Teesta... A longing heart for Darjeeling

The messenger clouds carry a bagful of sad messages,

The sad heart turns into fog

And the restless heart turns into Teesta...

The sad messages come to the land of hills and forests

In square boxes;

Please let the heart stay as it is,

As it reads the sad messages enthusiastically...

The clouds carry a map to guide the messenger clouds,

And the twisting roads lead to his house surrounded by gardens.

At the end of the garden lies the main gate

And the rocking chair in the Verandah...

A small strip of sun ray falls on the carpet laid on the bed

The messenger cloud empties his bags there.

The messenger clouds carry a bagful of sad messages,

The sad heart turns into fog

And the restless heart turns into Teesta...

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Music in my Playlist

The music as it flows into ears, puts into a slumber where eyes are awake; but the mind has taken a leap into memories.

Memories unfold, as if someone has played a movie on VHS; and characters have started their play, some good and some bad.

I don’t see myself, but I see I lived those moments; having whirled and danced on the tunes as if somebody made me do so.

Each track on the playlist, bears a story of its own; stories that I wanted to write my way but were re-tailored by the destiny.

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His life as a Shadow

His life as a shadow… The part of his life which wandered to find its existence in light. Each day, with the Sun in the sky, he was there, with its intensity dependent on the gleaming source of light. He crossed by every road, and people kept the distance, afraid of their sacred quintessence to get polluted. The shadow knew the only sacred quintessence that ever existed in this world was Love. The love in people’s heart would never intersect the path that shadow followed. The shadow would contemplate, over-think, and when he could no longer conclude a definite reason, he would get drowned in glasses of darkness.

He felt safer there, in those glasses of darkness, as darkness numbed his feelings and prevented him to seek Love. Love is a thirst for him, to be loved, to be embraced in warmth of arms, to be felt over the hearty bosom. But who could have explained him, that shadows can never be embraced, they can never be hugged… While the cat’s crossing the road before sanity of love in people’s heart is blamed a bad omen, the shadow’s urge to be loved was treated as a disease, that potentially had the efficacy to disturb the balance of love in the world.

The shadow had a theory, that this world is fixated on one of the pan of a universal balance, on the other pan sits love. This universal balance is under control of the almighty, and love is a blessing that the almighty has gifted people with. Love in each of the people’s heart accumulated together, in form of a big ball, sits on the other pan of the universal balance and maintains the scale to neutral position. If ever someone shared their love with the shadow, the scale of this balance will fluctuate, and the pan where this world sits will be endangered. People don’t wish that to happen, and want to keep their home safe.

The shadow questioned himself, if sharing love with him endangered the world’s existence on the balance, then why not grow more love, the extra part, and make that for the parched shadow. He couldn’t find the answer, and he soaked himself in the glass of darkness to relax, to numb his senses and feelings.

The shadow feels himself complete in the darkness, healed, and relaxed. Though still thirsty, but he feasts on the never ending darkness, instead of Love that he longs for. The light discriminates him, for the odd that he has within. This is the story of his life as a 'Shadow'.

(Image Courtesy : Google Images Search)

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Breached

I watched her, enwrapped in the impeccant laughter, and met those dimples on her cheeks.

The depth of ocean seemed short, when my eyes apparently glued onto hers.

I knew her hand from mine will never get away, as she existed for me beyond promises.

Until one day, when I realized my arms never ever existed. I was born armless.

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Brain-sick's Diary #6 | Conundrum

In the lucid smile, there is a not so lucid story.

A story of coming of age… A story so confused in itself to be narrated…

Silence prevails, in attempts to unravel the mystery,

Of looking inside, of looking within.

And what is apprehensible? It’s the outside world…

The world that eyes witness.

Doubt prevails, when eyes assume to have found the truth.

In situations so common, why emotions are anarchical.

Emotions fabricated from love… Emotions fabricated from loss of love.

Silence prevails, in attempts to unravel the mystery,

Of looking inside, of looking within.

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Healed into a Flower...

Love is auspicious. May be it is, or maybe I don’t know about it. But there was a time when I used to think about it strongly. I believed love would flutter its wings and take me to the fairyland. I knew of a fairy who lived there. Be it day, or night, my dreams would be occupied with my fairy in it. An angel whose beauty makes everyone jealous of, she would smile and happiness would start to flow. When she speaks, it muses the heart and soul of every person that exists on this earth. From the chippering of birds in the morning sky, to songs of nightingale at night, all of them seemed lighter in contrast with the voice of that fairy. And that fairy was mine. So foolish of me to think this now, but then it was not at all a joke for me. She was in my class. And I would sit beside her, always smiling for her, because she complimented that I look world’s cutest when I smile.

‘Rohan, it has been two years now, I see you as a kid. You haven’t grown up. You are still that school going child. I cannot live with a kid.’ 

It was my first year in college, and she called me to say all these. We were not together; I mean I had to go to college in a different state, while she stayed in her hometown. The physical absence of ours also started to make the space for love shorter between us. Love? I doubt if I should say this. I learned about it later that she was already having an affair with other boy from our school. She made excuse about me having a kiddish temperament. And I suppose he had all the manly traits, which certainly I missed.

‘Ok. If you are happy with this, its fine. I don’t have anything to say in it then.’ Tears rolled down my face as I spoke this to her.

‘It was not love Rohan, it was just that you were a good friend of mine. I dont think I love you the way I should. It’s not love Rohan.’ May be she was right. May be I was solely wrong. 

It was too much of turbulence inside me. I wanted to cry out loud. But I had determined that I would not go back to her again. I would look forward, and bring the change in myself, and do good for my grades that were falling down. I was in the second semester at college, almost towards the end of my first year of B-tech, when I came to know of blogging. It’s said that with all the adversities, sometimes chords set themselves to play a tune right. I started to blog. I expressed from the core of my heart, each and everything. Initially, I may have been perceived as a sadist, but slowly as the wound healed, so did the pain in my words. I started to write articles, short stories, based on various themes.

I don’t consider myself as a blogger, or a writer. But yes, I found a way out from the infliction that I went through and brought out a way to help myself. It’s been almost four years now of my blogging. I happily accept that my decision to start a blog has helped to know myself better.

A wonderful video from housing.com :

I was inspired to write this post by housing.com's activity about 'Start A New Life'

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An Odd Invention

Like the way OS drives hardware,

My tender heart drives my actions.

My CPU seldom pauses its function,

Clutched in multiple processes

And deadly thread synchronization.

Endured against suffocation,

Withstanding brute deadlock condition;

I envy that giant-tiny mastermind,

Fabricated into a chip

Named after Intel’s perfection.

My limbs and glands,

Constitute my local connection.

Through narrow bandwidth in my nerves

Runs protocol for communication.

In meshes, in rings, in stars or on buses,

With niggling breaks and data congestion

My dreams sail in intense versions.

Full of exclamations and interjections,

My vision surpasses

Chris Nolan’s ‘Inception’.

Procuring the imagination

Of an unmatched conviction.

With new thoughts’ propulsion

At my solitary mansion,

I head towards tranquility

Drawing my steps towards the invention.

An invention that can help you find

Eternal love for your life 

Exempted of distrust and disgust.

Aided with honesty, and upheld warmly.

And that would be my ultimate innovation;

My blow of life,

Into lives of millions & millions.

Images Courtesy : Google Images Search

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Enviousness

I envy him…

The stealer who sneaked into my vase,

Furtively he lavished my flowers with glam.

With strokes of his magic wand;

Vanished my flowers; their essence scrammed.

I still care and preserve,

The leftover aroma in the emptiness.

I envy him…

As he turned into a giant black cloud,

Hovered above; embraced my love in the night sky.

A tear rolled down, and mingled with stillness in lake.

And soon it rained; emerged an urge to crush my ache.

But I stood low, dormant and lifeless.

I wait for the sky to get clear.

I envy him…

The musketeer who plundered into my home.

He took away all that was mine,

Sweetness on her lips, and her dimpled face in shine.

I wish his musket to kill me,

As her memories couldn’t help me die.

Image Courtesy : Anshul Gautam's - ViBGYOR

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The Journey...

Its album ‘Passions’ by Ghazal Maestro, Late Shree Jagjit Singh, playing on my computer while I am typing this. And the lyrics is conforming with emotions once I had. It was my first semester break, and I was going back home, in Gujarat. I had tried to cage my emotions within sheets of my notebook, somewhere which remains in its hideous isolation now.Then, I was different, from what I am now. At least I had tears, and I could spill them when I needed. Now even after million tries, I don’t get any. I wish, if I could feel light, bursting out from the complex lockage in my brains.

I was travelling alone, and I talked with myself all through the journey. And the reciprocation of turbulence of thoughts was imprisoned within certain pages. I stopped by at those pages today, while I was tearing them off before putting them on fire. And the pages read :

I sit still, and scenes through my window ‘pass’ by. 

Like projection of memories on walls, 

Glimpses of my existence in them pass by.

The distant horizon moves with me, like the ultimate goal in my life. 

Hills and its ranges, terrain rough and sprawling solitude pass by.

I watch as a viewer, terrains where I had been. 

Scraped pieces of my loneliness, my jobless thoughts in them pass by.

Rivulets in their topsy-turvy curves, 

Meeting and dividing; behold my soul. 

Kinships I had and pain of their losses pass by.

Away from solitude, my eyes snap at commotion,

As the city in energy passes by.

Of all few causes that put us down,

Million reasons to rise and smile pass by.

The obstinacy to laugh, promises to shine pass by.

The shine is in our goal, and the journey is our road to shine.

I still still, and scenes through my window pass by.

I close my eyes slowly,

Dazzles of glistens, sparks of enticement,

Fervor in my goals ‘waltz’ by.

Image Courtesy : Google Images Search

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Brain-sick's Diary #2 >> If I were a Bird

It has been harsh these days. Weather has been behaving strangely. The sun is shy to come out, and has lost somewhere. Probably it has its own chores to sort out. I can see how the clouds have been troubling him. And there has been rain which was not anticipated, at least not at this time of year. Flowers in my garden, with feeble colors on their petals, are showing their miseries. I can do nothing other than watching them wither in cold. It pains to watch them die; flowers I had gardened with all my care.

Even the birds have migrated. Who is going to look after their homes now? I watch them fly together, flapping their wings slowly in distant sky, sometimes showing up, sometimes hiding behind clouds. Among the flock, I try to find the one, who is lonely. It may be because I want someone to resemble me. I look for my existence in them. The bad side of me, and a little good in me, I appraise each one minutely. In books, I read, living life with too much care and precautions is certainly not a good lifestyle. We should be carefree, and joyous. We should never look back in the long race we are running in. These are what books on ‘Art of Living’ say.

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Detest

/* This post conveys feelings of a boy who spent lonesome days and nights... He was stranger to his own assets until the time a girl comes into his life, and makes him realize of what he was blessed with. Boy believed her words to be true, and her support pushed him towards wonderland.
But at the end he finds how she cheated upon him, hollowed him on every instance. She explains her reasons and asks for forgiveness... But how can the boy forgive? */

I ambled solely, none I accompanied, my shadow tailed behind. With Angel Falls’ beauty, you stepped across me. Without a hint, your shadow eclipsed mine and mingled. Our footsteps trailed where I led them to.
With arrival of the darkest hour, your footsteps diverged from mine, like the way your shadow vanished. You blamed the darkness.
Can I forgive? How Can I?

As trees swung, few notes I mumbled. Birds affirmed me and sky adorned with sprinkles. You clarified my mumbles to be my poetry, and perseverance you embellished around me. The harp tuned aloud, and tattered notes conjoined into a song.
When thunder arrived, birds ascertained it’s my song that called it. But I waited for your reaction. You were deaf you said.
Can I forgive? How can I?

I hopped around, rumbled and jumbled. In my clothes soiled, I was clumsy with dust and carried limited attributes of tastes. You were different as you presumed, that I am covered with musk, with tastes of delectable pulps.
But the next spring seized you far away. It’s the extent of beauty in the other garden you said.
Can I forgive? How can I?

In the empty space inside me, on my left, you found home for yourself. Giggling and twittering, kept me perked up. But with every happiest moment I saw, your mitts swept away all that was mine. You weaponized Love against me, hollowed the shell, and broke its sculptured torso.
You have established your new suite at someplace.
And you want me to forgive. But how can I?

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The Butterfly

On an ivory shade with some brown threaded marks; masked is my body meek and weak, popped out into two bright wing arcs.

And on my wings azure, lie mustered shapes and some tiny little dots; some lucid little hills and some round yellowish sprouts.

I never knew how I looked and what amativeness I had, until you came into my life with my image in your blue eyes clad.

I surmise my colors are no more blazoned; I haven’t seen myself since you had left, my charm left too with my mirror embossed on your eyes pinioned.

Now in the silence of my solitariness few chirruping I hear; what do they say, I can’t make out its meaning neither you can hear it clear.

On dry tongue of mine your sweetness is still alive; a flavor not to forget from our nibbling kisses; the scent of your embrace around my life.

How we lived together is a distant memory dainty; my hold on you and yours on mine; exchange of our gestures in doziness of wine.

Nowhere to live I have now but in memories of you, and in all those moments where we were together-a colored me & a colored you.

Lie they say that the most beautiful I am, nature’s worthy gift & spring’s charm I am; Truth I say that without you a dead musk I am, a bleached spot with no shine I am.

And before I die, a glimpse of yours I need; my last breath shall be the aroma of my love, of my lovely butterfly.

(©) ANSHUL GAUTAM'S

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Welcome To The Real World...

Do you realise your eye brows getting concaved, ears twitching, and larynx ready for vibrations but your brain searching for appropriate words. Even if the brain gets them, still intermits the coordination to prevent you from uttering anything. This situation happens most of the time with me when I need to convey answers to one of the closest friends of mine, who mercilessly spears me with questions. I called ‘Spearing’ because those questions revolve around their personal lives, and giving answers to such, which I impart in form of suggestions, make me feel as if I am interfering with their so happening game.

The game in which we are characters, equipped with powers, weapons and strategies that we gain in the due process ever since the game started. Current status in the game largely depends on us that how well we were playing ever since the commencement. But today, games are never clean.

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