"My heart aches and a drowsy numbness pains"

slogging , hate to but no choice.Dragging myself somehow through the streets of a cosmopolitan city , that with all its malls and cars and high-rise buildings seem to grow more formidable by the day,checking my account,counting and re-counting balances,in hope of a promotion,hike but crawling , crawling through the dust ... no weekends to look forward to , no friends to share a laugh with , no parents to return home to after a long day ... just a hopelessness .... sitting in the office cafeteria amidst a sea of faces , living on the same canteen food ... is this what work life is ? A long hopeless wait .... wait for what ?

Testimonial of a lost soul

She was chained . Amidst the belging and raging cold , dark waves that greedily rushed towards the broken stone walls . Walls of the dilapidated stone tower that reeked of moss and age , where she lay. Bound by her misery , her dismay , her agony. Chains of despair weighing down on her . Stronger than a thousand tons of iron, while droplets of cold insults lashed upon her face through the waves shaming her , pulling her down into the vortex of hopelessness . There she lay curled and tied by no iron chains or ropes of tough fibre . On the windowless , stairless, lonely tower … grovelling in the dust of her broken, dismantled thoughts … through ageless nights of no moon. A thousand tears had dried on her cheeks … yet some rolled down anew , or perhaps they were the salt waters that hit her face , perhaps both, one cannot surely tell . For the light had abandoned her . Her eyes , her soul . The sound of her voice was lost , the roaring waters had silenced them . Her eyes were tired but in longing. Longing to go back to the small footsteps that ran along the corridor on sleepy summer Sunday afternoons , the giggling voice that used to tease her sister , the small hands that used to frantically knead the playdough into shapes of everyday objects , the eyes that lit up when mom made ice cream . The voice that sang Christmas carols , the spirit that won school races , the enthusiasm that used to be curious about new languages … pieces of a vibrant soul sparkling through these innocent images . But like a mirror cracking into a million pieces , the waters fumed and thousand little waves of allegations rushed at her pointing their fingers , choking that distant innocent smile . She was the dark one … guilty. She was the murderer …traitor to the thousand splendid suns that once shone through her. The right , the wrong , the happiness , the pleasure , the love , the lust , the contentment … all lay in the frothy soup below her … engulfing her in a vortex of eternal confusion. She seeked respite . She awaited peace. She longed for home. She sighed . Each sigh a ripping plea for peace. Her heart was plagued … with long aching memories of unfulfilled dreams , with cursed passions , with forbidden confusions . She hoped for death … she longed for peace. The clouds above thickened , as Time watched upon her from a distance. Glimpses of happy contented faces , of birthdays , of warm kisses , of holding hands , of the vibrant school fare-well dress, flashed across her eye. Glimpses of long office corridors , familiar everyday faces , buzzing coffee machines, the happiness to see a piece of code work , the contentment at solving a long standing issue , the tenth standard maths test and a 9.54 in the eighth semester in College. Picture of a little three year old running to show her his new toy car , the steaming sizzle of a barbecue platter dinned by two voices in love , sweet classical melodies conjured by long magic fingers . Shadows of despair in the form of red vermillion smeared across her forehead , blinding flashlights , chattering voices and the tinge of conch shell bangles clinging on to strong arms ripping at her maggot-eaten heart , the flash of a white skirt and brown corduroy pants holding hands against the blue walls of Santorini and at the central bazaar at Turkey, mocking at her despair . And somewhere beyond the wailing of an unborn child , pushing through his mothers’ body , struggling to be let into the world. The raging thundercloud shaking her back to reality , to the tower , to the waves. A silent tear and a silent prayer whispering through her diseased soul . Time – the silent spectator watching from a distance , calculating , weighing the equation , with cold eyes fixed on the rising storm above her. Cold rain soaking up her parched lips , running against her pale shrivelled skin … hitting her like thousand needles , making her wake into reality. The gathering grey above slowly thickening and fuming at her , calling out her name after eternity . And… Time whispering in the distance – ‘It is time.’ Her looking up at the storming cloud to answer its call , a blinding flash of white upon her eyes … ripping open a gateway to pure golden meadows of sunflower , bright butterflies sparkling in the sunshine , birds chirping through thick green canopies , a thousand laughter of peace echoing through the fields and finally that old beautiful peaceful innocent smile returning to her still face, for she knows – its her home coming !

The moon-lit blossom

Narcissus bloomed … beside the tranquility of the lake in the shade of a cold stone . He sat with his instrument in hand , contemplating and playing . The waters rippled by and his touch rippled across his instrument creating muse. And then she came … softly near him and there she sat by the stone . He was but unaware of her presence , lost in the ripples of perfect symphony that he had conjured with his love , the instrument. Like a magician rapt in his own magic … he played and she listened. With her chin resting on her arms, she listened. It was so beautiful , the lude , that she had tears in her eyes. She sniffled . He stopped to look . He was annoyed . For who had dared to break his trance of love ? He looked up to see a face that seemed familiar. Lost eyes, long nose , tufts of long locks of black hair ruffled by the wind … not something he ever thought could be pretty . But nevertheless , it was . She spoke first, he joined. About music, philosophy, literature mythology and Narcissus was mystified by her words. They spoke for hours, days turned into nights , nights to dawn . They were rapt in discussion . Discussions led way into music sometimes , sometimes into quarrels where she ran home crying and he sat indignant falling back to his instrument . And then, amidst the long talks and music, it happened to him all over again. He was in love. In love with a pair of lost eyes and a tuft of ruffled straight black locks. One day he played to her…and then she knew . But she was scared . For she was a moon-child . Waxing, waning, cautious and intuitive . Nights of no-moon made her lonely,scared.But the full moon brought out the best in her, radiant, her face lit up and shone in the moon-light. She was the moon maiden and she was in love with Narcissuss. Then it began , like a thread of wool rolling itself off the yarn , their story spun . The story of the flower and the Moon maiden . Narcissus and Luna. There was sunshine and shadows . Sometimes the river bank rippled with their laughter, some nights the river belged and bulged as the sky fell down amidst thunder and rain for it would be no-moon day and Narcissus would be dark against the cold stone and Luna would be curled away on a dark bed far away from him. Both restless but separated. Both agonized but too hurt to re-concile. But after stormy nights , sun shone , birds chirped and Narcissus would find his way to his moon-love or Luna would slowly snuggle up to her Narcissus with apology in her eyes. Then they would make love. Their love was consuming … like fire when its freezing cold, like thunder and rain , like waves hitting a rocky beach . They would consume each other , atlast spent, basking in each others’ glory they would lay beside each other. They had their own saga. A saga of longing and laughter.A juxtaposition of peace and torment, of denial and agreement. But it was their tale . Their own . Made by parts of the moon and the white flower. But then came the low tide , Luna ebbed . She wanted to protect her Narcissus . His muse . So she thought it wise to fall back , to wait for the right time. Narcissus agreed . Luna hoped against hope , that we would not. That he would not give way.Give her away. That he would hold on to her, just like his instrument. But he let go . Hurt and sad Luna fell back, locked her up in a high dark tower of exile. Waiting. Narcissus picked up his instrument, sat at his old favouritte spot and wove golden threads of new music , but this time it had a bit of pain , a bit of longing, the music rippled across the still air as the river waters gently hit the banks . It has been a while now. Narcissus no longer sits in the shade of the old stone. For he is disturbed by Luna’s smiles that he remembers. The cold stone rests alone beside the river .The meadows are in waiting . The apple tree on the bank of the river stands in waiting. The birds whisper the saga of Narcissus and Luna and long to see them together again. The river waters eagerly rush to the bank to check if they are back. The sun plays hide and seek amidst the clouds peeping with the hope of lighting up Narcissus and Luna together . And last but not the least Time sighs as well as she ticks away in waiting. And some where far away locked up in an old tower a part of Luna wants to run into Narcissuss’ arms. And Far far away on the edge of a dark mountain, the symphony of light fingers can be heard, where, a part of Narcissus yearns to rip down the fortress of insecurity and inhibiton that Luna has build around her. And somewhere in some distant dream … two souls would meet beside a river under the shade of an apple tree, beside an old cold stone , smiling at each other as the sun lights up their faces . Perhaps it will be then that Narcissus would bask in Luna’s moonlight and bloom to his fullest . Perhaps it would be then that he would play his masterpiece. His musical rendition of Luna, and, as Luna would smile silently as she rests her head on his shoulders , the birds would return to their nest and peep down at them. The river would gently ripple and the apple tree would nod in consent as the light wind blew against it. Perhaps it would be then that they might celebrate their love … may be ,then , that instant, it would be their home coming . Perhaps then … not yet . For now, we whisper in silent hope and … we wait.

Rain washed city and a rain kissed soul...

And how smoothly they glided down , down the smooth glass pane , knocking against the pane while falling , awakening the MPHASIS MACHINISTS to the beauty outside their window pane ... and how the tall brick giants oozed up the rain , with frantic pigeons running atop all around in search of shelter .
An open gate , a lone watchman under a huge black umbrella , a lone dog shaking the rain off its coat , three auto rickshaws with their yellow canopies and the straight well mowed road of Bagmane - all bound by the same thread of nature , soaked up to their very roots in the rain .
Employees taking a break from their daily tic-tacking chore over the keyboard , leaving their desks and cubicles moving towards the breakout area . The roaring of the coffee machine , sips into the hot coffee cups and all eyes turned to the window panes - a 10 minute rendezvous with the rain , trying to catch some real refreshment for the soul.
As for me , my first view of the wet Bangalorian skyline , feelings penned down .The view freezed , locked and sealed in my mind's eye to be cherished later in some " not feeling good " moment , when the city would not seem as fresh and beautiful to me and this is how I would like to remember this scene to be - AN AFTERNOON OF A MOIST DIWALI EVE.

yet miles to go before I sleep

From the shady green coconut canopies to the high-rise buildings of a yet not-so- familiar city...feelings , thoughts , hopes , anticipations and aspirations brought along with all the other baggages , packed haphazardly in mind.First day at office…staring wide-eyed at the 9-floored building of Laurel Facilities, taking in the atmosphere of professionalism around. So many strangers in a lift waiting to reach their destination , silent , thoughtful , tied but by one bond “ The MphasiS tag “.
The formal introductions and redirections to the concerned department.Finally landing up on the 5th floor of Laurel Facilities and being introduced to the project and some team members. First step into the cafeteria the same deafening din but somewhat different from the cafeteria at MLA , not because everything is more costly but because everything has a “professional” feel to it.Then returning to lodge to the empty room , to the empty bed , the tv switched on to some familiar channel but the mind loitering on a not so familiar feeling… “ LONELINESS “ .Words of a familiar song throbbing in mind – “ and I walk alone “ .
New city , new hopes , new career , new aspirations … cut , cut , cut … replaced by “ LONELINESS “. Put in other words the first step to being “ INDEPENDENT “ may be.

In solitude and silence...

It is 3.35 am and I am all alone in my hostel room blogging.I look out of my window to see the dark shadowlines of the mangalorian landscape merging into the darkness of the sky and somehow I am reminded of my home Kolkata though far from my window but probably closer to me than ever before through my mind's eye.Kolkata sharing the same night sky,having a similar landscape resembling this similar view.It has been more than a month here and as the days go by I feel nostalgic.I miss the hustle and bustle of my busy college days' mornings,those familiar faces brightening my mornings each day,those ever-greeting classrooms,the comfort of my table and chair before semester nights,the feel of the evening wind rustling through the leaves around lake view road,the sounds of cutlery and laughter creating some enchanting din @ Grub Club.I miss the familiar sight of Ma in the prayer room, I miss the way I used to watch Didibhai sleeping,I miss the sight of Bapi returning from bazaar carrying bags full of eatables and essentials.I miss the feel of walking beside someone for hours on end blissfully unaware of the world around chatting and laughing over the silliest p.j.s.I carry them all with me now, memories like sugar candies which leave behind a sweet taste and yet instills a craving for more sweetness, an unrequited urge to run back to those very feelings, sights and sounds.But alas some things once done cannot be undone like some decisions taken carve some entirely different routes.So here am I walking on such a route that I consciously chose which was all smooth and straight awhile ago but has somehow become thorny and winding now making me trip as I go now.But all the times I trip and fall I always have this feeling that I am not falling in vain,when the pain gets irrestible and when my vision blurs even in the darkest of times I realize that this is just His way of nudging me out of my cocoon and this is my way of growing up.Hope this metamorphosis gives me beautiful wings one day till then keeping my fingers crossed and when the pain seems intolerable taking some pain killers in the name of "blogging". Adieu.

Images

Scattered dreams,single tear,clouded skies,stormy nights...Smell of the first rain,walking though the windy shore...Images.Images most vivid,images most strong,flashing past my mind's eye.A motorbike speeding at hundred and thirty kilometres per hour through the valley,rafting precariously on the swiftest of rivers,enjoying speed...revelling without looking back.
Falling low,burning the last of passions by grooving to the latest rock music.Dreams and more dreams...pictures of flowers shining bright in the morning sun,dew drops glistening on drenched leaves...figments of imagination strewn all along.Like pieces of a massive jigsaw puzzle.
The mirror cracking,the candle almost burnt out and the phoenix rising,rising from its ashes and reaching the sky...reaching out to the thunder and lightning...imbibing the radiance of the lightning that ripped open the sky.
A solitary watch-tower guarding miles of the bluest of ocean waters.The sun setting behind the thickest of forest canopies and night slowly setting in the quietest of valleys.The first rays of the red sun peeping through the snow-capped peaks turning it red and...more images.Images arranged like the glossy pages of some picture book.
Dreams,visions and images like "a host of golden daffodils" filling me up,saturating me and pieces of my soul coming together...following the winding way through them and finally coming back to life.Laughing,crying,hiding,revealing allowing the soul in me to breathe.Emotions set free,emotions like wild horses...untamed,unbounded,running wild,wild over acres of the greenest pastures,a dive into the deepest of oceans and an eternal walk...A quest,a search,a journey on the road...The road of life.