Tuesday, December 6, 2011

Ungarnished


It has been a long time since I permitted myself to ramble instinctively. And truthfully. Without having to obfuscate the sentences so as to abstractify the content. I don't remember when I stopped writing for myself. Well, I still do, but I write for the superficial self, not the subconscious one. Actually, I barely write at all. Just dragging it along, with a post a month, just to convince myself that it is not dead, as yet. Barely holding onto the innate ability to spew out typed words without having to consider them rationally. That is a contradiction, right. If it is an innate ability, I don't have to try hold on to it. It is not going to disappear. But then, how can you be sure? What if it does? What if you sit down one day and realise you have been left bereft? What would you do then? Read books, any books, well written books, books in which words are sewn together in such fascinating ways as to arouse both joy and awe symbiotically? Read them all with the prayer that some such magic spawned by someone will unearth that buried aptitude to just let the words flow and semantics emerge without having to create them. 

I always did believe, that real art is not created by the artist. It is not made through a lot of deliberation and holding a conference in the mind. It is actually, just uncovered by him, or her. The artist would not be able to say how and why it came about. It just did. He was fortunate enough to discover it and present it to us. Or she. The best artists are mere couriers.

Isn't it exasperating that English, despite all these years of evolution and assimilation of languages from around the world, has still not managed to provide us with a gender-less third person singular pronoun? Seriously, how hard can it be. A small collection of some three-four letters, perhaps only one of which would be a vowel, would save us from the danger of appearing sexist by using just 'he' or pedantic by using 'he/she'. And of course, also protect us from appearing as if trying too hard to be different, by using just 'she'. I would suggest 'ghe'. Not too hard to pronounce, yet the sound is distinctive enough to avoid any confusion with 'he', 'she', or 'we'.

Do you ever look back and wonder how far we have come? Do you turn around and ask yourself, how did I jump over that fence? When did I run cross that farm? How come I didn't realise I was swimming when I crossed that river? They say (yes, the proverbial 'they') that things look much harder when you stare are confronted by them as compared to when you actually overcome them later. But have they ever looked at the vice versa bit? Have they noticed that often something that has been done, is actually so impossible that it could not have been imagined, had it not actually been done? 

Stepping out of a spiral may apparently unleash an unnecessary profusion of ungarnished thoughts.

Monday, July 4, 2011

Life as we know


lifeGreat parties have the farewells 
Illnesses none do last too long 
It's the states alternative of work and play 
Which shall occupy you till the time ends 

Serendipitious money change hands 
Unlucky scars do fade away 
It's the hustles everyday 
Which shall make your life 

New found love turns sour some day 
Hatred deep gets buries some day or decade 

Its's the relation nondescript with a few which shall remain your mark in the end 

All good things come to an end 
Badtimes don't last long 
It's the memories of life like the old house wife which keep u company untill end

Thursday, April 14, 2011

Thoughts set free


Life is a bitch. In a poll, possibly a widely held opinion would be that it’s so with them. It’s true, isn’t it? Boss not reasonable, pressure from all quarters, struggles everywhere. You work for something, expect the results and they don’t come- You see your neighbour win, and the feel the blood being sucked out of your limbs.
Sometimes, it looks like all of the environs want their retribution for a crime un-attributable to you. Sometimes, even tearing a part of your soul and channelizing it is not enough of an effort. Sometimes, you seem to be in the accusatory hot pot for all the good intentions you had. Sometimes, nobody seems to understand you and the sacrifice you make. Sometimes, the hurt sucks you to an extend that even the tears refuse to flow. Sometimes, you feel like running away from the ones who understand and love you the most.
Sometimes, you just want to give up. After all, is it freaking worth it? Is there something for you in there? Anything at all? For if your closest ones do not sympathize with your efforts, should you carry on? Are all those sacrifices being counted? Aren’t you messing up your life? After all, even the river does not flow till the Sun recognizes the snow clad mountains.
In such a situation, it is amazing what an innocent “Thank You” can do to your soul. It is soothing to see the respect you might have earned, if just in a limited arena. It is divine to talk to yourself and realize that this was your calling.
Cheers, to the amazing feeling called life

Sunday, March 13, 2011

*The Road Ahead*

Looking back, particulary 3-4 years, I feel surprised over my transformation from a school going boy to a working professional (if I call myself one now). We get used to the place where we live, setting our paws and taking control of everything around us to the best of our ability. And then suddenly we take a plunge to an altogether diffrent world where we start no better than minnows. We take up challanges - sometimes get through them and sometimes hit hard by them, but always there is one harder than the current one waiting for us.

Have I learnt enough for the changes in these years? Well! I don't think so, I still feel all these years passed in a flash with plethora of things in the backlog. May be it will take some time to take in the reality. Now the only thing remains to ponder upon is *The Road Ahead*. It's a great feeling to enter into the real world withh a little of knowledge and losts of hope and I look forward to it. Following lines from the poem "The Road Ahead" by Thomas Watson seem apt for now.

The road ahead bekons me
To be steadfast and true to it each day.
It calls to my spirit to see
No matter rocks thrown in my way.

I will keep with my sight
The next step ahead,
And, despite the pits and rocks, fight
To hold his out-stretched hands, that once bled.

When I think these things too much too bear,
I will see His tears,
Falling because He cares,
And I will stand straight, loosing all of my fears.