Cluttered Thoughts

[1]

Somehow now I want to write this, and I don’t know if this will turn out the way I intend it to, if it will overshoot its purpose, or if I will be able to express what I want in the simplest of words. Already I am extremely sure that this post will be the least viewed or at least the least famous of everything and anything that I have ever written, because I think most of it will not make sense to anyone but me. But now that I have decided to write about it, and talk about it, I better get on with it.

So what is this about? This is about me, and my dreams. And this is a very stupid topic to talk about. I recently had a talk with a couple of guys who are staying with me and they told me that I should write about things that other people can relate to, that other people have already seen; for example, one said, talk about current affairs and what is happening. I asked them, why? I do not agree with this. I write what I write for my pleasure. If someone likes to read it, that is an added bonus for me; precisely why I post them. I am sure there are many of those who sometimes stumble upon my blog, get really bored because they cannot relate to my poetry, because they think, “What does this guy intend to write?” and move on. I do not write for them. And so they do not affect me. Affection is like a disease. And that is why I must stay away from it.

I am currently reading “The Interpretation of Dreams” by Sigmund Freud, and I have come to realize finally that maybe if I could find people who could relate to this book, maybe they could relate to what I think and how I write. How I write is a very different procedure from how most bloggers write, and I know this because I have made some friends in the past who are bloggers. After I finish writing a post, I do not reread it, unless for the grammatical errors. This is very important for me. I do not want to put a check on my thoughts and their flow. When I write, my free-flow thoughts are not curbed. Curbing them by re-reading and changing words seems then, treason to my own faculties.

Hence this small new category. This category is going to be the most unique one out of anything I have ever written. This is because of two things. Firstly, I am not going to think anything before I sit down to write. I will write whatever comes to my mind and however crude it comes out to be, that would be it. Second, I will write in this section only in the late hours of the night when my mind is free of other thoughts and pressing business so that I can focus completely on writing and freeing my mind of all the burdens that it carries in it throughout the day. In this way, I would be achieving two things at one time. My mind would be well-rested because when everything is said and done and written, I do not need to ponder on it again. Secondly, sometimes it is good to let one’s thoughts flow freely. In today’s world and in the industrial life that we lead, which very soon I will be free of, the mind is seasoned to work like the others do in a procedural manner, one step after the next.

I do not want my mind to work procedurally. I want it to flow from a thousand tributaries from a river and randomly diverge them into different distributaries before they finally all join the sea. This is my story. It will be fun, and if you can do this with me, I am sure you will be happy as well. For example, when I had started writing this piece, I wasn’t smiling but now I am because I see how much was pent up in my mind that I have already put down in less than five minutes since I sat down. That is how the mind works right? So many cluttered thoughts rambling up, racing to reach the end, so that other thoughts might come up. Often we suppress some of the unimportant thoughts to give space to other ones which we think are more important, but this is exactly what we shouldn’t do. We should let them all run parallel and see where each of them ends. Let them all be free birds, free of the cages. But then the mind is only that big, and how much can we do at once? That is what I wish to test in this series. Welcome to my life.

[2]

Now that I have started pouring out a lot of words which might seem incoherent now, let me tell you why I am doing this. I want to realize why I think the way I think, and exactly what all things I actually think about. When I read these posts later, maybe a couple of years from now, I would like to smile and think of this initiative as one that made me a happier person by letting my inner self open up to my outer self. Sometimes I feel that I am a multitude of people, and not a single entity. I feel there is this person in me who wants to shout and tell everyone what he feels about this world and how he wants to change it and how he wants to change himself to fit into the things that he cannot change. And simultaneously, there is this second person in me who does not care a bit about this world. For him, everything is okay as long as it does not affect him. He wants to be silent, he does not want to fight the world, he wants peace. And when the first person tries to fight this second person, he shouts at him and tells him he needs to change, but the second person just remains quiet and waits for all the energy to drain out from the other. And that is precisely what is going on right now. There is this first person who is urging me to write right now, and the second person who tells me I would probably be better off sleeping, and that this is a waste of time and that I should probably never make this public because it would make me seem insane. But that is exactly what I need to fight. This tumult of inner self is what I need to get beyond. And I think somehow since I have given the first person preference over the second, I now know which one I am more inclined towards.

Yesterday I saw a dream. It was a very funny dream. I don’t remember anything about it right now but I remember I was very happy when I had woken up; but by the time I reached the washroom I had already forgotten the entire dream. That made me sad. There was one reason that I was happy, the dream; and now I had completely forgotten what it showed me. The dream definitely had a girl, that much I remember. Anyway, since I have forgotten about it, there is no point talking much about it, is there? Today is my last day in office. From tomorrow I will not have to go to work anymore. Samsung will be in the past for me. The thing that pains me is this. It is not the fact that I will never have to walk in through those doors anymore, or the fact that I will not sit on that chair anymore, nor the coffee that the machine vended out to me whenever I stood in front of it. (That reminds me of a joke, when a friend was on a phone and asked the coffee-machine guy to pour her a cappuccino, and the person on the other side of the phone thought the coffee-machine could recognize voices. It doesn’t sound funny on paper, but it was really funny back then.) No, this is not why I am sad or why I am awake now. It is the people who I am going to miss, and not really all the people, but only some of them who were really close to me; so close that I cannot imagine that I won’t see them from tomorrow, because it was almost a habit of being around them. When I wrote “The Parting” earlier today, I was still thinking about this, and the strange thing is I have never given so much thought to this as much as I am giving it right now. Maybe I am overreacting, but anyways, I do not care what others think about it. There are sometimes some unachievable things in life which you already know are out of your reach but you still try to reach them. Like a small child, trying to reach the cookie jar kept on the top shelf. He brings in a stool and gets up on it and what not, and still is unable to reach the shelf. When finally after a long time he does reach the shelf, he sweeps his hand against the jar and it falls down on the floor and smashes to pieces, much like what would happen to our relation had I pursued it further; so thank God I did not; not that I wanted to, but sometimes people say things and that gets into your head.

The people saying things getting into my head is not something new. I remember now the first time I fell in love. It was just a hoax that I had started, when my cousins pestered me to tell the name of the girl I loved, I just picked up the first name on my contacts list. But this continued for a while, and I kept telling them that I love her, and one day I suddenly realized that I do in fact love her. It was a pure induction; you need to believe me that I did not feel anything for her and suddenly out of the blue, my love for her had crossed all limits, I couldn’t think of a life where she was not present; and when I finally told her about this, she shun me out of her life as we shun street dogs when they come to our doorstep. But anyways this was over eight years back and we have both come a long way, but that is how the thought works I think, it joins different threads where even a small connection, however unrealistic it might be, is found. Thus sometimes it happens with my friends that we start talking about politics and somehow reach about why our dinner is not healthy, and then we sit and ponder for a while where our conversation had started from. Only yesterday, one of them cracked a joke about one of us not paying our taxes and somehow the conversation steered away to Scandinavian countries, I don’t remember how.

[3]

Lots of problems in my life; the most important one now being that my phone does not have enough internal memory to store songs and my SD card is corrupted so I cannot use it on my phone. It all started way back last year when one day I carried the SD card in my old phone to work. Now officially since it is an R&D center, we are not allowed to carry SD cards, but I had forgotten that and carried it inside anyways, and then when I was checking out, I saw the security checking the phones for memory cards and then I suddenly remembered about it and I popped out my SD card in a hurry without ejecting it first and that corrupted it I think; I am not really sure that that was exactly what happened but I think it was. Anyways now I am stuck with no songs on my phone. I bought a new phone, a Samsung one, so it has the customary “Over the Horizon” already in it, which I absolutely hate.

My fingers hurt now. I think I have written much for today and that I should stop now. Maybe I should go and continue reading my book or I should go and catch up with some sleep. Whatever it is, good-bye for now. Let me see if I decide to post this on the blog. I think I will in fact post this on the blog and see what kind of response it gets. If the response is okay, I might consider putting up the rest of them which I am going to write regularly from now on. If it is not, well then this will serve as my personal diary where I can vent out everything I want without fearing the prying eyes of people who are involved in my stories. Earlier it has happened that I did once long back (maybe six years ago), published a post of a dear friend of mine and had talked about how he met up with his girlfriend. My friend was infuriated; how dare I publicize his personal life? Had I taken his permission? Why was I using him to increase my publicity? It was a sour affair, and he had severed all contacts with me for almost three years. And though I had deleted that post there and then, I have always kept this at the back of my mind since then that I should never write about anyone publicly or at least use their names unless I have been given permission. But to be honest, I was new back then. My blog was just months old and I had no idea how to go about things. I had thought it would be fun to let people know who were the people I was hanging out with, and why they were so awesome. After I pulled that post down, I scrapped the entire idea of talking about my life, and resorted to writing fictitious poems instead. It worked well, for I got my friends back.

That much for today. See you tomorrow again. I am not going to make any commitments of writing on a daily basis because I know how that works. I keep the promise for a day or two but then invariably I have some other work to do and I cannot complete my resolutions. So I will write when I have the chance, and this section will remain the most treasured section for me. But for now, I must go. My eyes have become red and if I do not sleep off now, I will not be able to reach my office on time, and that is the last thing I want to do on my last day at office. Bye-bye.

Promises

It is easy to make a promise, just as easy as closing your eyes,
But keeping the promise, is more like waiting for the sleep to encumber your eyes,
For dreams do not come to minds devoid of peace,
So think twice, no, thrice, before speaking out loud,
For once the words are out, you cannot take them back,
Never make a promise unless you decide to keep up with it,
For once he loses his faith in you, you will never get it back,
And he will wander away, away from you, far away,
So far you’ll never be able to get him back in your faith,
And there will be no one else to blame for it, but you.

Return – Chapter 3

Breakfast consisted of a lot of catching up. “What are you reading these days?” I asked. She looked at me melancholically, as if an entire life ushered in front of her eyes. “Love Story,” she said. “The Erich Segal one?” I paused, “or the one we wrote?” I tried keeping my face straight. She blushed, and in an instance I was transported back to school. Her shy smile hadn’t changed a bit. “The Erich Segal one, you fool,” she smiled. We talked a lot about what happened in our lives in the past four years, shared lots of stories. She talked nonchalantly, her hair still auburn, a thousand clips placed tightly. It reminded me of the first time I had seen her, how she kept drawing petals and flowers on her notebook, and how far we had come from there. “You remember the Biology lab?” she asked. The biology lab was where our entire story started. “You think I can forget it?” I said, winking slightly. My mind kept shifting from memory to memory, sieving those which had her in them. It was astonishing how I remembered so much, when I had not given much thought to it for such a long time. She insisted that I tell her more about my college, and what I had been up to for the past four years. I could tell her the truth, this time I had nothing to lose, but somehow, I kept back most of the truth from the story. I told her a bit about my friends, and a bit about my college, only as much as was needed. We decided to go out for lunch in another two hours. I told her I would be back on time to pick her up. We hugged and waved good bye to each other.

The sun was up, shining ever so brightly. It was as if it rejoiced in my return. I went back home, knocked on the door, hoping she’d not close it on my face like she did a while ago. I had my plan ready; I would hug her as soon as she opened the door, giving her no time to shut it on my face. As I retraced my steps, it began to rain. It was only a drizzle first, a pitter-patter, but I stood there, in the middle of the street, rejoicing the rain, as it washed away the dust on the streets, and from the memories that lay stacked in my brain for so many years. It reminded me of the days when I went to school during the monsoons. I still remember the faint white tube-lights of the classroom switched on even though it was early in the morning, and the smell of the mud never allowing me to concentrate in the class, my eyes always shifting from the blackboard to the skies outside, black and grey, dull and gloomy, yet happier than what the teacher was teaching. And how that changed later, when though it rained, the only place my eyes went were her eyes, and the teacher kept running through huge courses I had no idea of. But that was a lifetime ago. Those need not have bothered me anymore, not more than the fact that I would never grow young again, and never relive those moments; etched deep in my thoughts, like engravings on stone, made with other stones, proclaiming love in the forts and on the trees, so that people around the world knew who you were; the wish to be famous. It was queer how we never became famous for our good acts, and some, like us, never got any fame, remained in the backgrounds, forever working for those who received all the fame, and yet I didn’t regret. And suddenly I realized, the rain had stopped. I needed to do some serious business now. And so I walked.

I went back home, only to find the door locked. I waited outside, for an hour, and another, and then another, but she didn’t come. Where could she have gone? She was here this morning. I felt an eerie sense of disownment. Maybe it was never destined to be so. Our lives had separated, and no matter how hard I tried, probably nothing good would ever come out of it. Our relationship was like a thread, once broken; I tried knotting it up, and making it one whole piece again, but that knot… that knot was there, and howsoever hard I tried, the knot would be there. To remove the knot would mean to break the thread again, and I had to choose one over the other. But the knot was hurting, it hurt a lot. And so I needed to break the thread, even if it meant losing someone dear, someone close to the heart. For sometimes, it’s not the act, but the repercussions and the consequences that make you act towards it. And something similar was happening here. I got up, kicked the door one last time, though nothing really changed, and strolled off. I had to be on time for lunch.

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Names Fade

The breath passes softly through the air all time,
Creating a warmth that makes all the bells chime.
Standing beside the window on a cold frosty night,
Sticking myself to it very tight,
Writing her name through the breath on the window,
Trying to get rid day and night of my shadow.
But the breath disappears into its shade,
And although I don’t want, the names fade,
Fade and settle at the back of my mind,
And I can’t recall her face how much ever I rewind.
Everything which they said was impossible,
Now they seem so easily possible,
And they said getting you was so much possible,
Yet it turned out the only thing impossible.
The colors of life are fading slowly,
The lights diminishing, the light of life,
Those names back there in my mind are fading,
And I am going through a tough strife.
It seems as if the window panes cry each night,
They behave as if they are in a fright,
Fright that they too will lose from their pane,
A name that was written by a boy insane.
They cry aloud and the rivers murmur,
That he was the only one made for her,
But time keeps moving, and it will,
Until the day my body will chill.
I tell God at last, she is my only jade,
And may in my mind never her name fade.

Sunny Nights

Gone are those days when we ran on the street,
Kept running miles though burnt were our feet,
Never stopped, nor looked behind because we knew,
Dreams were the wings with which we flew.
Where are the dreams? Who cut our wings?
Day and night my heart sadly sings.
Not even in winter we got frost-bites,
For us all nights were always sunny nights,
If not in the sky then what, never mind,
The sun kept shining at the back of our mind.
Return me my dreams oh cruel world,
Return me those people who thought I was a nerd,
Return me those days when friends true I had,
Who didn’t laugh behind my back when I was sad.
I want again with friends my old fights,
And I want again those old sunny nights.
That star over there on the sky you see,
That was the one we counted number three,
Give me my days when we counted the star,
And friends together stretched hands far more far.
Suffocated I am in this room tonight,
Darkness surrounds me always, there is nowhere any light.
I want those days when I hugged my mother tight,
Oh return me that lovely, pretty sunny night.