Posts Tagged ‘dark’

The Perpendicular Universe firecrackerI wove this beauty whilst I was working. Came across a beautiful pic of fireworks on hitRECord. Suddenly it got me thinking about how we are so much engrossed in our lives that we hardly look up at the night sky. Isn’t it beautiful too? I tried to put sense in “why am I not upstairs looking at the starry dark” ever, and why we always consider something evanescent like a firework gorgeous.

Fleeting is always beautiful. Time makes it more splendid. The jaded of forever doesn’t bind it. That’s what makes it alluring. Read on:

          The Firework

Lit up the night,
With a thousand flies,
Those weren’t stars,
But bulbs of red

Of green, and blue,
Of blood and sweat,
Of might and white,
The rainbow of the dark.

Did you ever bide to see?
The dead so good,
A starry night,
On a tarry road?

Of stories told,
On a board that black?
So bleak it seemed,
So stark this dark!

This running life,
That hates to stop,
And loves to fly,
Not to the skies

Where lurks those stars,
Where sun hides,
Only calls its dreams,
That the sun can hear

But the stars can’t hark,
Coz it’s bright and full of life,
But the night is dull,
Only calls for lull.

Wait we for,
A spark of light,
Not the dead of bright,
That stays all night.

Wait we for,
Fleeting specks,
That don’t stay up,
Like us all night.

Those works of fire,
That light our sky,
Catch our hold,
Of breath that goes

Forever, and bound in spell,
We stand for swell,
To take it all,
To breathe it in.

For it lasts,
Only a moment,
Is all we have,
In this running life, that just can’t stop.

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wilderness

So I moved for good. First time in my life, trying the forlorn department, I rented a house all by myself. It was weird how time, age, work and circumstances didn’t let a roomie squeeze through, as it used to in the past, and I was stuck with, you know, the old ragged Scotty in the mirror. So here I was. Alone. In an entire unit. Singing Celine Dion’s ‘All By Myself’.

I still remember how I got here. Desperation oozing through the sweats of impatience, topped with trickles of frustration, I raced through every other ‘To Let’ that internet hurled at my face. With some help from a fellow team-mate I zeroed in on a rental that seemed promising. Only in the beginning to be precise. From the ring of it. 1 BHK not too far from my work place. Price sounded reasonable. No brokers to chase. Inundating water supply. Parking space. In short – No problemo.

I drove to give it a look. The place was in a galaxy far far away. As I drove, whilst my landlord directed me to the spot, the fact that the locality was an outskirt bummed me instantly. With a disappointed heart, I rode my bike like a zombie. The new societal venture had street lights with no bulbs, a majority of the houses still under construction, shitty street that cannot be called a road, labours for neighbours and a promise of a short-cut that would take me to my office quick. In other words perfect. I went inside the building and to my surprise everything seemed nice and cosy. Rooms were spacious and beaming. I couldn’t think of any other reason, apart from the aforementioned obvious ones, not to shake the spit-slimy hand of my landlord to seal the deal.

As I called it mine, I moved in and had a house-warming bash at once with friends to celebrate the seizure. I was told by the owner that my floor would be shared by another family that would grab the reins after twenty days, and then I would have an official neighbour to bother for little stuff. The back of my mind however held this notion of solitude for the next twenty days.

Here, I was like a ghost in the entire building. The nearest main road flowed a kilometre away. My street had no street lights that lit. At night it went so dark, it reminded me of my village. Crickets chirped like they were having sex. The front yard is an empty space with wicked shrubbery that has decided to grow its hair long and flunk the barber. It has all sorts of creatures in its heart. One day a rabbit jumped out of the blue onto the street few inches ahead of my front wheel and hopped like a rabid dog. He raced me to the main road. What piqued me was the fact that it ran 400 meters, that too in the light that my bike emanated. I was like, “Why bother? Was it a dare from other bunnies?” Funny business going on there. Or should I say Bunny business?

Running parallel to the stream of houses is a polytunnel, which I can see clearly from my first floor window. The Polyhouse breathes even at night and a constant buzzing sound is inevitable. Things aren’t quite visible due to the obscurity. The way the entire thing handles reassures me of the fact that there must be a mad scientist bent on world domination working his ass off there. I bet if I drop by unannounced, I would find thousands of clones hanging on prongs.

At times we have power outage. Night time isn’t spared as well. Once I returned from a movie late night, and found lights out. I stood there fumbling with the keys in utter darkness. With unsure steps I was busy making my mind whether to enter the house or not. With the mobile battery in its deathbed, I still made it, and slipped right into my bed.

All of this happened in those twenty days. Now the neighbours have showed up. They are really quiet, so basically it feels like nothing’s changed. Meanwhile my landlord did ‘the talk’ with the builder and it seems street lights will be up and running within a month. So that is good news.

Sometimes I think living alone is inevitable in one’s span. Like the banishment Rama faced in Valmiki’s head or what Pandavas had to go through just because Vyasa said so. It gives you a better perspective about the mundane, lets you have ample amount of time with yourself, and brushes you up for proper introspection quite often.

Whatever phase life offers, I just love it. Solitude has made me stand on my feet. I dedicate the extra time I get to ink more now. I was never into cleanliness. Now, I am drifting towards health and hygiene. I have become bolder. I am no longer afraid of the dark. I tell myself if there is something supernatural, I would like to see it. I am tired of the mundane. I want a miracle. I want something exciting, like a fantasy or an outrageous imagination to apparate into truth.

I do not really feel forsaken as my friends keep me company during weekends. Weekdays go equally great as they dispense real quick in office. Besides I have every basic amenity charged up and working. It’s not that bad. I can make do.

But this right here, it feels like I went into the wilderness, just with a lot of cool gadgets.

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I write pain. Does that mean, I am a sad soul?

Life is a tragedy. I have said it so many times, that tragedy knows me now. If I stop thinking about it, it doesn’t become less justified. The fact remains. The truth stands.

Today, I listened to a story so tragic I wish I didn’t have the power to empathize. I listened to death. Believe me – His voice is shaky, dark, dreadful and unforgiving.

Two people. Mad in love. One is taken. In a poof. One survives. While death, void of emotions, watched her weep.

I see the survivor every day. Her face talks death. I know those smiles are fake. I know that ecstasy is compelled through prolonged weariness. I know the happiness on the face of my survivor has nothing to do with this mundane earth. Yet my survivor is always there, making the world happy, making the world a better place to live in and making amends to this pointless life.

Have you ever witnessed an accident? Have you ever been a part of it? She witnessed an accident so tragic it makes my heart weep. I can’t imagine the horror she had to go through. Walls of the car painted red. Limbs cut. What not.

She watched ‘him’ go. In seconds. Poof! Just like that. He was there with her a minute ago laughing and having fun. She was having the time of her life with her to-be-soulmate. But fate had other plans for her. I have never really liked fate. That dumb old bastard! I have never really liked death as well. He screws life.

I have observed. Her face always wears a smile. She hides her emotions so well! People get duped all the time. But now I know. Now her eyes tell a different story to me. She is scared of this world. She is scared of accidents. She is scared of death. Yet she is brave like a lion. Funny like a clown. Lovely like a rose though living like a zombie. There is tragedy, right there. Sitting silently in the corner, her eyes full of tears.

I don’t know how I would have taken it. I whine at a mere heart-break. She just watched him leave this world. My angst feels so trivial now. She watched him leave her alone, involuntarily. He wished to stay. They were meant to be together. They could have had a great life. This happy-ending leaflet was simply plucked out. At least, I found out what happened to my relationship. She never even got the chance.

Death is a tragedy. So is living, after you have seen death.

I picture the hurt. I empathize for people. I make it mine. I will write for them. If they have words, I know how to put them on a paper. If they wish to be heard, I will listen. If possible I might alleviate them. If not then I will cry with them.

Yes! I am a sad soul. I am an emotional wreck. I feel for the suffering out there. Gazillions of dusky souls with their zillions of problems. I wish to write, if not to them, then for them.

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I ended up working late in the office yesterday. Actually, it was planned. With a consensus between me and my project lead, it was decided that I would pump in some extra hours in order to complete a pending job. Yeah, work I did. But I didn’t foresee that I would be all alone.

It was the first time I was all by myself in the office and that too after the sunset. I worked till 8 PM, additional 2 hours, from my usual time of leaving. The peon had switched off the lights, those not required, and so the rest of the cubicles went pitch dark. I hardly cared as I was busy with my work. I had constantly been glaring at the screen, which was unrelenting too. My orbs would hurt. I was feeling the way I used to, when I would sometimes succumb to insomnia. I badly needed a shuteye. I would occasionally get up from my seat, and peek from the window, down at the traffic. The hustle and bustle below kept me company the whole time.

Whenever I would come back to my seat and engage myself in useful work, I would hear the ticking of the clock, occasional honks of the cars below, din of a drilling machine coming from the building next to ours and sometimes loud shrill of something, which my mind would always confuse with heavy breathing. It was spooky. I know it is hard to work in such an environment. It was eerie. Yet there was nothing that really bothered me as such. I guess, time has made me brave, unconcerned and intelligent.

Yet in the back of my mind, all those scenes from the flick ‘The Grudge‘ kept visiting my head. Yeah, remember that office bit? I would occasionally turn around to check the plant which stood in the dark, that had a bizarre resemblance to a human being, when looked from a particular angle. I would tilt my chair occasionally to have a good look at the door in order to eschew any out of the blue surprises. Even if someone tried to play a prank at such an hour, it was still not good for the heart, so I thought.

Amongst all that non-existent commotion, I worked my way through, without getting consciously alarmed of anything mentioned above, and groped for the switch in the dark to turn off the remaining lights.

At this point, I remembered, how as a kid I used to be strangely conscious of everything around me. I would startle at every movement or noise. I wouldn’t go to sleep for hours, wondering if a monster would come up from under my bed and devour me. I would endeavor my best to avoid watching horror shows on TV, so as to shun any formidable memories later at night. There used to be a spot at my balcony, where I would always study unaffected and unaware of my surroundings on a regular basis. I believed it helped me to understand things better, with the view and all. Until one day I saw a horror show on TV. From that point onwards, I wouldn’t even go to my balcony, wondering, “What if a hand comes from behind and grabs me?”

I am glad now sense has slipped in. I ‘now’ desire for miracles. I want them to happen. So that I behold the unusual.

I don’t understand if fear is good or bad. The only thing I get is that, it is there. It has always been there. It is real. Just in different forms, in all of those eras we lived. We have simply named them. Human minds are built this way. We can’t help being apprehensive. We can’t help being afraid of the extraordinary.

We would always be afraid. Sometimes for a reason, sometimes without one. It is one of the harsh truths of life, which I surmise, keeps us in check, all the time.