Random Echoes

It's intersting to see how nature favours assosciation of things to create innovations.This happens in two ways;when the old sheds and when union happens.

Alchemy is so amusing. The search for gold, the coversions for something better. It's evolution into chemistry which made us believe in amalgamations to form something new. The same happens when insects moult to form a novel life form or a pre-step to that, egg to cocoon to larva to butterfly. The beautiful change, the shedding of the old to meet the exhilerating experience which life offers at each stage. How nervous larva must be inside the cocoon. The foetus who otherwise was silently laying in the womb would have such a harsh encounter with the stimulus of light falling on the pupil. How much pain must have been endured in leaving the old and meeting the new.

I wonder why god has been so biased in this change process. I have no memory of light falling on my pupil  but it excites me to see the new born's reaction when it happens. How my identity would have been as an egg who was quitely sitting in the uterus or may be as a sperm who never knew that it would survive to contribute to a newer identity. It amuses me how I am sum total of all the randomness that happened in creation of my identity. I have no memory of these random encounters though but I try hard to understand it even at the cost of proving myself a fool. Well, do I care but conditioned thoughts make me think that I care but I still know I don't care.Oflate caring for larger masses have been such a utopian philanthropic thought for me and I am fed up of all philanthropies. Why god decided to make me forget all these random experiences but wished that I remember some of them? I would never ever forget the ugliest feeling I had to see the travails of my grandparents in old age. How can I ever forget my public humiliation as a kid when I would come last at 100 m race. Why can't I forget the ugliness of my assosciation with some people. Why  god wants me to get a vicarious experience in certain aspects and the first hand in some? 

In both the cases, I moulted to become something new. The transitions have been tough but the sail has been adventuraous. Tlhe pleasant and the unpleasant, both have contributed to my 'I' at this point of time. I am glad that I am not a monolith and I wonder how confidently and how long I wiill be using this 'I'.

Conundrum

In that agression, the renaissance man never knew what he did to me.

 For I knew deep down, with each stroke of brush I was turning prettier, identifying the subtle shades within me. The mesmerising painting, his brush and colours flowing within me. We were engrossed in each other.It seems like a never ending journey.The best symbiosis we could ever experience.

I showed the painting to mirror today. The mirror smiled . Oh! wait it was me who smiled :) .The mirror laughed at me and I blushed. This euphoria confuses him. He would be a painter forever without knowing the reason ever.

we laughed at his fate, both the mirror and me. The Renaissance man would have the renaissance after he finishes but he would finish only when I get finshed. He is fatigued, tired..mesmerised by colours, he is starting again. The colours oozing out of me fervently..the one he has never seen before..painting was his fate...and I am at bliss, I am the painting.

Refuse

How to keep a heavy heart, with the ego intact,

and every time I tried, my pieces fell apart,
the pieces in different hands,
dazzling like the particles in the sand

At the abyss of my consciousness,
I knew I could do it someday.
the pieces joined; falling and not breaking

Thus, when I grew up,
I was meant to weigh heavier,
in the body, soul and heart.

Au revoir

As I sailed off-shore, I waved good bye to them.
I saw them in tears, and drank mine too.
Our oceans different, we would never connect

Inside the veil, I was drifting with them,

The illusionary figures in the vicinity,

pulling me farther away from the reality.

They swam with me for a distance,

those angels seemed in transition,

we needed resistance,

Proximity was against my volition.

With each stroke, the figures became vivid

The masterpiece created, the untimely art,

gifting so much sorrow to the heart.

The figures were so surreal,

To escape from the art was a demand so unreal.

The Demise of God

The death of Krishna is disturbing. Krishna, who had been my reason to believe in Hinduism, dies too at the end. As I finished another interpretation of Mahabharata for the third time, my heart is filled with agony. My belief in Krishna made me feel that I can have a niche in the religion. I can be somewhere between a staunch fundamentalist and intolerant secularist. I cannot be atheist. Somehow, I always managed to escape the death of the super hero in the earlier versions but this time my heart is filled with grief after reading about his death in detail. Krishna, the strategist dies the meanest death possible in the history. He dies like a commoner when the arrow of the hunter hits him. Unlike Duryodhana’s and Karna’s death, when petals fell from the sky on their bodies, Krishna dies an unknown death; his offence being breaching dharma at various points and here I was illusioned to believe that Krishna is the super hero of the history. As a ritual of my life, I visited the Krishna today; I looked into his eyes and asked him, ‘Are you here?’ I am deeply hurt to know that Krishna was mortal too. There is a sense of emptiness, too personal to explain in words. At Krishna’s death it’s Karna’ lines which give me some sense of relief, I see it now: this world is swiftly passing. Ironically, I know deep down that when I would be reading Mahabharata for the nth time, I would still be asking Krishna for all the support to read about his death. Such is the illusion created by Krishna.

Destruction...

The deceptive smile, and my receptive smile, one blow And I die again. I have always enjoyed the consequences of death, the macabre ghastly death which just washes away all acquired in one blow; the imperfections, the negativities and the unsolved. It takes away all, the unwanted and the wanted, and I am left to create again. There is a catch in this. I thought that I was born to acquire again, afresh, the better acquisitions this time. The vicious cycle continued till the time I understood the futility of the process. Acquisition was the byproduct. Understanding futility was something in which I should have been interested in.

Conversing with God

You threw the dice again,
Two down to the south
Two to the north,

Together it made six but again I am in a fix!!



They said it’s all for good,
And I pondered, wasn’t that a better good!!
When I smiled I laughed. The absolute me
Absorbed completely in each moment

The seventeen muscles had put up the show,
in the unision the white pearls bowed,
The grand applaud, I could hear

And you just saw the trickle of tear!


You threw the dice again, pushed me for better
And I pondered wasn’t this a better good.