Orderless

There was a time when you believed all the stories you came across. Grandma used to fool you with her bed time tales. You have now grown up. But have you ever asked your elders why they had lied to you and coerced your mind into gladly relying on imagination to account for all the answerless questions? You can now distinguish between a story and the truth. But isn't a more acceptable lie the truth for you? Mankind needs to evolve further. Might be into a species which has chlorophyll on its skin instead of a mouth. Evolution does not stop with you. We are not the direct descendants of God. We are just another phase in the change, as were all the animals and birds. Then why do you keep thanking the God for having created the sky, the earth and everything in it for you? You are just another race with special skills in worrying. You are afraid of the future. You try to control it, but in vain. So you pray. So you save. You plan. You study. You forgive and so on.

You are even troubled with others noticing your inherent worry. So there were stories about greater forces commanded by the omnipresent God and your fate being controlled by stars, constellations and their positions. Brilliant works of human imagination. Each story had its share of followers. Religions thus multiplied. Everything you can't explain was described as the work of the Almighty. Religion says the only thing God demands from you is belief. Even doubts can get enlisted under blasphemy. So no questions are permitted to be asked. God is safe in his kingly throne.

And thus there was order. You were born into a cage. You will live inside it till your last breath and pontificate non stop about freedom. But what do you accomplish? You don't even know what the actual world which does not enforce restraints on you is like. I too might get branded as mad because I chose to explain the truth to you. I pity you. Things were never under your control. You walk along the lines drawn by the society as if you are being dragged by a chain. But it is your life damn it. You do what ever you want with it. Show some resistance. Why should you listen to the morons who kept to the road, missed all the good places on the way and died without reaching anywhere?

Life is not a journey. You celebrate it. You live it in your own style. Remove the warnings and chop down the signposts. There is neither a heaven above the clouds nor a hell below the ground. Don't chain yourself. Break the already existing fetters of morality and hypocrisies. Release the devil in you. Go mad. There is no one you have to answer to. You want to sing? Scream on. It’s your voice. Who is your neighbour to command you to keep it down? Dance. Play. You want to drive your bike at 200km/hr, who told you not to? Don’t be bound by the rules. Show the finger to your boring professor. Make aeroplanes with your aeronautical engineering question paper. Go sleep around if that’s what you want. Be a freak. I'm not saying draw your own limits. Abstinence is not life. Let there be no limits for you. It’s your life. And you have only one life. There are no horizons. Fly away. I’m up in the sky. Alone. Come, join me. Bring the world with you.

Fairies

"How many times have I told you not to leave the windows open."

"But Mom, there was a nice breeze coming in...", I tried to explain. But she cut me off.

"My Son, winds never carry fairies with them." She closed the windows.

I remained silent. There are things grown ups won't accept. Might be they don't understand after all. Mom looked at me for some time before leaving the room. After closing the door behind her I gently unlatched the windows making as less noise as possible. One is not supposed to keep the Fairies waiting outside. What if the Fairies leave finding the windows closed and never returns again? It was quiet dark outside. The gulmohar tree across the fence on which the Fairies lived had merged almost indistinguishably into the shadows.

My Grandma used to tell me stories about the wonderful things the Fairies could do. "The Fairy is busy looking after the helpless. But one day she will surely come into your room sailing in the wind. Wait for her by the window." Grandma had said. A few weeks later she stopped telling me stories. She was in her room all the time, either chanting or sleeping. She told me she was preparing for a journey to the world of Fairies. My excitement however dropped when she added that she couldn't take me along with her. I made her promise to visit me one day. A few days later I found Mom and Dad in tears.

'Grandma has left us.' they told me.

"She went to the land of fairies?", I asked.

Mom didn't reply. She hugged me and wept for a long time. I suddenly felt very lonely. Mom and Dad were so busy running the house, Grandma was the only friend I had. But now I'm alone. I dragged myself to my room and sat looking out at the gulmohar tree for a long time.

That was six years ago. I was nine then. I always wanted to go near the gulmohar tree and pay a visit to Grandma. She must be living in a hut hanging down the mighty branches of the tree. But the fence was too high for me to climb. When I importuned Dad for help, he said it is silly of me to be talking about fairies. Even my classmates think fairies don't exist. They call me a fool and I am avoided by them. They make fun of me, but I don't care. One day my Grandma will come and I will prove to everybody that they were wrong. Especially my Dad. He thinks I am not smart enough to survive well in this competitive world. He wants me to be hardworking like him so that I will be capable to look after the family one day. Once the fairies come I will ask them to look after my parents. Then Dad can rest and Mom won't have to cook anymore. I always wonder why Grandma didn't tell Dad about the wonderful things the fairies could do? Might be he didn't believe her. If he can believe in stupid things like gravity, evolution etc, why can't he believe in fairies? After all it is the fairies who created us and not the stupid monkeys.

Last month Mom told me fairies come only in the dreams. She thinks she can lie to me and get away. Once I had dreamt that my class teacher Mrs. Vimala had grown horns and a tail. But the next day everything was normal. Dreams never come true. A few days ago I quit sleeping. It is tiring not to sleep but supposedly the Fairies come in the night I don't want to miss the chance to meet them. I will ask the Fairies to take me to their world where I can live happily with my Grandma, listening to her stories. And one day might be my Mom will tell my story to her grandchildren. It will be so nice when I come back to meet them...

My Jeans

I think I have lost my jeans. I searched everywhere, but I am not able to find her. ( "Her" because I don't feel comfortable saying "My jeans... I love him!" and not because it is a ladies jeans )

When I had bought that jeans, I had never expected to grow so much attached to her. She was not faded or fancy printed. She was a simple ordinary blue jeans. Over the time she turned from just one of my jeans into my favourite leg wear. She was perfect for me. I felt very comfortable with her and hence I was more confident and successful in my endeavors. The fact that I can't find her is eating into me. There has been times when I just couldn't force her off my legs. We were the inseparables. She was my live-in-jeans, day and night. When ever I had to select a shirt, I used to pick the one that would go best with her. I loved washing and pressing her myself with that extra bit of care and affection.

But yesterday, I accidentally spilled hot coffee on her. You have no idea how sorry I was about it. I wonder if she is still angry and is hiding from me. I can never stain her intentionally, you know. There isn't another piece of clothing more dearer to me. In fact there isn't anything else more dearer to me.

She was one of those jeans that comes with a button on the back pocket. So I could confide my wallet with her without being alarmed about pick pockets. She was part of all my happiness and sorrows. A relationship in which I was always mad about her, but could never get mad at her. I took her with me where ever I went. Even when I was required to wear a uniform pants, I used to have her in my bag. It breakes my heart to be away from her.

I cannot live without her. I cannot sleep, I cannot eat, I can't even think about anything else. Away from her I don't think I will survive for long. How could she think that I had purposefully hurt her? I miss you, my jeans. Where ever you are, be happy. This is the last wish of a dying heart.

This is something i wrote years back when an important episode in my life suddenly went blank I came upon it accidentally yesterday.

How would you feel if you read an exciting thousand page novel only to find that some freak had torn of the last chapter? Angry? Frustrated? Flipped out? How about loving someone for years and then be told, 'go to hell'? The life I led till now has suddenly become a pointless struggle. Dreams I caressed to sleep every night will return to haunt me again and again. The photos I collected and the little sovereigns of love that i had put safely in my drawer stares back at me with a pitiful smile. They seem to be waiting happily to be burned. The logic behind all my choices in life has vanished. Everything I believed to be right has summed up to a big zero of pain.
It was not because I didn't have backbone that the gifts I sent her were anonymous. I thought I could keep postponing the doomsday for ever. But fate cannot be stopped no matter how much you plead with it. Now I know why men drink. It gives them the courage to cry, at least an excuse to cry. But the hot whiskey wakes up all those question you had put to sleep. You find yourself face on with the realities you have run away from always. The doubts, the questions, their answers everything mingles up forming a maze that reaches back at the starting point which ever way your thoughts travel. Someone please tell me how to end this havoc in my brain. If I had an axe, I would have chopped my head into smithereens so that at least I can have a little clarity of thoughts by attacking only one fragment of question at a time. The biggest blow has been to my esteem and self-worth. I will never be confident again. I have no idea where I went wrong. I did my best and still, my failure was huge.
Of course I can move on. Once a friend of mine had said, "two boobs to hold and a hole to drill is all I need". But I had believed love is platonic, sacred. Might be he was right and I was wrong...

Tia looked at the sky. The last streaks of red were being scoffed up by the dark tongue of the night. There were a few birds making their way back to their nests. Tia too was on her way home. The bus had become much less crowded. Her stop was approaching. She glanced at her watch to realize that she was an hour late. She had to get down and catch another bus.
She had company till now and she was glad about it. Melvin was sitting in front of her staring out into the distance. They had missed their usual bus. Melvin's presence had given her the feeling of security. Through out the journey they hadn't talked. Tia had been forced to recline into a world of her own thoughts. She shook him and said 'bye, Melvin'.
"See you tomorrow." he said turning back. There was no smile. He seemed lost in thought.

The bus slowed down. She got up, picked up her bag and climbed down, sighing at the darkness. There weren't many people at the bus stop. The bus started rolling again. There was a bearded man looking at her from the rear window of the bus which was steadily gaining speed. She looked away. Her next bus should be here in a four-five minutes. The prospect of waiting in the dark was not at all appealing especially with no familiar faces around to make her feel safe.
Her attention was brought back to the bus by the sound of brakes being applied. The bus slowed down enough for someone to hop off and then shot away angrily. Melvin. He came towards her and stood besides her silently.

"You didn't have to get down", Tia said. "My bus would be here in a few minutes."
"No, it's okay. It has become quiet dark. I know a shortcut home from here."

Tia was very glad Melvin had cared to see her off. Minutes ticked away in silence, occasionally interrupted by a few questions and answers exchanged.
"It's about time my bus came." she said. "I've never had to wait this long."
Melvin nodded.
"Thanks for being here. It would have been horrible to wait alone so long in this darkness. It was really nice of you to have taken the trouble..."
Melvin smiled. "You are always welcome. And it is not much of a trouble actually."

They waited another five minutes before the bus came. Tia thanked Melvin again and got on the bus. Melvin waved his bye. He then turned and started walking. He felt happy that he had chosen to get down with Tia. It started to drizzle slightly, but he didn't take out his umbrella. He enjoyed the chill of raindrops hitting his face and running down his cheek.
Half an hour later he was sipping down a cup of hot tea when the phone rang. His Mom picked up the phone. "It is for you Melvin" she said.
"Hello," Melvin said to the receiver.
"Hello. It's me, Tia..." She had reached home.

The Question

This is not a joke to be laughed at. Nor is it a game to be watched. It is also not a rhyme for the poets to sing. Neither a story to be told nor a drama to be enacted on stage for the enjoyment of the onlookers. It is a question delicately poised before your soul. On your answer depends a person's life, which is right now hanging precariously on a balance. The question is not about a lengthy ordeal or a programme which will take time. From the moment you answer, till the last breathe, the question will force the mortgaging of life. There is a great emotional intensity attached to the question. The sincerity is being tested. It hides the poison of shameless selfishness. There is also a malicious threat concealed in it.

"Are you mine?"

Around this question dances many a titillating dreams. But it is a pair of moist eyes and a trembling heart that is waiting for the answer.

Now it is twelve' o clock in the night. Rain has been pourng malignantly. Inside me it is a torrent of woes. I love that face. I adore that smile. Those eyes, those words...everything...

But as Tagore said, "O dear, let my love not be a burden to thee..."
The rain is increasing. If you came to me as a dream this night and took my life away with you...

But 4 You...

Lilies of the spring are in gloom,

But for your smile with which they bloom.

First drops of rain aren't with bliss,

But the moist impact of your kiss.

Benighted are those summer suns rays,

Which don't cascade off your face.

Drops of winter snow isn't cool,

But for the warmth of your wool.

Roses red are colourless, faded,

But for your lips blush shaded.

* * * * * *

Cascade of reminiscence never ever dry,

Sweet moments too can make you cry.

Memories titillate, they tantalize true,

But I hope my sorrow never haunted you.

Your land is not of soundless birds,

But a garden full of primrose tufts.

You don't lie buried in a grave over there,

But asleep in the deep of my heart here.

These lines don't make for beauty a poem,

But because written in your memoriam...