Paragraphs

     People take advantage of me. I let them, unknowingly.
     I wish I could be born again, a different person.
     Each new feeling I have is repulsive, poisonous, dark. I switch thoughts quickly, like a desert snake that doesn’t let its body rest on the sand for too long, because it will burn the skin.
     That’s why I’m changing paragraphs so much, hoping the white space below will let me write something better, stronger than this paragraph.
     It doesn’t work.
     Give me peace, whoever can.
 

Empty spaces

<turn off the music when you read this. the empty spaces where this writing was born are devoid of any.>
 
The dreaded URL: http://spaces.empty.com/ (leads nowhere. Target is empty.)
 
 
There’s a sea of emptiness swirling inside me. An emptiness that I found out by myself. Unveiled. Uncovered. I’m proud of it. Infinite. That’s what I am. I’m proud of it. I’m afraid of it. Because it’s empty. So empty, so nothing but vacuum, empty, sweeping the meaning of ‘myself’ away. [vide I?] And then I wonder who’s this guy thinking about who he is? Who’s this guy who found out emptiness in himself? Me? Really, I never knew — was that me? Sure? Who wrote this paragraph? Me? Who is  me? Can you tell me apart from everyone else? How can you? How can you separate emptiness from emptiness?
Being different is a blessing. Being too different is a curse. I notice everyone else going around with full and satisfactory knowledge of who they are, and I think…
…I had some idea as to who I was. Then I dug deep within me to find out if I was more. And I lost what little I had of me.
 
Thanks God, for Life, thanks for playing this little trick on me. Thanks for the illusions. Thanks for my family, for the friends, for the one-way loves I found along the way. Thanks for the sunset, for the evening rains, for the colours, for the people who loved me, for the people who hated me. Thanks a lot.
 
<now you can hit play again. thank you for your valuable time.>

India

I won’t set out explaining the whole nation; I neither have the time, nor the interest, nor – most importantly – the knowledge. I’ll describe a scene I saw this afternoon out of the window of my second-floor room.

We live in a moderate neighbourhood, a mixture of the white-collared businessmen who see their white, fat children off to The Heritage School (non-educational features include AC transport), and the class of portly (Lord knows how) bus-drivers and their slightly skinnier helpers that assist the functioning of this sophisticated mode of transport. Oh, and in between there’s the middle class. We belong to the middle class. We have a house, and a second floor on it, by God’s Grace, and a window too. So I was feeling one of those sudden jabs of absent-mindedness that grab me when I’m studying all alone in my room in the afternoons, and I went and opened the window and looked outside. Sparse traffic, auto- and bus-drivers having their fill at an unhygienic roadside eatery that belches voluminous amounts of smoke early in the day, and the general calm of a warm winter afternoon. I was beginning to have that old, familiar, and very strange sensation of not wanting to leave this place called earth ever, when I saw the thing.

A man, dressed in very dark rags was coming this way. His progress was slow. He had patches of cloth wound round his palms which he used to drag himself along the dirty road. He had no feet. His trunk ended in a black piece of cloth that seriously looked like an oval lid fit into the untimely end of the upper half of the body. He swung himself onto his arms and came down gently on this blunt end, and then he moved forth his arms again to repeat the move. He was a half-man ( a phrase that rang out inside my mind then), a half-man — physically, mentally to others. I didn’t see his eyes. But I was sure they weren’t happy eyes. They were sad eyes, disappointed eyes. Sad at what happened to him, disappointed that the world didn’t care. Another man in a sweater, fair in complexion, was coming along behind him. Taller, of course, by at least three feet. Normal. He was on the footpath. The half-man wasn’t. (If he were, maybe he’d be blocking the traffic on the footpath. And maybe he’d learnt this lesson the hard way sometime in the past.) So this other man, when he approached him — he was of course faster than the half-man — looked straight ahead like an F1 driver or a racehorse with half its sight blinded by pieces of leather on either side of his face. He looked straight ahead at the horizon — if ever there was such a thing in Kolkata — and probably crossed the half-man as quickly as he could, so that he could relax his eyes. I didn’t watch. I closed the window. The last glimpse I had of the man in rags made me feel he had no horizon to look to.

And my name says One Life.

1Life.

Derailments…

<This category is dedicated exclusively for the one who made this blog.;-)>
 
Derailment n. [According to noted ‘meaning-morpher’ 1Life:] 1 an event out of place; unscheduled; unexpected; unprecedented and hence usually negative in outcome. 2 an event out of schedule; untimely; unexpected and hence similar in character to a quiet evening drizzle in winter. Refreshing, positive.
USAGE Restricted to 1Life’s vocabulary (For the same reason, no sentences or phrases have been included in the entry. The authorities are deeply apologetic for this inevitable occurence.)
 

     Firstly, I had a slight… er… well… ok, ok, alright, i give up — a really big bad patch with my best friend(ess). Derailment. Solved now. Precarious. Might strike again. I repeat, approach with extreme caution.

     Secondly, my MSN photo upload tool refused to work. Sorry, but your photos could not be uploaded to your blog space. Please try again after sometime. Well, finally it sorted out. Yin and Yang rest peacefully on my blog, reflecting ‘my decision’. It would be better if they could be positioned centrally, though. Suggestions from all visitors, including you, are not only welcome, but badly wanted. Please tell me how the others always get their pics bang in the middle of the page. There seem to be no alignment options in the tool.

     Thirdly, I made the mistake of adding a category called ‘Life’ which I later changed to ‘Me and My Life’ to be more precise. The problem is, when I add the category module, ‘Life’ shows up even though there are no entries under it. I really want to have a category module to help visitors sort out my life from my philosophy, but I can’t, as long as a vacuous third category keeps popping up. Help me!

     Fourthly, two of my most important mails to two of the most important persons in my life came back. Delivery Failure. The following messsage could not be delivered to all recipients. Derailment. I thought at first it was only Microsoft. Sorry, but sending mails is locked in the free accounts. To unlock this feature, please subscribe to the paid version and enjoy the freedom of having a mail account and being able to send mails from it, too! Well, that’s sorted out now, I hope. At the end of the day, the free stuff that Microsoft gave me, including this space, leaves me glad they exist. Thanks a lot, Mr Gates.

     Hmmm… now I need to compress a song with Winzip. I found out it’s a poor ratio. 6 MB comes down to 5.8 MB or so. It’s for that best friend(ess). She won’t go broadband, and my CD-writer does not work. So I need to squeeze it like teeny weeny and cross my fingers while she downloads it from her inbox. Tech-God bless India this year.

     The good parts…

     I had a three-hour long philosophical talk with a person and that neutralized a lot of the panic that had set inside me. [vide What You Reap is What You Sow]. Unexpected. Hell positive.

     I found a person with SOME depth. Monalisa Das. (One of those two important persons involved with the mail crisis.) Very miraculous meeting. Two persons from the same school and same age group at the same time in an international chat site. What’s the probability in that? Einsteins, sit down and do some homework and tell me exactly how precious was this meeting.

(Thanks a lot to Veritaserum.com. At least I mentioned the site. That’s some repayment.)

Have a nice day. Thanks for stopping by. Don’t forget Yin and Yang, and the Life category thingy. Drop in any suggestions or comments you feel this space deserves.

 
1Life.
 
 
 

I?

 
I?
 
Can anyone tell me
Who I’m supposed to be
Can anyone hear
This silent prayer
 
Can you clear my mind
Of what I have to leave behind
I don’t want to keep
What won’t remain after
 
My last sleep
 
The more I think of it
I just can’t stop it
It grows on me
Like an empty sea
 
And yes it grew
And before I knew
It stripped me – I couldn’t help –
It stripped me of myself.
 
 
written January 14 6:18 PM onto the screen.