The incorruptible dream

I saw a beautiful movie today. What made it even more special was that it was based on one of the most beautifully written books.

The Great Gatsby.

It made me suddenly see clearly a notion, an idea that I was struggling with but didn't quite grasp. Its the catch-22 of love.

The kind of love that builds and grows to be so large you can barely contain it, almost always has a flaw. Its too grand. It is built with so much passion that the line between the illusion and the reality is blurred and nothing, however exceptional ever matches up to it.
And also, it is almost always devoted to someone who doesn't deserve it, who isn't even a fraction of what they are in your perfect imagination.
But you are oblivious. Your love takes a dream like quality. A dream that now thrives on its own accord and is so powerful that it is incorruptible. Its terrifying. Its beautiful.

Closure, or the attempt to get there.

As more and more people seem to find some sort of solace in pouring their hearts out in the very public formats of facebook statuses, twitter feeds and blog posts, I seem to find this more and more intrusive. Maybe I am closing up too much, but whatever be the case, I shall find my peace in just copying here a quote by Bob Marley. It is, in simple terms, beautiful. And having felt the kind of emotions talked about in it, or at least having imagined so, I would like to keep a record of it here. Just in case many years down the line, when memories of this relation begin to fade, I can look back and try to feel what I had felt then.

“Only once in your life, I truly believe, you find someone who can completely turn your world around. You tell them things that you've never shared with another soul and they absorb everything you say and actually want to hear more. You share hopes for the future, dreams that will never come true, goals that were never achieved and the many disappointments life has thrown at you. When something wonderful happens, you can’t wait to tell them about it, knowing they will share in your excitement. They are not embarrassed to cry with you when you are hurting or laugh with you when you make a fool of yourself. Never do they hurt your feelings or make you feel like you are not good enough, but rather they build you up and show you the things about yourself that make you special and even beautiful. There is never any pressure, jealousy or competition but only a quiet calmness when they are around. You can be yourself and not worry about what they will think of you because they love you for who you are. The things that seem insignificant to most people such as a note, song or walk become invaluable treasures kept safe in your heart to cherish forever. Memories of your childhood come back and are so clear and vivid it’s like being young again. Colours seem brighter and more brilliant. Laughter seems part of daily life where before it was infrequent or didn’t exist at all. A phone call or two during the day helps to get you through a long day’s work and always brings a smile to your face. In their presence, there’s no need for continuous conversation, but you find you’re quite content in just having them nearby. Things that never interested you before become fascinating because you know they are important to this person who is so special to you. You think of this person on every occasion and in everything you do. Simple things bring them to mind like a pale blue sky, gentle wind or even a storm cloud on the horizon. You open your heart knowing that there’s a chance it may be broken one day and in opening your heart, you experience a love and joy that you never dreamed possible. You find that being vulnerable is the only way to allow your heart to feel true pleasure that’s so real it scares you. You find strength in knowing you have a true friend and possibly a soul mate who will remain loyal to the end. Life seems completely different, exciting and worthwhile. Your only hope and security is in knowing that they are a part of your life.” 
― Bob Marley

“I’ve met a man and fallen in love with him. I allowed myself to fall in love for one simple reason: I’m not expecting anything to come of it. I know that, in three months’ time, I’ll be far away and he’ll be just a memory, but I couldn’t stand living without love any longer; I had reached my limit…
Generally speaking, these meetings occur when we reach a limit, when we need to die and be reborn emotionally. These meeting are waiting for us, but more often than not, we avoid them happening. If we are desperate, though, if we have nothing to lose, or if we are full of enthusiasm for life, then the unknown reveals itself, and our universe changes directions.”

Just an excerpt from a book by Paulo Coelho- Eleven minutes. But one that's been playing on my mind more than it should and makes more sense than it could.

As more time goes by.

Yet another semester comes almost to an end. And with it come the compres. And invariably I’m at my emotive best during such trying times.

Nonetheless, this is not just the end of any semester. This is the semester when I complete my so called Core Disciplinary Courses. How much I learnt from them is debatable of course, but I’d like to think I am a little wiser and knowledgeable in all things medicinal at the end of it.

However, pondering over my academic achievements (or lack thereof) was not the intention with which I originally began this post. It’s the startling revelation that I had completely overlooked for a really long time.

I spent most of my introspective moments judging myself on the grounds of individuality, confidence and plain old arrogance. All of them rating exceptionally high on my list of must have attributes. Being one with the crowd, being nice and accommodating so people tend to like you, these qualities have always ranked rather low. I saw them as being weak and ordinary. And I hated ordinary.

But my desire to be different, bold and outrageously so was so all consuming I neglected certain crucial nuances of life. One of them being that it feels nice to be liked by people. And that it doesn’t necessarily mean being ordinary. In fact often it is far removed from it.

As we bid adieu to another set of seniors I have come to realise that my train of thought had been rather narrow. Sure, I wouldn’t trade my individuality for anything in the world, but I wish I had spent my last three years in college being more than that. I wish I had a tangible cause that I would be more important than other priorities; that I had been a better friend; that I had taken an initiative to really know people, intelligent, interesting, nice or even those I had deemed insignificant after a conversation.

In the end with just one more semester to go, you just wish that in your unique little (or big) way, you have a made an impact and a lasting impression.

Random pseudo-‘psenti’ rant.

The perfect ending.

"Life is not perfect; it never will be. You just have to make the very best of it and you have to open your heart to what the world can show you. Sometimes its terrifying and sometimes its incredibly beautiful."

Random quote off the internet. There seem to be a lot many of them around. Some that make tremendous sense. Some others that leave you with that hanging feeling that you would get if a guy had you really turned on and then just left. The quote above is not too different. In the sense that it could mean something, it could lead you to a higher plane of understanding but then it abruptly stops without making any sense at all. Without really clarifying the end. And its just annoying.

It is possible the very function of it was not to give you the end but the means to get there. But that just doesn't matter. You still don't know how to cope. You still struggle to get to the point of solace that you so desperately want to reach. But its a tad difficult when there's a part of you that possibly enjoys this frustration. A part of you that relishes the hurt. A part that just doesn't want to give up in spite of very sound argument against it. And that is annoying too.

I guess its just a matter of the head over the heart or vice versa. And maybe all of this means that I'm terribly weak or maybe that I'm incredibly strong. I can't really tell the difference. And I don't know which one sucks more. But the self-destructive trait is perhaps a little too ingrained. Or maybe its self preservation. I don't really know.

And I'll stop with the vagueness here.

PS: Yes, I know. You're thinking 'Random post off the internet. There seem to be a lot many of them around'.

The morning rant.

This is rather interesting. If you haven't ever done it yet, you're missing out on an invaluable experience.

Its six in the morning, but that is not what's so special about now. What is special is the experience of the night as it slowly turns into day. It is poetic how that happens. The sheen of the moon as it slowly melts into the horizon giving way to the pale pinkish glow of the first rays of the day.

Its things like this that almost make you forget the various hurdles in life, the Compres being the foremost one at the moment. They seem almost trivial if not non-existent, like you could easily overcome them.

And as I breathe in the fresh cool air of the morning, I'm filled with this awe of everything that is around us, and everything that we rarely notice. Cliches aside we really should be more observant.

Its irksome though, knowing that the pleasant breeze will soon turn into the hot and blazing loo. Well, that's Pilani. There's little we can do about it, except maybe take five baths in a day.

That aside though, the Pilani induced insomnia often works out for the best. Through the quiet beauty of the night and the serenity of the morning breeze, one can hope to attain the very allusive and crucial peace of mind.

Te Amo

Te amo.

It’s something that’s beautiful in every language. Te amo. I love you.
Some say I romanticise love way too much. But you hear any love song, read a love story; doesn’t it make your heart sway, feel like it’s floating. So then I say, why not romanticise love? That is how love is.

This song has been stuck in my head for a considerable time now. Playing it on repeat a million times still doesn’t seem enough. What can I say? I’m a sucker for anything romantic. And the song is that, and a bit more.

I’m not very sure why I’m writing this post in the first place. But I just felt I needed to chronicle this feeling, needed to freeze it in time. The rush of warmth, the light-headedness, and the inexplicable swaying. Love songs do that to me (well, so does alcohol).
And I’m hoping real love does that too.

Rant of a long night.

This is one of those posts that I write because I simple have nothing better to do. Or I do have something better to do, except I don't feel the slightest inclination to do it. Like in this case with the ES-II exam on Monday, I should ideally be breaking my head over coils, and rotors and what not. But with the ridiculously small attention span that I have for anything boring, or say, repulsive, it is very very hard to stick to what is right.

So instead, I refreshed the Facebook page a million times. But sadly there isn't much activity going on there at 3.30 in the morning. What can I say, the nocturnal lifestyle isn't as popular as one would like. So instead I read some random articles on Wikipedia, some online magazines, and inevitably watched a few episodes of my favourite sit-coms.

Insomnia is hard when you're alone. The dark empty corridor not to mention hauntingly quiet is a little more than just unsettling. Well, at least the crickets keep you company. But then again, I don't exactly recall anyone say they had a good time with the crickets. Pardon that very stupid last line. One doesn't exactly think sensibly at such an ungodly hour.

In the worst case of boredom, I could attempt deciphering ES-II again.
Ha. No, not even then.

Another movie, perhaps?
Annie Hall. Yes.

Of joblessness, boredom and spite.

There are many things you learn in the course of your life. And in the otherwise mundane sleepy village of Pilani, you’d be surprised at the level of life philosophy that you can learn.

We all know it’s a complex world. Well, I didn’t know exactly how complex till one of those deep and meaningful (albeit drunken and jobless) discussions that you can have only at 1 in the morning with your close friends. It’s surprising how little things can be so humongously blown out of proportion in the land with no malls (and many other things). Where simple courtesy is branded hypocrisy and hypocritical indeed all relationships are, it is rather difficult to find the mental peace one desperately needs at the end of a long hard day (of even if only lying around watching sitcoms).

But in all seriousness, where has life’s simplicity gone to, when people said what they felt and felt what they said, when being nice to people was simply an extension of the niceness in oneself (yes, there is niceness in everybody) without ulterior motives, without judgement at every step? It’s appalling how prompt and incorrect assessment based on nothing but prejudice can tarnish the simplest of intentions.

But I guess that’s how the lives of jobless, frustrated people roll.
That’s right. I can judge too.

Not sure what it's about.

There is an uncanny similarity between all the great moments of realization and clarity. Completely different contexts seem to result in the one Mood. As the world around rejoices (no specific reason, they are strangely always happy), I delve once again in the solemn, not so cheerful shade.

In moments like these I suppose you would expect one to play dark, brooding music and heavy metal. Strangely though that’s not the case with me. I watch the most inane of sitcoms possible. I’ll tell you this; sitcoms have this way about them. When they are sweet, endearing, funny or even plain retarded sometimes, they have this great ability to connect, make you feel better.

It all started with ‘Friends’. Back in 1-2 when I was one of the few to own a laptop in my wing, I would watch episode after episode for hours at a stretch. It was a world of its own, if I may say so.

Either way, this just goes on to show that I do indeed take the step that’s mine to take towards the alluring state called Happiness. This is contrary to the belief that people hesitate to accept happiness out of sheer unfamiliarity. Though this hypothesis has enough merit, it is probably only because of ignorance rather than a lack of desire to attain it.

And if none of that made any sense to you, consider yourself blessed. You still have your brains non-muddled. Some others are not so lucky.

The numbness

It has been a stagnating long time since my last post. And if you were my diary, I would be apologizing profusely. But as it turns out, you’re not. So deal with it.

However, this is mostly going to be a post in introspection.

Okay, sometime maybe you are a diary.

In this weird inability to pen down my thoughts lately I have come to realize that perhaps it isn't just some clichéd writer’s block. It is perhaps something deeper, something that has got to do with the fundamental methodology of my writing.

There are people who can be unattached to the subject of their writing. People who can rave about random things that don’t matter much to them. There are some others who must feel what they write, must make their own what they write, whether it is their own feelings or somebody else’s. And I perhaps fall in the second category.

And this takes me back to the purpose of this article, that perhaps I haven’t been feeling anything lately that I can call my own. Yes, there have been moments of joy like coming back home, misery that all my friends aren’t here, exhilaration when I go out and have a good time, and disappointment when things don’t go as planned, but somehow none of that or other things
have brought about any expression in the form of words.

I wonder what elicits this kind of numbness and the ability to feel and yet not feel. Whatever it may be, I hope it ends soon enough, for though it might be good to be unaffected, it is a worthless life without the myriad emotions that exist in this world.

A life of lies

The angst is limitless. It is surprising how some people get along with their lives without ever knowing pangs of this kind. For the rest, those sleepless nights when you cry yourself to sleep, where the morbidity of your life finally becomes too much to bear, is when you’re truly alive. Because the rest of time, the ways of the world teach you to leave your inner self behind.
There is nothing more painful than knowing that you are alone. There is no despair greater than when laying on your bed at night, after surviving the whole day with that fake smile plastered on your face, the tears flow relentlessly. And its agony when every day of your life is such a day. The charade of the people around you and the pretence that you yourself are forced to put up take out every ounce of sanity left in you. In the end, it’s just you, the soreness, and the tears.
In this world, nothing is the way it seems. The intertwining of the lunacy, the deceit and so many people is something that is too much to take. You die inside each time you realise that there is yet another way that people can hurt you. And there is nothing you can do. You sit put when all you want to do is run away. To escape. In a place where none is a friend, where none really understands you, it is the pretence that lives on eventually. And at the end of the day, when in the confines of your solitude, you finally let go of this farce, it is impossible not to break down completely. Impossible to stop the pain from flowing into each part of your body. It leaves you cold and damaged.

The Darkest Hour

The night is darkest before the dawn. Or so people say. But in that dark, desolate hour, when the heart screams in agony, when the mind is twisted, when the soul is shrouded, what does one do? Where does one go?

There come many instances in life when faced with such intensity of emotions. I’ve rather had a bit too many of them. Right now, it’s one. It’s difficult to console the mind. It’s impossible to see reason. And certainly it’s unimaginable to believe that indeed dawn is but a little while away.

The whole hopelessness of the predicament is nauseatingly painful. It’s like being lost in a deep dark alley and not knowing the way out. In a place like where I am, this alley only gets more daunting.

I feel caged. I feel like I’ll never see daylight again. And what makes it so much harder is knowing I’m alone in this battle. Knowing that if I ever do outstretch my hand in search of a little hope, a little help, I will only grasp empty air. Air that reeks of desolation and of despair.

The trickling of the heavens

The incessant rain in Pilani now has finally compelled me to dedicate an article pondering over this amazing new phenomenon. For someone who has spent only a little more than a year at this place, this is quite remarkable and simply beautiful.



We all remember our favourite rainy days, like back in class one when my dad had come to pick me up from school in the lunch hour amidst torrential rains that filled up the cars and autos with at least knee length water. Or when school was cancelled because the roads were waterlogged and we stayed home watching T.V. and devouring on mom’s amazing food. Or more recently lying curled up in bed with some awesome book and looking out of the windows occasionally not being able to help but wonder and be amazed by such breath-taking beauty.

For me, the best part of rain is before it actually pours, when the sky is completely draped with dark clouds, the leaves waver in the soft cool breeze; you know then that something exquisite is about to happen. The pleasing feeling that comes with it is unmatched, it never fails to awe or soothe the mind. I remember spending countless days in my room back home just staring out of the window when it rained. Those memories have a lot to do with rejuvenation.

Here in Pilani, its all the more beautiful. The greenery, the pristine sky and the relentless rain; its nothing short of magical. Even now as I look out of my hostel window I’m simply enamoured by how picturesque it looks, and how pleasing it feels.

There is something about the rains that forces you to forget all else. Something about it, that though it makes your hair curl up like noodles, smudges your kajal all over your eyes and drenches you through and through, it still makes your heart soar.

The romance of rain is perennial and forever endearing. As I look heavenwards once again, I can only be thankful for all that I behold, and all that I feel.

Ramblings and some more.

Somehow no matter how many stories in the form of books or anecdotes from your friends’ lives or even your own imagination you might have heard or thought about, a story involving people in love does not cease to enthral, excite or just please.

It was probably the umpteenth number of rom-coms that my friends and I had watched in our hostel rooms, gushing over those crazy or sometimes just clichéd proposals, never refraining from oohing and aahing at every cute or just dumb dialogue. They were like the breath of the sweet perfumed air over and over again, admittedly not original but beautiful all the same.

People left and right of me seemed to be in love, or at least what they thought was love. Though it was often unbearable, to say the least, it was also extremely endearing. It was all well and good till the last of my friends got committed and there was just nothing to do except to listen to their heart-warming episodes of real-life love sagas. Yes I’m being slightly sarcastic here.

Finally it was nauseating enough to choose studying over hanging out with them. The whole sensation of realising that something might be positively wrong with me had finally hit. There seemed nothing I could do about it; I didn’t have the slightest clue about how these things worked. I mean how you know who you like, or how at all it could be possible for two people to simultaneously fall in love with each other. It was statistically wrong.

But people seemed to defy all logic anyway. Either everyone was weird or it was just me. And I couldn’t possibly think it was me, I mean that was just impossible.

Tomorrow is another day

Bearing in mind that I’m spending what could be the most jobless phase of my life (i.e. considering I’m never unemployed in my later life), I could say that I’m giving shamefully less time to things that I enjoy, reading and writing to mention the two most important.

With time stretching apparently infinitely, the motivation to actually do something worthwhile is low. And that pretty much reduces the daily timetable to getting up as late as 11 in the morning and then getting glued to the television till its tea-time watching any random movie that might be airing at the time. Well thanks to Sony Pix, Star Movies and HBO, though majorly fruitless, the day turns out to be sufficiently entertaining. Facebook and Gtalk pretty much take care of the rest of the day.

With over a month of such a routine, the mind seems oddly attached to it and thinking of any alternate lifestyle involving hardships of any kind not only is very, very unpleasant, it also seems to squeeze out all of the fun of the particular moment that the thought occurs in and the ones after it too. So I take to the policy that I have used more or less all my life, (which in fact was even employed by Scarlett) - I put the thought at the back of my head where I imagine it is safely locked until I voluntarily release it. It works most of the time.

But the instances that such thoughts occur have been rising recently. Now, with less than a month remaining for yet another phase of a little more than hardships, the disturbing thoughts plague my mind more often.

Weird though. When I was at the land of hardships, I quite enjoyed my stay and I even wondered before the break, what I would do for the long time I would get for doing basically nothing, how I would stay without my friends I was used to seeing 24 hours a day and how I would ever get used to soft beds and good food.

But within a week none of that mattered. The place I’d grown fond of wasn't so appealing anymore. Old friends resurfaced, relatives became confidants and well, soft beds and good food became the norm. And now it’s hard, very hard indeed to think of letting it all go, to go back to the mundane and morbid.

But as always, “tomorrow I’ll think of some way...after all, tomorrow is another day”

Being Home

There is something magical about the way your heart feels a fuzzy warmth at the sight of something dear and familiar. And nothing compares to the pure joy of being back home in the city you've grown up in, after you've been away for so long.
Yes, the excitement of feeling the train finally coming to a stop at the familiar station after 21 hours of journey; stepping out of the train with luggage the size bigger than yourself, but hardly noticing it in all the jubilation; and finally looking up at the faces of your family members come to receive you; its these simple joyous moments that make life.

I got home on the 16th and its been two glorious weeks of relaxation, good food, movies and the kind of joblessness that is exhilarating to say the least. The roads, the people...they seem to welcome you with all the commotion and otherwise disruptive noise. The malls, with their KFCs, McD's and CCD's and their stores- Levi's, Pantaloons, Shopper's Stop, they beckon you with a longing thats severe and strong. All the things that after the village life in Pilani seem like a big treat. Don't get me wrong though, I love my college and the campus, but nothing equals the feeling of being home.

Calcutta. Its warmth, its passion, its simplicity, its sheer love for music and literature; everything about this place not just makes me immensely proud but tugs at my heart in a way no other place could. It is after all the place I've known and loved all my life, the place of unquestionable beauty.

Euphoria

As the night dawns on, the rhythm begins. The calmness, the serenity of the soundlessness of the world sleeping. Its miraculous, its peace personified. Then the voices begin. The crazed voices of the unknown lurking close by, just out of reach, taunting and sneering at me. As time progresses, the conscious mind gives in. It ceases to exist, as the subconscious is born, feeding on the dead remains of its counterpart of the sane world. As reality and dreams and nightmares mingle to form one, the zenith of the hysteria is reached.
Its madness, its Euphoria.

Meaningless Meaning

The world is beautiful as long as you want to believe it is. It's rosy when you're pumping with pounding blood in your system, when you're in general in a state of euphoria (of varied stages) and when you're not faced with doubt and hypocrisy so severe and shocking that it dislodges your very sense of self.

It is a cynical world, out there. One that will not change just 'cause you want it to and believe that because you were noble and kept the end of your bargain, everything's going to fall into place, everything is going to work out exactly as you'd hoped.

In spite of everything that goes on in this world people remain the same, no one and nothing changes. its the loop with the counter tending to infinity. Its miserable and pathetic. There is nothing in here that is sane or logical, or some so logical that its inhumane to say the least. everything's dis-functional, programmed to fail. Yet there are people who try, and try to make some sort of an impact, some change, any change. But more often than not they realize that they are either too insignificant or powerless to make even an iota of the changes they had dreamed of.

Life is mundane. Its the same old story being said over and over again with a different protagonist, (each his own of course) with no coherent rhythm or reason for its existence. We might as easily have not existed. Would it have mattered to the cosmos? I'm thinking not.

Getting to the hypocrisy, isn't it rather painfully amusing that no matter how much some people appear to be 'sacrificing', and above all otherwise useless and mundane things of life like jealousy, anger or some supposed vice, they are always, without fail, merely pretending? A pretense they have carried on for so long that they forget it was pretension in the first place. Yet the fact remains that it is not part of who they are. It is not, 'cause it can't be. No one remotely human or otherwise is capable of it because put very simply they are the only entity where their life story begins and ends. There is no other soul that can matter as much as they matter to themselves. Its the very law of nature. Self preservation is too ingrained in us to let go. Any other form of supposed self-less behaviour is only a misplaced or enlarged notion of self. But it is the self. Every time.

Life teaches you many lessons. One of them is to observe and appreciate the remarkable faulty mechanism of life in place that works so perfectly for the imperfect world we live in. The other is living in denial, believing as we are (yet again) programmed to believe, how simply gorgeous life is and how life itself suffices the very meaning of life. The latter is how most of us think and undoubtedly life is comfortable that way; ignorance after all is bliss. But the few who are cursed to look at life in the other way have a forever jinxed mind. It doesn't do you good to know that every good thing done to you is because of an ulterior motive that benefits the benefactor himself.

Despite every change, one thing is certain, nothing will change. The only change significant enough will be when we all perish. Well it is a crooked world and a crooked world it shall remain.

PS: I'm not very sure if this post made much sense, but well its 3 am and I'm sleep deprived. We all know what that can do to the body and mind.

My First Holi

This is one of those times when things just refuse to go the way you’d hoped or planned; when i am in such a cranky mood that nothing other than the best could ever hope to please me.

My first holi in BITS...apparently a very joyous occasion. Beautiful clear sky, peacocks calling from just outside the hostel and a calm, serene atmosphere...just perfect for the upheaval called holi.

Then why you wonder i’m sitting here in my room with bitterness oozing out of every stroke of the keyboard keys. Well like i said before, in my world if things aren’t perfect they don’t exist at all. My ideal notion of holi in my first year college was that all my friends and i would take the place by storm and have a mind-bogglingly good time, even perhaps try out the ‘bhang’ (well yes i haven’t ever tried that yet, surprising i know but that is how it is).

But as you have guessed right, that was not to be. It turned out very few of my friends happened to share my views on how we should celebrate holi. They all decided to run back home. I sometimes wonder why i even befriended these people from Delhi and Jaipur, why i couldn’t hang out with people from the places farthest from Pilani. Ah well even while the question was framing i got my answer...simply ‘cause i love my friends here. But that of course is beside the point. The fact remained that my ideal holi was ruined and no fragmented holi celebration could appease me now.