A thing of beauty; a joy forever.

There was a large fabric. It was a deep, rich red that reminded him vaguely of blood. Lying on the terrace, it encompassed the entire area and had an air of intransience about it. Little could be done about a fabric that has such immense quality about it, that it convinces you to believe that it must have descended from a certain, influential royal lineage that was now well-diluted with the rest of the commons. It stood out from the rest of the background. The large, herculean hills and the vast, blue sky paled in front of the grandeur of this cloth. Such was the strength and immortality of the red fabric that it commanded respect and passion from the wisest and bravest of all individuals. What can be said, it was red. It was lovely. On going closer, the red seemed softer, extremely soft in fact. The smooth red was creased from the uneven lines that velvet crops up in itself. The edges of the cloth were covered in dull gold embroidery unique to the region. It enveloped the corners and pulled most of the cloth into a subtle embrace. It was delicate handiwork. He put his hand down, carefully and slowly, afraid that his touch might destroy the masterpiece. In a single, sweeping motion he felt the supple cloth giving way to his senses. This had to be it. A single touch confirmed his doubts. He knew this had to be the heirloom he was destined to inherit. The finite possibilities that had seemed to threaten him were now looming ahead with such optimism that was foreign to him. This was the piece of history that he was waiting for; the piece of history that belonged to him. Now he could leave everything he was doing, leave the city even and go. His purpose of living had been to discover the enigma of this wonder, and now that he had, it seemed inconsequential of what would follow. Fulfillment, in the true sense of the word, had been placed in him. The note in his hand that he had crumpled in wonder and surprise, said:

“The journey of the seeker is short;
For what he seeks has been placed in him all along.”

How simple the journey had been. It was all that had ever mattered, all that would matter in the face of eternity. The follower of the path of love shall never falter; such was the immense strength of the emotion. The faith, belief, respect is insignificant, because the feeling matters most. The bravest, coldest, noblest, and the most murderous had failed for the simple reason that they lacked not skill or ability, but compassion.

Revenge or Love: L for Vengeance

We've heard it in movies, in books, in fairy tales.
WE've all heard of an obsessive, possessive almost evil power called love.
I went to see a movie last night, Ghajini. A super-charged up sad tale of a deranged lover? Hell yes. But it was a good movie, complete with the snarls, grunts and the macho body but I am more interested in the theme they have chosen to cover. A man, helplessly and crazily in love, loses his lover to some sick-in-the-head villain. Result? An atrocious combination of a subtle killer in the wrapping up of a sobby old lover boy, a villain who you actually feel sorry for. He goes around killing his enemies, and you sit there and feel your heart wrenching up emotion for the disturbed soul. Now, where have i heard that before? Sweeny Todd for sure. Well, atleast 'Sanjay Singhania' is not cutting up his enemies and serving them in pies. But we can sit and make retching sounds while they perform their heinous acts, 'the wrong acts for the right reasons' (read: Shantaram) and secretly feel our sympathy for them. Also read in newspapers as crimes of passion.
In the end, Sweeny Todd comes out a despicable man, murdering his own love, who was disguised as an old maid. And then do your tears truly flow. The Ghajini character is somehow magically transformed into a child-doting amnesiac. But as you sit and pity these poor men whose lives have taken the beaten and distressing path, you secretly thank the stars to be utterly blessed.

The shackles are undone
The bullet’s quit the gun
The heat that’s in the sun
Will keep us when theres none
The rule has been disproved
The stone it has been moved
The grave is now a groove
All debts are removed

Love makes strange enemies
Makes love well love may please
The soul in a striptease
Hate brought to its knees
The sky over our head
We can reach it from our bed
If let me in your heart
And out of my head

“The journey of the seeker is short;
For what he seeks has been placed in him all along.”

The Seeker : Anvesaka

Heading down the longest path to somewhere,
I bumped into a priest along the way.
"Does this lead to my destiny?", I ask,
"Most certainly!" and hence I trod along,
Down the longest path to somewhere.

On the way, after long,
Passing by a little vendor,
Hesitant, I ask, "Is this the right way?"
With twinkling eyes and a bright smile he replied,
"Definitely! There isn't another." And so I trod on,
Down the path to somewhere.

While walking, somewhere in between,
The defining steps of my route,
I remain unsure,
"Am I heading the right way?", I ask aloud,
"Positively" replied an aged tree with a wink.
And so I trod along.

Then I reach a fork,
Unsure and confused, I look up,
to the heavens for direction.
Tears now in my eyes,
My faith ebbing away,
A voice says, "The answer is within."

The first route, enveloped in roses in full bloom,
A disturbing sing lay at the entrance in full view,
"Pay in Identity."
I look away, unwilling to give myself up
And shamelessly embrace the blasphemy.

The second route, sparse and thorny,
Brown and rocky, but overcrowded,
With disturbed and diseased souls,
Enticing the lame wanderer,
But once again, I look away, unable to enter this path.

But the third route, showed wide open spaces,
Endless blue sky, infinite land,
At the entrance lay a small tabula rasa.
An omen, I say to myself,
A symbol for the unparalleled freedom of my hindered soul,
I rejoice, I step forward and never look back.

"I have reached my destiny", a place of abandon,
Tears flow helplessly down my face,
I know that this is what they all described in the books, movies and scriptures,
I know the intensity and congruity of the moment;
And I feel the wings growing out of my back, and I know,
I am freedom, as freedom is me.

The Price for Freedom

Brightness of the self, light of my mind;
Freedom of thought, the burden of restraint
Oh self of mine, is there no end to the torture to thou?

Change that you did not, you are brave;
Give in, you pronounced blasphemy;
Is there such a noble deed as performed by thou?

Condemn, abandon amongst other woes;
Inflicted on us with considerable hatred,
Why such a heavy price to just be, thou?

Pain and I grieve too, with a heavy heart,
I tell the generations to come,
Hold on to thou self, 'tis too much too lose,
But burying it with pride, 'tis a subtle murder.

Religion of An Agnostic Mind

Faith is a heavy word, belief is gigantic and religion, scary.

There is a feeling deep within me that tells me that faith isn’t born but created the same way respect isn’t demanded but earned. I honestly can understand the existence of a higher power, something above us that is managing us like a well-trained puppeteer, but I cannot guarantee my faith in it. I don’t depend on the workings of this power. I trust in effort and worth. If I work hard for something in life, it is all right for me to expect my reward but on the other hand, if I don’t work for something, I cannot expect a return. It is unlawful and unethical.

Expectance is a menace. How often we find ourselves at the mercy of an argument or break in a relationship when expectations aren’t met. Now, expecting things to happen or expecting people to behave in certain way is not required. We are just allowed our space and rights to do deeds good or bad and the rest is not up to us. If something ought to happen it shall. If it doesn’t, then there is something else waiting for us, something better.

My religion comprises of 5 very basic principles, which I like to live by. It forms my spiritual pyramid:

1. Expectance: don’t have it, don’t foster it or harbor it. It breeds, spreads and destroys.
2. Thievery: do not indulge in any form of it. Stealing materialistic things, lying – stealing someone’s right to the truth, or killing – stealing someone’s right to live.
3. Respect: for people, things, animals, birds etc. For opinions, for matter, for space, for privacy, for other people’s decisions. Do not intrude in a person’s private space – the biggest form of disrespect.
4. Compassion: for all living creatures. We must envelope ourselves in a way that we draw the suffering and troubled, we must prepare ourselves in a way that we can relieve them of their pain in any way we can.
5. Sacrifice: anything as long as it isn’t your identity or who you are. Do not let imposing fools cover you with their thoughts. Create yourself with your own bare hands.

There it is, reflections laid naked. Drown, dip or reject at your own will.

The Peace March :: Because We Can

Place in where thou shalt not find;
That which never belonged.

:::A New Era of Love:::

Let the tears flow, oh seeker there is none else to be found,
Let the anger go, fellow, there is none else to be loved,
Oh, let go of your beloved, can the love be found-
In places where it cannot be nurtured?

Forget those moments of epiphany,
Erase those times of joy,
Cease to believe in the magic of love;
Can the faith be still alive?

Break the chains of blasphemy,
Bite the rays of hope;
Can you really find those flowers in bloom yet again?
Are you afraid of the darkness that looms when alone?

Breathe in a new phase,
Of hope and resurrection;
Breathe in a new surrender,
One to the Almighty of them all.

             Call for peace: is anybody listening?

What a Wonderful World?

If Louis Armstrong were still here, would he still sing the same song?

What words would he use to express the random killing of innocent people and civilians and the ample resources the terrorists have access to?

Would he still believe we live in a wonderful world?

I see grenades of green; red blood too

I see them explode; for me and for you

And I think to myself; what a terrible world.

 

I see terrorists roaming; with the authorities

Dark, gloomy days; dark scary nights

And I think to myself; what a terrible world.

 

The colors of loss, so common; pain so raw,

Are also on the faces; of people going by

I see the NSG saving lives; saying, save them all too,

They’re really saying; India, anything for you.

 

I hear babies cry; watch their parents die,

They’ll learn much more; than I’ll never know

And I think to myself; what a terrible world.

The Rubaiyat Of Omar Khayyam

There was a door to which I found no key,

There was a veil past which I could not see;

Some little talk awhile of thee and me,

There seemed - and then no more of thee and me.

Reconciliation: Islam, Democracy and the West

Benazir Bhutto's posthumous publication titled, "Reconciliation: Islam, Democracy and the west", is an important book today. Not because it has the usual charm of the popular woman politician but because it is flagged with deep rhetoric. It is an interesting collection of words expressing the misinterpretation of Islam, the importance of it today and what Pakistan needs to do now. This was her final call for democracy and moderation in the chaotic nation of Pakistan, and it is now even more evident of what Pakistan has lost, a lady despite a tainted past, who could have actually brought about a wind of change with vague echoes of her father's deep seated cries. It is a very important book as it gives various interesting insights on some commonly misunderstood parts of the Quran. Her final words are intense and intelligent. She carefully reconstructs the prolonged debate about the instability of Muslims, portraying them not as a whole and united religion and its followers, but as containing certain backward elements that are hell-bent on destroying the social equilibrium that has been created in the world with so much difficulty.  She raises light to many important points about the intra-muslim clashes between Shi'as and Sunnies, and still between their further sects. It is to be noted that the book was indeed written under 'extra-ordinary circumstances'. I found it highly enlightening, because as a non-muslim it has given me a fresh perspective into Islam. All in all, it is an unconventional sequel to 'Daughter of the East' but at the same time, very Benazir-like in its rhetoric.