THE CELEBRATION OF BEING ALIVE
The time form Christmas to New Year is one of joy and celebration every year. The television screen is splattered with messages symbolizing the dawn of happiness. The weather is also not that bad. Flowers bloom all over.
The blooming flowers are symbolic of the fact that my fate has a lot more in its kitty. My fate is sure to push me in the company of fame, fortune, and controversies. My first salvo against fate began with my accident. I had to surmount incredible odds to reach the contemporary position. The battle is not yet over, there are bound to be hundreds of obstacles, but the equations have changed now. The resurrection of my dreams from the doldrums is certainly going to take some time. Of course, there is enough reason to celebrate despite the doleful aura.
The doleful aura reminds me of the good times in my life. She crept into my life through the arcaded corridors of time in so subtle a manner that her presence in my dull and serene life was unnoticed for a long time. Then things began to change. I began to find comfort from the darker portions of my life in her thoughts. The gloomy thoughts that had been plaguing me for a long time could be countered by thinking of her. I could now win the tirade against the grim portions of my life. Her thoughts had the power to make me wish to be a part of the idealized celluloid world where things turned out well in the end.
The end is gradually, slowly, but surely coming closer. I can do very little but watch the show as my dreams proceed to become alien. The old rules---of tradition, values, family links and courtesy----would cease to apply themselves to her. A crystal ball would not be required to see the dismal future that awaits me. My spirits would be in the doldrums long before the confetti has been cleared away, the streamers have been packed, the mehndi on her hands has dried up, and the festive spirit caught the last bus home. I would find myself scrambling for cover even as the dark clouds prepare to burst over my head.
The cloud-burst is sure to have its repercussions for quite some time. My preparedness is bound to be helpful in tiding the crisis. The crisis would eventually give way to another beautiful episode, probably better than the latter. At the end of the day, I would realise that there are two flowers where I thought that there was only one, perhaps there are three or four, or any number as good as the first. I would come to discover another part of myself----the part that can celebrate the best portions of life. The celebration of being alive is, after all, living.
Monday, January 26, 2009
Wednesday, January 21, 2009
THE ABSTRACTION
THE ABSTRACTION
I sometimes wish she were a bit more good looking. I would have had something more concrete to think of than the abstraction I've become enamoured with. Her abstract thoughts fill e with such zeal and enthusiasm that I'm forced to think of her. They make me wish I had something more concrete to think of. She is like opium for a drug-addict. She could be the saviour to fish me out of the mess that I find myself in. I badly wish I could call the concrete form mine.
To be in love with an abstraction can prove to be the biggest tragedy in one's life. I'm doomed to behold the world through a smoked glass probably for the rest of my life. It is certainly proving to be the worst punishment that I could ever have got. This is not something new for me though. I've been fond of the abstract form of my daughter, Zeenat, for the past decade. It matters very little that Zeenat is a distinct possibility for me.
What matters is that thinking of Zeenat fills me with joy and ecstasy. Thinking of her fills me with similar zeal and ecstasy as thinking of Zeenat does. Harmony was never more perfect than that between the chaos of my mind and the world outside. I wish time would pause at this juncture.
The passage of time depresses me. I don't want it to move ahead. I feel frightened of the future. The future might give a concrete shape to my beautiful abstraction. The concrete form is certainly not as beautiful as the abstraction. I wish I could dream of her.
My dreams have been plaguing me for a long time. Sometimes I badly wish they would come true. At other times I wish they would remain the abstraction that they are. I don’t want my dreams to come true, I don't want the enigma surrounding her to be solved. The intricacies of life have exposed me to such harsh realities of life that I writhe in anger at the mere thought of these harsh realities. Her thoughts serve as an escape from these harsh realities. I'm forced to harbour her thoughts if I want to be happy.
I want to be happy. I want to be happier than anyone else. Thinking of her makes me happy. I don't want happiness to leave me. I don't want her to leave me. I ought not to feel guilty if thinking of her makes me happy. There are, after all, only a few things that can make me happy.
I sometimes wish she were a bit more good looking. I would have had something more concrete to think of than the abstraction I've become enamoured with. Her abstract thoughts fill e with such zeal and enthusiasm that I'm forced to think of her. They make me wish I had something more concrete to think of. She is like opium for a drug-addict. She could be the saviour to fish me out of the mess that I find myself in. I badly wish I could call the concrete form mine.
To be in love with an abstraction can prove to be the biggest tragedy in one's life. I'm doomed to behold the world through a smoked glass probably for the rest of my life. It is certainly proving to be the worst punishment that I could ever have got. This is not something new for me though. I've been fond of the abstract form of my daughter, Zeenat, for the past decade. It matters very little that Zeenat is a distinct possibility for me.
What matters is that thinking of Zeenat fills me with joy and ecstasy. Thinking of her fills me with similar zeal and ecstasy as thinking of Zeenat does. Harmony was never more perfect than that between the chaos of my mind and the world outside. I wish time would pause at this juncture.
The passage of time depresses me. I don't want it to move ahead. I feel frightened of the future. The future might give a concrete shape to my beautiful abstraction. The concrete form is certainly not as beautiful as the abstraction. I wish I could dream of her.
My dreams have been plaguing me for a long time. Sometimes I badly wish they would come true. At other times I wish they would remain the abstraction that they are. I don’t want my dreams to come true, I don't want the enigma surrounding her to be solved. The intricacies of life have exposed me to such harsh realities of life that I writhe in anger at the mere thought of these harsh realities. Her thoughts serve as an escape from these harsh realities. I'm forced to harbour her thoughts if I want to be happy.
I want to be happy. I want to be happier than anyone else. Thinking of her makes me happy. I don't want happiness to leave me. I don't want her to leave me. I ought not to feel guilty if thinking of her makes me happy. There are, after all, only a few things that can make me happy.
Tuesday, January 6, 2009
THE END
THE END
I cannot help feeling that her company makes him a richer man than anyone else. I certainly would exchange all the riches of the world with him for her, but the subject is absurd and impossible now. I long for her company as a field labourer pines for shade. In her company, I found bliss surpassing ecstasy. I felt like entering a beautiful arch. Her company, after the troubled hours of my late life, felt like being in a brilliant chamber after a night walk in the garden. Now that all this is a part of my past, I feel wretched.
My wretchedness is enhanced by my helplessness. I can do little to fish myself out of the misery I find myself in. The thought of losing her was miserable in itself. The end of my beautiful dream has turned out to be the worst nightmare. I want to rebel against the gods of fate. Her company made me feel special, but the loss of it identifies me with the ordinary man. Fate has pushed me in the company of the layman. I don’t want to join the herd. I want to be different. I’ve felt more steam and smoke than anyone else. Others have experienced a different form of life. The more that I see of life, the more do I perceive that there is nothing noble in its great walks. Her company was the biggest blessing that I ever got. I badly wish I could be in her company.
Her company is what I yearn for. Her company is the retreat where I can forger the darker portions of my life. Her absence has created a vacuum in my life. I want to shed the dullness of sorrow that her absence has created. At times, I wish I could let here thoughts drop into the abyss of undiscoverable things. I don’t want to forget her though. I want to cherish the memories that I have o her. I wish I could build a mausoleum to remind me of the days that I spent thinking of her.
Her thoughts have always pushed my emotions to the zenith. She is the bridge between shadow and light, between hope and despair, between joy and sorrow and between all the evil in the world and all the good. Without her, my life seems to be as vague in direction as that of a thistledown in the wind.
The winds of time have pushed me to the crisis I find myself in today. Very few of us have the courage and energy to counter the tide of time. Most of us are forced to accept its dictates. I too must accept the ruthless treatment meted out by fate and time. The ruthlessness with which time flows depresses me. Time has taught me to concentrate on what lies before me regardless of what has happened in the past. Time shall eventually show me that there ate two flowers where I thought that there was only one. Perhaps there are three, four or any number as good as the first. The truth remains that there are other gardens in the world than the one that I’m charmed with. There are a great many places that are not gardens at all--------dusky, pestiferous trees, planted thick with ugliness and misery.
My misery reminds me of the blissful period of my life when I was happy thinking of her. My thoughts filled me with ecstasy and pleasure. The collision of events produced some beautiful music. I ought to be content with whatever little came my way.
I cannot help feeling that her company makes him a richer man than anyone else. I certainly would exchange all the riches of the world with him for her, but the subject is absurd and impossible now. I long for her company as a field labourer pines for shade. In her company, I found bliss surpassing ecstasy. I felt like entering a beautiful arch. Her company, after the troubled hours of my late life, felt like being in a brilliant chamber after a night walk in the garden. Now that all this is a part of my past, I feel wretched.
My wretchedness is enhanced by my helplessness. I can do little to fish myself out of the misery I find myself in. The thought of losing her was miserable in itself. The end of my beautiful dream has turned out to be the worst nightmare. I want to rebel against the gods of fate. Her company made me feel special, but the loss of it identifies me with the ordinary man. Fate has pushed me in the company of the layman. I don’t want to join the herd. I want to be different. I’ve felt more steam and smoke than anyone else. Others have experienced a different form of life. The more that I see of life, the more do I perceive that there is nothing noble in its great walks. Her company was the biggest blessing that I ever got. I badly wish I could be in her company.
Her company is what I yearn for. Her company is the retreat where I can forger the darker portions of my life. Her absence has created a vacuum in my life. I want to shed the dullness of sorrow that her absence has created. At times, I wish I could let here thoughts drop into the abyss of undiscoverable things. I don’t want to forget her though. I want to cherish the memories that I have o her. I wish I could build a mausoleum to remind me of the days that I spent thinking of her.
Her thoughts have always pushed my emotions to the zenith. She is the bridge between shadow and light, between hope and despair, between joy and sorrow and between all the evil in the world and all the good. Without her, my life seems to be as vague in direction as that of a thistledown in the wind.
The winds of time have pushed me to the crisis I find myself in today. Very few of us have the courage and energy to counter the tide of time. Most of us are forced to accept its dictates. I too must accept the ruthless treatment meted out by fate and time. The ruthlessness with which time flows depresses me. Time has taught me to concentrate on what lies before me regardless of what has happened in the past. Time shall eventually show me that there ate two flowers where I thought that there was only one. Perhaps there are three, four or any number as good as the first. The truth remains that there are other gardens in the world than the one that I’m charmed with. There are a great many places that are not gardens at all--------dusky, pestiferous trees, planted thick with ugliness and misery.
My misery reminds me of the blissful period of my life when I was happy thinking of her. My thoughts filled me with ecstasy and pleasure. The collision of events produced some beautiful music. I ought to be content with whatever little came my way.
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