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.
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Hope I stick to this blog for long enough!!
Presently listening to : Kuck kam – Dostana (2008)
