Tag Archives: death

The Ache of Azure

Chaos is in order

The string has broken its chord

As insanity dances freely

the truth is over awed

As rain washes itself in the sea

Mountains dissolve in the sand

Humanity chases itself

While Hand demands a hand

From the last death comes the first cry

Living becomes a panorama of sorrow

If such be the plight today

What comes of ringing tomorrow ?

Eclectic Evening

There is an acquainting emptiness on the ground

Absolute filling in the sky

As I sit as if in a

And time elapses by….

For once the world and I are apart

The walk of age has arrested

Silence clenches the throbs of a heart

The moment for a breath has rested

Up and up this feeling goes

As down and down goes height

I would be silent, with silent toes

Stay elated all night…

Dimming eyes and airs deep

I wait to live my eternal sleep…

Pyre of the Broken Winds

What a rarity is it to find nature living and taking its life’s breath right in the middle of the concrete jungle! And it comes as no surprise that whenever the senses strike the powerful natural breath they stand amazed to its astounding capabilities. Today as a dust storm shook the poor as well as the richer sections of Delhi I had the opportunity of looking on to the battle that the giant human constructions held against the winds. How illustriously did the two clash with their bodily armor!

The God-made frame of mankind stood at odds with the sand laden sword of the winds that engulfed anything which held human essence. With the swaying trees and blinding skies Nature held the best of its weapons to plaster the human spirit which interferes in its play – yet, the triumph was never to its due….

The aching eyes of humanity soon recovered from the shelter of its armory and walked through the raining arrows of water. As I stood by the window of my room I watched the resistance of nature slowly fade away from the disregarding defense of the other. And it wasn’t too late before the battle was conquered.

As my fellows rejoiced at the effortless victory of their form, I receded from their center to the corner where I looked up to find the sky burning in the soft coal it had produced as its own weapon.

How unfortunate could the circumstance be?

To be killed by one’s own weaponry….

I pitied the fading sky who destructed itself as his other half rose to new heights of self esteem. It puzzled me to think:

“What a splendid funeral has Nature performed,

Death lies with those who are utterly wronged.”

 

This is my dramatic interpretation of the dust storm that hit Delhi today. Let me how do you like it 😉

The Pandemonium of Life

Living isn’t always an easy task. Life by the same means doesn’t always look like a bed of roses. But can we cease to move on?

As I watched a blind couple helplessly staring at the young adults in the Metro asking for a privileged seat, I asked myself – How far have we gone in the pursuit of our desires? Is this the image of God which humans have inherited?

Irrespective of the numerous depictions that one can carve about Life, it can not be denied that it is a soar sight! We often fail to recognize the sadness that our happiness entails for others. For every person dancing away in glory there is always a depressed heart running into desperation and misery. For every successful man climbing on the social ladder there are always a number of heads lying at each step over which s/he must climb. For every blessing that paves your way there is always a lonely beggar watching your path and cursing his/her fortune. With such a presence of sadness, grief, jealousy and pain – doesn’t life become a pandemonium where each of us are our own oppressors?

Yet, surviving lies not in lamentation but action! Movement is the synonym of Life and hence we grow, mature and blossom with every failure and success that we achieve. But is mere surviving enough? Can we dissolve the balance of our Pandemonium?

I believe we can!

If movement symbolizes Life, Feeling symbolizes Living!

To live is to feel and to feel is to realize the depths of our humanity. Every person dancing away in glory CAN destructs the pillars of his/her pandemonium every time s/he extends an open arm to the one succumbing to misery. Likewise every successful person who climbs through social ladders with the others breaks through the same shackles of his mental prison which every person who shares a part of his blessing with the lonely beggar feels by the end of his journey.

One may wonder, can it be done? But then we must never forget that even before we could try, every task seemed an impossibility.

So, the only thing that matters is –

ARE YOU WILLING TO ESCAPE FROM YOUR PRISON?

A Flavour of Sweets

“Who are you?

Do you want to know?”

Abdul was making his way through the squeezed-in streets of Old Delhi when I had asked this question of him. The fat sweet shop owner passed a sharp glance at him as he entered his shop to begin the day’s labour. As always, I was most disinterested in the chores Abdul was running through the damp shop. His urge of cleaning all the tables and waiting on the customers was incomprehensible to me. He had been doing that every day with the same energy since the 5 years that I had known him. “Why do you have to keep doing this? Do you really believe THIS is all you can be?” I would inquire, but in vain.

At home, I have always enjoyed the freedom to pester him for his indifference towards me. Mother has been really ill lately. She’s coughing half the time of the day and sleeping in the other half. So, every time she gives instructions for the things to be brought from the market I speak in his head the loudest I can. It is delightful to see his face redden with anger as he feels embarrassed to make his mother repeat her words. Oh! How much I enjoy my glorious moments!

But there is something exceptionally wrong with him today. I have been hovering in his mind since the morning and yet he hasn’t silenced me even once. I troubled him during his afternoon sleep and especially during his precious sneak into the school for over hearing lessons. Yet, he did not respond. Perhaps he would think something after this plum of a person scolds him for coming late.

“Welcome Sahib! Have you arrived already? It’s just 3 pm. Why don’t you take some rest and return by the evening?”

“That is in fact a good idea, Abdul! He is letting you take a few hours off by himself. Just say YES and leave.”

“I am sorry, Murari ji. My mother was not feeling well today. So, I stayed back with her to take care of her for a while.” And like every day, Abdul has put his wrong foot out today as well. But why should I care. He’ll have to take its humiliation all by himself. It is not as if I am bound to this plum man.

“Everyday the same excuse! I curse the day I employed you in service…….” Here we go again. I don’t understand why he even goes into the effort of repeating the same banter. It would spare me so much pain if he just checked Abdul’s reason with his mother. “Of course, he isn’t lying! If only you could care to investigate, you selfish man”. I don’t understand any of……

“What have you done Abdul! Where do you think you are going?”

“What is happening to you? I can’t understand a word you are thinking in the midst of your anxiety. I need you to calm down.”

“Home? You’re running home? How do you think that can help? You have just shoved the plum man and run off with a box of his jalebis. How do you think he’ll bare that!?”  He isn’t listening to me again.

But why should I worry for mother’s scolding. He’ll be the one culprit of the theft of jalebis. He’s been the one who has betrayed his conscience – mislead ME – and served his interests. The Law would not spare him. The plum man might already be looking for a policeman!

But what would I do? I can’t even present my case.

Here’s mother! I’m sure she’ll teach a lesson to Abdul.

She looks frailer than she was when we left her for work. A drink of water might just rejuvenate her spirits and make her sturdy enough to beat this Abdul!

“Go ahead! Offer her a glass of water.”

Mother doesn’t look so well to me. Her hands are shaking and her voice is failing.

“She should better lie down, Abdul.” She’s pointing at the jalebi box. I think she’s asking where it came from.

“A Lie! What a liar you have become Abdul! I wish I could tell mother how you bought that box by exchanging a fist with the plum man”

She’s asking for a piece of the sweet. I don’t blame mother. She looks too tired to scold him right now. Maybe a bite of the jalebi might make her feel better. I think the only place where Abdul’s and my thoughts intersect is – in the smile of our mother. Perhaps, the Plum Man does have something to be proud of. His sugary sweet has indeed lit Abdul’s face. For the first time in today he is finally thinking about his reminisces – the good old days when father used to bring these jalebis on the first day of the month. I haven’t seen mother smile at us like this ever since father left us here.

That was then. And here we are now. With mother lying on the same old cot and smiling at us with the same touch of sorrowful warmth. She raises her hand to bless us. Only I can see that this blessing could never be more misleadingly disguised.

“What do you cry now Abdul? When you know it was you who chose to embitter her final breaths with the stolen bite?”

He isn’t thinking anything anymore. Where must he be going? The street outside is as alive as it can be during the twilight. He stood there in the middle of the bazaar and looked around him. Faces with innumerable masks leading to oblivion. And there! Mother shined down at us in all her glory. The stars were shining and brighter still, because mother could always illuminate her company. Yet, has anyone found her there?  Why would the world care of another passing in the realm of unattainable sweetness? Murariji’s shop is open and full of customers who cannot notice him passing by.

In the squalor of the Past, the glimmers of the Present are serving to set new touchstones for the Future. While here he stands.

Down here were the peccable tangs of sweet life and up there the impeccable scintillate of eternity!

“You stand in their midst – as their temporary custodian.”

 

 

 

Photo credits: http://www.anapnoes.gr/mia-mitera-den-chriazete-syntrofo-gia-na-megalosi-charoumena-pedia/

Chapter Four

I don’t know what to do! M. has not been playing in the sand today and He doesn’t even look at me. What would have mother done? Would she have hugged him to sleep or stayed by his side? As I picture her here with us, I see that she would have cried for M. But what am I thinking? She can do much more than that! So, what if crying is the best thing that life has taught her? I am sure she would have done something more creative. What could it be?

Such was the turmoil in her mind as she looked at M. lying still over his long green leaves, barely moving and feebly breathing. She sat down right beside him but fearing that He might see her troubled, she slipped herself behind his back. No thing about the condition of the sleeping child could be seen from the place where she sat. She could not hold his hand or check his temperature or even look at his face as it flushed with red at the onset of the granulated sea winds. “What a waste!” She thought, “I do not know what I must do nor do I know how I must pass this time. If only M. could speak”. But the sick boy, by now red as a cherry and frail as a cotton bud, did not move a muscle. “How can He ever know what I am going through. It’s not him whose to sit still looking on at thin traces of life”.

“Un….Deux…..Trois…..” – Practicing the French alphabet on the sand was indeed very difficult. But with M. lying in the front it became an even more cumbersome task. She had to do something else. As the time passed the violent tussle between the still world around her and the noise of the thumping ocean took her away from her un-physical friends and stopped her eyes at the stiller body of the boy. How could he be lying motionless for so long? “I thought He would never tire away. But it seems that the sickness of the soul soon takes over from the weakness of the body”. Then, could he be dead now? Maybe, maybe not! And in case He DID happen to die, would I get to keep both the teddy bears? And what about the flowers mother got to them every week? Would she get to keep them too? It was an alluring thought. But, what could she possibly do with both of the bears? She detested the brown colour. And yet she would have to look after the brown teddy if HE DIED! No! He has to wake up and take responsibility of his teddy bear. She could not let him run away from the people who waited for him.

A giggle – or was it? Did he crack a laugh? Can he do that at such poor health?

Suddenly the boy moved. His red face was slightly brighter now, or maybe it was the sun which had glazed her eyesight. But, his round brown eyes shone with a tear of mist that made it way round his cheek as he giggled and turned his face towards her. She did not seem to understand him one bit. Can sickness make somebody crazy? She contemplated on that last thought a little longer. Uncle George did look crazy as he caught the “sickness of argument” from the “House of the Bounderbys”. And, Aunt Christi literally walked with heels over head after her night at the Mansion Party – “She sure did look mad” smilingly She whispered. And here was another Gramplean Heir knocking his wits off! She couldn’t help asking about his funny matter of delight.

“You nearly scared me with your stunt there M. And now you dare to laugh it off! Give me one good reason why it is so funny”

He almost choked in his breathe and huffingly said, “Didn’t you see that? Mr. Crab over there has stranded himself in the midst of the ocean!”

“So? What makes that funny?”

“I think it is a funny joke. The ocean did not need to swipe poor Mr. Crab off his feet. Look at him! For all he knows the world around him is merely a painted canvas. Would his being at sea make any difference to him when he never knew the shore. For all I know Mr. Crab might be singing “Heave-Ho! Off we go…..!!! aloud to the fishes. You can’t possibly threaten someone to their life if they’re already dead M.”

“This sounds funny coming from a person who was dead himself a while ago. How I delighted to think I might get all the flowers mother would bring”, she said with a pretentious sigh.

“I can’t be dead M. I am with you even if you are not with me.”

He turned over and She watched him resume his “death sleep”. While the granulated winds now rushed past her ears and brought the red of her younger’s face to her unsuspecting cheeks. Was it the silence of the warring elements she could not tell, but in that very quiet she found death and life together – for once!