Rephrasing My reality
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When I saw Matrix for the first time, I wished if I could be the “Neo”, the chosen one. What do I say; life has its own way to answer you hidden and forgotten desires!
One day I was sitting in this office. I need to confess I was getting a feel that something has to change. I was not liking the things that were keeping me engaged for couple of months.
To find the “missing-me”
I could think of nothing better than starting my day with a blog post. It had been like ages when I last wrote on my blog.
It makes me feel everyday as if I am living in a different world; seems priorities in life are defined by the insecurities. I wonder what is that defined it earlier.
Thankfully I do not live by the expectations of others; but that does not mean no expectations are attached to me. I seriously put an effort to keep those expectations alive. What defines the life expectancy of these expectations are the priorities that sprout out time to time.
Today’s post is dedicated to one such event; my dear friend Vishala’s marriage.
It sounds rude when you realize that you cannot dedicate few days to join into something which you are by default a part of and there is nothing that will fill up your spot. It equally sounds frustrating when no matter what you do, situations mock your helplessness. It is a pity that choices on such cases are not meant to be chosen but defined by a default value. The only choice that remains is the choice between “what is right” and “what heart feels is right”.
It has been numerous times, when I look at a photograph and see the “missing-me” in it. The vicarious pleasure is painful, but it is an acceptable punishment. I wonder how something can be so attached when you are not in it. I wish I never get an answer to that, in fact I don’t want to face such punishments again.
The thing is I have not forgotten to be a friend. Neither am I opting for a comfort zone. The non-definitive life is the outcome of insecurities attached to the path I have taken. Nothing I can do about them, because they ought to be there. I am doing my best to mitigate their consequences.
There is also a sense in me which asks me to gauge the value in the things I am missing because of the path I have taken. What I know for sure that beyond the limit, where this investment of mine will fail to show prospects, I will take another ride. But that is not what bothers me, what bothers me is can I do enough to hold in the faith of my family and friends till that limit?
The next photograph I look, let there be no “missing-me”.
The little secret
The summer is casting its shadow over Kolkata. The evenings are breezy but the breez bears the heat.
It was bit late in the evening and the “pani puri” shops were not as crowded as it were couple of hours back. I still looked for the shop which had least number of people and when I found one, I walked towards it. I was handed a plate and one by one pani-puri was demolished within my mouth.
In a dusting spree
This is dedicated to the MICA days
Right now I am in a dusting spree
The room that never belonged to me
Friends who did not know my name
Somethings that I never found
And someone whom I wished around
Right now I am in a dusting spree
The luggage that brought me here
The trousers and the new wrist gear
That trousers that don’t fit me now
I am clearing the dust somehow
Common Man
I write for a common man, as I am one of them
In the glamor of being unique Now I am left with no competition
Where the sorrow is special like the smile,
The feelings are different and loves undefined.
But I write for a common man and I write of common things
The hidden is hidden to me, The unsaid never stings.
As I write for a common main, so write the words they use
I feel the pain they feel , And I write the love that shows
I live a common life, Hence a pair of rubber slippers will do
I walk the common road, I walk along with plenty of people around
Crowd is a part of me, And I am the part of the crowd
I am a common man and I have burnish skin
My common friends are red, white and blue
And share a common table
I drink the common water, In the common glass for wine
I am a common man and I write of common things
There is something different in me
I am in reality, reality of my self
I can say that because I do not hear my mind
It had been long when my heart stopped speaking to me
And it regrets now, when it looks behind.
When I lie on my bed
Flashes come, where the dimension is only time
There is a variable, you,
And nothing defined
I am referred mature now by people around
I have passed the level, called emotions
My actions have a pattern
There is no shelter of justifications
I would never say it to her
I bet she can close her eyes and can get to whatever place she wants but she won’t. Some how she feels it’s an escape from the reality. She won’t even get tears in her eyes, not that she believes it is a sign of cowardice but she feels that is not worth it. I have often seen her alone, but not with her room closed. Once or twice in a day she would challenge against the most obvious and stick to it; the only reason I could think of is that she loves doing it.
My-kinds and the Rest
I particularly hate editing the pics that I click. I, at times, try doing it and few of them comes even better after editing. But soon I started missing the imperfections in the pics. The imperfections were a symbol to me that what you see is not always the best of something. And moreover when someone comments on my edited pics sound so laconic. I miss the part of descriptive comments on my edited pictures.
Bus, Plane and the Airport
It is amazing as how frequently I can fall in love with an entirely new stranger.
It was a long 1.5 hrs journey to the airport from Tollygung; but it was an interesting one. I was accompanied by my friend. The interesting part of the journey started when my friend got up after a short nap in the volvo coach. His “I-Just-Got-Up-You-Moron” face scared a girl who just boarded the bus. She never looked at us the entire journey. I don’t know why, but for some reason it was hilarious.
Just Another Love
It is different here
You shall never know
My eyes dont speak for me
Not an emotion I expect to flow
The empty benches are strips of wood
The wood that is dead and dry
The leaves that lie are lost over them,
Actually have nothing to cry
The light below the streetlamps
I know from where they come
They were not the moonlight as we thought
Nor they were the warmth of sun
The dusty road had a creeking sound
Did you ever notice it play
Or may be it’s in my head u see
Or I have just nothing to say
But I do have so much
And words would not help me out
Or may be it is the vaccum or silence of my head
Or just a bitter doubt
Tell me, if you wish – What did I mean to you
Was I the breeze or the serene touch
Or was I the playful dove
Was I just a painless thought
Or just another love.
