One step at a time

My alarm rings. My survival sense kicks in and i shut it off with incredible speed. It is a habit now.

The real world is so frightening. I  strongly question my  need of waking up .I don’t wake up from nightmares. I wake up into them.

My feet are ice cold and my legs are shaking badly.

 Its summer in Mumbai.

I sleep for another half an hour. Hoping the things will change by the time i wake up again.

The next half hour passes excruciatingly slowly but when it does it seems to have been all too quick. 

Nothing seems to have changed.

I take long breaths. One breath at a time. There is nothing else in this world that matters, just the next breath. Just one breath at a time. This gives me a semblance of strength. I manage to pull myself out of my bed.

But as soon as i do the reality starts overpowering me again. I hyperventilate.

I start consoling myself. Break down the day into hours, hours into minutes,  i say . A minute passes by, I survive it. Nothing happens to me. I wait for another minute to pass me by. Another , and another and another. If i can survive five i can survive the next thousand too.

 I go to the washbasin. I see a hideous person in front of me. I try to be brave. I try to greet him with a smile. My cheeks froze. I cannot smile.

I open my mouth. I begin to brush my teeth.
 1-2-3-4  Pause
1-2-3-4 Pause
I change the direction I go to gums . I am back at front teeth.

As i brush my teeth i feel calm. I feel like a warrior bravely fighting away ages of filth. Slowly and steadily.
One step at a time.
Just One step at a time.

I take a bath. I pour a mug over me. The warmth comforts me. I pour another mug and i realise that i cannot stop the process. For my mind knows what will happen when this ends. The world outside is now licking its lips waiting for me to come out. I keep on pouring mugs. One after another until the hot water runs out.

Its time now. I say my prayers.

I kick start my bike. A SUV passes close to me and sprays dirt over me. I am too disinterested to notice how bad my shirt looks and too tired to argue either. I keep on riding my bike. I am close to my office now.

As i reach the last turn a wild idea hits me. What if i just don’t take this turn. What if i just keep on riding . I have enough money in the bank to last for a long time. I certainly do not need this job to survive. I can just leave this world away. Run away to some unknown place. Away from the people, away from the expectation, away from the judgement, away from sympathy, away from the pain in their eyes over the disappointment that i have been.

It brings a smile on my face that leaves me sadder than before. Because i know that nothing like that is going to happen. Because i know that in the next three seconds i will be taking that turn.

I have now reached the building. There is no turning back now.

I feel pain in my chest. Could it be heart attack? How should i feel about my death?  Should i be sad about it or should i simply be relieved that its all over. I cannot decide so i just give up thinking about it.

It’s time to start the daily ritual now. I go into by brain and start shredding ever snippet of me. Step by step until not a modicum of me remains. Tearing oneself from oneself is a very painful operation. Something within me wants to scream madly. I barely manage to muffle the sounds.

I feel a flood of emotions rushing through me.
I am in pain.
I am angry.
I am in disbelief.
I am hurt.

I am exhausted. But the results are almost instantaneous. My identity, my thoughts are all gone now. Only a sense of numbness remains.  

 I reach my desk now and there is nothing to fear. I greet the dullness and mediocrity with  awe and inspiration. Everything is good as long as the numbness in my brain remains.

Its far from permanent. My thoughts my identity will definitely grow back. But everything will be fine.

 I just need to weed myself from my life.

 I just need to kill myself daily.

One day at a time.
One day at a time.

Joy of reading

Whenever i read a story a sense of tranquility dawns on me. I often spend my weekends sprawled on my couch holding the novel above me with both my hands.And more often than not my face will succumb to a soft trace of smile.A smile which is not dictated by the turn of events in the novel. Ofcourse, When Jeeves come up with a crisp meticulous response to a  haphazardly told problem of Wooster, the smile undoubtedly widens. But it is still there when Scout Finch talks of her fear and fascination of 'Boo' Radley.

A part of it could be because of the escape that the story provides from reality. As long as the story is going on  the past present or the future of real world ceases to have any impact on me. But then, this is true for all things that we refer as " break". Whether watching a movie, a tv series or playing a video game. They all suspend reality for a brief time.But while i often feel a sense of emptiness once a series ends, a sense of fulfillment follows an ending of a story. The joy of reading a story has clearly more to it than the mere suspension of the reality.

For an introvert like me the best part is probably  knowing so many non intrusive people. They share with me their happiness their sorrows their entire life. And most of them are like me too.Neither good nor really bad people. And then they only connect to me  through the path of the story. They will not disturb my sense of peace. They will not be the one jumping on me when i  long for the bliss of  absolute silence.They are the rarest of the rare friends. Friends who can sit besides you for hours without having any need for a conversation.

But once again i cannot help but notice the similarities across other mediums. A movie or a TV series both  introduces characters who can be shut on and off based on convenience.And yet there is a difference. Firstly the pace of a novel or a TV series do not allow scope for much character development. Movies or TV series talks of events happening to characters whereas a novel talks of characters going through events. The people inside the story are of more  importance than the story itself. That also explains why habitual readers have such distaste for the recent trend of Chetan Bhagat type books. Born and brought up on a diet of rich layered characters they cannot ignore the  emptiness created by the half sketched one dimensional characters.No matter how easy the language be or how interesting  be the events.

This could also explain why i feel a sense of fulfillment as opposed to emptiness while finishing a novel.When a tv series movie or a video game ends it just crashes me back to reality with nothing else. A novel though interweaves my life with the lives of so many people; imaginary as they may be. The story ends but the people within it do not.

But there is more to it. The connect that i feel with the characters can not just simply be explained by the sheer literary genius that goes behind building them. They seem so close because a part of me lies with them too. A novel will always have a breathing space for characters. There will always be traits that the author simple cannot define however hard he may try. And this breathing space , this chink , this anomaly makes for the most endearing part of it. Because this breathing space is the part where the characters become mine more than the author's. I do the breathing. I assign them traits. I install a part of me or someone i know of in the character.

The author may write the sentence that 'he' speaks. But it is I who decides the pause' he' takes-the pause i take- to begin it. The author may say that 'he' does not look up when 'he' is walking but it is I who decides the "why" for 'him'. And so  they do not just remain some people that i once read about. They become a bit of me. When they share their life me i too inadvertently share a part of me too.

And this is why i love reading a story.

The warrior of Light

Darkness mesmerizes me. This absolute annihilation of light. The great equalizer. Nothing to see, nothing to discriminate against. Nothing to demarcate, nothing to distinguish. You are a part of darkness and yet you are yourself. The darkness accepts you, it engulfs you and not for a minute does it ask you to change.

The place where i go to work is full of light. “A well lit office is a good office”, they say. They have even invaded the integrity o the ceiling. The thick strong ceiling is now but a hollow self of itself with artificial lights piercing right through it. The walls of my office are also brightly coloured. The light swoons on me from above and tackle me from the sides. They tell me, about experiments that relate the illumination of a room to the productivity of the office, with bright smiles on their face. There shining teeth reflecting the bright lights further.

Does it not feel like a deer caught in the headlights, I ask. There is a pause. The smile on their faces fades a bit. But they catch up quickly for nothing bright should ever fade. They compliment me on my wit and smile their glowing radiant smile. Some even laugh trying to make up for the lost sunshine.

There is no wit involved. I am too overwhelmed by light to be left with any. I look at their faces and horror consumes me. Can they not see how gruesome the look. This very light accentuating every expression of cruelty they try to hide beneath the garb of a smile. How come anyone else not sees it? I keep my head down. They say I am an introvert. That i need to change as it affects the team bond. I mumble about promising to try. I still cannot look up.

I come back to my place. I take a bath. It’s a very humid city that I live in. I watch all the dust and damp washing off me as the stream of water hits me. But a patch of light remains, at the back of my neck. I try to rinse it off. It would not go easily. It has been drilled deep by the artificial lights of the hollow ceiling. I try harder. The patch remains. My neck burns. I put my towel over it. The warmth around the sting is soothing. I feel better.

My flatmates come. I ask them not to turn on the light. They don’t. They are friends. They understand. We talk; the words flow the way they can only flow in darkness. With no big brother watching your expressions; with no “know-it-all” analyzing your body language; the words are paramount now. The flow of it; the clarity of it all. We laugh a bit too. They should hear me now.

After few months

Its another routine day in office. The faces still look horrifying but the familiarity has taken the edge off it. I dare now to study them closely. The smiles never leave their clean shaved faces. In some unexplainable way they all look eerily similar too. I began to have feeling that they are all a part of a group. Light has invited them in. My horror partially gives way to envy.

Someone takes a snap of me and put it on “facebook”. Its taken in really strong light. It gets a lot of “Likes” and “Comments”. I look at the pick. It does not resemble me in any way. I have a realization. Light may not ignore your peculiarities but it sure can hide them. Hide them in daylight; I think. I find the line funny. I chuckle.

A girl I know “comments” on the pic. She is hot by all conventional means.

Fair: check

Slim: check

Big Boobs: Check

It would be some fun looking at everyone’s face when they see me with her. I come home. I shave. I even applied the “fairness cream for men” that I bought on my way home. I feel “light”.

At night I open my laptop. There is some office work. My boss would be really happy if he finds the work completed first thing in the morning. Probably pat me on the back. I think of it. I smile. My flatmates come. I ask them not to turn off the lights as I have work to do. They understand. They are friends.

After  few years…

The faces in my office now dissolve around me. They re-merge and become one ever smiling face. The light they radiate is blinding. I can see clearly now. (I don’t chuckle. Nor do I find that funny.) Sun pales in front of it. A light so bright, a light so beautiful that it  could only be divine.

Tears flow incessantly from my eyes. All my logics, all my rationale that seems so important before seems so insignificant now. Divinity can not be accessed through a path of logic or reason. Divinity demands faith. Divinity deserves trust

.

As I lay down on my knees the purpose of my; until now purposeless; life is clear. I am a warrior of light now. Light may not have accepted me yet but it will. I believe in it, I trust in that. From now a light brighter than mine is a deity to me. Darkness is a demon that deserves to be annihilated.

As I lay there kneeling I wipe the tears from my face. These were the last tears I ever shed. From now on I will be constantly smiling radiating lights through my shining teeth. The light engulfs me now. That patch in my neck has now encompassed my entire being. I scream as it stings me all over again but that is a trivial price to pay.

 As the light fills my soul I for the very first time feel alive. 

मेरे ताज़ा बुने हुए शब्द

जो झाँक पाते मस्तिष्क  मे मेरे
तो देखते कितने अच्छे शब्द बुनता हूँ मैं
बाहर आते आते सिलाई खुल जाती हैं
उधडे धागे रह जाते हैं बेमतलब के

                                गुंथे हुए उलझे एक दूसरे मे
                                शायद सुलझ भी जायें जो सुलझायें
                                पर ना ये गांठें अकेले खुलनी हैं मुझसे
                                 और ना वक़्त हैं किसी को एक सिरा थामने का

गुस्सा सा आता हैं इनके इस टूटने पे
फिर लगता हैं इनकी भी क्या गलती भला
घर की हवा को तड़पते हैं ये बेचारे
बिन जज्बातों की ये हवा फब्ती नहीं इनको

                                   ना  खिलने के लिए कोई सरंक्षण   
                                    ना पनपने के लिए कोई तरावट
                                   इस माहोल मैं कैक्टस पलते है
                                    आक्रामक सधे हुए और बेहद नुकीले

इन सरल शब्दों को तो मौका ही न था
समझता हूँ चुप्पी भी साध ली हैं अब
बस कभी कभी फद्फदाहत सी होती हैं की
उठाऊँ तुम्हे इन कैक्टस से और बस एक दफा दिखला पाऊँ
                                   
                                         मेरे ताज़ा बुने हुए शब्द 

A better god

“There is something i would like to understand. And i don’t think anyone can explain it...There is your life...You begin it feeling its something so precious and so rare...So beautiful that its like a sacred treasure. Now its over and it does not make any difference to anyone. And it is not that they are indifferent, its just that they don’t know...They don’t know what it means, the treasure of mine”

                                                                                                                                         We The Living

The Cairo court sentenced 7 people to death for their role in producing “Innocence of Muslims”; a crappy video that mocks the prophet. Well i did see that video and judging by the acting and production values if anyone had the first right to punish them its the collective short film industry.

Some say that the death sentence is a symbolic one. That all convicts are outside Egypt and safe. Though i suspect that life would be safe for anyone with a death sentence issued against his name. Whether some true devotee of the god would take the matters in his own hand, only time will tell. But even if we assume that hypothetical safety; there is something terribly wrong with this  episode. Something that really annoys me. Something that makes me uneasy.

To take away a life, to eradicate an existence; just because someone made fun of somebody. Even the wildest stretch of logic would be light years away from explaining it. And adding piss to the shit, all this is apparently done in the name of god.

So let me get this straight. This guy called god is so touchy and has such a fragile ego that he would kill someone who makes fun of him. Well i would rather not have to see his face again. Not only is he a jerk and a bully he is a psychopath as well.

I mean how tough it is to ignore a comment from someone who is also weaker than you. For crying out loud have some magnanimity. As kids we had our share of scrapes. Sometime we got our ass kicked while sometimes we kicked others'. The one who got beaten was obviously pissed off and shouted and abused the other. But even as  small kids we were big enough to let the comments pass. Even as  14 year olds we were intelligent enough to understand that we have proved our strength. That there is no point in pushing it further. Well Mr god is present from the beginning of time. How dumb would he have to be to  not get a thing as simple as this? 

I believe that god is an extension of a child’s superhero. As a kid grows up he finds the world surrounding him far too complex for superman and co. to live in and so he invents god. God—a grown up’s superhero. Just as the superhero provided comfort and adventure to the kid the god provides comfort and calm to the grown up.

But what have we done to our super hero. We have corrupted the 'man from beyond'. We have dragged him to levels so low that almost all of us seem to be a better choice than him. 

The writers suck big time. We need better gods. We deserve better gods. Fire the stupid writers. Hire fresh blood. Some of the new volumes have been really terrible. Rewrite them. The public won’t mind. Any leap of imagination can be taken; any number of facts can be ignored if it can strengthen our super hero. Because superheroes are someone we look up to. Someone we aspire to be ; but if our gods are worse off than we are; i shudder to think of what lies ahead.

1-A-18

Some time ago a post was doing the rounds on Facebook.It was about all the stuff people born in 80's were the last generation to do. For instance talking on landlines, knowing a life without mobile, playing contra or mario on those old 9999999 in 1 video game cassette. Nostalgic stuff that.

However one thing that the post missed out was the "chune waale makaan". Today they seem to be a thing of past with every house having  distempered walls. And for the  better too. No denying the fact that the walls look more beautiful with these paints and no water leaks. But even before Asian Paints, "Har ghar bahut kuch kahta tha aur agar aap mere bachpan ki maane to wo kaaniya zyaada dilchasp hoti thi"

This poem is a tribute to the 1st home i lived in 1-A-18.

मेरे घर की दीवारों पे
कई चेहरे रहा करते थे
और मैं उन चेहरों की
कहानिया बुनता रहता था

कई बार उत1रने की  कोशिश की
उन चेहरों को कॉपी के पन्नो पे
नादाँ था, उस कॉपी मैं आखिर
उन दीवारों का जादू कहा?

नाराज़ जो होते चेहरे
गायब हो जाते दिखाई न देते
मैं अंधेरो मैं खोजता उनको
या सपनो मैं उनकी नाराज़गी की कहानी बुनता

बारिशें बड़ी दिलचस्प होती थी
मेला लगता थे चेहरों का जैसे
कोई पूरे तैयार रथ पे सवार
कोई जल्दी मैं अधूरी शक्ल लिए ही

कई नए तो कई बिछड़े बरसो के
ख़ुशी के आंसू टपकते जब मिलते
जो "छन्" करके गिरते थे
नीचे पड़े स्टील के बर्तनों मैं

जिस मकान मैं रहा करता हूँ अब
बड़े तरीके से रहा करता हूँ अब
चेहरे गाते से आके सोफे पे बैठते हैं
छत से आकर रहने की इजाज़त नहीं अब

नाराज़ भी नहीं होत्र चेहरे अब
या उस बेरुखी से ज़ाहिर नहीं करते
भीड़ भी  नहीं लगती हैं आजकल

चेहरे "duly inform" करके आते हैं अब

पर कहानी नहीं गड़ने देते उनकी
न शामिल करते हैं अपनी नीरस कहानियों मैं अब
चाय कुछ ज्यादा ही बनती हैं अब
एक तो माहोल सर्द हैं (वो गर्माहट अब कहा )
और स्टील के बर्तन भी तो खाली रहते हैं अब

The Indian Comics

The day began just like a typical vacation day. I woke up at a time not perfectly suitable for a breakfast and was going through the usual chores at a speed befitting of a snail. There was an air of lazy hapiness all around me. Disintrestedly i switched on my computer . And while i was about to watch Lord of the rings part1 for the 39th time my eyes fell on a documentory tracing the origon of DC comics. It looked interesting so i began watching it . After 24 hours and three viewings of the documentory here i am with no choice but to pen down my thoughts.




The documentory was an absolute delight. It just did not stop at tracing the origon it went on to elaborately explain the changes that DC went through and the social as well as phsycological reasons behind that. I was unfortunately exposed to these comics very late; after i completed my school and so while my friends were busy chatting with their present or potential girl friends i was lost in the world of comics and novles much to every one else's ridicule. For guys like me this documentory was like salvation . It made you feel proud that the years you spent were not wasted on some random cartoon picture on a colored paper. That what i read was something special and by reading it i became a tiny part of that something special. Anyway as always is the case after this sudden burst of happiness a wave of sadness hit me when i compared it with the Indian Comic books.





Indian comics does not stand anywhere close when compared to their foreign counterparts. I posted this as a status message on facebook and got a very intresting reply by one of my friend Vaibhav Kediya. He talked about how a comic series carries a brand equity that is conspicuous in its absence in the Indian counterpart. This was a very valid point when it comes to the sales of the comics but i was not born with the fittest of the bussiness brains nor do i have that gifted knack of putting my finger on the pulse of the common people.





So keeping these frailities in mind i will just discuss whats wrong in the Indian comics contentwise. The general opinion seems to be that the Indian Comics lack the detailed graphics that the american one has. Most of them have not probably read a single Indian comic book in a long long time. As a self confessed die hard fan of comics i am yet to miss even a single comic of Super Commando Dhruva and i will stick out my head and say thet in the last two to three years the graphics and illustrations have been at par if not better than the likes of DC , Marvel etc.

The reason which i would like to give is based on my sister's reply on my fb status "Lack of character devlopment". My sister reasons that since most of the characters have been lifted off straight from soewhere else their character devlopment has not taken place . While i do not doubt that the lack of character development has been the biggest problem with the Indian comics i do not particularly agree with the explanation behind.

Even if most of the characters are rip offs a lot of work has been done to usher them into Indian enviornment. And i think one of the biggest character of Raj Comics "Naagraj" is actually pretty origional. And if my memory serves me right there were a lot of comics in the series trying to trace back his origon such as "khajaana" etc and there were also comics dedicated to scientific explanation of his powers such as "snake park".

The reason i believe for the lack of character development is Indian adults absolute denial of a kids emotional intelligence. While they will sometimes over accomodate the fact that Indian kids are intelligent ( I have read a Nagraj comics titled "Raj ka Raj" when i was in class 5 . In the comics Nagraj slows down the radioactive reactions inside the mutant with the help of heavy water (D2O). In another comics "dracula" Super Commando Dhruv suffers because he fails to take into account the static charge present on the Earth's surface Anyone who has done a physics problem where one has to always neglect the charge present on earth's surface will understand it)

The problem is that they absolutely have no connection with the day to day life . Instead of the thin line thats normally present there is a 12 lane highway seperating right from wrong in these comics. All the super heroes have a set of principles which they always follow . Not once will be a super hero caught in a moral conflict as to what s right and what is wrong . The most intresting and fascinating of all concepts "the concept of the greater good" is conspicuos by its absence in the Indian comics.

Moreover the super heroes are always good and villians are always bad. They do not have villains like double face who is constantly at battle with himself as to choose his path. Every indian super hero is as sure as the superman . There is no spiderman with an ever compelling urge of hanging his suit and spend rest of his life with his girlfriens as Peter Parker.

Its not just the comics though a glance at Indian kid movies will tell you that story is the same . In fact much worse . Most movies even dont take into account the intelligence level of kids. People fail to understand that kids are innocent but that does not mean that they are dumb nor do it means that they are ignorant ; definately not in the age of internet .

The reason to their failure to adapt can also be attributed to the carrer driven society . In abroad people have the luxury of pursuing their passions. So the first generation who was fed the comic book diet introspected about what was wrong with them and then joined the industry to make changes. Meanwhile that generation in India included guys like me who will write a blog and then will join a multi national company because a comic book industry will never give them the amount of money that they can earn elsewhere.

Slowly though the thinga are changing . The new generations being "economically relaxed" (i coined it) do not share the burden of inferiority that was evident in their previous generations. They are setting out to pursue their passions. The latest movies directed by young blood are a testament to that. The kid movies too are slowly evolving . "Stanely ka Dabba is probably the first kid movie where the kids are intellegent without compromising at all on their innocence. Not even Vishaal Bhardwaj was able to do that in yesteryears "Makdi".

I hope the trend catches up and go strong and the effect spills onto the comic book industry as well . Till then we will keep on discussing "why did batman did not kill joker to avenge robin's death "