There`s no escaping

The left overs were buried, the ground flattened. Its like when you hit mute after a chaotic delirium , the quiet that follows, deafens you. Then you know, for sure, that there will be no signs of life, lets remove the uncertainty, lets say there is no sign of life.

This ground zero is a mega plot of my existence.

If you go out for a casual stroll, you'll find parts of me, strewn around the trains, the beaches, the pavements. Like remnants of an exploded bomb, not the destruction the bomb caused, no not that, the remnants of the time bomb itself. The leftovers.

I always felt combustible within the city, the sense of explosion always kept ticking. It was cruel, but so is hope, all variants of it.

Sometime these past years, it ticked off, the ground zero is no longer a flat plateau,  studded with valleys, volcanoes and trenches. They say this is life, sigh!

 there's no escaping, is there?

Hindi

Chuppi si kuch cha gayi hai,
Hawa bhi kuch mand si..

Chuppi si kuch cha gayi hai ghalib,
Hawa bhi kuch mand si..

Kabristan me jab ek hasi ghunji,
Khush thi woh, murda lash bhi..

Hum to ji gaye janaab, is katl e aam me,
Wo kehte ab baari aap ki..

Nihil est momenti'

Nothing is important - if there was ever a motto in this life..Nihil est momenti.. would be it..latin makes everything important and adds an intellectual zing to the statement.. An intellectual zing adds a level coolness to the idea of philosophy.. I need it.

Talking of philosophy - i think we came out nothing, yea absurd as it might sound, the idea has started to spread its reign in my head. In the beginning, there was nothing. Even before the 'beginning' there was nothing. Because,  for something to exist nothing ought to exist too. Right?

My argument towards it, is the idea that comes to your mind. First there is nothing and suddenly - 'pop' its there, right where nothing had previously existed. Filling the vacuum.

So, nothing is on one side of the equation. Any guesses on what ought to exist on the other side to make it even or odd for that matter..

Nothing balances out nothing. Void for void. Empty for the enormous vacuum. Nihil Gratis.

So that's all this entire song and dance is about. We start with nothing and end up with nothing. Does it not fit in - all of this into an enormous, a big fat, a gigantic nothing.

A circle, our planet earth is a big zero. Ending where it started.

That's broad isn't it, that's the infinite universe's scheme of things.
What are we, we mammals doing here?

Judging by history, we are just being pricks, devising ways of laying to dust, the only place ( a tiny speck, but the only place) in the universe, that let us thrive. But us individually too, the micro-scopic level - no matter what you do - once the screen zooms out - your effort would've been so tiny, that calling it infinitesimal small would be overestimating.

Our lives never had a purpose, those of us who think otherwise are only fooling themselves.

You do your little thing, but forget about any god, forget about any good or bad ( they are only a matter of perception), don't do it cause the flow of existence asks you to.

 There's no higher purpose - except nothing. Because nihil est momenti



Facts:

We are one planet orbitting around one star in one galaxy. There are at least 150,000,000,000 such galaxies

Hdk

August 1 notes

Memories are made of clouds, i sometimes think. Their gravity, content, the moisture, the light, the dark dampness and the way they pass through and through over the skies of my little worldly brain, makes me think they are clouds or cloud like – enormous in size and content, but made of something that is soft and light as nothing. There is a colossal psychology laboratory in my head and I think that’s where all of these clouds reside, regenerate, de-generate. Thoughts too, then, are lightening and thunder that accompany these memories.

All of this, combined, rains on my light being; drenching me and I, like a sheet of paper – become soggy, unusable and devoid of any crispness. And if an unsuspecting being, under mindful consideration, tries to pick me up, all it does is tear my fabric up and destroy the last thing I hold dear, my completeness.

These clouds are the end of me.

Happy Birthday Franz.

I'd almost given up on words Franz, but its your birthday today. I have to, and now when you read it, i'll change it to - i had to, wallow in, scratch - scrub - dig - pierce through this sand and be bright and shiny. For its your birthday today dear friend.

The confusion of being, when seen through the third person is eventful and one can even laugh at oneself for being naive - I've been naive all this time - all this time, now the past - a past so gloriously defining us and our boundaries - forever binding us - and pushing us towards - the end, that cliff which when the soul jumps - the body is pronounced dead. I think all we are doing is suffering for our past - but this your birthday Franz - you validated and approved of my need to sob - cringe - to be weakened and be mindful of a power within me - within us, that grabs, throws us into the mighty abyss. And while i was rummaging through this greyness - your words, you - told me its OK. And today on your birthday Franz - i want to thank you for it - in a mumble, in a corner - beyond the window sill - in the night Franz - i thank you.

For sometimes, when the night is the darkest - you turn black and swallow it.

in bombay

14/6/15:

I am in bombay today, i must feel like i have come home.

The idea of a home, the house - has blurred in my head - i feel like i no longer belong, nor here, nor there. The idea of moving, through places and time, too hasn't made home in my head. A limbo.

My head, is recovering from a childhood and the adolescence - i now feel, at 25 - i must spend a good part of my life recovering. A recovery.

I recover or say, i try,  from everything I've lost - things that were either not mine to keep or choose not to be, but things i held dear nevertheless. My own.

I am left holding nothing dear and at this point of time ( i wrote juncture - but couldn't carry its heaviness), there's nothing i want to do or achieve - to say it in naked, unashamed words -there`s aimless. Drifting

Nothing makes sense, nothing holds on, the permanence i so longed for, from the time i had my first mature thot, has ceased to grant itself to me. And all I'm now living in, is, in its weakest form - the temporal. The tempest. Where the choices i make seem immaterial - there's no better or worse, all that is, is temporary.


The restlessness of the sea, shores up this mind. I get tired of these silly rants, when nothing makes sense amidst all these flying thoughts

hdk

Honk

When i drive.. I turn into a maniac. My condition, I'm told is a constant state of mania - for all the time i spend on the ground, which is, all the time, when I'm awake.

Its my lack of attention that we drifted from driving, something i don't do without a signal.

While I'm driving my compulsive disorder is at its prime - i think. I abuse at the vehicle which turns without intimating me while I'm driving behind it - i curse at those who cut lanes, i smite those who blare their lights on my eyes, i plan to kill those who appear out of nowhere and startle me and my optimum balance.

Humans, I'm told learn the fine art of cursing when they are driving. Its true. For those of us who abide the rules, those who don't, are an absolute shame and should be thrown of this planet.

I began wrong, those of us who don't understand and want to follow the nuances that involve sharing road - should be barred from using one. So its not me being a maniac, its them.

And the fact that i like things to be in their proper place, shouldnt be termed obsessive, nor a disorder.

Honk!

the problem

I wouldn't. But here u go.

There's no frame of mind.. I think d frame is emptied and sublet to space. Everything that invariably remains is outside it and all I'm doing is waiting for it to wither away.. And then crumble the frame too. The more easy it seems the difficult it gets..but all of this, still, resides in some kind of frame - its infinity is in its emptiness

I sometimes have a very strong feeling of throwing away my cfa books and start reading him.. In one of his books he writes I'm a cage in search of a bird.. I dunno but it does feel like that.. Otherwise the purposelessness gets the better of everything i do and mean

A lack of purpose wouldn't be a frame of mind.. Its more of a condition.. Hah.. A frame of mind is temporary.. An incurable condition is vast in its permanence..
And so i must throw my fone away and stop ...

My problem of seeking balance ruins happiness and muffles sadness

Nightmares and you

I had a nightmare last night.

Nights,
 they gulp you down.
At times when you wake up in your dreams,

You're at the bottom of the ocean.
In space,
 floating,
sucking into a blackhole.

In your thoughts then,
 maybe - a tiny speck in the vast expanse.

The oceans,
the space,
your thoughts.

Then come you,
 bursting through,
 darling.

A wand in hand.

Lumos.
You.
Light.

A dream is you, everything else is just a nightmare.

Hdk

Choke

 no body to talk to..
 no thing to talk about..
no taste for the bitter time
The sour life..
The crunchy life..

Munch, munch, munch.
How much, munch, munch.
Choke.

Sleep

Sleep.

Walks in my presence..
caresses me..
places her loving hand on my forehead..

Ruffles my tidy black hair..
A man, in her presence is a  boy..

She puts a cork on the restless mind..
There is no numbness when she's present..

A mute on the loud world..
and suddenly it's black and quite -
why, is this then, not my natural state..

Another world, greets me,
unrobes me,

the uncomplicated man..
who grows ever so tired of looking at fellow civilisation and absorbing..

Absorbing everything they throw at him..

When I have nothing to feed them -  just wants to work, earn, b loved and come back to sleep.
A man's life..hidden under all the philosophical complexities..

 a miserable man, at 24, i`m called - you're only 24 - can a man of.24 not have peace....

I grow tired of the terrible complexities of people around me..and so I come to you...my dear - sleep
Coz even spelled around you are peels.. As us unrobe my mind - peel it of all thot - a calm then spreads as a blanket on winters evening..

Soft and comfortable..she tells me there's nothing to worry about...

My mistress, my sleep..

Hdk

Spillovers

Putting a stopper to the chaos within..

The vessel's already full ..the tap keeps the water running.
.
The spilled over brain cells is what you see in my eyes..

is what you hear me speak..

it is wat I cannot ..cannot retain within my world..

And that is what comes out.

The spillovers.. The content within the vessel then..is never changing...

Pushed around

We're all spinning  - so many miles per hour, around ourselves, around everything that is around us. Round and round.

Quietly as I'm typing this, the breeze, breathes around me,  circles around.

She's traveled places she tells me, to comfort me in this peaceful darkness. Its peaceful because the noises dont hurt now, its quiet because I'm not under the sun - I'm not what i claim to be. She turns around again and shush's me, not now she says, not now.

Now you lay back, stop spinning, you take a pause. Gently, she closes my eyes and sings the songs of her travels. She's tired too, she says, as she ruffles me one last time, before breathing down and dying.
The winds died down Joe, says a voice.

"Yea, she's tired down" i mumble, in my sleep as we stop spinning, stop twirling.

.. random ..almost in tandem

It is windy today..
The tshirt flaps and continues flapping ..
almost trying to awaken what's not there inside...
It brings relief for the body..

The mind -
is but a cold marble forever placed on the forehead..
Heavy and Dense..
Crushing ..

It sometimes feels - when I stop lifting it..the burden falls over and I sleep..

Lamenting

I resign to these words - beneath the cloudless skies..
Hdk

Floating

The pretense of floating through and through has its own fun. How easy it is to deceive yourself into believing and then floating, whirlpool after whirlpool - floating - believing in "its ok", " it could be worse", "it hasn't drowned you yet"

The terrible numbness that follows has its own blithering pleasure, while you're still floating - without a life boat - why need one?

The water - tears of joy and pain - one dip in all the self pity and you feel the tremendous urge to not raise the head upwards, keep sinking downwards, wallowing in the laziness it brings along with it.

Theres fun in it, all the struggles we call struggles, all the joy we call joy and all that fills this immense, silent and stony self - the experience of dragging yourself to experience this experience - is fun.

Then there's floating, we are all floating.

one day. We'll walk.

If you love yourself, go mad

I like to think I'm crazy. I relate to madness as it relates to me. If it had blood, I'd adopt it as my father and learn from it.

The asylum would be my home.

I'd lay in the asylum garden, look at the sky,smile. I'd smile and the clouds would form to  reciprocate.

 A visit to the asylum would teach life lessons, on how its cruel to live your life not being called mad. It is not a condition but a way of life.

If you love yourself, go mad.

Hdk

the beach song

The beach is, where the heart is..

The symphony, my mind sings...

Crashing waves,caressing sand

Silent skies, This world,

Right here, ends

Waters breathe, soulful songs,

Whistling winds, they so long,

They compose and whistle,

And dance away,

As the sand mourns,

For its love in the bay..

The mockingbird talks,  ending stories with a sigh,

Ecstatic audience, swaying, they're high.

 the singing ends, and the stories stop,

I pick my heart, throw it, from the moutain top,

You belong not me - you belong to the sea.

For you still beat and dream and long,

I sit and wonder and sing a new song.

Hdk

..what am i turning into

15/07/2015:

I mentally updated this note every month - the worthlessness of this entire exercise, my own relentless background noise (and it grows even chaotic when i try to muster courage to do this) and this everlasting powerlessness.

What do you do when the doctor asks you to get up and look outside and take a walk - or atleast try and get up or atleast think about trying to get up, to atleast think.

 I dont like people coming over to visit when i am sick, I dont like people visiting, it turns into a monologue where i m compelled to entertain them, I dont like doing that - its a great mental effort

I am not bored though - i wonder why, I get angry, I have become rude, as a person - i wonder why
 incompetence is something i cannot see the sight of - I wonder a lot things.

The day i fell sick - I felt i was not present anywhere where my body was - for one distinct moment i felt i wasn't there in that same place. i felt my eyes being sucked in - it felt good that i wasn`t here.

Over all of this - its not raining - i want rains, I want rains so bad - I might even pray. I have a lot of results coming up in the next few days - I am not excited - nothing excites me.

I end up asking the same question every single time, what am i turning into - a giant narcissistic baboon - cause despite all of this, my love for my own self has not waned. I wonder why

21/02/15:

I am here, between the shadows, walking, with my weak legs - A sense of dread, a calling, accompanies me. The ringing in the ears does not die, it follows me, like a master trails a slave - a slave, which is his last possession, he doesnot remember what else he holds, owns. Except the slave, except this ringing. 

Forgetfulness is now a way of life. Its that master - who wouldn't know what to do with the slave except to keep walking with him. This blind static, has thus, become my partner, my owner- through a life lived within a thin existence and this burning in the bones.. 

This ringing, is thus, a  distraction - there's times when i forget what things are called, there's times when i forget forgetting, there's times when the second takes an hour to tick and pauses - puffs,looks around for help, is breathless and then, in this moment of weakness - takes a giant leap towards the next and falls into the abyss, a second thus, is lost; those are my worst moments, else, I'm happy with this ringing - this gentle static which keeps telling me I'm still here and i have to walk..take the leap, live.

-what am i turning into?

21/01/15:

2 am. 21st January.

The day passed,14 hours, me and the monitor at work. My system. There, i believe, is a reason its called so - my system.

I'm home and am the mirror is staring back at me. Sunken eyes ask, with a pregnant pause. What am i turning into?

My indifference to the magnificence around me, lack of will - to raise my head - sluggishly - to people who open their mouths, smelling like gates of hell, disregarding the need for nutrition.

To not add words to meaning less diary notes - words which seethe of   my  dry, bony, ironic - existence and the pain, this inscrutable pain

-what am i turning into?

Train Station

A visit to the train station, early in the morning

board a train to the silly clouds or to the wise sea trenches.. to the dark lands of hysteria or to the cheerful forest branches..

board a train towards the mighty heavens, where brave old men of yore dwell.. Or to the loathsome, the spiteful, ignorant yet funny men yell - the vulgar hell..

Take a train to some place goddammit.. Take a train, get away from this narrow shell.

Hdk

Darkness

Lights on the coffee house sparkled, the quiet, almost mum, darkness, blended in.

Psychedelically, they both it seemed were having a conversation about life and its various shades..

When the conversation turned to darkness, turning on the shore of lights, to have a good time, when darkness just started to curl up that grin someone pulled the plug...

And darkness plunged and it all quietly ended - the melancholy of the dark was not seen in the absence of light..

No one ever knew !

hdk

Are we all, just the same??

A calming sea framed
Rippling water under it, tamed

Trees hide for cover..
Let the sea monster hover..

Beneath the blue pane..
A question driving me insane

Whats beyond the cover
Whats beyond the frame..

Am i the ruler or am i the slave
Am i boundless or am i just the sa ne?

 Let the sea monster hover..
Let me be its game..

Theres no fun in sanity..
Theres no taming, I've got no name..

Ask the stars, do they shine in vain?
Ask them, are we all just the same?

Hdk

The Mood

The mood is to twirl the universe -
gulp it in, one swallow..

The mood is to choke on it -
show it,  i ain't so hollow..

The mood is an everlasting
state of high..

This mood is,
at the end of my sigh..

The mood is to befriend gravity.
not comply..

The mood is to free fall,
in ecstasy i fly .

The mood is to take another swallow -
this time.

i die -

the universe is me - this mood is vile

Hdk

Hindi : Mai baitha hu yaahan

Mai baitha hu yahan..
Meri kaynat ko simat kar

Mai baitha hu yahan..
Meri aah ko lipat kar..

Mai baitha hu yahan.. Aasma ki sateh par..

Zameen khilkhilati neeche.. Dhalte suraj ki chamak par..

Mai baitha hu yahan..
Gairo ki tarah..

Inn sitaro k beech..
Iss jag magati mehfil k beech..

Mai baitha hu yahan..
Baitha hi raha..

Kayanat guzar gayi..
Meri ruuh bhatak gayi..

Mai baitha hi raha..
Jannat guzar gayi ..
Meri maut bhatak gayi.

Hdk

Dreams

castle's locked down..
Silent, without a sound

Dull, dark and quiet..
Magnificent grey abound..

 kid runs along..
Mom, look what i found..

 forest, dense, green..
Found sleeping..on a mound,

A breathless,
Tired hound

Gunshot wound,
The human mass on the ground..

They said its Worth a pound..

A prisoner,his chain's off -
Why won't he walk around

Kid comes back again,
Mom, look what i found.

Come back,
Turn around

Hdk