Failed, A lesson

Somehow, it suddenly strikes me. There's not much I've learnt in the 4 years of graduate school. Knowing myself, I happen to learn more when I am motivated to do so. Motivation works 2 ways. One, when someone motivates you to learn. Two, when you yourself want to learn. It hardly worked either way in the last 4 years or some years even before.

I am partly to blame. But I would also think of the inability of the ones, who 'taught' me, to motivate me to know. Wherever I look around here, it's the same scenario. Mindless numbed gulping down of heterogeneous information and puked up splash of ink on the answer scripts. The fault lies as much with the "taught" as the "teachers". Somewhere down the line, having been pushed around in the rugged terrain of rote learning, I fell, I cut myself, and in an effort to survive with an air of leisure, I chalked out a trail where there would be minimal rote & puke, and yet minimal effort to pursue the aura to learn. I succeeded, yet I failed. I failed in that inspite of knowing where the path leads, I didn't follow my heart. I failed in that I ended up being a glorious nobody than a knowing-something-in-its-true-fundamentals anybody. I failed in that being aware of my abilities and potential, I have almost thrown it all away.

It's an education, a lesson. Perhaps, the most important of them all I've learnt is knowing I have failed.

Yesterday

Yesterday,

I walked a lot. It wasn't that I was thinking much. I just was blank. I talked to D. She was crying. She is in more pain when I am upset.

I am just a speck amidst millions. It felt easy to be lost in the waves of hordes of people.

I am alluded to as a mysterious wonder. Just 'cause I am neither at the top, nor at the bottom.

And on top of all, I realized how 12 words can screw one up.

And here I am, living today.

Tomorrow, today will be another yesterday.

Rain on a misty cold December morning

There are few occasions, especially in Kolkata, when you’d have rain on a cold winter morning. It’s incredibly depressing to even hear that, let alone watch it. But there is that charm, that wet coldness which stirs the inside of you. It doesn’t rattle you. It doesn’t numb you. It begs you to step up, to be counted.

After an exam season worth remembering and not remembering both, the first morning I wake up to find a misty-wet-early December morning made me realize that the typical everyday-chilly-wet-mountain mornings could also be found on the plains. It made me yearn ever yet again to be curled up somewhere in the hills. And with D beside me. As always.

" I stepped back and all I saw was rain through windowpanes that looked like melting silver... "

Is it ?

Is it a pure anomaly that I still believe I can? Because I’ve seen people lose themselves when things don’t go their way. I’ve seen it with myself. I’ve seen it with countless souls.

Is it raw serendipity that I still believe I will? Because I’ve seen hungry minds wanting more and getting less. Because I’ve seen empty souls flatter themselves. Because I’ve seen good souls ending up with more than they could possibly get.

Is it verisimilitude? Or is it a fake impostor bringing himself out in me? Or is it ‘the me’?

I want to

I just want to go to the riverside. Now. Its late in the night. The cops might raid. The addicts might have a potful. All I want is to go there.

I miss the groan at times, the groan of the machines, the stark rubble of the falling boulders. I miss the pent up screams and the worked up eyes and the suppressed beats. I want to miss them.

I want to just lie there. The silhouette of the distant ships in the dockyard with a few dark lights twinkling. The banks, totally dark and serene, potentially invisible. The stormy sky with the stars absent. The flash of a singular headlight in the stroke of the hour. The thrash of the water along the grassy beach. The gradual rise of the white circle with the ebb of time.

I want to lie down on the soft grass. Let the wet ground soak my backside. I want to stare. I want to forget. I want to wonder. I want to realize the futility of the effort to wonder. I want me to be absent. I want me to be wanted. I want to fall. I want to rise again. I want to be blank. I want to be clean. I want to go far away. I came alone. I will go alone. In the meantime, I want to live. I want to go the riverside.

It's been a long time since I last went through a whole night without sleeping even a wink.

I also realize I can't write anymore. Dunno, as someone puts it, if even this has a reason.

Cold Stares

One of the infinite specks of dust

Arises,

Settles on the table.

I stare.

I keep staring.

Coldly.

Morbid translucence rears its head,

I dread.

A buzz quivers and stings.

I turn around,

Recover to rigidity.

I keep staring.

Coldly.

The clock strikes

I hear,

The chilly mist shakes me,

I shiver,

And yet I keep staring .

Coldly.

Darkness engulfs.

I tremble.

And I stare at it.

Longing to open…my eyes

When all I’ve been doing is…

Kept staring…

Coldly…

I'm lost ...

I’m lost.

I don’t feel like talking to people anymore. Or rather I run out of topics. Maybe people also don’t find much to talk with me.

I’ve become boring.

I’ve become unidimensional, unidirectional. I don’t believe one should do what everyone else is doing without thinking. I am not doing it either. But I’m running out of options for alternatives and my independent thoughts.

I have my focus, yet I am losing focus. And strangely it’s the lack of an objective where to focus on.

I am not being able to follow my head or my heart. I’m hanging somewhere in between.

I know what I can do. I know I don’t even have an inkling what all I can achieve. Yet, I’m strangely shunning it. I’m shunning myself from the world.

I have torn myself into a façade, yet sometimes I let my ‘self’ be looked through the looking glass by others.

I’m not in a negative mood. Trust me when I say that. I’m positive.

I’m too engrossed in thinking all I can’t do at times that I forget I can also do something.

It’s not an adolescent rant. I’m past it. It’s more of an adult child speaking where he’s suddenly lost himself, where he suddenly finds confusion and then sees the light. I’ve tried abeyance, it doesn’t help.

I know who I am. Few people do. My fault is I don’t know when to come out of the shell.

My life has been a journey of extremes. I’ve tried moderation. It doesn’t suit me.

Someone had said when I set out to do something, I do it with so much passion and fervour that I leave others far behind and fail to bring the rest to the same platform, and so the real objective fails. Yes, maybe you were right.

I’m not a loner. Yet I feel lonely most of the times now. And sometimes solitude is bliss.

I got dreams of my own which I share with none. I’d love to fulfil them. But then they require lots of heart. I haven’t been up to doing by the call of the heart in recent times.

I feel I’m a letdown at times, both to myself and others.

I used to be a joker at times. Even now I am one, albeit in a different way. I’d love to be one for life.

And yet I feel I’m lost …

Ripples on the water

It’s weird sometimes when you feel you have so much to do, and yet you do nothing, you just seem to have an inclination to go back in time. Not relive, but just looking back at who I was and how I was and how everything was. It’s probably the best form of educating you about yourself. The way you’ve grown to be somebody who you are now.

Today as I stand on the threshold of yet another big step towards my graduation, I realize there are so many things I could have done different, not necessarily better. The admission test where I had to write “Twinkle Twinkle little star” and a teacher helped me then. The elation when I was first appointed monitor in the first standard and then daily lock and key games subsequently. The absolute fun masti innocent home to school and back van journeys. Admission in a new school mid-term in the third standard and getting slowly used to Kolkata life. I remember the fun filled fights of fourth and fifth standard. Early exposure to words of love and sex in sixth and seventh standards used to make us friends so hush hush and keen alerted minds. Eighth and ninth standards were spent on getting exposed to national quizzing scenarios and first crushes and basically, ‘Growing Up’. Tenth standard was more of a fun filled journey. Barring the last day, one which is forever etched in memory, when so many friends were scattered from the everyday meet forever. Tears and hugs were never lacking. Eleventh standard was when I had the then biggest fall in my life. Betrayal from a best friend to losing friends to being basically lonely and realizing this whole thing the real hard way, indeed broke and wore me down. The silver lining was I had some new friends who really have stood by me ever since. Twelfth was when I once again stood up, trying to relive the last days in school. Some friends came back realizing their folly, all in all it was a embalming of sorts. The last day of school was essentially different from the one two years back. Before it even hit that there would be no waking up at 6.30 in the morning and running to catch the bus at 7.15 and rushing to manage the traffic as a badge holder and then managing the students as captain during the prayer and then attending classes, it was over. The last day during the investiture ceremony when I broke down on stage and the photo sessions to filling juniors’ slam books to getting 7 mindboggling proposals and then all of us classmates crying together with doors closed to finally dancing and singing it out that there would be no final farewells and hugs and kisses galore. And then not faring well in the boards and entrances to taking the real tough decision to reappear for entrances a second time against everyone’s wishes and then spending a fun filled year at Asutosh, making so many friends. That was when I realized I was and could be a really good person. And then getting into my first and only relationship till date, which was blissfully beautiful. And then getting admitted to JU. Alas good things don’t last! Everything going haywire. Losing the plot and break up taking its toll on me. Probably the lowest ebb in my life. A point of time when I really contemplated and attempted suicide and failed. Nothing went right. The only thing I had left was the faith on me. Nothing else existed. Except for a few friends who made it a point to bring me back.

Today, I’ll say I am much better. It could have been worse, maybe it could’ve better too. But with age comes a certain wisdom of knowing that experiences make and mould you into a better person. I have seen low points, lower than some, and better than some. But I’ve never regretted any bit of this. I have my detractors. I have my critics. My aim is not to silence them. ‘coz I also know I don’t need to do that and prove them wrong. I know myself best. And when the need arises, as and when, I’ll prove to myself. No one else. I have never withered in the face of a challenge. And I never will. Success does not always come to the one with the most victories. Happiness does not always come to the most successful. And it’s all in the mind. If you believe, anything is possible. When you’ve scraped the bottom of the ocean bed and come back to the top battered but alive you know you can. I can.

Last Day On Earth ... Tagged

Uncertain princess tagged me on this one.

There was this message i had received once which went like: "If You found you had 24 hours to live what would you do? I'd spend 23 hours with you, and spent the last one searching for someone who'd take care of you..."

Maybe that message could speak appreciatively for lovers, bosom pals. But for a anybody, what would he do, and thats what i have to prophesise about.I'll go back in time again. I once had a chat with TR, soon after Dasvidaniya was released. We told each other about our own 10 things which we we'd like to see done before leaving for the next level.

Now, I'd really liked to finish those desires to completion. But as I reach the last day of my LIFE, I'd filled with sheer nostalgia and memories, wistfully sometimes, and the earning for freedom which I'd soon get immersed in.

It wouldn't be possible to call all friends, as many of them i have. I'd probably gather a large piece of paper, write a long letter, and name all the people who have come into my life, as much as i can remember. I'd fold it neatly and keep it on the bedside table.

I'd ask mom and dad to spend the whole day with me, but only after I'd return. I'd go the nearby post box and post a letter to my beloved, with whom I am no longer in contact. That would be my LAST EVER ATTEMPT TOWARDS YOU...IN THIS LIFE. And taking the opportunity, I'd collect a custom ordered Sari for mom(those garments are eternal favourites of mom) and the collage (bearing reminiscences of me and my life) which I'd have given for lamination.

I'd return home and have lunch with dad and mom(Chilli Chicken and Mutton Chap cooked by mom in the menu). And I'd surprise them with my gifts and fool around basically and joke out loud till all of us are literally rolling on the floor with laughter.I'd then call up a few of my treasured persons on this world, and chat just like that, without any reference or appraisal about the Last Day. I'd take my guitar and play just like that, yet again. I expect by then i can play some licks :P

And then all of a sudden I'd find the clock ticking at 11:38:45 P.M. I'd realize I got another few precious minutes. I'd go to my bedroom and steal a kiss from mom n dad and bid them good night, no goodbye, and I'd depart to my room. To go as I had come. Alone. The loneliness can be sometimes so fulfilling. I'd lie on my back, arms and legs outstretched in the form of the PENTACLE, in a final attempt to be perfect as much as i can be ever. I'd close my eyes for eternity and Goodbye ... Adios ... Ciao ... Dasvidaniya ...

P.S.:- A feeble attempt to imagine and pen down thoughts, and of a really bad literal quality...

P.S.:- This is a scheduled post.

P.S.:- I pass this tag along to 11 terrific bloggers,(in no particular order) who make me feel, "whoa! this is called creativity and expression" every single time i read their posts.

The Pink Orchid
Pratibha
Diya
Phoenix
Nidhi
Ria
Crystal
No Mute Spectator
Pseudo Intellectual
Nivi
Rh3a

Waiting ...

The last time I met you

Emotions hard to place.

Would it be the last time

When I’d come face to face.

I’ve been waiting for this day

It burned me no end.

Feeders cherishing the bleed.

As I go from red to white.

I’ve been waiting, oh so long,

When you’d be caught stealing that was already lost.

The gamble of wait over.

Has destination taken the bend

Or is it the beginning of the end?

I’m happy and sad.

I’m gay and bright.

The truth stays in my face.

I go in search of light.

Nothing would arouse

Nothing would denounce

The game played it hand of patience

As I played the cards of penance.

Was a solitary that rose to bind

My arms, wide open and waiting

Withstood the crush of the grind.

Teeth clenched and fist wrenched

With a dash of scream, it made a dent.

The day was over

So was the night.

I was waiting…waiting for this fight…

First Showers ...

This is something I had intended to post yesterday, but with due gratitude to BSNL and their internet service I couldn’t.

It was pretty hot, maybe it would be an understatement. Humid weather in Kolkata is never anything else. Last week was horrendous, the pitiful heat overwhelming. As rain forecasts were announced, I heard a groan from all around. No not a groan, a sigh would be more apt. My semesters are on and I had been to this friend’s place for a session of joint study. When with a huge gust, the doors and windows clattered, maybe it seemed to be a relief. But no, this CESC plays its truant, and we were left in the middle of a power cut. Eventually when the lights came back on again, we noticed the darkened sky just a shade darker.

It was evening by now. And it was darker. I was returning home. Around 7:30. I was pedaling down the road, when there was yet another power cut and amazingly the first showers came and landed right in front of me, behind me, on me. It was dark everywhere. I basically couldn’t see a thing in front me while cycling. And around me a drizzle. With the smell of freshly wet mud. I live at this place of the E.M.Bypass. and there are a few ‘jheel-s’ (big ponds or water bodies) around. And adjacent running parallel to the road are the rail tracks. Amidst that magical setting if raindrops falling on my head, with a loud roar, a local train whooshed by, as I kept looking sideways, never forgetting to pedal my way upfront. The light of the bogies fell on those ‘jheel-s’ and the reflections of the running by, immersed in hazy droplets, with ripples abound. It was tranquil. It was magical. I just stopped to admire. Magic wasn’t done yet. All of a sudden, thunders cracked the sky, and I witnessed something of a lightening. The dark sky abound all around endlessly. Just close your eyes and imagine the setting. Now from a bit to your right a lightning flashes right down to the end of the horizon in front of you. The phenomena from exactly the same angle to your left with branches . And completing the troika right down your nose, straight down the horizon, making the scene picture perfect. To me atleast. Nature’s amazingly pure and mysterical. If I had a cam, I’d love to take that shot. Gosh, I didn’t have one!

And as I returned soaking wet, I exulted in my good fortune to have completed a hattrick of drowning myself in the first showers of the nor’westers third time running…