Reunited

6 PM on a sunny June Saturday evening. A grass ground tailor-made for cricket, 20 miles north of Seattle. The Wizards play the Last Samurais. I'm a Wizard and we're defending a modest 96 in 16 overs, on a tiny ground where flicks and edges could mean six runs.

Over the past few years - and I realize while typing itself that I've written about my disassociation from cricket far too much recently - cricket and I had sort of parted ways. It used to be the love of my life in Mumbai, with so much thoughts, energy and waking hours expended on it. But I moved to the US in 2009, had a few modest games for Georgia Tech in Atlanta, and moved to Seattle in late 2011 - that signaled the end of my cricketing days. I did play a game or two here and there, but without any practice, and without consistency, my bowling - something that meant so much to me back then, was nothing to write home about.

A few weeks ago, I reached out to a team online to be part of a tennis ball league in the Seattle area. The Wizards were kind enough to play me straight away without seeing me practice. I bowled in a game after roughly three years, and didn't disappoint. Games on slow astro-turf pitches demanded a very different set of bowling skills. I adapted. But I wasn't thrilled either as I wasn't fast enough, not accurate and nowhere near as aggressive as I used to be. The next two games were the same way - just passing the Wizards bar but letting myself down.

But now, it's the 2nd over of the game and I'm bowling my first ball. Surprisingly, the run-up is super smooth and I'm faster than I've ever bowled for the Wizards. The ground smells of grass, and the late afternoon sun is still harsh on my face as I look up in dismay - the batsman was so close to edging! Next few balls, I focus on the run-up - and lock in the stride lengths well in advance. Shoulder speed is just a function of the smooth run-up, and sure enough, I'm faster than before. I'm thrilled. I start panting in three balls though, as I'm not used to so much physical exertion. But I'm not giving this up. A top edge results in a wicket. My first hard earned wicket for the Wizards and my first real exaltation as a bowler in years. Two more overs follow - another wicket - this one much better than the first - as it was the result of an elaborate set up that resulted in an edge to the wicket keeper, and a tight over followed by similar performances by the other Wizard bowlers as well, and we win the game. Third win in a row, but the first time I've played a role in it and I relish every single moment of it.

On the way back home, I felt something I hadn't felt in such a long time. And this is why cricket is such a great game. You could write reams about strategy and playbooks and how plans change games, but in the end - when you run in to the pitch with the wind blowing loudly into your ears in perfect silence, you could be on a crowded ground in Azad Maidan in Mumbai, on the rough muddy patch behind my choldhood home Borivali West  (a corner of Mumbai where, by the way some of the most competitive cricket in the world is played) or on a clean cut manicured grass ground in Seattle, but it's all the same - you're focusing on the ball in your hand and the magic you can do with it, and whether you can outfox someone who has a bat in his hand and the exact same passion and aggression as you. It's a mind game and it's about overcoming all the things that make you less than who you are - work stress, personal dilemmas, existential questions, all fade away as your purpose in life narrows down to a single tunnel vision. As you run closer to the wicket and leap just before delivering, it's all crystal clear - life is never as clear to you as it is in that instant - and when the plan works and the batsman edges into welcoming keeper gloves, it all makes sense - pain and gain, effort and output, risk and reward all lie before you and you're victorious. Few things in life make you feel as rewarded as that instant when a fast bowler gets his wicket.

As fleeting as it is, that is a moment worth describing. If you've never played cricket, or have never been a fast bowler, I don't know how much of this will make sense to you, but it is one of the most treasured experiences of my life and I could keep talking about it. I'm feeling like I've reunited with a long lost friend, and the feeling is incredible. 

The Times we live in

It is fascinating to think that several ideas considered outrageous or outright illegal in our times, were very much accepted in social norms a few decades ago. It is even more fascinating to use this observation to extrapolate all that may change in the future. The unknowns of today may just make for interesting history textbook pages and Wikipedia reads tomorrow.

Is everything, and I mean everything, just a function – or byproduct of the times we live in? Is there any absolute morality?

In ancient Rome, known for being a society with political frameworks strikingly similar to today’s democracies, large orgies were routinely part of social gatherings, and even religious ceremonies. In  ancient Greece– a society credited with giving us many of the foundations of existential philosophy, theater, literature and the arts, it was not uncommon for male members of the gentry and even general public, to indulge in sex with minors – mostly young boys. (Interestingly, one of the interpretations of the anti-homosexual passages in the Bible is that it refers to this Grecian practice – as it was well known at that time). Intense psychedelic and hallucinogenic drugs were peddled as everyday herbs and flowers in Indian and Oriental cultures, until a few centuries ago.

The list is endless. People were beheaded for postulating that the earth is round, and not a flat plate held on the back of a tortoise. Slavery – the ownership of human beings – depressing to even begin considering, was common worldwide. The Bible even has passages outlining the ideal prescribed conduct of a slave owner, and that of an obedient slave. People with retardation and personality disorders were believed to be possessed. Unwed pregnant women were burnt and crucified as witches, a few centuries ago. In more recent times, the Holocaust happened seventy years ago because one race believed they had the right to annihilate another.

It is not all horrifying and macabre though.

Native American cultures have long honored same sex marriages, celebrating homosexuals as gifted individuals. They were honored with special places in society.  In in the Indian sub-continent, the Mughal emperor Akbar had special chambers devoted to free-spirited debating. All intellectuals were invited, and there was absolute freedom of speech – politics, religious ordains and social structures were debated intensely without any reservations – in the presence of the emperor and his gentry. It is believed that these discussions helped shape public policy and resulted in religious harmony in one of the few successful multi-ethnic empires in the pre-modern age. It is ironic to note that this freedom does not exist in many parts of the world even today. The fledgling laws of fair trade are not new to the twentieth century – they were in full practice during the ancient Egyptian and Grecian civilizations. These economic concepts have struggled to gather favor among the first world countries today.

The future will see changes too – probably at an accelerated pace, as information spreads faster and intellectual disparities are reduced across the world. It is possible to conceive a very different set of rules in the future. Relaxation in laws that govern the consumption of drugs. Same-sex marriage will be legalized, and all this opposition to the practice will be spoken of in the same way slavery is addressed today – as a dark shadow in the history of man’s capacity to embrace his brother. A slow demise of organized religion as we know it, in the light of newer scientific discoveries that hammer away at the existential unknowns we end up attributing to divinity today. No, it is certainly conceivable. Again, the past serves up an example – the ancient Egyptian civilization peaked at around 3150 B.C, and continued up until 30 B.C when the Greeks conquered and ended an entire empire. For more than three millennia, a culture was held together by a now-forgotten religion. That is longer than all our monotheistic religions of today. By at least thousand years. How many of the Egyptian Gods do we know now?

I even envision a day when world leaders slowly wake up to the fact that countries are just imaginary lines on maps that divide people. The DMZ – the most heavily militarized border in the world, between North Korea and South Korea, separates families and people who share the same ancestors until two generations ago. Will it unite Koreans one day? Tibet houses the earliest origins of the culture and religion that forms the fabric of life in most of eastern Asia. Will the conflict with China see an end? Will India and Pakistan, in a few hundred years, wake up to see that the LoC is just another way to divide a country that fought against imperial colonization as one entity? Racial differences will be seen as a byproduct of cross continental migrations and subsequent evolution to best acclimatize to climactic conditions. 

Laws, rules, culture, and customs are all subordinate to the times we live in. Who is to say what is right then, or what is wrong? 

In Divine Company

T.R Mahalingam (1926 - 1986) is one of the greatest Indian musicians, and arguably one of the world's finest as well. A child prodigy, he picked up the flute at the age of five secretly against his father's wishes. He picked up the arcane nuances of Carnatic music by himself, and learnt to play in three speeds - the hallmark of a rounded musician. His first concert was at the age of seven. Mali, as he was called, lived an eccentric life - his brilliant musical career cut short by alcoholism and recluse. He died at sixty of a cerebral hemorrhage. 

John Frusciante, two time guitarist of the Red Hot Chili Peppers, also a child prodigy, studied the works of Hendrix and David Gilmour, and was inducted into the Chili Peppers at the age of 18. At the age of 22, the trappings of a rock-star lifestyle pushed him into manic depression, forcing him to live as a recluse in his Hollywood mansion for six years, refusing to see the outside world, indulging in macabre paintings and furthering a life-threatening dependency on intravenous drugs. A fire ultimately destroyed his mansion, and he was barely alive when rescued - almost dead from potentially fatal infections caused due to improper intravenous injections. It turned out to be his return to the world outside, and he went on to make award winning albums with the Chili Peppers before quitting the band in 2009 again to pursue solo work. 

What do these two musicians - arguably among the finest of their times and genre - have in common? They both claimed to see God while playing. Mali said he could see God five minutes into his playing, and that either made him think it useless to continue, or motivated him to continue hours beyond the scheduled concert end time, confusing concert attendees and organizers. John Frusciante was asked why he doesn't make mistakes while playing. He replied that he felt himself to be in the company of God, and  that he only serves as a medium of the infinite creativity God possesses - and of course, that is the reason he doesn't make mistakes. 

I am constantly amazed at this humble attribution of their genius - no doubt also the product of dedication and constant practice - to a divine entity. What must it be like to experience such elation? To feel such control in the midst of brilliance, that your mind doesn't know better than to take recourse in calling it the presence of God? We the 'normal' people, working on normal deadlines in normal jobs, and hurrying to meet normal trains that will take us to normal destinations, don't know what it's like to experience expertise on a plane that is beyond normal comprehension. So I guess we'll never know. 

Is it true that we have to know much more than we do, in order to discover even more, all that we don't know?

Of Nightmares and dreamscapes

If you know too much, there is never a way to un-know. 

I’ve been alone a lot over the last few months, and in the midst of a few big changes in my life, I have embraced solitude by turning to the one thing I used to love as a kid growing up – the joy of reading. 

As a child, I remember long languid summer afternoons spent lying down and reading - entire volumes of RK Narayan's tales - the sweet sweet stories of Swami and Friends, the lovable homely Malgudi Days, and all of the young adult fiction that the 90s had to offer.

Over the last few months however, I cannot claim to have read such lovely benevolent books. The highlights of a very specific type of reading that I have been engrossed in are - the Rape of Nanking, the horrors of Unit 731 and the induced famine in North Korea that killed a third of the population there. Not even twenty years ago. I do not know if it is some kind of morbid curiosity that my own dark side has been unable to resist, or if it is something else within me that makes me want to know more about the horrors that humanity has inflicted upon itself. 

The list goes on. An Auschwitz survivor book. Pages and pages on the Rwandan genocide. Mexican drug cartel violence - happening even today just a few hundred miles south of the border. Western governments ordering drone strikes to obliterate entire villages in the rural middle east - on mere whiffs of suspicion as to the inhabitants of the village - again, probably happening at this very instant as you read this. 

And yet, I realize, my brain isn't strong enough to hold its own and be peaceful with what it learns. I have nightmares. Painful things happening to loved ones. Mysterious unseen monsters that cast shadows, fill the walls of my apartment with gloom and a macabre sense of dread. Sometimes I dream of being a child again, staring into my mother's eyes - I am shorter than her waistline in these dreams, I vividly recall standing in the tiny kitchen of the house we used to live in until I turned nine. My dreams reverberate with the sounds of my father's motorcycle as he turns into our street, returning from work - my earliest memories in life revolve around listening intently at dusk for the booming Royal Enfield motorcycle to come racing up our lane.

Occasionally, mortified, I turn to ancient eastern philosophy for solace - the Dharmapada - the words of those who heard the Buddha speak, and the Upanishads - first person accounts of self discovery as professed by ancient sages in India - dating back to 3,000 B.C The whole of eastern philosophy has but one purpose - to instill a sense of awareness in one's mind, that life is transient, fragile, very short-lived, and that the sole aim of one's life is to live gently, consuming only as many resources as needed to survive, and not causing harm to others. There is no mention of a tusked God, or a savior of people, or of a list of things to do that will get one to heaven. Because - there is no concept of heaven or hell, both can exist on earth and within one's mind as a consequence of one's actions - it is all an infinite chain of Karma - the law that says the nature of your actions ultimately determine the nature of the events that occur in your life.

I do find moments of peace. A hard day's work at work brings a satisfaction that is inexplicable. A few evenings with good friends, a much awaited visit to my home - to be with family again after two years, is approaching and I cannot wait to be with them again. I have a vacation planned with my childhood friends, and I cannot say how excited I am for that. 

Several unanswered questions though. How are people okay with obsessing over the specifications of the newly unveiled iphone, instead of even bothering to read about the chemical bombings in Syrian schools that just happened last week? Children died of burns. While the 'western world' as we know it awaits the new iphone and hotly debates how Samsung will respond, and who will be cast as the next Batman, and whether Kim Kardashian will have a lasting marriage. 

I know now - of all the things we try so hard to achieve in life - money, good  company, knowledge and happiness, peace of mind is the hardest to find. When I do find it, I will cherish it like I have cherished no other thing in my life. Until then, it is onward, through more nightmares and dreamscapes. 

The Slow Un-Realization of Dreams

A long long time ago, I used to play cricket for my college team. I used to dream of being a fast bowler for India. To feel the giddy rush of the sprint towards the pitch, with the wind in my ears and the warm smell of sun burnt grass all around me - and to bowl with all the power that my momentum and shoulder strength could muster - an insane rush of power and primal strength coupled with years and years of honed cricketing practice. All this with the deafening roar and cheer of thousands and thousands of delirious fans in a stadium flooded with big night lights. What a life, to do the one thing that gives so much happiness, and to do it again and again, in front of a billion people! Was quite the dream indeed. I can't convey to you the extent to which I would dream this dream, all through my teen years and into my very early twenties. 

But then, life happened. Or rather, nothing happened. I didn't do anything. To live my dream. Instead... 

Fast forward several years. I'm 26 now, and a lot more rounded around the mid-section of my exterior, and a fully integrated atom in the big machine that is corporate America. 

It is 9:20 PM on a Thursday night. The silence is too depressing, and I put on some music. The Final Cut - by Pink Floyd starts to play. I ease back into my chair as familiar music fills my ears. I stare into my screen and pore over numbers. I have to finish up some stuff for a project due tomorrow. It is either a late night tonight, or four hours on Saturday. I choose the former. Every day, five days a week, I try very hard to make digital ad-space on some websites financially lucrative to advertisers - to advertise their wares. It works too. People buy products they don't need, with money they often don't have. 

I welcome you to my American dream.

My phone buzzes. A message from my kid brother back home. "Brother, can you call?" I tell him I will call him as I walk back home. 

A few minutes later, I'm walking back home. I pass a giant parking lot on the way home, and I decide to walk through it to save a few minutes. The downtown streets are deserted, and the parking lot is totally vacant too. A vast rectangular strip of land, brightly illuminated with a few neon lights. 

As I step on into the lot, I get that familiar feeling - one that has grown all too infrequent over the years. If you grew up like me, playing cricket in India in the 90s, there is a permanent OCD ingrained in your brain - you are trained to imagine cricket fields in vast vacant spaces (mostly due to the lack thereof in Mumbai, where any cricket game would have rules subordinate to the presence of cars, buildings with very fragile windows, passers-by and other deviations from regular playing conditions). 

Instinctively, I picture a pitch, and fielders at the far ends of the lot. Within a fraction of a second, my brain has already sized that the straight boundaries are too long and the side boundaries would be too short for the pitch the way I am picturing it. Would probably be okay, another part of my mind quickly reassures (probably because I've actually played games on more disproportionate grounds). 

I can even see my 22 step run-up, and my best buddy Rohan batting - a few intense contests from many years ago spring to mind (Rohan was a worthy rival - the best batsman I knew. He dreamed equally intensely of batting for India then - he is now a traveling network analyst-consultant in upstate New York). The bright neon lights only complete the picture. With a fictitious seventy thousand strong crowd cheering in my ears, I make my way through the empty lot and on to the street that will eventually lead me home. 

I get to play cricket once or twice a year now. I don't know if I will ever play that sport as well as I used to once upon a time. I don't even know if I love cricket as much as I used to back then. Life grows on you, and you are trained to like all things somewhat equally, and nothing all too much. But every once in a while, it is impossible not to get transported back to a time when that lovely lovely game meant everything and more to me. 

Pink Floyd didn't know how right when they ended the song the Final Cut with 

'Thought I ought to tear the Curtain down,

I held the blade in trembling hands,

Prepared to make it but just then the phone rang,

I never had the nerve to make The Final Cut'

I walk back to my empty apartment thinking what it would have been like if I'd made my final cut. 

Third Chapter (Ramblings - IV)

It is six in the evening, and I am sitting on my patio watching the sun shine on the world. Above the rooftops across the street, Seattle is going to witness another one of its spectacular sunsets. I have so much to say, and no one to listen - it is only when I feel this way that I write, and I welcome the feeling with a smile.

The air smells of flowers, I hear laughter coming from another balcony a few floors below me. Beautiful women in towels and bikinis walk into the building across the street, returning home from a sunbathing session at the waterfront that is two blocks away.

The sight of bikinis has made me lose my train of thought, and I find myself struggling to remember what it was that made me so contented and dissatisfied at the same time.

I guess I never realized the true meaning of the phrase 'today is the first day of the rest of your life'. I feel like that today. Not one for cliches or platitudes, I stay away from those kind of phrases. But today, it feels like the long dull winter and all the sadness it brought with it, are a thing of the past.

I remember so much and so little at the same time about the first part of my life - growing up in Mumbai, the most beloved city in the world, with my parents and friends - I remember days, occasions, moments, parties, laughter and so many other visuals and scenes. But I don't remember at all, all the little pieces that you don't bother to put into words when you life your life a midst them. But the life I lived in Mumbai will be always be magical to me, and by far the best days of my life.

My first four years in the US - the next notable 'part' of my life - mistakes, bigger mistakes, heartbreaks, failures, very little professional success, comebacks, desperation and resounding loss - these too, more eventful and recent although they are, are now behind me.

I am no believer in destiny, or in any of the beliefs that state a man's life is already charted out, and that unbeknownst to him, a magical hand has scripted for him all his victories and defeats, robbing him of the chance to ever feel in control of his own life. But today, I can't help but feel that the way the book my life has read up until now,  the third chapter of my life has now opened up, slowly and beautifully on this fragrant spring day.

Which road do I take? Will I find what I am looking for? Will I find out in the first place, what it is that I am looking for? These questions may well never be answered. The secret to life, I now realize, is to know when to stop looking and make peace with the unknowns, while never giving up the search altogether.

Dumas, my favorite writer, once famously wrote - "Life is a storm. One day you will be basking in the sunshine, and the next day you will be shattered upon the rocks". It is the precarious ledge we perennially walk on, is life as we know it - and today in this sunshine, I allow myself a smile on my face, knowing fully well that soon, I may be dashed and shattered on the rocks that this chapter of my life no doubt place.

I wonder

I wonder if now you smile, somewhere far far away,

And the world is warm, and waves on murmuring shores play,

Children laugh, lovers kiss, and the sweetest things mothers say,

And black nights lie defeated, by the golden purple dawn of day.

But as tomorrow recedes, day by day, and drink by drink,

I cannot but help, but of my lovely lost love think,

And through bleary eyes and the haze of smoke filled rooms,

An insipid today passes, and a vacuous tomorrow looms.

Photos

I log into Facebook. “Girls night out + XYZ’s birthday ” – 61 new photos. Night lights, dressed up girls, some club photos, XYZ is blowing into a cake, and a few photos later, his face is smeared with so much cake he resembles the cookie monster. OK, next item on news feed: “Europe!” – 197 new photos. Do I bother looking through? Hell no.  More photos, more photos, more photos. I lose interest. 

Since when did photos become so unappealing? I realize how few photos I have been in, and further, how few I have clicked in the last few years. 

I remember being fifteen and going on a three day school trip as part of my tenth class, my first time ever away from home with anyone other than my family. This was 2002, and my parents gave me the camera with a new roll in it. I could take up to 36 photos, they said. I have to say, I used the 36 very judiciously. To this day, in a corner shelf in my sweet warm home in Mumbai, sits that album. Same story with my school farewell, and all other memorable occasions from my childhood and teenage. When I visited home earlier this year, I entertained a couple of school friends at home. The first thing we did was pull out those albums and talk about each one of those photos, each one a story of its own.

A photograph. What a beautiful invention. A moment so beautiful, we attempt to capture it in time, for it is worth looking at over and over again, in delicious melancholy and nostalgia, or even simple pure joy. I hate how digital photos and phone cameras have reduced this beautiful idea to a near joke. I realize now, the day I stopped caring for photos was the day I got a phone with a camera. I simply wait for friends to take photos, knowing well that I can take it from them anytime. And the emotional value of a photo is not really a relevant concept anymore, mainly because of the excessive supply of almost everyone’s photos on social networking sites. 

I wish there were fewer photos, and more meaningful ones in this world. I wish the idea of a photo would not be how ‘facebook worthy’ it is.

The Meeting

A curious business problem has presented itself over the last few days. It has been assigned to me, and I am meeting with a very nice,very senior, and very smart man who needs the problem to be solved. He is excited at the prospect of getting help. We are in a meeting, in a nice plush conference room for two, from 11 AM until noon, and the clock shows the time to be 11:07AM.

We have discussed both trivialities and particulars, and seven minutes into the meeting, it looks like we are done. There is nothing much for me to do from my side for the next four weeks, so I am not very… attentive. I make the mistake of asking him if he is happy with what we discussed.

He says he is happy. He launches into a monologue on how this information will be helpful, and what more we can do by combining efforts. Monologues are inevitable at work, but one as long as this is hard to sit through, when you are not being attentive.

He is talking. Excited, hands waving, some dialogues between customers and buyers that he is enacting. I am bored. Almost involuntarily, my mind switches off. And starts running off on tangents.

I notice his glasses say “Omega”. Is Omega a glasses company? I always thought it was watches. Can a watches company make glasses? Or vice versa? Why is this important? Can I open facebook on my computer? No, there is a glass wall behind me and he will spot the reflection. I become conscious of my brain running at high speed, while the task at hand - listening to him - is being completely ignored.

It is remarkable how berserk the brain goes, when it is brought face to face (brain to brain?) with its own truant behavior, especially when one track attentiveness is expected of it. Thoughts of random spirals, volcanoes erupting, the earth from outer space and the remarkable guitar riffs of John Frusciante enter my head. I need to stop. How does one stop thinking but?

More specifics on customer experience improvement. Meanwhile, within, I am plagued by the turmoils of existential questions. How can light be particle and wave at the same time? How can the space time continuum as we know it be breached inside of a black hole? Speaking of time, 11:19 AM now, I sneak a glance at the bottom right corner of my screen. Hm. What if time moves at different speeds for different people? What if what I perceive to be a second, is actually much more, or much less, for you?

“What do you think Bharath? I mean, I just threw it out there, but what do you think?”

Oh shit. But wait, I have an exit strategy. I delay my response, with a thoughtful “Umm…”, I furrow my brow and tilt my head, tough choice as it is (whatever it is), and utter,

“I think the more thought we put into it, the clearer it will become.”

“Very true Bharath, very true. Hey this is great - lets catch up again in a few weeks, we are so excited!”

Meeting over. I cannot help but grin to myself as I walk out the door, and back to my desk. I realize there is another meeting at noon, and there is much to prepare.

A Question for the religious man

I admire your unfailing devotion. I really do. I wish I could be as attached to an intangible concept. I admire the way your devotion translates into positive energy and beliefs. . However, for all those inclined to call themselves religious, I have a question to ask of you. I do not intend to slight you, or to belittle your devotion or beliefs in any manner. I merely wonder,

Why is it "good" to be religious?
For, if I, without any religious beliefs whatsoever,
- Do not hurt others, for I know what it feels like to be hurt
- Do not take lives,  for I know what a wonderful statistical improbability life is, and is therefore so precious
- Do good to others, for I would like good to be done to me
- Try to give to the world, for it is immeasurable how much good my family, friends and a good society have given to me, and I feel nothing but gratitude and warmth towards society
-Believe all humans are created equal, and deserve the right to live as equals, for no one can choose at birth their color, race, nationality, sex or sexuality

Am I not the same as you? If anything, am I not less likelier to break these rules, for I have formed these out of my own thoughts and sound logic, rather than from a book which I have learned to repeat as a child?

Is it not the ability to think and choose for oneself that makes one a free human being?

Ramblings - iii

A year and a half since I last sat down to write. When I brought my computer outdoors with me, I knew subconsciously that it was to write again. I have always dreaded in my mind the next writing session. I thought I would be seized with nervousness, and thoughts would crowd my mind with my hands frozen, incapable of taking notes. And the moment would pass, as have so many other in the past, like opportunities lost, or lives that could have been lived. But now...

A balmy balmy Saturday afternoon. In a city like no other, a life being lived like any other. A chilly breeze outside makes me feel warm and happy to be inside a coffee shop with the homely smell of roasting coffee, and a strangely comforting Moroccan decor. What am I doing here? So much has changed, and yet, nothing has changed. I live alone now in Seattle, the most beautiful city I've ever seen. I see the waterfront through the glass windows. The Pacific Ocean, in some shape and form makes its presence felt in the city. Distant snow capped peaks beyond the water. What lies beyond the peaks? China and Russia on the other side. It is already mid day tomorrow on the east coast of Russia now. How can today and tomorrow exist at the same time?

I am just as clueless about the future, and just as nostalgic about the past as I was before. The essential and existential questions of life still plague me. I realize how fake my own claim of maturity is. I know nothing more than I did yesterday. Its just that I do a better job of faking faking composure today than I did in the past. I am aware of a certain bubble I live in, and how little I try to step out of it. Is this what growing up is all about? A passive acceptance of the gradually growing impossibilities in life and trying to create happiness within a well defined world? 

I guess this is why everyone longs to be a student, or a kid back again. No one can tell you something is impossible when you are a kid. The confidence that comes from not knowing the word impossible is what makes those years so wonderful. But life is not all about the past. The passing moment too is magical in its own way. How do I capture it, and make it last? Or at least, leave a mark on it and in my heart, to always remember fondly? How do I battle 'impossible', and be a kid again?

Gentle rain begins to pour. The ocean seems like a hazy promise of permanence in the distance. 

I always hope for a lightning bolt of wisdom in moments of contemplation like these, and when nothing of the sort occurs I end up feeling more lost and little than ever. I get that familiar feeling, and I prepare to leave. 

The rain and breeze will be cold, but it is only a short walk back home.

O Memory!

O Memory!

Speak to me O memory, of times bygone and more,

As your old lover nostalgia slips in through the door.

The winter evening is snowy, and winds blow in cold,

Dance your besotted dance, and regale me with tales of old.

Whisper to me O memory, the name I so long to hear,

Make your soft voice softer still, for I’d like the word to linger.

And just what I wouldn’t give, to once more feel her scent,

For my senses to become, with her thousand fragrances, redolent!

Tell me O faithful memory, of the days and nights spent,

With my friends never knowing, that soon it would all end!

If we had known back then, that good times too cease to be,

Would we with our new wisdom, have done it differently?

Remind me O memory, of all that I left behind,

And why, when on thinking of happiness, yesterday comes to mind.

But love and friendship are special, for even when oceans apart,

They grow warmer still, and stake stronger claim to the heart!

Dismiss me not O memory, and think not of me as weak,

A stormy night’s refuge is all from you I seek.

The day is ever for mountains, and paths not trodden yet,

My happy past is but my talisman, from which my inspiration I get!

Ramblings - ii

It is a wintry Saturday evening. I sit in the farthest corner of a small eatery, my table almost touching the large glass wall they have constructed. I mull over life with a cup of steaming coffee in hand. Outside, a city limps back to life from a paralyzing snow storm. Heaps of snow line the streets in big clusters, and all rooftops are decked white, signaling that they will defy the night and retain a touch of brightness with them. I look beyond the rooftops and see the skies darkening – of course, it is late in the evening. Progressively, the sky changes color from dark lavender to indigo. Off to my right, a splash of orange and frightening red still remains. Huge clouds lie scattered, and in the backdrop of these fascinatingly colored skies, look the darkest shade of purple ever imaginable, without quite being black.

The clouds appear quite close. I peer closely and realize they are moving slowly to my left. Why am I here? I do not know. A familiar feeling envelopes me – that of being very close to a message, as if it is almost in front of me, but hidden so I have to find it. I peer harder, and my brow furrows. What do the clouds tell us? What answers are just waiting to be discovered? What if we are all just walking blindfolded without knowing how close we are to wisdom? I become more and more convinced that there are things waiting to be learnt, in sublime moments like these. Just waiting to be learnt.

Maybe answers to life’s perpetual questions, maybe a key to unlock the vaults of happiness within. Maybe a serenity that can be grasped, to peacefully coexist with the unknown.

I do not know how much about life, or about the journeys within, but all I know is that there are momentary inspirations like these that lead us to believe there is more to life than the mere mundane. I feel there is so much to be done. If only I could know what.

I come out of my reverie and see the cup of coffee is almost drained. As I walk into the center of the restaurant, I notice the music has changed. Rihanna starts to sing - “Oh na na, Whats my name?” I smile lightly as I exit and walk back home. Nice to see I am not alone in introspecting.

The Forgotten River

Once a wayfarer, aged and weary,

In the midst of an endless journey,

Upon a river, happened to chance

“A bubbling oasis!” he thought and advanced.

But he saw not the sprightly sparkling waters’ dance,

No sound of gentle rumble let him to a trance,

There was but dry and caked earth,

In the place he recalled as the town of his birth.

Seized in memory’s grip, transfixed he stood,

Reminded of youth and mirthful boyhood.

This very river had been, back in its day,

Roaring and alive, but now lifeless it lay.

How he had plunged into its waters blue!

How he had found love, calm, and refuge in it too!

How it had sheltered, fostered and prompted life,

Flora, fauna, and eager human-folk alike!

“You were all things moving, and all that was still,

And all boundless joys that could a heart fill.

In your slow dreamy course, lay enchanted infinity,

Have you forgotten yourself, my love, and even your glory?”

Greeted by silence, he turned back, dismayed,

And left, wondering why God creates, only to separate.

But the memory of gushing mirth from ages and ages ago,

Lightened his heavy tread, and made his heart glow.