For months now, I have been working for myself. Most of my friends have remarked with a “oh, that is so great” and “Oh! That must be fun.” I agree, I hate the clockwork organised ways of a job and I do absolutely love what all I do and the fact that I am my own boss and liability as well is a great deal. Yet, sometimes, I find myself compelled to feel that my run is up a more arduous hill. I am pretty sure each one of us has felt that at times. The need to share with people, to scream at them perhaps, that maybe they need to open their eyes and not cry over petty things, that there were bigger problems that people go through as you speak.
Ever wondered why we feel this way? I think the need arises from a systemic training to feel that if you’re “doing more stuff”, you’re somewhere up there in life. This also comes from the fact that time and again, through systems like grading, ranking, competitions, appraisals, we are conditioned to bother with how the others are doing. It might not necessarily be envy, a mere curiosity, you say. This need to always be the number one, at least in one’s own head, aided by the deceptions of social media, make one feel constant need to keep running. That you’re busy, becomes a symbol of your life being so multi-faceted that you don’t have time at all for a call or a random movie marathon.
Move away from it and I am sure you’ll find more time for work and everything else that you plan to do after you’re 40.
A little poem to go with this then.
Chop chop chop
Claw claw claw
Splash, bam, spurrrr!
Motion, sound, noise.
Each atom in movement.
Comfort in chaos.
Run run run
Can’t stop, won’t stop
Life flying in the drill.
Was there ever a time to be still?
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Those who know me know my deep fascination with dreams – not just childish checking of meanings of dreams and laughing at them but, more so the vivid imagery that each dream has and how real it all seems. I am also known to have quite a set of vivid (for the lack of a more polite / politically correct word) dreams myself and the spirit of the morning usually comes from mulling over those dreams.
There are multiple times that dreams have inspired me to paint, write prose or poetry; leaving me intrigued at most times and a little shaken at others. After a long creative block, a recent one left me intrigued for days eventually leading to sketch above.
While I will refrain from getting into too many details of this dream, I can safely say that by far, it was one of the most alluring dreams I have had for some time. It started with me arriving in Gwalior with another person for some work. We step out of the pitch dark and quiet station into the night which has a strange shine to it, as if there is a hidden lamp behind the dark curtains of the night sky that is giving a light glow in the darkness. In my dream too, I cannot help but, marvel at the beauty of the night.
As we step out, we are greeted by sparkling clear, blue waters , lapping quietly at the gravel-ly shore. The moon is a huge golden orb that is glowing but, looks in despair as I overcome my urge to indulge in watching the beauty of the night and continue walking. With disappointment, the moon then casts a shadow as a sign of warning.
With a sense of foreboding, we walk away from the sight towards a building that is all bricks and mortar. I make a mental note of coming back while entering into part two.
As Poe says,
“All the we see or seem, Is but a dream within a dream.”
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Kuch dinon se mann me khayalon ka silsila kuch bhaaga bhaaga sa hai
Aisa lagta hai jaise ki mere andar se kuch chhut raha hai
ek ajeeb sa sannata hai andar
Bahar bahut shor hai, bahut bheed hai
Andar sirf shanti
Sehlaab ke pehle ki nahi, aisa lagta hai ye to uske saath aane waali chuppi hai.
Kaun hun main?
Kaun hai tu?
Kaun hain ye log sab jo aas paas ghoomte hain –
Muskurate hue ya udaas, chup chap ya bolte hue ya bas sar latkaye kahin jaate hue?
Kya hai ye zindagi ka safar aakhir?
Agar iss safar me hi sab kuch hai
To hum ja kahan rahe hain?
For a few days now, the threads of thought in my mind have been running here and there
Feels like, within, I am loosing something / something is being left behind
There is a strange quiet within (me)
There is a lot of noise without, a lot of crowd
Within it is just quiet
It is not the silence before the storm rather, feels like the silence accompanying the storm.
Who am I?
Who are you?
Who are these people who move about us –
Either smiling or sad, quite or talking or just walking somewhere with their heads hanging low?
What is this journey of life after all?
If the journey is what life is
Then where are we going?
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Had this scene in mind with a faint idea of a poem since January 2014. Sometimes the scene came out but, the words didn’t and sometimes the words were fine while the scene didn’t match. Finally sketched this the other night. Text below:
I had seen her every morning,
The lady in white;
Trudging along the pavement.
She would be constantly mumbling.
Maybe, she saw someone?
I would peer at her through the
White lace of mother’s curtains,
My heart thumping with fear –
What if she saw me?
I was eight then.
I left home.
I heard she died one morning,
How did they figure out, you ask?
She wasn’t seen mumbling,
hollow eyes darting, trudging along
for a week.
They say the stench traveled
Till the end of the road.
Why didn’t they go earlier, you ask?
Pope says, ‘Ignorance is bliss.’.
I still dream of her
No, she doesn’t haunt me with
Those empty eyes.
It is the emptiness of her life
That kills me now.
Was reminded of this sort of incomplete poem written a few months ago while talking to a friend about the idea of loneliness tonight. I remember writing this with the thought alienation that an urban life can bring in at times weighing on my mind – the desire to connect with human beings but, the simultaneous hesitation and mistrust to do that ultimately failing to recognise that we are a religious, casteist, regional group later but, a ‘human’ community first.
The concept of loneliness used to be pretty alien (as well as pretty scary) to me earlier especially while doing a project on it for an Archaeology class back in 2012. I remember the five of us dwelling on the concept of loneliness and what people resort to as a coping mechanism. We covered the likes of art as a way of venting out to addiction as another escape. While the former can be cathartic in a way, the latter has worse consequences by way of slowly taking away ‘life’ from a person. Of course, what one implies by ‘life’ can be rather subjective. Precisely why I chose not to dwell on the reason why addiction as a way of dealing with loneliness is not the best idea. I couldn’t really point out which part of the subjective answers to ‘what is life?’ I related to.
However, talking to this one friend today I realise that life means to have the will to move ahead – a step a day maybe, but to move ahead. And I say this not in the ‘move-ahead-only-career-wise’ way of thought (can take it as that too if one pleases) but, essentially to keep pushing oneself to grow as a human being a step a day. Sounds vague? Maybe. But, in each one of us is a tendency (or many tendencies) which makes one unhappy. The will to change that trying harder every time one feels defeated is the essence of life.
Where does loneliness fit in all this? Loneliness stems from the occasional or regular lack of the desire to be better every day. When lonely and lacking in this desire one would loop in that constant feeling of self pity (and anger maybe?) that grabs the focus of the mind so strongly that one cannot think of anything but, being lonely and miserable and unfortunate; totally, forgetting that one is an independent entity with one’s own choices and to choose to not grow and learn is what brings the stagnation that is loneliness.