It was just 5 in the evening, on a normal day this time of the day would have been mildly lit by a sun preparing to call it a day, but not today. It was dark as a night outside, clouds held the rein, flashes of lightning were warning about the thunderstorm that was readying itself to strike and destroy. May be the cloak of darkness was borrowed by the storm to hide the destruction or may be it was just another tool of its, when you can’t see clearly, you often get sucked in by forces of self-destruction.

But thunderstorms just don’t appear out of blue. It was raining since morning, clouds were building up and light was fighting a losing battle since day-break. No one can complain that storm just slipped in, whoever didn’t see it coming was guilty of either looking the other way or closing their eyes in a hope that all this would just blow over.

Clouds were roaring now and it has started raining harder. How strange it is. Same rain that till yesterday was a welcome relief, a thing of beauty, an object of romance has suddenly turned into a terror, a dance of destruction. There were people who waited for rains, waited to take a walk in the light drizzle or get drenched in the mild one. Waited to smell the fragrance of raindrops falling on the soil. Waited to sit by the river to see raindrops creating ripples in the river. Waited to pick freshly washed flowers from the garden. Today all of them were scurrying for shelter, praying that rains go away, wondering if those summer days albeit a little hot and dry were better than the current madness. How strange it is that situations and events can turn something that was an object of desire till so recently into a distant disenchantment.

But wait, not everyone was hurrying for shelter. There was a lone soul out there, looking up in the sky as if challenging the storm for a duel. He too had waited for rains and he has not yet given up on his dreams. It was pouring hard, nothing like what he had expected. But he was ready to brave these rains, in a hope that at some point they would relent, skies would give in to his desire and storm would pass on to let him dance in the rain. But hopes, that’s what storms enjoy destroying most. Longer he stayed out, harder it rained. Each shower was striking at his confidence, trying to weaken him, making him to give in. But he held out. He fell few times but every time he stood up again. Each thunderstorm comes with a shelf life, and in only that much time it needs to destroy all dreams, desires and hopes. If one can hold out for that long then storm does blow over. But you hold out not by hiding but by facing up. And that’s what he was doing. The storm was running out of time. Soon victory was to be his…

And then the lightning struck.

And this time he fell for one last time, not to get up ever again.

Storm won again. Storms always win. They always do.

I just wonder, why?

I never asked for the moon…
But He grudged me even the moonlight that found its way into my room
I never asked for the world…
But He grudged me even the little space I wanted to call my own
I never asked for the gold…
But He grudged me even the oysters I had found deep down in the sea
I never asked for the ocean…
But He grudged me even the light drizzle I wanted to get drenched in
I never asked for the whole night…
But He grudged me even the little while that I needed to dream
I never asked for the stars…
But He grudged me even the twinkle of those eyes which were all that I had ever asked of Him

Can one just know hope and not know despair?
Can one just know affection and not know anger?
Can one just know joy and not know depression?
Can one just know passion and not know envy?
Can one just know love and not know hatred?

Am wondering if we can label emotions as good ones and bad ones, and then pick and choose which one to keep and which one to let go.

If I don’t know how to love then may be its understandable that I can’t hate. But if I am capable of love, then by definition I should also be capable of hatred. Emotions are spontaneous response to certain events and situations so all that should matter is do I get inspired by those events or not. Because if I do - then whether my response is positive or negative should entirely be dictated by the context. Just like you can’t have a pendulum that swings only one way, similarly I don’t think one can have emotions that are always nice and good.

So should I be embarrassed of negative emotions? Or should I be embarrassed of denying their existence because that would be hypocritical?
I think I would rather admit them.

But is it good to flaunt hatred, envy, anger? or Is it good to have depression, despair?
Definitely not.

But denying their existence is not the solution. I think solution should be to admit their existence and then try and cure them. And sometimes even a cure is not needed. Sometimes, its good to get angry. Sometimes its good to hate. Sometimes its good to envy.

So, preferably we should just let emotions be what they are – spontaneous, instantaneous and honest. There ain’t any perfect emotions because perfection is meant for machines. Man by definition needs to be imperfect



Album recommendation of the day:

By the way, listen to Saawariya, absolutely amazing music. All the songs are so good that I have not yet been able to decide which one is my favourite. Had not heard of Monty Sharma before but now I really wanna hear a lot more of him.

It’s so difficult to tell at what point dreams just quietly turn themselves into illusions. And since we can’t tell the difference, so we unknowingly keep running after those illusions, believing all along that it’s our dreams that we are pursuing.

Problem is both illusions and dreams look so similar. Both have a touch of fantasy and a touch of yearning. And so often feelings that dreams inspire, illusions are able to fake them very well. The last is the most dreadful bit of the whole thing. Even long after your heart is no more there in something that you are pursuing, still you keep running after it, just because till very late, you never realize that it is not what you want.

And that’s not all, if you are smart enough to smell the rat then illusions have other tricks up their sleeves. First they try and confuse you – in trying to keep up the masquerade they repeatedly tell you they are not what they seem, if that fails than they threaten you by trying to tell you that if you turn away now, you would lose more a great deal more than what you are ready to bargain for.

So, one need to get through all this before he can put his foot down and tell himself that there won’t be any more running behind illusions. And then begins far more difficult journey to find those dreams that got lost somewhere while you were too busy running behind illusions.

I don’t know how many people succeed in covering the distance between smelling the rat and belling the cat. But may be its too harsh of us to stand at finish line and judge people just by their success in crossing the line. Sometimes, what takes more effort and guts is not running the full course but stopping mid-way and letting everyone pass as you stroll towards a bench by the track. To stop and to quit are two very different things I guess.

-siddhartha

Song recommendation for the day:

Totally unrelated to the post, this is one beautiful song that I discovered yesterday and no points for guessing that it is now playing for almost 24 hours on my lappy :)

अच्छी नहीं सनम दिल्लगी दिल-ए-बेकरार से

क्यों रो रहे हो, छेड़ा था हमने तुमको तो प्यार से

.

Rather than writing the entire lyrics, I tried to get a bit techie and upload the audio here.But for reasons best known to Google that didn't work out. But its a nice song Kishore-Asha-Pancham-Gulzar combo from the movie Rakhi and Hathkadi ( What's in a name anyways, however tacky it is !!!). So try it.

She was painting the morning. I walked up to her and sat by her side. It was a beautiful morning and she has made it look absolutely stunning on her canvas. But admiration is not what I was about to voice ;-)

“So, you again busy painting a picture that has no part for me? “ I asked her teasingly.

“Who says you not there? You are pretty much a part of this, why don’t you find yourself? “ She said those last few words looking right into my eyes with a wicked smile playing on her face.

I didn’t have a choice but to pick up the gauntlet. And frankly I enjoy such games :)

It was a painting of a day break, with wide expanse of the river with blue water seen from top of the cliff, sun just making its way in his usual splendour and sky looking fresh and beautiful in early daylight.

So where can I be in this painting?
And instantly I noticed the morning sun, yes that’s what this painting is about. That’s what every morning is about - the sun, the central figure and isn’t it what I am to her. So if am there in this painting, I can’t be anything but the sun.

“Easy it was” said I, pointing to the sun.

“You wish it was that easy, would you mind looking harder.” she said laughingly.

So, I looked harder this time. What could she have in her mind. Where could she have hid me here? The sky, oh how could I have not thought of it first. It has to be the sky. Sun sets but sky is always there, looking at you and there for you whenever you want to look upto it. So that’s what she thinks about me. I was feeling good.

“So, sky it is, rite !!!” I said smilingly

“Naaaah, you were sharper and smarter earlier. You are losing it. Try again.” Her tone had that naughty tinge to it. She knew I don’t like to be to be proved wrong and she could see that it’s her turn to have some easy fun at my visible discomfort.

River - can I be the river? Now I was not too sure. Is it the image of all encompassing expanse of the river which makes her think of me? Is it the unstoppable restlessness of river that reminds her of me? Is this what I am? The river - in depths of which she can drown herself so as not to be found by anyone else ?

“Is it the river?” For the first time, I was asking her rather than telling her.

She just nodded her head to indicate am wrong again.

Now, it was no more a game for me and neither was I enjoying it anymore.

“I know - must be these stones and pebbles. One of these must be me right. Guess, that’s the best I mean to you.” It was no more about the painting now. I myself could notice the irritation in my voice, there is no way she could have missed it.

“Nooooooo” she resisted the provocation.

I got up. I have had enough.

“So, have you given up?” she was in no mood to let me off the hook that easily.

“Rather, I guess, you have given up on me” sarcasm was dripping in my voice. I knew I started it this but then I have never been a good loser. I started to walk away from her.

“Did you notice the bird ?” she asked me from behind.

“Which bird?” I turned back and asked.

She showed it to me on the painting. For the first time I noticed a tiny bird on the left side of the painting, soaring up the sky.

“The sun, the sky, the river - they were just part of a setting – a pure and pristine setting for this bird to take to sky. But this painting was never about them, it was always about this bird. And, this bird is you - my dreams taking wings - my hopes soaring high. “

She finished but her eyes were still asking me if I have any unanswered questions left.

I walked up to her and whispered a sorry.
Now I knew, she was not just painting the morning.

It has been a while since he had gone there. He was the only one who had key to that place. But he was so busy trying to play catch up with life that he could hardly take out time for himself recently. Even today he had no intention to go there but an appointment that lasted lot less than what he had expected and left him with lot more time than he had calculated for made him take a walk up there.

He unlocked the door and went in, it was pitch dark. It takes time for eyes to adjust to the dark and he knew that well. He waited, but during that wait, it seemed as if he was staring a darkwall with nowhere to go. It was scary; someone else might have turned and taken the door out. But he stood there, one must be scared of life at times, fear at times is the bridge that brings one back from fantasy to reality. It took longer than usual but when he started seeing the cob-webs, he knew he could see in dark. Yeah there were cob-webs. Webs made by those tiny spiders who find an ignored corner for themselves and then surreptitiously start weaving a web, which you don’t even seem to notice till those delicate yet complicated webs appear out of blue in their full glory (or lack of it). He wanted to brush them away but now it was not that easy. He kept getting entangled in them, and after some effort he cut through few of them to move forward. He reached out to touch the books on the shelf, there was a thick layer of dust on them, a heap of unopened letters from friends and acquaintances were lying on the centre table. There was lot of heavy furniture around. He always liked to keep furniture to the minimal; it allowed him space to move freely around. When did he order all this? He went up to his favourite floor-to-ceiling window overlooking the garden. Earlier, he used to sleep on the floor by this window and when he used to get up in the morning, first rays of the sun used to meet him by this window. They always used to bring a pack of relaxed smiles with them. He looked around but there was no such pack there. Thick curtains on the window were keeping out both the sun and smiles. He tried to pull the curtain but he couldn’t, he didn’t remember putting a curtain on the window but there was one right now and he didn’t know how to pull it off. Dark and dusty rooms which have stayed close for long carries an unsettling smell and a damp feel, he couldn’t miss it. It was a depressing setting, he wanted to relax. He took a chair but it made a creaking noise as if it could give way to his weight anytime. It didn’t break but as long a he sat there, he remained conscious that it can all snap anytime.

He tried hard to remember when did the bright, airy place of his turned into this damp, dark and dusty place. Did someone else come here while he was away? Don’t know why we always start by blaming others for all that befalls us but he corrected the course. No one could have come here - He was the only one who had key to this place. He recalled he had ordered those window curtains last summer when he had started sleeping late and used to feel irritated by sun on his face in the morning. He had stopped opening his letters around the same time, he only read and replied to sms. And that furniture, he liked them in the shop and he kept bringing that home and before he knew that room resembled the shop, just that it was never meant to be that way. Yes it was all his doing. It was all coming back ...

He sat there and looked around. There were things that needed to be cleared and things that needed to be cleaned. There were curtains to be removed, stuff to be fixed and windows to be left open for fresh air to get in. He felt good that he at least knew what ought to be done but he was still at loss to figure what ought to be done first. He sat there brooding for some more time but on some days if you don’t get it right at first, no matter how often you try you just don’t get it right.

He decided he would come again the next day. It was anyways getting late. So, he made his way out. He got out of the door and then took out the solitary key to this place – key that only he has - he then locked the door to his mind and walked away.