Beauty and the Beast.

You're beautiful, and I cannot trust you with hand picking beautiful things for me. The fault is not yours though, but that my view of beauty is forever skewed, and look who is responsible.

You! 

And why I cannot trust you with choosing beauty? Because you see everything and find it beautiful. I don't and I am helpless when you do it, I am.

 I am ugly!

I feel good when they echo back to me...

Love is, really nothing,

The words had been said, but did not feel beautiful until they came back, and corrected me, of what should have been said before.

“So you’re taking guitar lessons?” (Pause, silence). “Because she plays a guitar?” I interjected the purposeful pause. “That’s good, really good.” (Long pause)

But a dream that keeps waking me,

The best thing about very good friends is that they mind what you say, and say it on your face. So you don’t have to mind your words, you are free with them. Very few reach that pinnacle.

Suddenly I blurted out, “Why? What purpose does that solve? Just to make an impression?”. Chances are that if you two know the same instrument, you might want to settle scores, and an initial act of love may soon find itself in wrong grounds of dominance and competition. We all have our moments; the possibility of this situation cannot be denied.

For all of my trying, we still end up dying,

“Why compete with her, rather, learn something else, a keyboard, or drums, or violin. Complement her instead, so you two could jam together someday.” 

Love is the creation of music, by strumming otherwise incoherent, noise-like vibrations into a single peaceful coherent symphony. Each part, has its part to play, love.

How can it be?

That night, the words came back to me with a minor correction, and have been with me since then. 

“Don’t compete her, complete her”

~Section in Gray: John Mayer - Edge of Desire.

To love, and to be loved.

“I just wish to see what is so special in her that ...”

वैसे तो उसके बहुत सारे दीवाने थे, मैं भी उसी कतार में कहीं बीच में पड़ता था | उनमे से किसी एक की शायद वह भी दीवानी थी | यह भी हो सकता है कि जिसकी तमन्ना उसे हो, वो उस से वैसे ही अनजान हो जैसे वो मुझसे | कॉलेज के काम से हमारी बातें होनी शुरू हुई थी, और मैं सोचता रहा की मैं उस कतार में आगे बढ़ रहा था | गौरतलब है की किसी दिन सबसे आगे भी पहुँच जाता | पर इस जहां में जो चाहो वही मिल जाए, ऐसी किस्मत तो बिरलों की ही होती है न? उसे मालूम थीं, मेरी उसके प्रति भावनाएं क्या हैं, और उसने अपना पक्ष रहने में बिलकुल भी संकोच नहीं किया | कह दिया, हम सिर्फ दोस्त ही बन सकते हैं | ठेस तो लगी, पर हिम्मत कर के मैंने भी कह ही दिया की चकोर रोज चाँद को निहारता है, इसका मतलब यह तो नहीं कि चाँद ज़मीन पर उतर ही आये? दोनों जानते हैं कि अंत क्या होगा, पर न तो चाँद रोज आना छोड़ता है, और न चकोर उसको निहारना |

Somehow I found saying goodbyes very odd. I was never good at goodbyes. I simply could not care enough to say them. I thought if I didn’t say those words, no one would notice my departure and absence. And when I’d turn up again, I could go on like I had gone for a stroll.

She asked me if I’d not say any goodbyes to her. I was taken by surprise in those words, I asked in bewilderment “Is it?” She stared at me for a good length of time. I think it wasn’t, or was it?

बहुत तलाशा, फिर उम्मीद करना ही छोड़ दिया | उसके जैसा और कोई कहाँ मिलेगा, इस बात पर कभी मेरी कोई और राए बन ही न पायी | मैं गलत था, एक बार फिर, परन्तु इस बार अछे के लिए | उसका ख़याल अब एक परछाई बनकर रह गया है, मेरा वर्तमान मेरे अतीत के बारे में जानता है, और अपनी मुस्कराहट भर से उस परछाई को धूमिल कर रहा है | और मेरा अतीत? वह आज भी अपने वर्तमान को तलाशता है !  

“I just wish to see what is so special in her that ...”, She stopped before completing the sentence. And I could not help but smile. She never felt it as long as I pursued her, and maybe I am still imagining things, but what the hell. She taught me how to love, but not how it was to be loved. She had pursuers, still has, but at least...

“हज़ारों की भीड़ में कोई एक” से आज मैं “हज़ारों में एक” हो गया |

It takes a lifetime to grow a good friend.

I’ve been growing a plant lately. A money plant. If you ask me why, well, it’s because it grows green leaves. And then if you ask me what is so dear about the leaves being green, I’d quote to you from some scientific research that green is the most perceptible color to human eyes, stimulating the rods and cones alike.

Green leaves give pleasure to eyes, have such a fine granular surface and are at their best when fresh and crisp. And happy eyes mean a happy me, right? So, I’ve been growing a money plant lately. A money plant with green leaves. The best part is that it doesn’t merely grow, it climbs. I am so tempted to stand as its support, secretly wishing that it would climb on to me and reach my head, but then I feel, it’s already inside my head.

Trying to be a nice gardener, I graft it a little so that it can grow  more rapidly. And behold! it spurts even more. Who said happiness grows when shared. It's these green leaves when spent.

It is sun shy, does not need to see much sun, or else it just withers away. Putting it out in the sun, where every one can see it is the rarest of all events. It suffices and thrives in closed rooms, small rooms.

People come and go, and everyone has something to show. We all love preaching. The other day someone told me about fertilizers. He said it works faster than any grafting technique. He almost had me there, I was tempted as hell. But when I added a pinch of it, I saw my plant's root cringe and shrink. He said it was okay, I tried to believe him too, but the fading color of my plant only heightened my apprehensions.

I never saw that man again. I will never use those fertilizers either. I'll grow a money plant!

You shake my nerves and you rattle my brain!

If I make the lashes dark
And the eyes more bright
And the lips more scarlet,
Or ask if all be right
From mirror after mirror,
No vanity's displayed:
I'm looking for the face I had
Before the world was made.

Before I begin to wrong anyone by my utterances and before anyone form a view about my deliquescent views, no matter how right or wrong it might be, I’ll just say, if you think it is for you, then it is for you.

O Beautiful Ladies, you confuse me to the core. It hurts me to see those dark circles under your eyes due to the life of a mule in the corporate that you chose to live in a bid to outdo others. It isn’t right that you sacrifice the vital hours of sleep and strain those beautiful eyes. This just isn’t fair. And yet you say you enjoy what you do, and I am silenced.

Still, I won’t like you sitting in one place doing nothing and adding layers of fat little by little, on body and in brain, day by day. No, I don’t want you to let your beauty while away, the innate beauty.

No, I don’t have any problem with you working, or doing household work with equal dexterity, and trust me, I’d want to help a few of you, a very few. Please do. But then I wonder if beauty was to be kept unused in this way then what is it meant for anyway? Acknowledge it? What then?

You confuse me inside out.

What if I look upon a man
As though on my beloved,
And my blood be cold the while
And my heart unmoved?
Why should he think me cruel
Or that he is betrayed?
I'd have him love the thing that was
before the world was made.

~ William Butler Yeats 

I am not done yet.

Twisted Logic.

There are moments where you just hold your tongue, not because what the brain wanted you to spew out would have been horrendously wrong, but because the situation demands that the third party caught up in between the heated debate between the left and the right lobes of the brain should remain oblivious to their naivety and the friction that they have caused between the two faculties of mind. One side, the creative one says, ‘Go on, let him have it’, while the logical one tries to reason, ‘You do this, and yourself step on a live mine’. It helps sometimes, keeping them in ignorance of their ill-perceived superiority from other species. I just wished they someday considered us to be of the same species, the higher one. The other times, I really wish my neurons’ synaptic gaps were not so far apart, so that the impulses and prompt replies reached in the time frames when they would have the greatest punch in them.  Presently, they are too slow and any disturbance that they try to cause in my voice strings just ends up in either hiccups or a short cough.

Being students, we have been up close with the Godly creations (pun intended), which the entire world sometimes refers to as one pillars of the nation. Now I don’t know how many other pillars are there and in what health, or what other classes of people are given this herculean task of holding the structure of nation intact like Atlas holds the firmament but I do know that the magnificent pillars are either worn out, or are too few, and they are the ones who really bear the burden of quality maintenance. The newer ones, most of them if not all, are standing on infirm foundations, are almost hollow and need constant replacements lest the machinery might crumble like a stack of domino. I sometimes wonder, who ever coined that term, the pillars thing, either never actually went to our classes, or he was wise enough to coat sarcasm with some sugar, realizing the modern egotists getting into this profession.  Probably, he was a diplomat par excellence or was suffering from acute shortage of good grades. 

********

Being from an engineering background, one thing that has been gifted to me is the wisdom of scientists and the results that will work in the form of simulation programs and of course, the computer. Gone are the days of Thomas Elva Edison, when one had to do the experiment one thousand and one times to finally cause the bulb to glow successfully and stably. Now, before the actual implementation of any design, or even before investing in the hardware, we simulate. This simulation habit is sinking into our personalities such that we often simulate situations on the whims of whatever little imaginations we have. And we’re not alone. It is intricately related to creativity, though on a different scale.

When I am getting ready to reason with a man, I spend one-third of my time thinking about myself and what I am going to say and two-thirds about him and what he is going to say.

Abraham Lincoln

So while I was preparing for my hardware project presentations, these question were echoing again and again from an unknown source in my head.

Q. Why does this thing look so ugly?

A. Have you ever seen a man or woman without skin? Does that look pretty to you? Does a skeletal look pretty to you? I don’t think so, and this, Sir, is yet to get its frame.

Q. Does it look beautiful to you?

A. Of course, I created it with time, toil, and money. Ask your mother or father how beautiful you are, though I am tempted to tell you otherwise, Sire. Did nobody tell you before? Oh I am really sorry.

Well there could be many bifurcations or trifurcations or many distributions and a whole tree of possible questions could be framed, but let’s not get into details folks, just have the cream, and the chocolate.

********

Of all the other things that are expected of a good teacher, two are of utmost importance, as I have come to realize. First, a fairly good sense of humour is a must. No, it’s not that a teacher should come to class dressed as a clown or crack jokes instead of doing what he is being paid to do, but he should not mind laughing with the children he’s nurturing rather than bearing that unyielding look of a tormented soul.  And secondly, well, this should be the Firstly, but well, let it be the way it is for now. So, secondly, a teacher should not have a mind that minds, and should not seek revenge upon the hapless dependants who barely stumble to tell the real truth about him/her. A tamed ego is what I am talking about.

Excerpt from the memories of words said and unsaid in a presentation.

Q. What do these R and L stand for?

A. Right and left. 

Q. But according to convention and being an electronics engineer it looks more like Resistor and     Inductor?

A. How un-engineerly of me. I'll surely make the suggestion to the author of the book I referred. I'll urge him to strictly abide by IEEE norms. But dear Teacher, the initials in your name, its R C written here, what does it stand for? Oh well, being an electronics engineer, it looked more like Resistive Capacitor to me. Why do You seem to be all charged up, Teacher?

How I wish my evaluators had a good sense of humour, or at least they should ask a damned technical question if they are so adamant on quality. But it seems they are more concerned about presentation syntax and semantics than engineering. Half filled pots make too much noise. I am not even a quarter full, but if you don’t know something, keep mum. Why ask a stupid highly uncorrelated question that will only prove the fact that you don’t know it. What happened to, ‘Once a student, always a student’, huh? Well, a restraint on the tongue gave me good grades, so no damage done, no issues, no ill-feelings. I shall speak no more, for now.

Look at us, running around. Always rushed, always late. I guess that's why they call it the human race.

~Wally Mars (The Switch)

Of Morning walks and uphill talks.

I still remember the good days, which I fondly called the Golden days. We used to walk up the hill road to Robert’s Height every weekday, and the weekdays were six in number. Me and Her. Like a moth building a cocoon, starting from a single strand, we two had started off from a very clichéd common interest, to get wings. It could be clichéd for anyone, but not for me, nor for her either. We liked astronomy, no, not the song, but the subject that is rarely talked of in the place we dwelled. Sometimes, someone’s utopian retreat is someone else’ bottleneck. It used to be pleasant talk. We looked forward to talking to each other every day. Though we used to travel together in the jeep also, we seldom talked with other people around. 

I used to be a brisk walker. She always used to have company, oh popular, that she was, still is. She used to joke while we walked together, “Someday, you will start to walk slowly, like a snail like me”. I used to laugh it off. Little did she realize how many people we had started to overtake while walking. The world really slowed down those mornings. 

Monkeys used to be a problem for girls, they held much more expertise at eve teasing when compared to men in that area, which was literally nil. Though they did not snatch snacks or pick pocket anybody, but their million dollar grin while we passed along was enough to think of the possibilities. 

Sometimes, I used to kick a stone or a pine cone along the ascent while she used to nag me “Stop being so childish”, though she is younger than me. I liked walking in silt deposited on the edges of the roadside canals, and she literally used to pull me out of it. I never succeeded in cajoling her to try it, soft silk like soil.

We used to talk, about teachers, about childhood, future, theories of science, rockets, space and my journey endless. I wasn’t any writer, but when she used to be upset was I realized how the words lent themselves easily into strings forming chorus or rhymes, and that too with a left hand (Your left is my right). Though it was only when she was upset, which was once in a blue moon. So I did not rhyme most of the time, more like a broken symphony.

Those fifteen minutes ascent, or maybe five, that I am not too sure of, were pure delight. Her father was a strict man, and I was really apprehensive of what he thought of me. I thought that he would never trust his daughter with any stranger. Oh yes, it did matter to me, what he thought of me, though I never asked. For me, his attitude towards me was impenetrable. And I easily believed the worse. It was her mother who later told me that she talks of me on the dinner table too often. I wanted to go hoola hooping round the square or jump from a height when I came to know of this. He trusts me, as she says.

It was one of those fine mornings, when her mood was grave. With a stern look on her face and a resolve in her eyes had she asked me, “If I asked you a question today, would you put your heart in and answer me truly?”. Though a little curious about what could be troubling her, I tried to assure her in the nonchalance of our walk that I would. She tried to reconfirm my answer and my faith in it. I turned towards her and just nodded. She signaled me to bend a little so that she could put her mouth near my ear and asked, in a very hushed tone:

“Bhaiya, Ye melody itni chocolaty kyun hai?”

(Brother, Why is melody so chocolaty?)

And burst out in a heartful laughter. I covered my eyes and joined in. An era came to pass, we’re still the same.

The Bard of the Ogre!

Eons ago, in a small princely state of ‘Hampyre’, there dwelled an Ogre. He lived in the shire called ‘Monimesh’ along with the tenants of the King. Lazy and chubby as a hippopotamus, he could do anything for a good sleep. Lived in a small shanty, away from his mud pond, his homeland, he had forgotten how to miss his homeland. This was his home for years to come and he had surrendered to this thought.

The day was approaching, fast. Something was going on in his mind, kind of rebellious, he was. He was supposed to become quiet, bowing, gentle, soft. He was not supposed to agitate anybody. He was not supposed to challenge anybody. And yet, he did not oblige. They warned him of the coming day. He showed short temper, arrogance, disobedience. They warned him again. He paid no heed. They were his friends after all, or so he thought.

The night before that day, it came at last. Before the hands of the clock met for the last time to bid goodbye to the previous day, and welcome the next, they assembled. And they assembled with torches, they assembled with clubs, they were all geared up. The town bell announced the commencement of the new day, and it began. They carried him to the square, on their shoulders. They carried him as a deity, they carried him as a sacrifice, like the scapegoat being taken to the altars with all pomp and show. And yet, he could only force a smile.

They hauled him, grabbed him from his legs and by his arms, they made him see the sky, its darkness, the stars, the mockery from heavens, the celebrations on earth, for it was the day he was sent here. He was held in mid air by four strong men, spread apart in the four diagonals. And then, the call was made:

“To the Ogre, Welcome to this world!”

Like a sack of trash, his butts were kicked. Every leg had a new kind of zeal, even one legged creatures had their fair share. He did not believe in Gods, but he wanted Them to exist, just for today. No, he did not want to pray, he never had, he wanted Them to see, he wanted Them to hear his stubbornness, the irony of being born, the treachery of living.

And with every blow he withstood he shouted out loud for the Gods to envy... Oh yeah!!
Bring em on...!

He survived the ordeal, this wasn’t his first. The village rejoiced and sang in communion,

“Welcome Ogre, Happy Birthday dear Ogre!”

It was a long feast, revelry and celebrations. Such had been the tradition, such had been the way. They thanked him, and he thanked them. They were his friends after all!

And tonight he sleeps, facing away from the Lord himself... he had never believed in Him, but wanted Him to exist, just for tonight… 

P.S. Inspired from the real events that take place in an engineering college boys hostel on a birthday night. This was one of my friends. Also posted at http://skiewpoint.blogspot.com

Proposal !

  

“I…I…I wanted to tell you something, sss..something that I want you to know”, his face flushed as he groped to find the appropriate words.

Amused by the nervous expression on the face of the one whom she had never seen out of control or restless, she chuckled inside and then, feigning a stern look, “Okay, I am all ears, what is it?”

And now his walk was also shaky, as his eyes wandered to her and away

“Ever since we have been together until today, I have felt…. Happy! It feels good when you are with me, I am able to let go of myself. I feel like a newborn child, I feel free and I…I want to be with you. I never felt this good before and I don’t know if anyone else would be able to do this to me. Being with you is like being high on ecstasy, my brain stops working, stops reasoning. And when we part, the thrill makes me…” they had stopped walking now, and he could not speak when her gaze met his’.

Her eyes narrowed mischievously and lips formed a thin line, restraining a smile. “And what about today?”

They had reached the Sunset Rock by now and were hardly walking. She had anticipated it coming, and had been looking forward for it. An independent woman, brilliant and charming as she was, it was not new for her being proposed in creative fashions. But this was the first time a guy was not talking cheeky mellow, but was speaking with sincerity. She was a bit shocked with the bluntness in his expression, though.

He heaved a deep sigh and his shoulders drooped. “Well, it feels like my stomach is going to spew itself out, and my heart is going to explode. I can hear my heart’s screams in my ears. I want to face away, run away. Though my heart is ready to explode every time you are close, it is worse today. I have near death experiences every time you smile and are close to me, closer than anyone else. Today, I think I am already dead, maybe that’s why I cannot feel my body right now.”

He said it so fast that she felt he was going to faint or have an attack. She nearly let out a gasp as he finished his line, but immediately recomposed her face. She turned around, and stepped forward towards the railings, towards the setting sun. His gaze lingered on the ground, as if he was some convict. His face was plum, and red. But he was trying to get hold of himself and find some words, an apology maybe.

And then she moved.

“You know, you are pretty bad at proposing a girl!” she said coyly.

“I…I…am…”, as he tried to gulp the knot in his voice, she came to him, closer, until her lips were whispering into his ears, “I want to give you near death experiences everyday, and want die with you at the same time”, and she playfully bit his ear. He was again burning, he dropped to his knees, but this time he was a little better, at least not stumbling or crashing.

“Are you proposing me?” she asked as if in surprise.

“I had rehearsed this so many times, but things don’t take their normal course when you are around. I am too weak to run today, run away from you.” he said with innocence, and a little helplessness.

“Please Get up, I can’t take this, you will make me cry!” she pleaded.

He lifted his hand, “I Love You, Be mine forever”

“Please…!”

“Will you marry me?”

Before he could move or say anything else, she curled her fingers into his, dropped to her knees and hugged him tightly. Her eyes were flowing unbounded. He couldn’t move, and all was silent again. The hearts were beating in communion now, as if already one.

“Let’s build a home, Our Home!”

Enchanted !

As she touched his face with her full palm, his head took another spin. He had never been able to figure out what happened to him when she was near him, blind to the world, careless to the sights and sounds.

This night, as the group headed back from the tour, he had requested her friend to allow him to sit by her. And as she rested her head on his shoulders and nestled herself in his arms, he was sure that he was dreaming. He wanted to feel his eyes, if they were really open. A dream that was too compelling and yet, was not breaking, like all others. In a fear that he would wake up any moment, he held her tight.

She asked “Do you want me to leave you?”

A flushed face, his face changed colours as the contours on his forehead traced his emotions. As if a tornado had hit him and caught him in its eye, everything was in complete disarray. A symphonic chime had just looted him of all his strength, and had left him unarmed. And what dangerous question had it asked! Anger, fear, pleasure, pain, every emotion twisted and churned in his gut and contorted his face.

It is surely a dream, he was convinced. But he was afraid to wake up. Afraid, that his voice would break the spell, he said nothing, just kept holding her. He tried to look to the other direction, but the velvet fingers nudged his chin to her direction. Before she could inquire any further and wake him up from this charade, he put his finger on her lips. She smiled, and oh, he could bear it no longer. Now he wanted to believe, and he wanted to live this moment without fear. Hopelessly he waited for the anxiety to subside, all in vain. Perhaps, her charm was doing this to him. He was burning. His heart was thumping and heart beat plummeting.

She grew impatient, and tried lifting her head to see his fuller face, his reaction. He wanted to answer, but he just couldn’t. He wanted to spill his heart out, wanted to cry out loud, wanted to dance in joy, wanted to twirl her around. He wanted to say “Never”, he wanted her to be with him and wanted to be with her forever, but he just couldn’t speak.

Now he was afraid of himself. Unsure of his own words, closed his eyes and kissed her forehead.

“Sleep, my angel !”

(Lullaby)

Hush my love now don't you cry
Everything will be all right
Close your eyes and drift in dream
Rest in peaceful sleep…………….

Oh my love... in my arms tight
Every day you give me life
As I drift off to your world
Rest in peaceful sleep…………….