In vain, why try in vain? why live in vain? why love in vain? While, the questions reek of expectations and attachments rooted in them, it would go in vain if I don’t answer it for myself, to myself. Why should I? Rather, why did I.
We do nothing in vain, we don’t breathe in vain, we do it because we choose to, because there is something far greater than just balancing the equation of profit and loss, life’s no balance sheet either.

To live, to feel, to write and to express are just but ways of fitting in, you might not stand to live; but you wouldn’t stand a chance if you don’t express what living and loving and expressing mean to you, expression isn’t chained by karmic assertions either, is it?

Anything pure and unadulterated, devoid of material inhibitions needs no validation: of self, of peers, of society or even the person you choose to feel for; to express the same in writing or in art is again as such: it is most certainly not in vain; heart breaks and unrequited love wouldn’t have been celebrated and glorified otherwise. To choose to live with a consequence, with a constant niggle lampooning within: and then choosing to cast the afterthought in words is certainly not in vain, never in vain; to not to would most certainly be.

While, to each his own is what we live by; we are also driven by the spirit of questioning the other’s action, we deem an action to be inaction, we count inadequacies and discount facts, and cast aside the feelings one had while standing upto express, living it though is another question. We peg our judgements on results; and end up discounting the intentions. Isn’t that in vain too?? Vanity, perhaps.

All that matters, is to feel; to live upto a set standard: that’s doubtful, for life follows no set protocol. Everyone has their own journey, own goals and an individual method of expression. To label anything to be done in vain?? Well, that’s having a myopic view on life; maybe.
I write, I express, I breathe. And, I choose to live too. I loved, I still do, I shall always: standing up for it or falling down; well, that’s my journey too: through the darkness or maybe in quest of light. In vain? Certainly not, it isn’t. The writing won’t cease, the will isn’t fading too.

P.S: The moon’s up in the skies, time to start writing again. In vain? Who cares!!

A cool breeze hits me as I look at the vast expanse towards me; the sea had never seemed to be so calm; as if meditating with a purpose of it’s own. I, spent a good four years of my life staying in a coastal town, this phase though is different. I now live in a city by the sea, put together by blocks of land limiting the flow of what otherwise is so hard to contain. The deafening sounds of the city seems to have been drowned out by the calmness that now engulfs me. This is one of the few places where everything seems to stand still, where one could be unperturbed by the bustling energy of the city which is so very chaotic.

I had promised myself to be here, to feel the peace which only ‘The Haji’ could offer, to feel that long lost connect I had with myself, I had with Him. And, it is a special day: to celebrate, to pray, to feel and to realise what it is to hold on and let go at the same time; to hold on to the what it were and let go what it could have been.

Tonight’s the night, the day perhaps: a blessing had come down, one of His angels maybe. I were lucky to have been blessed, to have been touched by the divine grace of what it were, She were. The cycle of life, the alignment of the stars and the ‘ conspiracies of the galaxies’ had arranged it for me; She walked in; and so did life, so did hope and a rejuvenated belief in myself and in Him.

And, as I look towards the sea and the skies above; I realise the blessing’s still there; still holding good and holding me where I ought to be: in myself, in Him. The moon testifying the presence of the boon, the bane of life had never felt so insignificant as I now no longer cope with the fallacies which had nestled in my mind. The daylight has passed into twilight, it’ll be night soon, the day shall break too; ushering life and hope and love; all over again. Her night, the day shall be Hers too; leading me again: to me and to Him.

P.S: Birth of a boon, birth of a star. My Northern Star.
Happy Birthday sunshine.

“What plans for your birthday”; I asked.

“Nothing at all, you seem more excited than me”; she replied.

Yes, I wasn’t excited, I was looking forward to it actually. I had heard from her as to how She would earlier celebrate her birthdays before a storm almost pulled her down, it made her the laid-back soul that She was. She did love little surprises, but never let the amusement show on her face lest it would make her vulnerable all over again, I had gauged that. I had started knowing her, reading her a bit and the late night chats intrigued me to know more about her. I did know for a fact that She loved to read, and She loved red roses, perhaps the memories attached to it weren’t that sweet, but nonetheless there lied no harm in gifting her a bouquet.

I hadn’t planned anything special; nothing elaborate. The day before D day, I received a call from her, a rather unusual thing back then, we seldom used to talk on the phone. She was planning to take a day off, She hadn’t skipped office in a long while. While, I was on the way to my office, I changed my plans too, the Uber driver didn’t really like it when I changed the destination after almost reaching office, and his stern look said it all. A gentle ‘Please Bhaiya’ and a cigarette helped me in making it up to him.

I knew, I had to plan something now. “How about lunch?”; I asked her. She didn’t suspect anything unusual in me taking the day off too, I knew my plan was then sorted. I suggested a restaurant of my choice which served ethnic food She loved, She agreed initially but, She being She; her tantrums started in the next half an hour. Too far it was from her place, she had chores to do at home, go out shopping with her mom, it was too humid outside and what not, I can perhaps mention all the five hundred reasons She would give to twist a plan, arm-twist me rather into giving in. Her choice, her restaurant and her time, and all I could do was follow lead and agree, I’d happily agree all over again if She’d come back.

Lunch being sorted, I now had to get something which She had asked from me a few days earlier : Love Story by Erich Segal; another cab, another destination and off I went to the book store to get her the read She wanted, but how about some more? A couple of my preferred choices too: Dickens and Thomas Hardy. Books bought, lunch scene sorted and I, then headed straight to the restaurant where we had decided upon meeting. On my way, I asked the driver for a pen and scribbled: To, Jenny. With Love; on one of the pages of Love Story, Oliver’s or Jennifer’s? Who cared !! Mine, maybe.

She kept me waiting, nothing new it was, and by the time She arrived I could notice her from a distance, She always looked beautiful with her hairs untied. Lunch wasn’t as planned, She always had the knack of not eating stuff She would claim to love and crave for, early signs of how visits to eateries would be in the days to come. I did gift her the books, on her way back She sent me a text with the pic of my signature on the note that I had written. Jenny, She was. Segal’s and mine.

D day finally arrived, the wait had built up well, so well that I had planned to take another day off, but my manager had other plans, meetings and presentations were boring but waiting for the evening, with a budding excitement within could kill the boredom, to stay focused was difficult. I had to arrange for something again. How about roses? I knew, it would be a risk, it might trigger a flashback but then roses were just roses, as sweet and beautiful as She were. A quick call to a café made my life easy, a cake could be arranged for a meagre tip as well. I just couldn’t wait for the evening to arrive.

It did arrive, me logging out of office by 6pm and as I headed straight to the café, I had to pick up the bouquet of roses. A risk, a trial maybe, I kept my fingers crossed. And, the wait began, for her to drop in. She was surprised with the gift She received, I hadn’t anticipated such a reaction, and She was also gracious enough to click the first of the many selfies we would later go on to capture. She thanked me for the bouquet, her smile was happiness, She was happiness, still is.

My prospection of happiness she was, roses just being the route I took to light up that smile, perhaps I won’t in this life of mine will ever take this route for another person. She and the bouquet of roses, well; sweet things do complement each other, don’t they?

The city is lit up, lights all around; the weather hasn’t dampened the festive mood it seems, it has been raining for the past couple of days yet there seems no dearth of excitement amongst the people I am surrounded by, some heading home; others busy in making plans for the long weekend ahead. I, on the other hand plan to return to my cubicle tomorrow. While on the surface everything seems nonchalant,there is but this gloom within.

Lights all around, yet the absence of the brightest star of my life’s skyline, there were lights and there She was, a season ago; this very season; last year. It were Diwali then, I was in my hometown to celebrate the festival after twelve long years, with her beside me: I was home.

And, as the lights flash and shimmer at a distance, I remember what it then felt like. The sparkle in her eyes had made my Diwali brighter than it ever had been, cut to the present: it’s nothing like what it were then, all that remains is the trail She left behind, her light dazzling and shining bright when She were here, now it does seem like a distant dream, a beautiful dream nonetheless.

The heart pines for what now seems to be missing, the lights and the incessant rain isn’t helping my cause either; as I now long for the times which were spent basking in her light.
While, the world around me celebrates with light flashing all around, I hope She’s still shining bright and spreading her glitter wherever She is.
I would still look out for the moon in the night sky tonight, oops!! New moon night it’d be.
Lights on, and the Moon missing. Diwali?? Not really !!

The clutch of reality can break dreams and make known to the living soul that life’s nothing but a living nightmare now. The mornings aren’t the same, waking up to a nightmare and surviving the rest of the day to confine; to rest the mind and slip into a nightmare again. I hadn’t been judicious, I shall never be; I made the most of what I had and never lived for what was to come tomorrow: a nightmare maybe.

Life were always a compromise, from giving up on dreams to sharing whatever I felt I would keep to myself, little did I know that the trend would continue. All that I have with me are the mortal remains of my dreams, now charred by the flames of reality, never had I been a rebel, giving up and giving away what I felt was right, never had I not parted with anything that I held dear, with all things now gone: I assume I am still reeling under the burden of a debt.

Love and friendship lost for a cause, sacrificed all things good at the altar of life so that the show could be managed, the heart did bleed and it still does, fighting a lost cause for a cause now unknown.
Hidden and kept layered deep within the chambers of my heart remains something I can’t part with, all obligations aside; what would I be without it?

Life’s but an obligation now, to fake and to feel and go numb, the nags and the nagging and taunts that follow, nothing unreal here; I am still to prove my worth. All the fake smiles, and the camouflaging now shedding out, the real skin shall come to life soon. Would that be catastrophic? I guess not, the earth would open up and swallow me soon, lay me to rest six feet under, would that be less too? Yes, it would be.

None to seek, nowhere to go, none but in vain my prayers will be; they have been.
The chains of bondage, the pull of the unknown and the scaring surges of reality seem to drown me here, the high tides of life and the missing cause of life. The shattered pieces of my dreams floating all around, as I hold on to them and try fixing and sticking them together, the purpose isn’t all but lost, the flame seems dim yet burning still.

The visions of the past and all things good, the sight of the present is none but dull and doomed. Nothing to wake up to, nothing to put me to rest: the nightmare is but my only company, as I look forward to the obligation that I got to keep.

The birds chirp no more, the sun doesn’t shine too, the moon all but blood red; the reflection of blood soaked heart is now all that I see upon it. The tunnel of life seeming endless, no light to guide me through; walking on, heading on: what’s left more to suffer? None, just a small covenant, it’s life, isn’t it?

To unsee, to pretend and a sham, can’t help nor abhor. That is the only holy grail.

2755 kilometres, the distance between the life I had and the choice I made, although the life I had then; now seems like a distant dream. I wake up to visions of what it were, what it used to be: to the voice of someone who would set the alarm bell ringing, and that hurried rush towards getting started for the day. As, I now take the stairs, and board the cab; I realise the sights have changed, for good, or for the worse, who knows?

It’s been half a year already, and to this day I long for the carefree life I once had, evenings these days are spent pondering upon what it could have been, with no answer resonating within; I prefer leaving it at that. Perhaps, there are grey areas in life which we end up acknowledging, I have to own up to mine. But then, there is this hidden bliss in romancing the ifs and the buts, the mind can get lost in probing the answers, with none in sight: the cycle goes on. No battles to fight with life, time and destiny, just an enormous void within, and the mind wrestling with notions of the what ifs.

I am far away, far; far way from what could have been something my heart desired, now it is a far cry from what I had then planned, but I were never a meticulous planner, a lame duck maybe; I simply paddled along with the waters; I didn’t dive. There lies no point lamenting now, something the mind agrees to but distance is such a cruel ally to have, gives you yet another ambiguity to deal with. There aren’t any fallacies here; but who would agree? not me, certainly not.

The big city life is yet to take it’s toll upon me, the blinding lights are yet to eat into my sense of vision, and the hustle all around is yet to shake the roots of my soul which still lies a couple of thousand kilometres away, stranded and engaged in battling with what it could really have been. With no answers, just nothing in sight: I know there lies something, somewhere in store, within me perhaps: a chest filled with treasures of the days bygone. The mind can go berserk, my ifs and buts are keeping me calm.

Time, distance and destiny are just functions of life, I’ll raise a toast to whatever else remains. That’s another evening’s story, tomorrow? Who wants it anyway?

Mic Testing.. 1,2,3 hello !!

That did sound familiar, I hadn’t been up on the stage for over six months now; the last time I were, it was in the company of friends, people who understood me, my content and my brand of humour. It was different now, out of my comfort zone, in a different city and stranded in the midst of faces unknown, I were there to test the waters; fresh water; could be saline too, who knew?

“C for Confusion, C for Comedy and C for Coping mechanism.”;I would say.
Too many C’s; and there had to be C for Clarity, now.

The spotlight was on, one comic after another setting their premises up, dropping their content: the audience and the vibe did feel a whole lot different, the crowd cheering and jeering and heckling as if it were more than an open mic, but that’s what open mics are about: the crowd tests you; tests your patience and your improvisation skills. And, here I was, feeling the heat; within and without. I thought about the nights when I had bombed real bad, and of nights when I cracked people up; bittersweet memories flashing right infront of the mind’s eyes.

Life had given me enough content, it was time to now set the context; to unleash the joker in me: and, I did; I bombed and I got some laughter cracking too, it felt as if it were my first time again, that adrenaline and the same level of anxiety, when sweat breaks out and there’s a lump in the throat, you clear it up; hold your breath, take a pause and open your mouth to let it all out.. Done!! Gone!! I did it, the twenty second long applause testifying that I did reasonably well.

No climax here!! Neither an anticlimax.

It was a confidence booster after long, to let out and to feel light. It had been my coping mechanism, it did save me again, came to my rescue when I needed it the most, my sense of humour hadn’t deserted me; it did take some knocking though. Life does seem interesting when you start seeing it from a different lens, with the glasses of humour on; I did magnify my dull life only to find traces of hidden jests in them. Voila!! oodles of content to play with..

C for Cheers, for now !!

Ahh!! Too many C’s..

Some closures never come by, never happen and the heart tends to never accept the end of anything it had presumed to be something which made up everything. I vividly remember the sparkle in her eyes as She raised a toast, She was faking a smile, She knew it, I knew it and gladly no one else did. While the heart mourned the loss, it knew certain things can never demise, certain relations keep living on, witnessing and living through changes, like the Soul it is eternal and immortal. It manifests into something higher, something better.

The high tides of life and the rough seas of time do affect, but then the high tides symbolise the magnitude of the Moon’s pull, and She was my Moon, the galaxy that held me.

She was worried for me, worried that I would withdraw myself into a shell, perhaps not realising that She were my cocoon, I held her and She held me in tight embrace, my thoughts were nothing but her fissioning into all that I wrote, did or could think of.

An ending it might have been, might have been visible to the world outside, it seemed like me being a monument lit up as the lights flashed, but deep within I lied in ruins, and things in their ruins were far beautiful; She had once mentioned the same. All that outwardly sheen couldn’t exert half the pull that her darkness did, as I inched closer seeking her in what was left of her. She making herself up, She making me up. The beauty of the world aside, and there was her pull which could and did hypnotise me, I wouldn’t prefer to wake up to anything now, my soul wouldn’t.
She still reaping and sowing the land of my mind, mowing out all the weed that seemed to consume upon whatever remained of her, She saving herself, She saving me.

The cause and effect were her, the consequence was her too. I couldn’t help but follow, nothing remained and nothing to gain, perhaps life’s no profit and loss statement. The books of my life had her in all it’s pages, She never accounted for, She outlining all the transactions that life would now make, She the only gain my soul had made, She the only loss my life had sustained. Both balancing each other, She the balance and She the weight, She on both the scales too.

To new beginnings, to never ending endings too, never an end, will never be. She is the end of my finite, the origin of the infinite that I now seek. The glory and the gloom, the joy and the doom; all in her, all within her and now in me, tying me and trying me, wasting me and catapulting me too. I just knew her, beyond her I knew nothing, beyond her will exist nothing too. As far as the heavens seem to be and as closely bound to me like the land under my feet, She is all of it: near and far, stretching everywhere.

The sparkle of her eyes still the same, the pain and the niggle is the same too; all about her and nothing without. Immortal, eternal and divine, forever until the soul flees the cage, She the cage and now the soul too.

The vigour of life, the doom of death; all things that goes around in a cycle. She the cycle and the origin of it. Let the tracing begin.

We live life in moments, moments of joy and ecstasy and moments of gloom and pain, a billion moments and just one life to live, a few moments to hold on to and that’s it, about it, and about life.

One such moment it was, a drunken me and a pair of eyes lighting up the darkness around me, as ‘Imagine Dragons’ played in the background. Thunderous it was, a thunder She were, lightening and striking; lighting up every inch of my darkened soul. A moment, a momentary relief and an escape from the existential crisis that had set in. In her, the existence seemed far more meaningful and there existed no crisis, just a calm; the warmth of her palms holding my hand: calming me as the tidal surges of all things negative within had seemed to have almost gotten the better of me.

It was cold outside, the soul colder; the only flame keeping me warm were now beside me, lending me help lest I froze over. One such moment, that very moment when you can feel the glory of life and the gloom of death at the same time, that very moment when hope clashes with despair to leave behind a nascent residue of this sweet pang that feels far sweeter than all the joys that life could bless one with, that very moment when love and loss seem to merge at a point; coincide and lead towards the unknown and infinite, finite life; finite moment and an infinite bliss.

A moment when you tread on the heavens and hell freezes over, the heart struck by a lightning; and again. The dark clouds, a trail of light and a bloodied heart; light besides and a flame to keep the soul warm; dream and despair: all held captive in a pair of eyes. I hear a thunder, a lightning has struck again now; at this very moment. Not a billion moments, just one; only one to hold on to; and life shall go by…