Presence

The petals of our love have withered away
I live in the memoirs of those days where heart was gay.
Days which were filled with umpteen number of things somehow related to you
Days which are fresh in my memory as morning dew
I long for such days to come back
The world knows: your presence is what i lack

I must not lose hope,
For there is always a reason for everything
I believe my heart will sing again
The song that is long forgotten
And that, It is now being re written
With an ink which cannot be erased
For it is time to go out and feel the breeze
That carries the scent of his

My heart goes mmm mmm mmm

While we are striving hard for making the life simple to simpler with new technologies, why is that the inside of us is getting more and more complex day by day. With so many differences created between ourselves, so many limitations set for oneself, so many rules made to follow, so many codes of conduct to be kept in mind, we are going far from making things simple for us. A clash between the inner self and the outer world!!

I want to follow my heart and I will.
With no other rule than to do what I want.
With no other difference than categorizing what I want and what I don’t.
With no limitations except to harm another soul.

A Tribute...

The dirty white jacket; the faded jeans; the V-neck dark green full sleeves t-shirt; the unpolished, brown leather shoes; the black socks; the wavy, unkempt hair; the randomly cut finger-nails; the sharp features of his face; the lanky figure; they all adorned his beautifully sculpted body.

The purity in his smile, the innocence on his face, the carelessness in his eyes, the restlessness in his expressions adorned his soul.

Those long fingers had a ‘beedi’ between them, which frequently touched his thin lips, giving him a look, which the millionaires strive for with a cigar between their fingers. He looked like a model of some over-priced jeans. The frequently changing postures of how he sat supported my supposition. His teeth being a bit longer than normal shone like pearls when he laughed at some silly joke. The latest N-Series from Nokia looked like something unwanted when the simple gray and black 2300 came out of his pocket to caress his elf-like ears.

Oops!! I suddenly realized i was staring at somebody intensely.

By The Way,

He was the helper to bus conductor of route 319. I thoroughly enjoyed the half an hour journey from Vinod Nagar to Noida. I adored such beauty with a longing in my eyes. This is all I can give him. A blog in my blogspot [apart from the attention he got, which he is still unaware of ;)].

F.R.I.E.N.D.S

My friends are those little pearls which when stringed together and put [rather ‘felt’] around make the most beautiful necklace and in turn make me look beautiful. They fill my otherwise bland life with vigor inspiration and joy. My world has very less of those riches scattered here and there but they are no less than all the riches in this world put together. Why do I aspire to be a millionaire?? I am already one!!

HIM...

We grew up together. He was a constant companion. Making me laugh, cry, love, hate…creating every kind of emotion in me.
Always a funny guy for those who knew him closely… a serious guy for acquaintances …an ideal for youngsters.

Incidents, giving instances of his funny character, form an unending list. I remember, he had beaten me up just because I’d won the chess match against him for the first time. That was my last chess match ever. Another interesting event is when our housemaid was unwell. He had volunteered to bring her the medicine. He came back holding a tablet and a glass of water. She took it and felt instant relief, only to find out later that the tablet was nothing but solidified phlegm. He has filled my childhood memories with disgusting but definitely funny events.

But with due course, I also learnt that, within this guy is a boy hidden who cares for others very much. One incident to instantiate this would be when he was beaten up protecting his friend from some drunken men who were relentlessly beating up his friend for no reason. Doing it at a very tender age showed his courage as well as dedication for his friends. I vividly remember that day when he had returned home with a pair of swollen and blackened eyes unable to open them properly.

He has been a source of inspiration from the time I started using my senses.
If summarized about his character, like others he has also passed through [in fact, may be passing through] different phases of life but has always managed to emerge above the crowd making his identity clearer.

The loner, the funny guy, the handsome, the caring one, the encouraging one, helpful… …the list goes on, but surprisingly, I am yet to find a single word to fit it in this list, which describes him negatively.

Life is taking us in different directions. Although, the root is same, we are past that phase when we can turn back and spend a few good days together. Competing and struggling with this ruthless world, we’ve grown so much apart. But I hold a special place for him in my heart, which is filled with admiration, respect, love and trust which no-one can ever take...except HIM.

Special thanks to :

• Zubin Nayak, for being my source of inspiration.
• Rajat Toshniwal [awesome surname], for encouraging me to write a blog.
• Bhagyashree Wattal, who, i am sure, will enjoy each word thoroughly.
• Mrs. Purnima Pradhan [mom] and Mr. K.C.Nayak [dad], for bringing him into existence.
• All of them who enjoyed this blog.

Conflicts Within

One half a loner, the other, a gregarious one…one part shy, the other showy…a messy one as well as an organized one…too ambitious, too lazy…careless but careful…possessive and magnanimous…impulse driven but planned actions…colorful but white [no color]…forgiving in a way of taking revenge…noisy silence…moody but no mood…prejudiced because unbiased...atheist but God fearing…supportive but back-biter…accolades as opprobrium…stagnant but ever flowing…green forest but concrete jungle…chained for freedom…limited within the limitless…suffocating because too open…cognoscente but ignorant…man of principles because no principles to follow…STANDING ON EARTH BUT DREAMING OF SKY.

Meri kahani..Meri zubani..

[funny title..isn't it!!..hehehe]

Many miles away, after crossing many political borders, there comes a piece of land, which I call mine. I am not talking about a piece of land that I own, but about a land that owns me: My Country.

With my eyes filled with limitless dreams, I’d set out from there, promising that I would come back. Come back to make it a better place, to help my people, to prove my citizenship..

But after arriving here, it seemed a distant dream to return back to my parents, my people, and my country.

I was forced to believe that I was in a dreamland where everything was just so perfect, so possible. But, little did I think about my parents for whom I was the only supporting stick of their old age.

Time has flown by; it is now forty years since I stepped on this land for the first time. Never had I a moment to notice the pace of my life. I found a good job, a beautiful wife, produced cute children and had everything a man could think of..except my parents, who were yearning to see me. But that never mattered so much as to produce a desire in me to visit them. And i ticked on with time; never to be left behind by the world; never to turn back and see what i have left behind.

But now, as I near my deathbed, I long to see my country and my people [my parents died long ago]. Old age changes the way u see the world. The ardor to prove myself had died out with age. I have this continuously growing feeling that I should visit my country and I should be buried there, within its heart so that my heart is at peace. Now, I probably do understand what my parents might have felt when they could not see me before they died. I can feel the gravity of all this now because if I return to my country my children wouldn’t accompany me and then I would be left alone to die; like my parents were left alone. 'Abandoned': this is what they must have felt. "Orphaned" by their own child.

A continuous process, Life, has been a good friend, cohort, teacher, and helper to me through-out. I am learning things now, which I should have learnt many years ago. People who devoted their life to make mine a better one never got a chance to see the results of their effort. And I guess I would also be excluded from seeing my children's life processes. The cycle continues..

It took me 65 years to fully understand the sentence my mother had taught me when i was a kid,"What goes around comes around."