FlashbaX

I get hopelessly sentimental.

I’ve been coming off two break offs with the same person again. what I can say is that  a couple of years ago, my ex, who had been vexed by my broken leg chapter, suggested I make friends in office. [I walked on a mal-union for a year, before getting a rod in my shin and loosing half an inch] I was well into whiskey and anger, contemptuous of everything almost and capable of extremely hurtful, invalidating and biased comments.
So at a friends place usually teeming with college buddies, I  fell in love with a girl who didn’t say much but heard my every action. I was stupid and instead of letting go of my new found friend, I proceeded to monopolize her. I couldn’t see how my aggrandized nature was stifling her,  Instead of letting go of my new found friend, I tried to find my soul mate. Almost did, too, but there were differences along with the things that make two people want to be with each other. We couldn’t handle the rest of our lives, let alone each other’s. It was an opportunity but I took it for granted. Played out my personal demons and lost all perspective.

I was too blind to see beyond my baggage. She snapped; I went to pieces;  I begged her to come back; she relented; I got confused, I couldn’t handle what was needed to fix it all. I was too fresh from my depressions.

Y’know, it felt bewildering, everyone went on about their way in a daze, including me, not saying anything. Then, with take two, I realized that I was unable to do what she said was required. In the back of my mind was a bit watching me act like a nutter. Then, with time and isolation, I began to see where I needed to operate from a more mature definition of love and life. I was just being a crazy guy snatching things when he could. Unable to express my hidden feelings or read her responses correctly.

Things came to a climax of sorts, out of all safe proportions and there was I, knowing that I had to get away and try to do it right. So I did. So many dumb approaches, that I truly deserve what I got for being so dumb. Strangely, I am somehow glad to know that I can still feel pain.

Since then I’ve been rehabilitating my heart, taking each day weakly as it comes. Learning to live again, re-learning all the small actions needed to say alive and contiguous (probably the last time I use that word). Crying rivers and hanging on to the pieces. Still in love, in so much as I could not change with her around. BAD NEWS is that I am ex-communicado and she does not even spare a single word. Today, I was finally watching a movie and suddenly I find myself rising at the sound of a passing car. I know she won’t even stray by my street in her dreams but I can’t help it sometimes. Feverish, yeah!

Anyway, I’ve begun my journey. I’ve accepted the situation. I fully intend to make the changes because, quite simply, I can see where I was wrong. I’ve begun by repaying my debts, facing the music from those I hurt and somehow hope to still hang on to some good, in all. Somehow glad that I am not all gone and have learned some things that I, frankly, only learned after she left.  I hope to do a lot and won’t rest till I can meet all Ayn Rand-based definitions of self esteem.

“I cried when I wrote this song;
Sue me if I play it too long.”

I could never make it up to you out there. Way I think, ever since I remember, the odds have been something the less thought about, the better. Still, I claim all is redeemable. Still I believe in the enduring cycle from befuddlement to wisdom of the heart. I believe that under all circumstances, hanging on is all one can do. I get entrusted and I let you down. Truly, I cannot see my own moment of forgiveness. I cannot imagine when I would be forgiven for my transgressions. I have to face the facts. Nor can I see any reason to carry on except to make amends. I’ve been warned off by you and yours because I ruined all chances and still I howl at the gates insisting that all is never lost. Some assure me but plan contingencies. I don’t blame them. My years of unpredictability have given me a horrible reputation.

“It’s a world where no one takes a stand within themselves. Unless it is for practical reasons. Practical as it means currently can stretch across all activities. Collaborative evidence has never been stockpiled higher. Sub-divisions go around in circles telling each other it’s sustainable. Falling across the grain so many times has given me awkward flashes. Some glimpses of what could also be. Not really glimpses but more like an elongated or encompassing feeling of having popped through the skein of things once again. Making zigzags across what most approach linearly.” Approxs my erstwhile bullshit philosophy that made a mess of my life. “I’ll clean up my mess I guess.” (Tom Petty, Handle with Care, Traveling Wilburys).

Weird part of it is that I have seen all kinds of compromises and all kinds of stories that the human heart tells itself. For all kinds or reasons. Mine does too. I’m sure yours does too. The more we see outside of our own life, the more we choose to accept as an ‘also’. I’m still looking to live life on my own terms, believe in what I choose as good in my life, not fall for at least 90% of the stuff that is fed to us, look for the next reason to stay alive a little longer. Defiant of all condemnation, my only alternative is to carry on or die trying. In this space, city, place, I have been put together with some people. Some allow me to live, some hate the memory of me, some always welcome me and some want me to allow them to live. For the latter, I have no answer, but to retreat into my silence. Begging the skies above for some way to repair. Then acceptance falls all around me and I feel the emptiness I felt before when I started again. I empty my mind of all past and figure out my first few steps. I keep my head down and focus on getting my first few steps right. Then I looked up at what I had done wrong. I picked the closest to start. Always loved a concentric circles model for self-transformation.

Nursed a butterfly. Picked him up from the road while walking my dog. Put him on a flower in my bike yard. Few hours of sun and he flew off to a nearby tree. An hour later, I was standing around and he came to visit me. I tried to see if he’ll come onto my finger but he avoided me. He was black all over with orange edges to his lower wingtips and white spots lower on his wings.

call it science fiction, advertising or just plain nostalgia

old friends...bookends

A cracking good book to read: Ready Player One

call it science fiction, fantasy or just nostalgia, this book is kinda sensitive too.

middle age stages

40...
40 used to be a good mileage, in my day
40 is when they tell you you are set in your ways
40 is like reminding today of the night yesterday
Is it the end, I don't say. But I think, 'No Way!.'

38 is a state
37 is well past heaven
36 is the last of finding 20-something chicks
35 is said life begins like, by the way, you're alive
34 is just like 35, only before
33 and you just add one-third
While 32 is a choice between jobs and a 'do'

What's that?
What about the women today?
Well I was romantic, sympathetic
Even a closet feminist until 498A.

A forgotten father's letter to his daughter!

Dear Lavanya,


I find it increasingly difficult to hold on to my memories of you, knowing that I may not even recognize you based on those memories. I think I am finally learning to live with the pain. I do try to remind myself that there is someone as beautiful as you in this world but the feeling of being torn apart is larger and hurts more.


I don't think you know me and are too young to cognize the absence of a father. In any case, your grandparents and mother will surely take care to make you understand the difference. What they won't do is explain the difference in their story and mine, but I expect a smart kid like you will eventually grow up to be shall figure it out for herself. 


I failed to keep myself, girl, unaffected by the last year. I wanted to be worthy and succeeded. Then I realized that I would not be allowed by your grandfather to see you, in spite of changing. You see, while I was trying to find my pride in landing a good job, your mother had changed too. I haven't spoken to her for more than a year and I have no way of knowing. So there you have it. I would like to know about my wife and daughter but I can't. Besides, your mother does not want to know and won't.


I don't expect you to have any recollection of the months you spent at my house after you were born. You had (another) grandmother, a dog and ignored the whale song I played to put you to sleep. Yes, there was also anger, fights, worry, fear of the lack of money and dueling mothers-in-law. But since then, all that's left is probably just a surname to you.


All that is actually left is a 100-year old dog and a father who has no idea how to continue his life. Once the 'moving finger has writ; all of your piety and wit can change not but one line of it.'*


So now I think of what to say since this letter may never find it's way to you. Should it be the one thing that children never hear and parents can't say enough; that 'I love you.' I don't expect much in the way of forgiveness as a practice so 'God bless you.' Those are the words I remember since I was as small as you. Be good, be all you can and ever want to be. It's your life, so let's not be wasting any more time on me.


All my best, always.
Your father,
Arunesh

Elvis Costello said it best!

I saw a newspaper picture from the political campaign
A woman was kissing a child, who was obviously in pain
She spills with compassion, as that young childs
Face in her hands she grips
Can you imagine all that greed and avarice
Coming down on that childs lips

Well I hope I don't die too soon
I pray the lord my soul to save
Oh I'll be a good boy, Im trying so hard to behave
Because there's one thing I know, I'd like to live
Long enough to savour
That's when they finally put you in the ground
Ill stand on your grave and tramp the dirt down

When england was the whore of the world
Margeret was her madam
And the future looked as bright and as clear as
The black tarmacadam
Well I hope that she sleeps well at night, isnt
Haunted by every tiny detail
Cos when she held that lovely face in her hands
All she thought of was betrayal

And now the cynical ones say that it all ends the same in the long run
Try telling that to the desperate father who just squeezed the life from his only son
And how it's only voices in your head and dreams you never dreamt
Try telling him the subtle difference between justice and contempt
Try telling me she isn't angry with this pitiful discontent
When they flaunt it in your face as you line up for punishment
And then expect you to say thank you straighten up, look proud and pleased
Because youve only got the symptoms, you haven't got the whole disease
Just like a schoolboy, whose heads like a tin-can
Filled up with dreams then poured down the drain
Try telling that to the boys on both sides, being blown to bits or beaten and maimed
Who takes all the glory and none of the shame

Well I hope you live long now, I pray the lord your soul to keep
I think I'll be going before we fold our arms and start to weep
I never thought for a moment that human life could be so cheap
Cos when they finally put you in the ground
They'll stand there laughing and tramp the dirt down

you must stay, little darling
when your crawling feet are safe
mommy loves you little darling
wait for these things to shape

meanwhile dream a little while longer
just missing things got a little stronger
meanwhile there are things to do
understand father needs to...

sweet shop sindhi-bengali mix
ooh, you were such a minx
that burfi halwa from Karachi
never thought you'd be so swarthi

paint shop arts at the start
beds popping bubble sheet mats
each time anyone moved to receive
the truth we dared to conceive

till now i cared no less for cricket
I know I'm Indian, its weird
then i met my ranji-walli father in law
now i absolutely hate it

he's the cream
He has my only dream
He has my baby
He has his own too
So why mine, i scream
father in law above
law above father in use
you won't ever win
since i can't ever lose.

November 02, 2010 10:30am Tuesday

3 days before Diwali. It's going to be dark. Way I see it, I have to make rent first before I can make the Goddess of wealth happy. Well, Diwali has been a rich man's festival for some time now. Days are getting shorter...
Just had an anxiety attack; prayed. Surrendered to the pain of love. Maybe later I'll know the pain as my reason to live but right now it hurts like brain surgery to a rabbit! Need help.

Once I get out of here, what will it be like?

Who is this man you profane?

Who is this man you profane
Can you look him in the eye
And explain why brides cry?
Justify why you can't
Once again try or even
Understand the things
He can and the difference
Between the past and a plan

I Wish We Never Fought

Every time you start to scream

Is it revenge for how your life has been?

Every time you walked out it was

Another rehearsal for a broken dream

You got my baby with you

Remember when you were my baby

This winter has been especially hazy

And living without you is driving me crazy

Inside I still believe in our love

Outside everyone tells me otherwise

I just pray to the lord above

I hear just what in your voice

Turning me inside out

Wondering to shout or not

Maybe I’ve just lost a lot

Of blood as well as the plot

Yes, your love’s in my veins

Just like a blood clot

I swear by the way it pains

I wish we never fought

Tearing me apart

Right from the start

Everyone did their part

But it was a bad start

Now I stare at the moon

Now I see my own wound

Now I’ll do what I could

Not do when I knew I should

Yes, your love is in my veins ß veins

Just like a vacant slot ß vacant slot

In loves lost ill-gotten gains ß ill-gotten gains

Against common in law refrains ßcommon in law refrains

But I swear by the way it pains

I wish we never fought

You SEE

I and you, you and I

We had to try

We had to try and be

The worst we could be

Since then living with me

Can’t say it’s done much

Obviously your love’s free

Even though it’s my baby

I thought we could manage

Start a family of three

Till your father made you realize

Money was more important than me

CH:

Now you’ve gone and

Nights are long without

These parts of me

I never stopped

Loving you

You see

Since I am not your lover

There can be no other

Feels like I should die without you

But that’s such an old-fashioned thing to do

I never knew I would be like this

If only I knew back then I wish

I had to soften in the face of loss

And learn in love pride’s hogwash.

Fading like an old TV set

Loosing colour till a point of light

Hums in your ear and dissappers

If I knew that to say

I would not privately stay

Me fading in places that

Never saw the light of day

17 October

Small changes like seeing the afternoon sun (and moon) after months. Walking from GK2 to Nehru Place like I used to when I lived in CR Park.

Back home to feed the dog and listen to reggae records. I am trying to regain a little Buddha-nature and not be impressed by the world and people in front of me. I finally have a fully internal loop on which my train of thought runs. I no longer need look for askance or justification for my existence.

I occur because I am. I no longer wonder about other human beings around. This little ledge of peace took days of climbing up the wet hillside crying in the rain. Now I can reach into darkness and feel the empty other side. I hope to imbibe some of the darkness. It will be my home as well.

This is the sweetest and strangest sadness of my life. To leave the dead and carry on isn’t as hard as leaving the living to carry on. I must love myself since there is no one living with me whom I can talk to.

Suggestive Type!

I grew a little tired of my daily writing and editing job and wanted to break away from the sound of words and the syllables associated with the very alphabet itself (in the English language). Since I have always liked typography, I grabbed an ordinary stencil and pen and this time stared at the letters till I was seeing shapes instead of sounds. I did find new meaning in this sparse idiom. Incidentally,  'A finger pointing at the moon is not the moon,' is the punchline to a zen koan and is worth remembering.

Gossiping Monks

'A finger pointing at the moon is not the moon itself.'

Suggestive Type!

Effluent

Suggestive Type!

Punching Bag

Baggy Paunch

Maternity

Bastard

Motherhood

Suggestive Type!

Assembly Line 

C-U-M Together

just...

Suggestive Type 3

Suggestive Type 4 (Involving Armchair)

Suggestive Type 5

C-U-M Together In Harmony

Suggestive Type!

2B or not 2B

Feeding Fish

Traffic Warden

EQistrian

R U OK?

Walking My Dog

My series called Suggestive Type

IC

Look No 'G'

suggestive type1

untitled

Keyboard

untitled

suggestive type 2

untitled

JUNIOR

I used to fondly ask,' Is there a lion at the bottom of the garden?'  Now there is a dog at the corner of the painting!