Posts Tagged ‘nature’

image of how to remove a bad teacher

Sometimes I think every failure we encounter is nature’s way of warning us, its way of adjusting us, putting us on the scanner once again till we find a better path. Maybe where we were headed in the first place wasn’t supposed to be our destiny, and that universe furled itself knocking us out of our elusive surefire resolve, asking us to do something else altogether. In a way correcting our moves with its very own ‘Reset’ button.

When you begin to do something that is in line with nature’s big plan for you, you will find yourself succeeding at every juncture. The Universe drops you hints right from the beginning saying:

“You were good at this. Why don’t you keep doing it? You will succeed all the way. You will keep getting results.”

To exemplify it better I could array it with my very own chords – Writing was my first affair. And the reason I consider it my ultimate salvation is owing to all those clues I received growing up. It was inbred in the form of emotions, and it gradually straddled out with my instant love for literature. I swooned over it and lost my heart somewhere between its words.

My first official letter I wrote had my heart out on an application leaf. I was quite young, yet brainy in a way. Its subject read: “Complaint to Remove a Bad Teacher.” It gushed with emotions, pointing out everything that was terribly wrong with the teacher who did everything but teach. It traversed meaning of life, our existence and what not. It digressed a little with lines like: “Children are supposed to be the future.” etc. Pah!

The counselor who had picked it, was giggling stupefied, wondering how could a small child be writing big words for his age. I laughed along with her, believing I was stupid too. But to my surprise it was acted upon, taken seriously. And so began an unending regime of getting things done via letters. Every time I wrote one, the response was always good. Either an action would be taken or my wants would be positively satiated.

My convincing letter was the first inkling I got that had me believe, nature wanted me to write more, that it was nothing but a mere pen and a paper that would get the job done for me. I distinctly remember thinking out loud reassuringly saying, “I write convincing letters!” I would often boast about it – “If you want something done let it pass through the mouth of my letter.” Surprisingly the results were always positive and in the favour of my words.

Those letters took a more tangible form when I began enjoying what I had written at a later stage by rereading them in future. That it was a product of my head made me extremely euphoric and satisfied. I would turn the pages around to read an old written account and would marvel at myself wondering,

“How did I manage that?”

With that it became more than a wont, now my life; my only resounding satisfaction when I pen one good.

Somewhere deep down I think those letters were responsible for hammering that nail in me unknowingly, and for that I am really grateful. It has made me the writer I was born to be. I surmise, it has paved the path that Universe had for me all along.

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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!

Before and After Vantage of time

Seems everything is running, everything fleeting away. Like I am trying to hold sand in my palms and it just keeps slipping out. Time, you are running out! There is so much I wish to do, but you just don’t care. Your moments are dying every second. You are bringing me to my grave.

For the past two years my life has been on a roller coaster and I just can’t slow down or relax for a while. Ever since my job swallowed me, I have been stuck in its guts and it’s a horrendous torture that just doesn’t stop. I can’t figure out what I am doing. I can’t tell where my efforts disappear. I just know I have to go to a place, kill hours of time, and return again to a hollow room back to my jaded life. The little time that clings in a day then dies with the chores. So horrible a living! I cannot tell my purpose. I cannot understand the reason behind my path. Just stuck like a morsel in an ever ending chew. I just know eventually I would be spit out tattered, insipid and lifeless.

Seems I have forgotten the touch of nature. As a kid I would stand for hours with open arms to feel the wind in my hair, its soft subtle touch on my skin. I would exclaim in utter rapture, “Look brother! How awesome the weather is!” I remember the little whirlwinds that nature made for my leisure. How with squinted eyes I would try to look into the dust and filth, and at the torn plastic bags that danced with the dust devil! I remember how for hours I would look into the sky at every bird that drifted, every cloud that crawled slowly like a soul that knew its destination, at the vast blue and the stars that would begin to show at dusk. How I would point, “That one’s the brightest! That must be Sirius! Where’s my star? The North one?” How at night with unblinking eyes I would stare at the darkness drenched with tiny white motes and wonder if I saw a shooting star. Search one that did not twinkle and brand it a planet without a telescope. Look for UFOs in the sky and argue for hours what we saw wasn’t a satellite.

How I would spend hours looking at the swarm that fought battles of survival for food near anthills. How then would I wonder how come these creatures don’t have eyes? I remember looking closely at every little act of cows, dogs and cats and wonder what they must be thinking? How little they could do? So unfair! As if inadvertently adjusted or succumbed forcefully to mankind’s lifestyle. Look at trees that disappeared into the sky and wonder what it would be like to be up there? Gawk at the moon for hours at night and wonder if there was a lady in pain waiting to be rescued.

Every moment of living drenched with a fantasy in my head. There wasn’t a jaded moment in my life. Dragons and dinosaurs battled with me for survival of the fittest. And I would be the fittest. I often miss the soft touch of grass beneath my palms as I would place myself in its innate bliss as if there was no tomorrow. I believed there were miracles and that one day something would hit me and make me Superman. I thought staring at Sun for hours would make me powerful. I would believe what cinema manifested. I believed I was a protagonist in the story of this world.

My livelihood someone else’s responsibility. I was carefree. Without rules to bind me or slow me down. I used to run. Run a lot. Into the fields of magic. Gasp with a breath so exhilarating that told me I achieved something in that momentary run. That I had a purpose: to cross the finish line.

I miss the taste of life I lived when I didn’t know anything about growing up. Now I have grown up. I am dead. I miss the lively time I had with the nature. Now I look at the sky only to see if there are clouds of rain. And rain with disgust because of all the swamp it makes. Look at barking dogs with eyes of rebuff. If I try to stare at the night sky, stars no longer show up. They have been slain by the city lights. A plain sight is just a plain sight. Dragons no longer battle and dinosaurs have disappeared once and for all just like my figments have. Ants don’t exist in our world. Mosquitoes do. Filth, dust and plastic bags don’t deserve a squinted eye. They just need a bin. The wind no longer whirls. In squalls I don’t go out. The sun and the moon are just inevitable patches in the sky that always go unnoticed. “You are just burning in jealousy sun!” Night just has a cold heart. What surrounds me isn’t nature. What surrounds me is human agony. What surrounds me is pain. I reek of suffering, malice, hatred, wrath, stress and squabbles.

Such little time a day offers that just wither with meaningless talks. Then again a new day begins with 24 pointless hours that are silently aware of their imminent death.

I wish I could get away from all of this. To quit. So that I could be with nature once again. Carefree. Without rules. Witness the living every hour. Away from human commotion. Away from societal intervention. Into a life without judgment, and run. Run like I used to. With a visible finishing line!