Project Book Begins!

I think I have found the theme for my book that I want to publish someday. I am starting a writing project that I hope will someday, in 2-3 years, culminate into a book worthy of publishing. No, it’s not a fiction. No matter how hard I try, I cannot write fiction. I have accepted this fact. However, I am an observer of seemingly mundane happenings and my project is about recounting the story of what is seemingly mundane. It is tied to a city and its residents. If the project is well on its planned trajectory for next 6 months, I will publish some of the excerpts on this blog, else it would be lost in my collection of numerous pages that I have – online and offline – of unfinished ambitions.

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I am in a dilemma. Of lifetime. A dilemma that will define how I will live my life from hereon. I took life frivolously but its various elements seriously – only when they touched my heart. Various elements such as wealth, health, love, relationships, friendships et al. To take life frivolously and its various constituents seriously fuelled my writings and thoughts. The contrast pushed me to explore different thoughts and meditations that allowed me to explore things unexplored.

Now, I find the elements of life to be equally frivolous. Love, friendships, relationships etc. are just as frivolous as life. That’s how I feel now and that’s what life has taught me. Life is basically a pursuit of happiness for our own sake. Love is exact opposite, and therefore, love is an aberration. So are friendships and any other relationships. This fact is compounded further by the fact that longevity of life is more than relationships and that is where they stand at cross roads with life.

Now, the dilemma before me is that whether I should treat the elements of life as frivolously as I have treated life or not. If I treat its elements seriously, I end up looking like a fool and hurt to the core, but it gives me good writings and poems. If I take the elements as frivolously as life, then I would lead a ‘happy’ life, with no heart break but I will lose ability to write. My writing is about feeling these elements and describing them in enchanting manner.

I think its elements should be treated as frivolously as life. I might lose ability to write but I will be happier at the end of the day. As it turns out (or as the life has taught me) – life and its elements and ways to live and feel them – are simple mathematics. Nothing more. You have an equation – if it all fits – it’s good. If it doesn’t – you find other values. I am done with finding variables that complete my life’s equation. In fact, I believe there is no such equation and that life is much better without aberrations. It doesn’t matter if I lose my ability to write because I am stoic after much more precious constituents (at least I treated them so) were lost. If my writing ability is lost too, it wouldn’t matter at all.

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Capturing Time!

People move forward. They move on. They easily leave the place where they might have been before, but I find myself moving backwards. Every second, with every breath, I move backwards in a bid to capture all the moments, to capture all the images, to gather as much memories I can, and if possible, to stop there and not let the Time move on from there, from the moment I started losing, to stop it from progressing, to imprison it and sentence it for lifetime with me.

The incapability to do so makes me want to do it more, do it again and again, to keep on trying until I really lock Time in the past, but in the eternal struggle of man with Time, Time has always outsmarted man. I will continue the struggle of moving backwards and try to capture the time to lock it up forever.

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A thing about loss is that its overwhelmingly undermining effects are felt rarely in lifetime, even though we continue to lose things, people, gifts, jobs, money and health on regular basis. In my life, I have lost a million articles, a million artefacts, a million friendships, a million acquaintances, a million books, a million hours, a million bucks and what not, but no loss ever felt this sorrowful, gloomy and particularly piercingly painful as the Loss does now these days. As I go through the chore of life, I analyse the Loss intellectually too. This exercise is one of the various balms I employ to ameliorate my condition.

When I was in school, I considered having memory as some sort of superpower. My memory was and is quite strong, however I longed to have an eidetic memory. Now, I am in dilemma on whether I really need a strong memory. If not for memories, I wouldn’t have suffered Loss. Then, I wonder what good the life would be without memories. I concluded that perhaps there’s no way out of the dilemma of whether to have or to not have a memory, but I would trade all my memories to keep the memories of recent 7-8 months intact.

Sufferings under Loss are further amplified or appear to amplify in moments where solitude surreptitiously morphs into loneliness, and the past tries to remind the present of its eternal existence. Buried deep in the alcoves of brain – these memories – suddenly spring up  – and they always resemble a full blown garden of the spring but the knowledge of the fact that this garden belongs to the past and that you are no more a part of it breaks you. Then, I concluded that memories aren’t really painful. If they are, we tend to forget them. Painful memory – is, perhaps, after all,  an oxymoron.

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The Free Verse about Love Lost and Present

As I sit agitated on my  sofa,

I see my legs spread lugubriously on the table

and extending until my feet are invisible and

my hands rest on the keyboard…

hopelessly wishing, wishing hopelessly-my mind

wistfully writing, writing wistfully-my fingers

the following –

My eyes wishing to see a familiar scene…

My legs wishing to experience the familiar skin

My nose wishing to smell the familiar fragrance

My hands wishing to embrace the familiar figure

My mind wishing to indulge in the familiar mindwalk

My lips yearning to savour the familiar lips

My fingers wanting to engage with the familiar fingers

My being longing to behold the familiar once more…for one last time…perhaps

before I take the familiar and go

in to the deep recesses of my memory and heart

dig the depths never digged in them

so as to bury the familiar much deeper than

from where the love for the familiar takes birth.

As I begin to dig…from the surface…

I wonder how long before I reach the spot from where

the love for the familiar springs up….

I wonder whether in digging deeper to bury

the love for the familiar…

do I really bury it or make it rise from much deeper?

To bury the love should I bring it on surface expecting it to

be lost in daily rituals of life, with touch, smell, taste of strangers,

that it’d be oxidised and lost into the atmosphere?

Or will it light up more passionately

now that it is on surface and

easy access serving as oxygen to the fire?

Or should I continue to dig much deeper expecting it to be

lost under layers of new memories of

new experiences, new fragrances, and new touch?

But will these new fragrances, new experiences and new touch

be able to reach that depth…

where the love for the familiar stays safe, irreplaceable,

and afresh ?

Because these new memories, new experiences and new touch

can never, as I know, pierce the heart

to the depths where they can replace

the love for the familiar…

In the end, I decide to eschew the questions

and be lost in the memories

without worrying about the burying…

And I have a sudden revelation that whether I bury it deeper, or bring it to surface

I will never be able to purge the love for the familiar..

If I happen to purge the love for the familiar

It won’t renew me, it will completely take me

out of me and leave me empty…

I am now bringing my legs

back from the infinity and putting

some life in them…to walk among the ruins…

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