wordsmiths & newsplumbers: Watchout, Modi Eating ‘States’ for Breakfast

wordsmiths & newsplumbers: Watchout, Modi Eating ‘States’ for Breakfast: BY RK MISRA Hope is a good breakfast but a bad dinner. And Congress realized this much to it’s chagrin when  an impatient India sent i...

#17 pain

Among the most frequent ways men have best tried to resist falling a prey to pain is by murmuring, “I have stopped expecting”. How does the statement pass the honest- to- god truth test? Very simply. One can discern that when one stands praying,submitting completely to that mightiest of all. And we stand there on the breadline. Distanced from all that ties us the moment eyes shut or the moment they look above. The above remains as it always does…without a god’s particle.

A fountain of burden freezes within. We are humans and we are made thus. Iceberg still melts, the mountain of an ogler doesn't. It stands hard solidifying all that we intend to marathon out of.

It is not sinful to expect. It does not penalize us. But a probable follow up of pain condenses the feeling of want. Expectations have stopped disembarking at our respective pre- decided destinations. Indeed it aches, but then piling up those needle pricks, we have not stopped in picking up the terminal bud and sipping a cup of tea as regularly as we do. Did we?

Between the good- bad, will be and not be, wish-wish not trajectories, what can be shies away in a diorama. 

The dominant mortals that we are, we take it on us to keep everything appear sans pareil. With or without probabilities, the morning still has its signature sun rise.

#16 complex suite

Modern world tricks us all. If we are alone, we are on internet; if we have people around us, we are running away from them and stay logged in its virtual park. If nothing catches up with us, we catch up with addiction. To keep every aspect of life adhesive fixed we force ourselves to run around. Life puts on the complex suite. In weaving layers of simplicity, complexity is given the guest house.

Spider weaves its web and let us say it crafts it just too well for its survival. It is a home and a trap. Certain things in life pictures perfect with spread out conundrums while some with proper plaits and ribbons. It is in our choice to buy or not inner malaise and display an under weather look.A complex look certainly has very many buyers but not for too long.

Roped in our mini-web we jam our hand painted world with too many thoughts, too many knotty thoughts.

Catching up cold in a wintry night walk or picking up a new interest to play a music instrument have all been kept aside in the to do list. Those rarely get a tick mark till if not age, willingness withers us soon.

Caught in selfie..we gently disengage with self. We maroon the inner self in the quest for an out of line life. Complexity cackles.

***************************************************************************

# 15 to Tendulkar

                                                                                                                                   

How often does it happen that everything is in place, everything is perfect but there is this ear blasting whisper telling us something is missing. Thoughts dip in worry to tap it down what it was that wasn’t around. And then gradually we are able to decipher what it was that went offshore. The icing of enthusiasm stayed away from the picture to make it perfect.

Each article moving at its pace has the Midas touch ones it gets to feel the heart, hand and heed hit it off.

Most lives sum up in parody. Since the birth to the last sleep in the berth, imitation remains constant. There can be changes in between and those changes with full heartedness let us survive our names long after we reduce to meaty memories. It is not in our offsprings we have our rebirths. Our beingness, our representation, our special touch twirls in the memories of others. “Oh, had he/s been here, there would have been ripples all over!” - is our touch.

Liveliness is in the pocket of our heart. At times more than frequent it must be let out for a game.

The legend signed off from what he loved most. He lived his childhood all through his adult life and god willing and he willing shall continue forever. If he hadn’t tossed and turned long with eager enjoyment could he become what has become of him between those 22 yards?

*******************************************************************************************

# 14 on being different

 It takes not too much to understand that each thing we do,think and see isn't much different from what the next one does. It is in putting together of the two and the other digit which makes it different. We are very much alike in all that goes into the making of our world and still we never hold the reign in terming it unique.

Our wired belief in the world to be such and such sets a trap. Picking each straw and putting it the way we want to makes us drift apart from the prefixed queue. We are alone, but together in that. We are different but similar in kind.  

It has always been so.

Since the time we became two legged beast burdened with understanding. And then the quest of being different began to build its ground nest inside of us, brick by brick. We lose, win, set up for a draw..we walk,talk and race against all that tries to scream at us, “you are alike”. Our over the top amour propre resist all the knockings at the door of sensible hearings. We are the monsters with the I know it all  tag screaming aloud: “I stand -out”.

Indeed we do. From our respective pedestal we do, see and act according to the horizon visible to us.

Watching the sun set from a different side makes us different, and the sun sets smiling upon us…

***********************************************************************************************************************

# 13 duality

There is too much of traffic in my CPU as I write now. A never ending flow of thought octopuses me. That perhaps is the only thing that’s on an endless job while everything else goes on a break.

There is burst of crackers outside, inside there is this detonation of thought. With warrant or without, thoughts beat each other to sound louder than the other.

Tongue out, long, curly open-hair, exotic goddess having her best time dancing in my mind. I remember those times when I resisted going out during Diwalis or the festival of Kali Puja( for Bengalis). There was this uncanny, unexplained fear about her gaze.The house gets its décor, it gets illumined but her Durbar still remains absent of the devotee in me. They say she is a mother like any other, both procreator and destroyer, beholding beauty and disaster, love and fear.

Does this then mean she evinces the dual faces of human life?!

She probably is us and we, she. She stands majestic uncovering the inside and we masquerade ourselves in the sheets of plastic.

Sometimes the dark knight in us roars aloud only to make us bite our tongue ( with our late realization!). We fall and we rise with each of it. And… what is life without any fall! (Newton had a universal law!)

***************************************************************************

#12 on facing criticism

When I think of the things that my mother didn't teach me while I was growing up, the first to make it to the list is how to handle sour criticism. And for the records, criticism is no stranger to none.

More often than not, the thin red line between appreciation and criticism is obfuscated. And like any other form of art, criticism too demands its share of appreciation.

But is it so easy?

Why is criticism so sour? It is because of the way it arrests our flow. Those who bare their teeth often do so on the weak, who rarely are equipped to bare the sight let alone respond to it. What starts as criticism fast descends to ridicule and derision generating some perverse pleasure for the so called critic.

Sleigh riding on someone else at his/her loss has been an ancient game of the world. This in no way says that everyone puts on the critics’ hat. It is just few who are at large with their lose tongue wanting to celebrate the rainbow while the sun sets upon us (not often).

A constructive editing receives a thumb up but the one with the absence of get up &get going approach certainly zips up the spirit with which a bird begins its day.

The real editor up there chuckles and leaves a deafening silence.

**************************************************************

#11 smiles

                     The clock ticks and it ticks on its pace. Modern world is no longer walking with time, it is 24x7± racing. And as it races, human life in its transitional phase is going through the constant “sear and yellow leaf” (ref. Macbeth).There are challenges, there are demands. Each wanting from a modern man the result based deadline job done. Period. Spending quality time with family members, investing good loading time in the library or a soft pedaled walk in a less crowded no PDA ( public display of affection) garden, springing for some ‘me time’ becomes a luxury.

Look at this, the entire definition of luxury goes through a paradigm shift.

These days a walk into familiar, unfamiliar places is throwing upon light on strange long standing faces. Each time I offer myself feeling my oats, I come back lost like a ghoul in a seemingly never ending hurricane …Who took away their smiles!!??? What is it that buys them that peace of believing, life loses nothing as one wears those moisturizer? Smile moisturizes struggles,the life in Toto. It warms up others life, in return theirs. The luxury of giving doesn't end in buying materialistic twenty-first century accessories for the receiver. It multiplies, adds on when it dabbles back immeasurable happiness from unaccountable corners.  “What sunshine is to flowers smiles are to humanity.”

Humanity hasn't come to an age where it stands alone,orphaned. It still has a home and the door has to be left ajar.

*****************************************************************************

# 10 beginning

It is time to nail the end, end of a beginning. A new 365 will be up again the next time weekend weaves its way out in words.

Every beginning has a mosey walk: jellylike, unsteady…yet the joy in taking the walk resounds with cackle. That sums up joy. A beginning baskets trepidation, anticipation and stands on watchful grounds but nevertheless it leaps out cracking its shell.

To remain the coxswain from the alpha to omega becomes the mantra.

There might not be over our face new lights flickering right at a time when the world declares it to be a new day, a new beginning. Numerators change people do not, nor do the linking moments. A journey that begins in warm lap toddles out meandering on two feet. Time plays the mediator between change and events. And we wait. There are times when sorry feeling overwhelms us at the slightest pop of saying goodbye and then again there are times when we wait indefatigably for an end to happen. A monochrome voyage of impermanence in the undulant layers of life stretches out.

 The old escorts the new to its throne. With dead foliages the coming becomes sacred: pristine, puerile, worry jammed, worry free. A yesterday molts ushering today and tomorrow thereafter.

Twenty thirteen thus winds up waiting for a fresh bloom in the pot less than half filled and the rest well, not full; or with space.

**************************************************************************