Ouroborus

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Dee-Waal - I

A sluggish trod….a stolid stare…
Its just Tuesday….damn the festivals…I thought I could be destitute and homeless only on weekends…

In the chase of becoming the best..you land up on either of the 2 sides…says my old friend..rather a person who used to be my friend…there are only two sides of the wall..either u are here…or u there… if you don’t end up becoming the best…u end up becoming the worst…
While the whole world has decorated itself…some of the them gaudily… ladies..makeup…perfume…fretzels… glitters….

I couldn’t even foster myself a clean t-shirt…..
How did I land here.. I aks myself…is this is the life I chose…coz I most certainly did …
As a kid I never knew the meaning of festivals… why do people celebrate…things changed in between..

But now once again… all they mean to me…are holidays…..long wait before I drench myself again into that bullshit that you all call life… Happy Diwali !!

Panorama

Sometimes maybe you can just understand…maybe things are too difficult, they are inexplicable..maybe things are too simple, too naïve..

Of those inimical moments ; when you never stepped aside..

Of those bright pellucid nights when you were looking for a single star.

Maybe nobody ever knew ; moon only tries to shroud darkness ..when its sunny, you cant see it . But if you want to , you can .

Ill be just what you want me to be …

A thought ..if you sometimes ponder;

A dream ..if you will wonder ;

A mirror if you want to reflect ;

A memory..if you want to forget .

How can you then say, that I don’t see you..You just need to close your eyes…or maybe open them .

An Old One-Two

Excerpt I :

What should it be ? Glamorous ; interesting ; energetic ; funnier?

When I questioned ; they stopped telling…

When I resisted , they started hiding.

................................

I'll bet he’s great
That guy she talks about
And he's got everything
That I have to live without

He better hold her tight
Give her all his love
Look in those beautiful eyes
And know he's lucky '

Excerpt II :

Its not that I was promised something.

It was too young.

In the process of observation ..you forget reflection…of self.

Thank you…..world…I retreat.

Excerpt III :

Sometimes when you think you are a connoisseur ,

you are actually not…..

Your presumptuousness can only betray you.

Much like it always has….

People , expectations.

Expectations, people.

Ruin, ruin.

Im not a pessimist , Im not a misanthrope …Im not even a sadist…I was just wrong.

Im just amused at how I am terribly wrong everytime.

Its kind of funny when you think you can see people ; but actually your vision is too clouded…

I thought we connected, its funny , guess only I did to something that didn’t exist.

A castle of dreams on a foundation of smoke .

Smoking coming out…

From scarred memories,

From rotten beliefs…

From burnt thoughts.

They say I revel in misery..overtake me then dear misery…I would like to drown.

Escape

                                     

I was blanched and i was upbeat . My body submitting to the extreme levels of physical expenditure. Never before had I seen the world through the eyes of fear .

A leafy room, alienated now.. 
Strange voices emerging from a melancholic proximity . The room was a mess. Was somebody moving in ; or was somebody moving out ?

It was quiet, very quiet.

Nothing beats solitude at 2am of a dull morning on deserted lanes of a place that signified life to you. I was waiting for them to come , so that I could let them go….

Shadows , clamour,ebbing, silence, a couple, opinions , separation.

"Tez hawa udte panchiyon ke bhi par todd deti hai …"

Of wanting to relive experiences , of wanting to share a last laugh , of getting disappointed , indifference .

So I turned myself to confluence than to sulk over separation.I couldn’t wait for the morning to start . I did not want the night to end.

Of forced smiles ; of non-chalance or reluctance to meet.

It was 6am ; the sun was out. But the morning refused to start. I urged the night to retreat , I urged the morning to take over. Of eluding , of blind alleys and bitter pills and of fear .

The sun was high up in the sky by now….my morning refused ..the view I said shall be profused .

I was gonna go there anyways ; just like I did a day earlier….

Of colors blue ; of eyes green ; of resplendent smile and of a turning tide.

A prodigious climb , an agreed peace , personal talks and nature’s picturesque .A pleasant breeze ; making obvious the things unsaid . It was for one last time maybe , for one last time …but I was on the top of the world . …..literally speaking.

The view from the top of a hill is equally amazing , everytime .

queda el amor III- Frau Love

Love Type III

Steer I : Blue Valentine

Somehow she didn’t want to confess to him that she was so weary of all those people who would seem to want to take care of her.

He touched her cheek gently, caressingly . Her heart was beating so loudly, that s,urely he could hear it.

He smooths your hair back , the touch of his fingers sending waves of awareness through her. He was going to kiss her….that was what she wanted ; wasn’t it ? So why did she feel as if she trembled on the edge of the precipice ready to topple over in an instant.

Then his lips found hers and she stopped thinking at all , only feeling. Feeling the tenderness of his kiss , the strength of his arms around her , the steady beat ,of his heart under her hand as she turned into his arms . There is a precipice , and she was falling head over heels . Falling in love with him.

Steer II : Madeliene (amile)

A middle –aged woman ,about 45-50 I guess….

She recounts her life –story…….

My husband worked for LadyBird Insurance . Its not so secret that he slept with his secretary. They used every hotel around. Not the grotty ones , either. So , he swiped from till .A little at first ,then 50 million . Off they flew to Suth America. A year .later I got a letter sayin he had been killed.

My life stopped right then.

Then she took out a letter he wrote from the barracks…

Dear Mado ( that’s me Madeliene ; she grins ) “ I cant sleep ,cant eat knowing that my only reason to live is far away in Paris . I wont see her until a fortnight on Friday, when my sweet little weasel appears at the station in her strappy blue dress..( the one she thinks is too Transparent) …..she wailed.

Has anyone written to you like that? She asked…

And then she wept….not from anger ,betrayal, disbelief or hatred…all that remained was that letter and she wept just coz of the same reason she wept 25 years ago…she wept in love…..

Steer III : Viva La Gloria

I saw her craving for love …I saw it in her eyes .

I saw her falling in love and not wanting to come out.

I saw her waiting for love and wanting to wait

I saw her hoping in love and not wanting to give up hope.

I saw her pummel into it , swamped by it , living in its delirium ,dreaming about it.

And I saw regression.

I saw her getting inspired and then getting disconcerted .

I saw content and I saw vexation.

I saw courage and I saw diffidence.

I saw victory and I saw defeat.

I saw happiness , gratification and I also saw frustration and confusion.

I saw her getting lost and wanting to remain lost.

I saw believe and wanting to believe and then I saw disbelief.

I saw bewilderment and I saw hollowness.

I saw the fight and then I saw the surrender .

I saw her flowing and then I saw her gagged .

Maybe I saw her feeling it but not being made felt.

Maybe I saw her giving it but not having received.

Maybe I saw her loving but maybe I saw not.

I saw all ; all this in a span of 15 minutes .There was a drizzle and then there was a breeze .

As slow and as fast as her emotions came and went by .

What I did not see was hatred , not for a while .

All I remember is just her smile .

queda el amor II - Hankering Love

Love Type II

Steer I :

Love is vehemence . I think it is all about longing. The yearning to see her again. Sweet poison they call it. The only one , which as it trickles down your veins gives you elysian dulcet. It is the pleasure in the pain.

They build their entire lives around those few moments. They live just for that life. Every new day brings the effervescence of the fulfillment of the dream and every night with the peace that one more day has gone down.

To see her from the distance ….and then to see her coming near .

To be with her …to separate and then to reunite .

Those that live together might have been lucky ; but those that

Don’t are equally fortuitous . They get to experience the delight of reunion.

Steer II :

Sometimes when you are with her ; you don’t feel so good . It’s a weird feeling ; it gets me lost. I try analyze it ….and then I feel the fear seeping in . It is the blanch of being alone again. Of not being able to walk by her side again. Of the wait ; before I see her again.

When I first saw her , I was afraid to talk to her.

When I first talked to her, I was afraid to like her.

When I first liked her , I was afraid to love her.

Now that I love her ….Im afraid to lose her.

Steer III : Sven

"Dream of me", she said as she hung up the phone
"Dream only of me my love, and me alone"
And later that night, when his body hit the bed,
Visions of her beauty danced through his head

His first dream of her was in Paris, along the Champs Elyesses
Dancing with the night, playing hide-and-seek with the day
The beauty of her face reflected in his eyes
Never before had he felt so happy, never before had he felt so alive

His next dream of her was paradise, it looked like Belize
There they drank Pina Coladas and lived a life of ease
The beauty of her body reflected in the sun
It was then that he knew in his heart that she was the only one

His last dream of her was the best of the three
It was a vision of the one thing that he hoped someday would be
The warmth of her body next to him, reflected in candlelight
He longed for it to be like this, each and every night

He rose from his dream in the middle of the night
Stretching out his arms and rubbing the sleep from his sight
And as he moved slowly from his bed
He stopped, and noticed on his chest, her head

queda el amor - Xenophobic Love

As somebody asks me to fall in love ...I am potraying different aspects of love ...obviously she didnt explain to me what kind of love she wanted me to fall in .....

Love Type I

Steer 1:

I feel like men are more romantic than women.

When we get married we marry that one girl .

Coz we have kind of resisted the whole way until we meet that one special girl and we say it to ourselves ….I would be such an idiot if I don’t marry this girl .She’s so special , She is so different , She is so great.

But it seems like girls get to place where they just kinda pick the best option or something. I know girls that married …they are like .: Oh he’s got a good job “ . .

I mean they spend their there whole lives looking for the Prince Charming & then they marry the guy who ‘s got a good job and is gonna stick around.

Steer 2 :

How can you trust your feelings when they can appear just like that.

I think the only way to find out is to have the feeling.

Think you could love somebody by just looking at them.?

Like you have always known them……but you actually don’t know them

You have this feeling that you cant explain..

You know when a song comes and u=you just gotta dance ?

Steer 3 :

Do you want to know what my problem is? I will tell you what my problem is…

Do you want to know what my problem is? I will tell you what my problem is…
i love you. I love your sound of your name, I love it when I speak it .

I love the way you look at me, I love myself in your eyes , I love your
gorgeous smile, I love the time I can bring it . I love the way you walk,

I love your beautiful eyes, How everything seems so simple . I
love the sound of your laugh, i love the way you get mad, i love the
way i dont understand you at all. I love the way I can be having the
worst day of my life and seeing you completely changes my mood. I
love how when you touch me I get weak,
thats my problem...

Circus II : Saturnalia

What’s the problem with diamonds? That they blare the eye ?

Unless ofcourse you know the correct way of looking at them .( It) . But people try and chisel them out into shapes they like ; they want . They want to glisten and scour something that god made all so resplendent.

All alone in a deluge of human shapes …she was standing…All eyes trying to pry her, to scrutinize and censure her .

She kept too calm on the outside for all to notice or suspect the turbulent rage and the stertorous gasps inside her veins .

What Is the biggest error?

Not Knowing what you are

What is the biggest crime ?

Letting others decide what your dreams shall be .

Did she succeed? She was striving to improve things ; but she was afraid of making mistakes.

"IF only she knows , that she has to be herself to be everything."

Maybe she was beautiful. Yes She was. But she was a nobody that no one noticed outside herself …..or maybe just till now .

All she was a whiffet "living by an impulse and chasing a craze" …..or maybe that’s all she ever wanted to be ..Did she manage to be that?

Not her fault ; if she was beautiful , why should she be treated any differently, Why all the devouring public attention; the constant public scrutiny of the gossip hungry masses….

Just an ordinary girl she was ….grappled with "..frustration and anger …desire and wait…confusion and insecurity"….as much as any other girl.

A new refashioned cycle of illusion –assumption-clarity and disappointment made her grapple everytime and hold on to invisible people “ who were always tring to flee” she said .

So much so ; that the reverent rage inside was now afraid of company ; though always yearning to hear its own symphony. 

An extended glare will give intimate glimpses into the human heart and spirit.

‘ To longingly look & see a reflection of your very own soul of hope & humanity may seem less than exciting to some people …..too involved in their fast paced , action world and who fail to see the beauty of life around them……to smell roses..

Please….teach me the magic of wonder ; give me the spirit to fly …..s’il vous plai^t

Untouched ……Scarred

Misconstrued…..Blemished.

"The farther you go

The deeper you sink

Don’t think you read her

Coz its not your will.."

Diamonds are cut ; streams are restricted ; rose buds are plucked and the morning dew is trampled upon…..

I explained to her ; that most great works of imagination ; holy or mortal ; are meant to make you feel like a stranger in your own world.. The best fiction ; will force you to question what you took for granted . It questions traditions and expectations when they seem too immutable . I told her I wanted her to look inside her as to what unsettles her ….Makes her uneasy ….makes her look around the and consider .the world …..like Alice In Wonderland ….Through different eyes…

She says her real self is not enveloped ; yes its not ; it is cocooned ; a haydon !

Despite all the fears and anxieties about the future and a fragile and disloyal present ; it’s the search for beauty ; her search for beauty that lures me the most. 

Her vision had no past; the memory was of half-articulated desire, something she had never had. It was this lack, the sense of longing for the ordinary, taken for granted aspects of life , that gave her , her words a certain luminous quality akin to poetry.

It’s only your shadow; saying something out so loud; but howcome you sound so far away…

Maybe I saw a glimpse of your soul

Or was that just your shadow that I saw on the wall .

Is she still careless and free ?

Answer me

After all the moments of clarity and peace

Did she get rid of the misery ?

Didn’t she question her own thought ; her own belief ?

Looking for her definition ; isn’t she ?

Tired of all the ordeals, is she finally immune to the grief ?

Call my knowledge of her as incomplete; she did. But im too scared to find out ….lest the world has gotten the better of her . It’s a funny Circus .

Her Childish shruddle fails to meet me in the eye ….it’s too innocent, and she asked me ; why won’t I be able to stare you in the eye !

The odds are still stacked against her; as she continues to reside in two different worlds…..

I don’t know where she is today; I’m too scared; little girls scare me…… The Most .

Circus - Mardi Gras

There are only two types of people in this world ..One that entertain and one that observe .

Objects appearing , Disappearing

Constant paced.

Same objects , Different objects.

People ; same faces , different faces.

What does a forlorn hill in middle of deserted plains say to itself ?

Should it be proud over its indecidous self or envious of a moving river by its side .

Does it feel uncouth? Whom does it talk to ? Is the silence bearable ?

Its my power ; said the hill .

Barren lands ; no vegetation

Some vegetation ; no habitation.

Some poles but now out of sight ,

No poles , and some dim lights.

And then there was a house , in the middle of a field . ….a man and a woman ..and no one else sans the chirping birds , the waving tress and the moving wind .

Nothing sans the chirping birds , the waving tress and the moving wind in the vast reticence stretching to the horizon .

What must he ; be talking to her ? Daily ? Married for 30 years maybe ..dont they already know each other inside out. What new does each day bring ?

She cooks the meal ,He ploughs the field .

That’s that !

Are they contended? Happy ?

It is my strength; he said .

I am sitting in a train , surrounded by a group of strangers ……Wetalked for a few minutes ; and everybody was glad that a group of squatters mused .

Is it coz they didn’t expect it ? They were unacquainted ,they could have had thousands of new things amongst them to discuss.

But then was the repose so perilous ? Why was it so ?

How come two people who know each other inside out ; who know everything about each other ; for years ; posited to make a conversation all the time? Why isn’t the serenity peachy in that case ?

Or can they ?

If you are able to decipher the person and able to comprehend his silence without their actually telling it ; then you have gauged and skimmed them. Then you two are meant to be cronies .

It is the camraderie ; I said .

Now I am inside this bus ….There are a lot of people ; some of them might be intimated ; others not …and everybody was quiet.

We were talking continuously ,without a pause .as if we had known each other for times immemorial. Was I bound ?

The eyes were cold

I knew they wd tell me all

Not to fall

I lent against the wall

And then I am in a crowded restaurant ….a cruel din , am I claustrophobic ?

I don’t think so .still it was a maddening crowd. They had no reason . they had no purpose. And I was there ….We were there ….

And I was quiet…We were quiet.

And then she asked ….What;’s wrong ? ( why did she ask )

I was amused …..>Coz everything was right……I had perceived her…..

And I was free now……That was the first day I think ; we actually met.

Some show their joy through their tears ….

Some show their hope through their fears .

Chimera

Disclaimer : The author doesnt hold any grudges against chocolates; people loving chocolates ; Fardeen Khan or animals ; though any similarity to any person living or dead is coincidental but not unintentional ; No offence meant anywhere as the author is especially fond of the protagonist in the tale ;

There is nothing pedestrian about the thought that girls will answer most questions with "Not everything has a reason" . But does everything have an answer ?

The topic that has chimed again is that why do women like chocolates ? Now although most ladies have answered me with : I dnt knw & thrs always not a reason ….

Ofcourse we all like chocolates . Who doesn’t ? …a..nd I do most certainly wish that I had written this article a few days back when I hadn’t discovered my affection for almond chocolates …..

Chocolate doesn’t just tingle the tongue; it’s a soup of many compounds that affect the brain. the same chemical that is released in your brain when you fall in love; leading to that increase in the pounding of your heart, feeling of a sudden gush of excitement. "Love Chemical" is what some would call it.

But not before he brought it out ; that he along with the ladies has a fetish for tazo cards and chocolates and big babool that I wondered about this .Though Boomer I conclude was always for men.

An equally engaging thought would be why some talented but denigrated heroes like Fardeen Khan managed to survive even amongst not so dull periods as “no fans” or rather dull periods as a tardy monsoon.Tall as a mountain.

And I saw a mountain, or shall I call it a hill, it was carved …so by nature I shall presume, sparsely insinuated by a thing living or dead. Cut out like an Egyptian pyramid, some fine work of architecture would not match its style .Tall as a mountain isn it?

But then girls have a crush on him I heard. Not that I was taken aback, not that I haven’t seen his movies ….but I am Anurag Sharma …I see everything.

But was it his voice? Or his straggly hair; Or his triumphant baggy eyes; or his lanky physique ….whatever that flared the ladies ….How did I fail to notice for all these years.

But when people lose track amidst an adventurous rendezvous; a forlorn tree in all the ruggedness and in the desolation provides that extricable and reprieving shade.

And it’s not as if girls have a reason as to why they like canines besides the so obvious reason that they are so very cute. A thing that has confounded the Herculean brigade since the advent of humanity.

Why does a not so entreating guy carry chocolates in his "bag" ?( askin it frm others if smebdy demands or buying it then ,being seperate) Is he trying to impress upon the ladies ? Or has he slightly bent on the other side ? or maybe he just likes chocolates ..who doesn’t ? But the next time you see that happening ; do ask the question ; why?

To walk or not to walk ?

Well it’s a gentlemen’s game .Not everything has a reason.

Arriving Somwhere But Not Here

As I see a cloud of smoke , or were the clouds smoking …coz not only do I palpate a grappling clasp ….i find it hard to breathe as well.

Its like as if there were a magical fountain sending frail plumes of clouds against the cascade hanging from above .It was dowsing the evening sun; folding it into the lotus of its love or fantasy as you may name it or tickling the burlesque of the moon.

Im not sure what to call the hazy orange being atop a distant rugged hill.

Havent I closed my eyes in the last 100 hours ; where am I ?

Or were they closed the whole time ; where am I ?

As faint glimmers make me take another glance at the orange figure ; its no more there.Its been obscured by the brooding drifts of the clouds.Clutched? EMBRACED?

I think it has gone to sleep , comforted itself in the slowly descending blanket of the atmosphere;late evening chills of December in plateaus of India,abandoned as they stand.

But I see farm lands too and clusters of habitation suddenly.

Sheep wearing woolen jackets ; not of their own. Numb trees,sometimes near sometimes far,screaming in solitude. Then there are intermittent flashes of a hopeful light.

A hoot of a horn ,rumbling wheels , a tainting perturbation to the serenity.

But where are the birds ; or has the emptiness dumbed me to their chirp.

But why should my vision be clouded?

Was I dreaming the whole time ?

They said he was good,an angel.

They said he was great,extraordinary.

They said he was different,weird.

They said he was crumbling,mellowing.

But he was vunerable ; human.

Im Anurag ,and im coming home.

Its been a long outing ; my sinews whisper of the stories.

But who am I ? What is my home ?

ARRIVING SOMWHERE BUT NOT HERE

Did you see the red mist block your path?
Did the scissors cut a way to your heart?