Storm - Story of an Island

Gone by a long time since I have written anything and during that time life too had passed through a roaring storm – a storm one can’t see nearing but realizes only when he is caught in it. Such a storm it was, I couldn’t perceive when and how it crept in and begun to shake everything that had any belongingness to my life. Strange it was, though, the gravity and the force by which it was driven, when I realized, it was too late. All lifelong, the banks I have had built all around the island were consumed by it and caused me to recede. Water didn’t flood in, as though Ocean was not in hurry to gulp the island, as though it just wanted to play the game of truth and dare, as though it was not going to punish me by making me drown but by keeping alive causing my conscious to realize everything that I have done but not realized – The biggest of all punishments.

After the banks gave away I imagined the storm to swiftly flood the island and I would drown in it without much fear and pain – an easy escape - since it would be so sudden as though a blink, for one moment it’s dusk and another it’s dawn. However,any expectation of having relaxation in my punishment would at once qualify for a sin and the storm was a wrath driven by order not feelings. It was an order that was determined to put my life in order - it will put some weight into my light character, it will give some more strength to my weak will, it will taut my ever shaky knees, it will harden my soft sole so that I can set off for a journey I am afraid to take, it will clear the sight of my glazed eyes so that I can hold on to a vision.

Storms usually take things away- they are the snatchers and destroyers not givers and builders.

A man can recreate anything, even from the ashes, but he can’t recreate an incinerated relationship, he can’t rebuild a ravaged heart, he can’t find the same lost love again – he has to live the rest of his life with a vision that can’t be carried out no matter if he gives away his entire life for it. Perhaps, that’s been the reason behind why every man on earth dies with some remorse. Huh, now I feel it’s true that humans are the cursed creation of God, not blessed. No animal ever asks for any kind of blessing, it’s the Adam who wants it all the time.

When storm ended I found myself receded to the point beyond which there was nothing but abyss. Sun was still not to be found anytime sooner and clouds had turned grey from black.   Water retreated to the point where once I had my banks built. Nothing to be found now, as though the flood that came along with storm had gulped everything, left behind only their signatures as reminder to say yes, there lived a world here.

Night was silently sitting with me at the shoreline and together we saw two beautiful figures appearing from the ocean. One carried a perpetual smile on lips introduced herself as Hope and other carried a gloom of ocean in eyes acquainted with the name Despair. Now they live with me as my mistresses, I have given my nights to Despair and days to Hope. They don’t fight; they have just divided me equally. Despair makes me recall what I have lost and can’t have ever again; while Hope makes me believe what else I can have in life.

Now the ravaged part of the island is seen by Despair. Ever since, she had forbidden the Time to move past. She froze the time by force and that protects the signatures of the world that once lived. All night long she roams the frozen world and weeps by each grave, kisses headstones. She has sworn in to keep it what is left, though nothing is left behind by the storm.

However, away from the old one, Hope negotiated a new island from the ocean and began constructing banks around it for stormy days - this time a lot sturdier than before. She also met the Time and induced it to move swiftly so that the garden of flowers she had planted would nurture quickly. She erected structures where the new relationships would reside and at the same time new restrictions and rules were also put in place to minimize or avoid destruction in stormy days. She employed new feelings in the service of new relationships. Trust has been taught a new lesson of being more prudent and she planted a tall tree of wisdom that can sense storms at the far distances.

Image : Courtesy to Google search.

Arrogance, Hope For Unhappy Souls

The unhappiest man I have ever met in my life is me. Not just unhappy but frustrated, irritated, arrogant and sadistic. I firmly believe that there is nothing in my surrounding that gives happiness or any kind of peace to me, although the little peace that I get from little or insignificant things that reside in my environment I choose not to acknowledge them as if they don’t matter to my survival. But, the truth is completely opposite – they are responsible for my survival.

Appreciation is a mere word to me, with some written defined meaning and seldom have I chosen to put it in any real use. Whoever I ever appreciated I never did it heartily, except for the one person, and I am sure if that one person is reading it now then knows it. Besides, I don’t feel compelled to reveal any names here, so guessing would be a better option for my near and dear ones.

You know… Sometimes, I really wish to appreciate little things done by others but I can’t push myself to do it and the reason behind it lies in the fact that when in the time I needed it most I never had it, so eventually how much appreciation one values in one’s life I lost idea to it, so perhaps I should be sorry for being this ignorant but strangely I am not and for it, I feel opposite - arrogant.  And why not – I believe everything that has achieved an erected posture in this whole wide world has the bit of arrogance behind it. Arrogance is the weapon that enables one to oversee the wretchedness of one’s life, to outshoot when one can’t even think of aiming, to propel to a speed when one can’t even think of walk – it gives a delusion when vision and luck had failed you. It is the perfect tool of defeated beings that, despite knowing giving up is the best option still makes the very move. It saves the one from shame when one knows one is shameful.

Hope and Arrogance are very much alike - both are imaginary with hardly any chance of turning into reality and both kills their believer gradually by keeping them all their life at the edge so they can’t believe in reality that is before them and hence render no rest to their real being from the troubles of God knows what not.

Now whenever you encounter the glow of arrogance at my face then behold, it is the arrogance that had me going not the hope because I only know my secrets – the real secrets. So if I am wrongful in my act then I know it before you even get the hint of it. And, somewhere this arrogance in me has kept me from learning the art of appreciation.

Arrogant people especially like me can’t appreciate others - not openly at least - as possibly they had lost everything they had ever desired and the only desire now they were left with was the endless continuation of this false state of being proud of something that perhaps had never ever been even exist. So if someone says that he is not hopeful then be sure he is arrogant and soon it will be unleashed upon everyone who chooses to be in his contact.

Arrogance burns the heart it dwells in to save it from further destruction. It is like the ultimate lover who doesn't share any bit of what she loves in order to save it. For the hopeless beings it is the hope of living, crumbling everything in the path just to reach the end of the road – doesn't matter if that end is good or bad since what matters is the END - an ultimate freedom from everything. Why believer generally of an idea are termed arrogant first before anything else? As they have got a belief in something and nothing else matters that resists it – not even the death, to be precise. In today’s world, such people are called either terrorist or rebel who knows only one thing and not the other. Their belief in their idea first turns them into arrogant and then anything else – just like love.

Love also gives one the taste of being arrogant where the one withstands anything that is even slightly against this idea of being in love. I am perfectly aware that most of you wouldn't agree with this argument since you have been taught only the sweetest things about love and your blind faith in this idea of love had already turned you into arrogant and hence Love has been regarded throughout the world the sweetest things ever happened to mankind or any other kind and the voice against this very belief would surely be faced with arrogance first, anger later, and hatred in the end.

John & Jennie... A Tale of Love

“John…John…John… Twenty years have gone by since I last saw you and here you are still carrying the same face, not even the expression of your smile has changed a bit, except few wrinkles here and there that I am sure you must have accepted as a gift from passed by times.” said Jennie, in her usual way in which she used to address John with slight scorn 20 years.

It was time to close the bar, and Jennie, preparing to call it a day when John walked in. There were not many people around, except the most loyal ones, waiting to empty the last glass of their favorite drink, for the night.

“For you too life hasn’t changed a bit except the age. You are still working the same bar,” said John, putting his forearm at the counter which is now not as strong as it was used to be back then.

“Well, things have changed for me John, I own this bar just like I used to own my life back then and now,” said Jennie with jitter while holding a bottle of Bourbon in one hand and putting an empty glass by his resting forearm by another hand and continued, “Has time and life succeeded in changing your taste?”

“Naah, still like the same old taste, and you?” answered John while directing the same question to her and looked at intently as if trying to read what she wouldn’t say but mean it.

“You never knew my taste then and you aren’t here to embrace it now. So gulp you Bourbon and start walking in the direction of EXIT and yeah, for the old time sake the drink is on the house,” said Jennie and looked at him. He drank it in a single shot greedily and she continued, “You still have the same thirst for bourbon like old days.”

He laid the empty glass before her in a way as though asking her to fill it again and waited while looking into her eyes, seeking to read her heart through them. She filled his glass, set the half-empty bottle side, leaned towards him a little and said, “Why John…Why…Why am I not surprised having you here after 20 years? I don’t owe you anything, what on earth has compelled you to make this journey back in time. Look around, this small town doesn’t need you anymore, now you being here don’t make any difference to their lives. They have all forgotten you.”

“Have you?” asked John while seeking to touch the fingers of her hand that laid on counter by the side of his filled glass of Bourbon and she fetched it as soon as she sensed the swift movement in his hand.

“20 years ago the moment you walked out from that door that night, yes I have, until the moment you didn’t walk in from that door again. That night I had a life to give you, but tonight I don’t have anything except your Bourbon to give you. So, this time, again you would gulp it greedily in your signature style and walk the fuck out of this bar,” said Jennie pointing at the glass that neither she nor he looking at, but each other with blink-less eyes.

“Jennie… Jennie… Jennie” John repeated her name in affection as if something had just come over from the dark alley of past times.

“Hearing my name from your mouth wouldn’t change anything John. Now I am not that young naïve Jennie who would have given anything just to hear her name from your mouth. And, anyways, now it doesn’t sound that good, you voice is heavier now.” said Jennie and turned away to walk to the other end of the counter.

“Jennie, only your ears have the ability to weigh my voice in this entire world” said he, picked up the glass, looked at it, “only your ears Jennie.” and he repeated just before laying the rim of Bourbon filled glass upon his lips.

“O so now you are realizing it after all these years?” she returned like a bolt.

“I knew it then too.” replied he in plain voice while the tongue still gathering the taste of the drink in his mouth.

“Then why you whisked away that night, leaving me in the world of not requited questions. All these years I couldn’t decide what should I hate you for, since with you, love too whisked away,” she paused to treat the oozing driblets of tears in her eyes and continued, “You have been cruel to me for leaving me without leaving behind a reason that would have served me in at least hating you.”

To Be Continued ...

Images are the painting of Fabian Perez

Courtesy Google search

Hindi Literature... Hanged Till Death

Today is a particularly a good day because it’s a Saturday and I am not in office, hence I would want to present my heartily congratulations to all proud fellow Indians for as they have eventually succeeded in killing the Hindi literature in broad daylight and not even a single soul stirred or dared to raise its voice against such gruesome killing - this is what one would call a perfect murder.

Like English literature, Hindi too had produced some of the greatest works of the world, but for that perhaps we have to go back in time for almost 7 or 8 decades. In current times, the young generation is infested by the habit of flunking in Hindi subject which is their mother tongue and excelling in English as though they are better off English than Desi. Yes, being Desi is as good as being untouchable now days. Once, a junior college student requested me to teach her Hindi because, to her, swimming through English Channel was quite easier than scoring passing marks in Hindi.

Our young generation, we have so crippled them in such a manner that to them  completing a Hindi sentence without using a word from English is next to impossible. Lot of intellectuals, now days, discuss on eroding Indian culture and its values, and pose the examples of Chinese, Japanese, French, German and Russians who still have their lives based and running on their own culture and language.

What is with the illicit affair of India with English, that she threw her own very language away, no one understands it. I reached to the conclusion, perhaps it was the inferiority complex of Indian’s that had led us to the path of praising English and punching Hindi at its face, when I try to go deep into this problem of illicit affair. Not a single good Hindi writer had been achieved by the glory in the past 4 decades whereas writers like Chetan Bhagat, Durjoy Dutta and alike whose work in English is even below the sub-standards have been minting money, praised by masses and collecting awards at various functions and events. I have a friend named Imroz Alam, whom I met in Mumbai is a wonderful poet, but living in poverty and begging for work. His poems and Ghazals have earned praises by audience wherever he recited them, but no one gives him work as there is no market left for Hindi Literature.

One more reason, which I believe had contributed towards the fall of Hindi in her own land is the obsession of Indians with everything that is foreign and disdaining everything that is Indian.

The only Hindi literature one can find, that is being produced in the current times is because of the Bollywood but the quality has taken a straight dive and the moment is not far away when it will hit the ground just to be buried in the grave that would have no markings - an anonymous one.

If a Hindi novel sells 1000-5000 copies then today it is quickly tagged ‘Bestseller’. Now imagine a country with population of 1.3 billion where almost 0.7 billion are Hindi speaking and to become bestseller a Hindi novel just need to achieve the sales figure of 1000 to 5000 copies, I believe there can be no greater insult to a language than this by its own people. We also translate the best-selling English novels in Hindi, not many, but the quality of translation is again questionable, perhaps either the translator themselves are not so good these days or the publishing houses are not willing to spend much on producing good Hindi translation, nevertheless where are the buyers since this Hindi speaking nation is obsessed with only English books or English translations.

Recently, HRD Minister Smriti Irani was in controversy due to her decision to replace German with Sanskrit in KVs. Honorable Minister, it seems, you are not listening to the silent plea of Hindi that most of the country speaks and understands, may be for the reason that our political class knows very well how to present speeches in Hindi and believes that the language of masses is still thriving which is, in reality, quite the opposite.

Every country in this world that holds power and prosperity both speaks and does business in her own language and unlike India where even to get a low level job one must know English to some extent. America, France, Germany, Spain, Portugal, Britain, Japan, China, Russia all these countries are the finest example of growth based on their own language. Yes, I agree to the fact that we had needed official language (English) which everyone can speak and understand due to the diverse nature of this country but then eventually that language became the primary one, why?

We as a country always looked outside for approval and recognition and this very tendency of ours left us dependent on a foreign language and still we couldn’t secure those much-desired approvals and acknowledgments. Number of people knowing and learning French as an additional language in this country are if not equal to the population of France then surely not too less in comparison.

We, as Indians want to learn any language but not ours. Today’s youth aspires to write like Shakespeare, Bernard Shaw or TS Elliot but no one dares to write like Premchand, Harivanshrai Bachchan or Dushyant kumar, why, because, in Hindi, they have written their masterpieces?

Yes, we have few Hindi writers those who have reached the glory, but do we know what they have gone through to reach where they are today? Their journey have been much more painful than most of the Indian English writers. Gulzar is one of them who once wanted to be a novelist, but eventually became a poet and the best.

Hindi as a literature needs revival and it’s the call of the time and we as a nation must heed to it. Not just government but a society as a whole must act. Start giving as much importance to Hindi as we give to English. Education system must be changed in such a way where as a language Hindi should take precedence over any foreign language.

We must make our kids familiar with Kabir, Rahim and Kalidas just like Shakespeare, Dickens and Elliot. Converse with children in Hindi instead of English, now days most parents converse with their kids in English, trying to make them learn it as their primary language, which sounds funny and irritating both. Encourage them recite a Hindi poem with same enthusiasm as English poem. Otherwise, the day is far when Children of this very nation would live in identity crises and couldn’t comprehend the real meaning of ‘Mother Tongue’.

Note: This article is meant for those who officially and personally recognize Hindi as their Mother tongue. Besides, yes I do write stories in English and have written my first novel in it but let me assure my readers that had I written them in Hindi they would have been more beautiful than they are right now but as a writer I need reader and Publishers both, securing which in the shrinking world of Hindi Literature is not quite feasible.

Image : Courtesy to Google search.

Lonely Ride to Jaisalmer Documented

After spending 2 nights & 1 day at Mount Abu my next destination was Jaisalmer – the Golden City. I woke up early in the morning despite freezing cold and geared up Bullet for the ride. A very generous man, the owner of the hotel stood by my side while I tied luggage on to the Bullet and when I was ready to say ‘Rab Rakha’ he called for a hot cup of tea and offered me as good luck for further expedition. He even explained on what route I should be taking so that trouble can’t hit upon so easily.

Around 8:30 AM, I began rolling down from mountains and despite the seduction from the empty road I was seized by the tranquility of that morning in the green mountains. A distinguishing trait had taken hold of the entire landscape and despite being everything usual a sense of some phenomena was taking place kept the incredulity from dying. It was a morning sun that had enhanced the beauty of the landscape by many folds. Shadow of one mountain falling on other and rocks causing unusual impression by reflecting smooth light that was sailing at the surface of small ponds rendering view of what is underneath – a whole new world altogether.

I kept my Bullet steady and slow, even at places I stopped to simply watch the unfolding magic. Removing a camera just to take shots would not have rendered the bliss I tasted with naked eyes as I knew it can’t capture what my eyes can - an experience in itself.

By the time, I arrived at Abu Road the bottom of the Mount Abu it was already 10:00 AM. After some light breakfast once again I caught the road as per the directions given by the hotel owner. Road wasn’t as smooth as I was expecting but soon I adjusted my driving style according to road. Mount Abu to Sanchore was 150 KMs and state highway road carried no divider. I saw myself transitioning from the green belt of Mount Abu to sandy landscape of Raniwara.

Sanchore was an important finish and reaching there by 2:00 PM filled me with the energy since Jaisalmer was 300 KM away. I was as per plan for the first time in my trip. There I found a thought ‘Riders take bath in the Sun and energy from the Wind.’

From Sanchore to Barmer to Jaisalmer the road has been maintained by BRO i.e. Border Road Organization and I must say they have maintained it too well. One can easily cruise at the speed of 90 KM/H without being worried. Traffic wasn’t much and most vehicles I came across belonged to defense forces. Both sides of the road had either barren land or desert. The closer I moved to Jaisalmer the more I experienced arid landscape. The population density in the area was at continuous decline.

Barmer was left behind by 4:30 PM with a target of arrival at Jaisalmer by 6:30 PM. I was cruising Bullet at 90 KM/H trying to meet the targeted time and soon I found a goat stood in the middle of the road moving two steps forward then two step backward. In anticipation that it would step aside I blew the horn but that goat had an attitude of a bride and not listened to it. With no choice left I hit it. That feeling I felt inside me was dreadful. Had I not taken the liberty of cruising that fast I would have saved it. Well, one can’t accomplish the journey without any regrets and my regret lies in the death of that goat.

As I began closing up I saw the fields of windmills spanned to the horizon, revolving silently telling me that half an hour more and you can kiss the golden city of Jaisalmer.

At 7:00 PM, I entered the Jaisalmer and checked into a hotel had a view of Golden Fort. 

Lonely Ride to Mount Abu Documented

7 days and 2600 Kilometers of solo ride on Classic Desert Strom Royal Enfield was an experience in itself. I must say it was once in a lifetime experience since I was all alone during this whole road trip with music buzzing in my ears by earphones connected to my cell phone and eyes incessantly surveying the road ahead.

Why I went on to such a trip, frankly I don’t know.

Did I plan this trip, again, frankly I didn’t plan a bit except a rough route plan that I had intended to follow which later didn’t work out so well.
It’s been 2 years since I am riding Classic Desert Strom and never did a ride that needed me to cruise beyond 200 Kilometers. Since, I own a Bullet I always boosted that I am a rider, love to ride long distances and a fearless guy that actually aren’t true. I always lived in a safe zone, played safe games and only dreamt crazy. I am one of those cushion warmers who only has big crazy dreams in head and not willing to let that cushion go away else the ruggedness of the chair would kiss his ass and force him to stand in the queue where only two possibilities are there, either to have these dreams turned into ashes by the fire of realism or to budge that burnt ass to attain the dreams, and both of these things are the most difficult to do in the world.

I hit the road around 10:00 AM while fear of riding alone still lingering in my head. Rationality trying to prevent me from going ahead and kept on compelling to reconsider the decision, eventually the irrationality won over my rationality by shutting it off; I said it loud under the protective layer of helmet ‘Rab Raakha’. The progress was slow, despite the good road of NH8. I reached Vapi around 1:00 PM.

While on road people looked at me with prying eyes since lonely rider is a rare sight to most of them. Even, wherever I stopped for tea or smoke people approached me with questions on tongue and surprise in eyes, where are your fellow riders? Where are you going? Where are you coming from? Why riding alone?

So many questions and every time my answers were different – My fellow Riders are joining me in Surat (Lie), I am going to Ahmedabad for a friend’s wedding(another lie), I am coming from Mumbai (True), I am not riding alone (another lie).

Few innocent people even considered me a military man because of my Desert Strom, camouflage pants and tall built. They would innocently asked where am I posted or they have their brother or cousin or uncle too in the Army. I would simply respond saying that my unit is posted in Mumbai and I am on vacations (Complete lie).

Here is an advice for lonely riders – never reveal your destination or purpose to any stranger – this way one can keep the danger at bay. Besides, carry an aggressive posture so that you don’t attract people who have curiosity lingering at the faces and intentions underneath the head.

By the time Sun decided to call it a day I was in the outskirts of Vadodara but as per the plan I should have been in Ahmedabad. Anyways, a friend from my college days residing in the city so I called him and he asked me to meet at a particular McDonalds . Eventually I reached the McDonalds and entered with riding gears still on to look for him. He wasn’t there but everyone had eyes on me as if I am an alien from Mars entered the McDonalds to order a McSpicy Chicken Burger.

I looked around and walked out without ordering anything and there I saw him crossing the road he wore quite exquisite Pajama-Kutra that is only meant to be donned when one is attending a marriage and mere look of him left me astound.

“Chaitu, what is this? You told me you were in meeting.”

“It’s my cousin brother marriage Yaar.”

“You should have told me yaar.”

“Don’t worry, here is the hotel we go in, you get ready, and then will have dinner after marriage.”

I attended marriage in the same clothes I have ridden Bullet whole day and again I was shot by prying eyes but the friend had saved me by telling them in my introduction that how I have arrived in this marriage function uninvited.

Despite going to bed as early as possible I roamed the city with him till 2:00 AM. Next morning he took me to a restaurant called Zaffran, there I had the most authentic south Indian breakfast and experienced the taste I had never before in my life.

At 12:00 PM I again hit the road and my destination for the following night was Mount Abu. But by the time I reached Ahmedabad it was already 4:00 PM, all due to the under construction highway between Vadodara and Ahmedabad. People of Ahmedabad have strange way of showing the way if one asks them. They will tell you all the options and present an expression where they themselves look entirely confuse as if not me but they have to travel further. After struggling for almost half an hour I decided to take a road to Palanpur that will take me to Rajasthan. I knew I was running late so I decided to take a little risk and drive as much distance under the sun as possible. By the time Sun found the refuge beyond the mountains I have entered the Rajasthan.

[Photo]

I stopped at a dhaba, ordered a tea and asked the owner for Mount Abu, as per him it will take 2 to 3 hours to reach the top of Mount Abu. That means by the time I reach mount Abu it would already be 9:30 PM. I am a kind of riders who avoid driving in the night. I needed to reconsider my decision of night halt in Mount Abu but then again I said ‘Rab Rakha’ and punched the Bullet through cold Wind at smooth but empty highway. Both sides of the road had barren land stretched to the horizon and one has to be very careful in driving as the ambience remains pitch dark and only light you can see is the head light of your Bullet.

At 8 or 8:30 PM I had reached the Abu road which is the bottom of Mount Abu and before climbing up to the top i.e. 30 KMs of mountains terrain I bought a bottle of wine to celebrate if I would reach safe and sound. I began climbing the narrow road at slow speed; there was no way I could go beyond 3^rd gear. The turns were abrupt and blind, left side of the road had Steep Mountain while right side had 75 to 100 meters deep ditch and whole area was filled with vegetation. Soon a couple of Hero Honda Karizma motorcycle zoomed by. It felt annoying but I maintained my control, soon after some distance I found that motor cycle lying by the side of the road and while the guy was trying to lift it up his girl stood by the side as if nothing had happened. I helped the guy to lift his motorcycle and advised him to drive carefully in mountains and he give me a silly reason for his reckless driving ‘we were getting late hence I was driving fast.’

Eventually I reached top and checked into a hotel that had no guest that night. After settling down and having hot shower I went out in the hotel verandah, sat by the side of the fire where already housekeeping guys were sitting and opened the bottle of wine to celebrate my safe arrival at the top of the mount Abu.

Next Morning, I woke up around 8 and after having tea got ready set out again. Whole day I roamed on my Bullet in an around Mount Abu. I experienced the nature the way I had never done before.  

Stay Tuned for Ride to Jaisalmer …