One Day At A Time

Many would argue, that the time for nostalgia is over. For me, it has just come alive. I am celebrating the New Year in the most spectacular way possible - sipping through memories in an absolutely quiet room, all to myself. In the distance, I can hear some crass party music buzzing on meaninglessly. I can also hear gentle snores from neighbouring rooms. Dreams are hastily in motion, living their final pleasant breathes for tomorrow will bring the rush of office life, the mayhem of odd-even logic. My sister has an exam. I hope her dreams are flooded with untidily scribbled notes.

PC - imgcell.com

As for me, I am going to sit this night out. I have a couple of things to ponder on, another couple to feel good about, and I am going to allow myself the privilege of embracing only the fatigue caused by contentment. 2015 was a special year, not because it was perfect, far from it actually, but because at the end of all of the chaos, I remember prettiness. In fact, I even remember the darker times with a hint of pretty. That is a good sign, no?

Dates, endings and beginning are all psychological constructs. Nothing really, materially or physically has changed between yesterday and today. Still, I have quite loved observing dates to which we attach significance. These are times to pause and reflect, before you decide to drone on and get accustomed to the usual pace of life after a moment's high. Here are some reflections and learnings from 2015 which I find worth sharing. A part of them you might relate with, a part of them might help you out in someway. Another part of them, perhaps, you could help me out with.

Books
There are these drunk screeches I can hear from cars blaring music as revellers inside them welcome 2016 in a manner I never can. I am casting loving glances on my Murakami lying a little away on the quilt, because once this post is over, I will be snuggling with it to sleep. (Whatsapp servers being down helps). I have always been an avid reader, but in 2015, I saw in me a compulsive need to read. Amid social media comments which called me a show-off to a liar, I persisted with my stubborn love for books, and ended up reading 58 of them! That, by any standards, is a huge number to accomplish in a year.

However, number is not all that I have accomplished. Books helped me discover knowledge, meaning and even balance. A  lot of time which I could have potentially spent over-thinking was spent guessing and obsessing over unfolding plotlines. My thoughts were often writing stories of their own, which were so powerful, that it impacted my actual writing styles, in a good way. I connected with people who connected with my reading list - and these, I can tell you, were the easiest people to match wavelength with. I ended up inspiring, quite happy to say this, a few to set their own personal targets and take up reading seriously in the coming year.

 No matter what was happening in life, I always had a book to come back to. It was comforting, and not in the least did it contribute towards making me reclusive. Rather, these books gave me so many conversation topics that I would be bursting with literary excitement everytime I was in human company. As much as I can remember, I only gifted books this year. Trying to find the perfect book for a friend was almost as exciting as trying to set him/her up with a perfect match! For those who have yet not discovered the magic of books, I am here to help. For those who want to sort out their reading list, I am here to help. For those who want membership in my personal library, duh, I am here to help.

Time
Not my greatest friend, honestly. But I got along fine with it.

A persistent question which friends/acquaintances/people I interact with on social media, asked me was - how do I have time to do all that I do! Honestly, I don't have an answer. I do find myself burdened, running delays, panicking with the load of work I have - but that is a rare occurrence. It happens when the general spirit in life is low. Else, I am quite happy observing the diffraction in my thoughts as they are forever trying to accomplish multi-hued objectives. I am quite chaotic in my head, but this is a very endearing chaos which keeps me goofy and occupied. Do you see what I mean?

PC - bookbook.com

There are a few things I have learnt in 2015, about my relationship with time, which I am going to carry forward next year. I spent hours curating experiences for myself. I took myself out of dates, learnt to make peace with solitude and understood that cacophony is disorienting if consumed too much. This might not sound feasible or wise, but wherever there was a choice between saving time or saving money, I literally squandered money to save myself some precious minutes. I've started sleeping adequately, and I think, I have begun loving my sleep-hours more than food. THAT is saying a lot.

Moving beyond the ticking aspect of clocks, I have learnt to trust and respect time. It will keep moving - no matter what. So, if you have a happy situation - live it, because it won't last. If you have a difficult situation - keep cool, because it won't last. Flow, if possible. Act in the best possible way, take your breaks, get back up again, and time, with its constant flow, will take care of the rest.

Poetry

PC - Tejinder Singh

I am not a great poet. Good is also a debatable adjective, but I have had the golden privilege of frolicking about in poetry most days of the past year. That, however, is not what I want to talk about. I actually want to mention Poets' Collective here, defining which is beyond the collective expressive capabilities of all the beautiful souls which inhabit it.

PC is a family which many of us have built together. Even while I try and observe a safe distance from most things, attachment towards PC comes naturally, without realization. Part of it, certainly, is about poetry. A greater part of it, however, is about life. In its most intimate manifestation, I have seen people show their craziest sides without a shred of fear about being judged or mocked at. I LOVE THAT. "Being" is more important than "being free". Think about it. And in this almost surreal state of being, I have seen some amazing poems brewing, even before they take the shape of words. There is no larger purpose here - we've got our jobs and ambitions and plans sorted for that. This is, perhaps, about saying - "Let's grow old in poetry, together."

This commitment, to growing together, learning together and cherishing all the good which comes along with poetry in our lives is what makes PC special. At least I believe so.

Mistakes
Oh many! So many!

Learning from mistakes aside, I learnt, that there are some mistakes I cannot help but commit repeatedly. In that scenario, what is important is to learn how to assuage situation soon enough, so as not to cause damage anywhere. Internal or external.

I believe people are sometimes too harsh on themselves when they realise their mistakes. It's okay. You will go on making them. Problem arises when you repeat your mishaps. Please find new mistakes to commit through life. Once done, ask yourself, 'What next?' And act. Action is sometimes the greatest way out of the gravest quandaries in life.

Shall I tell you something more? In retrospect, each of your silliest mistakes will beautifully fit together like puzzle pieces to complete the mosaic of your vibrant life. You'll have nothing to regret, unless you're hell-bent upon it. Hang in there. Most of these things are happening for a reason.

Important - when others make a mistake, and you think you are in a position to make them realize it, please to it with an aim to correct and not to condescend. There was this lovely day last year where there was an oversight on my part, and I was shamed in front of an alien public, in a verbose and unpleasant manner. I love rebukes. They are usually dazzling chances to learn. But not this time. Tough love does not include shaming - it includes a stretching of parochial perspectives.

People
Aah. My favourite part. This year was insane with respect to people. I offended a lot of people, sometimes knowingly so. I fell in love with a lot more. Some unfriended me, some took me out on marvellous dates. The pretty difference this year was, whenever it came to conflict between my peace and someone else's happiness, I first saved myself and then did whatever I could for the other. Rants aside, here are a few mentions.

Dr. Ashok Chakradhar - an inspiration and mentor, he gave me the privilege of calling him a teacher - a role in which he excels effortlessly. Literature, poetry, discourses and life - I gained a lot through my interactions with him.

Mujeeb - calling him a lifeline is still an understatement.

Niyati - if I have truly shared any phase of my life in painful detail with someone, it has been her. This relationship was due some years on me.

Akshat - we grew up, suddenly. We've had a history of most invigorating discussions, but the level and class and subjects suddenly became too grown-up. In a good way, I guess. (This person is my reality check in life.)

Mohit - he brought music and senseless smiles back in my life. Among few of the toughest days in 2015, it was just this guy, who could say precisely the words I had wanted desperately to hear.

Ekta - the way we connected, in an instant over that auto-ride, this is the stuff that great friendship stories are made of. Resolve to meet me more, okay?

Ambikesh, Prateek, Sharad - funnily enough, you guys played a similar role in my life at different points in time. Standing up for me, and facing my boiling temperature, you three have completed cycles of the relationships we're hopefully building for a long time to come.

Nimisha - daughter, decided? Chuck everything and come snuggle with me when times are tough. Also, there are always books and pizza.

Anurag - you came up bravely, but there is a long way to go. You know it. I know it.

Divyaksh - you are my goofy spoon of happiness and the best ever insight into mythology and philosophy.

Puneet and Atif - kaise? How are you guys such dazzling humans at heart? I have loved your poetry, your love and the pretty bonds of friendship which have formed between us.

Rashmi - no words in the world are capable of telling you how thankful, indebted and in awe of you am I. You are such a reflection of the life-force which I forever want to live with!

Mimansa - the genuineness of your heart tugs at mine. I hope to know you better next year.

Pooja - when you talk, it is like my conscience speaking to me. I could write poetry for you daily, you know, hoping that someday you'll scribble some verses for me.

Yaseen - you're a friend I have chosen to believe in.

Evita - how did we come to be so close? How did you come to be so fond of me?

Kamal - I think noone in my life understands the term 'unconditional love' better than you do. Darling son, okay?

Nishant - God gave me my full when he designated you as my friend. I'm blind and demanding when it comes to our love and friendship!

Netrik - for the unconditional faith you have posed in me and the world we've created.

Yasser - for being a charming new addition to life.

Atika - the liberty to be at peace with myself when I am with you is stupendous. You are a beautiful person, and there is nothing I will not do to add smiles to your life.

Vernita - I have ended up admiring you. So much! I want to meet you so much more and keep falling in love with you.

Saif bhaiya - you are the BEST gift that 2015 gave me. I have known you several years, but not like this, never like this. Your being there matters. A lot.


One Day at a Time
My biggest gift this year was the ability to live one day at a time. Yes. I gave each new day its respect. I seldom carried on emotions and intensities from previous nights to new dawns. There were many mornings I woke up and asked myself - so, what do you want to try out today? And whether it was as basic as making mashed potatoes for myself, or beginning work on a new book - I just went ahead and did it. Simple.

I wish you a great 2016. I have some great plans and some stupid tasks to accomplish gloriously. Absolutely kicked about it. You?

Healing Waters, Floating Lamps - A Review

I have not been writing reviews regularly for quite sometime now, but when a request to review a poetry collection came my way, I could just not say no! The fact that poetry is finding its foothold in the literary world was a pleasant fact to acknowledge. It is still sad, however, to note that among the hundreds of books I have received for review till date, Healing Waters, Floating Lamps is only the second poetry collection out of it! Sad, but I hope that changes soon.

At the outset, let me admit, I had to read this entire book thrice over to get closer to the meanings of some exquisite verses penned by Kiriti Sengupta in this wonderful collection. Even then, my comprehension was woefully inadequate to wade to the depth of each poem. Don Martin's Foreword came handy to pull me out of this conundrum. To understand certain works, the voice of an observer other than the poet/author is sometimes necessary - for he is able to think like a reader does, and hence provides certain inroads into the even very esoteric texts. In this case, Don Martin not only familiarised me to Kiriti Sengupta's literary aura, but also threw light on the way the poems held in Healing Waters Floating Lamps contained layers and layers of meaning.

Coming to the poems, they had a serenading beauty. The imagery concocted by the words was capable of transporting one to a Ganga Ghat, or to the sublime regions of one's consciousness. It is the latter where the poet probably was exhorting us to reach, and to do so, he gave us a very circuitous path to tread on. This path led from unravelling the poems, and then placing ourselves in its context to comprehend the message the poet is trying to spread across.

Apart of lyrical beauty, these poems are also imbued with spirituality - but the kind which everyone can adapt for themselves. Very short, but very profound in impact. Deep, very deep within you lies your God, and in the same regions resides the meaning of life. By encouraging an enquiry into nature and meaning of existence, I believe the poet was trying to egg us onto the higher realms of consciousness. I could be completely wrong here, because, as I did state, even after the third reading, many of these poems and their contexts seemed elusive to me.

This book will not make for a casual read, but will ask you to give it time and attention. If you are ready to lavish both of them on poetry, pick this up. I give it 3 stars on 5.

Unlove

A few days ago, a friend quoted a line out of an earlier blog post, which went like this - "Love should never begin at admiration." This set me thinking on what I must have been thinking when I wrote it. (If you must put it in context, the post is called Anamnesis, which investigates a past love with the prism of today) Was I sad, deluded, angry, moody, troubled - or simply pensive? Or passive? Or subtly aggressive? Well, love can lead you into any of those phases, seamlessly. The awesome surprising bit is, I feel none of the love which I did then. The love which was a living thing inside me is so dead, that death would itself be baffled. The point to take note of here is, whenever something inside you dies, it kills a little pretty part of you. And then, like they say, maturity happens.

My musings today are about where should love begin - if it begins in your life at all. At a younger time, I would have fervently wished that you feel love with all intensity, as early as possible in life. Now, I would be cautious. I have seen far too many hearts shrink in size while growing up in love. Your's did not? You lucky, umm, something! Share the trick, please?

PC - @Elenalanzart

Again, where should love begin? At the first sight, erupting in little tremors all over your skin? Or in tickles, at all the wrong places? Should love be a product of what you imagine your life to be with a certain person? Or should it be a gradual flow alongwith everything that happens in life? Should it be exciting or calming? Or both? Should it give you sleepless nights or dizzying intoxications? Should it be borne out of a habit or a break from habit? Should it be a hope of being empowered, or an urge to beautify someone else's life? Don't say both! We all know about power balances and stuff like that.

I am not seeking answers. If at all I am, it is not from people who have condescendingly satisfying love lives. I want it from people who have been broken by love into a million little pieces they somehow hope to carry along. You guys are brave. But do you know the problem with being brave? No one gives a shit. It's not a distressed statement. It is the absolute truth. Calm, calculated truth. How does it fit with the musings on love? It does, because I would like to know if it necessary to be vulnerable to feel love or evoke love? Or you could be hard as a rock and yet be loved, or be thought of as capable of being loved? Not too complicated, just thinking.

The answer lies in a chaos, perhaps. Our own, unique, concocted chaos. The only underlying solution I would vouch for is that love is a better, more desirable state of life. It is something which will add a sheen to the way the life is getting reflected in your mirror. If what you desire is a partner who can sweep you away, so be it. If you need someone who can make you firmer on your ground, I wish you all luck. I, personally think you need both. Will you get both? Two years back I would have said, 'yes'. Today, I'd say, 'it depends'. And I'll sleep off without a speck of disturbing scruples.

You see, I am waiting for my muse to appear drunk in my dream and kiss me. That.

PC - Neelkamal Pandey

Winter Notebook - December Arrives With A New Theme!

December is a reflection zone for me. This month brings with itself the smell of nostalgia. It does also, usually, carry along the wonder of winter, the comfort of blankets and the thrill of cosy moments with friends, but, well, that, I believe, is a burden of expectations which January will have to bear. I can say this, because I am writing this post sitting on the floor in the drawing room of my house, wearing half sleeves kurta with a thin, cotton salwar, killing mosquitoes as I type. December should not feel like this. I mean, by now, I should have been shivering inside a blanket wrapped around an oversized gharwali jacket. And by now, all mosquitoes should have died of merciless cold. But, aah, well, none of those has happened.

PC - Funnybox.com

The nostalgia is here, definitely. It has got a little to do with winters, which carry along the pleasant lull of thoughtfulness. It has got a little more to do with the timing. Another year is dying, only so it may live with its best and worst moments inside us. A new year starts looming in imagination, with its promises of great things and nervousness of new experiments and performances. Is the prospect of a new year always exciting? I don't know. However, for me, personally, I am glad 2014 is going to be gone.

It was a tough year for me; probably the toughest in my memory. The scratches of bitter moments are still red, and they itch now and then. It was a year in which I saw myself refusing to mature with experience. I found regression comforting. This was a year in which I challenged life, looking right in its eye. Then, I won some, I lost some. Good things happened, of course they did! But somehow, I am looking at December to serve as a grand compensation for all that went wrong. So far, it has behaved, umm, in a lukewarm manner. But it has only just started, and probably great things are in store. Or probably they are not. I don't know. I don't know how welcome is it to think of planting experiences and not allowing them to come on you naturally.

Good, or bad, one thing I am fervently hoping is that December leaves me with experiences I can translate into stories. Oh yes, I am high on writing stories these days.

I am also high on eliminating clutter from my life, a start of which has been made on this blog. I loved the rich red shades of the earlier theme, but I guess it was time I made things cleaner (and leaner?) here. What do you think of the new theme? Not that I am going to change it if you advise, but I would love to know your thoughts.

A wintry smile, from last year.

I'll introduce you to my memories this month. You don't really have to be on this journey with me, but I will be glad if you are. 

A Little Something On Me

There is a tag going on around at Instagram, where people are asked to state 20 random facts about themselves. I remember a time when such tags were routine in the world of blogs. However, I feel, with the coming up on multiple social networking fora, where the content you write is instantly and easily share-able and tag-able, blogs have sort of gotten relegated to a secondary expression position - laborious, slightly inconvenient.

Anyway, so I wanted to do the same tag here; for old time's sake. Also, for archiving purposes. Here we go.

1. I am in love with the world of written words - I want to own it, play in it, learn with it, carve it, destroy it, reconstruct it and flow with it. 
   
2. Ammi - Letters To A Democratic Mother by Saeed Akhtar Mirza is the book which has influenced me most in life. Following it at a close second spot is a book called The Assassin's Song by M. G. Vassanji. 

   

   Saeed Akhtar Mirza

3. Faiz Ahmed Faiz is the poet who tugs at the cords of my heart most strongly, though I will admit to not being able to comprehend his language completely. 
   
4. I have always been a people's person, but that manner of existence has begun disenchanting me lately. 
5. I am crazily in love with Silver Jewellery - buy me some and be assured I will instantly fall in love with you. I am also slowly opening up to the idea of gold and bling. Dang is my favourite place to pick up gold-funky-accessories from. 
   
6. I discovered Mythology, specifically Mahabharata as a huge ocean with depth as yet waiting discovery, earlier this year. I hence started a club called Maha Varta with a bunch of mythology enthusiasts which has opened my eyes to much which would have otherwise been left elusive. 
   
7. I desire to be married to books and nature, with a cottage all to myself, high up in the hills. 
8. I have been blessed with a friend who remains with me to grant me unconditional love and support even when I am a witch. Such friends, companions, lovers are rare. They are a blessing most of us fail to understand. 
9. This blog has been dearer to me than most journals I have written in moments of intimacy with myself. Each time I see the ticker at the right hand side move, I do a mental jig. 
10. My day job is that of a Content Strategist; but then, so are my night jobs, one  of which is that of the Poetry Editor at a forum called Positivally Cynical (intentionally spelt that way). Here, my boss is someone way younger than me, but this fine young man hides within him an ambitious entrepreneur I love seeing come of age.
    
11. I love experimenting with new flavours of tea. You want to take me out for a date? Sunset and tea, or monsoon and tea work wonders!
    
12. I was a coffee addict at one time. The incident which changed that was when I collapsed due to drinking 12 cups of coffee in a span of 8 hours. Don't ever try that at home!
    
13. I am in love with my voice.
14. If I were to venture out this moment for a holiday, I would pick between - Udaipur, Jaipur and Sattal. 
15. I go to the fanciest of restaurants to savour the fanciest of dishes from the most exotic corners of the world, but my favourite hangout remains Janpath McDonalds', with their breakfast menu served to me on rain-fed or foggy mornings.
    
16. I want to keep exploring arts - all forms of it - throughout life. Right now, playback is the weird ambition I have been day-dreaming after. 
17. I think faith is a tough concept to hang onto and that we all need our Krishna in life - living, breathing, wise entities who have something very humanly admirable about them. My Krishna exists in combination of real and imagined entities. 
18. I love getting clicked. 
    
19. I met poetry last year. It made me happy, but then caused immeasurable pain. I am trying to meet it again now, through a concept called Poets' Collective. I have no clue where it will go - but I do know that I will not try too hard again in life. 
    
20. I am trying to lose weight these days. Extra volume doesn't bother me. Alarmingly low levels of stamina do. 

Bonus - I am obsessed with the idea of becoming the flow, whatever that means. 

I would love it if the following people to repeat the exercise on their respective blogs - Achint Mathur, Manan Kulshreshtha, Neha Menon, Navin Dutta, Sudhanshu Shekhar Tiwari, Neelkamal Pandey, Yogesh Pandey, Aakriti Mallik, Kunal, Archika Poria, Varun Rustagi and anyone else who happens to drop by here. Leave a link to your blog in the comment section below. I would love to visit and know a little more about you. 

Sonnet II - The Eye Which Closed

A fierce stare, ambling, crawling up

The scar which charred her happy visage

Sour tea bubbling in her brittle cup

She drinks and smiles at the grand mirage

A hand then grips and clutches hard

To press the open wound which oozed

Not blood, just bloodless hymns that start

Talking, while she looks on, amused. 

In a chamber overwhelmed by violence

Of subsurface thoughts felt too deeply

She tries hard to shrug the piercing lens

The whiteness spreading its fangs ornately

The mirror, the frames, the sights weakened, tore asunder

Calming, she closed her eyes, to travel through wonder.

The comment I left at the exhibition

For all those who could not head out to Triveni Kala Sangam in the week that went by, they missed the sight of sheer magic being splashed on the pristine white walls of the Shridharini Art Gallery. The magic was keen, curious, penetrating, and, as they say, stupid! An exhibition of photographs by the name of "Stupid Eye" was on at the venue, where in, a veteran psychologist - Harsheen K. Arora, and a seasoned photographer - Vipul Amar, had collaborated to undertake an intense journey through the inner selves of fourteen people and then paint them out impeccably in front of the world through breathtaking photography. The frames, which were the net result of the inner journey of these people aimed at finding and liberating their true selves, were devastatingly beautiful. At first, they were just frames which you would interpret. Later, they became fields where you would try to locate yourself, or your experiences. How an event trapped inside four walls can be liberating for the creative and the unexplored that hides inside you - this could be learnt at Stupid Eye.

These booklets had all the stories, sans which, my experience at the exhibition would have been incomplete. 

The above sonnet-structured poem was scribbled in a mute response to when Prayas asked me as to what I found there, and if I could locate myself in any of the frames. I failed to do so. I am one of those who is scared of discovering too much - I find my liberation in uncertainties. A picture, too clear, eliminates the possibility of fascinating interpretations - and if the possibility of impossible fancies vanishes from life, it doesn't augur brightly for me. And I seek bright. Blurry, okay, but bright. For some, the frames presented a figment of reality which they thought reflected off their past, or their inner self. For me, the frames served to shut out much, and delve within myself, happy in the cloistered, yet connected existence. And amid this rant, I am stupid if I forgot to tell you that Prayas is that dear friend because of whom Stupid Eye became a rather personal (albeit short) experience. He is among those people who charm you, and make you feel comfortable with the warmth they exude. Its a pleasure to know him.

Posing with Prayas, or one of his manifestations.

I met some tremendously fascinating people up at the exhibition, engaged in insightful dialogues. Harsheen ma'am and Vipul sir were gracious hosts, not refusing anyone an audience, discussing freely what went into conceiving an executing the Stupid Eye project. The opinions of attendees were given weight; there was no one who could stand there and feel wrong. Welcoming smiles and warm hugs - they were my fond takeaways from the brilliant people I met there.

The creators and their creation

So yes, the time I spent at Stupid Eye exhibition was fabulous. It will stay with me. The grand event was made more special because two of my very dear kids - Kamal and Vaibhav - won an art event conducted by the organizers. At the end of this post, I leave you with a gorgeous interpretation of 'Stupid Eye' as painted by Kamal, a kid in whose growth and achievements I take personal pride. And Vaibhav, you deserve another treat.

Running After Truth - Guest Post by Navin Dutta

Note - This is a very long post, but every small length of it is worth digging into. It happens to be one of the most fascinating, and comprehensible write-ups I have read/heard, which deal with a subject as complicated as the definition and pursuit of truth, but decodes it with the help of instances and characters that have been a part of childhood. This childhood is what constitutes the fabric of our collective memories, and there-in lies the kernel of truths of life as we know them. Read, and ponder. 

******

Prologue

Truth is belief. Truth is reason. Truth is passion. To be truthful, to me, is also to be moral. Truth is intent. Truth is outcome. Truth is death; the harshest one. It is also life. I believe it should lead me to peace. That is how I see it or want to see it.

Truth is understanding why are we here. Does it make any difference? Our actions? Or may be only some action by some stalwart in his time matters. So does this mean the rest of us are living life like insects? To say that is such a wrong thing. Do insects play no role? Or is that our role is similar to those insects i.e., in completing some sort of a cycle? Seeking truth is about answering so many simple questions that have not so simple answers. Truth is a quest.

 

The author, pondering over his truth

Truth of a Teenager

For three decades or so, I have been around observing, trying to get hold of the flawsophies in understanding the real meaning of life, of why and how and what. The first decade of my life was perhaps the best. After that I started indulging in a paranormal activity called thinking – one of the bigger blunders I have sketched so far. Why is that you ask. Hmm… I think for that you will need to know the nature of my indulgence with the world around and perhaps my own the realm of thoughts. In fact there are so many aspects of my existence, that I really do not understand them all. Whenever I tread that path of pursuit and speak to my fellow peers and friends, I come back empty handed. And with every such attempt my belief in Darwin's theory stands reinforced, getting convinced that we have descended from apes.  But let’s focus on trying to uncover the essence of truth.

As a kid, I have lived a life of blissful ignorance. I have lived in the times of Chacha Chaudhary and Saboo. I have lived to believe that He-Man was one of the masters of the universe. However funny it may sound to you, I would scathe the fields with a stick and shout in all the glory - "I have the power".

Somewhere, I actually felt that I had the power. I would rescue all the butterflies, when kids from the block would ran around trying to capture them. I felt heroic. It was like saving the world from the harsh, cruel truths. That thought, perhaps, was my first tryst with truth. Since then it has been a journey of sorts.

I believed in some things so dearly and fiercely that they held the status of the absolute truth that could ever exist, if it exists that is. To share with you a long kept secret, I believed I could fly. Not like a bird would fly, but I believed while jumping I could punch air underneath my feet and take off even higher. The jig was this - I would jump off the ground and paddle in the air to go higher. And then I would come down. The next time I would go even higher. These mini-flight were a treat of the awesomeness that I had access to. I would smile and, again, slash the air with the stick in my hand and exclaim - "I have the Power!!!"

Growing Up

And then it stopped. I grew up.

I was not under the cognitive overload poor kids these days have to face. I had access to many comics and scriptures that induced fascination to do things beyond one’s reach, to save the world and feel proud. One such book was "Jatak Kathayein" that had Buddhist stories, each with a moral. They inspired enough to make me fan of Gautama Buddha.

I didn't quite understand him then but I knew there was something common between us. Something that really connected us. It was his pursuit of truth. When this hit me, I was so motivated to pursue truth further that I seriously wanted to leave my home, everything and go. Sadly I was never able to do so, else I would be an enlightened soul today.

Talking of enlightenment, I think I was afraid of the dark. It freaked me out to the brim of crazy. We have frequent power cuts in the small towns, which facilitated many encounters between darkness and me. These encounters became my moments of introspection, faith and belief.

For clear differentiation between truth and untruth, right and wrong, just and unjust, I would try all sorts of methods to meditate and become the enlightened soul I had always read about - the know-it-all kinds; but not like a babajee of course. I also wanted to have the love of my life with me, around me. I wanted to love her to the best I can; write poetries, sing songs, dance, make merry, and I would not leave her like Siddhartha did. Not at all, if she was as pretty and intelligent as Yashodhara was described in those books. Sane. Pretty. And at the same time a very dedicated partner.

Companionship?
A painting the author drew, inspired by Leonid Afremov

I have had this strong urge to set out and explore the course of life like a river, to not be contained but be out there. While I do not want to sound any smarty pant, I realized that my peers - my friends at school and my sisters, were not like me. I was different. I do not know how. I felt I was in the crowd but aloof. I did enjoy company, but there was a sense of solitude that I enjoyed more. How did it compare? Perhaps that’s a question I’m still negotiating. I find in me a recluse who would enjoy sitting on a rock on top of a mountain and feel the joy of having achieved the climb. Maybe I don't fit. I find myself socially awkward and I have mixed feelings about that.

It is not that I don't long for a friend with whom I could share without inhibitions. It is also not that I don't long for companionship. I do. Just like anybody. I hate the void. I long to hold hands and feel assured. Or feel secure and loved in a hug. I crave for that. But I would never initiate it. I would rarely ask for it when needed. Instead, I while away. I drift. I think this is also because my parents, though loving, have been very firm and inexpressive. They have taught me not to rely too much on others and do things by myself, to be by myself. I love them, and so do they, yet rarely do we hug. It takes such an effort. Really. Sounds crazy? Well that’s how it has been.

Anyway, getting back to story of truth, now you know how similar my life then was to that of Siddhartha; except that I didn't have a loving wife, a kingdom to rule but we shared the same notions to run after truth, to seek answers. I used to think about it and discard the thought of abandoning home, mulling - "I am barely 12. Siddharth left home when he was 29". Now, I realize that he was more decisive than I am or ever will be.

The Spider Bite

Every now and then, I would see the futility and worthlessness of my existence and try to ascertain whether or not I’ll make a dent in this universe. In fact there were so many ways that I could sneak in and punch the whole strata that I started exploring, and the more time I spent exploring, the more I realized how insufficient my experience was. I had taken a plunge and it was a fall. I needed the right terminal velocity or I would drown in the history or perhaps in my own unfinished dreams. I needed the right pull before I could catapult my ideas in search of truth. I think it started, when I was 7. It was then when I was first introduced to Spidey. Yes. Our very own Spiderman from the friendly neighbourhood.

Now Spidey, I found, was an interesting character. He had similar notions of pursuance. Yes, I am talking about the truth. The urge to go beyond what is in your reach and help the world in better ways.

As Spiderman, he would beat the bad guys; jump off buildings; weave his own truth; wear his own lie yet be loved by all. As Peter he was good at studies; he was respected by girls; he helped the needy and did all this as a common man. So he was master of both his universes, not just one. To top it all, he didn’t have to leave Mary Jane. He knew exactly when to switch roles. Sadly later in the story I realized, that like Yashodhara’s case, he had to distance himself from MJ. This became a point of my concern. A serious one. Both these fair ladies were very committed to their heroes, still had to live a life of lonesomeness. This truth was a little scary. What is truth if it is not shared? No better than a lie. I thought about it. Why is it that no one who pursues it so fiercely gets to live with his companion? I was finding more and more such stories, yet my craving hadn't died. The saddest part being that most of the time, the hero opts out of the relationship, despite loving their beloved so dearly. Another hero of truth, I recently found was Mahatma Gandhi. His story is similar, but let’s not go there. This post is more about my truths than his.

Through the early years of the second decade of my life, I hoped that I would someday leave all behind and go in search of truth. At times I would secretly wish that a spider would bite me and I would morph into some kind of a super hero. Sadly, none of them happened. Perchance the mosquitoes did try, but nothing substantial came out of that.

I was still a popular kid. The females would love to have me around, so much that my guy friends would get jealous and pass comments.  I guess it was I who kept these girls at a safe distance. You see, I wouldn't mind female spiders but I guess they didn’t fancy biting me. The only way to tackle this was by engulfing myself in the inky darkness, relentlessly slaughtering all the other thoughts. It was like I was under the spell of truth. Then I was stripped off that too, by deception.  Deceptions question your illusion of validity in the frames of reality in the bigger context. Truth is then judged and measured on the scale of happiness.

Peace, Satisfaction, Happiness

To ideate deeply, there are some encounters in each of our lives that invite us to pause and think about our lives. I realised while this pursuit was an honorary and cherished one in my life, it was slowly losing its charm. So far I hadn’t understood that satisfaction and happiness are two different things and absorption in a task or a routine or a drive cannot always give you both. I originally linked truth with peace, peace with satisfaction, and satisfaction with happiness. This was changing. 

So what is it that I should aspire for now if not truth? What was happening to me was no less than any hysteria. I could see there were more side effects to it. I was becoming too serious, too rational, too giving and all of that was not easy. I had my own suffering. I was beginning to understand that perhaps "no drive" is also a "drive". I also understood that circumstances that we can’t choose and the structures in life that we choose have less to do with satisfaction or happiness or peace. All of this is largely determined by temperament. It is rarely an after effect of truth. So what is the rhyme and refrain here? It is logical to view life as series of moments; each with a value; each episode with a truth of its own; connected with the intent more than outcome. The rhyme is the understanding in repetition. The refrain is questioning your very own understanding. Well that is debatable I know. And I am still hooked.

Truth Can Seduce You

While writing whatever was coming to mind, I was wondering what exactly this post is about. What is this "essence of truth" I have been talking about? Yet again, not an easy one to answer.

Are eyes the site, or medium of truth?
The author does end up drawing them a lot.

So I asked some questions. Simple questions seeking simple answers. These seemingly simple questions led to more questions, rarely offering answers, that too in bits and pieces.

"What is truth?" - I asked myself.

Truth is something that conforms to reality, is factual, is derived out of consensus; has a logical conclusion. Yet we know that truth, sometimes, is only true in a context. I am talking about relativism. 

Questions that now propped up were:

What is real? What is factual? Is it not very dependent on individual perception? Can it always be proved by some logic? Even in relativism all points are valid, and with such a premise truth may not be true out of the premise and it so turns out that it is contradictory. Can truth be self-contradictory? Doesn't relativism defy the very nature of truth itself?

What I exactly wanted to do was define it but it seemed impossible. So if it can't be defined, does it really exist? Some say such a truth can only exist in faith. Is it? I doubt.

Truth is, maybe I am here for a reason.  Or maybe truth is that there is no such reason at all. I am just blabbering. The idea of truth has seduced me for long. What came out was no less than a gaping void. In the age when boys run after girls I ran after truth.

To think of it, whatever the truth is, unless it encounters more realms than yours it is no better than a lie and it is meaningless in essence, even if it holds good. And what good is such realization that makes no difference to you or the world around? Every truth needs a meaning. Buddha found it in sharing with people, telling them what is right, leading them away from the "ladna marna" on the path of ahimsa. Spidey found it as the exact opposite. He understood he needs a mask and people would not understand his truth. They would get irritated as to why he is endowed more than a normal human.

While truth does not lead us to chaos or a safe bay, it is just the temperament that changes in how we lead our lives. For example, if you marry a person it doesn't mean he is a chest of happiness (or sorrows, for that matter) in your life. It is his temperament (and yours), more importantly, which is deterministic in actual situations.. Truth is independent of it. It does not make a dent. Temperament does. Massively.

With that in mind, truth to me, is about a belief that I would want to carry all my life. Truth is supernatural and perhaps the greatest kept secret as well. Truth is political at times and also free from all reasons. Truth is passion. There are so many layers to it. I cannot define it as one clear emotion, or as one clear definition. It is an amalgamation of sorts.  Go ask the same question to people out there and you’ll get different answers each time. That’s what truth is. It is everybody's perception. What is yours?

Do you have something to offer? Then sprinkle me some truth. I am game.

*******

About The Author - Navin Dutta is some awesome, successful professional in his routine existence, but in the world where I had my first tryst with him, he is a majestic writer and a wonderful human being. He has an unbelievably rich trove of talents, which he quite consistently dazzles us with. Extra-ordinarily well-versed in most affairs of the world, humility stands out as a glaring, yet pleasant aberration in a person of his stature. The above write-up is an edited version of what he read out to an eager audience at the eleventh gathering of the Poetry and Cheap Humour group. You can write to him at dutta.navin@gmail.com or follow him on twitter by searching for @flawsophies. 

PACHyatra - to Sapera Basti, Mandi Village

Dear PACH

In my last two letters, there is much that I have told you - about you, about me and about us. All of us. However, while glancing through them again today, I realized, I left so much unsaid. You know what, lets just summarize it in two words again - Crazy and Magic. Yes. That is what I have come to understand you as. After our last tryst, I am further convinced that you are capable of doing magic, and that too in a manner which is unanticipated and plain crazy. Yes, so while you are going crazy with excited disarray in your head, people still call you organized. Fun? May be. Humbling? Sure!

I did have an idea, but I could never have created a complete image of the place where I met you this time. You took us on a trip, literally and otherwise. Had it not been for you, I would never have known that somewhere, at the end of winding roads which are like modest boulevards lined with grandiose farmhouses, there exists a village of one-time snake charmers, which does no justice to the exotic image of India which the Occident created. Given animal rights regulations, most of these villagers could not take up their familial occupation, and many had to resort to odd jobs, or contend with being jobless, yet survive. In this Basti of Saperas, we met some little faces in whose world we got lost for hours. Not some, a lot of faces, different expressions characterizing different faces - innocent, naughty, sincere, curious, sulky, blank, eager, reserved, distant; and then, I think I saw some nastiness, and some awe as well in those faces. I am sure that the young ones of the entire village had assembled with us after a point - the point at which we stopped trying to ascertain what number of children are we trying to involve in our creative session.

Meeting Elizabeth and Shibumon - the minds behind Bharat Seva Samity - was an experience I was wanting to have, and needed to have. Their story is both, lovely and inspiring. So yes, PACH, thank you for making it happen. What I need to thank you more for is the kind of amazing day you gave us, in which, my friends and I, and the little kids we had just met, left nothing unexplored in the realm of creative arts. We made the kids dance, sing, draw, recite rhymes, share ambitions, and do just about anything that made them feel happy, and open, and confident. Did you notice the bright smiles on their faces? I know you did, but perhaps you were too tired to sit back and savour all the magic you spread. Still, what you should know is, halfway through the session, a child wanted to know if we were going to come back and do all the masti with them again. I don't know about you, but I was too touched to be able to answer it.

I have many favourite moments from the day, and I think I should take out some best frames to show those to the world reading this letter along with you. So yes, here.

That is my friend Neha. Umm, twin Neha. Till about a month ago, she would need a push to share her lovingly written stories with us, and this day, she confidently places herself in the middle of all the kids to narrate a story about her favourite being in the world - her pet dog, Chintu. Kids talked about their pets as well, and I stood somewhere, really happy to know, that her stories, written keeping children in mind, are now finally reaching their destination. 

Don't see these two for what they seem like. They are generally known as Anup Bishnoi and Sidhant Mago, but here they are Chintu doggy and Dolly baby, characters straight out of Neha's story, performing antics and enthralling children. Forget children, I caught myself bursting with laughs. Yes, bursting is a good word here. 

Thats Nabila Sadiq, the sincere one among us to have carried an original poem to share with and teach kids. More than the poem, what she aspired to tell this young crowd was that its important to dream, and so dream, they must. Along with her, it was only Shrutiy Chakraborty who got a poem customized for this very special gathering, but once lost in the world of kids, forgot to share. I think PACH feels bad, and has its ears perked up for a reading among an audience which is slightly elder, but only in years. 

Though I am not sure what exactly is happening here, I can take a guess. In this setting which reminded us constantly of Sholay ('Solay', as echoed), the famous 'Kitne Aadmi The' dialogue is being played out. Popular culture works so well to engross and amuse everyone! I loved this rock, and secretly hoped that I would get to climb up and settle there. But my back. Bah. 

This picture was clicked on request - I requested this star kid to pose with me, because I like to remember good singers.  And Ankit, for that is his name, is sulking because I made him stop drawing his red car under blue clouds for this click. He sang a romantic bollywood number with confidence and innocence which only someone of his age is capable of combining. 

This tiny tot, whose name I do not remember (Jatin, may be?) troubled me the most. However, I think I made good friends with him at the end of it all. 

The laughter he spread was so contagious and effective, it was only obvious that Sidhant Mago would end up being a huge hit among all the children. The caricature a child attempted to draw of him (successfully, of course) is only a proof of what kind of love all of us received at Sapera Basti. 

Among the many rhymes we taught them, I think we did this the best. Chubby Cheeks, acting out the Dimple Chin here. What an amazing feeling it was to hear these simple, childhood words being echoed all around us in a cacophonous chorus. I have no idea when I last did this, acting out rhymes. Its good, I've done some practice before I have kids of my own. Aah, I'll try and keep my focus. 

This girl wants to go to Mumbai when she grows up - her ambition quite evident in this picture. Like all, I too was pleasantly surprised when all this talent was unleashed on us by these incredible packets of energy. 

These pretty packets were put together with much love by some resourceful PACH members, and, more importantly, enthusiastically decorated by the tiny students of Crayons and Strokes - art school run by Aastha Seth, who is the creative genius behind all the unbelievably amazing posters which announce our fortnightly poetry sessions. Isn't it a wonderful thought, that little kids from one part of our city spent a day making colourful stuff for little kids located on the fringes of our city? Fascinating, for me at least. 

This is where the madness of drawing and colouring finally started. Calling it madness is an understatement. But I know each one of us enjoyed it, most of all, Aastha di, I guess. You can see her in the back, getting ready to manage her set of learners, while Anup settles right in the middle to spend a fun and harrowing time among all these fans he cultivated. 

Why am I the crazy, laughing woman in the picture? Because a very composed and bright girl named Pooja wrote a rhyme for me, and made it pretty with all these colours and a rose. When you go along with PACH, and return with a poem as a gift, it feels as if all the pieces have fit in perfectly. 

Applauses. This is what we gave them in copious quantities. We gave a lot of love too, but then, they gave more of it back. 

So, coming back to you PACH, tell me, how do you actually lead us to such 'scintillating' highs? No, how? Those who witness the day said that this party-like class was the best they had attended. Here, this is what Duolos Jose (he, of course, the person who made this event possible) had to say about what we accomplished on Sunday, and you must hear - 

"It was the longest event in this basti, they usually get bored fast (even when I show them movies)! Your interactions (mixed with fun) had a great impact which held them back for hours. Also, I never knew that some of the kids could dance and sing so well.. even paint so well. Hopefully, an artist shall emerge from that slum some day."

So, there. I am actually short of breath as all these musings come to an end. There is one, tiny memory which lingers on. When we asked the kids - "Aap bade hokar kya ban-na chahte ho?", a boy of about 8-9 replied, "Padhe-likhe". Just that. That simple, yet not.

May be I will come back here someday.

Crazy, again.
You're all of two months, and though you are growing at an alarming rate, these are still your nascent days.
And you're just not ceasing from showing us your magical ways.

PS - You can read about Bharat Seva Samity, and Elizabeth and Shibumon here - http://www.bharatsevasamity.org/index.html

Thanks Aaqib, Navin ji and Aastha di for the wonderful pictures. How will we ever relive PACH moments if not for you all. Thanks Archana and DJ for making this happen.

I loved quoting a particular verse (half of it, perhaps) in my school days. I  don't know the poet, but I am taking the liberty of reproducing it here, hoping that in some way it applies to all those kids we met on Sunday.

"Hum toh dariya hain, humein apna hunar maaloom hai

Jis taraf bhi chal padenge, raasta ho jayega"

Among my favourite pictures from that day.