Monday, 14 December 2015
Thursday, 5 November 2015
First of all let me say that I respect you as a human being and would not want to use violence or hate speech to raise my point. In fact I am not even beginning to think it would make a difference; you can shout, throw ink, deport to Pakistan or for that matter any country, assault or even kill a person but you could do nothing to his ideology. With that opening sentence I am sure half of you would call me everything you've been calling people and would move onto your own business, but somewhere down the line if you'd think about it again I want you to read this.
Now, I am not claiming that hatred is part of a single community in today's society nor am I claiming it to be practiced by a single political party. Hatred settles in everyone of our minds at some point, even I would have had inclinations to hate people like you at times and may still have it. After all we are human beings, but what we do with hatred makes all the difference, which is why I am raising this point today of thinking naked.
Now thinking naked may create conflicts upon your utopic and visionary society. I am still asking you to go back to your nudity at the time of your birth. Perhaps no other state defines a human being more than birth. I do not know you for now, I do not know from where you maybe reading this or what your ideologies maybe, I do not know which God you believe in or which country's flag you associate with nor am I aware of your political stance but I am pretty much sure you, like me, like every other human being was born naked covered with nothing but dark red blood with no particular associations with any differences we discussed so far. So let me make this very clear, WE WERE ALL MORE SIMILAR THAN DIFFERENT AT THE TIME OF OUR BIRTH! So where did this notion of differences come? Why am I as an Indian forced to regard a Pakistani as different, let alone consider him/her as my enemy?
For that we need to understand these man-made differences. Let us start with religion first. I am not aware of any religion until today which its founders used as a tool to separate people. Religion was primarily intended as a lifestyle, perhaps tilting more towards moral grounds, It took dramatic misinterpretations and centuries of hatred to reach the current state of affairs when you have birth certificates issued with your religion, meaning it is no longer the aspired choice or lifestyle. So when we begin to think naked we would understand that our birth to parents of a particular religion should not be the criteria for our religion, and that our nakedness reflect our stance on everything going around for that moment.
Moving onto boundaries, I want to wrap it with a quick and precise point. For this I want you to adopt a certain scientific temper, I want you to become aware of our Earth, which is among 8 other planets in our solar system, the system being one among many in our galaxy, the galaxy itself being just an average one with no exceptional features among an infinite space. If you are aware of this fact you realize that the Earth is a tiny speck floating in space which is filled to its brim with vacuum. Now how insignificant it is to divide that speck with imaginary lines? I am sorry such a division exists, let alone it being a reason to wage wars!
As we see when we begin to think naked, when we begin to understand who we are and our significance (or rather our negligible existence), we begin to dilute our hatred with knowledge. When we think naked we are not our bank balance, we are not our cold memories, we are not divided on what we eat and what we speak! We human beings are an advanced species of living things. We are what we are because of our capability to think. Perhaps all the hatred residing inside you may not have been there in the first place or could have been wiped out if you just took a moment to think. And our problems begin exactly because we fail to think on our own!
So my dear comrades, my dear brothers and sisters. Next time you feel hatred growing inside you, I may ask you to think naked, think freely. Because we are all born naked, and the blood with which we were wrapped in and which flows through our veins still is the darkest red whatever we believe in!
A Naked Thinker :)
Sunday, 1 November 2015
12 midnight. I am in an enraging conflict as to what allured me into the sphere of her charm. Was it the way she arranged her hair with a careless braid, much like my mother? Or was it my thoughts, my memories of my mother adding up with her profoundly captivating beauty? Maybe it is that vigorous yearning, not the kind you have for your mother, rather for a well paid whore waiting for you to devour her.
I looked at her with a fiery intent. One gaze, one pause of her eyes is all I would need now. One small twinkle in her eye, one deep breath she catches, holds and spreads over her numerous cells, would tell me of her inclinations. Right then, she walked towards me, smiling, and caressed my body with hers. A sudden inflaming desire took over me as I found myself following her. Wherever she leads me I shall be content as long as her braids disorient my vision and her assiduity motivates my actions!
12.01. No one stirred in the corridor. There was silence. She opened the door to the room and I was suddenly surrounded by a strange heat which choked me along with the smell of medicines and phenol. She smiled, probably understanding my discomfort and held my hand. I touched her braid, just to make myself sure of its physical existence. I untied it, slowly, carefully so that her hair would not tangle with each other.
When I say that time is flexible and obtains strange patterns of movement at strange times, many learned people would laugh and mock at my fatuity. But you could feel it now, can't you? You could feel these seconds settling heavily upon the glass of time, stirring slowly and slowly, as I untied her hair.
'Your hair' I say, 'It is so perfectly imperfect!'
I slide my hands over it. She turns and kiss my lips, I return it and envelop her within my hands. I see my watch at the other end ticking on. 12 hours 1 min 57 seconds. 58. 59.
12.02. My hands keep searching her body, but very little do I realise what it is for. Is it hunting for a long lost feeling of sensuality or is it just flexing my domination? Strangely, every second which pass with her lips locked into mine, I lose a bit of my innocent nostalgia. Rather a more powerful feeling of guilt passes through me along with the taste of her lipstick. The glorious days of love begone stares angrily at me. You should have been more mature, it says and painfully retires back. The thing with my thoughts have always been that it shifts in a matter of seconds. For now it maybe an overwhelming giant capable of consuming me immediately while at other times it assumes meager images and finds me benumbed. Whatever be the case, I ask it to stop its domination for now and shift back to reality.
30 seconds after 12.02, I find her mouth completely disappearing into mine. And I know then that what pulls me closer to her in this instant is merely an obligation rather than nostalgia or passion. Another act which I am obliged to make among many. Then, without forewarnings a numbness came. I watched as to how meaninglessly the second hand of my watch crawled to hit the lap break as I wished to go away from her.
12.03. My mobile phone rang, relieving me from her pull. She continued to come at me but I asked her sternly to wait. The voice at the other end was cracking with excitement.
'Where are you Anand? She is finally here!', Anita said.
I felt my heart going out of control. I felt the air being drained out of my lungs. Should get more air, it commanded at my system as it frantically breathed in. Seeing me disconnecting the phone, she came back in pursuit.
'Not now, I've got to go', I said.
'Why the hell!', she exclaimed unable to quench the anger.
'It is important', I say.
'Will you come back?', there was a familiar desperation in her voice.
'I don't think so', I said coldly as I walked away. I heard the door banging loudly behind, as all the swears she would have said was separated from me by that sorry piece of wood. I didn't even ask her name, I thought as I checked my watch. Time moves so fast at times.
12.04. I ran through the corridor and found the lift switched off. Steps here were rather steep for a hospital, I thought as I jumped 2 steps at a time. The wait, my wait, our wait is over. There were tears lining up patiently inside my eyes. 'Wait', I told them, 'Wait till I see her!'
I couldn't notice how many women passed me with braided hair, I didn't know how many of them resembled my mother or how many held that voluptuous twinkle. I was now content that my heart was beating wildly and that my thoughts were storming down from the clouds of my mind. The rain is perhaps what I always needed!
People would have found me strange, my shirt was half open and the color of her lips was only half hidden somewhere inside my mouth as I frantically ran to the operation theatre. Anita was waiting for me, her eyes filled with the same tears I am trying to fight back now.
'Where were you?' she asked me in a put up anger. Then she smiled and said, 'Look at her Anand, she looks exactly like our mother!'
I took her from Anita and felt myself to be captivated in that image, and how her little eyes opened softly to look at me and how it closed once it got the vision. I wished to say to her every little story I knew, and every long journey I've been on but for now everything can wait. And the life I created, my daughter, Naina's daughter, settled comfortably in the niche I created between my hands. I kissed her on the forehead and realized that I have never kissed anyone else with so deep a love! Tears dropped out of my eyes and fell silently on her little arms, while unheeding, she dreamt of all the beautiful and happy things that awaited her.
Even then, without anybody noticing, time did continue to move on. Seconds ticked. 58. 59... 5 minutes had passed after 12 that strange night.
Sunday, 18 October 2015
'Is this Mr. James' house? You have a courier!'
Now, like you, I had no clue as to who this James might be and what awaited him in the courier, but it was Christmas eve and there was this genuinely guilty temptation which forced me to nod in a confused but affirmative way.
'Sign here sir', the guy said who seemed rather tired and cold. I invited him over for coffee after work, an invitation most people tend to ignore or forget, whatever the better word maybe.
Friday, 18 September 2015
Tuesday, 9 June 2015
The night before, she complained that the channels were all mixed up after the satellite dish was installed,
'What was the need of all this filth? Just to sell us these useless umbrellas!'
'Call the cable operator, Anand. Call him and ask them to fix this!', my grandfather used to say every single time those deplorable TV actresses would come up and campaign for the digital world.
'But we fixed it already', I'd keep saying but it never did sink in, even for a little while.
His dementia was taking a toll on all of us, perhaps more than it ever claimed on him. Apart from the random concerns on water bills, electricity bills, medical bills, land bills, and more-fucking-shit bills that come once in every month but twice in every hour to grandfather's depreciating memory, he was relatively calm. He enjoyed walks with Ruth, our pet Labrador, in the evening and used to play catch with him inside home. I always felt Ruth was the only one who could tolerate him and his age. As for me and grandma, well we loved him and stopped answering to every single concern of his.
Monday, 1 June 2015
Sunday, 29 March 2015
I have always felt that Antonio lived a life which required no exceptional introduction, nor an eclectic characterization. He lost his mother when he was three, had no siblings and studied in a boy's school before enrolling in a seminary, which basically meant that the only scent of a woman which ever passed through his nostrils, to find itself passionately filling his lungs, were the murky evaporated sweat of his house maid. His only hobby was detaching himself from a formless world of disoriented colors and losing somewhere in his self-created havens of art. Antonio, the ordinary Portuguese student, the faithful son who obeyed his father, the artist who developed a mythical extravagance to his long lost mother; he had a lot of differences from me, but somewhere underneath we held the same yearning for love. Maybe it was this yearning which would have asked him to trace the only love he had known, which overflowed onto him from distant immaterial wolds, filling him in motherly affection. He set forth to India one cold night, leaving behind his father's dreams and a country which raised him up. His mother, Maria, was a Goan woman whose seductive charm once captured the heart of Sergeant Roger Kafka. Roger had known what his son went in search for,
'Love', Roger once said to Maria, 'the penultimate desire, only out beaten by a raging suffocation to end one's life!'. And it filled my heart even before Antonio could fathom the dissolution of poison through his and mine veins alike.
I met Antonio in a dark room, he was naked. He was lying in a bed which smelt of people and a piercing perfume which made him dizzy. Into the room light would fall drop by drop from a red lantern outside, illuminating him and the woman who lied next to him. The tattoo on her back, a tiger, encroached upon his fears and drove him insane. His search for ancestral roots led him towards her and he clutched onto her as if he held the whole world within his hands. She perspired in an impulsively created dedication, hoping for Antonio to finish the job. But Antonio held her and listened to the sound her breaths made; it was as if he heard lullabies from a distant and deserted homeland which existed only in his forgotten memories.
'What happens to be your name?', the woman asked.
'Well Antonio, why don't you finish it off and just leave?', she was furious, 'If you want to continue this game, I'll give you someone else!'
Antonio got up, dressed and gave ten folded thousand rupee notes and was about to leave when she held him back and threw the notes onto his face.
'I don't take money for a work I didn't do!' she said. Antonio still couldn't decipher if it were the lantern or her blood which made her cheeks glow in a desirous red!
The first visit after that night was the hardest. Antonio still didn't know how to approach a woman who depressingly criticized his lack of manpower. I remember all his paintings during the period and the grave purple with which he expressed his thoughts. The fight between me and Antonio pushed him to new horizons in which he floated with his brush and rampant thoughts. Finally, Antonio would let me lose and made me walk though those streets in search of her bewildering scent.
'I'm not Antonio', I said, 'I'm Toni and I want you, today, tomorrow and every day!'
She laughed. She said she was Mia and she said she was all mine.
'Toni', Mia whispered. She stood still, half naked; baked with the glorious rays of a thousand devious mornings and by the wrath of a thousand torturous nights. Her magnificent tattoo was a pessimist's rebellion, her colored lips were a resentful escapism from truth. She was not perfect, but she was seductive, she was like the reflection of moon on turbulent water, her eyes were floating debris which searched for new shores to own and her lips a mystic gorge which takes you deeper with every kiss, which stops the pumps of your heart and the troubles of your lungs. Her random motions formed undecipherable patterns, each with its own strange tranquility and aura. I submerged in her art, and was reborn with grades of darkness which hung all around on my own pithy works. She was a force which kept pulling me on, which on striking demanded unity. I could never see her individually again, we were two indistinct spots on canvas, two meaningless, worthless marks of the brush which overlapped each other and was part of an impressive whole. The unity was terrifying, the unity was troubling, but the unity was true. And we floated on, night after night as frail clouds repetitively disarrayed by wind, constantly changing forms and ceaselessly intermixing with each other.
Our hearts weighed down each day we couldn't meet, our hearts broke when she had a new customer, our hearts inadvertently cried when the world mocked us and our togetherness.
The period marked a crucial change of fortune. My paintings grew more bold and desperate. My father, receiving no communication from his son died sheltering a pain which showed no retreat. While, unknowingly, I survived as Toni, forgetting the logical existence of Antonio. It was also during that time a random passer-by asked me for my name and then invited me to exhibit my works in some institute in France. It was Antonio's token of hope and Toni's hidden desire. Separation from Mia suddenly became inevitable. And as I took the flight to France, still bearing the taste of her glossy lipstick I realized that along with all the paintings, I carried Mia and her unexplored divinity.
I walked through the streets, coloring it in different strokes of devotion. I ran towards her, hugged her and kissed her as long as I was away. I was not in love, I was in an emotion which transcended earthly explanations. Every gaze into her soaked me in cosmic showers of spectacular vibrancy which I poured into her as spasms of ecstasy.
Monday, 16 February 2015
Is it my mind which is corrupted?
Or is it my mortal frame which is ruined?
Pinnacle of all thoughts - once a part of my labyrinth,
Now die an inglorious death,
A sea of patient ideas, dry and disfigured,
Holds now the smoke of rejected motives and revolting drugs,
I stand on its shores - reminiscing
About winds, waves and light on pure sand!
Sunday, 15 February 2015