The Honest Truth About 2009.

2009 was a year of sadness. Of crying over ghosts of girlfriends past. Of anti depressants and change. Of de addiction and cleanliness. Of taking matters into my own hands and doing something about my life. Of hardly falling ill and gaining weight in the end. Of forgetting old friends and creating new ones. Of finding out who I was and where I came from. It was about diving into the big bad city of Delhi and finding out if I can stay afloat. It was about turning over a new leaf. A tobacco free and an (almost) alcohol and marijuana free year. It was about changing my wardrobe and reshaping my alter ego. It was about adjusting once again to a new language and a new culture. It was about theatre and a new twist to the tale. It was about finding new pretense and new ways of being shallow and empty. It was about moving house. It was about one hard break up, one dark stormy night and unimaginable pain. It was about her and her voice in my ear crashing me down to the ground. It was about picking myself up and walking on ahead. It was about rebirth. It was about leaving the handrail and swimming across the middle of the pool and staying there to see if I would float. It was about steadfastness and strength. About a chilly day in Chandigarh with an equally chilly phone call. About the dream of a wrinkly hand reaching out and holding me, even when my eyes had opened. It was about staying with that dream. It was about hope. It was about keeping the lamp lit at all costs. It was about love, luck and normalcy. It was the search for a system, to stop double guessing myself and questioning my motives. It was about excessive thinking and how to stop it. It was about moving away from a loved one to stay in love. It was about looking for those that missed your presence. It was about those that asked where I was. It was about being rude for want of a better way to act. It was about taking and not giving back. About giving and not taking back. It was about coldness and calculation; bondage and seperation. It was about you and me. It was about us and the meaning our existance. It was about now and what to do with it. It was about self righteousness and self pity. It was about crying over spilt milk. It was about memories and what to do with them. It was about the search for a guru. It was about all this and more but I cant seem to remember all of it. Because in the end, it was about you.

Earth

A dark cloud forms outside my house. I wait and watch as the rain falls slowly down on my window, drop by drop, trickling down to the ground. I raise the coffee mug to my lips and breathe in the vapor. I take a sip and step towards the window, suddenly something comes over me and I run out into the rain and just stand in the middle of the road. The rain falls slow but relentlessly, every drop sending waves of icy impulses to my bones. I feel afraid to break out against nature, against myself. Something inside battles the resistance, battles for a direction.

I look around. It’s an empty street. There are no people, just cars hiding under their tarpaulin covers. I start to jog through the line of cars and come to a fork in the road. A part of me fears the unlocked door I’ve left behind; another part says it’s had enough. I tilt my head, frustrated at my indecisiveness and run. I just run. I don’t know where I am going, I don’t know what will become of me but all I know is that I am gone. Gone for a day. For two days, for a month. I don’t care. But fear questions my motives. The rain feels colder and colder as the wind begins to rise. A few dogs gaze curiously in my direction. Feeling stupid under their gaze I shamefully lift a leg and pivot around it. And when my back is turned I run off in the direction of the main road. There is a flyover. I run onto it. And then I remember there is no running allowed on flyovers. ‘What a disgrace’, I think, to a freedom fighter that cares about the rules of his prison.

I run anyway. The road is pretty empty. The sky is orange and aflame way off into the horizon but dark and foreboding on top of me. From the top of the flyover I get a good view of the city around me. And I stop running.

I’ve never seen it this way before. The lines, running away in all directions as far as the eye can see. And the tall buildings not letting me see what I should see. There is no option in this mess, you have to walk on the road and you have to kill your sight on concrete.

 Now I feel lost, terribly and hopelessly lost. I sit by the side of the road with my head in my hands and think of my next step. The problem is I realize, I never knew where I was going in the first place. And now I see the city swarmed out like a plague all around me and me, a singular being disconnected from everything there is. I feel like a virus. I ask myself if I am lacking, but I get no answer. I run to the middle of the road and ask the city what it wants from me and it doesn’t reply. Nobody does as they are told. But they do it anyway.

I follow my feet home, looking at the ground all the way. I can’t give up this easily. I am not a building that blocks your view and makes you go around it; I am not a road that forces you to walk on it. I am a stranger, to myself. And I’ve stumbled on a strange land we call the Earth. And nothing makes sense.

A Penchant For Raving

34 million people in the world
Tell me to walk in one way
The rest of them congratulated me
On sitting and counting all those
Who had formed opinions about me.

6 strings in the guitar
Draw me out of the closet to
Sit still and focus
Till music is formed in my brain.

4 words from my lips pulled out
The soul within to empty
The vessel seldom seen.

I lose myself in her expression
And draw to close my penchant for raving,
I walk across the carpet and face her, arms crossed,
silently staring.

The Misfit

I saw the melting candle in your eye
I saw it melt and drain away all my love,
I tried to figure out where you came from
I wanted to see who you were,
But when I looked in your eye I saw only love
And in your wake I saw your love's deeds,
Perfectly immaculate, rightfully deserving,
Everything about you seemed perfect and intact.
When I looked in your eye I cowered in shame
My shadowed heart still the same.
To be love's slave is to keep chained
The love inside of you.
I tried in vain to release the pain,
But you had turned and walked away
And I knew why this time.
So close yet so far, The shadow over my heart
Still remains the same.

Disturbance

"where the spirit does not work with the hand there is no art"- Leonardo Da Vinci.

"The train rumbles gently across the rails, there is a strange disturbance inside. Somebody yells, "pull the chain!", the stationmaster is summoned- "for an hour and a half we have been stranded, what kind of peanuts were YOU eating?!". The stationmaster is unabashed and calls his Railway Police Force. He is reprimanded. A complaint is lodged. Words are exchanged and life moves on. Inside somebody is inspired to complain all his heart's desires. Quietly I ask myself, 'to whom must we complain and who will hear our plea...is the stationmaster present at every platform of life?'"