Happy Birthday!

Happy Birthday!

Ok! I don’t remember my friends’ birthday. Big deal! Last year it was my mom’s birthday and she called me the evening to remind me that it was her birthday. Eventually I cracked up a funny one by saying that since I wasn’t there when she was born she can’t really expect me to believe that she was born on that particular date. Next, on my parent’s anniversary I messed up again, my sister had to call me up and remind me later that day. Next, one of my cousin SMSed a day prior to her birthday that it was her birthday the next day, but eventually it slipped off my mind and I couldn’t wish her. Next, this happened just a couple of weeks back, another cousin of mine, who is pretty close to me and whose birthday date I took from her just a week before her birthday, had to SMS me and ask me to wish her. So what I really mean is yeah man I forget things, I am not really good at remembering peoples birthday or anniversary, and most of the time people have to sms me, mail me, call me or ping me to make me remember to wish them.

Nevertheless I fail to realize what the big deal about remembering birthdays is, what is big deal of wishing people at 12 o’clock night. From my perspective, simple, your brain has limited grey cell, and you use it to think, store and reflect upon things. Now, why to store this data that is perennial in your head? Eventually, there are so many social networking portals that can help you track all this. But, again I am not on any networking site so I can’t really help it. On my last birthday, I switched off my phone around midnight (now this has become customary), and went along with my friends for a long drive and dinner to lonavla. Earlier I used to cherish people calling me at midnight to wish me, but I guess I have grown up. J

I am posting this just at 12 o’clock night, wishing a very happy birthday, hoping that it would compensate for my ill memory. Happy Birthday! Have a great day, and yeah cool and take care! J. I will grab a piece of cake or twoJ.

Listening to Wind of change - Scorpions

Face On the Wall

Face On the Wall

 During one of those morbid days, when the night is without starts and the sky is black and not grey for with the sheer absence of moon highlighting the grey hue over it and air is stripped of its mobility, I got bored of gazing at my beloved laptop and started staring on the roof just above me. The wet season just commenced, and thanks to the extremely unsophisticated quality of building material or may be its time; wetness had percolated thru the walls and left patches. I was concentrating on the roof for quite some time when these patches started to swindle me of their shape and appearance. I was trying to figure out why exactly was the correlation of these shapes visible to me and my life. May be just like what people say for palmistry, that each person has a different set of lines which marks their destiny so may be these shapes or patter that you see may be a probable part of your destiny. Well destiny in itself is an intriguing word, probably would reserve it for some other day. Presently I want to just talk about this face on the wall, which was growing over me with time. This makes me think, what if I really have to recollect all the faces I have ever seen and create a mental portrait of all of them. Why is that you we don’t remember people, their names, their faces, also probably the time we had spent together or on the contrary why do we remember only some faces, some names and times we had spent together.  Probably, if I was to be asked to get a faces of all the people in my class during school, I would just remember very few of them some still close to me and others I have lost touch with. But the essence of this discussion being central to why only few, why not the entire league of people. Well, giving a further thought to it, what I seemingly realized is that these few people, in some way or the other have touched your life, if not your conscious mind but may be your subconscious mind. Moreover for short instance of time it might be the face you remember, but the persistence and a deep embankment in your mind it’s the time spent and time not spent matters, words, thoughts, experiences, emotions etc.

 

Well back to this face on the wall, with the initials being a two dimensional landscape has now clear facial lines, the features grew sharper as time passed and enriching was the beauty the emerging from behind the soggy background. Some people, who really know me, know that beautiful eyes fascinate me and if stirred together with a chirpy smile then I am flat. Initially it was jus a face on the wall, and my fascination and point of view purely symbiotic, it fascinated me and probably the reverse was also true, but now I think I am growing friendly towards it, this is the staging décor where you really get into knowing the persona. The face I was witnessing now was perfect, probably just like an artistic canvas stretched over my roof and the natural color tone, with smoothed out edges with charcoal giving away the delicate beauty the embodiment, which I think now had its own personality and perspective. I know it’s a not very brightest of the ideas to compare beauty because it’s a perspective, but still because I am judgmental and it’s my perspective that I am talking about, I wanted to compare those eyes to eyes that many people would have seen on screen, that’s of Chitrangna Singh. I mean, there is something about those eyes, probably the eyeliner or “kajal” very slightly washed out giving those eyes an emulsifying but a definitive tone and adding depth to an already infinitive eyes. Those are eyes you need if you want to communicate when you want to be silent, probably the best form of communication that I can think of. The unbraided hair just oozing off the curls and dents in the air enclosed. A wiry stream of hair tumbled from over the forehead to cheeks; swaying like a pendulum as the air gains momentum forcing the eyes to a slow motion closure. The free ends floating and meandering with stream of air expressing its vivacious character, even when occasionally tidied with a clip. And the impeccable smile, conveying similarity of thoughts and interest. Probably I am going insane, for me insanity is absence of thoughts not the cluttering of thoughts, but a pure confession being that now I can hear her laughter, with new initiated fondness we have started to talk and share. We started to share our days, our thoughts, emotions endless past experiences. I guess we more than just friends now, we are what we call it “Best Friends”. I soothing music at the milieu grew over me as time passed.

 

The face is now an embodiment to me, we both existed in a different world, but there was a bridge that had now been built across to facilitate cross borders of world and domain. We united the world, I was part of an imaginary world and she a part of mine real world.

 

One day, it rained really hard, the water had been sagging a lot and picture perfect was distorted, it seemed as if the face was in pain. Probably because that we were connected now, I could make out the pain from those dull damp eyes, or thru the pale look of the face or intuitively or may be it was destiny that I be known about the soreness of the face. The torrential rain and lightning had left the face in the state of dilemma. It had become painful and with each day the lightning and the rain striking harder the face’s vigor was deteriorating. There were moments of serenity when the storm took its break, but the soul of the face was crumbling within. Slowly but steadily the face was turning towards a shadow, a shadow of infinite grayness. It found solitude with me, when I was around I tried to warm up the room to comfort the face. Their were often times when even the warmth of the room would not help, those days I would pray to god for a sunny day the next day. The face’s frame of mind had somehow started to distress me; it was now a reason for a smile or tears on my face. Though I tried and I think that I was able to conceal my moods dangle surely in front of the face, but people around me noticed a change in me, some were neutral to it some became resentful of my behavior; I did realize the resentfulness of people around me and I knew that perhaps I was hurting them in some means but dint or may be I couldn’t or may be I dint wanted to think about it as now the face was important to me solely. This resentfulness deepened, but what I wanted was to help and bring back the vitality on face. I couldn’t let her down. I think that for me is more than just a friendship now, it had now become a part of life. Often I used to think why god would be so ruthless in distributing pain amongst people? Humans may be understood, for they can err and thus have to face the wrath of Adam’s apple, but why a face on the wall, why that innocent face which would bring a smile onto the face of others, why should it be so abused and suffer the ache of misfortune. I guess destiny binds all of us in an invisible thread which is barbed, and no matter how cherubic you are you are bound to suffer at some point or the other. The pain was getting unbearable for the face, and probably me too, a decision had to be taken for existence, a path had to be chosen, misery was to be ended, one have had to become strong to take these decision. The decision was to be taken by the face; I could only help her during the after math or may be just to console her. I had my believes, I had my views, I know the face now inside out, but still I couldn’t impose my thoughts on her, for probably I understood the consequences. I called upon one of my friend and asked her if she could help her out in dilemma, but the relentless had just crossed borders, possibly it further no longer mattered to anyone but me.

 

The days grew gloomier day by day, but still the spirit of life was alive, the moments of conviviality were reduced; much of the communication was intuitive. I started devoting more and more of time in the continuum to make things work out, I somehow knew that what I was suggesting was more of a myth than the bare truth. But still upholding for a certain future and betterment of the face I never shoved my real thoughts. There used to be days when I couldn’t with my utmost effort, could make her smile, handicapped I felt and days started to turn remorseful. The mental trauma had infiltrated to senses and the mind had lost control over the body, the words no longer in control and they were now partially insane version of inconvenient but non-conventional truth. These moments of truth were killing me. And one day face asked my opinion on what should it do, should be what it really was, should it subsist as an embodiment with its own persona  or should it be just like a speck of illusion confined in intangible convolution of people’s expectation.  I told her to break free, let time do the cure if there are bruises, which I was sure would be their, I did at that moment expose my thought process.

 

Life for me grew hectic in the further days, mean while the rain god had all the wraths, lightning, thunder storm and hail storm in full torrent. On the d day, a lightning bolt stuck my building marking the commencement of a new era. I was not around the face, but I knew witnessing the roaring thunder and the silvery lightning that the shackles had been broken, a new era had began, passion had taken over the will power of the mind, the decision had been taken, the surge for freedom had finally over come the bound of time and pain. The peace of mind was restored; it was the beginning of an era of uncertainty for both of us. It was the time when I bent down and tried to cleanse the bruise incurred in the process of evolvement. Blind, were we both for we both individually knew our minds but not certain about the mind of the later, though probably we both knew but silence was need of the time. The climate started to get better; the rains were less frequent now, the sun god would bless us occasionally. The smile was getting restored, the vitality was coming back, those dark spots beneath those eyes vanishing, those eyes now slowing regaining their spark, the wind had started to wave the hair, the worry lines slowly fading away, the prominence of the face and its impeccable feature was getting refurbished. For me I was partially confused, and partially happy. Confused over the decision that was then taken and happy because the peace of mind of the face was restored. But this state of mind of mine was short lived, for it was now I knew why such a decision was taken so my confusion drifted, and my happiness drifted when I came to know that the face is going to move out from my space for ever. The embodied face had to leave me for else the true essence of existence of freedom won’t be experienced. I tried to counter the thoughts but I knew that it won’t happen. It was painful, for now I realized how dependent I had become, how the very entity of my existence was being challenged of individualism. I realized how once life’s gets touched by others, how a simple face on the wall becomes a living image for a life long. How sometimes you try so hard for something to happen and still in the end the omnipotence of time prevails over your strength. During these times to console one with a myth, we stumble upon our fundamental power of reasoning and try to defy it with this new hypothesis, essentially sometimes a reason to survive or let others live.

 

The summers are here and the face has evaporated from my roof, the golden hue of sun have taken over the grey morning skies and the grey silver lining of the night sky with a zillion of stars back as a blanket to the mother earth, and I am still living the dream of the face on wall, I promised her and I will do it thy. I just hope that the face have an eternally longer life with happiness sprinkled all over the course. Destiny as we say does exist and sanity is just a myth.

 

 

Well a friend of mine has an awesome boyfriend of hers. For her last birthday this guy had planned week of surprise mails and gifts for her. Well not just mails, it were clues and she had to guess them to reach out these gifts of her. I was particularly thrilled by the idea of having a birthday week for someone. If I were to celebrate this birthday week for someone how would I plan it? So this column would be day1, starting Wednesday May 13, 2009, and would be for one week.  My other days would be on the blog that I would publish on 20^th May, 2009. And yeah a big and valid question, whose birthday would it be that I be celebrating? Well let’s consider it for my dearest of all friends the face on the wall. I know its sounds kind of boring to write a blog out of it and surely the essence would be much sweeter if we implement it, but still……

Day 1.) She’s like the wind, let white be her hue, let paradise be her virtue and let insanity be mine. Chocolate brownie with chocolate sauce which she wouldn’t eat on her own, a glass of vodka and should I order lime cordial or anything more? Chicken steak as the sheekh kabab could be her favorite, but classic as she is, Italian and more. Penchant for dark chocolate would otherwise give away others; call it her taste of friendliness that I got both. Pizza and Burger are best with friends, so is anything with laughter with absence of trends.

Let this banquet of flowers mark the d1 of the birthday week for you. Hope you had a great time today!!

 

 

I am no Super Man!!

I am no Super Man!!

The other day I was watching a movie “Bolt” an animated movie by Walt Disney. It’s about a dog, which in real life thinks that it’s the “The Bolt – The awesome super dog”. Well so much for just me to comprehend that in real life there is nothing called Super Man or Super Strong or The Best. It’s all a phase, a phase in which u rock and be the best and in the next you be a looser. For me identification of life with the word supper had been ingrained within great roots. But eventually I realized its an illusion it’s a fantasy which we knit around ourselves to keep our selves preserved admits the pollution of the thoughts that’s binds a person with another. For sanity and insanity have a thin border line and keeping up with the border its precarious for consciousness to trail when we slip in the same way its for fantasy called life, for in a moment you are in an enigma and the second you loose it all and the best part is that you don’t even realize it have had happened.

 I was just pondering over the flight of the imagination, what if all of our life is a fantasy and one day we wake up to see that the pure conics of our existence has ended up in an hyperbole. What if next day you realized that the world is going to end and you have nothing in had to save the calamity. What if you get up and see that the ur most valued and cherished possession has never actually exited and all was a myth. What is you suddenly realize that in actually you are blind and the rainbow that you saw yesterday was just a make up of ur mind which was playing tricks on you just to make you feel good. What if you realize that roses never have had smell and the sensation of smell which you had earlier known had evaporated or never probably existed?

 My question is fairly simple-what exactly is the truth?? Is there an absolute truth that existed except for the potent death?? I recall this movie “Jaane tu ya jaane na” in which there’s a girl (I don’t remember her name) who used to play this silly game of fantasizing one object as another, a similar theme was reflected in the movie “A bridge to Terabhetia”. So from where I see things its all a perception, for a binary perception its like a fence from when end it may seems greener to you and you take it and may be from the other end the may seem greener to someone else and he/she may take upon it. But binary perception is just a narrowed tip of a cone of an iceberg and viewing or perceiving them with once mind is what makes a person who he or she really is. For in all time too is an element which is dramatically and comprehensively nurturing the perception of an individual at a given instance of time. The action the mood the complete embodiment of once way of thinking is an infinite complex progression and it indulges acuity, history, time and ambiance. If life so is a fantasy then what is individualism what is I or for that matter what is WE and what is YOU?? What is the goal?? What is success?? What is failure?? What is thinking?? What is emotion?? What is love?? Just words to play with once mind and manipulate once course of life/fantasy.

 Well I think as usual I am meandering away from my main course of this blog which is to make people smile/relax and not think or forceful redirection of their fantasy to regenerate thoughts and analysis also each entry of this blog will go along with at least one ‘calvin and hobbes’ strip.

 Few days back I was reading an blog and found this one liner in line with a song in Dev D – “Tauba tera samosa, tauba tera achaar, tera gastronomical atyachar…” this one seems directly from the plate of a foodie. 

Also one of a good joke that I had read:

 First-year students at Med School were receiving their first anatomy class with a real dead human body. They all gathered around the surgery table with the body covered with a white sheet. The professor started the class by telling them, "In medicine, it is necessary to have 2 important qualities as a doctor. The first is that you not be disgusted by anything involving the human body." For an example, the Professor pulled back the sheet, stuck his finger in the butt of the corpse, withdrew it and stuck it in his mouth. "Go ahead and do the same thing," he told his students. The students freaked out, hesitated for several minutes, but eventually took turns sticking a finger in the butt of the dead body and licking on it. When everyone finished, the Professor looked at them and said, "The second most important quality is observation. I stuck in my middle finger and licked on my index finger..... Now learn to pay attention..."

 Also I was going thru the selected poems of Oscar Wilde and was stuck by this one – or may be this was the one I understood – its called - Flower of Love

 Sweet, I blame you not, for mine the fault

was, had I not been made of common clay

I had climbed the higher heights unclimbed

yet, seen the fuller air, the larger day.

 

From the wildness of my wasted passion I had

struck a better, clearer song,

Lit some lighter light of freer freedom, battled

with some Hydra-headed wrong.

 

Had my lips been smitten into music by the

kisses that but made them bleed,

You had walked with bice and the angels on

that verdant and enameled mead.

 

I had trod the road which Dante treading saw

the suns of seven circles shine,

Ay! Perchance had seen the heavens opening,

as they opened to the Florentine.

 

And the mighty nations would have crowned

me, who am crownless now and without name,

And some orient dawn had found me kneeling

on the threshold of the House of Fame.

 

I had sat within that marble circle where the

oldest bard is as the young,

And the pipe is ever dropping honey, and the

lyre's strings are ever strung.

 

Keats had lifted up his hymeneal curls from out

the poppy-seeded wine,

With ambrosial mouth had kissed my forehead,

clasped the hand of noble love in mine.

 

And at springtide, when the apple-blossoms

brush the burnished bosom of the dove,

Two young lovers lying in an orchard would

have read the story of our love;

 

Would have read the legend of my passion,

known the bitter secret of my heart,

Kissed as we have kissed, but never parted as

we two are fated now to part.

 

For the crimson flower of our life is eaten by

the cankerworm of truth,

And no hand can gather up the fallen withered

petals of the rose of youth.

 

Yet I am not sorry that I loved you - ah!

what else had I a boy to do, -

For the hungry teeth of time devour, and the

silent-footed years pursue.

 

Rudderless, we drift athwart a tempest, and

when once the storm of youth is past,

Without lyre, without lute or chorus, Death

the silent pilot comes at last.

 

And within the grave there is no pleasure,

for the blindworm battens on the root,

And Desire shudders into ashes, and the tree

of Passion bears no fruit.

 

Ah! what else had I to do but love you?

God's own mother was less dear to me,

And less dear the Cytheraean rising like an

argent lily from the sea.

 

I have made my choice, have lived my

poems, and, though youth is gone in wasted days,

I have found the lover's crown of myrtle better

than the poet's crown of bays.

 =======================================================

 Hope I stick to this blog for long enough!!

 

Presently listening to : Kuck kam – Dostana (2008)