Speed

At 97, the speed of the speedometer was flickering like a candle trying its best to stay alive amidst heavy winds. I was zipping past the stationary flora on my sides and the physics of relative motion suddenly came afresh and alive acting as a catalyst to the thrill that speed was giving me. 

I crushed more fuel and in few seconds hit the century mark with aplomb. The highway was as straight as an arrow and deserted on a bright afternoon sans any insane to compliment me on my lighting speed. Why would a sane travel at that breakneck speed? The adrenaline rush was giving me goose bumps but I paid no adherence to it.

The distant mirage's pursuit was an exercise in futility. The faster I approached, the faster it vanished into oblivion. Every passing second stared at an irreparable damage. 

Blood trails spoke veiled volumes. 

Reaching the nearest hospital, I dropped my profusely bleeding pillion who was riddled with bullets- a soldier. That a peaceful town was under terrorist attack and counter operations were going on is what I reported.

Speed thrills. Speed kills. Today it may save as well.

Black

        The day started with the sound of ding-dong bringing me back to basics from my dreams of peace and content. Few mortals only exist who would say a yes to a run in the morning and that too ad-hoc and unexpected. Running is a basic building block of discipline but who wants to be disciplined!! On the contrary, personnel in defence services would not even bother once on this account when asked, "Lets go for a run". It would be a welcome step and when the sun is yet to assume humongous proportions, it would be considered as the day's best start. I had been a party to many such best starts in recent years and would not hesitate to say, "I don't just love it sometimes".

         Jamnagar, being a reticent spot on our map, invites many a migratory birds and they lap it up for many reasons unknown to me. The only other way Jamnagar may me known is due to Reliance's biggest refinery in the world. You name a migratory bird and in the most probable case you may find it here on some salt pane, water body. Coming closer to my abode,  I see those beautiful flamingos continuously on hunt in the saline weater, those busy parrots suspicious of every move by any other bird, those sweat-drenched mynahs fighting for the smallest insects, those love-locked pigeons always high on love making and challenging competitors to fight for the best breakthrough, and those dreaded crows; aloof from the diaspora and ganglord of their own. No other bird takes more holier dips in water than these crows.

          As I reached the swimming pool, a murder of crows I found, busy with their evening ablution schedule. No, they are not fighting or crowing at each other. This time they are more concerned at painting themselves with clanliness and color. Alas, the true black that accepts all, welcomes all, does not fade even by a shade below. The crows are happier being Black.

Without you...

It was not an everyday,
It was a happy day.
The everydays are lost,
In the silent cacophony,
Of forgetful pies.
That day was more than life.
It was a happy day.

The rains lost chase,
The winds their pace,
Just I won,
With the happiest face.

Much has changed,
Since that day.
With you away,
The days are everyday,
Creeping and fumbling,
Trying to find a way.
      ~*~*~*~

When In Love

How do I know I'm in Love?
The question pounded its fists!
And more than the question,
The answers coming from everywhere,
Cleared the surrounded mists.

I'm seeing her all the time.
Irrespective of sunshine.
Be it day, be it night,
Under the shadow, in the light.
All I see is bright and beautiful.

The faces on the streets,
May be of all hues,
Why all resemble hers?
I not have at all clues!

Faintest voices in the air,
I look out for her earnestly.
The heart denies her absence,
In chorus with mind perfectly.

All the thoughts that emanate,
Have a touch of your songs.
That you once sang to me,
Amongst the lilies and the bees.

All the words that I speak,
All the worlds that I see,
Reaches crescendo with you along,
Else happens to not belong.
When in Love,
All I see is beautiful and bright.
                ******

[28.08.2013]

Death Of A Society

Shall we embrace inhumanity at the cost of progress and advancement? This poignant but contrasting question stokes uncomfortable smoke in the cupboards of the mighty mights of India. Strewn and galore are such horrific and horrendous examples glorifying dastardly acts- mass killings, rapes, gang rapes, domestic violence, public outrage, unimaginable corruption, et al. to name a few that hog the limelight and keep the memory afresh.

We, as spectators, must first be able to discern among progress and humanity. Our busy lives shrouded by complexities successfully negotiate our demands upholding 'I and fading the 'We' factor. Unless the 'I' is pinched, it stands its ground like the Madame Liberty- liberated, uninterested. Do we just need roads, malls, theaters, flyovers, faster modes of transportation, communication or humane countenance at the day's end? While most would end up with the earlier model, few living mortals would remain happily ever after with the latter. The point of contention is not 'who-sides-with-whom' but if the chosen means leads to the end that we fathom.

Dissecting the term 'inhumanity' would perhaps open up Pandora's Box. It is of various hues and its severity scorches the worst when inflicted on one's self or own self. While the term consists of 'in' and 'humanity', but the combination is sure to flare up pent up emotions and depicts the malign that we, at times, profoundly help flourish and nourish.

Covered under different sections of Indian Penal Code are laws that held one guilty of wrongdoings (read inhumanity) against a fellow citizen but are they anywhere relevant when the culprits are your own family members (because hardly one complains in those cases, leave alone conviction). The silent movie era had actions and emotions to depict but here in the name of social strata and the so-called stigma attached to 
if you complain against your own family members, the ratio of silent sufferers keeps climbing, compounding. What is social development if it tramples its own members? Maiming and subjugating the deprived (whose voices are subdued) is regressive development.

Caste system has spread its tentacles without much effort and has garnered brownie points for itself. We, on the other hand,  have become slaves and those few who rise to challenge its hegemony are inflicted so severe a blow that shines as a blatant example of fatal hindrance for the coming/thinking generation ahead. This infliction is creditable to one's family members most of the time, who under the veiled hallucinations of impending social implications take the harshest measures reflecting their inhumane countenance- unabashed, unrepentant, yet glorious. And we pronounce that we are in the 21st century and the society has made progress by leaps and bounds. This so-called lecherous society must hang its head in shame. And yes lecherous- for its lusty ideals sans love and peace.

N.B.: The recent spate of rapes and the coming forward of the families of the accused rapists in their kins' favor speaks tons of what the society has become. Even if an accused is proved to be a juvenile, must not their parents kill him. This is a question to them.

Khatmitthiyan....

There have been times, I look for you !!

There have been times, I look for you,

Not to talk, but to listen,

Not to ask, but to grasp,

Not to claim, but to gain,

Not to be shy, but to fly.

Withstanding the time, I stood

May be for you,

May be for myself,

Or may be for us.

Where are you?

I saw you there,

Far away from here,

Alone on the grass,

With a lull countenance,

An act of repentance?

Or was it in the dreams?

My eyes were wide shut,

Was I not sleeping?

I was, may be looking,

For you while awakening.

Closed Door

Came he and conquered, 
Bows sans arrows,
Lost I and withered,
Deathed in chaos,
Blood trails abound,
Buried deep ground,
Of veiled scars,
And doors ajar...

Pilgrimage

Not very long ago or indeed a little long- around 25 years ago I was a child or a bachha. Unaware of the presence of female species (except Maa) in my life. There may be didis, bhabhis, etc. who have been wiped off of my truant memory! But nothing like love did prosper then. Then I was admitted into school- a co-ed till class IV and not much later- perhaps quite unknowingly love did knock on my door; or the other way round, I was the knocker on love's door. The doors did open- embarrassingly- in a different school- an only for boys school-  with no presence of fairer sex in the closest alleys. Gender discrimination made its first foray in my life. And I must admit, with a sense of guilt, that it did biased my thinking strategy towards the ladies. My formative years sans any female presence still hurt me- a woman or rather (then) a girl is a must in one's life. Some experiences definitely I missed out- and sadly I can never turn back time! A blot and pity myself for the same. Keats' "A thing of beauty is a joy forever" was the biggest pilgrimage to womenfolk (my assumption or presumption). What else may be beauty if not a woman?

Love Is....

India is a land of mysteries and festivals. This framework soothes those who do not know much about this ancient country. This country has seen much bloodshed and few would be contending it for the podium finish on this march. It had been and would continue to be blessed by brave sons of the soil- ready to lay down their lives to save it. The question is from whom?

On a regular basis we flip across- newspaper or elsewhere- articles or sections or columns that may skip easily for an irregular eye; soldiers dying fighting against terrorists. Time and again, and again and again!! Now we are immune and it may not be too long before we readily overlook these sections due to its monotony, feeble entertainment factor and its failure to be called a news. Are we to be blamed or the news makers or the common denominations-  the soldiers or the perpetrators behind this ghastly an act as such killing- the terrorists.

Its never too late to rectify an age old hypocrisy- considering women's contribution behind the cohesive and egalitarian rejuvenation of society; it must be pinned as one of the pillars behind the familial stability in more cases than not. Somehow, at the turn of wheels, it is 'women' who has to be the torchbearer of sacrifice and still bear the brunt of male chauvinism. The glorification of cases where the women's peril, agony, pain and shame went for a toss gather more nefarious and brazen eyes than their unmatched, unquestionable and unflinching gift of simplicity and growth- oriented dimensions. All gets lost in the cobwebs of battles- in and out- love and affection gets trampled. Who is to be  blamed?

Of the five Pandavas, Lord Krishna chose Arjuna to deliver the holy Shrimad Bhagvad Gita discourse. The reason was Arjuna, also known as 'Riju' that in turn means simple- was a man with a clear mind and of sanguine thoughts. Arjuna was asked to abdicate the unnecessary ideas and thoughts and listen to and accept gnanam (knowledge) to attain moksh/nirvana (freedom from the cycle of birth and death).

These three narratives bear no resemblance to each other. The glittering commonality is 'simplicity'. There stands no arguable rationale behind terrorism or to a certain extent wars between countries or societies or individuals. As soon as we, the individuals are able to recognize our Krishna around us and start respecting humanity - sans any fault finding missions against other individuals, we sure would be levitating our characters a notch higher. A society where women are respected, adulated and adored for their simplistic sensibilities is sure to detoxify itself from the hemorrhagic grip of dissolution. Nations, on the other hand, engaged in armed tactics against others are at the edge of the biggest threats looming over its citizen.

The code is- Love is. It cannot be eclipsed.

Premanshu Mishra

31st May 2012...

The Last Leave

Is this easy to forget the wrongs you did me?
I tried. It is too tough on the contrary.
Forgetting as well as the pain.
With the passage of time, the memory corrupts.
Forgetting is achieved on a basis like this.
And then I ask for the pains- Innumerable.
No time makes it better, it never left.
Is a cure not available?
The one is if memory altogether submits.
The other is if the soul does the same.
I leave the unholy place with the pain.
Only I died,
Not the pain.

What is Truth?

In response to a question posted offline to me, “What is Truth or Satya?” let me humbly submit my definition or the view that I hold on the ‘Satya’.

Truth is the spiritual culmination of our intangible but omnipotent thought process and the actions defined by virtue of that thought process- that leads to an atmosphere or aura of peace or Shanti.

As long as our actions are undefined by a responsible thought process, we astray in the wild dark alleys- unknown and unfulfilling; once we are able to guide our actions by the flow of thoughts activated in the thinking centre, we find Truth. It is a concept that can only be felt or understood by those who are willing or capable of understanding. The vitality it offers to the one who attain it can be gauged from the fact- it dissipates fear- not the fear of the society or the family- but individual fear. It encourages life by instilling a sense of courage and pride and sincere optimism. Much alike the revolutionaries- the Bhagat Singhs, the Chandrasekhar Azads, the Kshudiram Boses, et al. They never had to shed the artificial unnatural layer called fear. But it is my firm belief that fear loses its relevance once you arrive at the zenith called Truth.

The Truth is like the morning sun under whose presence the dew drops forming a canopy on the flora lose their charm and act and quickly disappear to upheld the virtue of it. And we do pronounce Satyamev Jayate. Truth alone shall win.

Dreams of a young mind

And only the other day did I find out that there are scores of young minds trapped in the vagaries of life either through courtesy of situations or through non-introspection of personality and clamorous goals ahead. Either of the cobwebs succeeds in trapping and slowly exhausting the victim to imminent death.

Young and vibrant minds shall have a level playing field- with a freedom to explore and catapult their way onto the unknown methods. But these innocuous-looking receptions that the young receive at their grandiose workplaces for small morsels of code are in actuality the baits to make the world of trade survive and engineer mountains of profit to the capitalist (and voracious employers).  And slowly and silently the deaths of thoughts start taking their shape. The once young and energetic and effervescent youth stands lost in the world of trade, the path to continuation and riches awaits- showing immense opportunities in terms of materialistic wealth that would be accumulated and swept away in unworthy but savory means.

Is there a path to redemption that may be chosen to achieve what the youth once thought to pursue and enrich with creative and spiritualistic juices?

Definitely, there is. But it’s narrow and looks shabby for such a grand (wo)man to follow. The youth is received by a myriad of provocations- a one such ‘thought’ that has outlived its age and is barely surviving, pleads to (the youth) let it live further- once the youth chooses the grandiose path its life would come to a scorching end; the youth is lost among the choices to choose from. Does the path that looks a little liberated from materialism would hand any satisfaction, would it allow me to embrace my dreams, would it encourage me to follow my mind and heart in cohesion- these many trumpets were beating reaching a crescendo with whether this path would let me ‘be me’.

A greater hollow was to follow these when almost similar questions were posed by the other much travelled path albeit with solutions and they said that we would give you all the riches of the world to buy anything you want, to get all the happiness of the world with these and none will be able to escape your desires. And they re-emphasized that we would titillate your senses with pleasures that were, till ago, were un-gettable.

The youth was spoilt for choices. But this time the choice was made easier. The grandeur path was head bent on immersing the youth with all the unwanted and unthinkable pleasures one may ever desire. The youth was apologetic; he allowed exploitation of oneself. What life is without the real pleasure- a quaint serene flow of pious actions devoted to cultivate the highest virtues- truth and kindness, affection and peace.

And the youth led oneself to the shabby looking path leading to the kingdom of knowledge and love where matter of desire is never able to take any tangible shape. The youth returned to being I and was kept in the highest spirits by the pleading dream.