The Optimist and the Dreamer – Short fiction

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Some of us live the ordinary life..,While some of us dream and create a world within a world to live in…and that’s okay.., nobody is spared quite really.., none can escape the dreariness of life or her sordid despair.., Hanka was such a girl.., she always did what was asked of her.., she fought through the ugliness of life.., studied hard.., learned to not pay heed to the ugly stares.., learned to escape the tyranny of a toxic realm.. Did things the right way.., Followed God.., lived life with faith.., obeyed in perfection what the Bible mandated.. Hanka was the type of person who went to heaven.., Hanka was the type of person who was promoted for her hard work.. Hanka was the type of person who put food on the table for her kids even if it meant waking up early for twenty years in a row.., Hanka was the type of person who looked out for people.., she did not befriend.., she helped.., managed professional duties with ease.., looked after a family.., She lived by the book.., perfected the system and was fruitful.., blessed and hope filled. For her faith was more than just feeling.., it was something to live upto despite the struggles, the wrestles and the down falls. She knew what faith promised and she walked towards that with unswerving hope. Hanka was an emblem of hope.., She always got through whatever was bothering her.., she conformed because it was right, just and demanded from the Bible. Hanka believed in rules and did not offer grace without believing that the person would someday change. But hanka had a huge heart.., she dealt compassionately with those who were poor.., sick.., hurt and down.., Hanka was just the type of person who believed that doing things the right way meant that it was more loving.., more better and wasn’t it what the Lord desired..? Hanka always spent her money on buying stuff for her family.., she came second.., she loved it more to help others. Hanka was always forgotten.., though she went to great lengths to buy stuff for other people…, to do extravagant things for other people.., she was always treated like she was ordinary.., like the things that she was doing for other people did not change their hearts. But Hanka strived forward.., hurt but bold.., determined to do what had been required of her from the start by a mysterious God who was everywhere but appeared like he was nowhere to be found.

Saul was the type of person who wondered whose side God was on in a personal conflict. Saul was the type of person who stayed awake in order to feel inspiration.., Saul was the type of person who stayed awake because he wished to be closer to his inner voice.., to what he could remember of his deepest and most soulful longings.. Saul was the type of person who felt that the sky was an imitation of inner feelings.., Saul was the type of person who struggled with apologies since he did not wish a repeat of what had been done.., Saul was the kind who deeply understood the horrendous unpleasantness of everything.., he knew that people were homeless.., he knew that the girls who had left boyfriends married somebody different and ended up becoming more happy.., Saul also knew that he could not change anything.., He could never change people’s evil that resided deep in their hearts and cunningly deceived them much like the Serpent at Eden’s Garden.., he knew that people were always going to be poor.., he knew that chickens would be slaughtered for meat.., he knew that girls would be trafficked for prostitution.., he knew that animals in the jungle would be killed.., he knew that some were going to be abused.., raped.., molested.., hurt.., wounded.., bullied.., murdered…, hated for the color of their skin.., he knew that people were guilty of not being courageous enough to challenge the norms and moods of their time.., whatever the times were defined by people imitated and reflected.., he knew that people from the slums could never escape the cruelty of their upbringing.., he knew that people would be discriminated.. he knew these things because he could see deep into the heart of the world and see it’s lost state.., He was not just a dreamer.., he dreamt of better living conditions for everybody.., he dreamt of a world without poverty.., he dreamt of a world without hell.., He dreamt of a world without sin.., He dreamt of a world filled with meaning.., but sometimes Saul dreamt of other things.. of darkness.., He dreamt of never existing.., He dreamt sometimes of being the only conscious person in a world filled with robots.., He sometimes looked at himself in a mirror that he had a face.., a body and that people outside judged him based on how he spoke, acted and interacted with that body. Saul was the kind of person who had been hurt by love but still believed in it and attempted to control it because he did not wish to appear sappy, emotional and delusional. Saul had a soft soul.., he struggled to accept the blessings of his life because others seemed more vulnerable to the world’s beatings. Saul struggled to live.., he struggled to obey God.., He struggled to believe because each day he felt the attack of a world intent on breaking him apart.., Saul struggled with lust.., with greed.., with pride.., he struggled to commit fully to the Bible since sometimes he felt that it made a person too righteous that they forgot their weakness that made them love more deeply. Saul knew in his heart that the Bible was true.., he knew it with absolute conviction.., but he had never been a lover of rules.., he wanted to discover what made life tick.., setting the rules would mean that life became dull, uninspiring and too stable.., he wished to live in the way that he wanted to.., He wanted to be in control of his life. He was a free-spirit and he enjoyed freedom.

Saul did not look at things as right and wrong.., he did not appreciate the power of being right all the time since he believed in empathy more than righteousness which was a controversial stance to take since his views and opinions were laughed at and mocked by the religious of his day. Saul also believed that nobody would catch him if he were to fall.., he knew that nobody was running behind him.., nobody would desire him and if they did.. the moment they understood him they would leave.. Saul understood too that his own inner need to prove things to people sometimes broke and he succumbed to what made life easier since he couldn’t bear the pain of loneliness and also did not wish to bring pain to himself that others would talk about. Saul did not like it when anybody told him what to do.., because he believed that they didn’t understand what he was feeling on the inside., Saul was led by an intense spirit within himself, he did not like to discover weaknesses within himself.. they made him feel dejected, wounded and sad.., he wished to burst forward like a sparkling meteor on a black, silken night. Saul felt hurt that life had expectations on him.., that he would be audited for what he had done in his life.., and he couldn’t ever talk himself out of it.., No …Saul felt trapped in a world where everything was fixed in stone and he was stuck in it.

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First hit… Memories of shame

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I am always trying to ponder inner realities that exist within me. Coming to terms with what they are conveying.., I perhaps to write to understand what I feel so powerfully within me.., I write to share my side of the fence.., I write to live.., I write because I am in love with words, stories, prose, beauty, literature and secrets and feel compelled to treasure this gift of gab. I believe that a writer is someone whose soul can see past the nature of make believe outer reality, and into the real heart of things.

I can’t understand what is happening in my heart.., but I feel a tremendous heaviness on it right now. My Father and I had had our usual Saturday night conversation.., the topics varied from England dropping out of the EU to my sermon that I had just finished delivering in the church opposite to our house. He highlighted things in my sermon that were hard to take.., it was the usual criticism.., ‘repetitions, unwanted honesty, forgetfulness…’ etc.., I had to listen to my parents and their observations since they were just as sensitive as me when it comes to not realizing the brevity and reality of things. All my happiness and joy at battling intense inner fear, nervous anxiety, strain etc and then standing before young people who were so cynical, dismissive and attempted to mockingly laugh and smile at your face and delivering a message fizzled away as I listened to what he was saying.., He could be really persistent when he wished to convey truths about my sermon that I could never see…, Call me insane but.., I don’t understand criticism because I deal with my own inner insecurity.., and to heave a dose of observation right after a tremendous test was quite horrifying to me…I sometimes wish people listened with their heart and not with their mind.., but he is my dad and I love him in ways that I can’t even comprehend.., he has done so much for me.., and struggles with a burden so big.., for my sake…, I can’t help but listen to my hero…but I have to remind myself to sit alone with my Lord.., perhaps I can climb above the slab of the upper floor and be alone.., and pour my heart, my tears and my feelings to Him who truly cares…, maybe I can become sane again.

I’ve discovered that most of us are expert talkers.., but few can look beneath the layers and words and understand the heart.., and find the selflessness to love back courageously and look past our own scars, wounds and weaknesses…, True Love seems to be too easy to long for and so hard to find. I am no longer content with human love.., I demand, desire and hunger for a love that can conquer.., accept me at my absolute worst and encounter me at my most insane and still love me fiercely, ferociously and insanely.., So far I can only count Jesus in that list.., nobody else comes even close.., perhaps my parents, sis and doggy can be added after a billion kilometers.., but then again God gave them to me.., and they ask me to love God more than them.., maybe I could place them after a million kms since for the first 25 years or so they were the only reflection of God that I could see, feel and enjoy and they were incredible, amazing and otherworldly at it. I’m blessed and thankful always.

I remember not so long ago when I bumped into an old acquaintance of mine. He had been a mentor to me in my past.., but a hard, no compassion showing dictator who was relentless in his handling of me.., I was chastised often.., rebuked often.., told to study hard.., and it always felt like his methods were too extreme.., too hard and too painful for a hyper sensitive, dreamer in love with his imagination such as myself… and I could clearly see that I was nothing like him… He had built up his own empire from scratch.., he started one of the most powerful ministries during the 90’s and had been responsible for a wave of revival that had hit Vellore during that time.., all of a sudden there was a surge of meetings, revival meetings, youth meetings, Godly sightings.., Angelic Sightings.., curing of terminal illnesses such as Cancer, Aids, Tumors etc… God had touched the sun scorched soil of Vellore in centuries.., and my Ex Mentor had been in the thick of things.., He was a disciplinarian, who was a hardcore perfectionist… He had a soft side to him and I could see it work on certain people.., but he was above the pack and was always leading the charge and taking all hostages with him.

Growing up I had always struggled with feelings that I could never be good at anything. I saw people naturally blooming all around me.., and I was never good at anything…, I struggled with insecurity.., inferiority and shame.., I always dreamt of killing myself in my early years.

I was his polar opposite, ie of my Imperfect Mentor.., I was a free spirit, but I could feel too powerfully the pain of a hurting, broken world.., I was deeply hurt at the plight of the street dogs whose stomachs had shrunk and the bones of their rib cage showed real clearly.., I felt pained when I saw people throwing stones at their feet, I was hurt by the fact that dogs and human beings had to search in the trash for food…, I was hurt by how some people never had the freedoms and privileges that I enjoyed.., my heart was always reaching out to the lonely, the hurt and the broken… I disliked the life that everybody led, I wanted to live a life that I enjoyed.. the childhood version of it was to live on an island away from people and that island would have libraries, food for eternity and a world class view of the stars that I would see every single night.., I enjoyed freedom, I loved being free.., I did not like to be tied down, I always dreamt of freedom the more I found myself in systems.., I enjoyed sports.., and I had a hunger in my soul to reach for the stars.. I dreamt all day long of fame.., of fortune and of beautiful stories that I could imagine, and maybe create someday.

After the initial years of growing up next to him, my parents decided that I would do a year in my Dad’s Alma Mater – MCC.., up and until that moment I felt trapped in Vellore.., Vellore was too raw and primal.., there wasn’t class, refinement, integrity or friendliness here…, I felt nothing but inner torment, anguish and boredom in my early years.., School was a bore.., I struggled to cope up…, I was detained after classes all the time.., or I had to cross paths with stronger, more assertive seniors who used me to beef up their own credentials.., I was either a punching bag or a source of teasing and scorn.., My skin color was highlighted which made me feel ugly, unwanted and awkward.., I was never accepted by my peers for some strange reason.., most of them were the sons and daughters of either rich industrialists or doctors.., I guess I was not their type.., I felt unwanted by them .. My teachers did not exactly convey any feelings of me being embraced or celebrated either…, You remember what people don’t say to you and what people can’t see in you.., I still do to this day.., I remember feeling like I was of no use to this world and I dreamt often of death and suicide… I was an invisible person who had to live like I was different.., like I was not special and like I was of a lower species…, My language speaking skills would be highlighted often.., or my grades would be brought up.., Nobody worried for me.., they were just shoving my lack of interest in academia into my face and telling me that I was useless. The hardest part of it was to feel shame for the sake of my parents.., who I could see were such kind, gentle souls and here I was shoving a brutal reality pill into their faces because of my sensitive soul… They had worked hard to get to where they were.., my Dad had undergone tremendous trials.., losing both his parents.. moving here and there.., taking care of his sisters…, struggling to come up in his own life, and my mother came from a very poverty stricken family and had studied hard to reach the management ranks of the most prestigious hospitals in our town… I had let them down.., here they were working so hard under really hard circumstances to make something of me, and here I was just wasting it all away.., I was never considered for anything or thought to be anything.., I loved sports.., but nobody took a special interest in me.., or thought that I could amount to much.., Growing up I so badly wanted somebody to believe in me and push me in fields that I was interested in.., but sadly I had none.

Such experiences with the unkind, non grace offering parts of life made me really hunger and long for love, for empathy.., for being understood despite what was going on on the surface.., I wanted people to feel sorrow for me.., but I was confused since I saw people from even lower places than me survive, fight and live.., this further made me despise myself and made me close my mouth. I did not want to talk it out to somebody and listen to them talk about things on the surface.. Nobody had the power to perceive the depths of me.. No one.. Unless I talked about it.., and when I did.., it did not impact them in the level that it impacted me.., my inner struggles helped me listen deeply to other warriors dealing with a cruel cruel life.., late on in my life.., my wounds, scars and inner demons created an artist…, created a resource so deep for my craft.., but the same feelings that I heard in my earlier years would trickle into my heart after any accomplishment.., ‘This is not good enough..’, ‘ Is this the best that you can give..?’…, ‘ Look at him/her they seem to do it in a way that feels easier than you..’.., ‘ This felt easy.., you’ve not been really challenged yet..’.., ‘ You call this writing..? A 8 year old with no understanding can write better stuff than what you just did…’ …, and so on and so forth.

When we had moved into the colony that we are staying at right now, he was the only person who was caring enough to welcome us and to also help us ingratiate ourselves to the culture of the small island of Christian only homes that stretched down two parallel streets. He was so kind.., and took such genuine efforts to include us and make us feel welcome…, but I remember the initial awkwardness of it all.., I remember my neighbors treat my mother with disrespect as she attempted friendly conversations with them.. I could not see it in their faces but I got a hint of it in my heart.., I was offended that they could respond to my mother’s genuine smile with a calculated one, how inconsiderate were they that they offered hate for love..? And I was never wrong about them.., all those highly rude individuals always seemed to find newer ways to establish their supremacy in our lives, their facial coldness seldom seemed to still.., they were always wound up, always ready to attack and always eager to express their imaginary dominance… and I am a really objective guy.., but I have always abstained from those who don’t welcome… I believe that it all comes down to early experiences. I have always struggled with being rejected.., I still do.., now I am a tough nut to crack.., but my heart is too soft. I am like my mom.., dedicated, personal and intense.., I used to alienate myself and rebel to gain strength briefly but I comply, conform and humble myself for the sake of the gospel these days, and the friendship of my Lord has really helped me forget those initial difficulties.

Nothing special seemed to happen to me.., nobody wanted to talk to me.., nobody seemed excited to be my friend.., nobody could really see me.., I understand it all now.., but the heart of a guy who knows and desires love but finds emptiness.., egoism and hostility can be hurt eternally. I did not get any love letters.., I was not anybody’s best friend.., I was hurt by the lack of interest.. by the indifference.. by the unkindness and chiefly by the inability to perceive one as being important, necessary, needed etc hurt me. But I guess those initial years and the senses that I absorbed have made me the person that I am today.., have helped me take on the cross for Christ’s sake.., and have created in me a hunger to find people who suffer the same silence that I did.., and perhaps lead them with the help of the Holy Spirit to the Lord Himself.

I don’t know who ends up reading this.., but I will beckon you to attempt to make the world a better place than the way you found it. I implore you to know Jesus as your personal Savior since the world can overwhelm, destroy and kill your good intentions.., but Christ can help you with His strength and power and lead you to work for the Kingdom of God.., and believe me the benefits are out of this world.

Confessions: Lost chances( Short fiction)

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‘ Is it your fault.., or was it mine..? Whom do I blame for this sorrow..?’
– Translated from a tamil song

The basketball court grew translucently vacant after eleven in September… September made you feel different in the city.., as a watcher of people I pick up on a lot, all cities have the same traffic.., the same zone defense of public roads.., the same feisty cops pulling up bikers with helmets…, but God has different layers to each month.., the trees lose more leaves.., there are a lot more winds.., the waves of marina are are more lustful of the shore.., loneliness is much deeper in the underground caves.., and the antisocial appears every now and then when things grow still after the din grows low… A man who knew loneliness sat here often hoping to absorb the energy of sane souls, I knew him as well although he and I don’t really talk much.. I get the sense that the world that he occupies does not allow entry of people who talked.., he was a sad soul.., lost to a world that was indifferent to his plight.., unkind to his homelessness and harsh to his presence.., can’t really blame him.., but I wanted him to pour his soul into mine and feel my warming fire.., I was not exactly normal either.., I was a misfit myself.., a loner who preferred a ball and an empty court to people… Friends in my life were people whom I knew but who never knew me.., I was too deep to be understood, I was too distracted by the world to conform to their demands and expectations which seemed silly and childish in my eyes.., I was a man who knew things before they happened and who saw things before they were perceived.., I was whatever place I absorbed and I was whoever people wished me to be. The Park drew in folks.., the park did not catch your attention immediately, you would pass it by and it would not invoke any sensation.., it was bare, plain and possessed no juicy vibe.., like a plain woman you passed her by.., and then you encounter them and you begin to know them and you get the sense that you were guilty of perhaps discrimination but you’re safe since it happened in the secretive layers of your mind…. but this park was where I in all of Madras city found myself drawn to.. Perhaps this would be my own dream theater of performance.., where I can be the heroic motif that I pick in my day dreams.., where I create a legacy for my own knowledge but unseen and unrealized by those who frequent this same place as me.

There was always a buzz on the basketball court.., the eager to flaunt players held hostage by their domineering coach.., the visitors who sat on the stone galleries to ponder life’s mysteries.., the middle aged uncles who rested their vertebrae after a back breaking walk around the park to burn off calories.., shady cats whose eyes glinted with the spirit of marijuana and who scowled and mocked everybody that their eyes could see.., homeless drunks who argued loudly and later slept soundly in the top stair of the stone gallery.., local flower men who sold threaded jasmine buds to middle class city bred ‘Iyer’ ladies who slept on the hard stone floor.., Fatigued auto-rickshaw men resting after a tiring day…The court was my kingdom.., and I imagined myself to be the king of my court.., and it was my job to realize with the eyes of the heart the souls that walked through the court.. I would attempt stories from what I felt when my heart touched upon their souls.. I would also try to place each person with a song that I would spend hours searching for.., or perhaps crystallize them with a poem..By nature I am distant since I could care less about the formality of mere connectivity.. I could not understand why people had to spend so much time getting acquainted.., I know the bad ones.., they always try to make you love them and they always try to puff you up.., the rest are a mystery that requires patient chopping .., my mind is always afar since I alienate myself from the usual.., but there is a music to each soul that one can listen if one listens closely.., a hidden tale buried within each layer.., and I was determined to discern and navigate through the darkness of being.

He was one of those middle aged men who enjoyed mere banter. He had a charming and disarming way of engaging you.., He and I shared the same lonely space for quite a period of months, I wanted him to find it in himself to dare break the invisible walls that people erected around themselves.., He approached me with praise, a great conversation starter.., he wanted to understand why anybody would choose a public park to practice after 11.30.., a place well known for antisocial scum, insane marauding hooligans on bikes and bloodthirsty wanderers… I responded by saying that I could say the same about him to a certain extent.., A spark glowed in the darkness of that court which was a well-known magnet for unfinished tales.., broken hearts and restless souls… He would generally do his circular walks around the park with a distracted look, he found the practice difficult but he still kept at it.., he was from a small town deep in the south.., his language contained the soul of the town that he was from. The people there probably spoke from their heart.., lacked cunning and were delightful of people.., maybe they lacked the sophistication of deeper understanding.., for a brief while we clicked. Our souls are thirsty for as much of earth that we can find.., for in eternity our souls will suffer uncertain fates depending on our choices. I knew that a soul’s relation to the revelation of Jesus would decide one’s eternity.., but in the here and the now all souls starved and hungered for love and want.. They had a funny way of expressing it since immaterial realities kept pressing against their conscious shores…, but it was there and you had to learn to handle the bitter reality of people and their incapability of knowing their presence and their actions on another soul.

I am a chamber full of secrets.., many souls speak what besets their soul into my depths.., they share their hurts which are often painful realities that still torment their inmost minds..,I seem to inspire their openness.., and I seem to inspire them to enter into my inner stillness to phrase in fleeting lucidity their inmost torments which always found a way to confound their lingual capabilities.., for the moment they could find the perfect, most honest, most soulful and most heartfelt way of narrating their lives in his presence.., it would finally lift off and decrease in its intensity.

He remembered the first time he saw her.., he had known since he was 8…, it was not her eyes, her appearance or her behavior that he noticed…, he noticed instead how his heart fluttered when she walked past him oblivious to the nuclear damage that she was wreaking on his simple soul. Over a period of time the feelings became mutual…, he was 14 by then.., and she 13.., they held hands on the long mud paths surrounded by rice fields and sugar cane fields that led to their homes when nobody was watching.., he climbed trees to pluck mangoes for her and.., wrote her I love you hundred times… their love blossomed over the years.., he came from a conservative system.., multiple social walls stood in his way.., she was from another caste.., he belonged to another.., religion spoke about how he belonged higher.., but his heart could see no such reality.., his heart wanted her more intensely as the years progressed.., they promised each other multiple times that they would find each other no matter how far they got.., that the other would wait if something were to happen.., but as fate would have it education brought him to the chaotic city of Madras.., he would call her many times.., but there were no mobile phones back then.., the timing had to be perfect.., her Father owned a goods store and he would be out by 7 in the morning.., her mother was always at home.., but went at 2 pm to the temple for half an hour.., that would be their time.., even if her mother returned.., she would act as though the phone call was between her friends.., but one time her mother stayed back and long story short got wind of what was happening.., they beat her so bad that she swore to never contact him again.., but she was lying.., how can emotions such as love end in the face of adversity.., it is the very soil that it blooms and flourishes in.., he promised her that he would come back for her the moment he got a job.., but her parents got her married before he could make good on his promise.., marrying her off to some businessman…, heartbroken he wept, cried and wandered in sorrow and despair.., the years passed, he tried to forget her but to no avail.., how could someone forget someone who had inhabited his inmost being..? Who had loved him with a love all her own..? How could he overcome that which only made him linger.., stay and wander in a world of inner hurt..? He grieved like a man who knew not how to survive in a world devoid of his sweetheart.., he could not bear the thought of her in the arms of another man.., he could not bear another possessing her…, love was never meant to be shared by a third party.., Never.., His parents sensing his woe married him off to a proper Madras girl.., he hid his sorrow and began to live for his future.., family.., responsibility.., he had become so possessed by this intense hurt in his heart that he struggled to love his wife fully.., even though he had gotten over the deadly blow.., he could never forget his first love.., he shared this to me over a period of time and I listened as I always did like my life depended on it.., funny how strangers heal wounds that one’s own efforts seldom seem to. I know that the good Lord placed me on this planet to heal people, He did the healing.., I just had to reach out to the souls.., and I always could find them no matter how they hid their wounds.

I did my best to console him.., I spoke nothing .. there was nothing that I could say that would reach the inmost depths of him and pull him away from what he felt, I only listened and allowed my silence to do the healing.., I allowed my warmth to speak what I couldn’t.., what could I say..? I only felt myself grow sad.., there was a certain amount of sadness that this court seemed to attract…, I was a lost soul myself.., but I knew that Jesus healed.., you just had a sense for these things that was more than reason oriented.., I understood his moral reality.., He was married.., had kids in school and was a normal functioning member of society now.., but he would forever remember the lost chance.., and what could you do about it in this wild jungle..? Love more deeply..? Take more chances..? Marry for love..? I didn’t have a clue.., all I knew was that life moved on.., I had more souls to meet and more stories to glean. But what I encounter and see will always bleed within me.

The people in your background don’t matter

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In the end it’s not the people in the background who matter, I mean really.., think about it.., it’s always about you and how you take it all in and live…but you know who these people in the background are. Imagine this, It might be a harmless KFC luncheon that you wanted to go to. Up and until you arrived, you were full of excitement.., the joy of finally sinking your taste buds into that esteemed, legendary Zinger Burger.., the thought that you were going to be sharing your space with a hundred or other strangers as some vague, rock song that made you feel colder and more fearful than you anticipated never ever struck you. You see that’s the trouble with wanting to be hip, cross cultural and well put.., a thousand other strangers feel the strange way, and seem to take it as a challenge to sink into a character, that can only be talked about as a mask that hides their vulnerabilities, that hides how they cry when they feel sad, or hides how real they can be.., and who can blame them..? They think, feel, emote and behave just like a million other people so hell bent on expressing stuff on the outside that they have forgotten the inside.., they have forgotten their character.., their spirit.., and their soul.. And who can blame them..? The demonic god of this world has blinded their eyes.., their hearts and their minds.., they are swirling like sparkling champagne, intoxicated with their flesh.., worshipping their lives.., worshipping this moment and pretending that this impermanent moment was a selfie of their very existence. How foolish these souls were.. Had they ever heard of Hell..? Of Christ..? Of His purchase of God’s forgiveness on the Cross..? Idiots.., greedy and deceived, mankind.

You got there, and you immediately feel hurt, threatened, pained and awkward…, you can’t be yourself here… Memories come rushing back…, that English school that your blue collar working parents were able to get you into after begging and pleading with the refined Principal or headmistress who was a below the radar heartless cod, yes the very one that required a tidy sum of money and in exchange it promised to magically transform you into a product that knew manners, could marry a foreigner, become a doctor and have class and refinement. But you never fit there… People are not meant to fit, they are only meant to find their fit and niche, and then live for it gloriously and with passion. The purpose of education was to kindle a fire in the darkness of being, not erase the tender, innocent dreamer who felt the challenge of becoming like the crowd, impossible, difficult and unnecessary. Those memories come in, and oh, the pain.., the scars that nobody sees.., the hurts that still live within no matter how far you run.., they all come rushing back.. because of this same symptom of a dominant class of species, well bred, competitive, sharp and well in tune with the world… out classing others…, it was Survival of the fittest wasn’t it..? Wrong.., there is no survival, there is not weak species.., people are souls.., people are lost.., people need God.., and the presumed weak man has treasures far greater in value than the strong, proud conqueror.

You feel the stabs of the idolatry of pride all around you, you feel it making you insignificant.. making you small.., making you , you feel the cackling self indulgent laughs of a generation consumed with joy at it’s mutual narcissism, and indifferent to the painful reality all around it. The culture seems, feels proud, arrogantly non inclusive and pompously elitish.., you feel excluded.., the fake cheery, make believe voice of the cash attender uses his memorized lines and flings it at you…, almost condescending.., as though his mastery of that bit of memorized dialogue is equivalent to Albert Einstein’s E=mc2… full of theatrical sophistication.., he stares at you irate at being forced to have a job just for the money.., irritated, impatient and tense that the person opposite of him refuses to speak…, he assumes a fleeting sense of flagrant pride at his Westernization… How ironic that a food outlet consumed with the killing of chickens, consumed with financial profit can inspire such a tremendous ego in a person devoid of such intelligence. Outside this shop a different language is spoken.., the deep emotion and soul of the land, with her deep desire to be remembered, celebrated and lived through the souls of all the folk of Chennai.., and meanwhile English is expected from a Western Franchise, it’s only fair.., but you can’t blame the workers alone…, the customers too brought baggage, their heavy egoic baggage.., they would snap.., bite, and demand.., and speak often in the sensational.., Poor fools, both of them were keenly aware of what the other could do, and they lived in a wary caution of the other’s nature, using defensiveness as strength and using repressed frustration as their language.

Snobs lunched around, cracking jokes, but they were not snobs.. they were humans.. flesh and blood.., with personalities.., with education bred into them.., but there were spiritual influences, inspirations in their thoughts.., in their actions and in their lives, unseen, hidden and parading as their own mirror images that lived within them.., and they fed this dark force their lives, their thoughts and their own fallen nature… Demonic principalities, dominions, powers of the air, and the spirits that influenced territories were at work in the hearts of fallen mankind breeding iniquity, breeding disobedience, breeding rebelliousness, breeding hatred towards each other beyond reasons that one could perceive, perhaps men unconsciously absorbed demonic hatred and presumed it to be their own. Where is the flesh in all this, where is a man’s individuality in all of this..? Why can’t they see God in all of this..?

Lost love

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The day does not possess enough hours for me to capture all of my thoughts on subjects that matter dearly to me. My life as a writer is on a hiatus, and for the time I have been coursing through the dry plains of ministry work and evangelism,  figuring out what exactly my calling requires of me and doing whatever nitty gritty work that I can find often creates a deep unrest within me. On one end, serving God is my strongest, most fiercest desire and I enjoy every minute of it, but my passion has been put on hold, and it relays its hurt time and time again, I believe that any unused gift dies a cruel death in the busyness of one’s personal life, and I don’t wish to become one such person. I am above and beyond everything, someone who has found his way through words, through dreams, through thoughts and primarily through questions. My life’s narrative is one of finding a way through the darkness of my being.

But I strongly believe that whatever has been done for the Glory of God will be put back in one’s life again, and that is why the joy of the Lord remains my one true strength, I keep returning to it time and time again even as I face the Sculptor’s hard hammer in my public, spiritual and private life.

I am up late, again. Lost in longings, wishes and thoughts.

I had wanted to spend some personal time with the Lord, but unread articles called me from my laptop, I have 60 unread tabs in my Android’s browser and twenty unopened ones in my laptop.., I need to read them…, I am putting away reading time and time again.., the book pile on my desk keeps growing.., the unfinished articles keep increasing.., up to 50 on my desktop actually and the unread articles keep increasing…, therefore I have temporarily put the Lord on hold, I feel like I am betraying Him whenever I write things that are actually the other way around…, It is me who loses important spiritual empowerment, nourishment and feeding by putting away time with the Lord, I feel tremendously upset whenever I am absorbed in myself more than I am in Him… But I believe and feel that His watchful eyes are over me always,even  as I wish to spend time around Him but engaged in other things.. I never want Him to be too far from me.., and that is not because He protects, loves and blesses me continually.., but I believe that the purpose of my creation is to enjoy Him above all things.., To love and to enjoy Him eternally.

I feed useful information to my thinker’s brain. I have before me various articles, a few New York times pieces, a few Christian themed articles, and a book about John Ramirez’s incredible coming to Christ after serving Satan for over 20 years through the Mexican spiritualism, Santeria. I don’t know if I will be able to read them all, I have too little time right now, and the office folks are tardy, self righteous folks of the sun grazed town… If there is one thing that I despise, it is impatience in dealing with people, and my fellow brethren seem to plunge and become possessed by it’s spirit often.

I am reading an article right now on Modern love, a realistic but contrived account of the love lives of modern day new yorkers. I am deeply struck by how messy, curious and difficult love is in it’s realest sense. Take away the attraction to the opposite sex, the lusts that drive the magnetism and the giddy completeness that grounds a couple deeply intent on connecting their hearts together… and love is reduced to the other refuse of our world, of our lives and of our own selves.  It’s end seems to shatter one in his deepest parts, it’s absence seems to make one seem as though he were the loneliest man on the planet, and it’s break or divorce seems to crush, vex and trouble the spirit incessantly until tremendous effort is expended in order to move forward. I should know, I am a survivor of broken love myself, and I have to tell you, it can crush one’s soul and life.. but then again, not everyone is as sensitive, intense and dreamy as I, but maybe we all are, but we just can’t seem to find it in the other person and in the way they use and fit their masks.

The theme was the pursuit of lost love. The last two words sent a shiver in me, a sense of delight that is joyful in it’s sorrow… ‘LOST LOVE’ – the single grandest pursuit of my former life. I must confess to a secret, to an obsession with lost things.. to chances that still haunt me after all these years – esp lost girlfriends, lost romantic opportunities, lost chances… I have been an optimist my entire life even if I have had an extended affair with sorrow and pain.., I have always believed that I would meet the great obsessions of my life at some point and that I would be able to rekindle what was lost, but as a man is being sobered up for the final romantic commitment of his life, his entire life flashes before him, the women he has loved at each part and act of his life, the joys that his infatuations provided unto him in the innocence of his innocuous youth, the long sleepless nights spent dreaming up a life with his sweetheart, those rare occasions in which his inner universe created a masterful drama with his muse as he slept, which he then proceeded to spend hours replaying during physics class in the mornings at a dreadful hostel located deep in Thirunelveli.

I have spent a major part of my life lost in finding love, I have lived for over 28 years now, that translates to roughly 10,521 days. My Instagram account meanwhile has 10,217 pics, unconsciously I have added a pic each for every day of my life on this planet, if only I had struck up a big fortune by now, I would have repayed every penny that I have ever owed to my parents…, because I want to…, because that way I could really really love them with the love of Christ that I am learning right now and not be so consumed about their investment in me…, but maybe the financial aspect of their love is important to me.., When one makes a financial investment on you, you become more generous towards them as well…I constantly dream about completing their housing loans, I constantly dream about striking it big and then sharing it with everyone that I have loved in my family. Repaying is a big principle of mine, it is something that I deeply deeply believe in, I believe this is where you get a glimpse into the type of person that I am.., Cherish it, honesty and genuineness these days is a rarity, much like the blue moon, like the Kohinoor diamonds, like the Haley’s comet and like everything else that was claimed to come to life, but rarely did.

I will be turning 29 this March, and I can sense powerful shifts at work in my life… People have begun to inquire about me in my town, send in pictures of their daughter to my parents who study it studiously and place it before our Lord and ask for His take on things. I don’t understand how the complications of all our lives will be sorted out, most of us repress the information, some of us seem to forget the events of the past, but the past has turned us into the people that we are today, and that is why I am praying that if I do get, dare I say..”Married”, that whoever she is.., She would help me forget everyone before her, and make sure that there are none after her…, I want her to be the one for me.., and I want myself to be her one as well.., after a lifetime of one sided infatuations that were rejected often times coldly and harshly.., I want the attraction to be mutual this time. Love has made me suffer too much.

And perhaps that is why I write, the article conjured up many memories, the memories always delight my heart, they delight me until they gently remind me of my loss. I guess they belong to me, I own them because I put myself out there, and allowed myself to feel rejected whenever someone I deeply loved became someone that I used to know. What sucks even more is the fact that I was socially challenged, insecure as the entire subcontinent of India and shier than all the men in all the known world, and possibly even in the deepest jungles of Africa and South America, since I assume that is where the deepest jungles lie. That is one of the great paradoxes of my life, the fact that I was never made for human contact, but yet my God given gifts are used in service on a pulpit, on Facebook, on WordPress, on Instagram, in my Ministry and in my life.., How strange that the single most antisocial person in the entire planet could be used by a HOLY, Almighty Creator for His Glory..? How Awesome to even imagine such a plight..! Yet it is becoming truer and truer in my life even as the tides hit me so powerfully every now and then.

The great tragedies of my life happened in places that I intensely dislike…, Object 1. I present to your perusal, Scene A,  as I prepared to board the Trivandrum Mail- 22 years old.., eager to experience the world but bitter about my current plight as an underpaid writer for a Coffee table magazine that nobody read, the overcrowded general compartment with it’s pungent, foul smelling stench of paan hit me hard, I have replayed the entire scene as it happened many many times…I ran into her one last time , she perhaps can claim the title of the single greatest love of my life…,  I had fallen for her hard, and had stayed that way for more than four years…, She had joined B.Tech Biotech as I was in my second year of B.sc Biotech at VIT…, The entire first year batch, raw, fresh and innocent had walked past me … In my former glory, I had been quite indecent in my glee of their fear of the seniors, I was visually checking them all out…, I enjoyed making them avert their eyes…, they would soon lose their fears and become more and more dominant…, whilst me being the shy introvert, would avoid all such power plays and become lost in my thoughts and fantasies…it was then that I saw her…, Sassy, beautiful, with milky skin.., scared but defiant.., cute but very feminine…, I never got the courage to talk to her.., much less interact with her.., I was in love with her for over five long years…, I followed her everywhere, not stalking her or making her uncomfortable.., just letting her know that I was like into her and stuff…, I guess she knew.., Girls always do.., they have an intuitive brain, they pick it out with ease and then proceed to promptly friendzone anyone and everyone who in their opinion is not worth their penny. In her eyes I was probably just a fawning, over-excited hormonal College punk, she never got to know the real me.., the shy, timid, soft spoken guy who wanted to save the world someday, I was denied an opportunity of knowing her…. The railway station scene happened after I had left college, disillusioned deeply about life.., desperately searching for strength and identity…, I had landed in MCC, a hip college, well known for it’s class, sophistication and name…, After a year there, I had started to work and had found a job writing for a software company’s magazine.., I felt entrapped, bitter and quite hurt for ending up in a place that was hard and difficult, I was routinely traveling by train from Vellore to Chennai, I had to make the journey two times in a day.., that amounted to four to five hours of travel, or maybe six. I was being broken down into something that had to fit, and then she returned like all my unexpected dreams…, I saw her without realizing it, She did too… She hesitated for a moment, jerked awake by who I was.., she remembered the muscular baller, she remembered the years of staring, she remembered the desperate attempts to notify her of my presence.., she remembered, but then she walked away.., and I went to my seat by the train steps.., never had the train sped by so fast…, She rushed back into my heart, into my life.., into everything.., but what rushed back were my desires, but she left… I never saw her again.. Ever. I may have searched for her in over 10,000 profiles on Facebook.., but yet I can’t seem to find her..,  I hate to say it.., but maybe sometimes things aren’t meant to be found.

I have a hard time accepting certain unchangeable realities in this harsh world of ours. Because I keep trying and trying but nobody seems to notice what I do right.., it is only the wrongs that they are quick to pick on. But I guess, that I should wrap up this writing session abruptly, since dawn is here and only a few hours remain before I can go on to work.., I have written approximately 2,833 words over an hour, I have allowed myself to become vulnerable again and the feelings will probably stay until I can talk it out with the Lord, I did not pray…, I did nothing useful today apart from the past few hours.., The day awaits with it’s challenges, pressures and emotions…, and it is time that I shut my eyes and forget the soul with it’s intake of my existence.., Lost loves.., maybe they are never meant to be found, if you love someone… Tell them today.., Tomorrow might just be too late.

 

 

 

Empath’s Chronicles

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Young things have a mind all their own.. They really really do.

I always love when movies start. I really really do… It gives off a great sense of adventure and promise… Movies to me are like people,  I am wired to believe that they never end, similarly I assume that people are going to fade away in a form that does not involve pain and suffering …. The movie business, boy do I have a load of thoughts on that topic… I just hate how the movie business only wants the bodies and talents of individuals…  It wants the bodies of beautiful women to further our depraved imaginations into thinking that when they engage in lasciviousness,  it is for our pleasure… I find this vicarious thrill sickening in my imperfect yet renewed heart which has submitted itself to the Lord… I think old people choose young people to marry bcos they want the illusion of being young in some warped, twisted way. I don’t like it when that happens, it’s sick and revolting even though people pretend that it’s all normal and okay.. But then again so many things are far from being okay.

I think that people pay professional shrinks just to hear them talk without interrupting… People get so used to hearing the same things that they stop listening.

Why do people pretend like they have it all together?  Isn’t life going to snatch everything away?  Job, parents, kids.. Wife…!!  And yet they pretend like they know what’s about to happen next?   
It’s all about money in this town..  Survival…  Money.. Rent.. Bills… These are the true realities..  True love..  Soulmates – These don’t exist … They really don’t. God exists though and boy am I glad that I never get tired of Him!! 

Why do people grow up and become so cold and lonely?  Why do women control so much of our interactions?  I hate how much I re-read conversations with women in different voices and emotions trying to decipher some hidden clue of inference that will supposedly be an  “eternal treasure and joy”

Why does it hurt to be vulnerable? How can I switch off this feeling of being absolutely vulnerable at all times?   The older I get the more I see things differently.. Why do people desire each other..?  We all get tired of each other anyway..  don’t we?  What does last in this life then? 

I hate how all that people see are faces..  What about my heart?  My soul? Is your vision only limited to my vision?  I guess that the Lord is going to talk to me when He truly wishes to.. Or when He really wants to…  I don’t mind His approach.. I just want Him to talk to His favorite kid, on this side of the ocean..!  Why can’t I save all the sick, dying and broken people in this world Lord?  All the homeless animals?  All the poor people losing their minds..?  Why can’t I stop war?  Crimes? Poverty?    Prostitution, human negligence?  Trafficking ?  murder ?  merciless killings? 

I hate how forgiveness turns back the blame on myself and checks my conscience and wonders in invisibility about the relative state of all things and about our own inability to be absolutely clean and pure , People say the meanest things when they are angry… they really do…!  

I can’t understand how comfortable people are in who they are…  don’t they have fears?  Insecurities?  Timidity?  Shyness?  I’m seriously beginning to wonder how people can feel so confident when at anytime anything can happen!!  I hate what death does to a person…  I hate how it tears open a person’s soul with grief.. And brings the great treacherous injustice of the world into our hearts as we struggle against its vicious and vile might..! 

My mom doesn’t understand a thing about WiFi or the internet or what an Android app means…  and sometimes I laugh at her like it all means a lot, I hate it when I laugh at my mother…  I don’t deserve such a lazy and careless act..  She sweat blood, sweat and tears for me…  She clothed me… Placed my life before her…  what selfishness has my heart to laugh when my mom hides what her generation has trouble comprehending?  How cruel can I be? 

I feel sorry for people a lot…  I really do,  I just cry for them…  I hurt for them…  I pray for them…  the good Lord made my heart to be open and not closed to the world and it’s sufferings. I struggle in weakness against the might of my high sensitivity…  But the Lord has crafted me to bring Glory to Himself. I write stories about girls with whom I had chances with, or spent my life around with but never personally clicked… but they later found someone else.. And I roar and heave with all my anguish and mature sadness even as my pen weaves grand feel good dramas when my heart was broken so many times by decade old infatuations…!

I studied in this college where I felt invisible, where I was invisible… Nobody talked to me, it didn’t matter to them if I would’ve died right before their very eyes they still would’ve been so enamored of their great significance and privileges…  No girl ever opened her heart to me when u was there… I longed so deeply and lovingly towards my muses who were happily oblivious of my affections… I was always forgotten…  sometimes when I laugh at my ma and tease her I remember the pain of being made to feel all of that, and I grow angry at myself and start cursing myself. I still remember how much I hated myself… I can’t be like those flaky, pretensive scoundrels to my ma… She means the world to me.

My beautiful, sweet mess – Short Poem

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How strange this desire to want, need, thirst for and crave someone…?
Tell me where can I take shelter from this obsessive pressure..?
I want to run away from this crazy heart that I possess,
Run like Joseph did from Potiphar’s wife.
Do you wanna know why..?

There is a reason I am pouring out my heart to you listener with a seeking heart,
because I am afraid for what it has done unto me in the past,
it has left marks and scars where formerly dreams used to hide.
My eyes, they don’t see colors anymore,
I am a man who now shuns his eyes.

I am afraid to desire her,
I know that I want her,
but you see, that is the problem.
I had convinced myself that I needn’t care.
I have come past ghouls and horrors that once tortured my soul.
Dreamer that I am, I suffered reality’s cruel strikes,
Demons played and wrecked a tremendous destruction upon my soul.
Dragging me even unto the gates of death.
But my curse seems to pull me into complicated situations that are full of
wreckage and mindless abandonment.

She has another,
Everything that I feel for her,
this intensity, this deep desire of my soul to possess her soul,
She feels for somebody else,
You know that I can’t bear a truth such as that,
How did I get myself into this mess..?
I am not going to psycho analyze every contact with her with my heart’s
detective lens, I know when somebody wants somebody else..,
I really really do.. It hurts like every ache in the universe
has decided to cry.

Why am I staying here, waiting in painful uncertain obliviousness..?
Why do I enjoy this stinging pain of yet another disaster..?
I believe that I enjoy being the martyr..,
I believe that I enjoy the chase, the challenge,
the thrill, and the exhilaration.
I know that I see myself as a hero in hiding, who will pounce upon whoever he believes in his heart is his princess..,
I wonder if I truly do need her..?