Autobiography of an introvert.......

It was like the deadly season of autumn when trees decimate,air becomes dry and veins frail due to the  numbness in air hoovering the sighs inside and chasing out all the memories that were safe inside in the cache of yore.

An  arcane silence creeped into my nerves making them rigid and drab without any sensation of thoughts, magical spells of whispers and words and symphony of enumerous events going on all arround me.I seemed dispirited and dilapidated curling all my limbes inside the curve of my belly and stretch them out in a desire to squirt the blood out of my body but they remained inside.I couldn't shout and scream and invited comfort to rest in my secluded world where I appeared invisible to the outer world like a scent that disseminates but after some time vanishes leaving behind a faint impression of a something that was just smelled appeasing the nostrils.

Whatever I feel and contain inside may be increasing the weight of my chest which can never be bogged down,as I felt at one point of time when I started growing and keeping things to me.I remember I talked a lot long back like in one of the eons,may be when I was enjoying the lures of childhood:where life was full of beginnings and no ends,where everything we saw was for real and forever ,where  all the sights and scenes were full of secrets and source of desire and anxiety,where we had our self created cornucopia of wisdom which we shared with the peer and appended a lot in it,where big people seemed a bit strange and pretentious,where crying was so easy and laughing like a routine.I am big now.I am no more a child.I am changing,turning into a dweep who is scared of people staring at my transformation with a weird remark everytime.I want more darkness to not have sight of even my own body.I do not want to talk,I want a retreat looking at everyone looking at me,listening to everyone trying to listen to me and swirling my instinct to pull out any thought remaining.

new ones

fantasies of a child

the  first trial...

titillating and sensuous

elvis presley:the singer...

love you...

The sheer excitment of going home after long back is a heavenly feeling.Nostalgically I used to pamper my self by seeing home videos and photographs but all those people who are not near to me appear as ball of ice which remains in the palm just for a moment to give cold rushing throughout the body and then melts away leaving its no trace.The visions of the events celebrated together and moments lived along swim in the front of eyes and get smoky as the day passes.The sounds and the voices also dim.To fill in the effete energy level it becomes necessary to have an odyssey into a divine atmosphere which we call as homely.People who are not just people but the impressions of God get extremely elated and their faces glow seeing their dear ones whom they love and leave.We share all our emptyness and melancholy,all our joys and gaeity,all our yore and the stories but still time falls short to finish our sharings.The gossips,relaxation,soft cotton saree of mother dipped in the fragrance of all motherhood,father's feign of worry and care,children's chuckling and emotional cries,our old self shadowing mementos: all make me blessed and one of the most happiest persons.Family,a word that weighs a lot, increasing the weight of emotional floc inside that bloats when we are away from them and vanishes as soon as we rush to them.These times I wish time to be at hold and walk a bit slower to let me in the real heaven little more time.I can offer a bargain or an exchange with time for the true happiness,whatever it is ,for all my dear ones ......................

शब्द

मन के शब्द                                                                          एक सवाल ही तो पूछा था
                                                                                                          उसने ,

और होठों के बोलों में                                                            आसान था जिसका जवाब I


अंतर होता है  I                                                                         सोचने की क्या जरुरत थी ?


काफी अंतर   ,                                                                    मेरे भी मन को मिला जाता


जिससे                                                                                  एक साथी ,


कभी-कभी शब्द                                                 जो मेरे शब्दों को ऐसे मरने के लिए नहीं छोड़ेगा I

                                                                                         मेरे शब्द भी बोलेंगे इक दिन I

रूठ से जाते हैं   I                                                                                                                
                                                                                         जिस दिन विद्रोह होगा
और हम कहते हैं                                                         अन्दर से आएगी एक आवाज़   


इस दफे ,                                                                     उन्हीं विद्रोही शब्दों में सनी हुई   


हमारा मन                                                          और तब मिलेगी उन्हें आजादी
चुप सा हो गया है   I                                       भावनायों और यादों  के चीथरों से ..........


अन्दर की आवाज़


दब सी गयी है I


अन्दर ही कहीं


डर रही है शायद
कि 
उसे बहला कर


फिर


अन्दर ही छोड़ दिया जाएगा

greatness of a human soul..........

Dead poet society has many gooseflesh moments and the characters bear an effigy of an aesthetic spirit that has a respect and estoric eye to appreciate the songs in the heart.The poetic allusions in it forces to fly and look beyond the things that seem too trivial.The philosophies appear coming straight from the core of the heart connected with a golden thread of thoughts that sometimes revert back without being surfaced.The fear of the boys,their hesitation,frustration and all other sternness got washed away once they started to open up their vials of ambrosia in the form of speech,their acts,their confessions and their way of living a true life compassionately.

                   Everybody see things and feel the clime but those who let their hearts touch the same are blessed with the benison of creativity that allows them to listen to the mumbles,whispers,frozen noises and breezing stories in the cosmos cause they never die.I must have lived long back somewhere in a similar or different land with an ecstasy of humanity seeking the wisdom from the book of life at each stage and adding few pages to it.Turning the pages of the same book today,I get signs too often that cerebrations and ideas too are chronological.They are repeated under different circumstances which we may call as ages.But the fact that an euphoria of singing hearts stay alive forever is categorical.

In the kaleidoscopic world of rife whirpools we can easily lose ourselves without having any prophetic call.We can find a room filled with all posiible colours and luminosity to construe a different world in each colour or a field  containing crops of words that can be reaped with the occult philosophies and bowed again in a new season,or a mire of poetic lustre where the loam can be kneaded with a touch that gets engrossed to the soul inside.Expressions are like philters of magic sprinkling a surreal effect once arrayed to give a form of a beautiful writing which we can own as one of the most precious and priceless asset.

"old times-a flying,
        the same flower that is smiling today,
                  tommorrow will be dying"

how beautifully poet intoduces a fear of ephemeral life and a motivation to seize the day ,the present moment.
What if tommorrow neve comes,will I be able to face myself again for I never kissed you the way I wanted to,for I never held you tight in my arms and explained how much I cared for you,for I never looked into your eyes to see my own reflection,for I never said sorry for the things I really was,for I never told you the things my heart nagged again and again to confess.Life seems too short once we realise that it is too long to be all alone.We love to love but we often do not dare to dare and this nature often breaks hearts of people  in the guilt of not fulfilling our own desires and of others for not being a part of their desires.
                           We live in a world of complications,feelings seem pirated and people like the pirates of the  ecstasy .The pleasantness and enchantment that resides somewhere inside making us robust and practical yet grounded and soulful spins around a dilettante goofing around to dislodge the feign of banality.Work outside,come back in your own little world ,relax and enjoy all the shades the life has dabbled:seems hard  and needs an effort to be on the razor's edge or continue a retreat like that.The hymns we compose contain the image of that knight who symbolises the greatness of a human fighting the battle of life everyday using the arms and tools he gathers through experience and truth which he strongly believes would let him maintain the balance between what  he really is and what he ought to be to flatter the being and respect his existence on earth...                                                                                                                                                                                                             

unsolved puzzle:is it?

I am not at all a good reader but still I wish to have all my articles and scribbled pieces to be thoroughly read and remarked.Starting  a book appears quite challenging especially then when we need to keep the promises of the writer and his reverie.Everytime I turn a new page,new references clog alluring my mind to revert back to my own construed world and that is when the book leaves and I too.The act of reading  ought to be very beautiful cause it creates an acquaintance with people's experiments with words and phrases and assemblies of thoughts.What price do I have to pay for having such a taciturn and callolus attitude towards the book I buy and then debar them from sharing the best they have in them.Some where in my pack rat collections I read a line that words and thoughts never die,they are perennial attributes of human mind that stay,are conveyed and manytimes repeated in every era.I am also a bit sure that a parallel thought exists which upon meet bridges a bond of intimate fantasy towards each other.

We can relate the basis of relationships to this context where two quite strange personalities commit to be together and bear each one's weaknesses and strengths throughout their lives despite their naturalism that has always moved them apart from any sort of compromise and made them habitual of creating a personal cosy corner.It is too hard to share one's space and call it not as any onterference.It seems clumsy to think about the scenario when some body will stay with us forever even when we would like to breathe alone .Is it too intimidating which generally freaks out people before they are asked too carry the responsibilities of relationship.

The idea of living together with someone whom you got with to know better but have least choice to hate him to make it work sounds like an enforcement of kind of a law.It seems a despotic command from somewhere that forces two free souls to love each other and their instincts.Is it too hard or does it fall under destiny sport?Are people really happy this way or whether there is any second chance?Again the ever hounding questions like what if?why?how?and many more pell-mell situations and fear come alive at an age where we got to meet someone to take our lives somewhere near to second inning where we will play different roles in some new people that are yet to come.Growing old with them whom we never saw or met in our amazing 23 years is a feeling which is not at all ringing any bell at present nor does it appearing too simple .It is something we may call a period of transition where every generation feels a bit incoherent and uncertain.The mesh of this conundrum is quite dense to dig in and pull out the factions to regain the composure .Discussing the paradox in love,its different dimensions,its greatness and complications  needs tactis and logics to introduce in the battle of doubts ..............

an encounter.

Yesterday when I went for a walk (actually while on phone I couldnt realise that I had gone quite far )towards the barren ,effete land which generally remains in the  dark and aggrandises the pleasure of being in an all-time enlightened township of a PSU,I felt some tiny source of light moving towards the fence.Though my line was through and the person on the call had least idea that his words were becoming unable to dilute my anxiety to see some eventual and magical show that rarely happens here.I looked closer but couldn't strain my eyes further.So I continued my call and almost ignored the call of discovery considering it yet another trivial .After few minutes passed I was returning and as a reflex I saw the fence  again and there it was,the one that pulled my attention and aroused my intrest in getting something fuuny and unusual.A snowy furred grownup cat at the peak of her youth sitting on the other side looking as if pleading to get her through and mewing as if mumbling that she doesnt belong to the dark.
I am not a cat lover like some people are,who treat them as their cater-cousin and share all their lives with just an animal.So I enjoyed this serendipity sort of her appearance in the jungle of bereavement where in my work area I have been meeting extinct species and rife varities of faunas and birds.Out of these some are extremely endorsed with beauty and calmness while some are awfully weird by looks , by voice and by their activities.Some are scary too in front of whom you need to carry stuffs to prove that we belong to the most rational family of living beings and they can still get hurt.This cat appeared as a timid,harmless and just a creature but that too was not enough to tempt me to entertain her whims.I returned back home .
In the morning we wake up by the shrilly peacocks call,one  at each terrace shouting ,   conveying that they add feathers to the beauty of nature that resides in the township of an industry.I have seen that the number of peahens is quite large against their counterparts and they just look like a filthy herd of big brown bags.The door to my backyard offers the morning sunlight to creep into my house and hallow the air for the entire day.That means my frontal of the house faces west where the setting sun kisses goodbye promising to see me  again the next day at  the back of my garden.I opened the door in the dawn and there she was again cosying her up spiraling her tail around her body on the chair outside.She looked like a fallen star in the dawn and leered tenderly at me whispering that she came all by herself.But I not at all felt proud of her and closed the door.Though I continued peeping through the window of my kitchen,she was eating the bread crumbs from the dustbin which didnt match up to what she looked like.I dont know making up stories with the characters which may not fall again in front of me is good or not but I think this  cat encounter is going to draw a line in my notebook.