Forgiveness

An old town square.
Cobbled streets stained with blood.
The new regime had abolished killing!
Preached forgiveness,
but how can one slay ghosts!

She stood, in the noon sun,
wrapped in a white shroud,
white as snow,
cold as ice.
The sinner,
the reviled,
the lady who betrayed her own kind.

The high magistrate,
in magnificent robes of gold,
looked down upon her,
repulsion mingled with pity.
Her punishment,
he cried,
is life!
Because our regime is a merciful regime,
our king is a forgiving king,
our people are a kind lot.
Yes, she shall live,
Live she shall!

The crowd eventually dispersed,
some cheated of blood,
their red lust still awake and roaring,
but the girl in the white shroud,
with a heart so black,
with her head hung low,
her eyes flowing over,
her arms tightly wrapped around,
knew she was punished,
beyond redemption.
Because she was the one cheated of death.
Her punishment was that,
she had to live with herself.

Glass Walls

Seems like centuries ago,
that I felt what it feels like,
to be wanted and to want
something I cannot have.

I built my walls,
of stone and ice.
Walls so deep,
and unforgiving.
I try to lock myself in,
and not feel a thing,
resisting primal instincts
and signs from above and beyond.

And then you came along,
and pushed your way through,
battling the ice,
breaking through the stone,
right till I can see you,
beyond a wall of glass;
a shiny veneer,
of what is real and what is not,
standing between us

The glass fogs,
as you put your hand on it,
beckoning to me.
I follow,
trancelike,
as if I'm surreal,
a ghost,
I am not sure what I feel towards you,
but I like being wanted.
Oh, the elixir of desire and attention,
awakens ghosts of the past!

Then I realize,
that I feel what it feels like,
to want something that I cannot have.
So I plaster the glass with mud.
Opaque now and dark again,
I blot you out of my heart.

I hope no one reads this, but I couldn't resist the glory of being a fallen warrior.

I just finished reading an article on a friend’s blog about heart break. She talked about how her life changed after her five year relationship, of who we are before and after that significant remarkable person comes into our life and turns it upside when they leave. She spoke about how all that is left are memories, memories that we want to forget but still choose to not let go off, because they give us strength. Its ironic how our first serious relationship defines us, how the identity of the couple molds the identity of the individual. It’s even more ironic how we let these shadows; these mists cloud the bitter reality of our failures, just so that we can go on with life. But we need to move on, and I guess there is no shame in choosing the comfort of false pretenses in order to pick ourselves up, or rather to numb us to the pain.

It’s been more than two years. Since, my relationship itself did not last for two years I certainly did not anticipate that the hollow created by its breakdown would linger so long. Truth be told, I never wanted to be a helpless broken spirit and I certainly am not anymore. Yet, small things, like the smell of a particular cologne, the memories of frantic whispers, a particular date and time, do bring back a flood of almost visceral emotions. The distinctness of the memories has faded with time, but the feelings associated with them linger. Today, the sixth of January, was the day I had given him a dark green shirt, four years ago (It’s been four years!) and I remember that indescribable feeling in my heart and stomach, when I saw him in it. It was also the first time I received a T-shirt from him, which I wore till the writing faded away. With an almost audible sigh, I realize that I can sense the imprints of these emotions perhaps because a small part of me still yearns for him. Or probably it’s more of a yearning to be in love again. Over time the lines get so blurred, that we lose track of what we really want and grapple around with fantastical ideas and concepts. Again, I suppose this is just another coping mechanism, because we humans hate to face the truth and prefer to voluntarily live in a dream, much like the matrix.

Listening to sad songs, and reading about the most iconic movie characters of all time, I keep thinking, “We should have done this together”. Him and me, cozy in bed, under a blanket, his arm around me laughing about R2D2, debating nay agreeing, about Agent Smith being the most awesome bad guy ever. Walks on the beach, staring at stars, going to the movies, grad school, choosing majors, waiting anxiously for long weekends so that we can meet each other in some idyllic city or town- That’s what it should have been. That’s what should have happened. But it never would because it never was.  Why do I still feed my poor idle mind, these fantasies of an ideal love story, when there really wasn't one? Are we lonely hearts, all part of the same schizophrenia? A multitude of people living under some sort of mass delusion!  Finally, I begin to question, “Was any of it, any of it real? Was it worth “living under the influence” for four years and God knows how many more to come?”

I suppose some questions have no answers. More plausibly, we know the answers we seek but we choose to ignore it, choosing instead to live in a bubble. I can’t speak for the masses, nor can I be the voice of people who have seen many more real issues in their relationships or broke up under harder, more trying circumstances. But as for me, I know, I’m hanging on to something that I cannot quite place. Clutching at straws, holding a fistful of sand as it drains away slowly. Is it the glorious feeling of misguided martyrdom, or the fear of accepting failure, the fear of being alone, the anger that things did not turn out the way I wanted them to? Is it the fear of growing older and realizing that nothing is quite what it seems, and fairy tales are merely just that- fairy tales? Is it the fear of the possibility of never finding that person who I can happily and willingly give myself  to completely and unconditionally, without second thoughts or inhibitions, a person who would reciprocate that and give himself to me completely?

Whatever it is, I guess the songs and the movies and the books and all the clichés are true. When a heart breaks, no, it doesn't break even and a small, little, tiny part of you is gone forever. Of course, it’s not the end. In fact, there is a strong likelihood that the entire cycle will repeat again, at least a few times. A tiny spark, exploding into burning, crackling fire, illuminating everything, until it burns itself out, fading away, till only glowing embers remain amongst the ashes of what once was. And maybe, one day, they will come by. They will come by, carrying a spark that sets your mind, body and soul on fire, feeding your flame and growing from it, to burn on forever, eternally, warm and comforting. Until then, I guess we got to just hold on to the spark within us, waiting patiently, biding our time, till the magic begins!

la la la land

Okay so I started taking guitar classes for about a month now. I am a slow learner, being 23 and unskilled with my hands (in most cases, if you know what I mean). Terrible jokes apart, along with my musical knowledge growing, I have also tried my hand at writing some lyrics. So here they are.

If there are any readers out there, feel free to comment. Maybe a Soundcloud page may come up! :)

Leap of Faith

I know its not easy,
to give up all you have,
to chase down an idea,
to try to get to nowhere,

I know its not easy,
to give yourself to someone,
to give it everything you got,
and get nothing in return

(c) Would you take,
 the leap of faith,
 would you still play,
 when your losing

 Would you be there,
 lay your heart bare,
 or will you walk away,
 into the dark.

I am a shadow warrior,
I walk the lonely path,
I want to fly higher
Don't want to make it back

I look behind my shoulder,
and I see you waiting there,
watching time go slowly,
frozen in my stare

(c) Would you take
 the leap of faith
 would you still play,
 when your losing

 Would you be there,
 to hold my hand,
 or would you let me go
 into the dark!

(b)  I know, its asking too much
      I know, I want too much,
      But I want you so bad,
      do you still want me too?

(C)

Lone walker (tweaked by Aditya Ghante)

I walk down,
Into a lonely town,
the demons flash by,
I.m all alone,

Weren't you just there
A minute ago?
I look behind and
I'm still all alone

I think hard
of how I let you down
and now I'm here,
All on my own

(c)             But I feel alive,
                 feel free to smile,
                 free to die,
                 feel free to cry.
                 I feel blessed,
                 I feel messed,
                 I must confess,
                 I feel possessed.
   
A weight is lifted,
off my troubled shoulders,
We couldn't hold us together,
any more.

A fire's burning,
in my heart as I keep running,
and my head, it keeps spinning,
and I.m done

(c)

(b)  I'm here,
      at the crossroads,
      waiting,
      for a sign.
      Now I see,
      that's its never,
      coming....

Shadows,
of my past echo,
and the sun comes,
then they fade away.

Lana and her games

“I’m fucking crazy, but I’m free.” So says Lana Del Ray. She also says so many more beautiful things and croons them too, in her honey soaked smoky, dark, rich voice. Things that make me want to do things to her. And I’m almost 95% sure I’m straight.

I think about her lyrics. There was a phase few months ago when I used to listen to her songs every single day. Now, I’m a little more old school: Nirvana, RHCP, Pearl Jam, GnR, Soundgarden, Radiohead (Yeah, Yeah I'm a 90's girl. Call me mainstream! I won't get offended). But I guess a part of me missed her. My Lana, the songstress who spoke of freedom, of living fast and dying young. I watched a nine minute video of the song “Ride” today. It was perfect- melancholy, bittersweet, glamorizing a life of wanderlust; and thought about liberty, about true freedom.

Is it true that the one who has a home, is never free? I have long yearned for the freedom of the open road. Especially after leaving college and returning back to my hometown, where nothing happens. Problems are small and their solutions are mundane. Shopping and spending hard earned Dinars on fancy, “culinary” adventures are our subsistence. No alcohol, certainly no Mary Jane and no unknown destinations. I am sure that there are people out there right now saying, “Yes, bro! I get you.” But just like a wanderer might never know the comfort of her own hearth, a person with a home will never know the peace of leaving it all behind and driving off into the sunset. The feel of the wind whipping through my hair, the warm rays of the sun warming my back, sitting next to a man gunning down the huge engine of a vintage Mustang as I play with his hair and kiss his neck, not knowing where we are going, not knowing whether we would check into a seedy motel or just spend the night in each other’s arms under the twinkling stars! I crave for these things, however fantastical or even cliché they may be.

Lana tells me, “Maybe you should just leave home”. Forget about Master’s, forget the job, just take out the thousand or so dollars worth of savings you have and catch the next flight to anywhere. Maybe I should be out there somewhere: Bali or Ibiza, hitchhiking to the next country from there on. Maybe I should write a book about all the partying and the travelling; the trials and tribulations; the survival on the only thing saffordable- potato chips and coca colas; the bartending, waitressing, nanny-ing; the many, many men of all colors and sizes; the Lucys and the Jeffrys and the Marias and my times with them. Maybe I should complete this manuscript and go; not like a damp squib, but in an explosion- a drug overdose in a nightclub or a strangulation in the hands of a handsome, manic lover.

Lana is still singing as I gaze up from my laptop and look around my room. The old photo of a Hindu deity, Balaji, hanging up, my messy clothes and messy desk which remain disorganized until mom clears it up, an old TV that has been replaced by a newer model but is still being preserved, a shelf chock a block full of albums- pictures shot when film was not "so vintage", thousands of pictures of my sister and I, laughing and gleeful, the pages heavy with the weight of all the years gone by.

So, is this concept of freedom just hype, created by the music and film industries to achieve some sort of hitherto unknown but insidious purpose? Are people meant to run wild and free? Or does society and its standards prevail in the end, forcing us all to eventually settle down and start a family, buy a house and lay down our roots? Can we survive on love, fresh vibes and good feelings alone? I finally realize that question is not “Can we?” The question is “Will we?”

The time is 3.08 and I realize I’m lightly dozing, listening to Lana, dreaming of her, and some charming raggedy blonde man who looks like Kurt Cobain and he’s introducing me to Tony Montana. Then I realize that I have to fucking to go work in less than five hours.

To be or not to be----- (posted a few months too late :-P )

Alright, I know the title is pretty cliched. But it was something I was thinking about for a while........ OK! For the last ten minutes! Last night I was watching SNL with my sister, a die-hard fan of the show. Personally, I feel that SNL disappoints me because I expect so much, much more from the people involved in it. But then again, it's hard to reinvent yourself 35 years in a row, and this is another conversation altogether.

Anyway, I was watching the infamous episode where Ashlee Simpson was revealed to be a lip-syncher (oh the horrors!). Yes, I know I'm ten years too late and this is old news. I mean even my favorite singer ever, Lana Del Ray, sucked during her live performance. But I noticed something in the Ashlee Affair, that most gossip rags did not talk about. And why would they! The international humiliation of a young celebrity is a GOLD MINE and when your busy making money, you tend not to notice the little things happening around you.

So, it went like this. The "singer" did her little, retarded dance on the stage prepping to blow us away with her "amazing" talent, when a track playing a song she had already performed began to play. She didn't even bother to save face but just hopped around, looking a little more retarded and walked off stage. This is what we all know. However, what I noticed, was actually the part that fascinated me much more than this idiocy. As the drummer opened, he heard the wrong chord and stopped. The bassist, however, picked a chord and continued. Eventually the lead guitarist joined and drummer got his beat back. In the ten seconds that went by, the celebrity guest, had walked off stage, but the music continued. And guess what! It was actually good. The musicians were befuddled for a bit, but recovered and continued, actually enjoying themselves, in all likelihood because Ashlee made such a complete ARSE of herself. They continued, confidently and displaying more professionalism than the person who was supposed to perform.

So, what's my point? I guess it's the fact that you need to do more than sell a few thousand albums to be a singer, the fact the being a celebrity and being an artist are two so very different things. I suppose the fact that the spotlight, the fame, the interviews and awards really don't mean anything, if your not honest to yourself.
Everyone wants to be a star! People in our country leave their homes and come to Bombay, because they want to be "heroes/heroines". But no body wants to become an actor. I myself want to be a writer, but the fact that Stephanie Meyer and Nicholas Sparks are best selling authors and "50 Shades of Grey" is a bestselling book makes me feel that I would rather write like this- fragmented prose in Word Documents in my office computer, random scribbles in notebooks and of course my blogs, planetoids in the Milky Way of cyber space. I would rather be good than be seen. Of course, one might argue that to be critiqued upon, to receive opinions which may help me improve, I should be seen, I should be heard. I should be stripped down, broken down and put back together, better and stronger. But in today's hyper-connected world, where people speak through tweets rather than face to face and news/gossip spreads faster than chicken pox among fourth graders, honesty is a commodity that's in rather short supply and it doesn't take much to sell your soul in exchange for well, anything.

I spent many days craving talent. I used to look at people who were good at something, particularly the arts, be it musicians, singers, writers or actors (not dancers, because I have two left feet) and wish that I could be blessed like them and have what they have, something that sets them apart from the rest, elevated to another plane of existence, almost. I used dream of alternate realities: one where I'm singing in front of thousand people and not throwing up, or one where I am wearing a white cashmere pullover, bobbed hair and signing copies of my book at a Barnes and Nobles. I still crave to be talented, and wouldn't mind being famous either. But I would rather be the anonymous wonder, who keeps everyone guessing, the sought after one who people don't know where to seek, rather than a fame whore with a bald chihuahua!

And the epiphany de jour!

A friend introduced me to this ambient, instrumental band the other day. It’s called Explosions in the Sky, and I’m honestly surprised that I hadn't heard of them earlier. Then again, they are heavily featured in several TV shows, as Wikipedia cared to inform me, and I’m sure we all have heard a snatch of some of their stuff. Anyway, quoting Wikipedia again, they specialize in music that is cathartic to the listener. While this may not ring true with everyone, it was definitely music with a distinct positive-ness in its tone and melody, and to me, it ended up giving me an epiphany rather than become a means of catharsis.

True epiphanies are often rare. Yes, we all have our moments of unparalleled genius; usually while in the shower. These are inevitably lost in the deluge of other thoughts that pass through our brain every minute, every hour, which are mostly regarding what’s for lunch (or dinner). But there are moments when people stumble upon something really great. Maybe a struggling musician finally discovers the perfect riff when he is languidly strumming his guitar late at night. Maybe an entrepreneur decides to add a customized perfume as freebie to a gift basket. And maybe an everyday man finds the perfect way to put a smile on his kids’ faces. It all comes down to that one thought, the moment of clarity and understanding, which is more self sympathetic than inspirational, which solves the mystery of why life is the way it is. In most cases, we tend to forget these moments within an hour tops and get back to our old state, but somewhere in the back of our minds, that thought, the catalyst for change has registered.

So I watching the song “First breath after a coma” by Explosions in the Sky, that evening. It was the first song I heard, and I was already “ready to get my mind blown”. The music was beautiful- complex, yet simple enough to identify with, calm, peaceful and reassuring. The video was that of a beautiful daylight sky. The blue was a delicious pleasant shade, seen only on the brightest and most gorgeous winter days, and peppered with wisps of pure white cottony clouds. It was breathtaking and I kept watching. About a minute later, I found myself to be restless. I was waiting for something to happen. After all, the name of the band was “Explosions in the sky”, so where are the fireworks, I asked. Nothing happened. The anticipation grew and grew and reached a fever pitch. I was actually perturbed at why I wasn't seeing people running (I don’t know why, but the perfect music video in my head, always features people running!) or birds flying. So, two and half minutes into the video, and I was still staring at the sky, feeling a little bit angry now, and even a bit cheated, when I realized the beauty of it all.

All of us are constantly waiting for something to happen. We lead our lives every day, hoping that something epic may occur which will make our day exciting. We wake up in the morning praying that the big guy upstairs will create a moment of serendipity in our lives, and things will change immediately. In fact, we are so busy waiting for the extraordinary, that we don’t realize that life has passed us by. 2013 is winding to a close, and I still am in the same place I was a year ago, waiting for answers, waiting for inspiration. With hearts filled with a deep seated feeling of discontent and regret about the things we could have done, or even should have done, all we do is live a life where we are always waiting for a glorious future to knock at our door and sweep us away from a past cluttered with perceived mistakes. This waiting consumes us to such an extent, that we forget to enjoy the life we are currently leading. Who am I? What’s my purpose? What am I passionate about? What do I love? We would be lying to ourselves if we say that we do not ask ourselves these questions.  Yes, there are a definitely a few among us, who have gone beyond waiting to actually doing. These are the people we should seek inspiration from. But most of us just spend our lives like the fairy tale princess, Sleeping Beauty, living life inertly and waiting for the handsome prince to kiss away our mundane existence.

Marveling the fact that I had made such a profound observation, I continued watching, feeling slightly happier and less sorry for myself. This is when I stumbled upon another epiphany. Wow, a double bonanza, I thought to myself as I began to ponder about yet another peculiar characteristic of us, people. As I was watching the video, patterns started to emerge from the clouds. Now, all of us can definitely relate to the time we used to spend as children watching the clouds and trying to find shapes in them. Now, the ever evolving sky where the clouds are buffeted by the winds, by itself, is a source of metaphors galore, but we will keep that for another time. So, as I watched, I saw several things including what looked like a pig wearing a party hat. I was looking out for patterns, yes, but to see this while listening to moving music and pondering on weighty topics, was less than ideal. This simply will not do, I said to myself and tried to find other patterns. I strained to find a face or something like a large banyan tree, but the pattern of the pig was most visible, followed by what looked like a man-eating crocodile. Needless to say, I was disappointed, as I searched harder and harder. And right there, it hit me like a ton of bricks.

Apart from waiting for life to happen, waiting for a sign or chance, we humans are always searching for patterns. We look so hard for meanings, answers, structure and even predictability, that we are ready to find them were none exist. In fact, we force of ourselves to accept situations with some arbitrary reasoning, giving ourselves excuses for things we are afraid of facing. Acceptance of situations is sometimes harder than struggle, and most of us are content with using any flawed logic in order to avoid what could possibly be a hurtful, but necessary truth. While it is true, that on the grandest scale of things, nothing is truly random and that there has to be a scheme to result in such perfection we call the universe, real life can be random. Isn't it better to leave some things unexplained, rather than to force out a meaning out of nothing, to try to give some semblance of reason to a situation? Most of us, (or may be just I) over think, over feel and let any stressful situation overwhelm us, but always under act. Using our time trying to think of five different possible reasons why a bad thing happened is much easier than finding even one active solution to make it go away. This is the bitter truth and this is possibly one of the humanity’s biggest flaws. Along with shoulder pads in suits and men’s harem pants!

As the song progressed that evening, I closed my eyes and firmly told myself to stop thinking about the pig. I told myself to stop looking for something to happen or something to be there, ever present behind the veil, and just enjoy the music. It was a conscious effort but it paid off. I was lost in the soft strums of the guitar, the steady reassuring rhythm and the melody that eventually lifted my spirit and gave me a sense of solace. Perhaps, that is what catharsis really is: the feeling that, in the end everything will be all right. At the risk of quoting Om Shanti Om, (that spoof movie actually did offer a wealth of wisdom in the form of corny dialogues) which was itself inspired by a quote from John Lennon, “Everything will be okay in the end. If it’s not okay, then it’s not end”.  And in the end, I thought I saw vague picture in the clouds, which resembled a mother hugging her son. So perhaps, it is true, in the end everything simply has to fall into place and that all of us simply will end up happy; not a possibility, but a certainty. Life can definitely be a dream, rather The Dream, but only when we learn to live it.