if not morally) and most importantly… being terribly interested in horizontal development and not in vertical growth where as my career and financial freedom and stability is concerned.

I thought my loyalty in the name of genuine concern towards someone I love would be the strongest foundation towards my emotional growth. But for a moment if I shun all of it and go reckless in living for the moment… Nahh.. I am incapable of doing that…

So…what is left for me to look at today… after being bitten by loyalty bug???

Well… nothing much… I still have my freedom to be happy in my moronic ways. I do retain the strength to be optimistic about getting my love back. I prepare myself to be able to help out in smaller ways. And… I look forward to see what comes out of my faith in being loyal… in future...

On seond thoughts... I wish to confess something... I am not loyal to my parents....

To someone who left for no reason

To someone who left for no reason
I still dig to find what’s my treason…
To bare my heart and soul
I start wondering what went foul…
World is so beautiful when you are near
Filled with smiles, pleasure and fear…
Now I see no light… no horizon
I could fathom not if I am filled with poison…
I just do not know why she chose to leave
I could neither smile nor smirk…
I hope she would tell me how bad I am…
To forgive me for my sins and yet leave
Mould me to someone who is nice… though naïve