Random thoughts

Sometimes the godly scheme requires us to swim upstream against the current. Don’t feel bitterness by seeing others floating easily downstream. You the able-bodied have been chosen for the task because you have the muscles in your willpower to go upstream. This selection of yours is the reward in itself.

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Majority of our hits or miss in life are born of what we say instead of what we do.

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Lost in the sweet-sour shades of some pleasantly painful memories, I look back. But the scene left behind by me has been deftly stolen by some winds from the other direction. The stage seems excitedly full of new characters. With a sad smile I turn away and look ahead. Across the sandy veil of dispirited horizon some cool shades are visible. With slow steps I move ahead, hoping for an oasis. Well that’s life fella, we have to set out anyway.

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What is success after all? Is it beating others in their achievements? Or beating others' expectations from you? Or surpassing your own dreams? Or a wispy, pleasant feeling at the day end, 'Fella you have not been a mere weight on earth!'

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Worldwide peace and harmony doesn't need authority, power centers and hegemony to sustain. But the latter--authority, power centers and hegemony--surely need strife, wars, violence and bloodbath to sustain it. Peace has never been the focal point of geostrategists. If it were, most of the issues we are fighting about become redundant by default.

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Life can be a bit good, provided we know to save our goodness from being eaten up to fatten someone's badness.

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Embraced by the pining silence and stillness of these mute hours, my detached self grows more detached and aloof like those misty distances virginally spread out under the star light.

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It's never my, your, his, her, their truth. It's a mysterious point equidistant from all of us.

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This is your day..this sun shines for you, to fill your heart with warmth..hours go calculatedly to manage things in the best manner...this breeze is for you to delicately whisper the best wishes for you...this sky is for you to fly majestically...this cosmos is for you; you are its king!

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Top of Form

The High tide of darkness swallowed the star, and the gloom added to its invisible shades to the distances far.

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Ultimately symbolism is as substantive as the material reality. So if Diwali symbolizes the victory of light over dark, then fellows consider it as effective as your struggle to overcome the bad past, your penance to undo the wrongs you have been doing till now, your efforts to reach the hitherto unsurmounted summits in your life.

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Bad is nothing but less good, just like good is nothing but less bad...duality is an illusion that surfaces at increasing distance from the attritubeless axis, the constant, the unchanged reality. Move inwards...to your constant, to your basic reality. And the dualities vanish and along with them pain and sufferings which we feel through our senses also fly off into the cosmos.

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Someone may not be as bad as he appears, provided we are as good as we consider ourselves to be.

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Victory gives you a trophy, failure gives you a chance to fight for something bigger.

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The smaller the virtual world in your brain, the bigger the standing in the real world.

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Poverty

This one is for those who daily put their physical selves in the furnace to earn survival morsels--the laborers, the beggars, the miserables, the wretched outcasts. Their whole body sheds sweaty tears day in and day out. So the salty sea of miseries pours out through the thick walls of their rough, dirty skin. It rarely finds an outlet through eyes! Why? Because these are glassy hard balls--the fiery pits where dreams, tears, hopes and humanity get burnt incessantly! Plain hunger, of body and mind, in the long term, eats away the emotions, which heart has retained so far as a disguise to satisfy and justify the hunger of both body and mind. Hypocrisy then melts away. They then face the naked truth. They are still the same person in public, but they are even robbed of that justification, that inner solace, which always came handy to clear their fragile conscience. They are then robbed of even the rewards their conscience may provide. And then you survive almost mechanically.

The journey-woman

As you drop your knapsack, like a battle weary soldier easing her of metal armour and weapons, and look at the dreamy destination you have toiled to reach which unfortunately doesn't look the way you expected it. Don't forget this destination whom you find short of expectations at least gave you a journey and made you richer by adding positives to the man and woman in you. Irrespective of destinations, love your journey, for there are no destinations, only journeys. Destinations are the shifting mirages. Reach one, and its latest variant teases you from a distance again, pulling you into an endless pursuit. With biggest uncertainty about its ending, life is naturally supposed to be a journey and its carrier simply a journey-woman. Had it been meant for destinations, the timing of its ending, death, won’t have been the most uncertain thing for each and every being alive out there.

Rabbit, try faking a lion for some time!

A bit of iron talk to test whether it stands or not in comparison to the butter soft approach to life. If living like an iron-masked alert soldier gives you sustained peace, well and good, you may carry on like a hard-fisted maniac. If you find something missing, you will automatically realize the significance of mellow posturing. So to start with the tough tasking.

Life is to be won by wearing the battle shields and arms of cold hard logic and point blank reasoning. You become a soldier. Keep your emotions and sensitivities safely cradled deep in your heart. Don’t wear them on your chest, otherwise some arrow will easily pierce you. So always be predatorily alert to the risks to your interests.

When life screws you up from many angles, and despite best of your efforts, and all the humanly possible tries, you find the situation unchanging, you can still fight for a change! The change in yourself, the carrier of all this unjustified shitty load! You can make yourself physically stronger. And forget about the psychological variants of strength. It is like a person suffering under 100 kg weight. And come whatever may, she cannot unburden herself of this load. What is the option left? It is just to get physically stronger so that it is possible to carry the load. I am talking of plain physical strength. Forget about all other hypothetical versions of strength. Simply believe that physical strength is the prelude to all other concepts of strength. So all you guys and girls, who are undeservedly carrying extra load in life, just sweat it out. Grow strong physically! Then you can even laugh at the weight on you!

But it should not be an alert soldier type all the way. You deserve our airy moments—little-little somersaults, froggy jumps over life's grounded roadblocks, tiny ballooned flights above the frictitious realities on the surface. But we must not forget we are terrestrial beings not the airy angels. So guys ensure that you land rightly on your feet after airy jaunts and not crash-land on you ass.

Hammering the nails into the box of destiny

God was hammering down nails into my wooden being to shape the box of my destiny. I but kept on crying with pain and cursed him for his mercilessness. My prayers egging Him on to toil more on my behalf and all this while I thought He was deaf. Making is a bit painful buddy, but believe every nail writes the script of many-many pleasant moments in future. Pain is never futile. It’s always a box in the making. And was construction ever devoid of pain, sweat, labour and suffering? These are just simply elements of ‘making’. Now I see the beautiful artwork of the box and come to realize why those nails were hammered. It was all meant to see me home. So love your struggles and sufferings buddies. That is when you actually get ‘made’ into something substantial. During the so called smooth phase when the life is safely on autopilot, you just trundle ahead carrying your old self cocooned in the make-believe sense of being happy and content. But in reality you hardly move ahead during this phase. The routine just plods you ahead like an impassive dummy. Be willing to accept your pain, suffering and struggle. It’s one of the best investments I know about. When you come out of the last dark hours of the night, believe me the sun shines resplendently like never before.

Love in the times of war

"But how deeply, painfully, irreparably had he wounded her and upset her life, and how restless and violent she was in her determination to re-shape her destiny and start afresh!" ___Boris Pasternak in Dr Zhivago

The smell is mildly pungent, of tobacco, of paper, soaked in the spirits of literature. Classics are classics. As I douse my hunger down the pages, a surprise awaits. A huge bonus which makes my day and turns me richer. A surprise gift. The story ends to live in your memory. But then there is a beginning once more. There are 43 pages of poetry, taking the last page of the book to the dreamy depths, to last forever. That's how Boris Pasternak surprises and gives a bonus to his readers in Dr Zhivago. 

Flower and snake caught in the single loop of memory

Some moments just get etched in your memory. Their empowering aesthetics or intimidating impulses can still tickle the senses even a decade later. Such moments define life, make it momentous. These moments stand as the real milestones notifying the flow of invisible, unstoppable stream of time. Such moments stand out in two ways: a) raising your hair, jolting your senses and giving scary Goosebumps; b) massaging your aesthetic senses in a way that you retain the touch almost throughout life. I can recall two such moments.

The first one occurred a decade back at the start of the winters in Delhi. As the metro's first ladies only coach eased its beautiful burden, I found myself walking down the stairs among a fragrant swarm of few dozen beautiful ladies. Colorful woolens…Deo and perfume...grace and beauty. Flowers. I felt like in a perfumery...like a guilty black-bee in a garden. It was really overpowering. I can still smell and see those moments as vividly as it happened a decade ago. Some moments just refuse to fade from your mind’s horizon. 

The second one still sees me swathed with swirling emotions of scared ecstasy, awe, plain fear and genuine appreciation. The moment stands erect almost a decade back on the highway of time. I saw two snakes mating..and not on tv guys..in real. Surrendered to slithery, coiled, hissing passion, their venomous stalking turned to submission. The kiss of death morphed into the kiss of love. Their fangs and poison took backseat. Horrified initially, my shaken self felt the coiled fluidity of those two slithery bodies forming love loops…shocking majesty…ecstatic! Those vivid images still crawl in my mind like it’s happening now itself.

A little Zen practice

The shifting stage of life. The biggest truth about life: change, impermanence. From 7 AM last morning to 7 AM this morning. 24 hours of change. From armful to fistful...from coquettish smile to crumbling grimace...from the skies to the ground...from running to rest...a very simple Zen technique I use every morning to stamp home the biggest truth which we tend to forget while we boast, fret, fume and stomp on the stage of life. So as the grains of time's sand slip through your fist, be happy, enjoy, smile, love and care for those around, so that when you look back from your mound of dust you find it meaningful.

A smile's life on cobwebbed lease

Sometimes existential support, as slim as an almost invisible single strand of spiderweb, sees you smiling well beyond your expected time. It's 4:30 PM the next afternoon. The pair, a souvenir of a lovely, cool, dewy night, still hangs almost in full life. These are night blooming jasmine flowers. They bloom under dewy starlight at night, and tumble down happily at the dawn, pulled by mother nature's call for cyclical transformation. But then some chance innings outfox the routine cast of apparent reality to carry further on to reach some milestone. These couple of flowers saw the youthful charm of full bloom at cool October night. Thousands around them toppled down at the day's onset through a slightly misty morning and are almost recycled to dust in the ground. But mischievous destiny lends out a strand of web, and here they are swirling and swaying to gentle breeze of these balmy early winter days. Little ounce of beauty and fragrance hanging like chandelier signifying the imperishable aesthetics of love, peace and harmony.

The Night-smile and day-time vestiges

He smiles through the dewy night, the night blooming jasmine, Har Singar. As the day opens its eyes, I find the vestiges of fragrant night scattered under the tree. The first thing I do these days is to collect the tree's offerings and keep it as a fragrant trophy on my desk. It makes my day. Keeps it smiling and fragrant. Thanks brother tree! I just put some water around you, and here you are with a shower of unconditional love, life, beauty and fragrance. The weather has turned amazing and your gift makes every day better than the previous one.

Refurbishing an old nest and the story of birdie care

Well, not all abandoned nests go unnoticed. While the rains lashed in August and September, a scaly-brested Munia pair (spice finch or nutmeg mannikin) set up an irregular, globular, oval nest of grass, straw lined with feathers and strands of cotton wool. The cycle completed and the hatchlings flew to take their chance on life on the tightrope of creation and destruction. The parents however are known to use the dormatiry off and on while on the way in their birdie sorties. So I have seen them a few times sneaking in for a restful night. The nest stands jolted after more than a month since the nestlings left. The rains and wind shook it. But then the old house is still fit enough to catch the eyes of a pair of white throated munia (Indian silverbill) who are a bit lazy and sociable little beauties who are open to move into used house. They have white throat running from beak to undertail, brown plumage and blue grey beak. So letting swift chirrup trill, the lady on house hunting is inspecting the rainlashed nest, evaluating how much of refurbishment might be required.

Quite incidentally, the original houseowner, scaly breasted Munia, also happens to be there on a nearby branch. Perhaps it has came for some noontime nap. The silent and peaceful bird with bright cinnamon head, full brown plumage and scaly patterns on breast just looks on pensively. Possibly it understands that laying eggs by someone is better than her sleep. So guys, no fight. It just looks at the would be mother with a strange detachment and allows the inspection. Hope we humans can learn something from these birdie guys.

Self-fucking moron or a happy go lucky filly? The choice is always ours!

The adventure and fun of life decrease in proportion to the distance between the point of your craziest, wildest urge of your heart and instincts on the one hand and the low point where you chose to be, driven, rather checked, by your fears, overvaluation, inhibition and assumptions, all of which stopped you from saying 'yes' to the moment and the choice which had all the possibilities to change your life miraculously. Never underestimate the consequences of your endeavors. A butterfly flapping its wings in Africa is linked to the causes which drive a furious hurricane in America. So no action is small, only our fears and insecurities turn it puny, belittled piece of failure. Coming back to that choice which could have seen you soaring in a sunny journey at the highest height, but which you missed through over-analysis and chose to crawl on earth, cursing yourself at every step over the so called missed opportunities. Long after that choice is gone, and you cast a helpless look at the sweeping miles between where you could have reached if you had the guts to say 'yes' to your heart and the poor point where you chose to be, you just can't help but find life almost meaningless. Destiny isn't a cheater altogether. There are moments passing through our lives when, with only a little bit of daring 'yes' we can change the entire course of our lives. Say yes to the liveliest, loudest, craziest, wildest cooing of your heart. If not the destination (and there is no destination by the way), you will love the journey for sure. A little stroll impregnated with your heart's agreement is far more substantial than hundreds of miles of sweating run if you have forced yourself into it. Those miles after miles are not the rewards to your self-punished self. That is the punishment for not being true to yourself. So listen to your heart, shut off all haggling by your mind which is tricking you by forcing you to compare your worth through the scales of others journeys. You have to have your own scale to measure the worthiness of your journey, how many miles you have to go, at what pace, at what stopovers and many more. Use others' scales and all you do is just self-fuck at the cost of lot of pain to your ass. So we always have the option of being a happy go lucky person instead of a self-fucking moron.   

A real journey entailing the mirage

Life isn’t just sailing in calm, composed waters. Mostly, the waters are stormy. That is the law of nature. It simply cannot leave things static. Things will turn static only at the moment of the cosmic crunch, the opposite the Big Bang when the universe will implode to start exploding again in the next spell of activity. So till then enjoy the activity.

Overall, our character is defined by the manner we captain our little boats to enter the peaceful waters, the doldrums, for a time. Sailing in calm waters is not the reality though. The storms lurking over the horizon is. Keep an eye on it as you are cooling your heels after the last battle. And while you drop your knapsack, like a battle weary soldier easing her of the metal armour and weapons, and look at the dreamy destination she has toiled to reach which unfortunately doesn't look the way she expected it. Don't forget this destination which you find short of expectations at least gave you a journey and made you richer by adding positives to the man and woman in you. Irrespective of the destinations, love your journey, for there are no destinations, only journeys. There never was a happy person who didn’t enjoy the journey to have his bumper lot of happiness in one lot at reaching the so called ‘destination’.

Braving the stormy patch and keeping an eye on the next one is the formula to become a successful caption of your life. So simply be a journeyman or journeywoman. Quite ironically the destination is just being there on the path, simply journeying. Just look into the past and remember all who have died and try to recall how many reached the so called destination. The only fixed destination is death which is the most uncertain event (in term of its time of occurrence) for all of us. There is no such thing as ‘life’, the hard-fixed noun. All we have is a sweet-sour poultice ‘living’, the verb, the activity, the process, the journey. So do your deed, make your run, have your shots at your so called goals and the process of doing itself is your reward. Beyond that any idea of rewards and destinations is just like mirage in the deserts.

The Big Bang was a poetic moment

Without the seed of poetry there won't be any prose. Just like without the tiny seed there won’t be a tree. The canopy, the full foliage of the tree is just an extension of the dream lying with its realistic potential inside the small seed. The elaborate network of trunks, branches, twigs, flowers, fruits and leaves is nothing but a commentary on the small poetic seed. So all ye wannabe writers, nurture the poet in you, who understands the value of pause in life, who moves slowly to watch everything, sight and smell everything. Whose senses are open to the inclusive interplay of wonderful harmonies of the supreme song, the universe, the one song. Brushstrokes of poetry softly touch the soul without disrupting its restful muse and bring out the nuggets of love, compassion, harmony and peace. If you are a poet by nature then you have the potential to be anything because all these elaborate extensions of your life, your dreams, your professional and personal goals, your milestones, the world around you, all these and more are nothing but a reflection of that poetic pure seed. Being poetic is being the master of all the best-ever possible emotions as a human being. Poetry is the common soul of all art forms. It is impossible to visualize an unpoetic artist. Poetry is the womb that mothers all that has ever been loved and appreciated by the man and the nature. To be poetic is to love. You taste godliness by being poetic. The mankind has pictured heaven just as a huge poetic dream. All the myths, gods and goddesses are marvelous poet philosophers and poet soldiers. So learn to be a poet.  Love yourself as a poet.

Double standards

Just waiting for the champions of Islam to speak against China. If they don't do it, then their selective fusillade against certain countries gets exposed. One thing is sure: it's never about religion, as most of the people believe, but basically about selfish geo-strategic reasons in turning countries against each other, or bring them together. From religious point of view, Pakistan should be China's biggest enemy, given mass atrocities on the Muslims in China. But they are the best of buddies. Are the Muslim Uighurs lee Muslims? It has to be clarified by the loud-mouthed champions of Islam. In the rest of the world they stoutly espouse the Muslim cause. So why this silence on Uighur Muslims in China? Or Chinese Yuans stuffed in your croaking throats have silenced you? Pakistan has been pouring all its collective energy as a nation into the Indian side of Kashmir, justifying its terrorist activities basically on the grounds of 'Islam in danger in Kashmir; philosophy. From the same religious benchmark, it should never see eye to eye with China. So it gets proved. Need more proof? By the way, go to Kashmir in India, you will be surprised to note that despite the violence and counter violence of decades, not even a single aspect of the religious life of Muslims has been affected in the state.   

Silence of Pakistan, Turkey on Chinese repression of Uighur Muslims outrageous