Mirrors

The man said to me never take mirrors when you move from one place to another, the memories are caught in them, and they chase you to new places.

Dracula, probably that's why had no mirror in his castle, his memories would haunt him, in superlative degree!

I ran from my town, had been running for years, to escape from memories, never carrying a single crystal. But they seemed to catch me, the ghost would stand in front of me no sooner I thought its past. every time the man was proved wrong, but I always believed him, yet couldn't disprove his statement.

Atlast, today I was left with no options. I was trapped in the web of life, a job to support every single day of existence. And even in the momemnts most true to heart I could not run away.

I had to see present change into past as the train moved away from me. I knew the memories would be with me looking into rear-view mirror as I tried to start the car. I didn't tried to run away from mirrors and memories now, they seemed more true to me.

And in this sudden moment of realization, I felt warmth around the core of my eyes, something reflected back from mirror, and the truth dawned to me, how the past is caught in the mirror. A mirror we cannot escape, a mirror trying to break free from memories, yet catching more of it.

Déjà vu

It seemed so much familiar. A life re-lived, a dream revisited, another second, a minute, an hour, an entire lifetime wasted on thoughts.

I have been walking for the last one hour. The day started without any goal, I started doing things for which failure was sure. Daryagunj visit at an hour when the pavement book market was sure to have been closed. To try to find something when I knew I would not get it. A hope when there was none. Walking along the road, I felt coming out of that place, walking to some other place, but for no reason. Probably my fear to live another past, a past which had everything, but for which I felt nothing. A dread to the fear.

Another visit to Chandni chauk, again a market which should have been closed on Sundays, which I knew beforehand. Purchases that I didn’t need were my reason to visit this place, and to have this reason to gather another disappointment. But viola! Universe again created a magic, and I have to buy a few camera accessories, without which I could have been wealthier!!

A thought was tied to me; it kept me on the edge. On edge of sanity, a boundary of truth and fiction. Where the line that divides them is very thin. As thin and as blurred as the bubble floating in front of my face, as false a the man selling the toy, the toy as true as the bubbles it was creating, as false as that child’s wish to own that toy, and as false as that child’s parent denial to that child’s dream. And then suddenly the floating bubble burst.

And then there was the walk along the memory lane, a narrow lane, another dread, another fear, and my helplessness to walk along this road. Another fear to walk, time and again. Since this has to be me, and this life has to be so.

Question

Like a question in my mind, not visible until now, but suspended somewhere, the paper was floating in air. Perhaps it was only for a second, that I was able to glance on it. Funny thing this nature reveals, strange are the acts of universe.
It took me another moment to come back to present, switch the gear and move on, for the world around me was going ahead as the red signal turned green. I left the paper hanging in air behind me.
The gentle breeze was touching my face; I had to calm down the engine. The danger of turning the simplicity of cold air to fierce torrent is always lurking once I rev-up the engine. And even if once I dare to speed-up I would lose the calmness, the perspective. Perhaps the power is to hold, the balance to maintain.
Movement is not the negation of suspension, for the complexity of the universe is never solved. A universe suspended in ether moves in space beyond definitions.
The thoughts were differentiated and words were integrated, or were it vice-versa. The mathematics was never solved. An axiom without theorem. A theorem with proof?

He was yayawar.
The mountain was high, the acme distant. It were cold winds that he felt against himself. He never felt the time, how long has he been climbing?
He loved heights, and distances. His love for them increased with the worsening of them.
The white flakes of snows were falling, lying all around him. Small, white, cold, light….
The cold was growing on him.
He remembered the last sparks he had left in his last camp. He admired them, they were lovely, they burned slowly, glowed warmly.. He had repulsion for fire, big fire. They were egoist, they would consume everything and yet want more, then spare none, anything that comes on their way.

Ah…the cold, the height, the distance.
Every step he took was becoming heavy. The snow deep, air cold and thin.
Ah….
God! He thought, why am I climbing?
Everyone fought over Him, some destroyed His idols. He believed in idol worship. Atleast somebody was solid. The people he met were hollow, deviod of substance, empty.
Ah God!...where is sun?
Suddenly it dawned to him he hadn’t seen it for long….to the bright one..
Was the pinnacle coming down for him? Or was he climbing faster?
Was the air beating against him? Was it fighting with him? He loved heights, but…feared them.
He reached there. It seemed to him he was in the ocean of whites.
Where was the cold? Where were his fears?

It was his dream, to jump from a great height. He knew he will never fall, he would start flying. The more the height, the better his flight. It never occurred to him that hard land was somewhere below him.
He was still thinking something….
They saw him, felt the cold, saw the height, felt the fear, saw…

And he…closed his eyes.

dream

“It all seems like a dream”, I heard ma saying, when we were watching the photo albums.
I came to Delhi for the search of a job, and so it seemed, like yesterday, and like a dream. And I never knew I would change so much, a change like a chemical reaction. It was like vulcanization. A process to harden natural rubber, doping it with impurities, usually sulphur, because natural rubber is soft and of no commercial value. Only problem with vulcanization, its irreversible.
I was thought be impractical, not fit for the world, because the supposed qualification to fit in this world is to dupe the people who trust you.
Words fail me, thoughts run away from me, and once you have used your quota of words, one cannot ask for more words. For while playing with words I come across some sentences, they are thrown from the unknown directions of cosmos. We all are showered with the rains of advice, or SMS in newer avatar. Wonderful they are, for they conjure up a image that is fit with the life we live. A movie reminded me something a few days back, I wish to end this blog-post with the realization.
I have been wrong, and my personal opinion goes to add that wrong should not exist. But if a person is wrong, he cannot be eliminated, rather the identity which is thought to be wrong should be eliminated. Period.

"The only thing necessary for the triumph of evil is for good men to do nothing - Edmund Burke"

fever

I was not afraid of insanity or madness, it runs in my family, its only a matter of time that it will catch with me.
Was it illusion, illusions, delusions or dementia? A constant state of mind in suspension, but seemed more real. Madness or truth, its debate time immortal. What I see, I cannot perceive. That is why these words come to me.
Dissecting each thought, each action is more harder, and the corpse of thoughts that lie after this is more dreadful, more difficult to clean. Blood on my hands, I am helpless. We are not discussing theology, philosophy, or other worldliness. My words are the my actions in papers. All this is past, but past keeps happening in paper, in our thoughts, in the mind, whoever reads them, thinks them, feels it.
Again, it is receding from me, my suspension in time, I am coming back to today. Goodbye the illusions, welcome the world!

rains

Rain, or rather rains filled all the Delhi, all the roads, all the view from the cabs window, and my memories. Sky, from blue had taken all the colors of black… grey, silver, dark and the color of drizzle. What I was seeing was not very far from me, a world so near and yet so distant. A world moving so fast and yet so still. Cab was running faster than thoughts, faster than the near and far world.
Rains are so much related with memories, I thought so hard but could not find the reason why summer, winter, spring are not associated with it. Strange!
It was all grey, the world outside and inside..It poured heavily. What was I thinking? Nothing. I never had the power to think. To think, body has to undergo a lot of chemical reactions, and of course a lot of brainy stuff plus what not! And I had none, no capacity to think, let even contain myself, my thoughts.
Every drop is added to the puddle of water lying everywhere. A dry road would first turn dark when first shower comes. Slowly it starts flowing and then it has collected on some place where it would find some space. What am I talking? Water, of course. And then more would come, filling up every nook and corner. It is so demanding, that until you are not drenched up, or at least wet, wet to your soul, till than it would not stop. And once you have felt it. It will come again for you. And second time its more harder. This time nobody escapes. And than it will come over and over again, until it is not satisfied.
Have you every had a vision? Go on top of a building, a high-rise in your town. From the roof you should be able to see whole of the city on clear night. Now go to that roof-top on a day when it has rained for days, and it is still raining, raining heavily. Please do not take any raincoats, umbrella or ant other protection, this can seriously harm you. Any attempt with raincoats etc is insanity. Reach for the edge, let the monsoon be in you, feel the cold water in every bone, in every shiver you feel. Let every drop hit you, let every cloud to get inside you breath, you lungs, your body. Now see the world. Remember the rains should be very heavy, else you will lose everything. Now did you see the world. What is it? Grey? An outline of everything? No definite images? And what do we feel? Cold? Shiver? No, this is what I call vision, nothing definite, but cold, not rational, but still in front of you, on the edge.