Chotu

14.12.2018

Like the most unexpected beautiful little things in life, he simply arrived one day. Chotu was his name.
The first few careless moments with him will always be deeply engraved in your memory as a mark of simpler times - one without much rhyme and reason, without the pretence of something logical, something with meaning and hard concrete sense. Something just for the sheer childish happiness and delight and love of it. Chotu, we will miss you. I will miss you.

Just as I look back, I recal a tiny moment of sadness and loss. He came with another - a little she - a sweetheart. But her heart was too frail to survive this ruthlessness of everything real. She just closed her eyes and said good bye. Chotu stayed, strong and willing. But maybe, this left Chotu alone to experience the remaining part of this entity called life.

Chotu, my little motu rabbit - I don't know when exactly you got that name. I guess there was no defined time, the name just started existing like the silly little things in life we don't pay a lot of attention to - but which end up mattering most to us when we reflect to the moments that have passed like footsteps on the sands of time. Mum once called you that in her love. Her warm caring voice calling you when she got back from office, asking you how you are, echoes in the back of my mind.

Mum in recent times talked a lot about Dad wishing to let Chotu away. I think he felt the pain of him being alone - only one of his kind, staying in a trap of metal bars, just living a programmed life. He wanted to let him away to his freedom. Now this brought two different (disconnected?) thought horizontals in my mind -

1. Aren't we all living in an isolated cage of programmed dynamics? Much like Chotu, we were born free, wild, notorious, innocent. But somewhere down the line, living in this cage for so long, we forgot what it meant to get out - we found comfort and security and predictability and sense and linearity and logic in this little cage we were in, and so we stayed back. We grew up, 'matured', and slowly inched towards our end. What my father provided him was an escape - only because HE could empathize this isolation which Chotu felt in his little universe.
2. Chotu was the one home when we two were rushing in our 80% of our 'lives'. Now that he is gone, a natural low surrounds me thinking how it would be all alone at home. Could he have thought about himself and let Chotu be. Instead he thought about Chotu and let himself be. How much strength does it take to surrender. I just hope for isolation to not be where Chotu was. And to walk along is my responsibility.

Closing my eyes, I hope he's jumping, snorting, feasting on the delicacies of his green veggies, munching and munching away in happiness, messing around with his fellow ones and standing strong, stubborn, and notorious with a spark of happiness in his eyes.

That you Chotu for coming into our lives, and thank you God and Dad for bringing Chotu into our lives. Farewell.

01.03.2018 Chotu comes home :-)

10.03.2018 Poser kahin ka (maine banwaya pose waise :P)

15.03.2018 Messing around with Chotu at home

17.04.2018 Did not take permission from Dad to upload this one, but did anyway as it's super cute :)

26.04.2018 Random day at the Bajaj's

02.06.2018 Chotu goes for a ride in Honda

11.11.2018 Chotu at one of this favourite hiring spots

Prakhar weds Ashita

Censuring Natural Myths

I don’t know the exact moment when this thought struck me. Maybe it was while saying Goodbye to Papa as he rode left from CISF towards Bareilly, slowly waving his hand with words of blessings ‘May you be successful’. I suddenly felt lost as I took a calculated right turn and drove on towards my office in Noida.

My eyes were on the roads, a part of my brain speculating best ways to dodge traffic and reach office faster, but my mind was entirely consumed by a notion so spontaneous, it infected every quantum of my conscience in that time bracket – an ‘Aha’ moment indeed.

The notion of certain natural myths we accept as a part of universal truth.

‘I’ am not one. But many.

Our lives are intertwined so complicatedly, it blinds us to how delicately each action, each moment binds us to an action-reaction couple with every single entity around us. In theory “I live for myself”. But this is like the ideal gas equation – so restricted by assumptions that it never can be true. Like ripples on surface of water, our life is always in dynamic equilibrium. Vibrations of my ripples impact my parents, siblings, friends, colleagues, acquaintances, and enemies; in fact even those I might not even know. And but obviously theirs impact mine equally symmetrically. The intensity and nature of this impact varies. But this is what stands to define ‘Life’ at any single point in time. I visualize this as mad commotion on a water surface hit by small and big stones, each ripples an event, and each intersection of crests and troughs that mutual action-reaction impact on multiple distinct lives. This lack of constant, and persistence of disturbances in space and time gives birth to the concept of being alive – something that no science can ever perfectly mathematically model.

The x=t isn’t Infinite.

I confess being fooled by this subtle fallacy everyday - the fact that I’m going to live forever. Even when I do realize the naivety of my agreement, I face a failure to relate exactly to the concept of ‘Not being alive anymore’. The culprit is an apparent ‘slowness’ of time and the fact that we rarely look at the mirror and realize we’re a day, a month, a year, a decade older. The fact that yesterday and tomorrow seem so indistinguishable makes us extrapolate the similarity and forget to notice how our physical and mental contours entirely transform between any two points of time. Hence from when I was a kid learning to eat and speak and walk, to when I was leading conferences, travelling miles across states, and solving complex calculus - scarcely seem contained in one single life. But such is the beauty of time.

‘Infinity’ would never exist for me, not for my loved ones, not for you, not for anyone – is a painful disillusionment.

‘I will do X one day’ will never happen.

I often have unplanned talks with myself. These talks mostly concern what I’m doing and what I want to be doing. And seemingly, it is so easy to fool the heart and say “That day will come.” And so life moves on. And so life did move on when I was 12 and wanted to play infinite Tekken-3 matches, and told myself ONE DAY I’ll install a full console machine at my home when I’m grown up and earning. Life did move on when I entered college and told myself ONE DAY I will be so filthy rich, I’ll ask my mom and dad to stop working crazy hard (as they have been doing all their life), gift mom exquisite gold jewelry, dad a beastly Harley, and surprise them with exotic vacations. It is still moving on today as I sit in my cabin working on product optimization, thinking ONE DAY I’ll pack my travel bag and leave for a substantially unplanned world tour, far away from the ecosystem I’ve naturally adapted to.

Does any human ever like the concept of being fooled? Ironically that’s what we do to ourselves all the time. Though, interestingly, and painfully so, the picture isn’t entirely black or white. Such transitory dreams may mostly never convert to reality, but they keep something alive which is like fuel to our engine – Hope. It’s but unrealistic to assume everything we launch forth towards will become true. So for those who enjoy the odyssey, life is a gift. It’s that gift which makes powerful phenomenon like ‘tears of happiness’ possible, even if we’d never actually reach the destination we planned for. So at the end of my short stay on Earth, it is these moments of subtle permanence that I expect to relive in memories with eyes closed and cracked lips smiling. An endless list of God-fatherly times to the most notorious secrets which’ll perish with me.

I brought my bike to a stop in the underground parking area. Then slowly looked around. Cars were carefully parked everywhere; some had drivers sitting inside with mysterious expressions. I walked towards the entry door. Just before stepping on the stairs, I paused and looked behind. Amid the black and grey and deep blue herd of cars, my white Twister shone like a majestic unicorn.The parking guard looked at me suspiciously as a stood a minute longer than usual. Everything around me was the same. Everything but me.

What Goes Comes Back

A simple straight curve, as an abstraction of reality, was ridiculing itself in its daunting darkness. Linear was it meant to be. Linear in all local terms concerning the self, and nothing more around it. With darkness encompassing an incomprehensibly evil halo of that ecstatic blindfold, the supposed odyssey was done with quick confident steps. Exotic were the ways - those evil intentions remote and invisible. Words were no longer  meant to be, but just to be. And thus it lived, travelling as a cursed promise, hovering as vultures over a dead decaying symbol of death. Death not from hate or guilt or greed - but from love - the pure passionate pain.

That mesmerising scent of an unreachable destination gaping into the infinite with its magnificent decaying efficacy gives birth to an unresolved contradiction. Contradiction of the poison at it's source, of a gnawing realization of a painful end, of ending into the nothingness of dark empty void. The curse lived on as a prodigious disciplinary righteousness of being haunted by an ultimate inflection of my own existence.

It all came back. The poison in those veins making them blue, with eyes turning black, and face already paler than death. Drops of rain flowing down deeper into unknown depressions of implicit self-retaliation. The destruction didn't pardon or excuse too proud with it's arrogance - a merciless rage to split the skull open, to reveal what unimaginable force no longer trapped inside would smile it's final goodbye and would bleed till those lips turn white. Till there is pain no more...