May 24, 2009 § 21 Comments
|From new camera1|
Once I had a dream that I was a bird .
The world was below me and the world watched me . I was a crow , who flew over the high horizon of the city . Many saw me as a scavenger but within they all longed for what I could do , roam the skies . Yet there is this urge within which I want to fulfill , which humans have already part done – fly beyond this rushing ether. As I see the moon rise ,even as the sun goes down ( to visit my cousins across the enigmatic sky ) my heart beats with pangs of pain , the suffering caused by the urge , the need to touch the impalpable( that moon and those distant stars) , if only to know that the world is tangible.
|From new camera1|
I see across the terraces , many with their aims set , they bicker with the certainity of security . And yet as time wans and nothing but the pale moon night throws shadows about , people become afraid and train their senses to the bright lights of their race’s creation . They never seem to think about the man who thought of those lights . The light shines the brightest , but the light is the substance , the sign but not the source itself . Even as it represents the origin , it is nothing but an extension. Maybe to us crows and birds the light is a sign of a reflex glory , felt every time it strikes our senses . It shows that one day the divinity within will purge us and start the movement towards the unseen worlds .
Maybe it already has in me . Never have we seen anything but the dawn , followed by the day , succeeded by a dusk and left incomplete by a pensive night , peaceful with a joyous melancholy . Maybe there is something greater in the universe , where in the trinities of belonging, i.e. instinct , person and thought are the mere stepping stones to enter into the castes in the skies . Or maybe there is nothing , but I need to see to believe . And sight can be the most prejudiced of all senses , yet at least it garuntees that there is something .
If only we can see beyond the zenith , if only our existence was enriched by thoughts beyond the stars which invite and inspire and reinvent the sense of belonging .
The sound of life woke me . Yet the world spoke to me . The vibrations of my thoughts left me to feel that I was in level with the stars and that which is not truly palpable is the one which is beyond. There is something beyond everything . The truth is the means to an end – yet what is the truth?
April 28, 2009 § 14 Comments
Yup I have concluded the world needs a damn good spanking . Not because I have become older than a million year old fossil or as old as the sea by listening to all the very knowledgeable and very young senior citizens or my lecturers or teachers or whatever in my class but more so becuase nothing seems to a make sense. Actually I might have become old , maybe that is why I haven’t written anything for so long . It would have been so nice to call this a ‘ come back post ‘ but i didn’t go anywhere.
Here we are after so many years of Independence and funnily enough no one cares about the thing which the country needs -education . Instead we have a whole bunch of nonsense like people claiming that they can bring back some money stashed away in a Swiss bank . Oh! ya what happened to reservations ? Why hasn’t anyone used that yet? Is it because it is out of fashion ?
Or maybe we are so screwed , that we are now going to talk about our neighbouring countries . NO I am not saying we should close our eyes , but how cheap is it trying to profit as the cost of someone else ? And while talking about reservations , I think the only people now discriminated are the creamy layer and the ‘upper castes’ . So how about that thing called equality ? I thought you want to be a super power ?
Well forget it . . The NEWS channels call it the IPL( they say the Indian political league , I call it Indian Pooruki League ) and well cricket sucks anyway .
People are egoistic . Now this Ego is the screwed up thing which everyone calls ego . No my fine readers I am not becoming a human , though this dust allergy makes me sound like a Egyptian Mummy speaking Malayalam .
See when did I start ranting ? I want to watch Noddy . Not that I saw it when I was a kid . We used to get only DD then (see I can tell that too , I am old ) . But well if you leave me , I might watch teletubbies right now . And my rant isn’t constrained to this alone , it goes on and on …Infact I didn’t want to write anything , wanted to write something pretty , which will get me comments such as “you didn’t put a full stop” or “you used too many smileys” , but then I don’t really care . If I haven’t read your blog in a while don’t tell me . It probably has too much of politics . I have read a few damn good posts , not writing about them because don’t feel like giving the links .
I hope this reveals how lazy I can get . I got that domain for the fun of it . Now I have 59 subscribers here , hope this increases , because I am damn materialistic and the fact that I can’t have my therapy now (retail therapy) irritates me more .
So before I start into a mile long rant…TC… nothing funny , if you have read till this better comment . And I am not going to add lots of tags , I am bored . Going to go and watch the clouds.
April 18, 2009 § 17 Comments
Upon a peaceful ocean ,
A thought did rise .
That thought did move
Within the worlds , as a screw
Would into a wooden hollow .
As judgements were passed ,
And prejudices concluded ,
To all but a few the truth
Eluded . Virtues and vices
Are relatives at war ,
Divided by a single wall .
On either of that does lie
A way – somewhere , infinity
They do meet and there
Contradictions nay exist .
Yet till that point there does
Seem , a world at a brawl ,
Within itself always ready
To start a fire at the scent of smoke .
Forces greater than the container
Are contained , by the sheer inept
Of those contained to recognize
A frail misnomer . The forces so contained
Do pray to the within to discover
A better lens to notice the
Venomous drops , the poison .
And once the mind does locate
Where it seems the simple twist
Of fate seems to be placed ,
It does try to frame a case
Of revolution , an air of arrogance ,
The charm of ego and deliberation.
The ego is a way to feel the abyss
And not that which we pit against those
As wise . The ego is a virtue to protect
And feel all those below earthly morality .
The ego is to break the walls of discrimination .
And that ego is a screen drawn not to
Close love but to open the eyes of justice.
The only justice is poetic
And as each action churns a reaction ,
The world watches with concentration
And tries to balance with a fervor , a penchant
Soaked in a universal beauty ,
The song of which brings a deja vu
And belonging becomes de rigueur
For every creature .
At such a stark moment , the ego
Becomes a wall upon which you do
Stand and observe the obsessed world .
As a prophet to the mortal , the immortal
Sires the world and becomes the inner star ,
Set at a spot , showing direction ,
The venerated divine , the harbinger
To the future , the holder of the keys
To completion of an ultimatum .
With such a serene posture ,
The hand and the paper become
One . As one weaves through the other ,
That which is drawn breaks the beauty
Of stillness and the mesmerizing silence
Only to carve a beatitude beyond
The revealed rites of revered veneration –
The ode to world through perception.
And on such paper and as the hand
Becomes the mouth that disturbs the air ,
The thoughts on the ocean form
A known citation , seen within
And calm the diligent ego to mere strength .
As towers upon an unseen base ,
You do stand and watch the height
Of the sea , knowing that written
On the shore sand is temporary .
Yet that penned into memory ,
Is the message , to be visited
Again and again , in time’s rein ,
To establish the threads ,
To relight the blown fire
And rekindle the presence .
Everything is an illusion .
And so let the world be .
yet within each sketched ,
Does lie a world , the creativity
Of another illusion – reality
Mounted idealism , The final
curve to the straight column ,
The finesse of mind’s design .
And as the illusion’s illusion ,
Takes strength from its perceiver ,
The creator , it does add a tantamount
Code to the encore of the world .
Yet a while it does take
For another to conquer
The imagination and rise
The almost moribund ,
A final twitch before disappearance
And cause agitation in
The being’s bosom .
At such a moment ,
The negations seem to add up ,
All in whole and almost real
And thought aware ,
Such is the nature
That the being allows
Th virus to infect ,
If only not to let the world
And such and such is called divine
By plenty and worth a merry hail
But they do fail , they fail,
To see that it is not scarifies
And the ego’s penance ,
But that it is a discovery
To thrall the abyss by
The sheer resistance of life –
The strength of the wall
We do sit upon , the power
Of that which sits on the wall
And the stars whose lights do connect
The world by illuminating the world .
If not for anti , the ego has no existence .
If not for fear and guilt ,
The world would not be built
As it is but would have been formed
By the hands of creation –
The procreation of thoughts upon
Thoughts , the pro evolution
Of mud into bricks , of dusk
Into a dawn , memoir
Of man’s visage when he
Did see that he was free
To contemplate the way to the stars
And to carve a transient image on the shore
And letting the ocean the one to hide
That which is at the other side of sky’s brink .
The soul of life is divinity .
The beauty of movements ,
The culture of souls to choose ,
The ability to be alive .
Divinity is the way we feel ,
Divinity is the veracity .
And that truth which it represents ,
Is a means to an end .
At a solvent moment ,
The ego dissolves .
The viruses are none .
The illusions float below
And the world is a calm proposition.
Life seems to be drenched
In itself. The containers break ,
The Pandora box is overridden
As the world feels the hands’
Alacrity to be itself .
Life is life .
The world is alive .
Everything is an illusion
And we live in our perception .
Veracity and its integrity
Are the natural scales which we adhere
And as the notes of a song
Whatever pitch we breath
And ours heart’s beat
The love we feel
Will set us free .
For revolution is action
Where we reveal to ourselves
What we are , the action
Which frees us from the ordinary
And makes us to be the divinity .
Love is a essence ,
The flavour to let out the strings
And understand the world .
Love is the soul’s delight ,
For it is the fire of the fight .
As the world comes back alive
And the waves do eat the sketch
And reality is set alight ,
We do feel we belong ,
To this , that which is a metaphor
To our life , that which hides
From our sight , that we seek
For lending a meaning to life .
The joy of ego less superiority ,
The joy of divinity .
The God you are is what you will be ,
The God the world is ,
What you want it to be .
The God ultimately ,
Is the God that has to be .
Truth is not the end
But the means to an end.
The light shines the brightest
April 14, 2009 § 12 Comments
Sometimes you just smile
And there nothing can hide .
Sometimes you just see
And the sight sets you free .
From the depth of the sky,
To the height of the seas,
The world is what it is meant to be –
From the jiggle of set chimes,
To the babbled nursery rhymes,
From the chirp of a bird,
To the early morn crimson skirt,
The world is what it is meant to be ,
Always there to set you free.
Touch of nature ,
Touch of humanity,
You do feel , that skies are roamed
And that all you see is owned,
That the breeze from the sea ,
Is meant to push you to see ,
Those trees who do sway far at peace .
In the beget of all rhapsodies,
One in the sky does merge
And within does emerge ,
A world on the verge ,
Of a smile and it does purge
As the smile sets alive.
Sometimes you just smile
And there nothing can hide .
Sometimes you just see
And the sight sets you free.
The light shines the brightest
April 13, 2009 § 12 Comments
|From new camera1|
Sometimes you just smile,
And there nothing can hide .
Sometimes you just see
And the sight sets you free .
He lay on his bed wondering what is going on around him . Sometimes things just seem too good to be real . Having his phone buzzing , people wanting to talk to him made him feel happy . But some how , he couldn’t stop looking at where he was all those years back . Time is a funny thing . As you grow older , you keep changing . Things which mattered to you a while back don’t . You see your self in the mirror and try to think back ,what you felt when you saw into it a few months back . You smile at how you felt .
He smiled . But some how he couldn’t accept certain things . He wished this was not a dream . Funny how for a person who kept living in his dreams , he wished this was not a dream . What people never understand is that , what is just a remark by a stranger for someone might mean the world to others and that it can hurt . Yet if you ever spoke about how certain things affected you , people become sarcastic and pass more comments . But by now you have learnt so wouldn’t really care about any of it .
Pain seems a burden when it is physical but it is torture when it is mental . He smiled into the mirror again . Ha made a few funny faces at himself and laughed . He turned and jumped about as if he was a kid . That is what is fun , trying to connect to things by trying to feel the world within . The passion with which you try to understand things around you . The innocent tenacity . He started to sing . It didn’t matter to him , that he was a horrible singer , he just enjoyed doing it .
All though time might catch up soon , he knew he could always play with himself , the child within him .It doesn’t matter what walls are erected , it doesn’t matter what they are made up of . What does matter is the fact that you know you can bring them down when you want to ,not because you have to but because you want to…It was half past eight , he left for the party with a big smile.
April 5, 2009 § 28 Comments
Take a good look at the pic , what do you see ?Can you recognize anything ? What do you think about the image?
April 1, 2009 § 9 Comments
At a certain distance,
Connected through reverence or vengeance.
For a few a revelation,
Others a illegitimate menace.
Far away from the visceral planes,
Where one notorious thought reins,
In a dream of a certain refrain,
The colours of freedom seem strained.
Through the senses-scintillations,
Through the emotions-vibrations,
The balance of past and future,
Deliberately hang on the vision,
Of a mortal and bound scion.
Words may pass wisdom,
Actions may give martyrdom,
But neither can provoke, freedom,
Unless within the creature arises
A stroke (almost a epiphany,
Yet one of time’s boundless nature)
On the verge of breaching space,
Yet binds the universe,
Into the cramped room of a head.
And there it fills the thoughts,
The emotions and something shines,
A rudimentary essence,
The grit of our race’s existence.
Yet never visceral,
It is the knowledge of many an incidental,
carved into the nerves -the child
Of verses of unknown depths
And the knows worlds’ heavens.
And as such a realization dawns upon,
In those glorious hours,which life is called upon,
Everything tries to belong and then in a strung call,
Falls upon and arranges as if bound by a song,
To show the exactitude-the answer to the puzzle
Of living. Yet by the time the strains resurface,
Negligence reverberates and confiscates,
The essence through illusions.
At that,petty decorations need harnessing-
Water needs colour,
For the solvent cannot solve,
The lack of opaque it possesses,
For it is deemed unclean without spillage
For a bearded man said that was its visage.
And while the forces seem violent-
The wind torrential in its wisdom
And the seas tumultuous in action,
Humans throng and try to belong through religion.
The docile are then fermented
With ideas that man is tormented
By the virtues used
To bind him and rule.
Albeit that does come purity,
But then named
Heretic ,by some capricious decree,
Only later , understood to be,
What is really seen;
But veracity needed fire
And so it was lit
With a match upon a soulless hay
With chants of hail for the gist of the display.
Such are binds which curtail the hands
Of values and refined sands.
They call him the devil,
And he does roam among humans.
he has no eight tails waging
Or thirteen a table set,
All he has is a gullible mind
And he does exploit with haste
And then spreads like a plague
From man to man,
Until everyone seems wan
And prone to the entourage
Of a abyss and its flaming reaches,
Illusions bent from the malleable,but
Mind,that oh! if used properly is divine!
Finally as all seem corrupt
And thought dead and shut up,
Struck a ray through the condescending grey,
Creation was set alive again,a rebirth ,
Now life doesn’t seem vain.
And that abrupt force was all hailed,
And his words proclaimed
As wisdom, his actions martyrdom,
But fail did everything to grasp its freedom.
Then the devil did descend in full,
Dressed in white,peace he would bring,
No one would sing,the mantras
Of old and sally no more would
The undercurrent wisdom
(Relight by nature with
A little bit of nurture)
As the mirror reflects
The myriad darkness
And in it man would see
Nothing , for an eye
Is as good as its lens,
Mind is as good as its exponent.
But the devil was faced,
He could not rebate
Nor could he reinstate
His hold. The keepers
Were three,wisdom was set free,
Though humans have a hand on
The devil’s vehemence,
Another does hold the benevolence,
Of the spirit of creation.
The sevens and nines
Will never die,
Unless new numbers are sworn by,
And so will never the life
Be left astray,
For there is a final way,
The path which all do face
And on a gloom filled morning comes
To the surface,there they do
See the light from the negation,
It is the mere lack of contradiction
Which sets the world into a revolution.
The light shines the brightest
March 29, 2009 § 17 Comments
Picture from the Author’s site(link at the end).
A pretty ‘warm’ book and a lovely story. Something about it makes you feel comfortable,maybe becuase we Indians already have heard about people,whom she has created . This book would have welcomed more superlative appraisal from me, if not for a few places where the ‘ HR ‘ sticks out.
The story has three main characters , the first one being a underworld don called Moosa . The character is someone who you would like to encounter in real life,in fact you do wonder where are such good , kind hearted people, but then you realize that something is not right and well he is ‘ bastardised by the circumstances’ – his childhood in the world famous Dharawi and the various illegal things he gets into make him into a black sheep,but a sheep never the less.
The second is a character called Bhaskaran who is from an ancient family in Kerala. He grows in a place a close to Dharawi where he happens to meet Moosa during a row. He later goes on to achieve ,thanks to Moosa Bhai’s help.
The third is a orphan called Abubacker,in Khozikode,who , with the help of Moosa become a ‘Muthalali’. The book has vivid descriptions of the illegal businesses both in Kerala and Mumbai. Moosa helps in the making of two men,both different- one educated in MIT(Bhaskaran) and the other educated by experience in the underworld. The book also moves a lot – Kerala,Chennai,Mumbai, Libya,Middle East ,Nagpur etc.
As I said,the book seemed to have bit too much of the HR angel. This being fiction, every paragraph helps in molding the story and the reader being a person who picks up this book from the best seller stand,is bound be at loss,when he is faced with description of running a business,it catches you out ,when at about 1 0r 2 in the morning between a nice story someone talks about business.Also if it were so simple,then everyone would be a entrepenuer . But maybe that is the cynic in me,rather maybe it is a reaction to the fact that a particular part towards the end , seemed to add a certain degree of reality to it and rob it of the ‘cho cho sweet why can’t this be a feel good movie/ wah wah a fairy tale at last’.
I never like to reveal the story,except maybe the main characters,because my belief is that,reading a detailed review,takes away a bit of the charm of reading a book. I would say,read this book,if you want a something light and feel good(there are a few bits of harsh reality,which seeing other stories now days,would make into a fairy tale anyway) .It also gives you an insight into a few places and ways of living(ya well I guess it is better than travel and living). Though I just criticised the HR part,there are a few messages which have been put in with a bit of euphamism which we all can use,when we deal with people( Okay, I am not know for my patience when dealing with certain type of people,so yes,maybe I should learn). I might be over rating this book,but anyway..
Rating – 8/10. Makes a nice little quick read.
March 27, 2009 § 14 Comments
In my dreams I do believe,
One day I will achieve.
Fairy tales begin with ‘once upon a time’ and so does this one. Once upon a time, in a world far far away from ‘reality’ there was a little boy in a big city. He dreamed of reaching the stars which he saw and thought that if he could keep improving his paper plane design, he could build a craft and finally go and see the stars closer.
He was a good old chatterbox,non-stop super-sense if not to others ,to himself. But what was more shocking was the way he could observe people and things. Though people around made fun of him,he loved the stars and told himself, he would go up away from this world and see them some day , some how. But at that he didn’t know one thing-that when people decide your dream is ridiculous they try to make sure you can never reach it.
And so the time came when the kid entered first standard and the bright lad, now hated school,because the teachers some how didn’t like him.The smart boy he had been in kindergarten was now gone. He realized he liked a certain girl ,who was popular,got good marks and whom everyone wanted to talk to-things he wasn’t. Oh! he and marks – Some how,they never seemed to matter to him,yet they seemed to give people a reason to say why he can’t go to the ‘space’ and visit the universe ,he wasn’t getting enough marks!
But that didn’t stop him,he was a determined kid.In his mind,he could see himself peeping out of the window at the stars and enjoying the serene silence. Where ever he thought of that,he felt on top of that world,below him called earth,how those people tried to tell him he can’t fly,but he was little bird wasn’t he?
In his dreams ,he achieved plenty more. He lead a life,away from the reality. And as life would have it,he was never popular in school, though he wished he was , but that gave him plenty of time,to live in his own little world of ideas and ideals. But his marks saw a bit of daylight and slowly started going up for a while.
By the time he entered his teens,he still thought of his stars but he now understood,what the world would do-he was old enough to understand people and their ways. So one day he sat and told himself,no matter what life throws at him,he would get there.
But within a while,all changed and his dreams seemed to have gone away.Someone seemed to have stamped the little paper plane -he hated it,he never was a earthling,earth was meant for creatures who wanted safety,not for heroes like him.Then suddenly,a thread stuck from the sky and he started to climb towards the stars. One the way up,he knocked on God’s door and give him his best smile.
But suddenly everything came crashing,some human was pulling him down, this shouldn’t happen,to the little boy,the young man told himself , would this be the end of the road for his dream. Then something struck him, there is another path, to his dream,not one of climbing up a thread, but one which he had to discover and on the way he would learn more about humans and the way they act . He told himself that he would make it , he felt the warmth of the dreams .
During the day,he observed the race he was left in and tried to figure out why people were people and why they might be so. Then they called him a idealist. He hated it as much as he hated the way people behaved. But he knew,if he ever was going to go to the stars, he needed to tell these people , it was they who showed him , his ideas and ideals , they who showed him how to build a paper plane and it was they who crushed it and pulled the ropes. This was not helplessness . If he wanted he knew, there were other ways, there were people , who would love to have him(or so he believed) but he despised helplessness , if not this, than that , the stars kept calling.
Year after year,he tried; Then one night,he wept,the man did weep, he wanted his little paper plane , so he took a paper and made such a plane and as things would have it,in the plane he saw what he had missed , he knew that all the while he had made the choices towards love ,he knew that got him here. But he also knew, in the heart of every child,there lives a star and if you remain that kid,no one can steal the dream in your head. So he lay dreaming…..Yup, this was the path of love…
A fairy tale should have a good or a positive ending , will this end is such a way? I leave it you to write what happens to the young man…