His Eastern Skies

In "A Midsummer Night's Dream" during the performance of the play of "Pyramus and Thisbe," Moonshine (or Moon) is represented "with lanthorn, dog, and bush of thorn." Describing his own character, later in the play, Moonshine says:

"All that I have to say, is, to tell you that the lanthorn is the moon; I, the man in the moon; this thorn-bush, my thorn-bush; and this dog, my dog."

And yet, what makes this cheese like phenomenon so incredibly dubious and arcane? Countless nights of consideration has left me with little reason. The eastern skies garland his majestic presence leaving all else "Sliver'd in the moon's eclipse".

What is it that makes us worship? Is it when we're left in awe of a presence? The omnipotence of natural law? Or is it simply- beauty? May be it's a combination of both, and then again that depends on how one chooses to define it. This heavenly body, looking down upon us from within the eastern skies has left me in awe. No where else have I seen such beauty, changing colour and might, through the day- and night. His mysterious ways... amaze. But there's only so much one can do, apart from appreciate. observe and adore.

By the window

The view seemed to explain it all. Window panes framing tiny dots on a large landscape. The darkness accentuated the silence, and all we could see were the tiny city lights. Millions of them. We were sitting on the 28th floor of the building, which made things seem more insignificant than usual. Far far in the horizon, the gulf waters blended into the sky... It was serene. And something in the inconsequential scheme of things, made us feel at peace. Her tiny head bobbed onto my shoulder and we stared out into the empty sky. 

We imagined what the drop from the horizon would feel like if the world were flat. We imagined God with an eye patch. We imagined what it would be like to fly out of this sky scraper, and whether we'd use a broom to do that or not. May be we'd touch the clouds? But the desert that day had a clear sky. God's shining third eye gloating over miles of sand... is he really everywhere? She seemed to believe so, and she convinced me of the same with sincerity. At six, there's only so much you expect of God and Santa Clause.

But we were both, just sitting there. Perfectly at peace. The sheer massiveness of the inexplainable cosmos seemed to represent itself before us... with all those flickering city lights, and all engulfing horizon... just for that moment, I felt that sense of belonging to organised chaos, and incomprehensible mayhem. At least, that's how I'd attempt to quantify that sinking yet peaceful feeling. I wonder what it was in her, though.

                                             Here's a glimpse of the same view, at day time. 

Latent Fears

Some dreams are not meant to be openly expressed. They seem to live, only to remind us of what we wanted to make of ourselves. They're images that 'we could've been someday'. That red dress... the neatly combed braid flowing amidst her long black hair shining under the spot light... while the music unleashes violently through her fingers... grace and tranquility at its extreme... performance at it's best. It was a dream. A dream that I don't think I even realised I had. Until oneday, when I realised that I'd chosen to trod a different path all together. 

The choice is not regretful. And who'd ever admit his folly anyway?! But the fear of losing that one thing that defines my nature, is deathly.  Latent fears are not well understood, until they surface, and they do so, at the most unwanted of times. 

Do you have a dream? Not one that you can spell out, but one that you recognise yourself in... not one that you'd  reduce to bragging about, but quietly admire yourself in? I do hope you get to realise it before it's too late. For it certainly is on my part. And once you've trodden a different path, you tend to get lost in the maze. And there's no turning back. After all, there's only one life we're playing this game with.

An encounter

I had been sitting there for over an hour. So long, and so lost in thought, that I hadn't even noticed the old man who'd seated himself next to me on the bench. We were two strangers aimlessly staring into the wide expanse of the beautiful lake. He'd placed his walking stick right next to him... dangerously balancing on the railing of the bench. His wrinkled face spoke of years of wisdom. And his silent smile passively unveiled his acceptance... of the world, and the situations that moulded him. I'm too young to understand that, I am told. And I believe I am too young to implement this wisdom. That's the funny thing about wisdom. It isn't really learnt, until one learns it through his mistakes. We will never realise what hardship is, until we actually face it. No number of tales and stories from grandparents will ever make us realise what it is to live through a war. Or to fight for independence. Even as I write this, I probably still don't fully understand. And the truth is, I never will, unless I actually live through it myself. 

But this aimless gaze, wasn't about no war or hardship. It was just a sea of careless thoughts trying very hard to find place to settle. It was as though he'd read my mind.... when he said,

" I have been coming here for over fifty years now, child. What brings you here?"

"Aimless pondering Sir. This is my favourite spot by the lake."

 " Well, for fifty years, this has been my favourite spot too.." And he smiled.

" I guess some things never change over time Sir."

"Hmm. Only people tend to, child. Only people tend to. And do you know why?"

"No Sir"

"Well... it's the situations. The people they meet, the aspirations and desires they wish to fulfill... and of course... all the planning."

"All the planning?"

"Why yes! All the planning. You see ... a wise man once said, always expect the unexpected. There's only so much of your life that you can plan. The rest... is well, quite out of our control. But people don't easily accept this fact. And that, child, is the root of all unhappiness. And of course, change. "

"But change is good isn't it Sir?"

"You can say so. But only if it's permanent. People don't change permanently, or... forever. Human beings, by nature, adapt. They get lost in who they are required to be. And it takes that one scent... that one familiar tune... or that one acquainted taste or place to remind them of their true selves...."

I tried considering what he said... do people really just merely adapt? What about all the life changing incidents I had heard about? ... did it all just teach us to accustom ourselves to the situations? ... may be I'm too young to understand. My mother always tells me I haven't seen enough of the world to judge anything or anyone. In that case I certainly haven't seen enough to conclude anything here.... but as I stared out into the vast waters of the lake... there seemed to be a peace in this thought that engulfed me. People, across the world, are the same. And yet... there's so much difference? There was a tiny part of me that was satisfied by the thought of all people having an innate commonness. Despite the disparities, they were essentially the same.

In excitement I turned to face the old man ....

But he was gone... disappeared in the growing darkness... silently...

Affliction

Pain... is inevitable. We are often hurt by the people who matter to us the most (why else would we consider our feelings if they didn't matter to us anyway?!) .... and more often than not, it's painful. Hurt , is painful. It can also be regretful. Remorseful. And most definitely, sorrowful. But do we realize how it is this pain... and this sorrow... that makes life so much more meaningful? 

There's a depth in pain. And we always tend to over look this acumen and dwell in the more commonly known pain. But do we realize that it is that loss... that profound misery... that unexpected accident that actually reveals our inherent strength? Strength of mind and purpose.... it is in fact this painful regret that leaves us with a lesson learnt. Sometimes it makes us realize the value and worth.... and almost always, it shows us how things can also be the way we don't imagine them . 

I believe it is this pain... and more specifically hardship, that constitutes wisdom. We get to see the 'other side'. Explore the pitfalls of emotion... and appreciate the despair of defeat. Life is incomplete if one faces no distress.  It makes one incapable of feeling... if one hasn't felt the worst of emotions. And yet, it makes one incomplete if one hasn't felt the best of emotions either! As it's popularly known,

"Everybody hurts sometimes"....  and " ... falling down ain't falling down if you don't cry when you hit the floor"... 

Everything will be alright. Pain.... is inevitable.

Change.

Have you ever felt that surge to express? That heart wrenching feeling to just be able to materialize everything that's going on through your mind? A mad mad expression... continuous inexplainable flow of thought that comes barging at you with such dexterity that you are left with no other option but to let it flow out on paper? I have. The truth is, everyone has ... at least at some point of time or the other in their lives. Some go ahead with it. The others confine. They have, what I like to call, self learnt self control.

The bitter truth in this matter lies in the fact that society moulds us that way. It teaches us to think logically, always. To express appropriately, always. Everything has to make sense. Everything needs  to make sense. Man must understand, as or else, you're wrong. Your expression is wrong. Your art is artless and writing tasteless. Song tuneless and music rhythm-less. Do we want to be categorized as unworthy of expression? Of course not! So we confine. And we mould. We shape ourselves to be what the world wants us to be. 

But may be sometimes... just sometimes... one must let go! Let go of all this conformity. Let yourself indulge. Express!! Take those cartons of paint, and splash them onto the canvas. Let that feeling of expression... flow! Let your pen scribble on the whiteness till the ink blots. Let it not make sense! Let no historian analyse and over analyse and ruin the raw bohemian beauty of that piece of creation! All these patterns and trends and predictions... does it leave room for raw human expression? Does everything necessarily have to fall into a set routine or motion? I certainly hope not... this habitual existence has made us into mere conformists. Bloody emulating conventionalist's. It is said that change is inevitable... and so change there shall be. But only when we dare to break out of this mundane existence. Dare to be different. Dare to express, differently.

Feel the happiness?

I was talking to a friend the other day, when I stumbled upon a question that I hadn't really asked myself before, and yet, I expected an answer out of him. He was the recipient of some extremely exciting news... news that brought him both success and fame. On hearing about this good news I gently inquired... "Wow! What did you do when you found out ??"

And he said, " Nothing. I smiled"

"Just smiled? But this is big! How did you express your excitement??"

"I was happy! I smiled!"

He smiled. And I paused for a second. Just to give it a thought.

What would you do if you found out something superbly thrilling? Something that you had been waiting for all your life! A news that made you so supremely happy... the occurrence of an event that made you so profoundly proud... what would you do? How does one anticipate the expression of his excitement? It's strange, but the answer to that question is not that simple. At times I wonder if it's because these fleeting blissful moments are so rare that we don't really get to work on how to express it. But then again, that is what defines it. The rarity of an evanescent touching moment makes it so difficult to express when it does materialize... and makes it all that more beautiful and worth cherishing. Does the expression really matter? I guess not. The important part is that you feel it... that heart exploding feeling... of happiness.