Please Keep the Memory

Time passes by 

Without notice.

I am here now,

But not for long

For the now passes away.

A new now replaces

The now that was.

Now becomes then,

Then, in turn, becomes now.

A cycle,

Unstoppable and never ending! 

Then following now following then.

Not heeding to wishes!

Not caring about worries!

I don't remember much now.

Yet, I am sure,

My memory's built on reality,

Of a time, that was before then.

Far away from the nows and the thens.

Only bits and pieces are seen

Through the forgetful mists.

Comics books strewn on a bed.

Phantom characters walking 

In and out of the skull.

In a Flash, performing magics

to create glass shields,

That protect their worlds

From merciless villains.

Wagging his black tail,

Licking the children,

Who giggle gleefully.

They climb on his back,

Commanding him to giddy up.

In time, he recedes

To the shadowy parts of remembrance.

In a world of mustaches

And hairless faces,

A bearded face stands out,

With a name that evokes

The existence of the beard.

Not then a daddy,

But still a daadi .

Time moving at its own pace,

Letting times change much. 

Memories written over

Many times, with happiness and pain.

A few peeping through 

From the years,

Not necessarily categorized as distant.

After happiness, comes

Sadness, misery and humiliation.

Never quite forgotten!

Happiness shining through sadness.

Sadness draping over happiness.

Time to forget some,

Time to forget all.

An abode of god,

Existing since the beginning of time.

A long way from home.

To get there in time,

I look towards the one,

Trusted only by a few,

And yet, is a representation of the god.

Bruised and hardened heart

Unable to avoid the sense of gratefulness

Allowing it to reside there since. 

Never expressed!

Now, too late to express!

Yet time cannot erase,

The memory of the acts of kindness.

Lost in the sea of time.

Not remembering many,

Not thinking much.

Pushing it all to a corner.

Time flows by!

News reaches, 

In bits and flashes.

Twenty one twenty three,

Noon still minutes away,

Time stood still.

Nothing more to say!

No favours to ask!

No more loda-lodas!

The last page of the comic book has been read!

Bounce

Bouncing back and forth,

Searching for a place to be still,

Searching for some quiet,

At distance from everything else.

But, a push on the butt,

Seizes away any chance to settle.

Sending back to where it all began.

Bounce, bounce

Bounce, bounce

Bounce, bounce

Panting for breath, wondering

"How did this back and forth start?"

But many moments of thought,

Bring no recollections.

Probably was always bouncing,

From the moment of birth.

Wait!

Wait!

Wait!

A memory strikes.

Up, down

Up, down

Up, down

"Oh yes! There was that time,

Far worse than now."

Though every up was better than the down,

Wounds of the previous down remained,

Anxeity of the next down surfaced.

Thus, the joy of the up not felt

"Oh! I prefer the back and forth 

To the up and down.

Here, only movement exists.

No time for thought.

There, only thought exists.

Movement's always better than thought.

So, let me stop the search, 

For quiet, peace, aloneness.

Let me go back and then forth

Back

Forth

Back

Forth

Back

Fourth

Fifth

Sixth

Seventh

Eighth

Nineth

Tenth...

Crisis in the Jungle

Deep in the jungle

Wild animals roamed freely

Getting hold of the herbivores

Who though wild

Were simply not wild enough.

They were referred

Not as wild animals,

But as mild animals.

Wild animals liked

To feast on mild animals.

Mild animal did not

Like to be feasted on.

So they hid themselves

In the bushes,

Eating tasteless leaves

Instead of tasteful grass.

In time, the mild animals

Grew tasteless too.

Making the wild animals' feast

Bland and uninteresting.

As a result, all the animals 

Reduced their intake of food

Making them lethargic

And inactive too.

They preferred resting

To foraging for food.

They slept more

And ate less.

The jungle no longer being

A place of buzzing activity

Awaits for the day to end

And the long night to begin. 

Still I'm sad...

From the deepest corners of my mind rises dark thoughts that have nowhere to go. They swim around in circles in my head. Everyplace they go, they leave a mark, a scar that never heals. I attempt to channelize the thoughts towards the outside. I try to free myself from them. But every time they slip out of my control. They refuse to leave the comforts of flesh and fat. Soon the scars spread all across my mind. I am unable to differentiate happiness from sadness. Ideally, tears should flow from my eyes. But I am unable to cry. Sadness only approaches me when I am alone, when I lie on my bed waiting for sleep to reach me. When I am with people I turn into happiest person on the planet. But every time I feel happy, I realize that I am not actually happy and this increases my misery.  I am vying for the crown of being the saddest person on the planet and yet I realise I am nowhere close to being the saddest. There's too much misery on this planet for me to claim the title of being the saddest. A feeling of frustration rises within me. How could anyone bear more sadness than me? I realise that I am being selfish. I have the inherent need to be happy but everyone else too has this need. Many a times, these individual needs clash with each other and unhappiness results; not just for one person but for all the persons involved. As one ages, the load of unhappiness and the resulting scars become unbearable. One's own view of life seems straightforward. So, one starts to wonder why other's cannot see the same. This brings in a new set of unhappiness. The world seems to be stuck in this cycle of misery.

I started writing this two or three days back. Yesterday I came across a news article on the suicide of someone named Stephen tWitch Boss. The article has a quote on Stephen from his wife. She said "Stephen lit up every room he stepped into. He valued family, friends and community above all else and leading with love and light was everything to him. He was the backbone of our family, the best husband and father, and an inspiration to his fans." I saw a few videos in which he can be seen dancing with his wife and kids. He seemed to be a nice person, a happy person. When I see him dancing I think that the guy would be considered by many as a 'cool guy'. Yet, on Dec 13/14, he decided to put a bullet in his head. I don't believe people would want to kill themselves due to excessive happiness. It is misery and sadness that drives them to that. What was Stephen's misery? If depression is the cause of suicide then are we living in a world where everyone's depressed? I can't believe that.

This is what I feel is happening. Life has become increasing complicated with time. We have a lot of expectations within us, most of which we can't achieve and if achieves not done so with satisfaction. So we feel unhappy. In earlier times, life was a struggle and so we did not have time to sit and think. We had to toil to live. So we did not have time for expectations and disappointments. But today we have time to think as our everyday life is not hard. So we feel miserable and when the misery gets too much to handle and we get an opportunity to kill ourself, we just do it. Is this depression? I don't know. Actually, it depends. I have written lot of unhappy things here. Now, if I go and jump off the balcony then people reading this would probably say I am depressed. Instead, if I continue to write many such useless write-ups and die at the age of 97, then I am just bull-shitting. 

I have no idea what I am writing. So I will stop. I will publish this shit but I am not sending it to anyone. This shall remain here for people to analyse, if I decide to jump off my balcony.

Last wish

He was sitting on the chair and reading the news on his mobile phone. Suddenly, a stab of pain rose in his chest. He grasped his chest with his hands and gasped for breath. It felt as though, air was uanble to reach his lungs. He held his throat with one hand and his chest with the other. The pain increased and spread through his body. He writhed in his chair and started praying. The prayers did not help. The pain did not reduce. He fell out of the chair and continued to struggle with his insides on the floor. After a few minutes, he felt the pain recede. About nine minutes after the pain had started, it had reduced considerably. Only reduced and not disappeared. He still felt a slight pain; more a heaviness, around the left side of the chest. He held his hand against the chest and lay quietly. After a few seconds, he got up slowlt and sat on the chair. He looked around for his mobile. It lay on the empty seat besides him. He took it in his hand and opened the contacts application. He pressed the first name in the favorites. A number starting with '+1' dialled. He held the phone against his ears and listened to the long beeps originating from the other side. After fifteen beeps and female voice informed him "We are sorry! There was no response from the other side." He cursed and almost immediately felt the discomfort in his chest increase. He dialled the number again. This time a sleepy voice responded from the other side. "Papa! What happened?" He responded without warning "I am dying". Sleep disappeared from his son's voice as he asked "What are talking about Papa?" He ignored his son's question. "Remember!" he gasped. "Remember to play the album at my funeral. The whole album. Do you remember the name of the album?" Desperation and exasperation had crept into his son's voice. "Appa! Will you be quiet! Nothing will happen. I am calling the doctor." His father ignored him again and asked with urgency "Do you remember the album's name? Tell me. Tell me the name of the album." He shouted the last words into the mobile. "Of course. I remember the name of the album and the group's name too." He then went on to say the name of the album and the name of the group. The father smiled and said "Ah! I can die in peace now. You are a good son." He cut the call.

Thirty six hours later, the son walked into his father's house. The crowd standing at the door parted as he walked in. Some of them patted his back in an attempt to console him. He saw his father lying on the floor. He felt tears streaming from down his cheeks. He felt a part of life lying lifeless on the floor. He could not move. He did not want to go any closer. After a few minutes, he fished out his mobile phone and opened the music player application. He went to the albums and scrolled down to 'I'. There was only one entry. He opened it. He walked towards the side table and switched on the bluetooth speaker. His father had not changed the speaker for the past few years and so it connected to his mobile immediately. His pressed play. The omnious voices announced the arrival of the song "Livets trädgård".

A treat for lunch

"A treat like no other awaits all

On the last day, for lunch.

Be ready to lick your lips in anticipation

And later, to lick your fingers down to the bone.

Exclamations of joy fill the air,

When the treat makes it way to the centre of the hall,

Squeals of pleasure rise from every corner

For as brown as the Brownie is

You might as well call it a Goldie

For it shines like gold in people's heart."

On the day, as the minute hand moved to 28

With the hour hand stuck in 12

A set of ten, eleven and twelve year olds

Ran towards the dining hall.

Like people scampering away 

From a T-Rex in Jurassic Park.

Only here, the terror in their faces supplanted

By expressions of anticipation and joy.

Stunned bystanders jumped out of the way

To avoid being brownied under the rushing feet.

A little later, from within the dining hall

Loud groans grew, pain laden voices uttered,

"Where is the cake?"

"I don't see no brownies!"

"But there should be a surprise!"

"What happened to the surprise?"

"I want my brownie!"

An older voice bellowed above the protests,

"Not now! Not now!

You have to wait for a bit."

Dull faces sat around their tables

Staring at their empty steel plates indifferently.

The food on the table offered no interest.

Vegetable biriyani and curd rice could not satisfy

Their desire for the brownie.

They looked towards the serving area yearningly.

The adults looked back at them sternly,

Demanding patience, which they believed is a virtue.

The walls of the dining hall shook,

As the disappointed hearts sighed in unison

And then the bell rang!

Announcing the approach of the half way mark

Between the beginning and end of the lunch hour.

As per the unwritten understanding

Among the users of the dining hall

Three minutes of silence would be maintained.

The ones with filled stomachs

Usually leave the hall at the end of the silence time.

But on that day, none left!

On that day there was no silence either!

Like disciples gathering around the holy one,

Boys and girls quietly walked towards the serving area.

As plates laden with brownies appeared,

Silence gave way to excited whispers.

All thoughts of order and discipline disappeared.

Eager faces crowded around the loaded plates.

Pleading eyes turned desperately towards the adults.

Two minutes before the end of silence time,

Adult hearts melted like chocolate in a hot water bath.

The Brownies landed directly into the children's heart.

No one waited for the silence period to end.

The dark brown cream on the brownies

Were the first to disappear.

Pink tongues flicking out of their abode,

Went back, decked in brown.

Gleeful giggles appreciated the sweetness of the treat.

The brownie was declared the best till date!

“The kitchen had never made better brownies than this!”

Its qualities were discussed in detail,

By the eager members of the dining hall.

Soon the demand for a second

And then, a third appeared.

Once again, the adults demanded patience.

"Let everyone have one, at least" they pleaded.

But the demanders for another brownie

Did not care for the people,

Who had not picked their first brownie yet.

In their minds, they were sure,

No human could resist the brownie for that long.

“Everyone has taken one already,” they cried.

The brownies disappeared quickly.

Some chose not to pick a brownie,

For they did not like their food sweet.

As for the rest, many brownies

Found its way into their insides.

No person could get more than three brownies was the claim.

And yet on that day, a few got as much as six.

"I hid my face and got one" said one.

"I asked him to go and get me another,” said another.

"I smiled sweetly at the one who was serving" claimed a third.

As I walked towards the bucket

To clean the waste off my plate.

I saw a brownie lying wasted in the bucket.

I could not help but shout "Who threw that brownie away?"

Someone uttered the name of the offender immediately.

Like a dragon spewing fire,

I went in search of the offender.

I found her cowering under a desk.

I towered over her and thundered,

"Why did you waste that brownie?"'

In a feeble voice she responded "Because I did not like it"

My anger grew by leaps and bounds,

"Then why did you take it?"

Her voice got feebler.

"I didn't know when I picked it."

I could not digest her statement,

"Don't you know if the Brownie was not brown,

It would have been called Goldie.

It’s precious and you wasted it? Shame!"

She offered feebly "Next time I will give it to you."

I smiled and said "Ah! Your words sound like a poem to me.

That’s a deal!"

Thank you!

I had only met her recently and I have not had many conversations with her. I am many years older than her and I am considered more experienced than her in the orgranization. As a result, I think, she had no choice but to listen to my rants and thoughts politely. Invariably our conversations or to be precise, my soliloquy, ended abruptly and we parted ways promising to continue at a later point of time. But that time never came. 

At some point of time, I informed her about my blog. This one. Over the next few days, I realized that she read my posts regularly. I believe she is only the second person who tracks my blogs without my prompting. At times, she talked to me about my writings. Though I try to not think about the small size of my audience, when I write, it always feels good when people utter a few kind words about my writings. Over the past few days, I have not made many entries to this blog as the horses in control of driving my life have been pulling me in different directions. To save myself, I have built a fort around me. These days, I sit within my fort firmly and maintain minimum contact with the world outside. So, writing blogs were not on top of my agenda.

A day before the Christmas break, she walked up to me with a book in her hand. She handed it to me and said "this is for you". I looked at it confused. It was a grey journal book with an elastic band around it. I did not understand what it was and why she was giving it to me. She identified the confusion and said "This is for you. I hope you write a lot more." I realized that she was gifting me the book. I felt a range of feelings run through me. I did not know what to say. For the past many years, I have only received a few gifts. So, I was not sure how to react. I held the book firmly in my hand and thanked her like an American "Hey. Thanks a bunch. I appreciate your thought. Thanks". I walked back to my place and looked at the book again. I felt traces of tears form in my eyes. I held them back. I opened the book and saw a small Post-it note stuck on the first page. It said.
"Happy New Year to you. Write it GVK! Write a lot ... :) Best Wishes ..."

I closed the book shut and stared out of the window. I firmly held back the tears that were ready to flow out of my tear glands. I pushed the book into my bag and walked away. That evening, when I got home, I took the book out of my bag and placed it in a cupboard. I had plans to use it but not at the present moment. I needed more time.

This evening, when I opened the cupboard to take out a physics textbook, I saw the grey journal book lying above it. I felt a heaviness in my heart. Gifts have always confused me. At times, I yearn to recieve one and yet when I receive it, I wonder if I deserved it. As I looked at the grey journal, I realized that this was the first award that I received for my writing. I felt honoured!

I have received many other gifts in my life and I cherish all of them but this one means a lot to me because it is associated with my writing, which I see as my only companion during the last days of my life.