zilch and zany I

This is a preview of a book I've been working on for ... well, since forever. Its nearing completion, though there is still a lot - and I really mean a lot - of fine tuning before I can consider it finished. Hope you enjoy this excerpt from the beginning on the book. Cheers!

Zilch stood there in silence. He always found this most comforting melody in the sound of nothingness. All noises apparently cease to exist; no jarring reminders of a life rushing on – a car gone out of control, plummeting down a steep descent, towards that inevitable cliff of uncertainty. Silence infused itself with the illusory comfort of escapism; like a drug-induced hallucination; an escape from the drudgery of endless machinations borne out of grand, unfulfilled plans. He was well aware of this illusion – he had taught himself to be clever enough for that.

The noises never really stop – and yet, in his imagination, they respectfully maintain their distance, remaining just outside the periphery of his perception. The noises, chaotic characters in his mind’s playground, would be in awe of his grandeur, fearful of disrupting his sacred sanctum. It was as arrogant a thought as he was capable of and he was well aware of that. But he chose to be arrogant in the privacy of his mind – a compensation for his lack of an imposing persona and the utter lack of imagination or maybe simply indifference of his parents when they named him ‘Zilch’. They had named him, ‘nothing’.

           Staring at the not-so-distant-yet-out-of-earshot crackling pyre lighting up the dusk horizon, a plethora of random thoughts and gripping emotions fighting for control of his mind, Zilch felt a tang of loneliness. There wasn’t really any pain – just this burning sensation of not wanting to let go; a cry desperately trying to liberate itself from the depths of his being, getting unnecessarily stifled by this false bravado and seeming indifference.

It didn’t help that he was unsure as to what had triggered this sudden bout of existential dilemmas. And it certainly did not help that Zany wasn’t with him. She always read life so much simpler; one of the myriad reasons why he loved her – even if not in the most conventional of ways. Then again theirs was never a conventional ‘relationship’, at least going by what they told themselves all the while. Her absence, this will take some getting used to, he thought. He had never been good at dealing with the past – the convenient, even if ill-adjusted solution to him had always been to forget; and boy, could he forget! A blank page has limitless possibilities, he would tell himself. If only that were true; if only unacknowledged meant ‘dealt-with’.

Nonetheless he was good at putting on a show, if not by choice, at least by nature. He would play this reluctant participant in an abstract drama, reading out sporadic lines with an air of disenchantment; his, a fringe role just beyond the glare of the center stage and yet, very much visible like a frame that deftly manages to hold a painting in place without overstating its own presence. That, this was a hollow act, there was no denying – at least in his mind; he despised superficiality, the hypocrisy within and all around, the insincerity with which fellow pseudo-intellectuals would laud his gravitas. But it also afforded him space to develop his thoughts; to build his own world away from the spotlight of public scrutiny.

Yet Zilch, in all his ‘wisdom’ had his sacrifices, his acknowledged casualty was spontaneity. Zany, on the other hand … Now that was a girl who knew how to put on a show! She was brilliance – she could read the audience like no one else he knew; taking them on a journey through lands they had never been to, making them experience new sights, sounds and tugging at their emotions like only a fool can. Imaginative, with unbridled passion, a free-flow of mirth, welling forth from her depths like a mountain stream determined to find its way through immovable boulders. She was the fool, the court jester. And she was not there this time around.

So it is that Zilch found himself, standing alone, contemplating, negotiating his way around this dual sense of loss – of a story undiscovered and a story riddled with uncertainty. For the matter at hand, was the passing of his neighbor, old Ms. Martha. She had no relatives that he or any of the other neighbors knew of; her husband had passed away before anyone could remember and at least Zilch had never seen anyone visit since he had moved in next door. Well, that is anyone barring a suit that came around twice every month in a mysterious black SUV; a lawyer, a Government agent, who knows – but he came only play out this arduous ritual every single time, for as long as anyone watching could remember. The car would pull up in her driveway; he would wait a few minutes before stepping out, knock on her door, then wait with this air of impatience as she took her time – first opening the door just a crack, a short conversation; then she would come out, exchange a few more words, he’d pass on an envelope or two. All the while they would both throw suspicious and furtive glances at anyone passing by; toning down the decibel of their conversation or just going silent till they were confident in their isolation. And then abruptly he would leave, she would go back inside without even a glance back; no goodbyes, no warmth in their short exchange.

It was more than once that Zilch had come across this ritual; not always by accident either. He had only spoken to Ms. Martha a few times in all these years; mostly exchanging pleasantries, sometimes helping out with mundane matters. She had been warm to him and he had responded likewise. But he had always wondered about her guarded secret – he had never asked her about it and wasn’t enough of a nosy neighbor to bother about her personal matters. Yet for years curiosity had scratched at his waking mind. And now, he realized, he will probably never know.

Her passing wasn’t his personal loss. She had always been a mystery – now a mystery that will remain unsolved forever. A drama waiting to unfold – a book you always planned to read and never get around to; a place you always wanted to visit, only to discover it exists no more; a phantom experience – the one that you almost had, but now never will.

It was this nagging thought, this frustration of an undiscovered story that ate at him, with a ferocity he had never felt before. What had she been all about? Why had he waited so long, only to regret this missed opportunity of unearthing grand tales and unrecorded adventures? And why was this bothering him so much, when the loss of a stranger seemed to over-power the conspicuous absence of his dearest friend in a manner he had never experienced before? Between an unsolvable problem and a situation that a simple phone-call could fix, why was he stuck on the former? Zilch had all the answers, and yet none. 

Them.

What is I, but a reflection of thy
Shatter me not with your delusions
Find in us a shimmer of hope
And let us cling to that
With forceful passion.

There are false winds that deny
Drowning us in a cacophony of rebuke
Corruptive fires that reduce
The pantheons built in our time
To rubble and half-dreamt memories.

But in this gentle and sinister void
Can we hope to find
That which will uplift us
The burst of a star
Into a billion discourses
All at once
In unbridled glory

And in these moments
Of pure, unadulterated joy
We cleanse, absolve ourselves
In the birth of a new generation
Free of cynicism and narrow visions.

You there - before the now disappears
Recognize the confusion,
The pain we cause
And just stop.
Nothing - not a word
Till we learn how.

Begin anew.
No more as you and me.
But as them.
Let them live and etch a new tale everyday
Who are we, but reflections of them.

The light of our dreams

Look at the light

Shade your eyes no more.

Open. Look. Love.

The breeze through your hair.

Feel it brushing up

Old, rusty, sweet memories.

Lingering tastes of a forgotten joy.

Remind yourself,

It was your dream

And mine.

Hear the beat on loop,

Sigh, but softly, my dear.

Lest you wake up the dormant tears.

Nay, cry if you wish.

Dry out

And I shall dry them too.

The future is now.

The heart is the song.

Of kingdoms under the deep blue.

The voices are heard.

They talk of love.

Bursting through.

Fear not the minds of past.

Fear not the passions of the day.

Or the seasons of the morrow.

Live but in this dream.

For it is your dream.

And mine.

Lifes sublime melody.

Carried over the winds of time.

Lost and found in blinks.

Moments, precious, rare.

Let us discover

The truth in each others eyes.

Can you see the warmth in mine?

It is for you alone.

Wash away the pain of the day.

The future is today.

Let us live.

Let the light fill you.

Look not away, dear.

Let her engulf you.

Take you away from you.

Pure. Free.

Let this dream lead you into mine.

This is your dream.

And mine.

And again

I am back to my blog. Its been long since my last post, and its unlikely anyone is going to read what follows, but here we go again.

A brief recap of the past few months. New projects, Fading relationships, Briefly kindled new interests and a few old ones rekindled, Talks of formulating ideas that will involve talks of new ideas regarding some more new projects. Yeah, same old, same old.

Don't you feel suffocated at times? Of course you don't. You are used to this life; in fact you devised this life. I wonder why? What made Man/Woman give up on their freedom? What made them domesticated; to the point where they felt they had to go out and domesticate those poor creatures who probably didn't want to get chained in! Poor sods. Talk about rights!

The whole world is obviously going up in flames; the politics of gender, the politics of money, the politics of politics, the politics of human relations deteriorating into scripted pot-boilers, played out in our private theaters to the point we're too desensitized to give a rat's ass about what else is going on in the world or even in our own backyard.

Are we a more selfish generation? We hear that the generation gone and the generation that is passing has been at Man's destructive best; creating a mess that's seemingly beyond repair - the wars, the pollution, the corruption that's seeped so deep into the core of our systems, anyone brave enough to challenge it is simply consumed by it even before he/she can utter 'viva revolution'. But then again they say, it doesn't end there. They say the real damage has been made to our basic psyche; we've been bred into zombies, eating off the same dishes, just better packaged, and customized for our own tastes. To paraphrase from a recent film, we're all coins - none more distinct from the other, none with any more purpose than the other - make enough money, have a family, grow old, die, and not necessarily in that order.

But then again its way easier to blame those that are gone, than to accept responsibility ourselves. Its so much easier to say, let's just accept things the way they are and make the best of it - even if it means giving in to and in fact encouraging corruption, leading self-centered and egoistic lives, because since no one else cares, why should we?

With technological advances, anything and everything is possible, options are more than ever before, more channels, more information, more speed, more of everything, but 'spunk'. More on that, later. Sounds cheesy, I know, but that's what it is. We're provided everything, quicker, bigger, and everything-er than ever before, and yet what have we really gained through all this?

Are we more compassionate, or are we just so used to the comforts of our own existence in air-conditioned rooms, and flashy lifestyles, that we'd sooner turn a blind eye to the injustices of the world, than accept the faults of our previous generations, as well as our own; let go of the material and find something primal, something that we can cherish even if all we have is the sky above us and the earth beneath and nothing in between. Are we any wiser, or is the risk of that too great - too much to lose; our attachments to our pursuits for the transitional and in truth, immaterial, too strong; the quest for a higher ideal just a passing fad for some neo-hippie lot, who would sooner escape the realities of life, than accept responsibility for what goes on in their very homes.

Don't get me wrong; I type this on a laptop, enjoy the comforts of cold water from a fridge during these ridiculously hot days and the warm food served by an oh-so-patient housemaid. I am surely the last person, rather no one to judge any other, than by my own actions, and self-introspection. I just look at myself in the mirror, and I feel... lost. I find purpose in some things I do, joy in helping those who suffer; yet find that I lack the courage to shape my own life.

I cannot bring myself to accept that our lives are just mere short stories, and novels, admired by some, ignored by others; but whatever the outcome, all they are is another spot occupied on a bookshelf. To use the analogy - after the game is over, the king and the pawn go back to the same box.

Are we all, not living just choreographed lives, playing them out in a stage, each fighting for some more screen-time, each hoping that we get more appreciation from the audience, than the other - more concerned whether we are playing our own parts right, than if the audience is even bothered to see us perform. I mean, who is our audience really?

Barring our parents (for whom putting up a show is like convincing a mirror that I'm Napoleon. You know you are not and so does the mirror), some of our friends (who would rather share the beer, than talk of suppressed emotions), who else gives a hoot really? In fact, everyone is already in the play - all they care about is their own performance!

So maybe I'm being a bit too harsh, or a bit too cynical, which is quite unlike me really; or maybe I am just wondering what I am doing up at 3:45 at night (I can already hear the crows.... doing whatever crows do), but it does make me wonder, really - as Alfie says: What's it all about? You know what I mean?

I sure hope you do, else I'm just raving mad. What's it all about? How are we to change this world, a world that has stopped making sense so long ago, that 'sense' itself has given up. We see, but we cannot trust what our eyes show us; we hear, but so much of it is just fabricated lies and garbage that corporations sell us to line their own pockets; forget touch - we are so alienated from nature, we've forgotten the touch of the earth. When all our senses fail us, when all we know is lies and more lies - how are we to know the truth? Moreover when we do, by some rare off-chance come across the truth, what are we to do with it?

Shall we continue turning a blind eye, afraid of the consequences of accepting the truth, living by it, or shall we face it, undeterred, undiluted, incorruptible. Today, when all the lines are blurred beyond recognition, when shall we wake up to the true purpose of our lives, when do we say enough is enough - I will not go gentle into the good night, rage rage I shall against the dying of the light.

Someday

Am i not the reason

For the prolific one?

Am i not the treasure

Of the glory mountain?

Couldn't there be other ways

To see, hear or feel?

Other than my perception

Of you and me?

Doubts that raise me

Up from my slumber.

A thirst that I just cant quench.

What is there, then

That i need to do?

How come i have run into you?

Open the pathways,

The heart-ways

To worlds beyond,

Within and you will see.

My life and yours,

All but one.

Pitiful it is

Our ignorant souls.

Foolish ideas,

And idle quests

Lead us to damnation.

Cause us to divide.

Afraid to fly.

Afraid to walk.

Afraid to sing out loud,

Lest we be heard.

Afraid to climb the hills,

See the valleys beyond.

Afraid to look at us,

Look deep, look hard.

In the silent dream,

Colorless and true,

In solid grays

Those distinct hues,

I saw an angel fly within me,

Whisper in my ear,

The story of you.

In the dream,

I wiped your tears.

In my dream,

I flew with you.

We soared the skies,

Danced in the light,

Made friends of the stars

Bowed to the moon.

I woke up sad,

I woke up happy.

I knew the dream.

I've seen it times a few.

I knew the answer

I knew what i had to do.

A heavy task lay ahead.

We didn't see the rain that day.

Could I have woken up

Some other day,

Maybe all this wouldn't be true.

But then again, my friend

Some other day

I wouldn't have been here with you.

Blog under renovation

didn't like the black background and grim feel of the blog. changed to a fresh white. for some reason crimson came to mind too. i know i know- crimson for background color would be just... killer. anyways hope the new look inspires some fresh ideas to well forth. expect few random and frequent posts over the next few days. would appreciate comments and feedback as always. Adios

New Post

i open this page often. New post.

And then i stop. i think, imagination buds, i fly on the wings of fantasy, dreams, desires, limitless possibilities, memories, the frustration and joy of not finding the right words to express that which is there- right there in your heart, the very essence of your being, what makes you who you are, who you want to be, who you can be. the joy of going on the journey to discover the limits of your mind, your heart, your being and come back for more helpings. the adventure of reason and emotion- both in conflict, like a pair of twins trying to establish their own unique identity but inextricably linked by a shared bond that goes beyond their own reasoning, or belief systems- destiny, if such an concept exists in reality or not, a matrix of physicality and the unexplained. the two sides of a coin fighting day in and day out to come out on top. then i think- are my words relevant? are my thoughts relevant to be expressed, placed at the feet of the world that is my king and my kingdom? each word spoken, in this context, carefully typed will gain weight, form its own history as the moments pass, and the letters flow,  as the passing blogger peeps through the window of my world. will trigger thoughts, emotions, give birth to questions of their own, raise them up to be beautiful young ideas, fresh and bubbling with the energy to conquer the world with its excitement. i don't know if words excite you. they excite me for sure. ideas excite me. thoughts excite me. the whole universe excites me. and therein lies my dilemma. how do i experience this whole universe- the white winds of Santorini, the purple sky of an early morning in Athens, the view of Paris from the Eiffel,  the brightest of bright lights of Geneva, the cotton snow of the Alps, smooth as silk sand in Colva, the smell of fresh milk in an ashram in Pondicherry, the perfectly sculpted slopes in Sikkim,  the speed of Bombay, Calcutta in all its glory... and so so So much more... and then express it in so limited yet vast a medium as words. how can we truly feel so much and express so little of ourselves and feel we're doing a favor by putting our points across. there is just so much to us, who we are, what makes us, us, that we ourselves fail to recognise and expression is a far away dream, the illusion of the ignorant. how can i let myself be caught up in the I of all things- I did this, I am that, I think such and such. ->i<- a="" am="" just="" span="" tiny="">tiiiny part of so much- infinite, vast, profound, eternal. i stand today before the world, this vast kingdom, humbled. and i feel blessed to be alive, to have the passion of heart to feel excited each day- to wake up, to feel- today is a day to learn something new, to feel more, experience more, to say more, do more, be more. today i replace the I with the i. all i wish is to have the power and the continued and precious freedom to make an attempt at giving expression to all that and share with you, my dear friends, my king, my subjects- all that i am, all that you are, and all that is in the realm of my touch, vision, feel, thought, dream, perception in all its beauty.

Instruction and Innovation.

Instruction, given text and formulae, and adhering to already proven principles and theories forms the foundation of the classical model - of business, story-telling, or life in general. Innovation holds the key to realizing the true potential of the classical, and in essence all other models, neo or alternative(s).

It is the subliminal blend of Instruction and Innovation that builds a successful enterprise, for instruction without innovation is self-contained precept or an archaic notion and innovation sans instruction tends to become a mere exercise in speculation.

The real question and in truth, the answer to all questions, maybe even the Ultimate One is Purpose. It is my belief that Purpose defines, rather determines the right blend and situational need of Instruction and Innovation.

And Spunk.

Of which I shall write about some other day.

If it did not make sense, it wasn't written for you.

So don't bother trying.

The Age of Coffee

June 10th, 3008

The Guy had coffee on June 10th, 3008.
A most significant day in the life of a certain Guy, living with his parents (The Mom and The Dad), in a certain city (The City), in the Eastern part of a certain country (The Country). His name- you dont need to know. We'll probably just refer to him as The Guy (TG). He works in a factory, churning out Goods he doesn't care about. The Goods dont care about him either. They just care about Coffee. So does he. He had a life once. It started in the early hours of each morning and went on till the wee hours of the night. It was the Coffee that was his life-blood. And it was Coffee that spelt his doom. It spelt 'DOOM'. (You'd say English Coffee is too good at spelling bee's. Interestingly they are not sure of the letter B. Stupid Coffee.)

Anywho, the point is that he was happy, having coffee, and dancing. He was a dancer. He'd dance for love, for passion, for Intelligent Coffee, for joy, for no reason at all, for life itself (which at times seems to have no reason anyways). Dancing was living. Living was for dancing (and the quest for Intelligent Coffee). The moment he'd hit the floor- any floor was a dance floor- he'd go into his secret world of romance and adventure. Every time it was a fresh one, a new path, a journey of thousand Directions to choose from, each with its own distinct flavour (Directions is a brand of i-screams). Every moment spent- not dancing- seemed like a crime to him. A crime without passion, or heart. A crime without reason, a crime without soul. He'd do all he could to dance , and dance for all he could. Coffee gave him strength, and dancing gave him paper tickets to buy Coffee. (Paper tickets was the more useful currency in The City, more popular than what The Bank used to give- Money. Money was a laughed-at good. He did not like it though- laughed-at I mean) It was perfect (Perfect: A state of Chaos, that seems logical, thus acceptable). Then came the dragons. And things were not perfect anymore (Not perfect- A state of Chaos, that does not seem logical, hence, not acceptable).

The dragons were half breeds- born out of the The Man, The Squirrel, The Horse and The Seagull. Ok, I'm just kidding. The dragons were a cross-breed of Chinese, and Mexican sea-birds. They were couriers, before the Golden Era of The DHL. They'd fly from one pole to the other in less than a day and still have time for coffee. You see, the world was in a state of Perfect Chaos, after the Declaration of the Four Nations- The East, The West, The North, & The South. In order to restore a state of Acceptable Chaos, The Leaders of the Four Nations decided to breed Dragons. The dragons were like Television- only better, as they themselves had Tele-Vision. They could look into the future as well as the past. They could climb the clouds and escalators. And make Man's dreams come true. The only problem was they needed a lot of Coffee. And that was a big problem. Coffee as it turned out, gave Man the power of speech, dance, and love (and gas), gave the Goods the power of Labor (and gas), and it gave the Dragons the power of vision, and flight (and gas). Coffee is what would bring in the Next Age- The Age of Coffee.

The question was Who would rule The Age of Coffee? Man, Dragons, or Goods? Or maybe just The Guy, Our Guy......

To be or not to be continued... That may or may not be the question. Point is I cant go on anymore, right now.

No compromise

No compromise
No fear
Today and again tomorrow...
A day for freedom
A day for living
A day for the lost ones
A day for the found
A day for victory laps
A day for looking back
No. Look forward, no matter what
Who, or why. Don't look back.
Try to save the ones you can.
Leave the rest.
No. Leave no one behind.

Whoever thou art.
I love you. Care for you.
I wont let you fall.
Angels in the darkness.
Shine brighter than in the sky.
Brilliant light embraces us all.
And reminds us
Of our purpose.
Of humanity.
Of love.

Not an easy road.
Did I ever say it will be.
Not an easy day.
Night's still a long way.
No time to rest.
No time for self-pity.
Or guilt.
Or regret.
The only way is forward.
The only sign in 'Go'.

May we have the strength of lions.
Wisdom of kings.
Love of angels.
Fire in our eyes.
And hearts.
Fire in our soul burning bright.
Ever so bright, in the thine eyes.

Maybe you'll stumble.
Maybe you doubt.
Maybe you'll have a tear.
Drop from a mile high.
Even heroes have the right to bleed
Even heroes have the right to dream.
But heroes we are
And always will be.

None can stop us.
None can ring the bell of defeat.
If we are alert.
None can bring us down.
Unity is key.
Be constantly alert.
Dialogue is key.
But choose your words.
They can be double-edged swords.

I'm not so good with words.
I falter for lack of rhymes.
I cant sing.
For my voice is perpetually broken.
I cant talk right.
For words do not come to me.

I have the heart.
I have the purpose.
All that is left.
Is to act.
To do.
To win.
We do not,
Cannot compromise
Or fear.
Therein lies the path to salvation.
Are you with me?