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Tuesday, 31 December 2013

Acceptance and solace!

Many a times, the paper was blank. Similarly, there was scribbling on the paper, the words that were cut. The paragraphs that were fully neglected after they were written with such charisma and grandeur. Was there a lot to gain or to lose, while writing? He wrote still, after his work was referred as holy shit. He drove still, even when he was told, he could hardly speak the language that he pretended to be perfect at, in the public eye. They all, said so. They all, poked fun at him as he tried speaking English with the intoning of his naive tongue. He didn't seek perfection so sooner; he was a seeker of love. Did anyone imagine that also, for a change?

He never thought of becoming a writer, until his destiny called onto him. He never wanted to be famous, but to impress people and get a place in their hearts. Farrukh wanted that and nothing more. His charisma and passion wasn't to come in anyone's way, neither did he want to sit on anyone else's laurels and be applauded for the same. Farrukh wanted to tell the world, his presence. He wanted to impress them and this became a fire, when he wanted to do it at a proliferating curiosity(rate). Herein, he lost his pace and direction again. In the name of risk, he lost on precious time; while being in his own world. The world laughed at him, at his style of being alone and struggling through tasks and even easy things. Farrukh was led by his ideals and principles. He moved along the road that inspired him, with innocence that strengthened his basis to live life.

He wasn't from a well to do household. His father was a car mechanic and his mother, being a house wife. Farrukh's father often gave more and more emphasis to his son's studies and to influence him to write, he would often bring home newspapers in Urdu and English. His father, Salman never encouraged his one and only son, to get into his business. But on understanding, his wife's mind and on her insistence; Salman would often take Farrukh along with him to the garage, where many other car mechanics united to earn their daily bread and butter.The boy went with his dad to his workplace as often as thrice in a month. Salman's wife, Salma; used to paste her television soap influenced dialogues upon her husband, in order to convince him to teach his son, how to repair a car. The dialogue being, “No work that fills your tummy, is ever small.” She often pointed out the very fact, “When it comes to the survival of a middle class household; there should be good craftsmanship (kala) in the son's and daughter's to set sail in the harsh phases of one's life.” She said so, to build upon enough strength in her son to make him understand his growing responsibilities. Salma said to Farrukh one fine summer day, “Baby, it is you on whom lies the audacity of this household. You are to take care of your father and me. We have given you all our love and blessings and shall keep them pouring upon you. You have to learn to stand on your feet. Who knows,if we are tomorrow with you or not? We have to prepare you for life's many journeys, wherein you shall go through the ups and downs. Baby, I can't see you, lonely in a world when no one looks at you. I don't want to imagine such a day. Farrukh, are you getting what I mean?” She grinned at the same time and from there came the tears. It was when the twinkle on her face was outlined with an incessant sob. She cried wholeheartedly. Farrukh felt if she was hiding something, that was very important for him to know. Salma trembled and her tears got bolder, far reaching her whole face. “Mother, what's happening to you????” Farrukh shivered in dismay. Salma fell on the floor from her couch. He was all alone by himself. His father gone to work. His mother left him that day.

Salma was suffering from a disease about which her son or her husband had no idea. She hardly told them, her pain; to not become a barrier in between her son's studies. She never wanted to put him to work and leave studies in order to pay for her health care. Days passed in disharmony. Farrukh couldn't believe that he had lost his mother in the tender years, when he needed her more than she needed him. Or was it either ways? Yes, it was true that way too. Love was mutual, wasn't it? Of course, the mother-child love was the reflection of the most beautiful relationship in the eternity. As the young boy, sat aside his mother's lonesome bed, he saw her photo's framed with him and her father on the opposite walls. In his ears, nothing else but voice of his mother echoed and brought powerful feelings of togetherness and hence solace. She whispered in that voice that emerged from the walls and the doors, from the bed whereon he rested his head like a teddy bear, “Baby, do what you want to do. I don't say, to not play cricket. Play your game, but not with your life. Become a very good cricketer, if that's what you want to. But, stand on your feet one day; that's all what I, your mother seeks from you, my child.” His eyes were gloomy with wet embrace of tears, depicting his heart; the unbearable emotions that came out more with the reminiscence of the times with his mother, the gone by days.

The young boy, left from home to play cricket. He didn't like the company of the other boys of his locality in Shamsherpur Village. They didn't play with belief and conviction but merely to fight and not accept one's lose in the game of cricket. He was left to live his dream by himself. Hence, hitting the ball after flying it into the air, as if he had got a bowler with him, who was to bowl for him. It was his right hand that let the bowl in the air and in less than a second, hit the ball with both his hands on the bat. Cricket coaching for himself by himself. He was growing older. Already 13, he was playing just by himself and in his eyes, he were to play for Pakistan one day. His father's love and affection enrolled him into a very famous cricket academy. Where he got to know, where actually he had stood in his cricket playing skills. Given less chances to bat and ball, unlike the other rich boys and girls; he was left to be doing fielding practise and as he didn't deliver when he got to bat for the sake of it, he was ridiculed and made a butt of jokes. He felt miserable and deprived. Within his lonesome self, Farrukh had known, life wasn't meant to always be bloom and flowery. It was a magical terrain, where from you had to search your wisdom seeds and grow them simultaneously while searching for peace and happiness. After two years of easygoing training, and getting no incentives out of his play. Farrukh was taken off the coaching from his father after Farrukh started scoring lesser grades in his class tests.

“Cricket is a favourite game of every boy the next door. You can't think of heights, without attaining the talent. You know, if you really have bright mind, you will definitely come up and show it. Water finds it's way, it can't be stopped. Rest is in the hands of Allah, the Almighty God.” Salman advised Farrukh to leave his sport but not wholly, also to keep it's love alive. Dream was dream, it was not running away. It had been a part of him, so Farrukh could still dream. All dreams, weren't meant to come true. Those feelings were the part and parcel of life. Accepting and moving ahead, yes, with responsibilities. His life wasn't merely his, but his dad's goodness occurred to him all the more in his every breath.

The obedient son, hadn't done much to overhear his father's words. He understood what he meant and within his heart he accepted that truth. He knew how hard his father had been working to get Farrukh going in the school and the training centre. Farrukh left the Cricket playing academy that was one of the best in the town. He touched the soil with his hands, rubbed it on his face, his eyes, his nose. As if he wanted to get rung into the feeling of joy for a moment, to make-believe that he had done his hard work, regardless of what the results had come out. This fifteen year old lad had something special with him. He didn't have many friends but, he had dreams. What would happen, if the dreams were to disappear only to be left was a plain cricket pitch afterwards, that too to only glance and feel hurt within. “I know, you my friends playing here would take our Nation's flag high in the arena of sports. You will become fine cricketers. I adore you." He walked back to the main gate of the training academy and after reaching the end of the ground, slightly he looked back and teardrops muffled around his either eye in unison, yet again. Not the crocodile tears but the tears that fell with his mother's broken heart weeping along her son's. It was all over for him, his dreams wiped away by the winnowing winds; that blow chaff from the grain. Alike, was his stature, bent and scrutinized, a strain in his heart, he couldn't make his dreams appear true.

From the next day onwards, he started learning the mechanics of car and how to deal with it once again. Initially, he was little interested. His mind still bowed it's welcome greetings to the sport that was his life. But, he worked on the wires and the tyre tubes like an intern.So, he was to the company where his father worked. In between that period of twelve hours at the workshop, he met many people; who talked from all subjects, from cricket to politics and then to the talks of actors. He had a bat and a ball hidden in the store room, where he changed his clothes before getting back to the car repairs. He sensed relief and cheerfulness, enough to keep him going in his newly found job. Farrukh kept his mother's photograph in his wallet, handy. Whenever he missed her, he looked at the photograph, deeply into his mother's eyes. The black and white snap had all the dreams that the mother-son duo saw and greatly acknowledged. To no avail, those dreams remained dreams. Far up the skies, he sensed glory as soon as he called it a day and hence heading back home. The summer holiday's were over and Salman wanted his son to be back to school, to let him study and concentrate. Salman thought for a moment, “It was I who didn't want my son to ever do the work I do. But, it's me who teaches him this work.” Then, instantaneously, his wife's thoughts came to his mind that no work was ever small, even if it paid less incentives. Work was God, to him; he respected it for holding such a crucial place in his life. For it was his work that kept him active as a thinking individual. His family had sustained because of it, it was a God's gift that he had known the Science behind the motor engine. That day, he was proud of himself, his work and how it had never been a tiring thought, to ponder over his job. He loved it, but insecurities threatened him at times. As, it wasn't a well paid job in his country.

In fewer days, Farrukh had become more interested in writing his stories. He portrayed the landscapes like never before. He had actually talked about those with his mother in childhood, when she was alive. It was for the first time that he had tried doing that, on paper; that too in words. He read extensively, from newspapers, to school texts, to books on landscapes and photography. He wrote not as good as the boys and girls of his class but he tried his best to, amidst the grammar errors and missing punctuation marks, he managed to pass his exams all the times. He didn't care about the world at one stage. To him, his daddy was the most important. Farrukh loved his dad as much his dad loved him. In the evenings, they walked through the corridors of the grass-fields, when father shared new techniques of motor repairing, whether spark plug was to be checked before looking for the actual defect in the engine of the car or whether the clutch could signify any error in maintenance if it wasn't running clean. Farrukh, shared his school lessons with his daddy. From Charles Dickens', Christmas Carol to Akbar-Birbal's stories. The dream could be sensed anew and the day was bidding bye with the stars enchanting the skies, in seamless glory and boundless love. Mother seemed to be walking along as they both, father and son stretched their walk through the grass-fields.

Gagandeep Singh Vaid

Saturday, 28 December 2013

On friendship!

Beginning. He didn't really mean it or did he? That his friends were to react in a not so familiar culture. That in no time, Sharad was to be taken as a soft target. The strangest thing to configure was the fact that in friendship, friends were to be taken as targets. What was it, the bond to be called quite definitely? Did friendship have to mean, picking and choosing or taking sides, given it wasn't for teasing but offending someone, who really believed in the bond of friendship. What if friendship was meant to be one sided. Was there any room for such bond to prolong, devoid of any fake promises. The promises that were inborn to be broken finally when the tough time came or when there was time to take a stand for a friend. What did this word mean and from where did it originate? It was something to think about and ponder about gravely. With an intent to understand life and it's tendencies. To tell ourselves, what did our friendship with a person have to really mean.

Sharad got back, he was made to feel as if he were the culprit. Was he or was he not. Who was to decide this? Whether his company of friends who created all trouble for him, or he himself, caught for something  he didn't himself know about. Sharad had booked cinema tickets on his birthday for his other group of friends and had told his classmates, also his friends; that he would give them a party in the upcoming week. They were offended! Well, was it really a reason enough to take it in that way. It was a question, unanswered! It was what he didn't understand, what was it to mean. Very strange, he thought once again. Was it important to turn up in this way? "They were frightened as soon as I presented my plan to my dear classmates. As if they had been ridiculed by this noble idea." He wondered by himself.

Shrinath accused Sharad that he didn't care about their group but was more interested in celebrating his birthday with his special people. Sharad had nothing to say, than utter an apology. When this didn't suffice, he told them in clean words, "See, I had promised my friends that I would celebrate my birthday with them. With you guys, I'm more than happy to be, but I wanna give you a special party. All of us will feel celebrated in this way. Isn't it?"

Sharad was rude but so were his friends. He had felt really bad so he couldn't control his feelings. It was quite unbearable for them to take the fact that their party was being delayed.

Sharad apologized for his conduct, whereas, he felt that he need not justify anything anymore. It wasn't his fault that he gave more importance to his promise. Friendship wasn't rather meant to be differentiated between old and new friends. If it was to be differed, then the basis of such difference was to rely on the impression of the memories lived between the friends. Time wasn't the only chariot that took this unique bond to the roads of trust and love. It was friendship, even if it meant to be for a day; when the thoughts exchanged between the two unknown people, made an impression that it was to be lifelong or sustaining. Friendship gave a person a chance to understand what life was all about. It was about influencing the person who came to us, with his/her dreams and imaginations. The way of seeing life is different with everyone. This difference again lied in the experiences lived and augmented in one's lifeline.

The next day, being a Sunday; also his birthday. Sharad met his childhood friends in the R3M mall, and then they led to Royal Cinema's and watched a film by Charles Edwin, named "The front road". For a long time, he kept on thinking what really was behind the title of the film. This very illusion, led the young boy and his friends alike, who were too much interested into knowing what would come up as the film moved ahead, and the characters played with the progression of the plot. They laughed, they screamed, and passed bites of their reviews time and again. The film by Charles Edwin was expressive. Thus ornamental with the very curves and lineages of variant thoughtful varieties. Thoughtful varieties included the artistic diaspora including the creativity of the actors and along that cinematic upbringing, with the excellence of camera movement to the creativity of the imaginations. It was enigmatic and magical, the manner, dreams were formulated into the motion picture. The viewers could make the most of it, if they let themselves fully dictated to the film. But, if not; then the film could get the tag of being a bore and a waste of time. Truly, the art was greatest to it's lover whereas to a layman, it was just moving places and people. There were dreams leading to calligraphy, thoughts leading to understanding. It was more confusing as one showed interest in making the meaning of the screenplay, but as soon as the film moved and it's end came even closer, there were speculations, there were self made strategies, wishes to make meaning of a character. There was a director in the friends, everyone framing their own story, but moreover it was 'thought' that embarked. Thought that combined the film audience to be patient enough and watch what was in the offering, that too; together in one place, in the cinema hall. To add to their vows when the film wasn't coming in lines with the speculations, came another dialogue, yet another voice. "Life was a dream." Scene closed.

The boys and girls moved out of the cinema hall. Boys were speechless and girls had nothing else to say, than the exclamation; "O.M.G, it was one of the best films ever seen." The birthday celebration went ahead with friendly talks, doing the rounds. It included the discussion about the film,"The front road", which was a story of a handicapped man who made it his very style to live life to the fullest. In his loneliness, he found his friend, in his silence, he felt as if life was a struggle and nothing was lost ever, even with defeats. There was a lot to dream, a lot to see, a lot to feel. Life wasn't a loser, it was a winner.  It was meant to be so.

Sharad wondered, how the man in the film was happy enjoying the sunlight and working to live his life not by anyone's pity but his own efforts. How he became a shoeshine boy and later sold fruits and nuts outside his hut, selecting them from the nearby fields and paying the farmers their due. Seldom the same man helped the farmers in times of their harvest and prayed to them, not to bend for his condition, even when he was a little boy. He called himself rich and so was he. It's your thinking that makes a difference, not the competition. Life wasn't a competition, it was to glance at life and there was a need; he felt, to keep a check over what went wrong and what was not required in our actions in the day to day life. It was about loving itself, for it came just once with all the bloom and falls; the best part was, it still existed with emotions to feel good or bad about, until the breath remained, life existed.

The boy enjoyed his day with friends and walked back home bidding bye's to them, who meant a lot to him and had played a greater role in his life. The best part in friendship was when it influenced a person. It was flawless, it was an exciting day and so was the time spent with them. He got back with nice memories to keep and share with the same people who created them, whenever they were to see one another. A person lived life and went ahead with sadness, grief and peace at last. It was a journey, a self motivating journey to call; that gave wings to fly to a person at times, only to cut them when the person fell. It was this simple. To not only expect parties when people were to offer you or remember you, but make every moment as much important that when you saw the moments back, life was a bloom and not a shade. That you take with you the warmth of the flowers when they grow, and when one day our lives would be drawing towards their destiny, still there would be the warmth and energy of the gone by days, the bloom as it's said. In many ways, our life can be like the flower too. The positive side is that we live long, and for the flowers is that they live every moment to the fullest.

Sharad slept that night in peace. Telling his classmates the next day that he was planning to take them to the park that was near their college and it was to be a picnic kind of a get together. In doing this, he wanted to show them what being free was, to feel every moment and being happy that it had happened. Friendship was never to be tested but felt. There had to be a realization in every person in the friend circle, regarding what was friendship all about and what was expected out of this bond of togetherness and kindness. Sharad was searching for that very feeling, that very blessing of friendship. He was proud of his day that he had got an awakening to sense in his life. Fair enough! Closure.

Friday, 27 December 2013

Bang On!

Check my train status. Right now. C'mon! Open the window. On the address bar write and on the top right corner of the page you need to click and select PNR status. Do it and tell me back in two minutes. In addition, see the seat capacity and choose a seat number if the option is given. Preferably, select the AC, sleeper class ticket. Okay, do it fast; I'm putting the phone on hold.

Okay, brother. Wait, while I check and update you. Said, Rajeev to his elder brother Sushil who was enquiring for his aunty.

In the meanwhile, Sushil kept the call on hold and simultaneously talked to his business partner over a quarrel.  At one place, Rajeev was waiting with the train details. No phone rang. He remained there, facing his laptop screen and feeling dizzy. Wishing to catch sleep, but it wasn't to be. His big brother had asked a favour, so he had to stand to it first than letting any other thought splash up.

At the same time, Rajeev got to read the messages on his whatsapp and felt even more tired of them. He was fed-up of unknown people calling him on the name of acquaintances and wishing to talk for a long-long time, as if they had been best friends at a point of time. Clenched in thoughts in the out pour of dismay, he fled  from his room to the outside lanes. Then, left for the park all ready to fire back on his brother because his phone was busy, whereas he had been waiting for one hour. He didn't sleep but at late night drew out, to sense fresh breeze and sound solace in it's real mattresses. The roads were wet, after the rain, the breeze was cooler. He was for a moment in stark illusion, over what really was to be meant of technology. Technology is beautiful if used to its necessity. But when, it sits on mind; it makes a person crazy and lets the person to doldrums.

His brother called, he picked it up. And telling the details he had remembered, after gazing at the laptop screen, he took a backseat. No brother, I no longer have it with me, my laptop. I'm sorry, I just can't tell you any further details than this. When his brother expressed his wrath further upon him, he replied in similar equations, I don't care really and bye!

This was after years when he had reacted in this way. That too, with his elder brother. For the reason being, technology. He was left to nowhere and cried within his heart, all alone in the midnight hours, sensing breeze and peace away from the world of internet.

His brother called up again. Hey, Rajeev. What's up? I'm asking for aunty's sake, you nincompoop. I will slap you idiot. Now, open your phone's internet and tell me again, fast. Check the new railway updates.

Hello, brother. I need sometime. I'm sorry. At the call centre today, I had to do extra work as an employee was on leave. I am not well, need sometime. You can check for it in the cyber-cafe near our house. You know, they are open 24/7. Seek their help or call on the toll free number of the railways. With this, he banged down the phone.

He came back home after a brisk walk in the adjacent park and the corresponding lanes. Once he reached, he switched off the wi-fi and in no time he swarmed to sleep. As soon as the sunlight in the morning reached his room, he got up; hearing the birds chirp. The door bell ran to his ears at the same time. He looked out at who was standing right outside. It was his cab-driver, telling him that he was running late for work and it was urgent for him to reach the office as another employee was on leave and he had to settle in for their work. He passed a pleasant grin as if ready for the day, again with the callers asking for help after getting their telephone lines stuck by the flashing rain the preceding day.

Sir, I have planned an engineer's visit to your place. Could you please tell me a definite time, you look forward to expect the engineer?
What's the problem with you people. Your network is shit!
Sir, the lines have got corroded, I'm very sorry. I will get your line fixed.
Okay, send the person by noon. Okay?
Yes, please! Thank you!
Yeah, go to hell! The caller replied.

Rajeev had no break that day, even in his lunch time, he had to work. His job was over by the evening. Rajeev chose to walk back home, rather than taking the bus. It rained yet again and he kept searching for his laptop, just in case it got wet. That sent wrong signals, because it was the company's laptop. There was insurance for the laptop, but still; the insurance company covered less claims, as it's reputed for its very nature. The bad was yet to come, the laptop stopped working. He had to answer some clients on the internet, that was to be possible only with the use of laptop. Now, he was in trouble.

Rajeev presented his case to his higher officers, who took it forward to the insurance company. Whereas, the company backfired after understanding that the loss was much. They complained of inadequate care of the laptop. It was disheartening for the man who was working long hours, that too after he handled the work of three people. He lost his senses at one stage, and started moving here and there. Finally he came back home two days after it had rained and that he had lost his laptop. He felt, he had drawn himself into the pit-hole by his own misguided efforts of helping others and losing on his front. Emotions overplayed for him. He was to pay to the company, the half price of a brand new laptop. He gave his employers a wry look and left for home, once he called it a day; and as the working hours were over. Getting back home, he reached for the bed directly.

He woke up at night. All of a sudden, he found a letter that must have been pushed from beneath the door. In his lost thoughts, he oversaw the letter covering of ICICI bank. Rajeev's bank statement added to the vows. He couldn't believe the over-ranging figures standing on the bank statement. Now, he had to pay a visit to the bank too. Going to the ATM, at night, he checked for the ATM mini statement and reread the similar figures once again. Was life a tragedy, that all of a sudden problems had to augment. Life was sick, he thought for a moment!

Reema, his mother called him and told him that she withdrew quite a sum from his account. He was relieved. Rajeev knew where the money was. His mother could sense fatigue in his voice and asked the reason. Rajeev told her, all that he had been going through in the past days. About how much work he had to do. His mother told him not to worry, as these times were tough and gave him immense strength saying that this time shall pass too, giving him strength. Rajeev paid his dues to the insurance company and in a day, his co-workers started coming and once again, he was all hail. They expressed their sincere apologies for making him do a lot of work that was not his.

In fewer days, Rajeev was offered a better job in another company. He left the call centre, and joined a bank. With experience came, all the delight. He had got a new job, newer world with a better working environment.  At the position of the "Customer care provider", Rajeev was given the task that he well did. It was all he did with excitement and from the times, he lost his cool; he was gaining objectivity in his life.

With technology came the realization that life was interesting if you were willing enough to entertain it in that way. From the pit falls, to the lowly arcade of life; there had to be hope, an expectation. His mother used to often say, "On hopes, the world lives." Life was once again, a beautiful realization and he was glad what he got, he deserved in his life.

Monday, 23 December 2013

"Foretelling the future"

Dreams. What are they? Imaginations, or something intense? Do your dreams make sense to you? Hmm... You have a slight chance, to turn things around. So, what do you think, can you make them real? Turn them towards the reality, from the mere thoughtful process they lie in. Tell me.

Okay, James! Wait. Tell me one thing. Whatever you imagine, can you make that happen exactly in your life? Can you or not. Tell me. C'mon!

Sir, I don't think so. It's like, first you have an idea only then you move forward. Imagination is the roadway to the occurrence of the events. Don't you think as I do? Hmm..

Okay, James. So, you mean to say; that imaginations and reality are far different from each other?

Yes, I say so because everything can't be as ditto as you imagine. There's a gap between imaginations and the reality. How can everything be what you see already? It's something intense. Yes, you're right it is, Mr.Thomas!

Oh, fella! James, I'm willing to know what you actually have to say, that is completely yours. It's not that whatever I say you're to follow it and believe the same. C'mon James. Give me more finite answers.

Then, Sir; what should I do. Like, how to know them?

Hey boy! Search! I say, go on and search!

Like, where should I go Sir? The place where I see my treasures lie? You mean to say, I have to search that very place. Is this what you mean? Hmm..

Huh! Okay! First let me tell you boy. It's not easy searching that place. But, given this statement I don't want to downgrade your optimism.

James, interrupted; “Sir, that just won't happen. Don't worry about that. I have come to listen to you. For, your words would never let me go astray from my path. But, one thing I know. You're a man of experience, great life you have led. Your stories I have heard. Such an impact you have become. I will get a perspective or a dimension to give a thought over. Don't bother, about how I take in what you say.

James, I bother what impression of my talks, spells on you. It's my duty, to know that. Okay! Now, I have stretched few thoughts to convey before we part.You know it very well, that we won't meet ever again. For, I'm going back to my country and I don't think you would come over there anytime, at least till the time I'm alive. But, I wanna give you my perspective that shall give you some thought to collaborate while you walk ahead in your tryst with the struggles of life.

James, one more thing. Live in the holy present. Never let your future overtake your senses and your peace. Past is a bygone era. Even, I can't get the love of my wife even I want to. My children are away. Is this not a signal enough to you? Can't you see, where I'm? After being a well known writer. People often call me a motivational speaker. The man who could change the fortunes of people. See, where I'm! I accepted what came along. I don't call myself, a very learned man. For, this man in me had to forgo all the love he could have embraced. But see; time flew away. They became far, and now very far. Their presence was let to dissuade with the work load I had on my shoulders. With the pressure to give as many speeches in the public domain. My Manager, kept me engrossed, as I also earned loads of money. Herein, I lost on the essential things in life. The blessings of loved ones. The time that I could have spent with them is fully lost.

You know James. Many a decisions that you make today, thinking that they are right. You would get to know later, that you could have lived them, the other way round. That you could have changed few things about your behaviour at that time. But, time would have flapped it's wings; and all of those times would bottle up and get packed in your bag of memories. Few sad ones and few of charm that shall bring back smile on your face. As we never know, for what the future is to unfold. I just wanna say to you, you young fellow. Go and live the present most beautifully. Engrave all the strength, be answerable to yourself,  for your actions. Okay? Take care of the fact that you may be the person, regretting over what you do. But that's okay to feel this emotion too. Be sure; you don't miss over any moment. Live by ideals. Live by virtues. Respect people and keep on moving in life.

On strides that shall be steep, your feet shall slip. In the heavy forests, you may get a snake-bite. Know the remedies to be back in life, in your living. In one sentence, I'm gonna say that, "How so ever you live, be free. Being stuck in this or that, let not that be your attitude. Just follow your own walk." That's all from an old man for you.

SEARCH your answers from what I have said. Okay? You can leave now, and start to plan your journey. I wish you all the best!

Thanks, Mr.Thomas; I take your leave. Before that I wanna tell you one thing that, “I won't let your gentle words, go away in disdain. For every moment shall I live wholeheartedly. Let future hold whatsoever it pleases, for I live in the present and that's all what matters.”

James leaves and a song buzzes in the background. The song, "My love" by Westlife...! Destiny sits unseen only to appear when it becomes the present. The walk stimulates..for the young fella!

Thursday, 19 December 2013

“Few heartfelt dreams..”

You work for your very love of it, the way I write for what's closer to my Being. Many a times, I restrain myself from the truth. Until, I get to know the real picture and hence learn about the many wrong beliefs that I had led forth with.

To let the Soul at peace, I often pretend and write complex diction. To make a feeling sense in a particular way, when actually it's not happening to me in the reality. When I wanna write as beautifully and end up portraying what I hadn't really felt, but only thought.

Peace is to express oneself, when the feeling comes from it's very actuality. The nature of peace combines with the trustful imagining of life. Peace to people comes with what allures them and becomes their basis to live life. That's enthusiasm, that's passion; less expectation and more of the impression. To hone your skills in your talent you redeem it and gain the joys of life and feel satisfied. To contribute towards the pond of love. Matter not if it remains to be a pond and not an ocean. Because seldom, quantity doesn't really have to mean richness of quality as well. Still, why always seek the best quality; when 'preparation' is a word towards the best. When we start a new task and find gaining interest in it, then it's the very nature to seek more out of it. While seeking, we need to gain and not importantly have to only give. For, we also give birth to a form, an expression for the public to judge. With the critics, there's always betterment of one's craft. To learn along that road is the greatest joy to our upbringing. Upbringing of the self and also of the art. It's such a corresponding nature- that is a treasure of life to learn and fix to the change.

A very beautiful couplet that I remember from my childhood, and I have used it in the many exams I have given. Well, I read it in the newspaper and impress people with someone's philosophy, that also became a great contribution; as I share it and people feel it's truthfulness. It goes like this, “Challenges are what make life interesting and overcoming them is what makes life fruitful.” . Experiencing different societies, knowing people, knowing what hurts and what rejoices. Similarly going through different emotions, springs up the art as well the artist.

People often leave us in between after promises. We often leave people and break our promises. What becomes out of it is sadness. It can be an important decision, because as it's very well said, “Building a relation takes time, whereas to break it; there's a moment needed. ”It hurts, actually it does! See, we have to accept what comes. Not leave living life without a person, who goes away; given the person was a greater influence.

To sum up, it's nice to see, how life is led forth everyday. While making money or while not; but if what we do, makes us live wholeheartedly, then it's the greatest gift to us in our lives. After many days that we live, when we look back; there's our work sitting to be seen, nothing else. Our love in our work only tells us, the emotions we have been through in life, the falls and glories. All going hand in hand, and giving us a picture of life, at a certain stage, at a certain level.

Emboldened the stars are that remain at the distance, while entertaining the eternity with their awesome twinkling; although they don't twinkle in actuality, still they are coming to us with that twinkle with scientific basis behind them. Is it a form of art or what? It's their acceptance in us, that we like seeing them twinkle; the stars that are so far and so bigger than we can think or imagine. But to us, those dots are seeming as tiny creatures, the strong creatures. Similarly, if you by chance occur as a seed to someone's smile even after being unknown to that person in some way or the other; then call yourself an artist. You let the greatest art in the world form on the faces of people. Like the stars up-sky, you too are a star at the ground level. As it's often said, “Reach for the stars.” So, can't we say so, “Reach for the love?” I do say, and feel pride over the fact that we living beings can love. So, let love come up and enlighten the sky with it's grace and sincerity.

Through the books you read, the songs you listen to, the dance you take part in. The dreams you see, the magic you believe in; the affection you embrace, it's not because of any suddenness. There's a reason behind everything of it; the reason being 'love'. It matters the most and it also affects your wellness, your health. Good temper creates the bliss, like the flowers. However little life they have before they dwarf after a bloom; they live it the best way, sending fragrance of holiness all around the ambience where the lovers sit.

Let your life be such and feel the warmth, the togetherness in yourself and the environment that but becomes of the love.

Sunday, 15 December 2013

An awaited holiday!

Sunday in it's reality is a song, is a melody.
Outstretches the week,
To find the day off in it's versatility,
A break to find,
A day to walk the distant seas,
The one's left distant,
Their presence felt but not seen.

Enough of time,
To praise the greenery of the gardens,
To follow the family, out on travel,
The well known eateries, the thought-about galleries.
Ice-creams and Chuski's never the same as with people.
Balloons and the sceneries,
Well expressed and photographed,
When there's enough wishful appetite,
To be clicked and to interact.

In places we see not alone the artistry from it's outlining,
In artistry we see the composition and the framed songs,
Of the period when the art did minstrel.
That's how we communicate with the buildings and monuments,
Built from a time as late as the Thoughtful Movements,
That oriented and churned in the sands of time.

With friends, we walk, we talk,
Enjoy the Sunday,
A day off for everyone,
It's enough to say.

“Description of light”

Night comes with a shiver,
Mornings are led with such crescendo;
Of in-touching cooler vibes,
From the wintery sky.

In this living-room,
Wall hangings spread a message of warmth;
As the bulb inside them blazes,
And enlightens the loneliness,
Sending a hand of care,affection;
That's how I take it.

I switch the lamp on,
Yellowish and orange like,
Light comes to visibility,
Such is the cover of these brighter waves;
Settling over me and the sketches of the shadow,
That become but mine,
And the many things around me,
It's now that I get to estimate their presence.

A horse like figure, a toy-like water bottle,
The hulk out of my figure that sits on the sofa,
Engrossed into many thoughts or maybe those are ideas.
As if with me, everything around me unites,
To give a picture to themselves,
While I write, like-wise they draw;
Making their presence felt as I say so.

It's winter, I start with a shiver;
With my hands seeking woollen gloves.
The little sounds, of the railway lines,
Reach with loyalty as in their custom;
It's the train's song of glory that is,
Up-built even in this wintery chill,
While my hands tremble and seek woollen gloves.

It's quite early and now snoring takes a paradigms' high,
I hear it's whisper,
Won't call it sober or sweet,
It comes from the other room,
That is next to my living-room,
And appears as if, it's here,
With me, from me, that the sound originates.

In this season, life is substantial to dream;
With our breathes with us,
And not that the gush of the winds,
Have blowed us away.

Be happy you're living and awake,
This season hasn't taken you,
Into it's profound lake,
Where from it's tough,
Near to impossible to reach back,
Untimely in shine and grace.