Posts Tagged ‘dead’

image of a bald guy talking to a girl

The Bald Guy

Probably why a lot of things stay hallowed in my head is, I guess, because my world still lingers around a lot of undone things. Unsaid words. Unaccomplished possibilities. Gargantuan morsels of hope that ended up getting swallowed by despair. Menial trivial things that could have created a memory, could never make it. Like the time she had wished to stroke my hair. The fact that it never happened left a hole in my dimension. It ended up becoming a skipped fragment that could never possibly attain fruition.

Other petty notions of our talks that could have avalanched into a nervous wreck stay disbanded in space. Broken threads they are, suffering in their own mute misery. No knots find them. They sway like torn dreams. A bazillion “could-haves”, those hidden somewhere betwixt our silent whispers, could never make it. That makes me sad. That shattering incomplete feeling is a consequence of all such figments.

I wasn’t fortunate enough to even have my day. One day! That could have flung us towards unrivalled elation. Not even a seamless graze on a cheek to test those walls of love. Not even melting away in each other’s arms. Not even a hug of tingling warmth, to say so long. Nothing to justify. Nothing to prove all those words of mettle that once echoed to and fro between the media of mundane. Words they ended up being. Spoken and forgotten. Like crude promises. They fell dead like a pang of wretch. Shot down mid-air by a bullet of fate.

We could never even make it to the finish line. All those dreams just kind of fluttered away in time. Lost. Never to be found.

I just feel all of it at once sometimes, and then sometimes never. Hard to explain. Maybe I am all alone in this dead vale. Meant to feel that way. Maybe truth deserves me more than ever, as it sneaks through to speak through from beyond, beyond the holes of my past.

The Perpendicular Universe Dhauladhar range

I can’t seem to shake it off. That view! The dark greenish hue of the mountain that was so high and far that it would occasionally blend in with the whites of the clouds. Complementing it gorgeously was another colossal mountain covered in a brownish tint measuring it from a distance, which had almost disappeared, if it weren’t for our keen eyes that were successful in scaling its edges across the heaven.

The latter reminded me of the kite I would fly, back at home – when I would slacken it till it would disappear into the sky. My kite would then blend into the colours of the sea and would get lost. One minor distraction, and lo! It would be hard to tell what I was really holding on to. It would appear as if I was steering the whole sky. Reeling it to make it go further, and pulling sometimes to see if I could bring its blue enormity closer.

Every time I close my eyes, I see the capped freak staring at me from a distance. There were smudges on its body, probably glaciers running down, that seemed silent like a pond from my vantage. Occasionally clouds would cover the beast up, afraid it was showing too much skin. At times, its peak would peak from the blankets to see who the stranger was and why his eyes carried mad love. And why wouldn’t he stop staring?

As our car galloped onto the Kangra road, the mountain followed us. It was inquisitive, while I couldn’t stop myself from gawking. The world must be wondering- “How imprudent!”

About 12 hours earlier we were right there. If not at the top then probably somewhere around its bosom. Heading towards Dharamshala on a bike, we would occasionally take a pit-stop just to marvel at the scenic orgasmic vista the mountain manifested. Cameras would come out at once to capture our perspective in style so that we never forget the unforgettable. Our bike roared in pain as it lunged into the unknown roads. It was hard to tell if we could make it. But the beauty beckoned, and there was no turning back.

From a distance, the ridges looked as if they were drenched in dark. There were shadows over it while the whole world burned alight. It seemed to be sleeping. Quiet like a lifeless thing, which can never be awaken. It slept while its rivers wept. It was written in green. Trees stretched all across its body.

We crossed Dharamshala soon and headed towards McLeodganj. The ascent was punishing. The moment we got closer, it began raining. It struck me at once that the dark was owing to the clouds there. Within seconds we were drenched in the downpour. There was no place to hide, and then we thought, “Let’s do this!” We stormed off to the renowned Bhagsu water fall. The place offered one helluva panorama. My eyes captured it the moment I set them on it.

I was told the summit turns into an alp during the winter season. I just tried to imagine how badass it must look then. The green on the mountains metamorphosing into the white of the snow. As if they have called for a quilt to beat the cold.

When I came back to the same jaded life I live, suddenly I found myself surrounded by a relentless smoke of depression. I wanted to be there. Into the Mountains. Free. Adventurous. Marvelling at the invincible beauty. Taking in the serenity. Breathing in the phenomenal. Gawking at the lively ridges.

Alas! Now I am here. Everything is dead again.

The Perpendicular Universe The Cubicle

I dream for an open field. There is a wild run in me. But there is no ground to tramp on. I don’t see it. Even if it is there, I am blind to it.

My life is a cubicle. It begins in walls and ends right there. I am bound by the charms of the green. But I wish it was a meadow, and that I was free to gallop wild. Free to dart my way to search the end of it.

Every day begins with me trying to adjust my fading eyes to a computer screen. I am locked. I am compelled to. There is no escape from the life I have chosen. If there is, then maybe I am blind to that too. Or pretending that I can’t see, because I have a sea of responsibilities to swim into. Or make a living out of this dead.

Day in and day out I follow the same ritual of turning the office desktop on, checking my mails for updates, attending meetings to show the ground I have covered, having lunch when I am not hungry, making small talks that are pointless and will be forgotten, working like a workhorse to make people in the other corner of the world happy, living a misery to help build someone something I don’t give a shit about, slaying the universe’s most useful gem – time just so that everything moves on and I age to perish one day, and then repeating the whole cycle again because there is no end to this.

What I live is misery. This is someone else’s dream. I am the tiniest mote to him. It wouldn’t matter to anyone if I fall one day. They will have someone to replace my body. Because my mind doesn’t reach anywhere. It is being forced to run in a mill, where churning thoughts is a curse and of no use to anyone.

I can feel the force of this psychotic world pulling me down. This isn’t gravity, No! This is the worst. It keeps on pulling you, one piece at a time, till there is nothing left. If you had a dream it would make sure you lose your mind. It would subject you to so much pressure that you would forget life is supposed to be easy. It would swallow you in its jaded shenanigans that you would not remember what real fun is supposed to be like. It would drown you into its silent waters, take you deep down to hell, and you would never know if there was supposed to be a heaven too.

I just wish there was no one that pulled my strings. That I create something because I feel like building. That I eat because I feel hungry. That I dance because I feel like dancing. That I look at a screen because I wish to surf and have fun. That I check my mails to see another world. That I play because I feel like having a blast. That I have talks that numb minds and emanate something useful every time I do. That I pamper myself because I deserve it.

But alas! I am stuck in a cubicle. My life is it.

Cloudia The Perpendicular Universe

The city is crying. Tears of grief that clouds withheld for years are falling down in unison through a bazillion eyes. Their croon – voices of thunder, shrieks of acute pain that emanate because a reaper’s scythe has cracked them open with a lightning, go unheard, unnoticed like an inevitable backdrop. They have come with colossal rivers and they are going to pour till they run dry.

As I look up at the grey that clouds our judgement, the city appears to be sad. Roads are clogged with vehicles. Every brow has a frown. Engines purring non-stop. People dying to get to their destination. Vehicles looking at the clear lane with jealous eyes as some whoosh pass by. Bikes squeezing through the narrowest of paths, whilst cars blocking them deliberately to destroy their progress. Malice grinning behind the wheels. My city carries that din that constantly knells in your head till you find a quiet. There is a constant air of confusion, of endless commotion in every eye, in every heart, a restlessness to be somewhere, far away from the dead roads.

It took me an hour to get to my room. All that time I kept thinking if I had taken a different route, maybe a different street, I could have made it a little earlier. Albeit all those what-ifs, conundrums of possibilities and probabilities account to nothing once you are home, in the back of my head, I was well aware of another day that was to come with the eventuality of yet another jam. All those roads not taken are going to haunt me again with time. All those choices in my life, all those poor decisions that took me to a halt, all those bad cuts I took that stopped me at roadblocks are going to mash up in my face one day and say:

You didn’t live enough. You didn’t live right. They gave you time and you squandered it in us clogs.

Half of my life I have been stuck up in inexorable circumstances, doing things that wouldn’t probably matter in any possible dimension. Immobile. Just hanging there, doing nothing! If I reckon every single moment I wasted, just breathing in a swarm that doesn’t go anywhere, or following orders that don’t take me to a destination, just lying in my bed staring at the fan, or doing something pointless to kill time, I would end up, to be precise, with my entire life. Sadly I have wasted every bit of it. Not just me. Everyone on this planet has. Unaware about our true purpose, and leaving things to destiny, we have basically done nothing. We are too lazy to do anything. Too stupid to fathom our real purpose. We are just passing time, waiting for the inadvertent to happen to us, and someone or something to approve of us. We are just going with the flow, slaying time so that one day we age to death.

It weeps for days here. A downpour like that, seems like nature has simply given up on us. Weather’s been changing abruptly. There were earthquakes a couple of days ago. Tsunamis with forks that plan on eating a big chunk of our land.

Is that why nature’s angry? That we haven’t figured it out yet? Is it time for nature to swallow us up and start a new project? Are we failures too just like dinosaurs, our ancestral relatives? Is it time for a better-brained evolution to succeed us?

If that were the case these tears are justified. Just wish we could do something to ease the pain!

The Perpendicular Universe Man In A Bottle
What is your biggest fear? Have you ever tried to slow down your high-paced life for a while and wasted a thought on the aforesaid? What are you afraid of? I don’t want your answer to be mere literal. I don’t want it to circle sheer material. Of course, you are afraid of cockroaches and lizards. But what I implore is something more significant. I want the meaningful you to give it a proper scrutiny. Just spend a thought. Brood over it. Slow down for a bit. Sit down for a while. Wear your thinking cap. Squeeze some time for yourself and think!

Aren’t you afraid of passing away incomplete? That one day death visits you out of the blue and you realize that you haven’t lived, and that you expected more from life? What if you hear the death knell tomorrow and you discern that there was a deed in you dying for an action, something you really wanted to do but couldn’t get enough time to sign it off?

Does it shatter you to know that you haven’t really done anything in your life? That you have been trying to simply earn the greens hitherto to just make a living? That all you did was a mere waste of your time? And that whatever you achieved so far didn’t matter at all? Does it hurt to know that you don’t really have any talents? That the word ‘talent’ simply betrays your distortion?

How does it feel to know that things left unsaid could have actually resurrected you from dead? What if the moments that you had let go inadvertently, were actually the ones you should have seized to get rid of the emptiness you feel?

Aren’t you afraid of disappearing in thin air? That one day people would forget you like you never existed? There wouldn’t be any stories sung or songs written in your name. That your existence wouldn’t garner fame? That your life would simply hammer into the ordinary?

Are you not afraid of not finding out your purpose in life? Doesn’t that bum you out? Not knowing the reason of your existence? Embracing the death hug with wool over your eyes? That you were conceived in darkness and that in the end, the same darkness is going to swallow you?

Are you not afraid of being locked up on this planet? Does it not bother you? That you can’t get out? What if the truth of it all is so excruciating that it shatters you to million pieces? Knowing the truth, is it not going to affect you? Don’t you have myriad expectations? What will happen to those stereotypes that you have been spoon fed by earthlings then?

My biggest fear is dying without being understood. Knowing that I shall perish without someone getting me implodes me. How pitiful that is! What a tragedy!

I am afraid that I might perish unbloomed. That something despicable will accidentally swallow me, chew me and spit me out without knowing my worth. I am afraid of dying unheard. That my shrieking voice would not make it anywhere. I am afraid that I might fall with this emptiness in my guts and that I would take it to my grave. I am afraid that my coffin would feel empty even with my dead presence. It bothers me to know that my dead would reek of death and not of a life lived.

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Morpheus: What brings you here my child?

Me: What did I just see?

Morpheus: I just project stuff. What you choose to see is your doing. You should be thanking me for manifesting ‘her’ after so long. Trust me, seeing your heart glow is the best feeling in the world.

Me: Seeing my, what glow? Are you high?

Morpheus: I am not sure how to answer that.

Me: She is buried in the past. Why do you always bring her up? All these years, did I ever think of her? Why do you punish me then?

Morpheus: I am just trying to fill the void. I hate to see that hole. Everything craves for greater expression. Remember?

Me: But I am done thinking about her. Isn’t she like in another dimension or something now?

Morpheus: You have shut yourself out. She exists.

Me: Then I do not wish to know. She is dead to me.

Morpheus: I am sorry to hear that.

Me: Don’t you have others to bother?

Morpheus: I am with others too. I am with those who need me, also with those who don’t. I am engraved in their conscience. I am seeping in their blood. I am jostling in their thoughts. I am persistent. I am perpetual. I will always be there when there is exhaustion. I will be around as long as eyes could carry weight. I will be there when fatigue gets you. I will be smiling when bed finds you.

Me: There you go! Nobody asked for your introduction sucker. Nobody has ‘TIME’ to listen to your BS.

Morpheus: I make it stop. Time. It’s my bitch. I control it like I control your thoughts. I can make a man dream of eternity in a single hour’s sleep. I can show him naught in perpetuity. I am drenched in the blood of thoughts. I rule in the nether world and I will affect even the days, as long as people are slaves to daydreaming.

Me: Tell that to someone who gets intimidated. I like the way I am. In reality and in your fucking dreams. Just leave me be. I love living in the world without her. Without worries. Without apprehensions.

Morpheus: Without true happiness?

Me: You keep doing that. Why do you do that? You are the meanest son of a bitch, I have ever encountered.

Morpheus: I feel sorry that you think about me that way. I am just trying to help.

Me: Help? You call that help? I am alright in reality. I pass on just fine. You come and obliterate everything. Tell me one thing, though. I am curious – why was I happy when she was around, in my dream?

Morpheus: This is again your doing. I do not have control over human emotions.

Me: But you do control projections and memories. Once I go into sleep, I lose control over myself. It is as if I am hanging in space, powerless. You mess with my reality. No wonder they call you a Dreamlord. Why can’t you just show me the good stuff? Couldn’t you leave memories locked up tight in the darkest pit brain has? Or even better, just delete them permanently? Learn something from computers for a change? Huh?

Morpheus: I do not fathom the computer jargon. Bit tacky for my taste.

Me: Oh! Look! You made me laugh.

Morpheus: Memories are perennial. They will exist till the day your heart stops.

Me: My heart stopped the day that final memory read its chapter. So I suggest you don’t turn those leaflets. What is gone is gone. What might or might not come, I don’t give a rat’s ass. I believe in the moment.

Morpheus: Wow! I am definitely using that on a t-shirt.

Me: Fuck you Morpheus!

Morpheus: I shudder at the thought of seeing you void of emotions. I want you brimming with it. You do not think of her anymore. It saddens me. Dreams about her used to bring joy to your life. Her sheer memory used to lighten you up. You would go in a trance and beg me not to stop. The moment I would, you’d wake up all bummed, cursing me silently, with a voice, only I can hear and tears, only I can see. I don’t want that for you.

Me: The fuck do you care? Why don’t you just leave me alone?

Morpheus: I am afraid…..I….I….can’t…do that.

Me: Why the fuck not?

Morpheus: Because I am your figment. I am just ‘YOU’ trying to reason with yourself. I am ‘YOU’ trying to accuse someone, anyone….for that to matter, about your weakness.

I am traumatized when I see you succumb to gloom. I become elated when I see you happy. I am the reflection you have always hated yet silently adored. I am the good guy in disguise. The bad is deliberately written all over me, so that next time you see me, you curse me, scorn me, despise me, abhor me to your guts. You rip me out, tear me apart, cut me up, beat me black and blue, coz I know your temper, yet respect your passion. No matter how much you alienate me from your body, and treat me different, no matter how harsh you treat me, no matter how atrociously you ignore me, you hurt yourself in the process, you vent out all of it on yourself.

‘YOUR’ body bleeds black and blue. ‘YOU’ have a heart that doesn’t beat. ‘YOU’ have a tethered soul. Why, you ask? Because, I am ‘YOU’. I am just you, poor child!

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My reflection stared hard into my eyes. It was blurry, for tears began forming up. It said, “Don’t cry! Don’t cry! Be brave!” But I wouldn’t listen. I don’t listen to my reflection. I listen to nobody when my glass is brimming. All I remembered him saying was, “I saw my father in my room.”

A dear friend of mine lost the most important part of his life. His father. Tragedy hit him like a bullet. It was bound to collide as days of suffering suggested. He knew it. Things were not looking good for the past few months. He just hung on. With hope. He kept looking. He kept up his search. Solutions weren’t solutions. They were mere reflections of the bitter truth. Death – The bitter end to everything that breathes.

I wasn’t aware. For the past few weeks, he ran from clinics to hospitals, looking for every ray of light that read hope, with his unabated diligence to set things right and to make his dad stand on his feet again. I had no idea. Whilst I was busy living my life to the fullest, he was busy saving a life from waning. I wasn’t there at all. I was not even in the background. Estranged.

When things got serious I contacted him, only to be a part of his dismay. He mentioned how serious his father’s condition had become. Uncle was, in fact, in the hospital. When my friend came back home, he said he saw him there, standing in his room. He broke into tears on the phone. I didn’t know what to say. My tears simply connected his. It was a tough moment for him. I knew. I was there mentally. Standing next to him consoling, trying to flow with his tears.

I just felt impotent. Nothing I could do to reverse the event. I am no doctor. I am no God. I am nothing. I just felt so helpless. So powerless. Without an undo button. Yet, I reckoned all my options. Made couple of calls to see if miracles existed. Preposterous solutions came up. At such an hour, he was ready to hear anything. I was ready to believe anything. Whatever worked.

The next morning his dad passed away. I couldn’t react. He wrote to me, consumed by profound grief, how he thinks his dad would return anytime, that he had just gone out. How he might show up just like that and bring smiles to their faces!

I am aware how his house would be speaking of gloom. How it would reek of pain for days! How deafening the silence would be! How crazy the minds would think! How tasteless the food would seem! How sad their happy would be! I am well aware. I can empathize it all. For a moment, there is nothing alive. For days, weeks and months, nobody actually lives.

So many sleep-deprived nights. So much care. So much trouble taken. So many tears spent contemplating. So many nerves broken apprehending. All for nothing. All for naught.

I want to be a part of his misery. Just to be there. To be able to tell him that I am there. To hold his back upright. To see to it that he doesn’t fall. To listen to his hollow voice. To understand. To empathize. To let him dry out all his tears. To cry with him. To die with him. But I have these walls around me that wouldn’t let me leave. Had I been in a better room, I would have stood up and left without a second thought.

I remember when a dear friend faced a similar mishap back in my college days. I remember him telling me how he felt. While I listened to him, I cried incessantly. All his aspiration for his father, all his dreams that he knitted alongside him, all the future he created together, how it all shattered in a jiffy! Just like that! Life’s way of telling you – it is evanescent.

Sometimes I wonder what makes this life so short. What defines our confinements? Why can’t we live and just live? Why is there grief when somebody leaves? Why do we miss them when they do? What makes our strength to go on, so feeble? What changes our conviction to live? Death always screws things up. Why is He so jealous of the living?

I called home. I cried and cried for my friend’s loss. What bothered me more was the fact that I couldn’t be with him during his desperate times. What tore me to pieces was the fact that I couldn’t be a friend indeed.

I surmise, eventually, it doesn’t really matter that I made up my mind to visit. That eventually, I decided to be at my friend’s side but my plans didn’t pan out. That I cried for his loss. That I already became a shoulder when I heard the bad news. That I told my parents how bad I wanted to be with him. However, what matters in the end is, I wasn’t there when he needed me the most.

As I ramble across the shores of Chennai, waves look sad. They wouldn’t even reach my feet. They are silently aware of a great loss. They are trying to pay their tributes. My heart reaches out to Uncle’s soul. I just want him to understand how much his family fought for him. How hard they tried! How they spent sleepless nights and tearful days to bring him to life again! They did not fail. They did not succeed. His resistance was simply too strong.

My friend’s loss is shattering. I just hope nobody on this planet has to go through something tragic like that. Death makes living impossible. It has to learn to let people live without it.

But most importantly, ‘we’ have to learn to live around it.