The lost ones – Amy…. Short fiction

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Maybe all men’s mind are like wild prairie flowers and the soul takes on the form of a exquisitely delicate eloping butterfly with glimmering fluttering wings that flits about to and fro gathering nectar with its feathery soft wings to feed and nourish the heart that lies concealed perched on a corner somewhere within the inner maze of man… I wish to express my deep feelings that penetrate past the concrete beast and the code of the mind’s sleep, I run past with steps of fun, with my verses that attempt to make a case for my skill and talent… My mental poverty is deep but I am the line that writes the tales of the life that I see with my suspended yet sincere pen..  But my style keeps filling me with all sorts of raw subliminal energy… I am as drawn to gloom as I am to the heights of provocative emotions, but the tale I am willing to share bears no semblance to my thoughts or their secretive shadowy paths of mystic silence, no siree … the following is not a tale in anyway, i’d like to think that what I am about to share bears a great deal of character, you see I seek to search in the murky depths of everyday streams of busy broad daylight lit clean swept streets, seeking the heart, the soul of men who once stood bold and brave to the uncertain vision of life that sprinkled ambition and taught them to lose themselves in vain imaginations, proud hopes and selfish desires… and then in a sudden twist of fate life made them fall down, and they with their broken fractured hearts, stripped of deeper convictions…. sadly withered away.. Lost and forgotten… They are the lost ones…! Lost and forgotten souls who no longer felt clear, had neither noble intention but rather brooded of the years gone by and the lost chances and the worst question of them all, what if..?

I walk to see into eyes, to make something lasting of even the most random of mundane encounters, to make something of fleeting moments of unexpected direct looks, ready form appearances and , to dwell amidst the silence separating strangers, to feel the broken dreams of souls homeless and lost, wandering trapped in restless furnaces of burning ever weary hearts that orbited around circles of unchangeable plight and fate. What is sorrow…? What is shame…? What does it mean to have a dream lost…? A heart broken…? I wish I had happy thoughts, I wish I sought happiness and had it perennially blooming in my heart, but no.. I have been cursed to share a certain sense of madness.. I quite profess a rather daring love for it, and a certain love of sorrow  among other unnameable things that currently entered not into my mind’s quarters…The vast chaos of the city matched the invisible forces intent on crashing into my life like immovable solid shadows, deep lashing waves possessed by the rage of a storm and forever chaining me to the unseen, the unspoken and the slow loss of innocence into stagnant pits breeding all forms of repressed unspoken violence… Violins wail tunes of sorrow, like the grand rapid decline of rushing streams or great big drops of falling tears that flow up ravines gnashing with raw primal hunger falling seemingly like a doomed soul clinging to the last traces of sanity before being cast off into the fiery pit of no return, damned for all of eternity, like a root on the side of a cliff protruding and , to the dark silhouettes of gleaming sinister clouds, like fast moving ants, like a souls dancing to unheard melodies casting them in trances stripping away their memories and sad imaginations… I walked to see the unseen, I was a shadow, a mere footprint of a song with no lyrics but with music waving like emotion, filled with emotion and indescribable lost poetic symphonies of the heart. ‘What about certain people makes one feel so senseless, belligerent and careless in his handling of them…? I claim no special inner quality, no deeper embrace of mankind nor do I have the will in me to profess altruistic abandonment, I am a mere man, flawed and incompetent but I have for long wandered below the surface gathering stray pieces that often slipped unseen. I first remember seeing her when my age meandered between the numerals of 19 and 20.. I make no assurance of this being a tale of feeling, I can most assuredly say to you that this is a tale of abject fear, and like a demon that possessed me for long I cast it over time after battles with voices and forceful opinions, should I make mention the fact that for the longest while like a long and twisting pipe that connected my heart and mind, I remember feeling a great sense of uneasiness and fearful confusion gripping me in my inner being like a strangle unseen noose increasing its grip as I longed even sobbed for the release to intake warm glorious air. I don’t know why I felt so drawn to her story, even

My mother stuck to her oath of Christian virtue, and her generosity often brought in to our warm spacious abode souls of all kinds, souls that lingered and seated themselves in the hall near the doorway, who were humble and beat down, and operated as planets orbiting the paths of our own, but the dominant species were  people who had but nothing to their lives but meager conditions, viciously repressed emotions and a dull embedded sense of lost hopelessness.

My mother, kind, gentle, humble and devoted to the higher call of the spirit filled life of the Christian Faith, and to the call of the Christian, often abandoned deeper concerns to the image of the self and the subtle consequence of generous compassion , and I loved her for it, she was a great mom, but it was through one such action that brought the woman i’d like to call Amy into the midst of our lives. I must now abandon the sensual tone to my thoughts and drift more towards the  calmness and detail of those early years, for I rely most on descriptions, of times framed in memories and the sounds that so delighted a certain self absorbed youth to pull me into recreating those formless stolen moments.. Time robs one of feelings… Maybe that’s why we spend so much of our time retreating back into the haven of what was, for the present moment does not seem fulfilling in its scope of memorability, and it certainly seems more rigid to truly create something of lasting value these days… !

I remember that time well, for we lived in a 3 floored rented house a little down the main pathway, further from the fork where the lane led to the main street that was wide and uneven , a little rumpled with the blows of time,  and stuffed with rocky soil , now I move away with slow silence to discuss the abode where we resided for a good part of five years, I could say that it was quite classy and modern in its makeup, built with money obtained from a husband working in some damned Arabian country making plenty of useless money, but I remember more, more than the comfort and the inner close quarters where sunny afternoons offered a deep shaded silence, I remember the crude emotional hypocrisy and indecency of the house owner who lived upstairs, her treacherous nature that cleverly disguised a busy body more interested in other people’s lives than her own, she who would often walk in with no qualms and with an air of authority into the privacy of our life’s moments in that stretch of enclosed space, since there were no doors and walls that separated our home from her place on the second floor,  a thoroughly skeptical savant who thrived on such random encounters that established her invasive tendencies and sheer emotionless attitude towards another person’s feeling, a certain sense of wariness thrived in our homes back then… What do they say in terms of the Faith to describe such a complicated emotional situation…? A thorn placed to focus minds into the discipline of total submission to divine will placed on us by the sovereign reign of the Man Jesus Christ who was God in the incarnate form..!

I remember the arching arc that lay above my head when one made his way into that part of our home that lay just before the backdoor and beside the kitchen that glowed with the yellow light from the grimy closed windows greased and covered with soot. I remember idle days spent staring over the high wall behind our back door, staring into the open low grass grounds , such wide grounds tends to deeply bore into one’s mind, there was not a tiny amount of space where the heat fell down in great open rays swarming every inch with invisible flames. It appeared barren and unappealing to my own sensitive eyes that would’ve longed for more trees and perhaps a tiny pond or river, but in this town ponds and rivers were ancient memories, there was not an inch of fertile ground, the heat ate away the fresh green, the grass were a thin vague brown, they were dry and an inch away from the ground.

The wide long space belonged to a teacher training institute that was situated a few metres away,  lovely old dilapidated deserted buildings with paint peeling were observable from my position on the wall…I remember too the slender necks of the so called milk plants that grew as tall as the ten foot wall, plants that had a certain pale purple to their complexions, I would climb over the high wall or walk on it depending on the inner feel, imagining myself to be some invincible immortal human fully filled with power and immeasurable strength, wondering if I could ever lift off and fly into the vast skies and escape the ordinary boring life of education and discipline that seemed to suffocate my active energetic mind.

The Old buildings were abandoned in the height of the summer, for the institute closed during the summer, I remember men with gaiety to their conduct, a certain stylish swag to their step, archetypal images of strength of the masculine psyche, bolts of warm camaraderie flash through my mind, of course I care not for them, I hardly minded them for I found their need for attention annoying, look at us they seemed to say, look at our glory young child, look at our strength young dreamer…  I did not venture into any form of friendships nor did I ever choose to acknowledge their presence, it was a comfortable distance between the two worlds. I found human interactions tended to limit my own sense of freedom, I found a much greater love and affection offered by the wind, the neem trees with their woody bark and their noisy squabbling squirrels more enduring to my own energies, I climbed walls, and I slept on high slabs above the ground, my summer strategies and schemes were numerous and rather complex.

Certain legal disputes between the institute and some political forces intent on taking over the compound for their own purposes soon drove all of these aspiring promising men out into other corners of town in order to pursue their education, and soon the place dropped to the ground and all academic activities were stopped, and it began to grow lonely and inhabit a certain sense of lifelessness that deeply affected me, no longer were there sounds of laughter and loud conversation between those walls, a strange uneasy silence seemed to settle over that place and it appeared haunted and wrapped in all sorts of sullen sad silence. The town and its close minded politics had won, that foul undercurrent of rage that men of evil intentions often sported in order to intimidate and destroy seemed to hover over that place, and I was reminded of its cruelty each time I stared at that long hall of empty blank windows that sang songs of silence and memories. Memories are a strange thing, they always tend to grip and hold you when you are just about ready to pull the damn plug that holds all sorts of bottled up emotional tendencies.

I am drifting apart from the crux of my early impressions of her who it is I wish to speak on for a few minutes before the ink in my mind’s pen runs dry and I lose myself into the ever turbulent chaos of my mind , Watchman Nee said that drifting thoughts were a sin that were to be cast away,  I guess I sin quite efficiently in that regard, but I run away into the woods like the diffused beams of light finding trees, and branches that are eager to feed into me and gleam. The mind is like a sublime mosaic floor, sullied when the still silent vision of the soul loses ground to the louder noise and dialects of the thought and the mind Perhaps I should cast a rope and tether it to a tree just so that I don’t deviate from the main content or rather the character of whom I wish to speak.

All I could say was that she was thin, almost frail in certain regards…The first thing that  I remember in regard to her persona was her walk, There are so many different kinds of walks that one comes across, the walk that reveals character and the walk that clings to one’s choice of wear, the walk that is a revelation of the self and the walk that is casual and almost unconscious free of inner feelings and emotions, she walked with her head up straight, a marching type of a walk that had more of an easy smile and a much lesser inner burden. You can always tell whether or not one has a burden by the way they walk, or rather by observing them over a period of time, she was quite free during those early years, her family life was rather chaotic and perplexing, the Indian life in the underbelly, the kind found in the lowest roofs and simple spaces is filled with all kinds of familial strife, of madness, of violence and of all forms of uneasy tension. Unfulfilled dreams and the constant oppression of poverty and the general lack of respect laid bare their souls on the pavement, Amy’s parents were not poor, but they were lower middle class citizens, her father had abandoned her family at a young age, and her mother never outgrew the rejection of her son who had stopped being her son and rather grew into a personality, he had a decent job at the Christian hospital and he spoke well, he spoke with a charm and he was humble or so in the eyes of the others, I feel like he abandoned the ties with family since it reminded him much about his roots, he was global now, and did not subscribe to the normality that a family life offered. And Amy was the elder sister, and Mal and Amy were like Yin and Yang, Mal was outspoken, endearing and warm, Amy on the other hand took time to get close to someone, had a quick and snarling mouth that picked apart the most sensitive compartments of another soul, but she was loyal and honored kindness with a longevity, whereas Mal sought to not let these slight matters get in the way of his own ambitious plans.

Amy was happy in those early days, I remember them well, I see it like a moving picture captured in eternal light, we lived right next to a dusty road with sharp rocks often left on the sides that made one’s steps slip in the most unplanned manners, we lived deep in a colony filled with all sorts of Evangelistic and brave souls, a little to the side was the home office of Indian Evangelism, a missionary organization that sought to spread the word and the gospel to the tribes buried deep in the jungles of northern India, a rather dangerous mission but a necessary task that brought more souls to the knowledge of a Loving wonderful God.

I detested people gaining the upper hand, I am never one for control, and I did not play mind games of any sort, to be honest I am more of a pawn than a Queen, I did not like to be controlled or left hanging, I was rather naive about  I basically detested those sorts of characters who played all sorts of mind games with you knowing that they possessed the higher ground, and they made you feel like some perverse scum when they took away all forms of communication, they reduced it to some awkward stretch of maddening silence where your heart is busy creating all sorts of assumptions and presumptions, I detested with my whole soul the character that sought to gain the upper hand by stopping all forms of communication just because they felt like it, and they explained it away using effortless words such as ‘ Oh i’m sorry I didn’t know that I must have forgotten…’ or… ‘Jeez take a chill pill dude, stop freaking it out man, its not a big effin deal…’ … And i’d be like… Really…??  And it irritated me and aggravated me, I was basically being nice to you, I might have said some unnecessary blunt things, that does not make me a jerk of any sort, as a matter of fact I only say that because I say whatever comes to my mind, I seldom utter words that would hurt or bother you in some way, but i’d go to great lengths to make you feel embraced and loved, if that seems wrong to your Highness I offer my highest apologies, I did not like to get sucked into the emotional blackness that consisted of my own loud screams for meaning and clarity.

But perhaps that’s what Amy felt, to make my point clear I have to let you know that she is one of the victims of heartbreak, yes that same sordid condition that rendered hearts bleak and repeated tragic emotions on a loophole for all of eternity. It all began when she met this guy called Taj, he sweet talked her into falling for him, and then later took off for no discernible reason, it had originally been a friendship, it had been filled with all the effects of long conversations and light hearted teasing and fun, and then feelings got thicker, He confessed his feelings and she too floored by his manly sensitivity gave in, but like I told you life hands out quite some messed up scripts, she came to find out that he had been married twice, and one of his wives was still out looking for him, you think that’s twisted…? She like all smitten lovers came to me, and asked me if he was sincere, if he ever truly loved her, what could I tell her…? I was no expert on the matters of love, I was a screw up myself… She came to me with different angles, showed me different messages that all contained the charming language indigenous to matters of love. I offered her my deepest apologies, I was never one to command one to move on, that was a choice that one made based on the thoughts of their own mind, though I have studied to be a counselor now, and it happens to be quite an inseparable routine in my day job to tell people that they had to move on and to separate themselves from former memories and to look at life as a grand big adventure and to go forward and create their own destinies, I only  did so out of concern I was never one to offer mere apologies, I let their own tragedies sink into me, in my profession that was dangerous, you did not relate to the tragedies of another soul, they could consume and wreck one’s soul, but I so wanted their hearts to heal, I wanted them to smile and feel in their hearts that they had a second chance and they did… They all did… Life was always filled with second chances.. The second, the third and the infinite, but I knew how the mind played with the heart, especially a broken heart weeping grand big unstoppable tears of deep deep sorrow, I wanted to tell her that life was cruel, life was a mad ride in some cosmic amusement park with alternate dimensions, I offered her the only anecdote that I knew… The only mantra that I had always clung strongly to… ‘ Don’t give up Akka..’ I said in a voice filled with encouragement, I asked her to pray and to speak to the Lord.

But she saw the entire thing with agony, with lost hope, as a last chance attempt, as a closing door, she was a year over thirty, and in this medieval society women over thirty were lost causes. There was no hope remaining, her mom hardly bothered about her state, each day she hardly enquired about her life, her father demanded that she as a daughter had a whole lot of responsibilities to fill, for years she had been saving money gained from a low paying job to support her single cynical foul mouthed mother, that money was taken away and her Father claimed it as his, each day he offered a sharp commentary about her lack of decency, that flab goop of marital infidelity was preaching to her about the nature of virtue, he was beating her down because she would not go against his opinion, the cruel fate of the Indian woman, her brother stole her hard earned money that paid for all the groceries, she was no one in their eyes, she was a mere machine, a machine on whom the collected burdens of all their inadequacies was dumped, a slave, a prisoner bound in chains, now well over forty, never married, lone, single, sad lost forgotten soul passing away in wide busy roads.

Every one made sure that they stamped the fact that she was unmarried into their petty foul gossips, they never saw the rose who bore all the struggles willingly, they did not see her long hard hours of labor, they never saw her agony, only God saw all that, and He remained silent and mysterious as ever. The entire gamut of people’s opinions sunk deeply into her, and I remember too sadly the resulting fall into chronic numbness of soul, the subsequent slow and cruel breaking down of the heart breaking into a million unrecoverable pieces, like pieces of glass falling and crashing on to the hard flat ground, then the retreat inward, deep in to the heart of sorrow’s misery, the dejection of lost hope , soon the blunt exterior emerged outward, the constant battle to stay afloat on life’s cruel demands, slowly I observed the sad rebound relationships with superficial man longing, the meaningless chatter, the dreamy longing for some prince charming in this sad unrelenting town to sweep her off her feet and carry her far away from the town’s lost hopes and limited offers of joy and ambition…. She was lost, a lost flower, and in this town, these were the sad hidden stories buried deep deep in the hearts of rude cold people. Each face has a story to tell, each heart has a pain to bear, we are all lost and lonely, Oh Heavenly Father we pray and cry that you feel our desolate mystery…!

Today

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I woke up from the deep dark mine where all symbols appeared as dreams,

I woke up desiring not to feel lost,

I woke up praising the Lord with all my heart,

I woke up and as I woke up my demons awakened with me,

Your life ain’t going nowhere they said,

I felt the familiar feeling settle deep down in my inmost being,

but I turned instead to my Daily bread,

In my heart I told my Father, Your word have I hidden in my heart,

As I meditated watching the skies open up their early morning sights,

I felt a great sense of union with all of life,

Maybe there isn’t a God, a part of me whispered,

I have learnt to look beyond these arguments that draw me in to struggle,

Lord today is my offering unto you, Father your spirit I want in my heart,

Today I woke up determined to not repeat a thousand yesterdays of defeated lowliness and forgettable sundays, mondays and every other weekdays,

I woke up today feeling the need to thank God for the comfort and protection offered during the night,

I woke up today knowing that my entire soul detested ordinariness of heart, I woke up today with traces and residues of my heart’s battles, I woke up today knowing that they would seldom leave my heart, I open my eyes knowing that my heart needed Jesus than my own analytical thoughts,

I woke up today hungry for Jesus, I woke up with my sins knowing that I need Jesus on the inside,

I woke up knowing that with Jesus by my side today is gonna be alright,

I woke up with something moving me on the inside, moving me to rejoice, to celebrate despite my moody infected heart,

I woke up with joy in my heart and my feet following their song, I woke up knowing that I can be defeated, destroyed and manipulated and intimidated,

But I decided to let Jesus handle the traffic of my heart, I know that the many things that bother me, diverse mockery, blasphemy, my own hypocrisy, my own self inflicted deeeeep deeep shady divisive doubts,

But Jesus told me to give me all the hate , all the doubts, all the hopeless meaningless coldness of my heart, all the mockery, all the wickedness,

So you know what I did…?? I woke up today, knelt beside my bed and spent sometime talking to Jesus, and I decided that that would be the foundation and the rock from where I would begin my day,

So Amen, Glory and Halleuluijah…. Satan you can defeat me but you can never ever take my love for Jesus… So to Hell with all my doubts and to Hell with you…My soul don’t belong to you… My soul belongs to Jesus and Him alone…  And my fears… Yeah you might be real… Whoops… but hey my ALTER EGO is named ‘ I DONT CARE’…SO Hey-o… My soul belongs to Jesus… My strength comes from Jesus… My everything belongs to Jesus… My praise and admiration goes only to Jesus the Lord and savior of my heart… SO YEAH…I THINK TODAY IS GONNA BE A MIGHTY GOOD DAY 😀

People People

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People people everywhere

People on front porches with lazy chairs fanning cushions of air that push past heat,

People in subways, pushing away, in a constant hurry, carrying bags, guarded yet feeling all alone,

People who show true colors over a period of time, People whom we have to let go, People with ulterior motives and pleasing impressions, People who stalk and prey with perverse inclinations,

People with unfulfilled lives, People who live through another person’s life, People who write, People who wished that they could write, People whose words no one ever would ever read,

People who wrote with unfulfilled ambitions, People who wrote to feel alive, People who wrote in the heat of the moment, People who wrote with a calm focused mind, People who have trouble capturing thoughts that they swear passes by them all the time,

People with all the latest fashions and looks, People who are always searching for the right words, People with a stammer and People who hiccup in the middle of important dinners, People who thrive in groups but run out of words when they meet someone who wishes to speak alone, People who talk all the time, People who always end up alone..

People who are comfortable to be with just because they smile all the time, People who cheer for progress, People who argue all the time concerning everything about nothing, People who quarrel concerning religious matters,

People who work late, people who work with all they’ve got, People whom one can never truly feel nor understand,  People who mock Faith, people who call religion a teaching a million years old and which happens to stand in the way of progress,

People who reduce valuable moral laws to silly old laughable laws that are obsolete and a waste of time, People who fall in love all the time, People who can never quite understand love, People who choose to share their heart with that special someone who they hope would never leave their side,

People who love someone hoping that they forget the wounds of that someone else who left them with cruel memories and fatal rejections, People who die for love and People who swear that love is a grand conspiracy,

War war everywhere, in the highest heavens, in the lowest earth, every day is a war with right and wrong, with purpose and all sorts of idle meaningless motions,

People who believe in aliens more than they would a telephone bill, People who cheer for their presidents all the time, People who cheer wild and seem to explode into hoots and whistles at any given time,

People who love mysteries and old fairy tales, and People who argue that Fairy tales were written by Heroin addicts who possessed naive souls that bled at every dash against painful reality,

People who love feeling the air, People who visit dawn as it blooms beside the eternal waves of the sea, People who stretch their arms against the winds hoping that they’d fly away somewhere else,

People who play with beams of sunshine hopping from leaf to leaf, people who draw on sands the names of their crushes and then hurriedly erase them forever, People who scribble their phone numbers on fast moving trains, People who would do anything for love, People who draw hearts on great big boulders ,

People who proclaim their undying love for their beloved from the rooftops, People who speak politics as they would speak to each other, People in hair saloons discussing the lives of everybody else who seem threatening, cutting them down to size,

People who keep their Bibles at their sides as they sleep, Sidewalk Prophets screaming screams of imminent doom, Presidents on the television discussing plans of great radical change that would uplift the economy and provide a stable source of employment and hope to all and everyone,

People who grow long beards and walk all day long with intense pious conservatism, People who become priests and preach in tones of solemnness and persuasive emotion,

People who raise the bar for everyone living, People who die and are remembered forever, People who die in some lousy shabby corner on the side of the street and are promptly forgotten and swept aside, People who grind all night long playing ball against a million unseen foes who wrote them off,

People who are natural at everything to do, People who struggle at everything they do, People who become a mere shadow of their former selves, people who are eternally conflicted by labels and everything in particular,

People who walk by drive ways, People holding hands together walking towards large movie halls, People walking lone and desolate on Highways, people who live all their lives in crowded space
People who seldom appreciated the meaning of life, People who always walked over in a daze, People who always were on the search for meaning, People who worked in cubicles dreaming fantasies of jumping off the top of some high appearing building,

People who were rude, People who were crude, people who were evil, snobbish, selfish,prideful, dismissive, scornful, hateful, People who walked all over people’s hearts, People who broke another hearts without any such intentions, People who never forgot their first love, People who never ever spoke to the girl or boy that they were convinced was the love of their lives,

People who loved the bottle, People who cooked soup for their burning hunger and empty desolate tummies in their lonely apartments, People who injected heroin into their veins to get through their dull routine called a day, People who drank to overcome their shyness, People who drank because their fathers too had been lousy good for nothing drunks,
People who were beautiful and eternal, People who were forever bothered by their appearances,

People who worked out to get in shape, People who worked out in order to get noticed, People who were seldom noticed and were always taken for granted, people who preached at street corners and people who worked all their lives as maids and servants who always were following some sort of orders,

People who waited everyday for the one that got away, People whose phones seldom offered a call, and People who seldom got a text message, People who were perennially bothered about what they had once said and what they had once done, People who were good but pushed aside and not respected,

People forever standing in long train lines, People forever stuck in long hospital queues waiting to sign up forms for sicknesses untreated and large, People singing songs that nobody heard in showers and empty long windswept streets, People who were so desperately poor and who saved up money with hardships to educate rebellious discontented children who seldom completed their education and slowly sunk to a life of crime or hard and harsh manual labor,

Poor kids studying under street lamps, laboring with firm discipline and at the same time watching small road side stalls buzzing with bees, the children of the slums sleeping on cold hard dirty platforms next to suburban railway stations, playing with old torn rags and flirting with danger and a premature death,

People who walked around bored and people who did something so magical and unthinkable with their life, People who judged and talked behind people’s back and People who confronted and ran a manic paced attack,

People who talked about Christ and Salvation, and People who dismissed it as plain old fiction from a thousand year old book that spoke ancient benediction, Morals were rules that made life boring spoke wallpapers on atheist websites with funny blasphemous slogans,

People who waited for the right feeling, and People who were being killed in third world countries, suffering immense poverty, People who described immense incredible visions, People who sat beside rushing waters meditating, People who explored deep dark dangerous jungles and people who were homemakers and stayed indoors,

People who grew gardens and People who threw stones at fast moving armored tankers, People who thought all day and had lousy unfulfilled moods and people who thought of the necessary and were stopped by life’s blind walls, People who dressed up to visit big busy malls, and people who merely walked around with hands in their pockets staring at nothing in particular,

People who wanted to know about each and every detail, and people who were constantly short sighted and always a minute too late for comfort, People who imagined fantasies of love and heroism and People who dreamt about death more often than not,

People who went through a day based on their feelings, and people who hardly considered another person’s feelings, People, people everywhere, on the board walk, on the university canteen table, near the bus stop, walking alongside the unfurling waves stretching into the great horizon that sprung forth hope eternal, engaged in each other’s lives, People people everywhere

A memory that I wished to write about in ten minutes(writing exercise)

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I remember him well, he liked to call himself duke and he had the mannerism of a Duke , the type that you find strutting with regal wares in London, he wore a beard around his face with his loose cheeks and his shrewd  eyes.  We were young students at that time, he was a little older than me, but we shared the same idealistic thirst and liked to express our ideas in grandiose intellectual theories, He liked to call me Fidel after the Cuban Dictator, since I was quite his ally in most of his left wing ideologies, in a certain way it was a meeting of the soul and of the mind, I represented the soul, I possessed a deep union with all forms and feelings, I swam in the ocean of the unconscious, and I drew strange drawings as I remembered them in my dreams. He was the opposite, he was cold, choosy, heavily introverted and selective and drew upon the knowledge and the observations that he had acquired over years of existence. Too often we found ourselves in the existential dilemma, our friendship was often threatened by his need to control my own feelings and I would have liked for him to be a little more sensitive to the others, he had a great capacity to take things directed at him personally, I on the other hand took everything personally, I had the ambition that arose from years of subjugation and awkward social memories, I had a chip on my shoulder, but I did not feed into that flame completely. I was a drifter and an outsider, I occupied the mental realms with flourish, and I had seriousness and intensity but I used them as fuel to pour into my mind so that I would finally reach a position of awareness that would connect my soul to the world at large. I sought to understand the world, meanwhile Che sought to establish a tower on which he could shout out orders. He was one of those fierce intellectual types, he was much shorter than me, but he was not necessarily stocky as opposed to well fed, he fit his frame quite well, and his whole body just shivered in raw energy when he spoke, there was a certain command and tone to his voice that bordered well on emotional. He invested a whole lot of energy into his speeches, fiery speeches that truly brought out the whole political asylum that occupied the powerhouse at the moment in the state,  he had closely read Karl Marx’s ideologies, and though he did not reveal it, he did not like to be reminded that his ideas took form thanks to the founder of communism, but that was a great time, I was heavily drawn to the areas of self exploration, I wrote all my dreams in a black skinned book with a hard cover, and I drew a great deal from memory, I was not skilled with the easel, but I let my dreams lead me, I was quite good at picking up clues to the make up of a person’s character in their dreams, I wanted to be a dream analyst, and I pored over the works of the founder of Transpersonal Psychology( among other branches of science)  – Carl Jung, Meanwhile in a strange twist of fate, Che was drawn heavily to the works of Sigmund Freud.

I frequented classes of Philosophy, I was drawn heavily of course to Jiddu Krishnamurti, whose philosophies had a strange effect on my own haphazard manners of thought. I greeted the change in philosophy with a great deal of excitement as is atypical of me. And when we retired back to my place where Che often stayed, I would go on and on about how Krishnamurti or K as he liked to be called affected me. But Che maintained a strong position of power, ‘ I have read them all’ he’d say, and cause my own feelings to subside, ‘ I have thought along their lines, I have seen them all’ he’d say and i’d stop my momentary sense of giddiness and sink into a foul sense of despair. Back then I did not like it when people reminded me that they too had come upon such profound theories, but where he had come upon it in passing, I established it more firmly. I held on to K’s teachings, often reading them during lectures, lunch hours, evenings and along side the beach and its dashing waves, it truly seemed to permeate my entire being and opened in my heart a window, The ‘self’ that  I had been so far, vanished, my thoughts became approachable, where they had formerly assumed the nature of raw instinctual energy, they stopped and opened up their vases to offer a glimpse into the doors behind the mazes that too consumed me.  Life suddenly had meaning, sunsets drew me in, the stars offered me lucid details, I had always felt drawn to them, but now I was united into their psyche. I was rapidly growing in my understanding of nature and the matter of thoughts, but as all there is in this sad life, growth opened the doors to a new development, Che felt more inclined to exert his ego’s splendor during our conversations, where he would exhaust himself to my ever attentive ears with splendid portrayals and jargons concerning politics, the nature of rude obnoxious women who rejected him and the tiniest details of the professors who often dismissed him, I would open up as refreshment a topic concerning maybe the meaning of life, a topic which I hoped would be open and congenial, but there were all sorts of subtle shadows and implied stereotypes that crept in, I was only the pupil, he was the grand Master, I could never say something that has not already been said and that which has already been thought. I suffered such implications extensively, I had a habit of taking them in, but I sought instead to rupture and cage them in a corner, for the sake of progress, and to hold on to my defunct Christian Virtue, I truly never took the efforts to assert my stance in the state of affairs. Not that he did not listen to me, each confession that I made was taken as some salacious offerings of weakness, we both played counselor for many people, but he had this sub-conscious nature to assert his superiority in that matter, and like Jung in the company of Freud, I let it slip, I had the stronger will and he had the bigger ego.

His nature of control disassembled most of my thoughts, I was not stuck up alone of dreams, I wandered rather extensively, as all idealists I did every now and then offer a grasp of the worldly stage and situation, I offered my contempt for the local law whose corruption truly aggravated me in a pathological manner, and I spoke about the dysfunction inherent in each department at the University that could seldom be transcended. We were like all human beings assigned to live in a saturated state of our conditioning, a conditioning that was seemingly self centered and bureaucratic. But they were again waved off as insignificant, I was not looking deeper he’d say, I was only on the surface, he meanwhile had the greater understanding by his zeal for the left wing of Politics. He befriended most of the political science students, who were a rather upbeat bunch, a subtle ploy at establishing dominance. I meanwhile befriended a shy but knowledgeable professor of Christian Theology from the Christian Studies department, I befriended the Head of the department of Indian Philosophy, He would later teach me the basics of Zen and as I mentioned earlier he taught an introductory course to Krishnamurti’s teachings as part of our soft skills course. As I mentioned my intellectual infatuation with Krishnamurti, I spent a lot of my meagre pocket money on buying his books at the local landmark book store, that had quite the collection of his writings. Whenever I picked up his book from the Philosophy section, i’d look at the empty spot and tell the other books,’ make room, i’ll be dropping in soon. ‘

The memory that I wish to touch upon, happened one night, it was nothing in particular, we were up as usual discussing philosophy and the significance of journeys, and I offered the words of Krishnamurti in order to make a point to one of my arguments that were as usual never completely heard.  Despite his cold dismissal of Krishnamurti’s teachings, that evening there was a glint in his eye, the kind of look that a hawk has when it locks down on its prey, What are his philosophies…? He asked me in an almost casual off handed manner, but I knew that cunning tone well, I brushed it off, and I attempted to talk about his philosophies, but truth be told, most of what K spoke about I felt, they opened up spaces between closely parked thoughts, they relieved me of stress from picking my will to choosing my battles, they allowed me to sort out things, and they truly affected the vision of that time that I felt, they were a part of my soul, one does not gather adequate words to describe his love for someone, there were no rules there, there was just a connection, a connection that one felt in the core of his being, it was akin to reading Siddhartha by Herman Hesse, one did not remember much about Siddhartha apart from Hesse’s exceptional prose, but that night I could not speak, and I had trouble expressing my point, and he dismissed it with his characteristic blunt sarcasm, I don’t know why I was reminded of that memory for this exercise, maybe I didn’t like the thought that he could speak for me when I had my own voice, or maybe it was the manner in which he assumed a superior stance to whatever I was about, or maybe it was his lack of Faith in people, I really don’t know, but the moment he questioned my own intelligence, I withdrew, gradually we parted ways, it didn’t work out, I learned a lot from him, and I also decided that I was way better at the Seeker business alone.

A scary dream- I wrote this in the year 2011

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I open my eyes to take in the thick dark of the heart,
I see a passage grim, and bleak, my dreams I hold in my heart,
I rush in without a second’s thought,
The stars I see in the skies promising to stand by me,
I sought deeper and deeper to complete myself in this invisible demons’ den,
I wouldn’t bow down to none nor would I awake to slaps of cold hard reality,
I willed myself more and more to enter deeper and deeper into this dark confusing maze,
I lift the lamp of my determination to take in the concrete marsh of the crazed cruel labyrinth of the mind,
I go to sleep even as my eyes refuse to close and nightmares stand aside the walls as I finally sleep,
Everything is never as it seems,
Never let the intellect be weighed down and thrown over the cliff,
I walk long and hard on the sinister grounds where everything is a mystery,
specks of dust rise up in the air, floating to the great big ball of unconscious energy,
I meet a child there standing in silence , standing with shame and fear,
I go closer and I recognize him as me,
I suddenly become a wild untameable bull big and strong and let out a loud growl,
and I completely run right into these phantasmic phantoms that are seldom real,
but somewhere along the line in these eternal raging battles I lost my way,
I stopped caring for another, my heart hardened and I wanted only to have my will be done,
I didn’t have time for no other,
I run and pray for wonders to appear, but the rain moves a million miles away,
and I carry on, walking , living, probing, analyzing, sinking deeper and deeper into the mud,
I stay away from the other light that promises to truly reform me,
I Constantly tell myself that I would reform, that I would find my way,
but the passage gets more thicker and the light has faded out,
I am lost now, and I dont seem to know the way back,
but I carry on, I still have plenty of time, I tell myself ,
I have lots of time, I know how to find my way I tell myself,
Even as I hear cruel whispers taunting my footsteps and sounds from another side,
I realize that I have lost my way,
I brace myself and tell my heart that this is not real,
I convince myself that I am lost in some hallucinatory tunnel,
I see a fire in the distance, my life feels old, I have spent most of my years now in this tunnel, weeping about nothing, living for anything,
I run, hoping for some directions, but I realize with stark terror that I have run right into Hell’s Entrance
I turn my head to run back, to gain time, to start over again, but the light has gone from my heart,
I fall in terror down the edge and the cruel flames that would burn me for all eternity lie await screaming and crying with horrific terrors

Broken pieces of mirrors – Short Fiction

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I stared up at the ceiling., my heart felt like it had stilled, like I was stranded in the middle of an ocean whose waters stretched for miles and miles dashing into the
invisible walls of the horizon, and here I was floating atop a plank, staring into the nothingness that stretched for infinity and feeling sad and displeased for no reason
and losing myself in the bulging swells that made the watery sheets shiver and ,
” What if it is all a ruse man…? What if there is no such thing called love…? What if it is filled with all the rash judgments of youth”
His eyes were consumed by the low flickering waves of infinite scattered particles radiating from the screen, I looked over at him, he was staring at nothing in
particular, the night was deep and the dark rigid material of the room was broken only by the bright lights of the television, his back was against the wall, his
bespectacled eyes were deep and lost in some abstract emotional malady, I turned my gaze towards the screen, the sound was low, and a blonde feminine
frenchwoman whose forehead was exceptional with soft pink pouty lips played by Julie Delpy was deep in conversation with a lean unsatisfied Ethan Hawke on a
boat …

‘ Jesse: You want to know why I wrote that stupid book?
Celine: Why?
Jesse: So that you might come to a reading in Paris and I could walk up to you and ask, “Where the fuck were you?”
Celine: [laughing] No – you thought I’d be here today?
Jesse: I’m serious. I think I wrote it, in a way, to try to find you.
Celine: Okay, that’s – I know that’s not true, but that’s sweet of you to say.
Jesse: I think it is true.’

My heart felt warm like a dying flicker in a heap of stoic embers, but the moment hurried past me and I was left all alone in the subway a thousand feet below and the
last train to arrive an hour and a half later and all I could do was sit and wait in the disturbing emptiness left by crowds and people with rubber faces filled with all
sorts of ,
‘ Maybe love is a fantasy… A fiction that men create in order to blot out the unbearable excess of reality… A dream that adds layers to shallow depths… a fading
sunset that follows long hours of pitch black darkness… Maybe that’s why when you walk on the street and you exchange glances with some attractive stranger you
feel some vague connection… an impression of something that often makes one feel like he possesses something eternal in his heart, but then the moment passes and
life returns with its cold embrace stripping one of that vision…Everyday we have to fall for visions that promise to fill out all the incomplete fragments of heart separated by evil wounds and persistent scars… I wish that I believed in something real for once…’ I spoke in a tone that blended with the mellow flow of the darkness

He thought about what I said…

A development in thought

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You never have to go beyond a certain sense of visibility… What is observable is what is perceived…yesterday evening I felt the wind carry the fresh winds that dripped of rain… A lot different in feel and quality… Feathery light and prophetic of impending rain… Quite different from the mild coolness of the evening summer breezes that flirted with the leaves… They were fresh and evergreen, reminding me of higher altitudes and hill stations with big pine trees that had mists shrouding their pristine heights… The roads were a gory fine brown in the mornings, the gleam of Sun overflowing like a deep tidal wave… We were all drowning in the powerful heat wave, submerging and gasping for breath… Meanwhile on the social networking site that I frequented , people posted immensely vulnerable details of their lives… I spoke about how meaningless my life was without Christ… Meanwhile a girl bemoaned her lack of of a relationship with attention seeking posters that were filled with all sorts of awkward self effacing humor that silently propagated a subtle innuendo… A guy who had shaved his head and sported a French beard posted ultra long posts that tackled themes of Christianity that strangely confused one more than expected… Bible verses were offered as a means of direction to go alongside the primal tone of articulation that most God men and gurus perfected … His globular eyes were a perfect match for the roundness of the head that contorted to all sorts of ‘hip’ poses that flaunted an advancement of one’s self style to that commonly found in most western countries… Appearing that way probably made one feel like he had transcended his state, his country and his more simple minded fellow men who wandered around with ordinary appearances and brisk thick moustaches.

This town seemed stationary to me, people were headed nowhere fast, and like a certain girl that one can never develop feelings for, one avoided the thought of such an interaction at the surface level, in the city I was attracted to the most charlatan personality, deeply probing him through my instruments of intellect, but here there seemed nothing intriguing about the men and women, they were complete and they offered nothing beyond their facial restrictions, life was different around here, the colony where I lived, people were evasive about meeting another’s eyes, the young tried to keep up a sipping cool image, the elders merely wandered around, their age liberating them away from the gravity of moodiness more common among the others, they were innocent seekers seeking to make the most of their final days with shaking knees, and pure smiles free of any sort of personal innuendo , whereas the intermediate, the souls who swam the waters of mid-life sported frowns, exuded formidable authority that dismissed most youth as time wasters and rude actors and shut the light out from reaching their soul’s inner parts. Their formality was minimal and almost annoying, they walked like their backs were firm as stone and their eyes saw nothing in particular, it was the same drill over and over and over. It was as fascinating as watching a toad jump from one block of floored brick to another.

I once read in a novel that journeys by car were religious, I would have to agree, to free oneself from the familiarities of oppressive towns and hectic cities and wander into paths unknown can do wonders for one’s thoughts and self identity. But these days, the small towns disgusted me with their appearances, the teemed with all sorts of controlled violence that threatened to erupt at any given time, their inner parts were filled to the brim with all forms of ugly businesses with venomous bored ‘out of their minds’ people who were so ordinary that even a simple rock had more subtle features about it, their source of life seemed almost imprisoned within the paltry designations and collective mentality that revolved entirely around one’s livelihood and necessities. There was nothing attractive about it, there was nothing spiritual about such places, the hills were dry, the rivers brown and the wide barren landscapes beyond- bland and lifeless, dizzying in their complete infertility, a wasted vast almost infinitesimal space open to the violent fury of the temperamental sun… No wonder the foreign lands were talked about with such efforts of wonder, no wonder the trapped minds repeated over and over myths of haunted dark magic infested houses and soul cursed tales of murder, road accidents, molestation and infidelity. Everything mattered here and the men and women were trapped, trapped to the dark blank curse of their own minds… That’s why visits to the city did wonders to open the tightly shut bottle and let in the air of something effervescent and light… Digesting the congested sticky fears and worries that were preached as necessities ….

The air was more even and ripe here in the town… The only sounds were the tinkering hum of the auto rickshaws that quivered and shook all the way through the shapely roads that had sandlines with all sorts of assorted tyre imprints… The occasional revving climb of the scooter that made me feel like they were ascending atop a peak…here even the most remotest obscene gestures troubled one to the point of desperation, vengeance was on most human minds and most youth spent their time uploading popular cinematic heroes as their display picture on Facebook… They wrote weird lines in English for status updates that were broken and disjointed like a seriously dysfunctional family where love is a vacant plot filled with incomplete gestures and incoherent self conscious moments of awkwardness…. I would love to spend some time away from this mess of civilization, away from the child of inbreeding … To lose myself in some quaint European town where threats and murderers are low and the cost of living cheap… Yesterday I spent all day worrying about how my actions were in many ways still self indulgent, when my conscience had reminded me to provide half of my chocolate bar to my maid to give to her rapidly growing sons, I mulled it over with despair, my righteousness wrestling with my usual generosity, this would make it a pattern spoke a voice to me, she never acknowledges it with gratitude… But what would Jesus do asked my conscience…? And I thought about it over and over again… My conscience was right, but was I wrong to give that other half to my overexcited dog…? Words filled me my inner flow lapping towards the rocks with tender shakes and sounds, (Matthew 25:40) – Truly I tell you, whatever you did for one of the least of these brothers and sisters of mine, you did for me.

Why do I relish the feeling of being completely lost than being found…? The starry heights sublime and sincere glimmered with unconscious energies and I too often cast my heart into their furnaces… I have memorized each inch of these walls… As I stare at them everyday in a state of haze… Don’t people not like to feel new…? And no I will not give up writing poetry, but I will give up the attempts at making poetry… A quick announcement of character so far… Quick, rash, impulsive, sporadic, dubiously naive and infantile, moody… There must be other dimensions to my face… Some angle that I have seldom been knowledgeable of… Most people I know try to repay offerings of kindness in an almost expensive show… I once knew this girl who paid back every gesture of my generosity with firm minded payments of her own… I did not like that…. My generosity was free and devoid of innuendos … If it did amount to anything I would rather desire respect than gratitude… A slight turn in one’s own perspective than anything else … Why are there so many single divorced women these days on television and romantic novellas…? Why are so many single women having affairs with married men…? I seldom uttered lies but I left spaces of relationships hanging, my disappearances speaking more than my attempts at dialogue… I believed more in speaking through my actions than letting words that I uttered speak for me…And when I did lie, I celebrated it like a pioneering sort of moment, a moment where I would feel the whole sum of my life erupt into a standing ovation and create in me a sort of excitement that would get me all elated and enthusiastic… I had finally risen to the moment and I had managed to be a complete pathological liar… For a brief moment I had entered into the rare stratosphere of more cunning and charming liars… Those sinful doobs who seldom were on good graces with the truth… But I did believe that being closer to the truth invigorated one in his core and helped him open himself up to further experiences and adventures… I always am on the side of opening up to new experiences… To feel something so new and rare that every inch of that moment, even as it happened seemed to contain the intoxication of fine memories… And to free one more and more into leaping beyond one’s limited definition of oneself.

Often when I analyze the intimacy that I had shared with a few brief memorable strangers… I felt elation swamp me… Filling me with the elements that contain exuberance… I once had a relationship with a girl who only text messaged me… We only messaged each other our respective stories… It did help that she made me feel good… Intimacy between two different strangers… I welcomed the challenge of making myself feel wanted between those two lines… I filled that space with all kinds of romantic emotions… I seldom am aware of the rules that often define a certain choice… I handled her abrupt moodiness… Her evasive method of clearly steering away from revealing even the tiniest details was quite endearing in all the wrong ways… I am incessantly bothered by people who seldom ask me questions… I am always drawn in by people who desire that I store away their confessions… But she gradually went away troubled … Departing away with harsh words and the dagger that sealed an eternity of silence… A sharp blade thrown to the chest that accused me of faking sincerity.. There are somethings that the mind never forgets… Somethings that the mind has trouble bearing in privacy.

I regularly videotaped my dog greeting those who dared knock on my gates, her animal anger and territorial instinct were quite incredible to watch when I was not trapped inside my own moody seasons… In the afternoons I watched her sleep… I always feel that sleep reveals the innocence of one’s soul… I watched her head with her soft ears folded into her paws… A deeply stirring image that often lended me more patience in my handling of her… At times it felt like the roads hummed an invisible tune during the night… And I kept my ears right next to the windows during those same nights… Straining to catch a hold of the erstwhile tune… Fiction … I searched for newer ways to make life feel more and more theatrical and lesser and lesser normal… To strangers I revealed a fabulous mix of warm tenderness and a sense of inferiority that would probably make them think lesser of me… And then I’d forever try to take that image out of their heads with my extraordinary revelations of my true self… I forever imagined myself in every movie that I saw … I was the lead actor… And I was flawed.. My deep seated troubles with responsibility and carelessness reared their heads and then I would be disgraced in my fantasy and I’d start losing it all and then in one unthinkable impossible moment I reversed it all… I talked with former flames in my head… I was much more expressive with them in my thoughts… I played them all my favorite songs and then I gazed at the window as they watched me … I was slow, spontaneous and finally complete in their presence… I did not care about impressing them… I truly spoke whatever was in my heart just so that they could feel my heart beat… I wanted to let them go… To wipe my slate clean.. Twenty six in many ways was a scary age to experience… In many ways I was still a kid trapped in a man’s body… Sometimes when I stared into the mirror I wondered whether the face that stared back belonged to me… Who am I…?? Why am I here…?