The mornings aren’t same any more, so are the noons, the evenings and the nights. A vast void; a gigantic, gaping, yawning void is all that has remained to see before the eyes. No amount of bright sun, thundering skies, and raining clouds fill the void or give the illusion of world beyond the void.

The music in the heart that started playing on one eventful night of the October last year has suddenly stopped playing. The beats are not audible at all or ears deny their own existence. Such vulgar, blatant and irreverent emptiness has never haunted life before. And why not? After pouring all that one has, emptiness is all that remains.

The moments go by in a painfully slow manner- like a blade running sluggishly through the veins.The moments are not exactly different from the moments when someone experiences or realises or feels the world for the first time after birth. It’s quite like starting it all over. Again.

A long struggle ensues from hereon. The cavernous void hasn’t stopped staring.

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Week 15: With enervating heart

September 22, 2014 – September 28, 2014

The week went by with heart sunk deep amongst enervating nerves. It felt uninspired many times during the week. Particularly, on the Wednesday and the Friday. My mother has often asked me for whom am I doing what I am doing, for whom is all of my hard work, and for whom or for what purpose I continue to dream of expanding my work. I have always answered her as,”For me.”

This “for me” does take me to a trip. Only at times. A trip to the desert of despair, having harsh climate of piercing questions enquiring my purpose and central motto of my life. When I decide to live “for me”, am I being selfish? Can the life not be lived for one’s own sake and be vapourised too-for one’s own sake? All such enervations came haunting to me. I couldn’t pick a book to read or gather passion to continue writing the story.

However, these were only lows of the week. Highs of the week were new inventions that I came across. Human ingenuity and craving to beat the past – work or record or memory or technology – has always left me impressed. A few inventions were particularly interesting, especially those with application in oil and gas. Though these inventions did leave me wondering on the business models of these inventors and such businesses, but their ingenuity prima facie was impressive, but it is after I conduct a thorough analysis of their invention and technology, would I be able to ascertain or ascribe or attribute “genuine ingenuity” on them. This is a little difficult task and while I do so, I often get better informed about general technology and methods in a certain field of art. 

The enervating heart took a rest on Sunday. It did not stop enervating, but suddenly the thoughts of the new week filled it up with some passion, something more to look forward to and brush the botherings that were bothering me under one of the several mesh of neural network that runs in my body. That’s how it is. Uncertain future may be weaker than a glorious past but it is certainly stronger than a hopeless present.

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Week 14: In being regular

September 15, 2014 – September 21, 2014

Last week was eventful with being busy at work, in chores at home, in finishing a small book, amidst good conversations with a friend, gym and of course some short walks.

During the weekend, I read the book Tuesdays with Morrie on recommendation from a friend. It is a short and tributary memoir of the author’s favourite professor, who taught the author the subject of Social Psychology at University of Brandeis. I have recently been locking horns with some of Brandeis’ personnel on different issue, however this one was a pleasant encounter. You can always trust books to give a pleasant encounter.  Most of the teachings by Morrie, the professor, during the end of his life, which was nearing its end due to ALS or Lou Gehrig’s disease, were not really new to me. Coming from an Indian household, and more so from a Hindu household, the teachings on detaching from emotions and world, while indulging in Dharma, Kama, Artha and Moksha, of remembering the fact of one’s eventual death, of acquiring Santosha [satisfaction] from whatever we have were not new to me; however, certain values were entirely fresh such as to build one’s own culture, about forgiving oneself, some ideas on family and marriage et al. The book is made for a nice weekend read over multiple sips of green tea. I do wish we all be students like Mitch, and had teachers like Morrie!

My lessons on Sanskrit continue. I am only reading what I read years ago in childhood days. Therefore, finding it as a pleasant walk in garden of childhood, having fragrance of nostalgia. Soon, the tough lessons will appear and I am braced up for them. However, I would not hurry towards those lessons, until I make sure that I remember most of my basics and can exploit them in manners I already know.

I also happen to start developing a story. A fiction. Not a book, but just a short story. After I figured out the theme, I am not able to make great headways into the story itself. It is a difficult art. To tell a story. In a manner that keeps a reader hooked on to those structured words and prose. I think I lack that skill, rather I know that I lack that skill, but never has lack of something stopped me from pursuit of something.

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Sonnet V: Redoubt


David and his sonorous sonnets!

Originally posted on David Emeron: Sonnets:

All was given, everything was left,
And every hope would swell that I redeem
With nothing taken out; and when I deftly
Built up my redoubt, I felt returning

All that gifted, everything that stood
To gain and give me gain in my esteem
In every way in which such profit could
So bolster my redoubt, my feared concern

That some were not as they appeared; that next
To me–so closely held to me, extreme
So close my sense of safety had been vexed
To lay such siege, my hasty need to learn

How best to live within a fading dream
When once confessed, received, but did not earn.

This sonnet is part of a short sequence; click here to read it all:


View original

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Week 13 – of long walks

September 8, 2014 – September 14, 2014

Walking is also my favourite hobby. I shouldn’t call it my hobby. Walking is my attempt to feel whole world under my feet. It is crucial part of my quest for happiness. Sometimes, it is happiness. Sometimes, it is solitude. Sometimes, it is painful. Sometimes, it is tiresome. Sometimes, it is refreshing. Sometimes, it has no clear pursuit. Sometimes, it’s journey is not known. Mostly, it is unplanned. Walk is, therefore, very much like life. I am made up of five elements – Reading, Writing, Walking, Talking and Feeling. Upon my death, when my pyre is lit, my body will dissolve into these elements and these elements alone.

I walk to almost everywhere from almost anywhere. I am sure that I will walk to my pyre. If there is a hell or heaven, then, from the pyre, I will walk to hell. If there is a Supreme Soul that my soul has to embrace upon salvation or for salvation of my soul, my soul too will walk to its salvation. If there is nothing after death, I will walk to nowhere. I do wish that after I die, I get to walk in a few people’s subconscious, at least those whose hearts I may have touched, in their memories, in their talks, in their thoughts, in their writings, in their tears and in their laughters. However, too early in my life, I have come to know that no footprints are strong enough, more so of a person like me, a light-footed, short-statured, easily forgettable man. My footprints are easily removable, capable of being quickly run over by tides of life and time. I have now come to admire this quality of mine. Well, if you can’t change something inherent, admire it and come to terms with it.

This week went into a few long walks across the city. I felt like a God who could walk from anywhere to anywhere as and when he willed. My walk while coming back from office was unusually long. While going to office takes barely a 5-minutes walk, but this week, coming back from office took 30-45 minutes. Then, the walk to gym, later in the night, at around 10 PM, is short, but walk back from gym was usually longer, through the secluded streets in darkness of night, under artificial lights, at times under the light of moon, all the calories that I burn in gym, again start to throb, like a phoenix throbs from its ashes. Though my walks to gym weren’t as frequent due to a muscle injury.

This week’s longest walk was made of thousands of feet. It started from my home via tallest twin towers to a place that has a name that sounds like the name of a bird, and sometimes a chirp of a bird. I saw spectacles. Many of them. I also saw the ordinary. Much of them. I was again a spectator, gliding through earth, looking at skies, staring at tall buildings, wanting to find a point, where my feet ask me to stop and walk back towards home. Finally, it arrived! About 15 Kms from my home [as I checked later on Google Maps]. From there, the feeling of walk changed. It wanted to take another route. Through lanes not seen, and through roads not taken – while reaching there. I followed its wish, and discovered a place where they serve history. A museum. The building was majestic and imposing. Its towering facade represented the towering effects of history and my reaction to the facade was characteristic of the impressions history draws from a thinking being of a society. Walk is not meant to be held captive to such trivia as history. It must go on. I abandoned the museum and escaped its intellectual charm. After an hour or two of walk from museum, I discovered a place where they serve food. Good food. Please refrain from taking my word on food or a restaurant. You will never find me criticising food or a restaurant. The long walk ended at about 12 in the night.

I am sure that the streets and the roads, on which I so passionately walk, have no memory of mine. Why should they? Have they any reason?

Thank you, Week 13!

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