Lost and found

The last beams of soft sunset ebbed away slowly…I was still at my desk, thinking. Reminiscing the past. I was strolling through the unnamed streets of gone days, where each window had a memory on sale. I pulled my coat together, in an effort to warm myself, as a gust of wind blew over me; making a chill run down my spine.

And then—I stumbled into someone. A pile of photographs scattered on the pavement: some colored, some black and white and a few sepia. Each photograph calling out to me: with crippled hands enclosed within the photo paper. I bent down to help him gather the pictures. As I started gathering the photographs, I saw a portrait in black and white—it was a girl—me! I kept staring at the picture: A youthful face, smiling lips, twinkling eyes—I could feel the colors through the colorlessness. “Thank you so much!” said the man, as I handed him the portrait reluctantly. He was still standing there, perhaps waiting for me to look at him for once. “You’re wel…” I stopped mid-sentence. I was stunned. He had a face I’d not seen for so long that I should’ve forgotten the features. It was a face—engraved with the harsh tides of the past decade—you! Brimming with tears, I turned my eyes away and ran—as fast as my feet could take me—far, far away. Maybe you should have tried to call me back for once…

A figure in the fog

A bend in the country road;

Lost and found.

The Great Indian Dream Legacy

We often talk about dreams. Big dreams, small dreams, possible dreams and even impossible dreams. People say, “I have a dream that one day I’ll…” Perhaps own a house on the seaside, set up a business empire, get a book published, be an actor in Bollywood. We don’t stop to wonder why we have that dream in the first place. Sometimes though, when we come across hurdles, get knocked down or receive a massive shock, we do wonder if it’s even worth it, or if we’d really want to go through all that in the first place.

Our generation is one with parents who couldn’t fulfill their dreams because of their parents who couldn’t do the same because of their parents. So it’s basically a hereditary thing: people have dreams when they’re young, think they can achieve it, but then get stuck because they come to a diversion where they have to choose either what their parents expect them to do, or what they really want to do. Then comes the stereotypical ideology of ‘sanskaar’—another set of beliefs that Indian society has imposed on individuals over the millenia of its evolution so that happiness becomes a rare commodity which people have to chase. They reluctantly choose to do as their parents expect, and then live their lives regretting not choosing their dreams. And then comes marriage—ideally an arranged one, what with all the ‘kundli-matching’ and gossip about who is giving what jewelry. And that, essentially is followed by children, and then a hope that what they couldn’t do, their children will do. This being the infinite loop executed by the societal system in India, brings upon us, by the principle of induction, the ‘responsibility’ of fulfilling the dreams that our parents could never fulfill. So then, my question is, who is going to fulfill our dreams? Society says, our children. Oh really?

When we realise the importance of listening to our heart, happiness will cease to be a rare commodity and instead be found everywhere. Won’t that be nice? I mean, who doesn’t want to be happy? In fact, our predecessors have denied their dreams because if they denied what their parents told them to do, their parents would have been hurt. And hurting your parents is definitely not good. And then, enter human conscience—it doesn’t let you be happy because you regret what makes you happy. You regret having chosen your dreams because it hurt your parents, and that’s a wrong thing to do! Thus, our predecessors obediently broke their own hearts and did what their parents told them to do because “parents always know what’s good for you”. But then, the dream came back when they became parents themselves, and since they now had the responsibility of bringing the children up, they had just one option in sight—putting the responsibility of fulfilling their dreams on the shoulders of their children without even asking them whether they want to do it or not. Besides, the ancient ‘sanskaars’ were already beginning to percolate the minds of the children. As a result, they too, unquestioningly accepted what their parents wanted of them. And by the generations, this culture has reached us. Can we break it? Can we stop being losers and actually make our life worthwhile while we have it? The answer is, yes! All we need is a little love and understanding. All we need is not to be judged for our flaws and instead be encouraged to do what we love.

What our parents need to realise is that we weren’t born to fulfil their dreams. We were born so that we could make them proud. No parent would ever be proud of a child who failed. And then how do you expect we will succeed in what you thought you’d succeed in? How do you expect an artistically inclined child to be an engineer just because you couldn’t be one? I mean, we’re not you, are we? My point is, I think we need to break this vicious cycle of one generation’s dreams being passed on to the next because “what will people say?” governs our decisions. We need to be people who succeed, people who dream and then dare to achieve them. We need to show society that the rules it made for us—fulfilling our parents’ dreams and saving our own for our children to fulfill—are meant to be broken. We need to cease being people who follow the pattern set by society. If flowers were similar to leaves, we’d probably never take much interest in them. Flowers are pretty because they are not what they should have been in order to ‘fit in’ their surroundings—leaves.

So, now it's on us to decide what we choose. I know I have the potential and I will fight for nothing else the way I will for my very own dreams. So I choose my dreams. What do you choose: sanskaar, or happiness?

What is Life?

Is it breath, is it hunger,

Is it the presence of joy or anger?

Is it fire, or is it air?

Is it dark, or is it fair?

What is life?

They tell me life is a timespan

When was it that life began?

They tell me life ends in death

But is life just a feeble breath?

What is life?

The green in the meadows, the shine in the stream,

Is it all life, or is life just a dream?

If this is a dream, then what is true?

Is there a life, whose dream we pursue?

If that is true, when shall we rise?

What shall we see when we open our eyes?

What is life?

I wonder, if life is a myth that God has created

Then He cannot be alive, so, is God dead?

If life and death were made, what existed before the two?

If afterlife exists, is there an ‘afterdeath’ too?

Sometimes I wonder, if I am alive, then one day I must die;

What will I see then, what world, will appear before my eye?

What is life?

The blush in a loved face, is it life?

The sparkle in fireflies, is it life?

The magic of a lullaby, is it life?

The glow of a sunset, is it life?

Or is it the mundane gait of everyday,

The wind in trees, the tide in a bay?

The wetness in a teardrop, the brightness of a smile

Or the profoundness in a moment, the brevity in a mile.

What is life?

They tell me life is a journey, where are we going to?

If we are going somewhere, we must belong somewhere too.

If we’re going to heaven, where were we until now?

Why did we leave that place, was it unpleasant somehow?

Why do we all the ravages of time endure?

If we know that life is a journey for sure?

Why then does this question occur to me again and again:

Why then, do I ask, had it been in vain—

What is life?

Digital Death

I’m walking down the deserted alleys of binary digits.  A dull gray sky filled with clouds of scattered pixels looms over me.  Zeroes and Ones flock around my existence—more zeroes than ones—perhaps in this digital world, like things come together more than unlike.  Walking further down the broken circuits, I find all deleted data regenerating itself—mostly letters, and ellipsis…

Last login years ago

13.2 Megabytes

Of lost memory

The server has been out of order for a long time now.  All folders scanned with utmost precision—no viruses found!  Yet the wizard complains repeatedly, “system error suspected”.  Perhaps the deleted files have stung the memory and made it corrupt.

And yet, all you will see in me is the living corpse of an untamed monster, growling and gnawing at the chains of lost memory that bind its limbs to the pressure-sensitive film cage—virtually choking to death among integrated circuits that toll the death knell of its encryption.

System clock reads 00:00

Smothered cries

Of a JPEG file…

Granny

It was getting dark as I hurried past the bakery, into the dark, almost desolate alley that led to my rented room in Campbell street. As I was passing, a whiff of wind blew the fragrance of a freshly made chocolate mousse towards me. “Here’s a helping of nicey tasty chocolatey chocolate mousse for princess Roselle!” Granny said as she placed the bone china platter before me. I attacked it instantly, and within minutes, the platter was bare, and my little mouth bordered with chocolate. “Excuse me, could you please clear the way?” An elderly man coughed as I realised I was blocking the pavement. “I’m sorry.” I moaned, and resumed the slow, weary walk back to the place I now called ‘home’.

Lost dollhouse in tears

A February evening

Déjà vu returns

She died of a heart attack two years back. All that remains is this reminiscence that still lingers within my heart. Wherever I go, she will always live in my heart. Those neat little pigtails she’d make out of my hair, those fairytales she told me every night, those lullabyes, delicious cakes, cookies, brownies, the little blankets, cowls and sweaters she used to knit for me…everything seems just as alive as I am in this moment. Where did those paper boats sail away? When did the snowflakes melt? I wonder if she misses me from heaven, but I wish I could hold her hand once more.

Broken mason jar

Fireflies still hover at night

The chill of summer.