Lotus in the lake

inception 3

The candle is used up, the flame was shaking and was becoming short as the last bit of wax is being sucked into the ever hungry flame; A shadow waved, disfigured and finally dissolved into the darkness which followed. Writer was so engraved in the deep thoughts that he didn’t noticed anything which happened around him in the last couple of minutes.

Words began to dance in the depths of the night and began to flow into his dreams, his past, his writings, ploughing it’s way into his dreams. Well pasts do play parts in the dreams, right? After all they are the manifestations of unsatisfied past. Dreams can’t be built on future. It’s foundations should  be in the forgotten depths of the past.

From within the words a shy little boy came forward, nervous in every bit. He wasn’t afraid of anything, but just uncomfortable around anything new. He was not fighting it but was taking it slow – in his own way. There were better pastures out there but he decided to stay as he liked one little bird out there. A smart, active bird, which woke up early and whistled. Tales of tailer’s of the nature which tailored her beautiful yellow and black quills of hers. He hoped to hear that lovely whistles for ever. However what does a hope mean in the intricate dream which lasts only a second. It bursts. Faster than it sprouted. And you never remembers your dream after you wake up, right? But can the hope stay… ? “No, it can’t” – told the time.

A  cold breeze woke him up. He was feeling cold, but twinkle of new born hope could be seen in his eyes – One black, one brown – even in this darkness. You have to look close for that. Not if you wait. He took another candle and lit it. A dash of light filled in the room. A yellow, orange, red light. Which became brighter and brighter as moments passed. He almost decided to not write again, but the new found brightness in his eyes made it a point otherwise.

He looked the world through his black eyes, he was grown accustomed to that in the last few months. It make him believe that it’s indeed worth staying in the neverland. It showed him the tigers, the stars and reason to stay afloat the meaninglessness of everything else in the neveland. Then one day it said: “enough of seeing the world through me”.  Was the eyes conspiring. After all the are so close. Just separated by a bridge.

He began seeing the world through the brown eye. One which he rarely used before. The visuals were the same. Well almost all of them. He found the warmth and became engulfed in playful fights. He had two cats. He loves both his eyes. Who doesn’t. They are jewels. Then he wanted to name one of them. Black eye  just doesn’t respond. Should I force it to take a name… He wanted to, but resigned… After all they are jewels. Not even a scratch will be tolerated. What will be the brown eye’s decision… !

He is in deep sleep. The candle burned, filling light in his single room while one candle died and another is lit up in his dreams….  Life is a dream. We dreams in the dreams. New hopes are born in the dreams. Do they stay afloat above the dreams as a lotus in the lake? No one knows. Because everyone is, in the dream.

Sakura blossoms

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It was winter, Sakura’s were bloomed giving a pleasant pink hues to the snow covered land. While further inside the forest a zen master (ZM) is busy, in deep concentration, making his garden. Every detail is being noted and carefully orchestrated. There is no place for errors.

Does sakura brings with it the chills of freezing winter or does it brings the hope of upcoming spring. Was wondering the ZM, while she was sleeping contently in a complicated work of shibari. She might have struggled and tired. Or it might be that it growed into her.

Winter is hard, ZM waited for the right opportunity that never came. So did his wishes and needs stayed as buds in their dormant states. Only to wake up and hurt at the most appropriate moments, that is yet to come.

Sometimes ZM waited so much in vain that the frustrations exploded with wrath – in a milder way – and then at other times he kept optimistic and waited few more. When it striked that there is no right time nor the best way to go for one’s heart’s desire, he decided to express it anyway. Hence born the zen garden.

It may not be the best, as many other’s before him should have created one. And many should have done a better job – he was sure. His effort was rather aimed at lifting the mysery and to help the recipient finally understand the cryptic meaning of the day to day conversations, which otherwise meant nothing more than words. Or no one acknowledged that they understood what he really meant.

Waiting is such a romantic lunatic which gives you hope while paining so dearly at the same time. He is waiting, still in the open, but it’s no more dark. He is not burdened. Summer sun’s first ray fell on his face, bringing warmth in his heart.

How long it will last, the warmth and the waiting…
She is waking up inside the house…

Life: In two poems

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Amazing lines from movie ‘Zindagi na milengi dubara’ . (it’s just the English translation. True that Hindi version is more poetic)

When clouds of pain loom in the sky
When a shadow of sadness flickers by
When a tear finds its way to the eye
When a fear keeps the loneliness alive

I try and console my heart
Why is it that you cry? I ask

This is only what life imparts
These deep silences within
Have been handed out to all by time

Everyone’s story has a little sorrow
Everyone’s share has a little sunshine

No need for water in your eyes
Every moment can be a new life

Why do you let them pass you by?
Oh heart, why is it that you cry?

and second one

If you’re carrying your restlessness in your heart
You are alive
If you’re carrying the lightning of dreams in your eyes
You are alive

Like a gust of wind, learn to live free
Learn to flow like the waves that make a sea
Let your arms be wide open to every moment you meet
May every moment gift you a new sight to greet

If you’re carrying your wonder in your eyes
You are alive
If you’re carrying your restlessness in your heart
You are alive

Slaves of fate.

Somethings never makes sense, however hard you try.

When you think about it, people are so complicated – or is it our mindset – we never get to know the things the way it is. Life just flows, and we will sail throw it, or will be taken along with it. We will laugh at the little things, cry at the little things too. Then we curse the fate and tell it’s some larger entity’s trickery that we have to suffer all these. No body likes to take the blames!

Do you really think everything that happens is for good? Not really…! Then you are accepting the fact that you are not  a fighter or are failed to not even try.

There are people who does sacrifices then there are people who just succumbs to the fate – or karma; what ever bullshit they say that is; then whine the days in and out.

Will soon write something about, in these line… Too intoxicated to wrap the things in a nice package now. Till then adios.

Holding hands to emptiness.

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There was this old man, sitting in the long beach zipping a martini.

He told me the story of how he met her; one glimpse at the long end of the corridor. She wasn’t aware that her life is getting complicated just because she happens to be there at that precise moment.

Does his eyes twinkles when he told his story? May be it’s just a deception by his deep blue eyes!

He continued: There was this guy with a Mongolian history, then another from an oligarchy, who is the grand master of the memoir which is getting unfolded; along with an gifted artist and a dreamer they set-out to make a fraternity. It lasted only a handful years as everyone was weaving their own cloths.

While it lasted, they laughed, they dreamed, they planned together. Then as days passed by, they cried, dreams were smashed and plans were kept away in the dusty corners of the timeless, bottomless life of theirs.

People chasing people. People being they. Envy. Angry. And Love Lost.

Then he gave a vague picture of the antagonist: The Lone traveler. As lone as everyone else who comes into be and goes to end with. Was it a coincidence, that crossing the paths of everyone involved? A piece of mystery!

He was sailing the high mountains on a balloon powered by hot air, to look for a place to land – Higher altitude is harsher than the land – He found none. The traveler traveled the graveyards of the emotions and the unstable lands of mysterious minds. What else one could find in these lands except cold & darkness.

All the while she was sailing the seas, along with her numerous crews. Enjoying the hot sun and entwined in the nazms; the language of the mughals. Urudu.  Was she tempted, or was she a temptress. No one knows. A thick fog of mystery surrounded her; you will never see the end and not even what’s happening in front of your nose. And then she came to the mountains when the sea became unbearable.

Why there is a sudden warmth in this land, Traveler wondered, He didn’t noticed it first, and then for some. It just grown into him. He learned to love it, even though it’s nothing like what he dreamed about it to be. Then he hold it dear and close.

He had held the fragile core of her being, so tightly in his hand; And she hung to it as if she found her place in this world, her solace and happiness. They walked together, they didn’t talk but just walked, with hand in hand. They were happy, weren’t they?

Then they talked, something that shouldn’t have done or should have done earlier. The demons of the past came to hunt. She wanted no fights and let herself to be taken. What can humans do without a will! He stands watching, sober. Choices. Sacrifice. Cold. Emptied.

He had let her very essence seep between his fingers, not willingly though, but by the sheer force of her weakness. His gentle grasp was felt no more. Trembling, she walked away, afraid to turn and meet his gaze, for she feared the emptiness in his eyes; Nothingness.

Paths will cross again, one just needs to walk. Clear the obstacles and walk.  Till you find the place where you love to halt and end your travel, staying there.

Nothing made any sense, Who is this old man. Who are these people… Sure it’s the martini tricking his weakened senses.

Arun K. R. (kra3):

Really valid thoughts, right?

We are all running… Running too fast.
But to where?
Nobody knows! Wired, isn’t it?

Let’s talk more

Originally posted on Broadside:

This recent think-piece in The New York Times argues that we have:

At home, families sit together, texting and reading e-mail. At work executives text during board meetings. We text (and shop and go on Facebook) during classes and when we’re on dates…

We’ve become accustomed to a new way of being “alone together.” Technology-enabled, we are able to be with one another, and also elsewhere, connected to wherever we want to be. We want to customize our lives. We want to move in and out of where we are because the thing we value most is control over where we focus our attention. We have gotten used to the idea of being in a tribe of one, loyal to our own party.

One of the rituals my husband and I enjoy is my driving him to the commuter train station in the morning. It’s only about 10 minutes door…

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