Is it the “White Powder”?

He fell down with a crash. He is my fried and if he falls, with a plate full of eatables, smearing
himself all over, what am I supposed to do? What do they expect a friend, like me, to do? Well I’m
expected to laugh, laugh till my stomach starts to pain like heel. Laugh in such an uncivilized way that
the party looks at me in disgust, treating me a man from Paleolithic age.
Why am I silent then? Why am I so indifferent? Why am I so grave and intense in my expressions?
Why am I not affected by the party’s music, why is the food not appealing me? What in me is bringing
this cataclysm of anguish? Why are my lips numb? Why aren’t they yelling like my heart is?
What is the deafening noise inside me all about? Is it the flinch, the sleeplessness, the drink? Is
sleep taking over me? Why can’t I sleep then? Why can’t I feel rest even when I didn’t sleep for two
days? Oh why am I feeling like death? Is my doom approaching?
Everything around me is so scary and awful. Will I feel pain if I stab my heart thousand times? Will
I bleed if I slit my veins? Will I die craving of powder?
Why am I drowning in the swamp of reverberations? Why are the echoes shrill enough to rip open
my bosom? Why am I feeling so much pain? I need the powder

 

Blessed is the…

A compartmented repost from my post ” The Divinity of Love” posted on 17th of august in 2016…

“Today I went thru two such moments. No matter I see something like that everyday but noticing was what I did today. A cute little girl with her father! It soothes me a lot. Try it someday and see your lips curling to smile, effortlessly. I saw a girl, maybe five or seven in years, with her father sitting on their parked scooter along a roadside bhutta stall. They were sharing it turn by turn. It wasn’t like the father was the richest or was the bike was posh nor the girl was a hot teenager (which, I admit, is the only thing “expected” to hold people of my age at a place). They were turn by turn nibbling the unit bhutta ,happy and content in their world of two, disconnected from the surrounding. Sometime views like these arouse in me a feeling to be a father, of a girl child (don’t judge me as a sexist but I absolutely have no idea why a girl). To be laughing and fooling with my cute little daughter whole day round. To be tending her when she’s sick, to take her on long rides and enjoying roadside bhutta and chain rain, to be madly celebrating reasonlessly, to go with her on hikes and to play tricks on her mom with her, to go for ice creams mid nights, watching movies and never letting her lose her innocence. I feel it though I am too young a man to feel the rush of these elderly desires, but I do feel it. Given a chance I would love to forget for the rationality, the calculative me and be her loved father and crazy friend forever. Though I’m not expected to but I can feel the happiness of being called “Papa aaj office mat jao na…” by my cute daughter. Oh yes it is heavenly good feeling and I find myself doing injustice trying to comprehend it in words.”

What face of love is it?

Repost from one of my old post: “What face of love is it?”

…Sweet girl is Aditi. The kind of girl you feel like hugging, the kind of girl who smiles any pain off you, the kind which is innocent, the kind that is soft, the kind that is friendly, is strict, is cutely stubborn. She is one of those girls who hums bollywood, who cries for Indian cricket team, who sings madly, dances, lives. Her smile is one which demands attention. Her eyebrows, the way they dance above her eyes making all the expression of all the melodramatic daily soaps she has seen is a cherishable beauty, they perform drama, they question. Merely her brows are hypnotic enough to gain over the strongest willed person enough leave alone me. Her lips are the kind which I call ‘irresistible’. Her night black eyes behind her frameless are something which I have waited lives to look into. The impeccability of her face comes to me from the fact that even a bit of Photoshop makes her look akin to a Barbie. God only knows what she actually is, but whatever she is, impeccability is the only word that defines her.

May be I am exaggerating but isn’t that what a person in love is expected to look at the one, perfection. I don’t see it coz I’m expected to but because she actually is. So I love her, don’t know what exactly in her. Maybe her smile or maybe the way she exaggerates her dramatic expression, or maybe the way she cares for me, may be its simply the way she is; mad, wild, cute, lovely, graceful, beautiful and all. Whatever it is, I love her as madly as one can imagine….

A Girl Writes…

24thNov. 2016, 0500 IST

Why do you look up at me in disgust? Why do your eyes call me abhor-able? What has made me so different from you? Is it the prize of what they did? Your eyes had a twinkle in them when I was around, why did you let disgust and hatred replace it? How did all the love and pampering disappear for me with the so called “wrong” which you think I committed?

“Maa” what makes you taunt me for the whole day since then? Papa I was your good girl, your honor, wasn’t I? I was a thing you proudly bragged about. How can an act, which I even did not commit, make you limit me within the threshold of the house? Brother you wanted me to be a pilot one day, it was your dream. It was you who taught me the worth of education, women emaciation and empowerment, terms which lay like only big philosophies. Where did the idea vanish? Your eyes reflect vengeance, desperation and hatred today. Why do you call your beloved rakhi girl a “filth”? Why are you looking for groom? I am just 19.  How come just twenty minutes change my name form sister to burden? How did you agree to pay such a huge dowry? Why did you let the circumstances change your ideals?

Oh my friends, am I not worthy enough to join you to parties? Does that cataclysmic change snatch my rights to live? Why do I have to hear my relative whisper on my back and look at me as if I am the mud of the pond?  Why do I have to drape myself in a shawl when I go out? What do I try to cover, what do I drape and more importantly from whom, they are all the same? It suffocates the life out of me.

Why do the lawyers and the police ask me a thousand times as to where I was touched, how was it done, what all they put in me, what all was I made to touch, why? How am I expected to explain them the pain I hold within? How do I articulate the way they crawled over y genitals like rain worms? Oh how I was name called by a swarm of bees digging in their painful stings all over me, parting me the pain of a thousand lives. How was it my mistake that I was caught in the goddamn traffic late night? Was it my mistake that the drunken monsters were horny or became horny seeing me or whatever? The auto driver was his mate, was that too my mistake? It must have been my mistake to be offered a drink and pornography by those erect whoremongers. I guess it was my mistake to scream and cry mincing in the intense pain as the screwdriver went in me, or when the beer bottle was shoved up my anus. I guess I was wrong in pushing one of the pervert beasts to death. It must have been my mistake that they filmed by body and their acts under the flash. I was wrong walking back home in tatters, when nobody came to help me as I lay mincing on the pavement in pain that cold raining night. I guess I was wrong in telling my parents. I must have been wrong at visiting the police station too. It would have been better if they killed me after the rape.

I guess I was wrong being born a girl!

 

Discovered him…

Dated: Sunday, February 19, 2017

Timed: 12:40 AM

How do I define him? How should I draw him? I’ve seen him but the figure wasn’t distinct. I saw him in that waste picker. She was scrounging for something in the heap of dirt and filth in the dump yard with an old sack on his back. She was just a child, but I saw him in her. He attracted my conscience. There was someone in her. Dogs barked at her but she continued scrounging without giving them a damn. They seemed to talk to the one I was seeing. He was illusionary, like a candle’s flame he was figureless yet steady. For a moment I saw my reflection in him, though it too was none different that the figureless flame.

I stood looking at the figure and saving his image in my mind, but he seemed to change himself every moment. Was he playing with me or was he testing my patience or was he not noticing me at all. Was her talking to those dogs? Was I a voyeur there? He seemed to have an endless depth akin to the infinite questions in the eyes of the girl. He seemed to have a great height at the same time, none different than the heights of her dreams. His eerie illumination magnified every time the girl found something that brought smile to her face, and it rarefied each time a thorn or something bruised her tender fingers that were slowly getting used to picking waste.

Each time she threw a crushed bottle or a piece of metal from the dump on the dogs, they would pick ‘em up and collect it at a place. The light in the girl seemed to dance merrily with the game with his mates. The girl went on scrounging. There was still the childhood’s innocence and she lacked adult rational. I followed her, heap to heap, keeping distance from her and the stink. Like the dogs I too was completely idealess as to what would I do if I catch her. I just followed the candle in her. She reached a place where her family (apparently parent and an infant younger brother) was doing the same. Her parent had no illusionary candle in them. They had no dogs barking at them. Their eyes had a noetic look. They, unlike the girl, did not get pleased when they found something interesting. I looked at her younger brother revealing himself playfully to her sister from behind the mother. The dogs got happy and so did I, their song of game began. I smiled and looked the flame inside him, it was brighter than the girl’s.

The Divinity Of Love

By:Prashant

Dated: Sunday,July 31, 2016

Timed: 8:40 AM

In our lives we often encounter some of the moments which bring cataclysmic change in the way we observe, or rather perceive things, leave alone the fact of these changes being momentary or lingering. These moments are not very unusual ones rather we go thru these daily, but we are too involved in ourselves to feel the importance of the passing moment. These mesmerizing moments give to us (at least me) a realization that real happiness is nothing expensive, nothing to be scrounged for. These moments like a lively silhouette pass thru us to the setting sun of gloominess filling our horizons with twinkling stars of pleasure inducing smile of contentment to the soul.

Today I went thru two such moments. No matter I see something like that everyday but noticing was what I did today. A cute little girl with her father! It soothes me a lot. Try it someday and see your lips curling to smile, effortlessly. I saw a girl, maybe five or seven in years, with her father sitting on their parked scooter along a roadside bhutta stall. They were sharing it turn by turn. It wasn’t like the father was the richest or was the bike was posh nor the girl was a hot teenager (which, I admit, is the only thing “expected” to hold people of my age at a place). They were turn by turn nibbling the unit bhutta ,happy and content in their world of two, disconnected from the surrounding. Sometime views like these arouse in me a feeling to be a father, of a girl child (don’t judge me as a sexist but I absolutely have no idea why a girl). To be laughing and fooling with my cute little daughter whole day round. To be tending her when she’s sick, to take her on long rides and enjoying roadside bhutta and chain rain, to be madly celebrating reasonlessly, to go with her on hikes and to play tricks on her mom with her, to go for ice creams mid nights, watching movies and never letting her lose her innocence. I feel it though I am too young a man to feel the rush of these elderly desires, but I do feel it. Given a chance I would love to forget for the rationality, the calculative me and be her loved father and crazy friend forever. Though I’m not expected to but I can feel the happiness of being called “Papa aaj office mat jao na…” by my cute daughter. Oh yes it is heavenly good feeling and I find myself doing injustice trying to comprehend it in words.

4d33ccf91b31f2c2907f57e7d6e2b7e0

A few words before my second experience…

Teri baaton ki maasumiyat mein jee rahein the hum;

Teri aankhon ki gahraiyon mein jee rahein the hum;

Teri khilkhilahat ki baarishon mein bheeg rahein the hum;

Koshis to ki ki tujhse door rah sakein hum;

Par tera saath jo tha yakeen tha, jee rahin hai hum;

Jaana tha hume chorke tujhe;

Aur ab jab ki tu nahi hai nazron mein;

Naa jane q lagta hai saansein gayi ho tham;

Jaise anayas hi aankehein ho jaati ho num;

Bahot bedard hai tera yeh gum;

Tabhi to duniya ki bheed mein akele kahde hai hum!

Another moment was which I shouldn’t have had looked so attentively, it was uncivilized to do, but I couldn’t help it coz it was spell casting. It was irresistible. A middle aged man with her lady (wife, who was apparently on her family way) were taking a stroll on the road. It had rained a few hours back and the atmosphere was touching. What oftenly I’ve been observing (with my friends, obviously) about these couples on the streets was that if they looked good together. But today was different, I was in my soul company so I looked at them with my perspective. I was walking right behind them and could overhear the conversation. The lady said,” I wish it’s a boy, nothing different from you.” The man looked back and smiled, his smile had a matured and loving tinge. I had been noticing this man for quite some time (at my favorite bhel-puri stall) with his friends and he was dumb. I never saw him speak only that he had crude sign language. Whatever I saw today was astounding.  I was shocked to see the way the lady felt for her man. The way she saw him as if he was the best man in the world, a flawless man. Even that she wanted her son to be like him. I tried looking at  the man, he was no different from the people walking around me and that maybe coz I had no sentiments attached unlike her wife. Next I glanced the lady to check if she had gone nuts. I was wrong and happy to be wrong. The way she looked at him was what made him perfect, it was her love for him that concealed his disability. It wasn’t a sympathetic look, it was something as pure as newborn and as immortal as time. I stood looking at them, speechless and thoughtless, yet spelled, as their pure aura lingered and their silhouette faded into the setting sun.

These are the moments of sheer love that keeps me going, that (directly or indirectly) keeps you going, that keeps the world going. There is a world beyond governments, beyond stock markets, beyond terrorism, beyond illness, beyond material, the world of eternal love. This is what bring peace to the world, it isn’t the rising value of dollars or rupee that drives contentment in us, its love. These moments of sheer love stirs in our heart the seismic waves of love which rushes thru our nerves. Its incomprehensible, its indecipherable but its indelibility on our heat drives us. Material isn’t driving the world, they say its GOD, I say it’s the INEXPLICABLE DIVINITY OF LOVE that keeps us going.

 

 

FAREWELL TEACHERS…

10:43AM: 2ndFeb.,2016

Dear teachers,

I do not consider myself a good orator. I feel I can express better in writing. One reason is that I fear I might miss composure verbally. When I write the tears, the smiles, the loss, the gain all are hidden from the readers. There is a wall, opaque one, of monitor or at least a paper. Every expression of mine is behind the wall, all that readers get consequently is the feelings which apparently have no expression of mine rather they need to visualize my expressions, so the text might be perceived differently by every head. I think I should take a chance to express myself coz I am considered (even by myself) a person who does not reflects his soul. If you are reading it, I think I have decided to break the silence, at least for once. I request you to keep your ego of teacher aside while you read this. Read this stuff as an expression of a taught for his teachers.

07teachers-t_span-articlelarge

Before I say something, I feel it important to clarify that I have included certain names in this text. Some (many) are not included directly but diplomatically. I have considered only those who I personally know as to what they exactly are and what their ideologies are. I regret for not having included all. But if it was the case the letter would have been a big lie and a flattery stuff, but it’s not. Please do not consider the text a flattery or a critical stuff coz that would be a blemish on my attempt to understand you. My fingers shiver at times while typing this letter with the imagination as to how it is perceived. I hope you do not take any of the following stuff otherwise as was the case with some of my friends when I wrote a letter for them and stuck it in our classroom. Some of them complained me for not having included their name, but I couldn’t they are just acquainted to me, I can’t lie to make someone happy. Well I shouldn’t!

To be honest, I never understand a teacher completely due to lack of informal interaction. The case is not that I deliberately stay away but the fact is firstly that I speak less secondly I do not know what to speak and thirdly, to be open enough to say that, I do not want to be a headache to you by sticking to you. I like the company of certain teachers and even talking to them. Pawan sir, Tiwari ma’am, Principal sir, Tiwari sir are a few names for the same. Still I keep away. L

Tiwari Sir has been in my life from the day I came for my entrance test for admission to this school. I remember he was greatly impressed by my performance in the test and he offered me biscuits which I shyly accepted. J In early days I saw his strict and violent aura, the impact of his presence compelled opening up of books in students’ lap. The announcement of ‘Tiwari sir being spotted near our classroom filled us with terror’ but today with time and growing affection between sir and the students that they, especially I, wait for his class visit. I like it when he comes to our classroom to talk to us. I remember there have been instances (two, to be precise) of me being slapped by him. I do not tend to forget the punishments I receive coz if I do I am bound to commit the error again. He has apparently deep faith in me. I can recall an instant when I ethically broke the faith in fourth standard. I remember being thrashed by Balkrisna sir and Pawan sir for the same. I did not realize the worth of being thrashed then but today to turn back to the past to have a glance proves me that they were right in thrashing me. I never repeated any such instance of committing ethical blunders. Pawan sir has been like an elder brother to us. I remember he thrashed me and then pampered me when I cried in my early years at PPS. He has been with me since my childhood and in these years he has become a rather inseparable part of my life. I have literally no ideas as to why he called me ‘dictionary’ some years back. Though there has been a bit lack of interaction thereafter yet the relationship is unaffected. He has been with me and the school in all the shades of spectrum. To say that I feel thankful to him would be an understatement. When it comes to Principal sir, he has always been like a father to me. I always stole words of wisdom and experiences from his talks. He has been a thing of interest and (to be frank) a fashion icon among the student all thanks to his appealing persona. I have at times wished to be like him in my early years with him. But it is time that made me realize there can be no other person akin to him. I remember he once called me (obviously not before me) “mera shishya”. My keyboard and dictionary feels helpless describing the pleasure I felt that day. My Tiwari ma’am has been a matter of wonder for me the time she entered PPS.  Her diva like appearance with a formidable professional attitude filled me with a bit fear and awe at the same time. It was with passing years and my growing understanding for her that I saw her getting softer. And today I proudly call her MY MA’AM in my class. J I like her company so I rush up to her every fourth period especially if I feel a bit off. To disclose one of the biggest facts that I learnt about her is that she has the skill of gifting the tightest slap in PPS. I felt it once, maybe in sixth standard. It is harder than Tiwari sir’s and Principal Sir’s slap even! JJJ

The biggest shock that I received in my last few days was from Anjani sir. From the day he entered PPS premises I had a notion that he does not recognizes me or any student in particular coz there have been very few instances of him naming a student other than reading out from a printed list or something. This misconception was in my mind till I had taken my chemistry viva. The time I was taking the viva he revealed a lot about me to the examiner. Some facts were so strong that even my friends and family are unaware of! Something similar was observed during physics viva. I felt like thanking him for his support during the viva but I often find myself unsuccessful at executing such plans all thanks to lack of time and more importantly a favorable chance. I might not get a better chance to thank him. So sir I express my deep sense of gratitude through these words. Thank you so much for your support. And I apologize for having taken your silence as your ignorance. But now I gather that your silence is worth a thousand words. Thank you sir! To take a bit off stream mode I would like to express my affection for Gulrez sir even though he has not officially been my subject teacher yet he is a teacher of mine. I, like all others, love his poetic creations and since I have an inclination for literature (which only a few people know) I have inclination towards him too. I thank Ashish sir for igniting and making me realize the worth of computer in my life and connecting me to my dreams. Before him my life was aimless like water poured on the floor, but he made me realize that I had a stream so I could take a direction. On the same list I would take Nikhil sir. I have no idea as to what I should write for him. I have mixed feelings for him. I love the way he is, cheerful and lively. To be true I have taken a lesson from him to be what I am and to not try to be someone else. Coz everyone is one of a kind. The most beautiful kind of person is he himself.

There have been teachers in PPS who have, unknowingly obviously, made me ready for my next life. Deepika ma’am, Amit sir and none other than my class teacher Bimlesh ma’am. They and especially their persona had a great influence on my teen mindset. Bimlesh ma’am, besides getting me a hand on experience on my skills, has connected me to the contemporary world and more importantly people around me who I kept distance from. Spending around four months with her was the best time in last two years. The way she incorporates studies with fun is a skill I would love to carry with me throughout. Akin was Ravindra sir who made our subject a fun to study. When it comes to Sandeep sir, he has been very helpful throughout. Kamlesh sir made experimentation a fun filled time. He supported whenever I needed. Thank you sir.

Coming to my science teachers Sunil sir, Akash sir and Haridwar sir. I find their words encouraging besides being suggestive. I am never going to forget some of their words. Especially Sunil sir’s at IIIT’s cafeteria time guidance, Akash sir’s bus stop time suggestions and Haridwar sir’s tea talk at his place and his professional approach to his work. There are some of my life’s brightest stars who are not among us in PPS now. For them I just have three words ‘I miss them.’

I have learnt the importance of team work, understanding and true company in the last few months. I have seen, in the last few months, that a teacher can be a friend too. A friend who you can share all your problems all your worries. They have solution to all my problems. They are akin to:

A cool wave on my sunburnt pain; A fountain of ethics, an ocean of love;
A lunch box in hunger, A samosa in cashlessness; A like a pending picture to click;
A quench in dry throat; A phone call in solitude;
A guide in life’s puzzle; A Christmas to rejoice, A new year to celebrate;
A smile to keep smiling;
A milestone to cherish
!

JJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJ

The passing years have always strengthened the bond. My ten years passed in this school, more than half of my life! Our official bonding is coming to conclusion but the informal relationship between us is eternal. I have often heard it from teachers that students tend to forget them. But this is just an insight. We might not stay in regular contact. For some it might mean that they never contact you but one thing that is never gonna change is that they won’t forget you. And sometimes in their solitude, in their pain, in their problems, in their joy…they will miss you. You may be many a miles away from us, but you are with us and will be with us in one form or the other maybe education, maybe teachings, maybe ethics or simply memories. No matter what the form is, you will always be a moral support at the time of stooped motion. I take an excerpt from my article in our school magazine (which was selected by Desh Ratan sir against my wish):

There have been moments in my life when I felt angry at you, really I did, but then I did not know the “YOU” in you. It took me time to explore you layer by layer with patience. I cannot, even today, say that I know even the 20% of you, but I’m contended with my current knowledge about you. Teachers, I, from a few years dream of you saying me ‘son’, just once would be like a complete life to me. I might not be following all your teachings but if this is the case that won’t be deliberate. You will stay in my heart forever no matter whether or not, we are in touch. All from me have been tolerated by you people, covering my inabilities, encouraging me even when you are disappointed by me, by citing illustrations from your own life experiences, at times articulately and other times finding us scoop the chance to disengage and smirk at your mediocre narration. Whatever there may be, souls keep embanking indelible impressions, and they say souls are eternal. Some teachings in that embankment shall be from your teachings as well, I might or might not stand a place in the world but your teachings will live for eternity, teachers-I’m pretty sure.

Thank you teachers for finding a moment to read ‘me’. It really means a lot to me. Thank you so much.

Now if you please excuse me its 1:44PM and I got to study for my CS practical exams for the next day and need to take a bath too before Papa comes home, else a scolding! J

Prashant