Day 362/366

Everything was blocking something or the other in the room. I lay horizontal, unable to move. The blood stain on the ceiling had me wondering where it had come from. I was fixated on that spot. No mercy was shown, as I coughed my lungs out. It seemed like a bloodbath that wouldn't end. Make it end, I said. They shot me.

Day 356/366

Disappointment-

Regardless of who is to blame.

Slowly, the world turns,

Around your axis and mine,

Never colliding,

Almost.

Have you nothing left to say-

In your defense or mine?

The trajectory of my heart,

Undivided by the mind.

The senses no longer alit,

Tactile, no more,

Sing me our song-

Though the words I cannot hear.

Watching her every move,

Waiting to make the leap,

By the shadows, he sheepishly stood,

She had the universe at her feet.

Across the hills we ran,

Till the point where time would stop.

The machine was ours to climb,

Ready to murder the soul.

Bodily fluids spat out,

Left alone to die,

Watch the fawn drag me away,

Hold me as I cry.

Day 355/366

The pipes had been laid out as per the plan. No elder was left to run over it once, confirming whether the execution would be possible or backfire. There was no going back once they started, and once they started, there would be no end in sight. This had been what they had grown up doing – following instinct, avoiding landmines and losing an appendage every now and then in their battle to survive.

“Shut the fuck up and keep running till you cross” was all that he could hear as he ran past the deserted patch of land, rendered unusable by the overgrown cacti and the bombs that had been dropped over more frequently than he'd like to remember.

Get to the other side. That was all he had to do – one more narrow escape. You are not going to die today. He wanted to scream it loud enough for it to be absorbed in his head, in his ears that no longer served any purpose. It was better than having them chopped off, he'd laugh, relishing the freedom of being alive.

_________________________________________________________________________________

From where he came from, this was the normalcy. Being born to arms smugglers was a matter of pride in his family. It spoke volumes of their ability to survive, to overcome obstacles that would come their way. But there was the one family secret known to all – there was no getting out. You were in it till the end. And to try and be the black sheep would only make matters worse.

He did what he had to do and led the pack of his peers. As a child growing up, his father had sat him down and made him a man at the tender age of 6. By the time puberty hit, he could butcher a goat mercilessly or dig himself an underground tunnel if the need did arise. Among his clan, he was believed to be the one who would redeem them; pull them out of their miseries.

They called him ‘Bilal’ where he grew up. Where he died, only the vultures tended to his nameless grave.

Day 346/366

This might be my last post ever for all I know. I've never felt this sick. I'm wretching, I haven't eaten a meal without wanting to throw it out the next second in days, and my fever refuses to go down. Worse, I am not legible to take sick leave from work because I'm still a trainee. I think my days are numbered. Or maybe that just seems like a much better solution to the situation. The family doctor is not free, and so, no other doctor can be called to check on me. I think I need to be put on saline. And no one will listen to me. Let me crawl away into a corner and wither.

Day 345/366

A shiver up the spine,
A rustle in the moor,
The shadow of the man,
To homeward he does move.
Groping in the dark,
Bouts of listless depression,
Motivated by the sound,
It seemed, of a yesteryears tune.
Unwell, unrested,
Mastering the art of staying awake,
With high intent did he attempt
To make the great escape.
The walls around him grew,
As the nightmares turned to grey,
The murkiness of home,
Was forever there to say.

Day 321/366

It had never struck her till that moment. But the reality of it was too much to deny. Her child, if she ever had one, would grow up without a grandfather. There would be no stories of his college days, of how he pursued the child's mother's mother, no cheeses brought and tested, no pushing her on the swing in the park.

She'd grow up without knowing the best man the world had known. There would be a few photographs, yellowed with time; the familiar scent would still linger; there would be stories told heralding his greatness. But what he was in person, the way he danced with his friends, the way his eyes melted seeing his lovely wife, the serious look when working, she'd missed out on all of those. 

It's such a shame that people go away from one's lives. Stories remain untold and taken to the grave, without anyone even understanding the gravity of the loss. Such a pity, I tell you. She'd grown up forgetting what she remembered. 

Day 311/366

One can often try and be dishonest with themselves to make themselves believe that a reality wasn't as it seemed to be. While most people try and avoid reality by escaping into their dreams, a time comes when you just struggle to escape back and step into reality to feel grounded.

When I lost my maternal and paternal grandfathers in a short span of 8 months, I felt just like that-facing a struggle with myself to try and make it all go away, like it never happened. But it did. And while I was glad that they were in a better place where their sufferings would end, I couldn't help but feel the loss of familiarity when it happened.

In December, 2009, I was back home in Kolkata to do my internship and loving the time away from the never-ending flow of college assignment submissions and tests. But without anyone anticipating it, my paternal grandfather fell very ill. We rushed him to the hospital, a place where I cannot stand the smell of hope that is taken away from families of patients there. We were there all day and we knew that it was just a matter of hours. That night, he breathed his last. The tears made me feel vulnerable, but I let them flow out to let him know that he would be missed. After all, he was the one who told us about the Ramayana and the Mahabharata, bought us firecrackers on Diwali, and took us to the Book Fair at the Maidan as kids...

I remember falling very ill after he passed away, probably because of weakness because of the tears. After I recovered, I went back to college, and life resumed it usual pace, complete with a new set of notes on a whole new bunch of subject with an even bigger workload of assignments.

When I was away from home, the only means of communication would be the phone calls. Every Sunday, I'd talk to both my grandmothers at some time in the day and update them on my lives and vice versa. When I would call up my maternal grandmother, she would often give the phone to Nanaji, who would ask me the same set of questions each time, almost always in the exact same manner. He would call me 'Chotu' and ask me about my health, how the food was where I was staying, and if I was eating enough. He would also ask me if I wanted anything from home that he could have sent across and I would always politely say 'No', and he would give the phone back to Nanima and then they would hang up on me. I never did get bored of answering the same questions nor did it fail to make me smile.

I will always remember him in his white kurta and dhoti with an olden days' hat on. I will always recall him calling the 'maali' up from the garden and telling him to pluck out star-fruit and baby tomatoes and get it for me. I will always remember his love for old Hindi movies that came on Television, though he would often sleep off while watching it. This only amused me and made me love him more.

When my mother called me and told me that he had gone to a better place, I cried inconsolably. It was bad enough that I couldn't be with family members at that moment. What was worse was that because of something as trivial as college attendance, I could not fly down to be home to console my grandmother, to hold my mother's hand, or to be consoled myself. I went to the temple near my house and prayed for his soul to rest in peace and performed the rites that I could despite the distance. Even though people said that as long as I remembered the good memories, he would be happy and know that I loved him, it was the worst feeling to be away.

Both these incidents have made me see life in a different live. We have to live while we're alive and do all it takes to be remembered for the right reasons...We don't know what is God's plans but we are not immortal. Old age will come and to age beautifully should be a living dream.

Day 290/366

I saw a Woody Allen film called 'Interiors' recently. His films have an altogether different charm about them when he isn't acting in it. This one was a story of 3 sisters, and precisely as simple as that. It got me thinking about life and death and how dependent we are one on another. It made the reality of dying seem closer. You are a perishable item. Just as I am. But how is it that a person can be filled with life one minute and is empty the other? Where does it all go? We delude ourselves with concepts of perfection and compatibility and love. How does it all matter at the end? We return to where we came from, though we only know that it is the ground and the dust and the water that we are, but what we tread on. You could walk straight into the ocean and let the darkest wave gulf you in its entirety. Would that death be the same as dying in your sleep or being shot in the head or being suffocated by a pillow? What does a heart attack feel like for someone who does not make it through as compared to a milder one where the victim pulls out and stays alive a few more years? Should we really be crying over the past and the dead or the future and the living?

I feel compelled to write these thoughts down. They seem very powerful to me.

Day 268/366

Do people or animals know that they are going to do? If someone is healthy or has an accident one fine day, do they have any clue? Do people who have fallen ill or with a critical condition get signs beforehand? If yes, why don't they bother saying goodbye to their loved ones? Why don't they share what they are going through and let you be a part of it, to help you be strong after they go? Is it a selfish act on their part or on God's? Who the hell gave some guy in the sky the right to take people away before their relationships were put to a close? Why was the widower greeted by her husband's dead body that was deformed at war? How come some of us/them got lucky enough to have medicines and treatments to survive while others didn't? If you put your pet to sleep, how do you live guilt-free? Who gave you the right to end its suffering without consent of the one whose life it was being led? Why aren't give pets given a chance to kill themselves if they want? Why such differentiation when being alive means the same thing essentially? Why wasn't I told that you would go and never come back? Why?

Day 267/366

I had an interesting but morbid dream about a mass suicide taking place. I was a part of it and I think it was in some village of some sort. It felt like a game show where sleeping pills could be what you got or you may have escaped death and gotten away with your life. It was odd. It was almost as if a near death experience was supposed to be induced for my family and friends who were a part of it. It seemed like some of them were meant to die. For the others, it was supposed to pull them closer to death and life at the same time by creating a sense of being alive in the most raw form possible. I was intrigued. From what I can remember, I escaped the death. But then, another adventure began and I remember leaving my bag on a ledge and hiding in a chicken shed that night with my accomplice or two. I can't remember who they were. But I do remember a hideout in the cave that we chanced upon that led us to the suicide ground, which was supposed to be left undiscovered.

Luckily, it was a dream. Though for some reason, death doesn't seem that scary anymore. I may have possibly had that near death experience in my dream. Or maybe, it wasn't a dream at all.

Day 231/366

I can see that beautiful moment when you know your mind and body is tired and is ready to sleep and shut down for a few seconds, minutes or hours. It'll take whatever comes it's way. You lie down for a split second and are half-way to shutting those weary eyes. You face that scary realization where you understand that they will never see again.

You're running down the corridors. You hear the ambulance in the background. There's commotion all around you. You feel trapped inside your own head. You need to move and feel alive and scream. But you're dead. 

You're as alive as you can be but you're dead to the world. You're as dead as you can be but they keep you alive. And you can't do anything about it.

Day 229/366

You remind me of happiness, of a childhood with good memories, of simple joys of life. When you left, I didn't know where you had vanished off to. Nobody bothered telling me when I asked. 

I'm older now. I'm eight years older than I was eight years ago to this date. 

It still feels the same - I'm lost, I don't have answers and I miss you.

Memories have really duped me. I used to believe in a lot of things. But I've given up on many of them now. 

They say it's too young for me to think of things like this and that I have my whole life ahead of me. I'm not so sure anymore. I don't even think I ever want to be sure. 

Tonight, I shall play all your favorite songs from Pakeezah and try to muster up the courage to smile. I hope you're happy where you are. 

Day 221/366

Entangled around the wrist
Stopping the blood from flowing
The monster's tight grip
I thought I would be dead.

Colorful pretty deception
That would tear my insides apart
The shiny rubber band broke
I will drink wine and slowly rejoice!

Day 193/366

After I die,
If you wish to remember me,
Play that favorite tune
Sing it how you will.

If after I die,
You find out I had a child
Look after her for me
Or read to him sometimes.

Perhaps if I should die
In a way you won't know why
Forgive me for my desire
But do not leave my side.

Eventually I must go
To 'a better place' as they say
I'll wait till you get there
I'll remember us every day.

To die must be awfully strange
But someday I wish to feel
What he went through when he went
To see what he did see.

I suppose I want to die
To be strong when that day does come
Know me for my words
For in them, lies my will.

Still and quiet I lie,
Unlike what you knew me to be
Hold my cold hand now
Bury me to bring me to peace.

Day 159/366

The road dwindled away
To a little path stray
Which the traveler in me took.
No remorse or pain
Could be felt in my veins
Despite the cold wind blowing.

Shining on the other end,
Too far out of my reach
Stood the tree of life,
It called to me
With little steps, I approached.

The closer I went,
The farther it seemed
To me it was a failure of sight.
The trick the tree did play on me
Taught me the secret of life.

The push and pull
Too near and far
Opposites born to stay.
Life and death and the quarters of the moon
Revel on an empty stage.

Day 153/366

Could I be on a journey without an end, I wonder. After reviewing all that society has taught me, the answer is no. Death is evidently inevitable, I am not immortal and one fine day, I will stop breathing and decompose and give back to Nature what I took from it. Those are the important points I should keep in mind, right? So where does that leave me on this journey called life?

Even if I tried really hard, I highly doubt I could become one of those people who fears death and refuses to leave the house because I could get murdered by some psychopath on the road. Sure, I'd keep an unauthorized gun on me (or a simple pepper spray) to revert the damage as far as possible but that's about it. It's like saying that someone who loved the beach till December 26th, 2004 stops going to the beach altogether. I am not denying that there has been a lot of irreversible loss in terms of life and property. We know that now. With proper warning systems and effective evacuation mechanisms in place, a large portion of those losses could have been prevented. But they weren't around. And people did die, as would have been the natural case had human beings not been civilized enough to come up with technology to prolong their deaths. Is this me trying to say that the tsunami was a good thing? No. Is Nature's Wrath justified to some extent? Yes.

We have really messed with Mother Nature and if she's pissed off and causing more earthquakes and tsunamis in the recent past than ever before, we need to stop what we're doing and learn a lesson or two. I'm no expert to comment on global warming or the greenhouse effect but I know that our lifestyle is way too polluting for her to cope with.

Personify her if you will - a delicate little woman who has spent her life looking after our Earth in a wasteland coughing away because of the dense layer of smoke around her from our factories. There is poisonous water full of chemicals flowing under her feet with plastic, dead whales and discolored coral reefs floating on the surface. That is what we have done. And since none of us are willing to do penance for this ultimate sin of mankind, one by one, we will all head to the grave.

Will this post make a difference to the world? I doubt. Will it make me change my ways when I see the rest of the world not stopping their environmental crimes? Nope. Is there an alternate solution that could work? Yes, but no one will be willing to try it.

Whenever you're ready, Mother Nature. I know you'll be coming for me eventually.

Day 152/366

Life is such a funny little thing. It makes you feel such extremes of emotions when you least expect it. One day, I was walking into my house feeling unwanted. The next day, I had moved out of it and I saw my family members cry at the sight of me leaving. I could see them stuck to the airport windows trying to catch their last few glimpses of me. The uncertainty of when/if we will meet again was too strong to do anything but that. And yet, I have been displaced only to find a home again. A home in a different city where I live with family members of blood relation. There is a different force at play now and it is familiar and unfamiliar. Even Rishi Valley and the many hostels I stayed in were homes in themselves; ecosystems within a larger whole.

I wish there was a middle ground of some sort where I could have every temporary home and all the house dwellers together. But that is an interesting concept - a piece of fiction that can only inspire me to write it down knowing that it will never become a concrete reality. Perhaps the only time that the reality could come true is when I'm on my death bed and all the people I want to be around me will actually be near me till my last breath.  Being the well managed person that I am known to be, I'll be expected to have arranged for my own funeral before I die. I should go start working on that now. *tho tho* (Mallu for 'Let's hope that's not the case')

Day 146/366

He bit into her neck as deep as his sharp fangs could go. After countless days roaming the streets looking for signs of human life, he had found a victim. The world had been savagely torn apart by Nature's wrath. Little by little, each part crumbled into an abyss that now belonged to nobody. Darkness had resided over the universe.

The immortal being had been watching it all unravel. He had built up his stock, his source of energy, of survival. Today, he ran out of it. Even the rats and cockroaches had been thrown out of existence. She was the only living human with blood that would grant him another day. An unfair exchange of life was made. He devoured her till the last drop of blood dripped out of her heart.

142/366

Uncle Peter lost his car today,
The thief was not too kind.
He left him in the ditch to lay,
By the rusted bicycle wheel.

Uncle Peter got mugged today,
His phone and wallet was taken
He went home angry & empty handed
His wife was not pleased with him.

Uncle Peter cut himself today,
He was hating being alive.
Too much pain he had already felt
A little more couldn't hurt.

Uncle Peter had an accident today,
There was nothing left of him.

123/366

Pure narcotic in a silly dream,
His music took him flying
Estranged lyrics sung those perfect lips,
Parting right where I wanted them.

My baby had nowhere to run
The chase had long begun,
Time, money and friends his foes
But the life we still led on.

They watched him slyly, silently
Entering without the slightest sound,
He knew the overdose would kill him,
But the rush he loved too much.

Once more and he just let go,
Away from his soul so close and grey.
One more day I'd wanted to be
The girl for whom he'd want to stay.