Loneliness has been redefined in these fast moving times, what was once defined as being unable to cope with the harsh realities of life has now become something more invisible and harder to handle .. Loneliness in these days has come to mean zero likes for all of your Facebook posts, zero friend requests from the opposite gender … Zero messages to your inbox , No random yet strangely fulfilling life affirming conversations with people that you only know in passing or with strangers that you generously added on to your page so that you wouldn’t treat them like a lot of them treated you, either by blocking you by using some impressible button that strangely damaged your soul more than your mind… Or by simply passing you by like the entire contents of your mind and hear and spirit were of zero value and lacked some high and mighty’s attention , or loneliness can be brought upon by a received message, either on Facebook or WhatsApp without a reply for a number of days.. The respective social networking giants have been kind enough to let us know if our message has been read or seen which promotes further anxiety, oh to possess the power to read beneath people’s motives… I guess maybe that’s where it hurts when people don’t even like consider you for a moment, and reject you from the list of prospective candidates who could be memorable in their life on a social networking level or any level, I guess that must sting quite a bit.. We all are so insensitive in vulgar and unconscious ways.. I guess we’re not to blame….. I mean I know that nobody’s perfect but one does have a right towards wishing for these fanciful and impossible things.
Katy Perry is screaming wide awake into my ears awakening all of my most devastating imaginations… I feel like getting on top of the train and screaming into the winds , and then maybe I’d like to jump right into the past and approach all of those who plundered and looted away a piece of my soul and stare at them with the strength that was denied to me at that time… And maybe I would save this chick that I have been having a (monster) ridiculously infantile crush on from a burning building and dive into deep outer space and show her how the world looks like from a million miles away… Okay first of all I’d probably die of oxygen deprivation and so would she… But hey that’s my idea of being romantic… Or maybe I could fly her around the world as she hugged me real tight, as we flew in such a way that pierced through the dimensions separating us from the mysterious energy hidden within stars.. Why do the sight of the stars, of the eagles, of the ocean and its rich waves fill me with this maddening intoxication of a hope that transcends my mundane reality, and helps me to escape undeniable realities that can be changed through determination, more effort and a lot more heart .. And yes I’d be lame enough to mask my true identity to her, and then she would tragically move on with her life often times deserting me … I always have this absolutely ridiculous yet recurrent theme in almost all of my fantastic unconscious adventures… A friend of mine , I forget their names, told me that I was deeply afraid of people growing tired and bored of me, of leaving me, that I had a compulsion towards making them all want to leave me by some unconscious signals that I was sending them… I didn’t know what to say to that, you know what….?True love if there is such a thing (mythical potion aka urban legend slash Big fat cruel wicked joke) has to come without spectacular demonstrations and extravagant gestures, thats what I think… Maybe thats why I will be alone forever and maybe beyond that as well… Jus kidding.. Katy Perry still coos on about how wide awake she is into my skull candy headphones, maybe its some sub conscious Illuminati mind control chant that she is muttering, there have been rumors in the grapevine about her selling her soul for fame and riches.
So here I am hurling into the distance in the spaces of my ever familiar companion… ‘Ze trains’, I loved my attitude regarding trains back when Zen and its peculiar mysticism was my thang… It didn’t matter if I got a seat for I was happy about every mundane thing… Seats were devoured carnivorously by people with aggressive tendencies who wished to possess something complacently transient and impermanent, life was beyond the immediate sphere of awaiting conflicts, the mind and its restless machinery and emotional selfishness could not be still in an immensely chaotic realm of life that was shared by many deeply disturbed souls, in order to have peace, one had to reflect it and meditate inwardly and free oneself from all attachments… Well Zen was great while it lasted, I was familiar with almost all of its celebrities, with Osho who famously asked people to do whatever their mind heart wished for, and who spent an entire video of maybe five minutes in great spiritual intensity and candidness about the different ways in which the word ‘fuck’ could be used… I loved the writings of the great Phil Jackson, the Zen master of basketball and the head coach of the Amazing Chicago Bulls who stormed the NBA scene in the early 90’s, capturing the collective imagination of a nation and perhaps the world and who helped propel my idol Michael Jordan into capturing his elusive ring and championship… Robert Pirsig whose Zen and the art of motorcycle maintenance was a constant bedside companion for quite some months… Bruce Lee who happened to be a childhood hero aside from Tom Sawyer and Huckleberry Finn, whose philosophies greatly motivated my constant uphill battle with my peculiar demons and existential despair, I obsessively searched for Zen themed films so that I could feed my mind on, I listened to Alan Watts lectures, and when I meditated in my room with a cup of beer, I allowed my mind to think of great big grey mountains, possessed of some vital life force and containing ashrams and monasteries that I would maybe later wander into, I could go on and on but I stop… For life goes on and my search lead me to Christ and my refuge was found.
Now for a brief motivational snippet and break, a public service ad from my ferocious self belief…’ No one believed in me nor pushed me forward… I’m not in this for the fame, or name… I’m in this only for the love of the game…’, okay maybe I am paraphrasing perhaps a mixture of Allen Iverson’s game, Lil Wayne’s better raps, some of Jay Sean’s choruses, Eminem’s raw and uncensored lyrics, My Big brother Dwyane Wade’s story, parts of Steve Jobs’s interviews and the fierce and psychotic will of my hero Michael Jordan, but its strange… how other people and their achievements seem to mirror the infuriating passion of your own soul … that offers to me a great deal of hope … Pop songs seem to make me believe in myself more than anyone else that I met in my life ever did, maybe thats one of the responsibilities of possessing a talent… Or a heart that sees what others don’t, you have to reach out and make people believe that they too can overcome and succeed, not as much as some with a superior life script… But in heart, in mind and in soul.. You can only be what you have always been… You perhaps have a responsibility to help them restore their lost and wounded faith or maybe help them start building something new or investing in something that would sustain them through and over all the years of predictable lows and disappointments – Faith in Christ to be exact, the absolute answer that makes all the sense … Not to deviate but I actually enjoy reading my books by sitting next to my sister who has this habit of reading out loud when she prepares for her exams, it is excessively adorable in a certain way, I can actually picture the information entering in like verbal blocks made up of words, echoing in her mind’s empty yet fertile space, echoing into her intelligence, a sowing of weird letters containing impersonal yet educational value, wholesome blocks of utterly technical details as inspiring as the information provided in warranty booklets… In time… There would be a harvest of a readily available memory… Which would guide a tense pen over long white sheets of paper.
My aunt and my sister were telling me the other day that they always wrote past the main sheet in examinations, they always wrote forty pages it seems… For someone who had trouble finishing one single page in half an hour and practically took forever to finish two, that off handed remark strangely brought on some serious contemplation’s about my life and its direction or a lack thereof.. And I remembered the horror of revising it, I would gladly be stabbed right in the heart than attempting to revise stuff that I had made up, for it simply read more like a horrible unedited draft full of nonsensical repetitive language and horror-awful descriptions that were as attractive as trampled dead leaves , and when I out of a need to write better sounding descriptions engaged by doing so found out that I was spectacularly rewarded with poor grades with loving and glowing comments and appreciation from my lecturers and teachers who praised my story writing skills, maybe they were abusive, I mean I guess they were, but in that naive age when an entire world of writing awaited me.. A fact that I was quite fantastically oblivious to, I likened them to Oscar nominations and co-star praise and banter on interviews designed to promote an unreleased movie, of course I did not study for those exams… Are you kidding me…? I found the content lame, bio-technology was not the course for me… I spent more hours in the library reading up on Holocaust History, on Malcolm X, familiarizing myself towards different genres of literature which was thankfully available… My other classmates frequented the second floor which contained the required content, in other words they diligently searched for the right books by a spectacular method of knowing the publisher’s name and the year of publication, which I was told was a serious university procedure… I was all alone in my reading space right next to the gigantic and rectangular glass window that spread over many corner cubicles designed to be reading desks… I watched a myriad of fast paced trains flow through the metal veins, I wondered the sense of energy that people must get when they are transported in a rush, I feel the greatest exhilaration when I pass away the university that indirectly contributed to many of my sorrows back in the day… I would immerse myself in my precious books which took more place than my subject books, oh the endless infatuations that I had in that university… None of them amounting to anything in the real world, I remember this particular chick that I was smitten for a grand sum of a year… I first saw her at some university function and I had this amazing ability to be stressed out about stuff that I would never ever have a chance of doing , and in the first university that I had the charming pleasure of enduring, my mind with its warped madness supplied endless such morbid fantasies. The first mistake was enrolling in a heavily extroverted college where introverted-ness was misunderstood and perceived as weak and awkward,… Now I categorize myself as someone in the middle, and I’m not one for labels either… she made life a lot more tolerable during my second year in that place, I had something to look forward to, haughty Sharon refused to step down from the power that she wielded over her more wealthy social circle, but then that was where Vidhya came in, Vidhya .. Such a beautiful Tamil name, she could be used in a picture right next to a damsel , a city bred natural citizen of the state who would idealize beauty as it applied to the entire state of Tamilnadu… She sure was a sight to behold… They say that eyes captivate, we are so used to being seen, but in certain people’s eyes we feel naked almost unable to withstand something as perfunctory as a normal gaze, making one feel almost awkwardly self conscious yet powerful in a vulnerable way… and it is these things that we rack our brains after and live impulsively for, I was absolutely reckless from day one… I always stared into her eyes, and she was bold enough to counter me back… I had a thing for chicks with ponytails back in the day and well… she had one, staring into her eyes made me feel fearless maybe that was why I stared right back into them… They stared back with all the fury of a proud peacock.. Those dazzling eyes… Blacker than black, richer than gold… Sigh* , now I’m quite shy but when it applied to her I felt bold, sadly she left college before I graduated… And sadly she had some other dude who always followed her around like all the time, some lousy chump whom she partially allowed and walked around with… He had some angry stares to offer to me many a time, but he backed out mostly because I was quite built back in college and knew the tricks of appearing tough… But she never stopped staring right back at me, anyways that tragic tale finished right that day… Sigh*
I hate repeating myself and repeating things that I have already ranted endlessly about with my own brilliantly malnourished mind, and this has given me or rather blessed me with spectacular periods of soul consuming procrastination and pen suspension… If I was given a choice to choose a race, I would first choose being a Native American, before the violent presence of the evil colonialists of course, just to offer some historical perspective.. Which reminds me, the other day, I engaged in a rather sarcastic dialogue with some pretty skeptical atheist on the page of one of my favorite evangelists in recent times, we traded blows both intellectual and philosophical… He backed out and I saw myself as someone who knew the elusive trick of success… Its funny how people assume to possess absolute knowledge of something that happened a million years ago… I mean, I cant even remember what I did yesterday.. Beyond a superficial cursory of some rather habitual and perfunctory aspects… The rest of it is a cognitive void or perhaps an abstract loop that I constantly war with often destroying my mind’s equilibrium with its devastating barrenness, I am fascinated by how much people who travel seem to know about the lands surrounding them… They seem to possess some remote factoid about some landscape that my eyes had often stared in frustration at, since I have a habit of frustrating my mind with things that it approaches in the wrong way, I hate things that I don’t understand or can’t explain, like knowing some word on an unconscious and deep level yet suffering from an attack of the ‘deep stare into space’ with an idiot like syndrome … Like for example these ‘ plain as everyday folk’ , they would stare at some unobtrusive body of water that could only be like three feet deep that just passed by, lying sullen and all alone beside the outer regions of some small forgettable town and they’d say with great enamored voices, ‘ When on earth did they fill water into that lake…? ‘ , ‘ I’m sure it was done by the recommendation of the local MLA..’ and I’d be staring at them like I was separated from the very cord that connected to human life, but it also helps me remember that I avoid the newspapers since they are too full of stuff that I’d rather not hear, propaganda and mind direction, .. Except stuff happening in other countries.. Like Syria… Syria is good.. I wonder what people on trains in Syria talk about, the guy standing besides me has the same insufferable, prolonged pain of the lower legs just pulled out his fancy phone for a brief moment.. I believe that he is engaging in the timeless tradition of the ‘flaunt’, the timeless art of showcasing some impressive object in the close spaces or vicinity of heckled and distraught humanity in order to make some grandiose statement of some sort, some symbolic attempt meant to convey some special ancestral trait that is so rare that it can only be found in the highest heights of the Himalayas, hidden beneath some underground cave, or point towards his incredible lineage, he is talking about some Software on his phone to perhaps his daughter, which I’m pretty sure that he has no idea of, I find these random characters endearing in a comical way… I’m pretty sure that he is some smug bureaucrat used to giving already victimized souls their lasting sermon on how cruel and unbelievably unkind this world can be… Jus for that fact alone, I switch to some acapella music pretending that I was a part of the heavenly choir trying to reach the conscience of Mr Small town bureaucrat right here.. Or nip that, time for some Bucketheads music… I was about to challenge him to some imaginary disco duel with funky bell bottom pants and I sported just about the sexiest afro ever known to man… The train has stopped and a horde of folks make a haphazard and unruly crowd besides where I stand, lustful amongst all the itsy bitsy spots and places… Its often hilarious to listen in to some of their fights as the train slows down, its often about some possession that they can never possess, like standing space for example, a tiny push or a shove often accidental can become inflammatory and almost hilarious…. The people who have stood besides the door are often commanded in voices laced with as much scorn and contempt that one soul could muster by people who are about to get off, but I can see deep into that anger, maybe beyond their own animal instincts and uncomfortable urges, sometimes its an unhappy home, or not being respected at all both at work and in a home with uncontrollable kids often out of reach and remote, sometimes its a matter of present life not coinciding with the dreams and wishes that they had for their lives, or it might prejudices developed by contact with a lifestyle that routinely suffers a space with a million strangers all as uniquely complex and often beyond their narrow definitions of life, most of these people go to work in these trains almost everyday… The need to assert one’s manly skill of anger which is too often than not theatrical and highly dramatic… Why fight over something as impersonal as space.. My ex girlfriend if she were listening to my grand dialogues and recounts of my experiences would offer me advice and insight that I already knew nor did not wish to encounter, but which I would often generously persevere and subject myself through, how else could a man develop patience and openness…? And its not like her mind and mine are are one and the same… She would tell me in that tense, emotionally perplexing voice that they have a right to their own emotions, and she would say thaþ without being conscious of their aggressive and often intimidating scowls and contempt… Ha ha ha, she had trouble getting the rude look of some bus conductor out of her memory for like three days… Ah… She was quite a delight alright… But on the bright side… As the train slowed down and I got a peek into the interior of the train for perhaps the first time other than routine checks to see whether my other bag full of books was alright and had not been stolen by some overtly gregarious crook… And I was rewarded with a smile from a cutie in a silent orange Salwar, Wow… Life was good .
I think women are tired, especially in India, tired of being looked at as the answer, which they are obviously not, I don’t say that out of disrespect, obviously no expression of a human heart can be perfection sustained, we are finite beings with a billion limitations trapped in a culture where self expression is looked upon as a threat, and conformity occurs in a million disguises… I think that women have grown tired of being burdened with the workings of an entire family, tired of being expected to possess a character that would fit seamlessly into the culture of the in-laws and all of their subtle power plays and demands, tired of life and its lack of hope and so they run away into impulsive love affairs often brief and filled with all kinds of madness and unbridled passions, and then it is forced to end abruptly, chiefly because the girl realizes that she owes a debt that can never be paid in full and her parents begin to pressure her with prospective suitors, she realizes in a frustrated way that she owes a debt to her parents who have a rightful claim on her life and maybe one could claim to a certain degree on her future life partner, in India marriages are an affair of two families, full of charming traditions and ideologies… Which have separated more lovers than death ever can, so her brief love affair with all of its unfulfilled longings is pushed away and ended with a lot of regret, and pushed out of her mind but never from her heart and then a life of opportunity is seized upon and navigated… And she carries on, strangely unaffected yet torn in her inmost mind , life is so complicated sometimes I wonder if I would have this same strength tomorrow… The other day I saw a dog run over and dead lying right in the middle of a street, it took me a week to recover from that sight, it played on like a nightmare in my mind, a total painful nightmare … It took a lot of hurt prayers, angry tears and required steeling up to overcome that devastating sight… I am affected by life’s inevitably impersonal side a little at times
There are two worlds warring continually against each other, two generations divided eternally by quaint and imaginary lines, one older and more experienced and one younger with all of its fast paced preoccupations. Its funny how people grow on you, for all of the tense and shielded way that we live in , as the days pass by the heart seems to grow fonder and quite attached to certain persons and their particular appeal, quite normal and earthly do they appear to be, yet by some magical switch they appear to be strangely agreeing with our heart and its eternal dilemmas, and then we construct honest stories with them as larger than life characters who have added a sense of joy to our own lives.
One of the perks of travelling in claustrophobically crowded spaces is to encounter the perfect expression, to look into people’s faces and see looks or reactions of the facial kind at unpredictable moments, that would elicit something deep if they were in some photograph with some impressive description, that would somehow transform a thousand of your most useless journeys into something so deeply moving,ethereal and poetic. Creating something momentarily artistic that seems to question our notion of people, and the way by which we too often than not take them for granted and their iridescent value… Or if it was a painting by some sad artist who is consumed with his artistic vision and uses it to contemplate all of life’s perplexities by not answering any of the time honored questions that wrack and subject one’s mind to overpowering forces… But by creating new ones that haunt the deepest portions of one’s mind with a silent beauty.
I always enjoy it when farmers or people who labor directly under the sun board the train, for they possess a simplicity that touches and soothes the soul… Maybe they possess evil parts just like every single one of us, I love how they pick the most unappealing places to park their behinds, there is always a shortage of spaces as it applies to Indian commuting… They lack hostility and reserve, their sun burnt faces possesses a vital and enduring beauty that lies in stark contrast to the eternal frown of the middle class, or the cool indifference of the wealthy … Or the raw and unfiltered blunt agony of the northern Indian stuck in a land of a foreign tongue cursed to wander forever in unwashed clothes and beet-red tongues, and violent malice towards the foreigners who treated them with scorn and contempt not unless they conformed, poor souls with woeful eyes and saddened hearts…The farmers on the other hand are so easy to befriend, and chatting with them about their life and encountering their humility is a breath of fresh air and refreshes my spirit which struggles with the deceptions and the demands of this life , they open their heart with a lot more openness and candor than most others, their stories warm me like the rays of the afternoon Sun, trickling in through the shades…, I envy them for their connection to nature, I love how their hearts despite their financial limitations has remained untarnished and pure unlike many of us educated baboons with high and mighty arrogance and poisonous attitudes…My ex girlfriend , I know I seem to be mentioning her every now and then, but yeah she was someone special alright… She was a people person, highly extroverted with loads of intelligence, she labored to support people’s lives… She cared even when it hurt her… At least that applied to those who meant the world to her, she had a whole hierarchy set up… I was pretty soon taken away from that select group, I wonder if I was ever meant to be there in the first place or meant to share someone like that… But that was in the past, I have reconciled with that part of my life… But I still stand in awe at her… I loved it when outwardly she would appear like she was made out of steel but when she was with me she revealed her vulnerability and shared secrets that I stored deep in my heart… It felt good to know her many complex sides , she was a wonderful person, quite headstrong and obnoxious at times, but strong… A real strong woman… I think that that was one of the reasons that I was attracted to her, to her enigmatic heart with its fiery dualities.
I never though that in a million years that I’d be sharing a constant hate/love relationship with these slithering compartments of steel snaking away past chaotic little towns, beyond busy cities torn by their progress and social infidelities and villages untouched by modernity… And I inhabit this very space that has seen my most intense strife… Peeked into my angst ridden poetry… Into a secret obsession into hidden raps composed to show up society and all of my former enemies…, my most painful anguish as I struggled to remain true towards the artistic call of my soul , felt the most devastating pain of some lousy infatuation that I held on to for years maybe even decades… Felt my hands touch its often abused walls as I wished to stare into the eyes and into the stories of the many people who have traveled right through it… And even As I scribbled undying love to some girl whom I felt psychotically attractive to and later had to accept the bitter irony of falling for someone whom I could never have in a billion years… The speeds that it catches upto as it devours the miles in a mad rush is pretty spectacular if you ask me, I have mastered the art of one sided conversations… I am perhaps one of the foremost experts at talking to myself like I am two people and maybe I am… Or the number might be more than two… Have you ever noticed how in movies even the slightest action is given a sort of significance, it might be something as mystifying and mind boggling as indigenous traits, which despite its openness and prevalence has always evaded my mind’s observations, I grow rather nervous when I’m asked to think under certain themes that have always managed to confound me… , the train seems to be slowing down… My mind gulps in the distant portions of the startlingly blue sky that makes me weep in an exhilarating fashion, in some way this thing that I will forever struggle with has come to a halt and I walk the land which does not rush nor halt in a slow fashion, but will trouble my soul with its themes and sorrow… Until next time