" Himmat se jo koi chale,

  Dharti hile kadmo taley,

  Kya dooriyan kya faasle,

  Manzil lagey aake galey "

" I realized that despite the fear and the bruises of life, one has to keep on fighting for one's dream." - Paulo Coelho

An unsent letter

Now,
I am a blasphemy.
Mayhem rules me.

I was.
Once upon a time,
I was the one who every country big and small desired to be.
Again, twice upon a time,
I was the one who became the plasma for creation.
Again, thrice upon a time,
I was worshipped for my tenacity and struggle and fight for independence.

And now,
I think,
I was.
I had pots of sculpted gold.
I had hands scripting delicacies.
I had grey matter innovating.
I had.

Why is it I am veering towards the past?
Why is it I am using the past participle to evoke that emotion?
I am in the present, yet I was?

I am independent. I need you all to rise up. I need you all to start saying the right things. I know you are, already. But now, I need you to stop saying those right things, and start working. Words catalyze, actions sustain the reaction.

I have reached the bottom of this bottomless pit. You have to accept this. I have no able administration. I am just a couple of doors behind absolute anarchy. I have been able to redefine the boundaries of corruption. But all is not lost, and that is, because, you are there. It's time.

Why are you all staring around? Have you not been able to understand it's you who I am talking to? Yes you, and you, and you...

It is only when you all will account yourself to yourself with the same intensity as you blame the other rascal, that I will be what I was again. The future beckons. For the first time, I have referred to future. Don't disappoint me. You have to stick it out. We have to stick it out.

I will be where I was.


For now,
I am India.

Ignited minds

" There are success stories among failures. There is hope among chaos, promise among problems. We are one billion people with multiple faiths and ideologies. In the absence of a national vision, cracks at the seam keep surfacing and make us vulnerable. There is a need to reinforce this seam and amalgamate us into one national forum. "
   - A.P.J Abdul Kalam

On another note.
" For great men, religion is a way of making friends; small people make religion a fighting tool. "
   -A.P.J Abdul Kalam

2 hours. Powerful. Dreams.
Ignited minds.

The Eden redemption

Saturday, April 2, 2011

The script could have been more perfect. Just because it could have doesn’t mean it should have.

I have dreamt about this night. It’s been years. It’s an archaic feeling. It didn’t take me much time for it to sink in. It’s been a long time coming.

Feelings, unmatched, by the sheer intense grit of the passion that burst through the seams holding the seemingly tied-down being. The cacophony surrounding the path to illuminated euphoria drowned amidst the tears of joy. The men have found their heroes. The heroes have found their glory. I have found my redemption.

This love story of mine, which began at the Eden with a certain bespectacled gentleman named Kumble snapping up six and outclassing a sublime Lara, which found its first heartbreak at the same ground with the collapse of a colossal Tendulkar and a hopes of an entire nation, which reached the epitome of brilliance much in the same way you get hallucinated on a high with the unforgettable 2001 saga, which sowed the first seeds of the journey to the billion man’s dream at the Wanderers, finally peaked with The Redemption. I call it the Eden Redemption.

I can’t help but deny, there has been this sense of destiny, a statement corroborated by the man behind the scenes himself. He wanted the Cup. But maybe, he needed it more. It means more than mere statistics. It means more than just a piece of gold plated silverware adorning the awards case. It means more than just a nightlong celebration. It means more than the adulation that comes your way. It means more than scaling a peak which others have scaled before. It means more than being crowned with a tag. It’s something more than my words could ever describe.

He has never played for himself. The critic of him, I have been, I still would say, he has sacrificed everything for a team. A team, which now calls itself, Team India. He was the first one I saw who sported his country’s flag on his helmet. He wore it with pride. And it’s not hard to believe the petty politics dominant more than redundant in this country led to him being chided. He was barred from sporting the tricolor. All those games he was but a shadow of himself. And then, when one fine morning everyone wakes up to a reality, and he is allowed to wear the nation on himself, he is a changed man. He inspired the rest to do the same. Others have vouched for the passion and commitment that one small act has inspired.

He is an enigma, yet his life is an open book. He soars, yet he buries his feet deep in the ground. He dreams, and he turns those dreams to reality. He dreamt for a nation for 21 years, all alone trying to carve those dreams into a true reality. As another 22 year old said, “It’s time we carried him on our shoulders.”

If this had to happen, it had to happen for him. As I say, “It had to.” It’s destiny. It’s redemption.

This victory is about the common man’s dream. It’s about a dream which never died. It’s about a journey which will lead to your utopia but which comes with the voices telling in your ears, “Dream. Persevere. Aspire. Never let go.” It’s about a fight, a fight I take part in as much as you do and he does and she does. It’s about never giving up. It’s about doing your bit. It’s about taking a small step the RDB way, “No country is perfect. We have to make it perfect.” When everything all around you is breaking down, take a moment out. Remember this time, remember this moment. Savour it. Breathe it. Live it. And you won’t be the same again.

Maktub.

" I have nothing to lose "

Pluck

I sat down trying to analyze what exactly went wrong. Initially it was the lack of dedication which rubbed me the wrong way. The depths made me understand I always had the dedication within me. The lack of motivation did me in. I can work hard. I can be very determined. I can achieve. But for all that I need a plethora of motivation.

I had been having a talk with D. She somehow makes me believe I am capable of much more. She somehow makes me think I can do things beyond the ordinary. I don’t know what spurs her to think this way but I believe in her.

D, I have lots to learn from you. Your hard work ethic, your dedication, your will. Somehow somewhere I have lost that down the tracks of age. I will rediscover all that. I will try to. All I need is you by my side. Always.

Nothing in the ordinary inspires me anymore. The common motivations fail for me. Maybe I get too idealistic at times, but I will try as much as I can to cling on to my principles.

I have the pluck to fight a losing battle. I can survive ordeal. I have the courage. I still lack the purpose. Once I get a whiff of that, I know who I can be.

I can make a difference.

A New Dawn

The sun is rising

Twenty Ten awaits.

It’s time to start running again …

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.

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.