Camouflage-III

Back in those days, I lived under one such dark camouflage. Bright and sunny by the sunlight, like a many-hued everyday-happy story but a simmering grey under the moon-light, one which varied in intensity depending on the lunar cycle, depending on how closely you went to look at.

Those nights I felt like a sinner, one who had been marked for life, repentance or no repentance. I did live as if in penance, at least in my mind, but it wasn't helping my guilt. I looked around and wondered how nobody else could see it in my eyes and find out who I was. A killer, a murderer. Some nights I felt justified about my actions; my mind argued for hours the rationale, the defense. Some nights, the weight of my deeds crushed my soul and tears couldn't wash away the uncontrollable pain. Most of all there was the weight of what I had hoped and expected myself to be, and what I now thought I had become.

There were moments when I felt grateful to be free, uncaught, yet sometimes all I could wish for was to be able to confess to someone, for someone to find out and kill me. I had taken more than one life - I couldn't be the same person I used to be any longer. Emotionally, I was scarred.

And yet, I managed to survive the phase perfectly well under my camouflage. It seems remarkable how my old self became my camouflage that kept the world at bay, that kept the mornings boring till the phase - and the war inside me - ended. Back in those days...

Who am I kidding - fact is I still live under a camouflage. Probably always have. So much that I don't know if there is a real me at all after all these years hiding somewhere beneath the multiple layers.

[[To be continued]]

Camouflage-II

It is misleading, how they liken happiness to multiple bright colors. While we may be conditioned enough to always associate palates of bright colors like rainbows and spring gardens with joy, the fact is, all joys have the same hue. Every fear and every pain, however, has its own hue, a different shade, a unique intensity. Notwithstanding the ancient labelers of the human civilization, if you looked close enough you would see that there is only one VIBGYOR and many many blacks; that all happy stories sounded the same and each tragedy was unique.

Happiness and sorrow, much like us, live in this world in a camouflage.

[[To be continued]]

Camouflage-I

It rained often those days. Actually, that wasn't true. It never rained during the days - only in the nights, as if the nights really needed to be cleansed. As if some kind of a sin sneaked in under the cover of darkness every night that needed to be dissolved, or at least hidden, so the morning could be bright and sunny for the world to see. It rained every night so that one could sob in the pillow and not be heard over the din of the drops of water lashing at the window, screeching to be let in, to dissolve the dirtiness inside. But I never opened the window. If I had, I'd probably have jumped off it as well.
I wish I had.

In a blink

I blink
And I forget
The passage of time
The pungence of lime
The long nights
And tearful sights
The tortuous streak
Feeling weak
Pain. Insane.
I forget.

Till I look at the scars.
Till I talk to the stars.
Till I notice how light I feel
Till I watch the layers peel
And I remember.
The promise I made
And the farewell I bade
Not wiping a tear
Letting go of fear
Overcoming desire
Dousing some of the fire
Fighting, losing, living, dying
Waking, working, smiling, lying
I remember.

I smile and rub my eyes.
A phoenix never dies.
Slowly, steadily
I clear the dirt
Piece by piece
I heal the hurt.
I make friends
with the pain.
Then I blink.
And I forget.
And life is good again.

W for Woman

I wonder what you wonder
And what you wonder I wonder about
And I wonder what the secret is after all
With you life itself was a wonderful wonder throughout

I wander in the wastelands, wondering why
I wander where we wandered together without clue
I wander in the wish of finding you again
In the wanderlust to wander lusciously inside you

I wither in the wait of wanting you whenever
I wither in the wuthering winds of withering weather
I wonder whether I'd ever stop wondering, wandering, withering
I wail in the wisdom of knowing this is forever

Undecided

I want too much
this and that and that and that
bahut saara, sab kuch
and I don't want anything either
Nothing, zilch, thank you please.
Maybe just what I have already.

Like a rising wave
in crests and thoughts
my desires these days
wax and wane, die and kill
I wonder what I want to choose-
red pill or the blue pill

Sometimes I want to live
like really really live, not just be
Sometimes I just want to die
Tired of the futility
Heisenberg is God
but Tughlaq is winning more
The perfect answer to every question
seems to be "I dont know" :)

The search

It's obvious, isn't it, that it is so hard to find love in life
After all, life is found in love, not the other way round...

Restless peace.

This is a year of quiet restlessness. So far. A year where things have been pretty damn good for pretty much everything, and yet have always come accompanied with a fidgety restless discontentment. This is a year where joy has come aplenty, with some grief, but mostly, a lot of detachment. A lot of not feeling strongly enough. A lot of happy calm at the surface. And restlessness. I don't know if this is permanent, transient or non-existent (only in my head!). And disturbingly, the next thought that comes to my mind is, in a very Ravi Shastri-kinda way, I have a feeling that something's got to give here.

Whatever that means.:)

I like wondering every now and then of change. The whats, whys and hows. I like to pick up a lens and see things, places, and most of all myself through it to understand just a little better. You can call it a hobby. Searching for analogies and metaphors is another. One of the changes in me in the last year or two I hate the most is how my words don't flow out of me as much anymore as they could. Writing used to be a lot more effortless, and cathartic to me. It wasn't good writing, but it was brilliant clearing for mess inside my head. It sorta takes away the impact of many good changes. I so badly want to write. I want to write my book. I want to write cricket. I want to write poetry and fiction. I want to dole out crap on the back of my notebook again - not mere doodles. But it doesn't come out. Not enough. What's wrong? I feel joy, lots of peaceful joy, but not soul-stirring teary-eyed happiness like I did, a few moments in life. Is there anything wrong?

Anyway, back to the restlessness. I wonder if I feel it more because I dont write about it enough. I wonder if  it is just quarter-life crisis. I wonder if it's just hormonal over-thinking :) But that's the sort of year it has been. Job satisfaction plummeting - the flaws in people so much more visible. Stress over not knowing the future was less than the confusion over my desire to not even try to know the future. And even now, disquietude. What am I doing with my life? Why have I never done enough crazy whimsical things like others? Am I too "safe"? Am I too boring? What will the new job be like? Am I deliberately not asking hard questions? Have I become too defensive, too non-confrontational. Am I scared of drama? Fatigued? Or is this drama still.

Why isn't peace enough?

And where the f**k are the words?

PS At least, I still have unanswered questions.

The magical night

The cup that counts!

They call it the one that counts - the cricket World Cup 2011, and as the tournament reaches fever pitch at the climax, it really does look like there are a few statements this one is making, creating a definite impact that will be felt in the time to come. 

The more debated one - 50 over cricket will stay for now, showing a potential for providing interesting, twisted, edge-of-the-seat action. However, for that to happen you definitely need pitches with something for the bowlers, because 20-20 is better at wham-bam-thankyou action from the bats. 

But most interestingly, all the sub-continental sides are there in the semi-finals, with no Aus, SA or Eng. Who could have bet on that?! With the exception of Bangladesh, of course, but they did themselves too many disfavors in the league stage itself. Which makes it important to highlight the caveat - this cup is played in sub-continental conditions, in a format most suited to ensure the hosts qualified to the quarters. And hence it was Bangladesh's spot to lose, in some way. But barring that, the final line-up has India Pakistan Sri Lanka and New Zealand. The last one is a bigger surprise than the other three, in some way, given how they came in to the world cup losing 4-0 to Bangladesh and 5-0 to India in these very same conditions! 

Somehow, this sounds staged. Call me a conspiracy theorist, but is there a better result at this stage the hosts of this cup could have asked for? An India Pak semi-final to go, and the fourth team in the fray one of the most beatable ones on paper. Extrapolating, the perfect result is an India SL final - both the co-hosts - with India winning - the biggest financial power in world cricket. Somewhere there throw in Sachin's 100th ton as well.

It's all perfectly likely, and possible even without any conspiracy at all, but somehow, even as I watch with bated breath and pumping adrenaline as a crazy fan the final three chapters unfold, I cannot help but wonder that if it turns out to be too good to be true, was it always meant to be that way?

Hmm.
 

Well, at least it is entertaining. Works for me. Go India!