My Christmas - The call await

My Christmas passed ever so quietly as it had begun. On 24th December, when my watch beeped 12:00, midnight, I was busy typing and editing a colleague’s resume to be presented to the Client. Almost alone in the office, I looked out of my cabin and noticed a few heads aligned with their monitor screens. I mushed down the narrow alley lined with cubicles on both sides and pushed my way out into the surprisingly cold night. Dragging on the cigarette butt, I looked on the road below and noticed a greater ply of vehicles. Everyone seemed to be traveling and rushing home. Suddenly I longed the warmth and nostalgia of wine and cakes, of toddy laced "appam" and beef curry and of relatives rushing in and rushing out. I thought about the last time I had gone home for Christmas. My Dad had a tear in his eye as he welcomed me. My Mom as usual stood in a nightie with a sweet smile and a thousand candles shining on her face. My Sister as usual remarked, "we thought you will not come" and as usual my younger Brother stood there in the corner excited to see me and I imagined him already making plans for a movie out together and a chess game in the night.

I angrily threw away the cigarette butt as it burned my hand. I hadn't noticed it burn away as I stood reminiscing. I sighed into the night and moved on, back to my cabin. I had to finish the work of formatting the resume. At 2:00 A.M, I was ready to call it a day. I switched off my workstation, gave the Gold Fish some fish food granules and quietly hushed them a "Merry Christmas" as I sheepishly switched off the light and walked out into the cold night.

Driving my bike back to my flat, I couldn't help notice the fancy paper Christmas Stars shining in basically every house on the way. Most of the houses also had fancy blue and red lighting. They looked so warm, so full of Christmas tidings... Even I had put in a star and decked up my door with Christmas decoration paraphernalia. My star was red but was with a lot of "designer holes" This probably was made to permit a lot of light to emit out of the star but looking from far, it was more "whitish" than red, so I bought some transparent red decoration paper and pasted it neatly all over the star. I remember looking at it satisfied when the paper star had become the enigmatic look alike celestial body I wanted it to become during the night. I stopped on my way to the 24/7 bakery and ordered for a coffee. I swear the coffee too tasted like "Christmas". I eyed the brown plum cake on display and ordered one too. There I sat on the cold steel chair and wished myself, "Happy Christmas"

I woke up in the afternoon on the 25th of December, pulled myself out of bed and as usual angled to the door where "The Hindu" lay orphaned. Still eyeing the headlines, I moved to where my cell phone lay muted and as usual my heart sank when I saw no, "missed calls". No one had called to wish me Christmas!! I dialed up "Home", Mom picked up; She reminded me that it was Christmas. I said a sorry. She suddenly said that there are some guests and requested me to call later. I then called my younger Sister settled in Bangalore, wished her and her hubby Christmas and hung up soon as she was busy in the Kitchen making lunch. There, my job was over, my Christmas "morning" over.

A bath later, I decked up with whatever good dress I had, drove and stopped outside the now closed church and tried praying. All I did was, think about the good old Christmas days. A few minutes later I was driving to the best restaurant near my house. The waiter, eyed me suspiciously as I ordered rice, a plate of chicken curry, a plate of mutton curry, a plate of beef curry, a plate of prawns curry and a fish fry. He glanced reassuringly at the purse and the bike key on the table and asked, "single plate rice?"

After the "grand" Christmas lunch, which was half wasted, I went for a movie. A regular Malayalam flick. I noticed that the theatre was full packed and that meant impatient child bickering, irritated baby cries and the regular chips/wafer packet messing noises. But that's the sacrifice one has to do if you need to watch a new movie before its released on VCD. Reaching home and after a long refreshing bath, I relaxed down on the recliner in the balcony and watched the sun go down. I held the phone dearly near me and waited for a call on Christmas day

My star shone ever so brightly in the dark night. A slight breeze pushed it back and forth and the red light danced into my eyes. I kept staring at it as the mystic luminance filled my soul. Suddenly a continuous, deafening sound of crackers filled my ears. I traced the sound to the sky which had suddenly become red, green and violet. I kept my gaze and wanted to miss nothing. Soon it was all over. I looked at my own red star and picked up the phone to call everyone on my almost full phone book since they simple didn’t remember me on Christmas day. The time read: 12:01 A.M 26th Dec 2008. I jolted up from my relaxed reclining on the chair and looked again. The time was right. I had slept off and finished my precious Christmas night by gazing at my red star and waiting for a call on Christmas Day...

Of Dark Clouds & Silver Linings

I wonder as time refuses to pass through my life with the quickness which I expect it to: about time, about life, about boredom and about depression. I wonder why I normally treat these feelings by finding new experiences and new nuances by seeking something new everyday, every time. I'm always being encouraged by my mind to do, to get something new. I'm dead bored. I'm feeling the time so definite, as every second throbs on the veins of my temple, more the so since my T.V sparked out almost a month ago. Ever since I've moved my furniture twice to change my surroundings, cleaned my house practically everyday to do something worthwhile and have been depending on whatever stupid VCD movie I can hold my hands on to view on the 15 inch computer screen.

What kind of process is this and where is it leading me? What is it doing to me? Is it slowly making me less and less tender and sensitive, less and less self content, and less and less able to feel the gusto and zest of being alive? The incorrigible truth now faces me that more and more of my current life is going to become boring if I continue to follow this trend in passing my time. I've noticed that the most cherishable thing is the absolute one thing that I want now, at this very moment. But of course, I've acknowledged that it is never the same for very long, it changes and keeps changing. No matter what I want, once I get it then I don't want it anymore. It bores me. I want something else. And if I don't get it, the desire for it lasts and lingers in my mind but soon the inevitable happens: I will want something else. Craving like this for something is as I've noticed, ever faithful to its object. The thirst for something else, never for what I've already in my life. This may be why I'm getting bored always with anything and everything. It doesn't matter how occupying, interesting, engrossing or fascinating it is, I'm always getting bored with it.

I feel that the sensory stimulation of this kind is just like a drug. The more you have of the stimulation, the more you need. Smoking ten cigarettes one day, you may soon need twenty. One may drink perhaps two cups of coffee; soon one may need four to get exhilaration. I can speak from experience - I like white rum. The more I drink, the more I need to get a kick the next time. It is the same with everything. As long as we need stimulation, be it the movies or anything else, we will always feel boredom and we will always need something else everyday and every time. I must break away from this obsessional craving for something new. It's just a habit. It's just a habit. It's just a habit. Period! A conditioned reaction of the mind.

Depression is more perplexed than conditioned boredom. Depression, I feel is not associated with wanting something different every time though boredom may take you to depression. Depression is a heavy dark emotional sensation, usually related with sadness and a total sense of despair or being a total failure in life. It's like a dark, heavy cloud over you where everything seems gloomy and hopeless and leaves you with no energy or mental euphoria. When I’m bored, energy charges up to do something and works around to be relieved of the boredom. But when I’m totally depressed I simply fail to raise the energy, I loose hope and never enjoy anything; it's all so much overwhelming that I simply feel like sinking. For me, emotional troubles, such as a failure, or a relationship that went moody, or simply a strong criticism from people you fathomed that you respect, be it a close friend or someone you look up to, can easily bring me into a state of depression. I usually don't react with anger but tears usually fill up my eyes and threaten to brim over and I begin to think that perhaps they are right and a feeling of low feeling, a sense of hopelessness takes over and the coming days are lost to the dark clouds which engulfs me till I find a reason enough to push them away...

Loving Neverland

Neverland is a beautiful, imaginary island and a cherishing world featured in Peter Pan, the boy who simply didn't want to grow up. Neverland is a place for immortality. People like me just want to close their eyes and let imagination take you to the place where dreams come true.

People are so the more independent now and just sometimes need only a shoulder to cry on and sympathize. While people still continue to share with each other about their lives, they become hostile whenever they conveyed a problem and someone tried to "help". They interpret the "help" as the lack of trust in their ability to "conquer" the problem. Their attitude completely turns around once one begins to just "listen" and cheer them on.

Today's men have been pushed out of child-rearing, and the children are expected to connect through their feminine crowd. Today's women raise up a wimpy generation of boys and girls who are blissfully unaware of the damage caused to them by getting validation only from women. They are obtrusively punished for, or entirely prevented from, attempts to reclaim or develop a masculine heart. The true masculine soul is not abusive, but strong and protective. Inarguably, men have such broad shoulders for a reason. Don't you think Women are drawn and pulled towards men who have this character of strength and passion under self-control? If women reject this, they can keep taking up roles that are exhausting, depressing, unfulfilling, and even detrimental in the long run, while they go on considering men as incapable enough to raise and love kids. Of course the makers of those helpful anxiety drugs are, in fact, relying on them to do so.

Young children and men have fewer opportunities to acquire and evolve courage and self-reliance without the hovering dominance from their Fathers. Moms steal their sons the basic ability and nature to fight their own battles. A kind of "manly" battle-practice, they basically need for the future to make their wives and families secure with confidence in their leadership.
If men in the truest sense are not initiated by their Dad's, they sometimes (Read: always) mistakenly make the woman their adventure and seek validation of their growing masculinity from her. Ironically, the average woman and Mom's don’t want to be the adventure, she of course wants him to take her and their woman partners on those adventures. I must contend in the thought that it makes it quite difficult for a couple to surge forward when their ownership of one another is not founded. But women have to first give the men a chance to prove themselves. There is always instances, be it the alcoholism, his flirting adventures, his inability to make money (women love to compare) or simply other "feminist" doubts or "stuff" to deal with that detracts and takes away the thought from a unified step forward. If the women must continue to pursue life and adventure together with the quest of the ultimate "compatibility" and of "mutual possession", there will be no time (or energy) to seek the real adventure together.

Women should hope to relish the wonderful things that "could" happen when they "get out of the way" and trust men with the passion and strength of their masculine hearts. Of course women are free to enjoy their own best feminine hearts and the forbidden fruits of which have gone desired too long but at what cost?

Farewell Outcry

Who doesn't like the realistic dream of a romantic two-day love rendezvous? But perhaps the real reason we dearth the thought of waking up from the dream is something much more subconscious - We probably don’t want the feeling of being dumped and consider ourselves complete failures in life!

I would like to begin with the declaration that true love never ends! The feeling that ends as sordidly as it began doesn’t have the right to be called “love”. People fall in-and-out of love every time and the concept of falling in love is merely a process of love being thought, but not quite developed yet. In fact, “falling in love” causes individuals to have emotional and dramatic outbursts than love itself.



Yes, we loose something along the way including time but this “something” is not love. Yes, there is of course a depressing feeling of emptiness, as if one has cut you in half. One becomes someone "without" that other person who has become important to you and the pitiful conditional thought that it’s your soul mate who is lost, and everything is over is over whelming. As in the case of the blissful rain; as soon as the first rain is over, we shriek out: “It is over! It is over!” But in reality, nothing is over. There is more and more to come. True love is always in progress, there is more and more of love to come and experience. Everything starts from passionate infatuation, romantically increases, mysteriously becomes deeper and rebelliously stronger with the eyes of the society around.



I want to justify that true love is the power to let the person go, i.e. not to interfere and intervene with the partner's life if he or she doesn't so desire. Real love is simply the ability to let go. What does it imply “to let go?” It implies to let go lovingly, with due respect, psychologically, emotionally – at all levels. You have to determine what's important for the loved one, not you, to be happy now and in the long run as the partner understands it, just let it be. The partner will be grateful to you till the last days his/her memories live.



If a partner has left us, and we sit back and wonder, “Will he be back?”, “How do I get him back?”, “What if I try to speak to him again?”, "Should I keep pressurizing him to stay?", that means that we love our own feelings for that person, not the person himself. This is simply put a disturbing disease not only of our very soul, but of our spirit too.



I would like to justify to those who are in the "convincing" love scenario and are departed or rejected that while your partner can farewell you, your kismet and destiny cannot. If a person has willed to bid farewell to your life, that means he’s not your destiny and is never meant to be. Your destiny will never simply leave you and won’t leave you.I’ve had adequate romantic blow apart’s to gather that they are never really easy, even if at some point you can get past things the depressing roll of events, and become “friends.” I know that there is no proven way to breakup, but I conjecture that there can be a dearer way - definitely better than being hurtful, tearful, deceptive and being downright cruel by making the partner feel so disgustedly wary of loving again.



I’ve now finally arrested my farewell blues with the person whom I was in love with sometime ago. I realized that the situation has faded and lost its urgency and charm. I reckon that only memories are left over in the shallow parts of my mind. They are sad, and some sweet but mine and mine only. I realize that nothing belonging to my former beloved can unsaddle me since I wished her no harm and let her go. I thus discovered that true love doesn't die! Love is a beautiful feeling which you can cherish and must keep (sometimes hidden), care and nurture, even after farewell. The only egress is how to find a use or a cast for this love is something different….

Sleepless Death

Something which was celebrated last week on the 20th of November has rocked everyone’s senses in these financial depressing times and the new age belief of the riches of Dubai grew new roots. The $1.5 billion Atlantis - The Palm was opened up by, hotelier and gambling tycoon, Sol Kerzner who made his money solely from evading taxes in South Africa. As a developer of gambling resorts, he has been investigated for corruption a number of times, none of which has resulted in a conviction. This was made in the man-made island, Palm Jumeirah which is shaped like a palm tree. This 1.5 billion dollar hotel was inaugurated with the most expensive private party in the world at a cost of around $20 million, and one-off private beach concert by Kylie Minogue. Miss Minogue just with 10 songs and a mere 45 minutes performance, pocketed a cool $4 million (Rs. 20 Crores), inarguably the highest paid per minute performance by a singer ever. The guests, 2000 in number included who’s who of anyone and who is anybody, from supermodels to actors, to royalty. All were given off a cool 4 day stay and a return flight from where ever they wished to join up. A spectacular firework display was the word around which included a release of radio-controlled rockets from all the rooms in the hotel and 226 floating structures covering almost 40 locations in approx 27 miles of water along the palm like design of the island.

Now let’s look at the figures. The cost of the hotel is almost one billion dollars - approx Rs 5000 Crores which is only half the cost of the total provision for the National Infrastructure Highways Development Program (NHDP) in India for the financial year 2008, which also includes the road-cum-rail bridge over the Brahmaputra at Bogibeel, Assam.

It would come as a surprise to many but there are only 497 billionaires in this world (approximately 0.000008% of the world’s population) and almost two in three people lack access to clean water and who survive on less than $2 (Rs. 99) a day, with one in three living on less than $1 (Rs. 49) a day. We have to consider that a dollar will buy the same amount in all countries and understand that if an average person in a poor country who lives on a dollar a day relocated to the U.S. with absolutely no changes in their income, they would still be living on a dollar a day. Now, another interesting factor - Almost 80% of humanity lives on less than $10 (Rs. 499) a day. The suites in Atlantis costs $25,000 - $30,000 (Rs. 15 Lakhs) Dollars a night. Ironically, according to UNICEF, 26,500 - 30,000 children die each day due to poverty. So if one person can survive on $1, did Shahrukh Khan who hosted a party with the likes of Hollywood's biggest names - Robert De Niro, Wesley Snipes, Kylie Minogue and Charlize Theron at the Atlantis Bridge Suite which costs $30,000 a night kill 30,000 children who keep his crumpled picture under their heads while they sleep?

But who cares? Many eject out due to a minute of lust and they die ever so quietly far from the prolonged look and the conscience of the world. Just being spiritless and weak in their miserable life makes these dying multitudes even more unseeble in death.

Maturity Blues

I really don't know whether there is an abstract theory that considers if age should be considered a factor for maturity or if there is a theory that assumes that the amount of responsibility which a person can handle can be called maturity. I safely doubt that a few years difference can define a person's attitude or approach to maturity. Seriously for me, it’s simply my myriad and infinite character traits that dictate and define my mode. I could be mindful and an "adult" one spurious moment, and pissed off, jejune and sloppy the next. I guess and very true in the olden times a man (not woman) is outlined as mature if we don't consider his infantile or adolescent idiosyncrasies till date by his material possessions or his level of education and the successes he has had in his life. Now, one thing bemuses me at times. Do women actually know that they mature at a different rate than men? I believe most women need and would desire a man as close to their age as possible, as close the men can be like their Fathers, of course not in subjective to their age but in contrast to their characters. They firmly hope that this will mean they will have more in common what they actually loved about their Fathers. They also believe that this will increase the chance they will share whatever phase of life in which they find themselves to be. But frankly speaking, if they hope to find a man the same age and with the same maturity level, then I feel sorry for them. Really sorry! I wish to intimate them to choose between the chances for common tastes, say for example - for music, movies, fashion or for common goals and a certain maturity level.

An individuals varied profile at different moments and instances in his lifetime can be such an interesting sketch of who a person really is. I usually find so many of them to be just captivating and yet sometimes down hysterical. Yeah, I know that this will sound like an old guy trying to charm younger ladies but I'm going to put it out there anyway and speak my mind. Guys mature much slower than women. The women need to accept that and stop cribbing about it. It has been true for time immemorial and nothing much can be done about it. I believe that there are four factors that be considered in maturity. Of course the first and least maturity level, children, who basically define right and wrong in terms of what an elder tells them. The next important factor is very typical of people in their teen and of course here you will find a bunch of people who tend to hold foundational beliefs with right and wrong on loyalties, commitments and dedication to their family and friends. Thirdly, my favorite is the third level of maturity wherein an individual comes to rely on societal, universal and defined ethical principles of life, such as the principles of justice, equality and empathy that impartially considers interests of all persons. Finally, the twisted- mind maturity which considers the people altered by religion, dictators and the societal cult thinking.

It’s unfair to omit the considerations of the women’s point of view. Now, they are more concerned than men with conserving good relationships with their family and friends, and with downplaying hurt (whom they care about, of course - women are women), which is the 2nd level as discussed above. But men, usually look at the moral part - impartial empathy (to all), equality and such as characterized by the third maturity factor. So by assumption women appear to reach the third and the most mature level much less often than men and are less morally developed than men.

All said and done, end of the day, maturity as I believe is, the argument that the other person must be comfortable like your own skin and be able to meet the primary family and social/community commitments expected of you. The serenity to accept what is demanded of you and the ability to change for you but the wisdom to know the difference. Confused? Even I am...

Pseudo Love - A face in the fall

I had a fresh bout of depression this week. One of my previous girl friends got married this week. I know that I need to be happy about it but the fact that she didn't invite me for the event dug into my soul. God knows that I loved her and would have married her if her family was okay with it. I really don't understand why women are like this, they love you tons and hugs a minute and the next minute they escape even your name. Is it something to do with the society, the embarrassment or is it something to do with an attempt to forgetting the feelings of love, and forgetting those heart throbs that she experienced when in love. I used to call her the "blue eyed girl. Nah, she didn't have any blue eyes; she was the regular black eyed village belle trying to prove it out in the big city. A girl with a lot of hopes about finding an understanding man, a man who could give her a lot of freedom, a man different from the usual village MCP's and a man who could bear her children. She was born into a family which had very strict values instilled and drilled into their children, a family which didn't buy a T.V for the fear of corrupting the growing minds. I don't know what she saw in me but had evinced with expressive hands a huge rock, a boulder. She felt that I was one silent rock on which she could sit and watch the sun set.

Every time it's like this. I fall in and out of love. Every time, I feel optimistic that this time, I and a girl will connect and it will be the start of something wonderful. Initially, it seems to be going well. The conversation flows with the freshness of young rivers, you laugh together and you feel all excited and interesting but as days go by, there's no call, no email, no SMS. Finally, you take up the phone and call her; there is a space and a deafening noise of the ceiling fan or the noise of the T.V or a sudden intrusion of a friends call. This has become such a predictable event that I've grown to become a little less humiliated and a little less hopeless.

Looking around I discover that the most depressed and disgruntled people that I see are either married, or formerly married or have a live-in relationship. Though I don't want to say that the reason people get married is because they are weak and seek out stronger people to cling onto and feed off of their energy but this is the true nature of humans and parasites. Understanding marriage is becoming very difficult as time passes by. Sometimes, I find it to be completely unneeded and the source of more troubles than solutions. And I realize time and again that nothing makes me happier at the end of the day than being alone with myself and my own thoughts, living my own life and being responsible only for myself. Why do I need anyone else with me to say something or do something just to upset me and disturb my thoughts? Why don't all those married people out there that think they are happy, just realize that all one is doing is raising someone else who will grow up and have his own life and end up ruining and controlling someone else?

A cat that’s caged in the four walls of a house and never let out will generally live longer because it can only look out on a world it can't enjoy. There are no risks, only comforts - of security, of routine food but as we see it, there is no life. A cat which was born in the street and lives out in the open will generally live a shorter life. But, maybe in so living, it experiences much more of what life has to offer, good, bad and adventurous. So, who precisely should I pity more?

Of Misty Hills and Leeches

The last weekend had been quite different from my so many previous ones. I journeyed. I know that's nothing special but people who know me near would stare back hard if they hear that right. I'm so used to the coziness of my four walls that travel means back pains and unknown beds. The destination was the impressive hill town in Tamilnadu called Valaparai. The little town nested among cloud kissed mountains and thick lush forests is also famous for its blood sucking leeches hiding among rich green flora and fauna.

After the night work on Friday, Saturday morning at One’ clock, I found myself rushing home to prepare some tit bits to eat on the way. I had bought some freshly cut chicken pieces in the evening which was then fried and a lot of carrots, onion, tomatoes and cucumber to cut for a salad. In 3 hours all was packed, the chicken into 2 casseroles and all the salad into a big container.

As usual everyone was late and this time even the booked Tempo Traveler was late. We had planned to start at 4:30. Suddenly as I waited impatiently with my fully packed bag and the eatables I felt sleepy and cherished my ever inviting bed. I just wanted to snug in and sleep as usual late into the day. I cursed the friend who invited me, the mosquito circling me and myself for agreeing to join them on this long unpredictable journey through steep winding roads and dangerous animals.

Soon, we were all locomoting towards our first destination - Athirapally, around 80 kms from Kochi, perched high above in the Sholayar forest ranges on the fringes of Kerala's famed rain forests. We picked up the pr-ordered packed breakfast from Chalakkudy and hunted for a calm stony waterfall bed. The breakfast concluded with a photo session with smiles and all the fancy cooling glasses out. Suddenly everyone wanted to be photogenic. Our next stop was in an open space near some short scintillating waterfalls in the thick green forest towards Sholayar. Out came the glasses, the Vodkas and the Brandy's. Out too came out the towels and the colourful lungies. Perched on the depressions created by the refreshingly cool water now flowing over us and the breathtaking forest around us we started the drinking binge. Soon the Antakshiri and the laughter followed. I guess the leeches saw us happy and they stuck. Quietly they stuck and soon they were everywhere and on everyone. Mysteriously the leeches ingest blood with the help of anti-blood clotting enzymes in the saliva and even if they are removed, the blood keeps oozing out. Anyway, a lot of salt sprinkling later everyone settled down.

Afternoon saw us in Valaparai, our hotel- Hotel Green Hills. Once we reached the hotel, with stinking and dirty bathrooms and everything from the walls, floor, sofa cushions, bed spreads, and pillow covers being so unclean and a few cockroaches in the corner of our room, all we wanted was to check out of the hotel right away. But our tiredness saw us running for the shower and an hour of sleeps delight. A hotel like this in a place where nature’s pristine beauty is all around – what a contrast!

The night disappointed us by pouring down buckets of water. Valaparai is called the Cherapunji of the south. The rain soon stopped. We had hoped a campfire but the rain and the forest officials posed a challenge. The wild animals were more important than the fun we could have had so we humbled and huddled on the terrace of our hotel for a night of Antakshri and clanking glasses.

Next day, we all woke up to the sound of trumpets and drums. A temple stood just a stone throw away from the hotel and Sunday was typically a marriage day. After 5 marriages it was time to rush into the cold bathrooms for an equally cold water. A refreshing breakfast followed and we were on our way to check out Valaparai.

A few regular tourist stops later we were back into another of those inviting and enchanting water ways. The whole country side is punctuated with large and small waterfalls that gurgle and splash down the mountain side. The water was colder in Valaparai. We lay and relaxed back in the splashing and gushing water till afternoon till the call of the hunger evoked us. We got and dried in the sparkling sun. This was heaven. But soon something else happened. Lying 2 hours in the rushing water had its effects. The shivering feet could no longer hold me upright. Despite keeping each step carefully, I slipped and fell not once, but twice! I fell the first time and got up immediately. And again fell right away! That got me a little scared but many hands grabbed me and guided me to the warmth of the vehicle. Valaparai awarded me my first bruise this year, a trophy on my forehead but I definitely didn't regret it. Curious faces peeped and wanted-to-be-doctors applied dettol and band-aid. Soon all the excitement died down and the prayers started going to the cab drivers who painstakingly made their way back to Kochi through one of the most dangerous high ranges in South India. Matters were made worse as the heavens opened again and it bucketed down. Nevertheless, we reached Kochi back safe at 12:30 amid rain and all that welcoming traffic and civilization which we tried to escape a day before.

The charm of the nature cannot be described by words, the empowering mist kissed cloudy mountains, the enigmatic forests, those gorges overhung with trees, the enthralling waterfalls and those mysterious blood sucking leeches make Valaparai not just calm and sweet, but something wild and natural.

Blinded Ego

The average mortal does not know what to do with this life, yet he wants another one which will last forever. The realistic face of truth is everywhere but it's possible to hide from the truth by masking it. But hiding behind the mask of ego and the false excitement or the feeling of greatness which it creates, we delude ourselves into believing that we are what we project ourselves and we love the joy and the feeling of having ‘fun’ even though we are suffering from insecurity and uncertainty. There is utterly no constancy in the happiness of ego.

What seems to be the reason that people get so angry? I'm not a doctor, nor am I accredited to diagnose anyone, but many people who are angry, suffer from some dose of low-self esteem. Of course it doesn't even appear that way on the surface. It's evident that they are unhappy with themselves or with one aspect of their lives but they have created a front end image for themselves and believe that they are not being credited and respected.

Sometimes our egoistic thoughts can be a source of great motivation i.e. you judge yourself as a genius, and you are convinced and confident about doing anything in the world. But does that also make us stubborn if faced with a difficult path? At the same time a high internally egoistic mind can often lead us to dismiss the sentiments of other people as we are very self-absorbed and respect others view points. It's said that - "The person who is self-centered is the most loving of all." Thinking about it more and more I now want to believe that it could be very much true. Don't you think that the human being loves the fact that others also love themselves and instead of calling them selfish, he admires and respects their self-love? Moreover, just like he doesn't mind the flaws in himself, he also ignores the flaws of others!

External ego can be a mixture of the position you have achieved in life or the podium you stand in, i.e., age, your accumulated knowledge, experiences and character. Maybe all this contributes to an egoistic belief that we certainly need to be treated in a particular way. They feel that people need to respect them. Examples can be seen most at the work place, relationships involving successful spouses etc. Over time this egoistic mask becomes your reality.

Having said this, the thought is actually a double edged sword. People thinking too low of themselves can suffer from want of self-pity and a total loss of confidence. We should definitely mix and develop ego with compassion and empathy. It feels good to stand on a stage and feel for the person who wants to be you and not be perturbed and distracted when even a small thing goes out of order, or is not according to our anticipations. I guess we should just believe in time!

Naive Cynicism

My birthday party rocked. It gave me wings. A time well spent in the company of friends. For the first time, I was able to recognize the faces of friends from a length. I learned that my world was not the only world. That my time was not the only time. Their lives were remarkably so different from mine and yet it was heartening to see the glint in the eye of a smiling friend when he was happy and enjoying.

Each party, significantly, occurs in three temporal phases, and this is one of its most prominent features. Anticipation, then of the actual event itself, and finally of recall which then becomes a source, spur, and stimulus for the next party in the future. Permeating in us over time, emotional as well as the perceptual and the rational and that in which we actively participate rather than passively undergo. They simply dwell in us and are, without reflection, vacated by us for whatever comes along next. They involve no processing over time, no learning of values and attitudes. It's blindly incorporated within ourselves with no firm emotional, physical, or intellectual investment, and no conscious reflection. They can, indeed, barely be called experiences. They use up the clocked time but add a lot of richness in our lives.

This year, a lot of people forgot my birthday including some of my dearest friends. There were ones who used to be the first to call me every year. Not this year. Not even a SMS. This is the first time in my life that I actually messaged people to inform them and remind them that it’s my birthday and they should wish me. Hahahha. I know it sounds pathetic and weird but I feel that it brightened up my day a little after doing it.

I opened up the balcony door in the morning a day after my birthday to see if the world looked any different. My purposeful observance excited me by being able to find beauty in the most intricate detail and the abundance of open space. A sight in which the tiniest detail became a visual feast and the awe-inspiring beauty of open spaces was shown to me with crystal clarity for the first time in my life.

Suddenly I realized that my apathy has absolutely nothing to do with the lack of ability to band together, and my cynicism has nothing to do with a lack of ideals. I just probably feel defeated. The energy is there and the support has been there, but time and again it’s been shut down, nothing has changed. The self, me, as I’ve come to comprehend, is a very tight web of reactions that I hold onto because it’s all I feel I've. I could easily get rid of it if I so preferred to, but then what more would I've?

Birthday Blues

Hmmm, today I determined to scribble down or rather type something. Ironically could never really get the time or rather no topic clicked well to key in. Still, I had to break the sabbatical too. I don't know if I should be felicitously happy or if I should be dejectedly depressed since my birthday is fast approaching and I'm getting older. I remember those sweet childhood days when birthdays meant new clothes, ice-cream and lots of toys. I loved becoming the "birthday day" boy and since my birthday falls every year on Gandhi Jayanti (Oct 2) - a holiday, and so that meant no school and all play. My Mom (God bless her parted soul) very dedicatedly crawled onto my bed in the morning, kissed and hug me as she sang, "Happy Birthday." She then oiled me up, had a tussle with me if I should bathe myself or she should soap me up and then dressed me and sent me off to invite all my friends for the evening cake cutting and the party. Oh, I miss her and those days and tears well up as the clock work of memories cloud my thoughts every year this time of the year!

Inevitably the stupid time passed us all by. Things changed in a snap. Some slipped into the dark holes around me. Time never hesitated; moment by moment, life changed.

And now my life here, at the fullest is so formed up and hectic that, hesitating as I move forward at such a noticeable milepost in the path as this great birthday which I fathom it to be, I supposedly want to glance back on the things that never were, as naturally and full as critically as on the things that have been and are long gone, or have been and still are? Possible? If it is a good reason to be so, and so it dares and seems to be, must I naively come to the sordid ratiocination that this stupid life is little better than a dream, and little worth the loves and strains that we crowd into?

Anyway I struggle my way nearer to by birth date in search of new beginnings and yet often wary some. A very isolated part of me wishes that I should jump with joy on cue as I age and someone will wake me with hugs and kisses. But, no, I fear that I'm not actor enough for that. And again as I announce my birth date to the world, I'll smile. What I can do I'll do. And, who knows? Perhaps what I can do will surely be enough.

Dreams & Angels

And yet again, I started dreaming of Angels this week. Through the night I aroused and sensed that I picked up subdued whispers. I peeked through the heavy curtains of my room, past the shadows to a quiver of lights. The neighborhood smelled like a thousand marshes reeking in the sun and the night suddenly was filled with a thousand howling dogs. On an impulse, I quietly covered up my nakedness and without switching on the light tiptoed out of the front door, scrambled up the stairs, crouched beside the terrace parapet and peered into the darkness, my heart thumping violently.


A sight so awing confronted my eyes and for a moment my body benumbed. There they stood in a circle, seven Angels in all, all their scales glinting in a blackish shine with their squirming action. They held burning torches that seemed burning obscure silhouettes. Suddenly the moon faded as if hurt in pain, and the dark clouds dissolved to tears as the gates of paradise violently closed. All wet by the pouring rain I looked on as the night continued to loose itself in endless howling of a thousand dogs.


Soon they laid down their fire torches, now extinguished and threw them down. I watched in horror as the moon suddenly came out and I noticed the snakes around their white flowing robes. I suddenly realized that the fire they held earlier were actually serpents. Abruptly the inevitable happened: I coughed.

A silence engulfed the night and suddenly I heard the flutter of a thousand ravens and found myself lifted into the naked night. I struggled in pain as the claws cut into my bareness and I soon found myself falling with a thud among the snakes. I attempted to yell and place myself upright but noticed that the snakes now coiled around my arms and ankles and disgustedly across my mouth.

Then, as the circle closed behind me, with me sprawled fully naked in the center, I heard chanting. They stood there singing and chanting. There was the vibrating sound inside the circle like a thousand angels, singing, chanting the music of a thousand hyenas. A state of being carried away by overwhelming emotion, rapture?

After some time, the full serpent circle began to disperse. I blindly looked around me. The world looked different. The surroundings looked different. They were different. It just didn't feel different, it was different. I suddenly heard drums. How could and from where could I hear the drums? Surely someone was drumming. Surely someone was dancing around me. Surely someone was around me. Suddenly everyone was different. What had passed? As I stood watching, a shadow suddenly came over. The shadow put his hand on my shoulder and asked me, what happened. For an instant I remembered what it was like to be with the warm earth, the cool sky and each other; living. It is the happiness of that reminiscence that I feel. The shadow shook his head in complete agreement, comforted and patted my shoulder as it walked away.

The 7th Heaven

It was one of those instances where the cosmos opens up, where the infinite and the finite meet for a charming and magical moment in a lurking, passionate, cosmic kiss. An instant that descends down to you from the glassy clear star studded sky like a flimsy, parlous bubble stooping down on a moonbeam. Its beauty you accommodate in your hand in awe and with the fondest of touches knowing that if you even dare to look away, the moment might be lost.
The moonlit waves pounding relentlessly against the massive rock that rose like a giant out of the surf. The sweet smell of the enigmatic sea hung in the air. The air was chilled and calm, pregnant with a halo of illusional beauty. It was a moment that you relish, a moment that you respect, a moment you arrest in awe, in heavenly worship. You talk in subdued voices about deep feelings of the soul. In the instant where the abode of God and the angels and the earth connect, you hush yourself adequately to hear, to view timeless existence with your own eyes.
It's a cherished instant that the soul interconnects to the bottom self, deep down - the deep that calls out with a mournful sound as it dashes upon the rock. The apparently infinite, realizing its finiteness as it stretches itself upon the moon drenched rock. The deep that echoes from the infinite expanse of the moonlit sky, elongated from horizon to horizon, extending back through the ageless expanse of the universe, yet approaching to meet you in that instant, in that moment, at that time.

It was the cry that vibrated and echoed from the giant rock standing firm for eons against the hammering surf, evidencing to an obstinate strength beyond imagery. It was the cry that thundered to me, rich with pain, a spirit of their own. It was the cry that beckoned me in the expanse of the silvery moon, spattering all around, softly gracing the view with an enigmatic, yet mesmerizing glow.

It was the cry that rose from the interiors of my own soulfulness in that instant, that pined, that screamed to unify it's sound with the deepness of eternity, the depths of that very moment, the sounds that performed around me, echoing against the watery grave an eery, sympathetic symphony that grew louder every minute.

I trudged back through the sand with a heavy heart that I've left the witching instant at the base of the lonely rock, under the moony pounding waves, under the shelter of the stars. I knew that nothing lasts for ever, yet in one last salvo of magic, I see a celestial star freaking through the moonlit heaven cueing me that I should not always cherish myself in magical instances, but the deepness of eternity are never far away.

It's so strange to notice how the continuous nonspatial of the soul works, how the arousing realism can so well melt into dreamy realities while the unconscious soul creeps it's way into life and beliefs.

Cognitive Masks

The shadow slipped away from me, as the sun continued to dive into its pit. It seemingly mocked me to follow but I was in no mood to play. I stared down at it till it vaporized with the burying sun. I don't know why I always get caught up with the illusions of my relationships and I forget that everything that I see in others is simply my own shadow. I don't know why I see myself in them as if in a mirror, reflecting my past and my issues back to me. I find it so hard to accept this verity because when I relate to other people, my reflection is often masked through a smoke screen full of my emotions. My outer projects smoothness, but I know that the calm exterior is my mask, ever-changing and ever-concealing. I wear hundreds of masks, masks that I'm unwilling to take off and none of them are at all me.

I start with the thought that the people around me have remained the same and then one day I find that they are not the same. Even among people subjected to only a slight change I felt that the change was not purely material. I see them as through a bleached misty glass which feigns their facial aspect with a sort of fogginess and they expose what they allow me to observe as if it were life-size, though in reality it was far away, not in the sense of space, but, basically like being on another shore wherefrom they had as much difficulty in recognizing me as I them. Some assay to smooth out, to extend the whiteness of the soul, disowning the piquancy of menaced dimples, suppressing the resistance of a smile condemned and unarmed, while others, realizing that their beauty had finally bygone, take refuge in expression, as one compensates the loss of the attractiveness by the art of choice of words, and hang on to a haughty grimace, to a smirk, to a pensive gaze, or to a smile to which muscular unskillfullness gave the appearance of a mask.

Emotions flourish no longer than roses live, and unlike the roses it flowers in the dead of winter, emits a sort of faint foul smell, and dies before the summer sets in. It may be true. In this view there is room for every love except for the reversed creed of love, the mask and cloak of waterless despair; for every joyfulness; every sorrow; for every dream, for every hope. The ultimate aspire is to remain true to the emotions called out of the bottom of our souls surrounded by our friends, our relationships, our bygone loves, whose countless numbers and awful distances may move us to laughter or tears. The success in hand, however, is to keep these reminiscences from turning into confessions

Time bought my way: daily obligations, new impressions, old memories. I've noticed that it was not the outcome of a need - the famous need of self-expression which impels me as a hidden, blurred necessity, a completely masked and unexplainable phenomenon.

That past brims me with weariness while exchanging conversations, for it links with those imaginings of my past which seems the most cherishable and inaccessible. I console myself by masking myself but my past relations with other beings are magnified by dreams more ardent and with complete hopelessness with which my day opens up everyday, so entirely exiguous, narrow, mournful ribbon of a despised and unloved intimacy in which I discover no trace of what had once been their enigma; their always-wanted fever and their loveliness.

I'm petrified that my own mask is already so hidden beneath me and I don't think I'm so strong enough to retain my past that has escaped back so far. If at least, time takes pity and allots me some, I wouldn't fail to bond it with the chains of love, the scarcity of which nests itself upon me with so much force today occupying a place in time infinitely more important than the curtailed mask reserved for them in space, a place, on the, contrary, elongated boundlessly since, simultaneously touching widely separated years and the distant durations they have lived through, that they stand like giants immersed in time and I cherish that I lose my memory and be born again.

Bottled Poison

I lay back amid the advancing and the receding waters basking in the 5:00p.m sun. There was virtually no one around as people find no more the enjoyment of the enchanting but the slow boring beach when compared to the visual images of colorful moving objects in the T.V screen these days. The water kept kissing my feet and secretly threatening me by incessantly removing the soft sand beneath me. A few nearly naked boys played football with seemingly empty coconut shells, giggling and rant with all the pulling and pushing. My thoughts rushed back to my own childhood. My old memories, those carefree times, that innocent childishness. I know that I'm late, late by so many years. I grew out of my childhood, my youth but never out of my memories and they continue to linger with me, sometimes mellow, sometimes afflictive with the associations which have gone away from my life. Some dead, some lost with time.

A sudden spray of sand into my eyes jolted me into reality and I grimaced and sat up rubbing my eyes in fear. I felt a soft hand and a pleading voice intrude my space.

"I'm sorry, I'm very, very sorry"
"what the fu__?"
"I'm so sorry, I..I'm wearing slippers.."
"Oh, shit," I spluttered, now spitting some sand too away from my mouth
"My feet...I was playing. I'm so...so sorry"

I felt the warmth, a soft lingering smell of feminine deodorant and the jingle of innocent bangles. Someone was now blowing into my eyes and rubbing my eyes with a softer cloth which held it. I blindly searched for the bottle of mineral water beside me and slowly stood up to wash my burning eyes. Slowly the lightness returned around me. I twitched the shutters of my sight and invited my trouble maker into my eye. A wide eye peeped into me and a smile broke into laughter. At the same moment the sun came out brighter, radiantly glowing her up. Her now golden hair laughed with the oceanic breeze and her twinkling eyes hallowed with the evening sun. Mystified I looked on. She was clad in a plain dress of blue chiffon with white delicate laces. She frolicked a nipped-in waist, loose neckline and free flowing swing skirt which bounced around upon umpteen layers of petticoats in time to the playful shakings of her head. Her full lips, perfectly heart shaped, were delicately moist and her eyebrows, pencil thin, recently beauty parloured.

Suddenly, the sky opened with lightning and the thunder overwhelmed the graceful capering of our moments. She dramatically looked up, crossed her arms petulantly across her bosom, as a sudden chill engulfed us. Rain appeared out of nowhere and began to moisten us slowly as if in a sweet domestic bliss. Our eyes simultaneously enjoined to a shack just by the beach and our feet carried us in unison.

The low roof of the shanty was cleverly placed above a long flat boulder dug deep as if from time immemorial. We sat gratefully. She bade up her long welling skirt and assayed to mop my mane. Sheepishly I no-no'ed her endeavor but her rebuke bowed my head. She lent herself too the aid as I attempted to be disinterested. Soon, we were watching the rain through the horizon created by the frame of the low roof shack and trying to escape the droplets cleverly making their way towards us through the feeble thatch.

The sudden proximity of warmth affected us both and we attempted to seek the corners of the stone bed. I could almost smell the enchanting aroma siring from her hair which half perched on my shoulders. An unmistakable spell lay upon us both and the pleasures of subservience shamefully encroached us both. I fished the corner of her eyes attempting to seek mine and the genesis of the growing heat in her body

Suddenly, my thoughts rushed upon my reality. They pricked the past and vomited it out. A sort of apology arose to my lips and I walked out in the relishing rain amid calls of a feminine soul


It's a legendary cliche to say that love is a juggling act, but there is some trueness to it. But to become responsible for another human soul casts your life out of balance.

Of Ghazals and Rain

I wake up from my deep slumber and dislodge myself from sleep's tired embrace last Sunday afternoon and with puffy eyes still closed I besought the remote for the usual ghazal, pump up the volume as I no longer wanted to hear my solitudinal heartbeats and dragged myself out of bed. It is the same as always; brainshitting - reminiscing and watching the sun melt into the horizon with the lullaby of the ghazals. I open up the balcony door and solemnly eye the grumbling rain pit-pattering on the road below. A sudden howling wind greets me with a shiver flaunting its new found friend. The ally sprays me with a greater force as if in protest and kissed my bareness. Nevertheless, I tug up the cushions, repose back on my recliner and inch toward the clearing to prop up my lazy legs on the rails. Glinting through the rain streaked balcony, my eyes greet the blurred view of the neighborhood veiled in thin blue mist. It looked all dull and gloomy, like the insides of a woebegone theater on the verge of collapse. The dampened glow of the sun, creeping from behind a flock of dark angry clouds was gearing up to signal the end of the day.

The coldness of the pelting rain battered my bare feet and I felt better to be punished so. Suddenly I longed the warmth of my already warm bed and the solace of my pillows. It will not be long before the world around me comes alive with the home bound birds and light seeking moths. I stretched out my arms and dared to catch the manna from the sky. The cusp held the water and stole the warmth from my now shivering arms. I watched in amusement as the rain water spattered into my cusped palms rhythmically matching the tempo of the tabla featured in the hollering gazal. It soon brimmed over and trickled down my shoulders. I now made bold my adventure to sustain the water in my palms. Not much of a plot but finding things appealing, I prepared to surrender my time, my patience, my strength; something I did more out of the absence of a better choice than need but I wanted probably to prove that I'm worthy of a worldly dedication.

The care of holding onto the few drops of water beat into my graying heart, clueless of the approaching darkness concealed behind the deep orange rays of sunset. Suddenly just like the sudden surge of life from the extinguishing candle, darkness mushed down. I longed to let go of my foolish endeavor and end it all. "Why was I acting this way?" I mused, taking apart my thoughts. Normally, nothing could work me into such a state, especially not on a lazy chilly Sunday. However, there I was, half-frenzied. Thoughts and many minutes ticked by.

My worse fears came true. A swarm of blood seeking mosquitoes started to assault me. The protests of my tummy joining in the cacophony of the neighboring rumbling tin roofs. My now aching arms started to shiver ever so lightly. A large moth fanned closely by my ears. And, eventually, the unavoidable happened - my door bell began to ring. I begged it to stop itself and the ringing in my ears to disappear. The persistence continued. Cursing the intruder into my space, I let go. I just let it go. I simply had to let it go and the water rushed out of my palms as if it saw heaven.

I opened the door and peeped out dramatically. Anger seethed on my face which evaporated as my eyes fell on the visitor. The annoying neighbor’s 5 year old sweet daughter stood on my door step holding steaming coffee and some hot cookies. She shyly held it out and sheepishly spurted out, “Mummy; Mummy said, Anil chetta has exams and the sound of the music is too loud.” I fumbled, “oh, sorry” and rushed inside and cupped the mouth of the screaming ghazal man.

Our love life is like this. We try to hold on to love as much as we can but so many external factors trouble us every time. We strain, we lie, we act, we impress but one day we wake up and find that intimacy is not really there anymore. The relationship (romance, lust, emotions) does not satisfy us anymore, and what we finally end up with is not what we really wanted in the first place. All we have is 2 self-centered individuals seeking self-satisfaction. The ingredients of true/genuine love and intimacy cannot be obtained "instantly," and one finds himself in an unbalanced state, searching for harmony. Sooner or later, halfway into the relationships we build walls around our selfish hearts to protect us from anyone on the outside getting in to hurt us. But that same wall which keeps all the people out, keeps us stuck inside.

A relationship never last long on emotions. The only apparent reason we try to hold on to a relationship/a person from a kinship that has ceased and long ended is because none of us actually really like to see ourselves as failures.

Soul's Hermitage - Compulsive Objectivity

I just don't know if it is freedom of coming out of my bathroom stark naked and walking to my bedroom or if its the lazy waking up at 11 A.M in the morning or the total control of the T.V remote or simply doing my own thing in life which fascinates me but it really sucks. Loneliness for me is believably a mixture of self-pity and that missing feeling of being with another - someone to hold you and share with. There are times when the house is a comfortable prison. There are friends who keep telling me how concerned they are that I don't go out much beyond shopping etc. However for most of the time I think I like it that way, and find pressure to socialize quite daunting and I don't know whether I would want to change things. I have even stopped going to weddings as I feel a physical pain and an urge to seek a mate. I prefer to just lock myself at home rather than go out and see couples enjoying being in love. Most of my friends have vanished and are on the verge of drifting away and my social life has vanished too for no one seems to want to ask a bachelor to functions with couples. Actually I find this difficult myself as everyone seems to be in pairs and I have suffered painfully in these situations to the point of feeling so isolated that I have become tearful. Fortunately I do have a couple of close, loving and faithful friends who make all the difference. They visit, and ask me over on a regular basis, they phone and text me daily which is all really lovely and very comforting.

I haven't been a loner all my life. But recently I've become an "empathic sensitive" and I perceive, sense, and feel things about people without trying to do so. I think I just "know" things. I simply feel them. Some or all of my sensory perceptions go beyond the normal levels into the highly sensitive or even ultra sensitive levels. My nervous system gets overloaded easily from receiving too much stimulus from others and so I need a lot of time alone to recoup my energy that seems to get drained daily by others. I need hence to spend 50% or more of my time alone, depending upon my sensitivity level with that individual. I feel that I've to almost live a hermit's lifestyle due to their ultra sensitivity to the world around them. You feel easily overwhelmed by this too much stimuli, and I tend to overreact to everything when this happens. I miss others, yet feel reluctant to accept invites to go places, and struggle with accepting them. I don't need physical love but emotional love I need and miss it dreadfully. I can wear my multiple masks in the plentitude company of others and just "smile" but returning back in my room the tears just huddle down and I long just to be hugged, to have some tenderness. That is definitely a big miss in my life.

I gave away almost everything I owned when I moved to a new flat and it was a lot. I wanted a new start. No old things to remind me of myriad past but a funny thing happened on the way to my earthly solution. I came with me. Now, I know it isn't furniture or pots and pans or the clothes that makes us what we are, it isn't even the heart that beats in us. What makes us what we are, are our thoughts!

In all, if you have lost someone special to you, regardless of reason, they say the best thing to do is to live well. If you're the one who was wronged in parting, it is the best revenge, and if you lost someone through no fault of your own, it is what they would have wanted for you anyway.

"I will go in quest for my soul's hermitage."

"And stillest birth. For oh, I crave and thirst."

"To hear in soundlessness man's fanatic protest."

"Against the destiny with which my soul is cursed."

The Fall of Angels

A darkened sky, the day that laughter died, I fell swiftly into night haunted by a sinking portent and in a quest for a city sunk below. Tears dropped like shards of glass in streams, like holy sinners, swept within me to fall in with the forsaken. Midst dark wet mists with awful fearing shadows I made bold a threshold. As the bright moon with silvered fingers played on my dreams that were too cursed for the day, I suddenly witnessed the snow flake fall that started it all. The visions coined like a furious searing heat which had knelt to kiss. A snow white line of divine freaks, in riot or in lust, they fell...

While I watched without revolt the play few beasts permit as if a circus lurched in, an act of promised delight, a tangled web of thirsty spun. Half naked in seemingly burial gowns they formed a formless white void stirring as in an invisible reproduction, they multiplied clinging together tenaciously and started swelling into a giant cluster; a fleshy shape with dark spread raven wings gyrating provocatively in a frenzied passion in an act of love swollen with life.

In the flighty chaotic darkness, curled within the silver womb, wrapped in the very wings, I saw a wounded creature dressed in grief. It arose with a deep cry which threatened to tear the night and came towards me. She suddenly held my shrouded hand, lifted and winged me deeper into the night.

The flight into oblivion reached the rocky clearing by a river bed. Her face shone like the now lustrous moon. She was beautiful. Her pitch black wings placed us lightly on the smoothest flat rock and collapsed. Hurt, debile and lame with dark blood spurting she looked at me with pleading blue eyes. The raven was sure to die with the sanctity of sin to rival hell. And with the most horrible, vile noise for something so lovely it implored and prayed for blood for seven nights of survival.

Reluctant though I was, a vale of dreams that it would seem I lowered myself on her lips. I felt no pain as the raven ate my tongue and the warmth returned in her body with a quiver

I now pace alone in a void for the dead overwhelmed by woe. And here, I've aged so lovesome of dread that I blaspheme is heaven

Enigmatic Darkness - Dry Rain

A crescendo of sensitive passion and bleeding love rain on the stigmatic reflection of darkness

Abruptly, the perplexed sun wanted to take to her heels fearfully, fast behind the fleeing clouds. As darkness prodded and couped the daylight painting my world with sudden stigmatic darkness, woman became fear and fear became woman. She screamed out unexampled disaffection, pulling even the firmest trees, uprooting the trembling minds, revolting with her lightening as the black dark wasting world stood static in sheer paralysis. I shut my ears with my filthy quivering hands, deafening piercing cries of my feeble heart with the eyes forming the river of death. I wanted to stretch forth my ugly unforgiving fingers and swallow myself.

It suddenly started to rain lashing on my nakedness with gladness afresh with pain. It found bountiful sores burdened with dark rubble treasuring the love. It started the rinsing and tenting hoping geneses. Bloodless stigmata embalmed on the primeval mass as treasured chaos vented the flesh drenched in fornication with a thousand years of terrifying silence under the stare of the waxing death-moon. The lightning whispered my name with the black candles dancing to distant music drowning past their flickering lure to the stigmatic darkness while the vigilant mud pushed me out of the tomb. I now lay among my rotten flesh helplessly succumbed by the riders of the night. The neigh of the horse, a throttle by the rope, I attempted to burden myself the pain and the love but the weight proved dense. I lusted for the wind and the flurry of leaves but they abandoned me with a laughter from high above.

The darkness in my eyes and the rapture in my screams sucked dry the ebbing wound. Even the moon didn't lend me her light and the darkness served to choke my life. The incessant pall of death surrounded me but this is not the part I wished to breed and I know that there will be no more death thereafter. I merely wished to stir the hearts of the wisest and the fools I wished to help and I hoped that my Kingdom doesn't feed off with their slaughter...

Awake in Quietus

I wonder if I can backwash into consciousness that I can tap into. In my mad rush fearing timebuffeted by currents so powerful that completely loses a sense of myself, I find that finally there is nothing but stillness. Through the still darkness there remains a flicker of light - Soft and lambent, calling on the strength and intensity I've long sought. I close my eyes fearing to see the violet light of the Oracle, whispering to me of things I've always known and have formerly doubted. Is it the time to season incandescence, to touch the fleeing wind and to delight in the seasonal change of seasons?

I sneak a look into the future with awaiting breath and cloudy eyes my destiny- Time stopped, the world faded away, my senses collapsed and the ropes started to fray. The warmth of knowing, gradually magnifying burn through the bonds and threatens to lead me astray.

I see the rotten worm crawl out of my soul grooving its way and creating dents and escapades for the incoming love. How will my soul weigh itself? How will age measure my time? Or am I to quantify time with age? Will my soul forgive my mind in loosing the time? Will my soul want to contain my rotten carcass with time? Or will I just lie awake in my quietus and experience the euphemisms of death?

Dance in the dark

Misconceptions of my delusional madness under some strange bewitching!

A dame in long flowing gown beckoned me once again. Dumfounded and stupefied, I bumped her at the horizon of desires pitfall. A creature different any I'd ever seen. She stood hallowed with a strange blue light as if to blindly follow her in her path between life and nirvana.

I walked forward as if the very pitiful and miserable shadows themselves had carried me. A soft trace of pale moonlight lightened her trace and seemed to dance all around her. Allowing me to be adopted in I now looked down upon my chest, and suddenly noticed the indentation that had been marked upon her. I saw what the creaturitic fairy had in her hand that seemed to have eluded and escaped some tme past. A simple orange ribbon much unlike the one I lost to the complexity of situation.

She turned back to stare at me with stern eyes like ice as she called forth again as if to follow. A chill broke my trance. The wind culled up and seemed to carry everything into a spiral. I found myself lifted up but unable to fly. I struggled and gasped and began to plunge for the sharp rocks below.

The heart that would seem so queer to the multitude of people but right in my eyes. It in itself appeared only to wish to go more nigh to this creature. Outrageously as if to guide my own deliverance. Mutilated, maimed and wounded, all I wanted was a place to place and gather myself and wait for the dawn.