Wednesday, December 25, 2013

Together with YA

13.12.2013

C-67, Second floor, Lajpat Nagar 2
Shefali, Pranshu, Ashita, Anuj bhai, Shashank
With Anushree.

Life in Mumbai. Subtle amazing things. Memories coming back for Shefali. Amazed at her ability of noticing details in smaller things.
Juggling work and other aspects. How to deal with organizations, staying in touch with YA participants, working out through donation model. A little innovation. Suggestions.
Talk about politics, of AAP emergence, of responsibilities of polity and a hope of making right where we went wrong. Nai talim. Evolution of systems being a part of the system. Our understanding and discretion on media govt conspiracy theories. About education systems, need for revolution in primary levels, is it a simple or complicated question - uniformity of education standards. How it is a central answer to many questions.
Difference of perspectives. How to bridge the gap and who wil do that? Suggestions for YA. Wierd instances of public behaviour and belief. Working through it.
Lunch. Sitting around on the floor. Sharing. A feeling of togetherness with people in the same frequency.
Fruits, serving. Shefali told about finding a course in UK.
Humble. Bright. Sharp. Mature and kiddish simultaneously. Unsparing. Clear. Radical. Principled.
Wrote on card for Kishan bhaiya. Drew a peacock feather for him. Remembered humility, a constant smile and empathy over raw intelligence.
Pranshu accompanying us to metro station. Me saying what's changed for him. A fulfillment, feeling of completeness - doing what one loves.
Medicines for Anushree's boss. In auto with her. Digestive tablets. Mishti doi in greenpark. Metro to Huda city. Return to Vaishali hours late than planned.

Friday, November 29, 2013

Shane Koyczan: Remember How We Forgot



Remember how we forgot?
Remember how no one ever really died in the wars we fought?
Because each gunshot came from our finger tips
And we never really kept them loaded just in case
Because each enemy was a friend and none of it was about oil, religion, or land
It was all just pretend
Remember how we used to bend reality 
Like we were circus strong men
Like our imaginations were in shape then
Like we were all ninjas trained in the deadly art of "did not". 
Like "I totally got you"
"Did not"
Remember how we forgot?
Remember how our parents told us never to look directly into the sun
And how we were their suns [pun on "sons"]
And so we never looked directly into the mirror, in fear that we would go blind
Remember how we used to find any old reason just to call someone we were crushing on
Like we would just pawn off our sense of embarrassment
Buy a chunk of courage that would last just long enough to have us asking them about math and stuff
And how stuff was just stuff
Like I heard you were getting braces, and how braces somehow were and still are kinda hot
Remember how we forgot?
Remember how we all caught mono and out folks would go, "oh the kissing disease"
And our first steps into gangstahood had us saying “mother please.”
Even though we’ve never really kissed anyone
Even though we never did half the things we said we’d done
We just spun yarn like Rumpelstiltskin spun gold.
We told ghost stories never realizing we would one day ourselves become ghosts
Haunting the hallways of schools
Poltergeist, breaking all the rules of silence in the library
But we had no chains to rattle
No voice to battle the fact that we had no vocal chords 
We had only finger nails on chalk boards
We had to scream, shout, and yell trying to tell ourselves what experience can teach is what no teacher taught
Remember how we forgot?
Once upon a time, we were young.
Our dreams hung like apples 
Waiting to be picked and peeled
And hope was something that needed to be reeled-in
So we can fill the always empty big fish bin with the one that got away
And proudly say that "this time, impossible is not an option"
Because success is so akin to effort and opportunity that it could be related
So we took chances 
We figureskated on thin ice
Belief that each slice of live was served with something sweet on the side
And failure was never nearly as important as the fact that we tried
That in the war against frailty and limitation 
We supplied the determination it takes to make ideas and goals the parents of possibility
And we believe ourselves to be members of this family
Not just one branch on one tree 
But a forest whose roots make up a dynasty
So when I call you sis or bro
It’s not lightly
And when I ask you to remember
It’s because the future isn't what it used to be.
So remember now 
Pay tribute to every sacrifice laid upon the altar of somehow
For all the times
Somehow we overcame
Somehow we pushed on
Somehow we’ve gone the distance
And in going there we’ve possessed the freedom to map the uncharted lands of any and everywhere
We are unbound
Six feet above the underground where we will all one day rest
So until then 
Test the limits 
Test the boundaries and borders 
Of the headquarters of potential lay just beyond the world's edge
Let the belief that hope belongs to us all 
Be the pledge you take to make the unachievable as inconceivable as the false fact that we were never here
We were here
And our memories are as dear to us as every slow motion moment or held breath
So remember every instance before death
Every first kiss, first dance, near miss, last chance, yes, no, maybe so 
Let us go the distance once more
Let us remember all the moments that were and were not
Like the point is something we can get and what we can get is what we got
Because all we have is the time between the moments we connect each dot so
Live and remember
Burn like an ember capable of starting fires
Like each moment inspires the next 
Like memories are the context we put ourselves in
So that life becomes the next of kin we need to notify in case of a big bang or extinction level event
Let now be our advent
Let us live like we meant it
Let us burn like we mean it
Because this world doesn't give a shit if we end in a train wreck or a car crash
If our story ends with a dot or dash 
If we were dust or ash
Because all we were is all we’ll be
And all we are is the in-between of so far, so good
So forget every would, could, or should not
Forget remembering how we forgot
Live like a plot twist exist now and in memory
Because we burn bright
Our lights leave scars on the sun
Let no one say we'll be undone by time's passing
The memories we are amassing will stand as testament
That somehow we bend minds around the concept
that we see others within ourselves. 
That self-knowledge can be found on bookshelves
So who we are has no bearing on how we appear
Look directly into every mirror 
Realize our reflection is the first sentence to a story
And our story starts:
"We were here."

Sunday, November 17, 2013

Excerpts from the Romantique's diary

Like an artist who dreamt one day
Of nature's miraculous creations to say
And as he dipped his fingers in paint virgin and pure
Carved the secret ecstasy of his dream inherent in it's lure
And he thus opened his eyes when the painting was done
His love was brilliant as nascent rays of innocent morning sun...

Wish I were the artist who'll be
The one whose eyes are closed to see
A smile, those lips, eyes which look at me
Shall I trace her lips, embrace her cheek
Which end is this love that I so humbly seek
An embrace, a hug, a kiss shall I keep
And closing my eyes, now I fall in love softly and deep...

How do you take care of her, when you know your touch could disrupt the softness of her skin, the purity of her existence. Yet a powerful desire makes every muscle in your body force you intensely towards enveloping her inside your warmth, in the entirety of her completeness.

A look at you, and he shall feel that way. A gentle touch in the softness of those lips, ecstasy in those eyes, a smile which he shall carve, hair which flow down as waves on endless skies, and as your scent conquers an existence which was his once upon a time, he'd hold your hand and pull you close, gently embracing the soft skin by your neck, a little too close, the muscles of his arms strong in unison around your waist and you'd close your eyes in magical ecstasy as he would now flow through you, and be but one...

With darkness around, under the majestic moon we stand. An intimacy so intense, we bathe in the softness of it's moonlight, and as I look at you, I see that beautiful curve by your face shine, a curve that travels down by your neck to those beautiful slim fingers entwined between mine. In the silent darkness of death, this mesmerizing love does stand glowing alive...

It's something to love her catastrophically - as a man hopelessly loves the wind as he drowns deep into the ocean. An inevitable oblivion of simple pleasure, a day to return to dust, when sun shall swallow all beauty of this earth, this rhyme and it's love shall stay alive forever and even more...

Watch the garden flowers as you walk by a sunset's sun to die. You might see me with my sketchbook, smiling at you, as I hold you and to the skies shall we fly...

Saturday, October 12, 2013

Een Inspiratie - Namesh Killemsetty

Namesh looks like a normal 'cool' guy when you first meet him. He would walk towards you and greet with his special big smile. Post that, the usual 'Where are you from?' etc.

It takes maximum 5 minutes after you're done with introduction (etc.), and Namesh would suddenly have begun your odyssey into his stories - stories lived and experienced. Ups and downs not in books, but felt and lived through in the real raw reality of itself.

So he would talk about a day when after depressing work at a job (for which he's extremely overqualified btw), he travels 3.5 hours in a local to his house, and discovers that there's been a robbery. Laptop gone, along with his branded jeans. He still keep kicking and surviving though. Amidst losing 12 kgs on shifting to a new city, being cheated by the company which employed him, and spending most of the time travelling and working stuff he would do in his sleep, he keeps faith. It's as tough as easy it sounds. And you can see that in his eyes.

And so randomly he would mention being selected for a conference by United Nations (one of the three people globally), featured on his University's website, on a newspaper, his experience working on his project, how lucky he would be at times and how proud he is about all of it now. It's impossible to not get awed by extreme levels of down-to-earth humility and compassion to keep living in the real sense of it.

A beer afterwards, you realize a throat sore of talking so much. You realize finding someone who shares that adventurous crazy part of you, and who, unlike you, has really lived it. You start realizing how important THIS time is, and how THOSE are the stories you are going to remember 30, 40, 50 years from now. Not how well that random project you worked on which got x billion dollars to the company (if ever!).

Namesh is a star to be. A star for himself. A star for all of us who are luck to know him personally. A true Inspiratie.

Namesh - The one NOT in Woodland shoes

-K

Friday, September 20, 2013

Klarke, I see you...

The Climb had been rough and he was tired. With bare feet he trudged slowly feeling the heat which soon was to disappear as the sunset was close, almost relishing the friction that scratched his feet as he traversed what was left of the tiny distance that separated him from his beloved... A sight so splendid that it blew him off...
He had reached at the perfect moment, the radiance of the sun as it turned a shade of red losing itself to the expansiveness of the pink skies as it enveloped the mighty mountains...
It wasn't just the visual but the entirety of the experience that had consumed his senses. He lived it as the breeze hit him with intensity, he breathed it ,embracing its essence that had now been ingrained deep within his soul... deep silence reverberating through him. It was an acquaintance known too well,something he felt as he paced slowly through the ghats back at Vanarasi... A oneness came about leaving him absolutely breathless and in sheer of awe of all that was him.
Soon it would be dark and the magnificence that lay in front of him would be gone Its hard to 'let Go' when it becomes a part of you,so essential to your being;a drug to the senses, benediction to the Soul Yet mortals as we are plagued with a fear to hold on.
He felt the pain as he rejoiced the exuberance of a connection felt so profound and it became hard indeed to let go
He was a Romantic, He was mighty...He was strong...
and before the darkness could completely shun all that was his,he was gone... To 'lose it' was the fear and now it was here but as he walked away he realised though its dark and the chimera of his dream was fading, yet in his heart he shall always retain the song...

Thursday, September 12, 2013

Confession : A CRIME I committed

What was it that I could not control that day. That I could see it working, and there seemed nothing I could do about it than let it flow. It was not a reflex action, but what made me strongly feel that it is?
Looking in his eyes, I felt the demon that silently lay within. The demon of selfishness. But the demon was not his, it was mine. His eyes seemed to be a mere reflection of what lay within me, and this observation, devoid of all logic and reasoning, stood there in it's bare rawness confessing a strange truth.

"Yes I bribed him, who the fuck cares?" protested logic. Selfishness? It's not bad. All humans are inherently selfish, and it doesn't matter if I was too.
The gnawing reality lay like a dead body hovering upon me, much aware of the crime, much aware of it's implications - none in quantity, but as a irreparable stroke on the purest element of one's existence - Integrity.

Integrity - the source. Foundations of existence since unrecorded history, relying on a single boulder of symbolic strength. The bribe was not just a forced transaction, it was a scar on my integrity. A moment of lifelessness trapped me into the transition between the conscious and the sub-conscious. I stayed there looking at myself, as if leaving my body and watching me walk away into nothingness.

I still look back and wish it was different. Wish that the moment wouldn't have existed, or else I would have not let it haunt myself so long by just being simple honest. Honest to myself. That is what I shall be. After all, every cloud has a silver lining...

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...