In his blood

The lights were off. It was quiet around, as usually it was during that time of the night. The fan, with its old regulator in place, growled on. A mosquito net, sometimes flowing in the ensuing blow, more of filtered the cool air. He was sweating profusely. His eyes were red. Only the night prowler could have distinguished. The FM was playing on his headphones. It felt like torrential party rallies on loud-speakers. They disturbed the setting. He lay still. One by one, hot drops wetted the pillow. Moment by moment, he grew further detached from himself. Instant by instant, he grew calmer.

Maybe, now, he’d have cooled down. He wiped his cheek and then his eyes. He touched his pillow, realizing his weakness. He should have held himself. He thought again, logically and practically. Yes, that was the term she had used, when all the time, it was him who had tried to make her think that way. He realizes every dog has its day. Strengths have an amazing ability to become a weakness at a critical point. He was the epitome of calm, the idea of ubercool for everybody. He had now failed them. He had failed himself.

Dragging himself he washed himself in the washroom. Puffy eyes couldn’t be transformed in a jiffy. He turned off the lights. It was fruitfully dark again. He felt a sigh of relief. He was away from prying eyes. Dutifully, he scratched around before he found his moneybag stacked away in the drawer. Without a hesitation, he took out the parched paper covering something inside.

There was a slicing sound. Maybe a slicing screech would have described it more aptly. Suddenly he felt calm. His wrists felt cool. It was pleasant to find viscous flow struggling through, just like him. Struggle was written in his blood. Steadily he closed his eyes. He hoped once, someone would come and bring him back from that terrible nightmare. He again hoped, this time, that he was never disturbed. And all along he fell into a soothing sleep, lips curled into a penchant smile.

A silent prayer, always

You often don’t reckon the power of the mind. It’s often misunderstood that the power of the arms is greater. And sometimes some believe the mind can cure cancer, which is absurd. And sometimes absurd is just the simple truth.

Up on recent, I had been to this trek to Kedarnath. It’s a pilgrimage for Hindus, though I strongly am secular based, and am a strong vehement oppose of blind faiths. My aim of this trek was merely not the temple or the shrine. I love adventure, and this trek with wildly exotic scenery and backdrop fascinated me. And even higher treks to Vasuki Taal and Chorabali Taal were of paramount interest.

We had stayed overnight at Gaurikund, intending to start early in the morning for the 14 km long trek. We went up that day, taking a long 8 hours to go up, with big resting periods in between since the group had quite a few not-so-fit members. We enjoyed Kedarnath. However the trek to Vasuki taal could not be undertaken due to horrible weather conditions, and the one to Chorabali taal had to be forfeited midway. I’ll describe the trek and the visit in upcoming posts. Sorry if you thought this post would, and sincerely hope you’d wait for the one.

We were on our way back to Gaurikund, after 3 nights at Kedarnath. Now descending is a tricky job. It’s probably tougher than going up yourself. Quite akin to life itself. Many climb up. Not many know the way to descend the downs in life. It breaks many, permanently at times. I was accompanying the porters or pittu-s as they are called in that part of the world. They are locals and come down at great speed, using terrifying short cuts at times. The rest were far behind. On my way a person, maybe in early 30’s stopped me, asking politely if I was going down. On my affirmative reply, he said, he standing there since 12 in the morning (or the night, it’s all the same to me) waiting for his relatives. And I’ll let you in a bit of info. That night it was freezing cold at Kedarnath. With temperatures reportedly striking 2 degrees Celsius. This man stood out in that hell of a cold for relatives and his ailing father, who all reportedly had fallen behind this helpless man, due to the nature of the tough trek. These people weren’t out there for some adventure or admiring the scene. It was their plain belief to come to a place termed holy. it’s admirable, even though somewhere I feel any place is holy, when you truly call God from the insides. Striking this short conversation, I suddenly found myself adrift of the pittu-s. Hurrying up, treacherously, I was again encountered, by this man. He was all of 30, maybe taking a huge gamble not to make the man go so young. He was carrying 2 children on his shoulders. They were all of four. Sad I didn’t have the time or the mental earnestness to bring out my cam. One had polio, the other had cancer. And the two were his children, his only two, and twins. Amazing faith. Scintillating belief. Unwavering loyalty. Last hope. They all spoke out in volumes through the dark eyes of that man. I took out bottle of water, and tried to talk. My brain and mind corresponded and coincidented, something which has happened, rarely in my life. Whatever I wanted to say would be less. Whatever I wanted to speak would be to undermine him. Whatever I would dare to show for care would be mistaken for sympathy. In the end, I just gave him a small hug and moved. A silent prayer, always. May God listen wherever He is.

Inside Out

Some find solace in everything they do.
Some need motivation to do them.
Some wither under criticism.
Some flutter in witticism.
Some need you in their times of need.
Some need you in their times of deed.
Some shrivel under stares of trouble.
Some revel in the eyes of a storm.
Some wither when the lights too bright.
Some shine 'coz they have never seen darkness.
Some pump their fists in glory.
Some are sober in their times of victory.
Some bow to the almighty.
Some hold their head high, 'coz God is inside.
Some respect you by a salute.
Some stay silent and salute you inside.
Some are crushed under the call of duty.
Some emerge, scathed, with backs to the wall.
Some can bring the universe down to show they love you.
Some can dry a thousand tears inside on the outside to never let you know.
Some go down in history.
Some are history.
All make history.
All is incomplete, unless some and some unite.

(Un)Wrong Instincts

Its 4.30 in the morning.
Mom and Dad are going home, and I wont be meeting them for a month now.
I have this gut feeling. I won't meet them again.
This is crazy. Maybe eerie would describe it best.
I hope it's not true. Unlike the previous times when gut feelings and basic instincts have risen true to the fore. I hope, no, I want I am wrong, my insides are wrong.
The more i try to disengage myself from the feeling, the more it stays.
It's not good.
Close my eyes and fervent favours...

For You, but, For me

You might not be the prettiest, but
For me You're the most beautiful.
You might not be the best, but
For me You're better than the best.
You might be cheerful with me not around, but
For me my efforts were always to never make you cry.
You might pretend to be matured, but
For me I preferred you my small girl.
For you, I might be a sad after-thought, but
For me You're the bud which blooms everyday.
I might be the one who couldn't keep you happy, but
For me its you who's made me disenchanted.
You lied countlessly, i tried to forget, but
For me, I uttered nothing further from the truth.
For you, I might be the epitome of hell, but
For me, You're the elixir of life.
For me, as for always.
For you, I might have been a thrown-away memory, but
For me You're a sad song which gave me smiles galore and tears abound.
I'm but a light scar in your effervescent heart, but
For me which as ceased to break me in futality.
For you, I might have been dead, but
For me You're my incomplete life.
You tend to live without me, but
For me I die for want of you.