You are neither asleep nor awake ever when you have Insomnia...
Beep...beep...beep
His telephone had been ringing when he jerked up from a deep sleep on his office keyboard.
He had drooled all over it. He quickly ran a hand over his face and stole a quick glance around, to check who all had been watching him. 'This' was nothing new to his colleagues and so no one bothered watching him anymore. Partly relieved, he looked at the monitor. 3 new mails. 2 from his boss. Darn! He hated his job. He hated his life.
To his right was the one thing he didn't hate at all. The clear pretty view of the Cubbon park and the pristine Bangalore skyline. He looked at it and kept staring at nothing in particular. He loved this part of his job. The part which was growing, endangering his further stay in the company.
The Sarnath replica of Ashoka pillar over Vidhan Soudha shone in the mid afternoon sun. All he wanted to do was keep looking at the view. And do nothing at all.
The clouds in the sky, the greens on the ground, the distant hi-rises, the flowing highways..everything. Today of all the days the sky was prettier with an enigmatic glow of orange and silver.
He looked at his screen and then it happened.
He felt a mild shudder. It was like a small earthquake he thought. A moment might have passed when his gaze went to the sudden bright light in the middle of the sky. It was right there in the middle of his 'view'. Like a huge ball of fire hovering in the sky. Then it moved. And grew. Or was it moving downwards. With its growing proximity, the shudder too grew into a large seismic disturbance. The windows, the desks, the people and then the whole building started to shake!
He never got a chance to think. He got up from the ground where he was thrown by the tremors and gained a rein on his thoughts. Still, all that he could think was "WTF!?!". His eyes never leaving the frightening sight in front of him.
The 'ball' had now moved near their building. It's light had grown now to become 'blinding'! He got up and rushed to the window. He could hear the commotion and screaming around him, everywhere, but had neither the time nor the will to look around. His gaze was fixed at the 'ball of fire' descending to the center of the Square, next to his building. It was now bigger than a Dump truck. Yet it glided ever so calmly. He could see the traffic in total disarray and the people frenzy on the roads! Running! Taking cover!
Suddenly all the activity stopped. In his mind, in his office, in all the nearby offices, on the roads and of the traffic. All the sounds went silent. Everyone, had grown quiet as they were now looking in horror at the thing which had finally reached the surface.
Friday, July 29, 2011
Wait to eternity
Up above the evening sky;
the lazy dull clouds, they fly;
the fragrant breeze, it glides just through,
Sitting by the window, then does she cry.
The melancholy in the setting sun,
is not as much as in her eyes,
nothing's there that can be done,
her sorrow lies in the singing bird's cries.
On idyllic pretty days like these,
she remembered being in his arms,
..they lied till the ends of times,
In the haystack besides the farms.
Then one day the bugle sounded,
all the soldiers, on the docks were rounded,
He said goodbye wearing his best clothes,
not a single remorse in his voice sounded.
"I will be back for you, when we win",
she remembered the words and his confident face,
with gentle eyes, and a rosy chin,
always so lovely with a mischievous grin.
She had waited for days after the war,
Near the town bridge holding on to the ropes,
Scanning the road, wide and far,
until the day she lost her hopes.
Then one day he did come back,
But in the horse carriage instead of its back,
they never let her touch or see him,
she din't know why all they were so grim.
Understand did she not but tears filled her eyes,
though she knew,all this was lies,
as she had heard in her grandma's stories,
that true love, never ever dies.
She knew it was not him they brought,
How dare they say all this, foolish lot,
He would never let her be a lonely widow,
she never feels thus any sense of sorrow,
He will be back,strong resolve had her got,
So she still watches the road, sitting by the window.
the lazy dull clouds, they fly;
the fragrant breeze, it glides just through,
Sitting by the window, then does she cry.
The melancholy in the setting sun,
is not as much as in her eyes,
nothing's there that can be done,
her sorrow lies in the singing bird's cries.
On idyllic pretty days like these,
she remembered being in his arms,
..they lied till the ends of times,
In the haystack besides the farms.
Then one day the bugle sounded,
all the soldiers, on the docks were rounded,
He said goodbye wearing his best clothes,
not a single remorse in his voice sounded.
"I will be back for you, when we win",
she remembered the words and his confident face,
with gentle eyes, and a rosy chin,
always so lovely with a mischievous grin.
She had waited for days after the war,
Near the town bridge holding on to the ropes,
Scanning the road, wide and far,
until the day she lost her hopes.
Then one day he did come back,
But in the horse carriage instead of its back,
they never let her touch or see him,
she din't know why all they were so grim.
Understand did she not but tears filled her eyes,
though she knew,all this was lies,
as she had heard in her grandma's stories,
that true love, never ever dies.
She knew it was not him they brought,
How dare they say all this, foolish lot,
He would never let her be a lonely widow,
she never feels thus any sense of sorrow,
He will be back,strong resolve had her got,
So she still watches the road, sitting by the window.
Tuesday, April 21, 2009
Here's something unusual...
This incident is narrated by my friend Martin Cornell:
"When I was a child I shared a room with my brother. One night, I suddenly woke up, it must be around 3am, just looked around as I felt some movement and suddenly saw that there was a woman in a green dress standing in the corner of my room! In panic I jumped and went to wake my brother but he didn't wake up no matter how hard I tried. I then went back to my bed, under my blanket and tried to tell myself what I saw was not real.
As soon as I thought that, I looked again, she suddenly turned her head and stared straight at me. Then in a weak, trembling voice she said "You know, you look just like my little boy; Graham". I panicked. It was all indeed real.
I got up and jumped on my brother's bed again and started shaking him. This time I was successful to get him near consciousness. But as he was starting to wake up, the woman in the green dress looked out the window as if waiting for someone and then looked back at me and said "I have to go now...Graham, you take care dear". And then she glided behind the curtain, towards the window and got lost in the shadows.
I narrated the incident at lengths to everyone the next day. To this day no one believes me in my family. We left the house later when my father relocated to another city.
I was totally convinced about what I saw. It wasn't like I was 3 years old or anything, I must have been at least 11 years old and I still remember every piece of detail of that night.
The green color, the lady, her stare, her deep weary eyes and her voice. Sometimes in my dreams, I still hear her calling me..."Graham...Graham..."
"When I was a child I shared a room with my brother. One night, I suddenly woke up, it must be around 3am, just looked around as I felt some movement and suddenly saw that there was a woman in a green dress standing in the corner of my room! In panic I jumped and went to wake my brother but he didn't wake up no matter how hard I tried. I then went back to my bed, under my blanket and tried to tell myself what I saw was not real.
As soon as I thought that, I looked again, she suddenly turned her head and stared straight at me. Then in a weak, trembling voice she said "You know, you look just like my little boy; Graham". I panicked. It was all indeed real.
I got up and jumped on my brother's bed again and started shaking him. This time I was successful to get him near consciousness. But as he was starting to wake up, the woman in the green dress looked out the window as if waiting for someone and then looked back at me and said "I have to go now...Graham, you take care dear". And then she glided behind the curtain, towards the window and got lost in the shadows.
I narrated the incident at lengths to everyone the next day. To this day no one believes me in my family. We left the house later when my father relocated to another city.
I was totally convinced about what I saw. It wasn't like I was 3 years old or anything, I must have been at least 11 years old and I still remember every piece of detail of that night.
The green color, the lady, her stare, her deep weary eyes and her voice. Sometimes in my dreams, I still hear her calling me..."Graham...Graham..."
Saturday, April 4, 2009
A flame in the storm....
I was sitting by the window, watching the rain. It was beautiful. The green cover around, the nice, gentle, wet breeze. The swaying trees. Felt a satisfaction, a sense of peace, just sitting there watching n doing nothing. It is then that I saw her, and my sense of peace was lost somewhere like the tiny droplets that are lost when they touch the earth.
She had this plastic sheet over her which she must have thought would protect her from being wet. She had definitely not thought enough. She must be 11. Her name is Jyoti. I know it because she works with her mother in our society. Her mother is what we call a 'bai' here- A maid who cleans the houses and utensils of many households. Today she was alone as her mother had taken ill. She lives in a 'jhuggi'(a small shack kind of cottage made of, well, anything that you may get for free) near here. I pass the place everyday when I walk to my office bus stand. Mind you, its a pathetic existence.
She was crossing the road when a plush BMW came down the road. Oblivious of lower mortals the richie richs inside were totally enjoying their booze and the din they call music. Though she saved herself from being made into mince meat under the wheels of the powerful four wheeler, she couldn't save herself from the mud and the filth that the sparkling sedan displaced from the road and on everything and everyone around. The poor waif was covered with the filth before she even knew what happened. Her face registered various expressions in those few moments. First the alarm at sighting the car rushing towards her, then the panic to save herself, then a split second of relief and then the dismay after looking at the condition of what may be the only dress that she has. It was this particular expression that sent me reeling into an oblivion. The oblivion of thoughts and questions, the one of doubts and sheer hopelessness.
The ardent and critical question that troubles my mind is what would be the poor child be thinking, what must she be dreaming, what reasons must she be giving to her own self for her dire existence. Would it be easy for her to work more than most of the men in our society, eat lesser than most of the toddlers here and sleep with probably more thoughts, more dreams and more troubles about tomorrow than probably most of the people on the earth. What kind of relationship must she be sharing with a father who not only abuses and beats her but also doesn't allow her to go to school just so that she works and earn him money for his country liquor? Or with the mother who she thinks she knows but does all that she cannot understand. She has younger siblings, a team of 4 kids who are but hungry mouths for her. Hungry mouths who cry out their needs at nights disallowing her a hard earned sleep even. But she does think and dream about them too. What she doesn't know is the drunkard who without thinking out of frustration made her mother bear all these minions, thinks of employing them too (mind you employing might be too sophisticated a word for the things that small kids do in the streets, eateries and everywhere else in India) for his 'necessities'.
I kept on thinking until the time that I was not able to, anymore. The only thought that concluded my chain that day was whether there really was any God that looked upon the earth? Could he look at the fate of this kid, her everyday tribulations which were many more than those that I could even think of. The kid named 'Jyoti' meaning the flame of light, who was all out facing the challenges of this cursed stormy world and trying to etch out, to earn things we dont even consider trivial. These thoughts that I had on that rainy day triggered a tiny drizzle in my eyes too. Here I was wiping the bead of tears and afraid to think further and there, in the rain, by the street, Jyoti casually brushed away the mud on her dress and started walking down the road, to face the storm of life once again.
She had this plastic sheet over her which she must have thought would protect her from being wet. She had definitely not thought enough. She must be 11. Her name is Jyoti. I know it because she works with her mother in our society. Her mother is what we call a 'bai' here- A maid who cleans the houses and utensils of many households. Today she was alone as her mother had taken ill. She lives in a 'jhuggi'(a small shack kind of cottage made of, well, anything that you may get for free) near here. I pass the place everyday when I walk to my office bus stand. Mind you, its a pathetic existence.
She was crossing the road when a plush BMW came down the road. Oblivious of lower mortals the richie richs inside were totally enjoying their booze and the din they call music. Though she saved herself from being made into mince meat under the wheels of the powerful four wheeler, she couldn't save herself from the mud and the filth that the sparkling sedan displaced from the road and on everything and everyone around. The poor waif was covered with the filth before she even knew what happened. Her face registered various expressions in those few moments. First the alarm at sighting the car rushing towards her, then the panic to save herself, then a split second of relief and then the dismay after looking at the condition of what may be the only dress that she has. It was this particular expression that sent me reeling into an oblivion. The oblivion of thoughts and questions, the one of doubts and sheer hopelessness.
The ardent and critical question that troubles my mind is what would be the poor child be thinking, what must she be dreaming, what reasons must she be giving to her own self for her dire existence. Would it be easy for her to work more than most of the men in our society, eat lesser than most of the toddlers here and sleep with probably more thoughts, more dreams and more troubles about tomorrow than probably most of the people on the earth. What kind of relationship must she be sharing with a father who not only abuses and beats her but also doesn't allow her to go to school just so that she works and earn him money for his country liquor? Or with the mother who she thinks she knows but does all that she cannot understand. She has younger siblings, a team of 4 kids who are but hungry mouths for her. Hungry mouths who cry out their needs at nights disallowing her a hard earned sleep even. But she does think and dream about them too. What she doesn't know is the drunkard who without thinking out of frustration made her mother bear all these minions, thinks of employing them too (mind you employing might be too sophisticated a word for the things that small kids do in the streets, eateries and everywhere else in India) for his 'necessities'.
I kept on thinking until the time that I was not able to, anymore. The only thought that concluded my chain that day was whether there really was any God that looked upon the earth? Could he look at the fate of this kid, her everyday tribulations which were many more than those that I could even think of. The kid named 'Jyoti' meaning the flame of light, who was all out facing the challenges of this cursed stormy world and trying to etch out, to earn things we dont even consider trivial. These thoughts that I had on that rainy day triggered a tiny drizzle in my eyes too. Here I was wiping the bead of tears and afraid to think further and there, in the rain, by the street, Jyoti casually brushed away the mud on her dress and started walking down the road, to face the storm of life once again.
people and places...
Encore, Roar and Shor!
We were sitting in a boring language class, obviously on the last bench. I was about to sleep, eyes getting heavy, the teachers words sounding like a melodious lullaby of a distant nightingale, when suddenly my friend Kumar blurted, I don't know what triggered his speech, but he like just started saying this thing, totally oblivious of anyone giving him a hearing. I guess he was just thinking it aloud or something. But what he said was curiously thought provoking and so I thought, I should pen it down here. He went about-
"It is true that when a child is taught about various characters of English prose like a full stop, a comma or a question mark, only then is he able to realize the bounds of language.
Is must be only then that he starts to think what statement or what questions are don't you think?
I think a human offspring is quite intelligent from the time that it pops out. Yup...pretty intelligent. It must be this intelligence that our species has inherited or maybe only me that I have typically an inquisitive mind that I have to cope up with. And therefore sometimes I have to come up with these queer introductions before I can convey to the people that, 'dude ok that you want to be friends and all but with me comes a corny character that has these barrage of questions coming up like an avalanche in his head. So the next time you say something and I don't get it, doesn't mean I was'nt listening but it means that the monitor is showing the sand clock icon because some other thread is processing in the background."
(He was totally into Computers etc. and liked to be called a geek etc.! pfff..!)
"I have this way of having examples and analogies by which I recognize this clandestine world. Instead of understanding and remembering various things, I just 'analogise'(mind you doesn't have anything to do with your posterior) them with something and the flipflops in my thinking organ just remember it."
Our other friend Raghu who had been lying his head on the desk, staring at Kumar in dreamy sleepy eyes had fallen asleep.
I had come out of my slumberous phase of pre-sleep and had started thinking. Though this guy was a geek, what he said had a bit of sense. If you want to remember something, do it by associating it with something that you like. And the mind automatically remembers it. Its like keeping references and bookmarks and then leading on to the main page.
Then a thought struck me, Hey! maybe I am becoming a geek...!!
At that moment, with Kumar still mumbling about something totally unaware that he had long lost his audience, Raghu gave out a big roar of a snore. It was so loud that the grumpy old Meenakshi madam looked over the old English book she was reciting from and stared amazed and stupefied in our direction.
I could have predicted doom, but before a wink, the recess bell rang and the class erupted in a heavy din as children scampered outside, finally free from their dreadful misery.
I still remember the look on Mrs.Meenakshi's face that she had on a day...
...when Raghu had roared in the class. We still have a hearty laugh whenever that day comes up in talks.
Last week we all met at a party and the topic came up, we had a big laugh and all.
Kumar, with a grave overdone expression said suddenly (btw he was now a Sr.S/W/ Engg.in a big shot IT MNC) "You see guys, Raghu's snore was the 'reference point' of the theory that I had propounded on that very day, which we still rememeber due to the suposedly funny incident we have associated with it." His verbose sentences always brought out queer expressions on people's faces.
While he was still talking, another chain of thoughts on the validity of his point was about to start in my brain, but I warned myself of getting tagged as a geek in the same ranks. And so I came to terms, looked at Raghu standing besides me and said "Huh, what a geek." In response, to deride Kumar, he made a loud snoring sound and we all laughed again.
We were sitting in a boring language class, obviously on the last bench. I was about to sleep, eyes getting heavy, the teachers words sounding like a melodious lullaby of a distant nightingale, when suddenly my friend Kumar blurted, I don't know what triggered his speech, but he like just started saying this thing, totally oblivious of anyone giving him a hearing. I guess he was just thinking it aloud or something. But what he said was curiously thought provoking and so I thought, I should pen it down here. He went about-
"It is true that when a child is taught about various characters of English prose like a full stop, a comma or a question mark, only then is he able to realize the bounds of language.
Is must be only then that he starts to think what statement or what questions are don't you think?
I think a human offspring is quite intelligent from the time that it pops out. Yup...pretty intelligent. It must be this intelligence that our species has inherited or maybe only me that I have typically an inquisitive mind that I have to cope up with. And therefore sometimes I have to come up with these queer introductions before I can convey to the people that, 'dude ok that you want to be friends and all but with me comes a corny character that has these barrage of questions coming up like an avalanche in his head. So the next time you say something and I don't get it, doesn't mean I was'nt listening but it means that the monitor is showing the sand clock icon because some other thread is processing in the background."
(He was totally into Computers etc. and liked to be called a geek etc.! pfff..!)
"I have this way of having examples and analogies by which I recognize this clandestine world. Instead of understanding and remembering various things, I just 'analogise'(mind you doesn't have anything to do with your posterior) them with something and the flipflops in my thinking organ just remember it."
Our other friend Raghu who had been lying his head on the desk, staring at Kumar in dreamy sleepy eyes had fallen asleep.
I had come out of my slumberous phase of pre-sleep and had started thinking. Though this guy was a geek, what he said had a bit of sense. If you want to remember something, do it by associating it with something that you like. And the mind automatically remembers it. Its like keeping references and bookmarks and then leading on to the main page.
Then a thought struck me, Hey! maybe I am becoming a geek...!!
At that moment, with Kumar still mumbling about something totally unaware that he had long lost his audience, Raghu gave out a big roar of a snore. It was so loud that the grumpy old Meenakshi madam looked over the old English book she was reciting from and stared amazed and stupefied in our direction.
I could have predicted doom, but before a wink, the recess bell rang and the class erupted in a heavy din as children scampered outside, finally free from their dreadful misery.
I still remember the look on Mrs.Meenakshi's face that she had on a day...
...when Raghu had roared in the class. We still have a hearty laugh whenever that day comes up in talks.
Last week we all met at a party and the topic came up, we had a big laugh and all.
Kumar, with a grave overdone expression said suddenly (btw he was now a Sr.S/W/ Engg.in a big shot IT MNC) "You see guys, Raghu's snore was the 'reference point' of the theory that I had propounded on that very day, which we still rememeber due to the suposedly funny incident we have associated with it." His verbose sentences always brought out queer expressions on people's faces.
While he was still talking, another chain of thoughts on the validity of his point was about to start in my brain, but I warned myself of getting tagged as a geek in the same ranks. And so I came to terms, looked at Raghu standing besides me and said "Huh, what a geek." In response, to deride Kumar, he made a loud snoring sound and we all laughed again.
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