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.

The Drifter and his unfinished love- Part One ( Short Story)

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“Moon river, wider than a mile
I’m crossin’ you in style some day
Old dream maker, you heartbreaker
Wherever you’re goin’, I’m goin’ your way
Two drifters, off to see the world
There’s such a lot of world to see
We’re after the same rainbow’s end, waitin’ ’round the bend
My huckleberry friend, Moon River, and me”
– Breakfast at Tiffany’s

They were meant to meet.., they really were. He was supposed to meet her at a railway station as he was about to give up his hopes of ever making it as a novelist of life as it expresses itself in a humid city by the sweaty sea that he had spent 8 years in, she was supposed to bump into him at the end of a bittersweet college love affair that had rapidly gone sour.

They were meant to be in each other’s way, their hearts were meant to impact, their eyes were to meet and defenses were to slide and blur, they had already met…, years before in another grand design of divine will…, She had been a young blogger, spunky, dreamy and creative who spent her time blogging about gardening and independent music bands… He was the artist slowly learning to expose his soul to an audience through disoriented prose and emotional poetry. She did not know what she wanted out of her life, it felt too confusing… India was full of uncertainty, bureaucracy and political maneuvering.., Her heart would need to be compressed into a social conformist label that would make her accessible to workplaces, colleges and friendships, where her soul could find a relatable way of appealing to other people and their interests…, She felt that he was just another boy that had appeared on her radar. He would leave and somebody else would turn up, she had enough time, Her Prince charming would be a whole lot more fun, attractive and dreamier than Dreamer boy.. Her candidate was going to take her all over the world…, He was going to be perfect in her Instagram pictures … and He was going to treat her like a princess… Sheesh she had time.., she was only 22 after all.

She saw the buzzing industrial brain of her college, she saw the hyper-emotional young adults blooming around, she saw the freedom, the life and assumed that real life had to contain all such emotions…, but she had a troubled heart deep inside too, something that nobody ever seemed to understand.., Growing up, she had been thrust into a foreign state, her native tongue which came from the southern parts of India brought interest from human sharks and bullies interested in the pain of others… They teased her and opened the door of inner insecurity. But she was a happy person, it came from her Father.. He had had a sunny disposition, a trait that he had passed on to his daughter… she overcame the lowly punks, and other academia oriented obstacles and shined as bright as a star atop a Christmas tree. She excelled in everything that she came across, her parents had taught her to love God and she clung to Him as He powered her through strife and turmoil.

She had been dismissive of him instantly. She had come across a few of his confessions, a few of his short stories.. They were combustible, spontaneous material written with a lot of soul, heart and power, they energized her and made her see him as someone that she could get along with. If she was honest to herself, she found his charm quite attractive. But she did not want to lose her control, she felt connected to herself by purposeful work , But she was used to making plans, and then allowing her plans to consume her which proceeded to bury her inside some rock solid shell, impervious of the outer world whose insides was full of intense work and purpose…. He on the other hand did not know what he was going to do with his gift.

She allowed defensive assumptions to offer herself clarity, these type of romeos were a dime a dozen, they were shady, cunning charming savants interested in the attainment of one thing, and one thing only. Sex!!

Her parents had raised her a lot better than that, she was not going to fall for his tricks, he could be Fyodor Dostoevsky with his thoughts, but she had the last word on everything.

But time and time again, he surprised her. He seemed very willing to be tremendously honest with her. He spoke to her about his own failed relationship, a nightmarish experience that had had him in a relationship with someone who was engaged to somebody else. She could not ever imagine herself doing something as stupid as that, but she appreciated his effort at remaining completely honest with her.., She got the feeling that he would be honest with just about every soul on this planet.., Good, greedy, cunning and wicked… She liked that about him, even though she dismissed everything else.

The person had been his friend, and had fallen for him, she had confessed it to him one night as he was telling her stories by watching the stars.., But immediately after doing so she wept bitterly as she spoke to him of her reality. Seeing her tears, his compassionate heart had moved him to tell her that she did not need to worry, He was in love with her too. Thus began a turmoil and strife filled affair where she took all his love, but remained steadfast in her decision to marry her fiance, which only broke the young dreamer’s heart of happy endings and problem solving. People chose gritty, dark solutions since they were all selfish for their wants, but rarely to the needs of others.

He also told her about how God had saved him from taking his own life at the guilt, shame and pain of it all. He was using this blog to share comforting words it seemed. He always spoke to her about his love for Jesus, His passion for sharing his testimony, His compassionate heart wanted to help the poor, the sick and the suffering. He was different, he was not interested in attracting her, he would rather not have her than do something completely dishonest and cunning in obtaining her… but she could see that he liked her. They were both from different worlds, he was born with his heart on the outside, her heart meanwhile was so far within that she had to search for it in colors, in the strangely exhilarating sequences of movie frames overlooking room windows, and in accidents.

Destiny was drawing them both closer and closer.., but strangely they were being pulled apart by their own indecisive minds, full of directions that were not meant for their destiny. She wanted the comfort and the sophistication of Europe, America and France which is technically in Europe. He wanted to make everybody happy, he enjoyed making people smile, he enjoyed bringing joy to broken hearts and lost souls.., He was a Healer.., a rare commodity in a world as dense and artificial as this.

Now the Dreamer… He was a drifter…, a lost soul.., a dreamer stuck in the real world.. A mermaid who belonged in the underwater world of creativity, dreams, sighs, fancies, visions and intuition… His family were real good to him. They really were, but they never could see into his deep deep heart, he seemed to belong in another world,His inner world was too beautiful for the world to see much less comprehend… He was a rare flower, blooming far away from human eyes. His ways despite knowing the weight of this world’s smears seemed pure and innocent.., His eyes watched the skies finding soulful power from taking in Royal Eagles circling invisible atmospheric turfs miles away from the ground…, His heart absorbed each sight of the world with intense emotion and despair… he always saw with aching eyes and a deeply hurt soul… He desired to see new things but he was weighed heavily with the burden of what was never going to change…He knew things that others could not see.., He understood what pain, poverty, sin and emptiness meant…, He felt the deep lifeless void arouse unbearable questions that arose like ghoulish specters He sensed hurt below endless rows of lifeless homes.. He sensed the overwhelming complexity beneath each human life just buzzing with energy streaming within endless channels of thought, emotion and action… He had too big a heart for a world as cold as this… For a world so insensitive to sight, touch and feel…. But for all his gifts that he so severely despised as empty smoke, he longed for a heart that was fierce yet kind in that intoxicating drop of femininity that only his dreamer heart could concoct and desire. He longed each day since his heart was made to express God’s love in it’s purest form, he longed more and more each day for someone who would end his romantic drought once and for all.

He did not know where he was going or know what he was going to be, he only knew that he wished to serve his God… to him life was a mystery… he rarely ever saw himself, his soul was constructed in such a manner as to build complex mansions and realms based on the purely depleting sights of utter, carnal, earthly, gravity bound banality … His heart belonged to the outer world, to the world that his heart bled as it entered bit by bit, inch by inch, mile by mile, street by street into inner worlds of woods that were mystic symbols lost in time, into dense forests that were metaphors and soulful signs and into night skies full of shivering, diamond stars that were each nightly dreams. The more the outer world invaded his rich, inner world.., The more he suffered… The more intense was his pain. He longed more and more each day for Heaven.. But he saw his flesh struggling with sinful traps that he had allowed out of errors controlling him more and more. He did not know how long he could survive this world and it’s inability to connect to him and his lonesome heart.

His heart felt more and more pained as he neared the end of his single life. He was 27 years old, pressures were turning up by the dozen.. Families took on an interest when the drifter drifted about in-between divine service and evangelism… He had lost all hope. He had met his dream girl through his words, but it had not been enough…she was a butterfly who flitted about oblivious to his fiery inner heart.., she had her own fierce heart and will. He had to accept the inevitable and appreciate the turbulence that heartbreak often bought, he prayed often about it wondering if she was his to desire… He had not gained certainty through all the years of his life, all he had gained was loss, pain and hopelessness. But the more he saw his life, the more it felt like he was being separated from something that was meant to come towards him. His meeting had been brief, but had left an indelible mark… a mark that had become dreams.. fanciful longings and wishful thinking. He could not think of anybody else.. But he feared offending His Lord and God.., Was he doing the right thing..?

She was a rock solid lighthouse on the other hand. But she was tired of putting up a brave front on the outside whilst her doubts were growing more and more tense each day, why did she feel compelled to visit Madras over and over …? Why did her life with all its happiness still feel empty…? Incomplete..? Dissatisfying…?