Saturday, November 13, 2010

because someone asked me...

So, someone asked me, "When you meet that adamant phantom, and he points his finger right at you and says,'ask not for whom the bell tolls, it tolls for thee', and you know it's time to write that last page of your diary, what will your last wish be?" Nice question. I can't deny that I've never thought of it. And still it was a bit baffling. Really now, what will it be? I've never really answered that thought before, always having asked it to myself. But now I had to give an answer to someone else. What would it be really?

As I tried to gather my thoughts together, it occurred to me that Death, personified, would really be our oldest friend. That 'adamant phantom' as one aptly put it, is there right from the moment we utter our first cry, promising never to go away. And no matter who you become, what you do with your life, he is one friend who will never judge you, who will never tell you he is too good for you. That's one promise that is never broken, one friend who Will be by your side at the darkest moment of your existence, even if no one else is. So, that way, if we are to believe 'a friend in need is a friend indeed', who can be a better friend? So if I had to ask One thing to my oldest friend, had to make one wish, what would mine be? It was difficult. But once I had put it together, it wasn't so baffling anymore!

What can I say? I guess I will ask Death to show me my whole life in one big slideshow... that way, just before I exit, I will know exactly why it isn't at all unjustified! And be reminded of what exactly made living so worthwhile, all the little memories... savor them all, just before I kiss them goodbye. One last breath to skim through what was, what wasn't and what could have been... hear the old laughters, taste the old tears... one deep breath... one hefty sigh... one last twitch at the corners of my lips. And then exhale. Look death right in the eyes, and smile, "It was great while it lasted. I'm all yours." And then like good old friends, reunited, we shall walk out, shoulder to shoulder, step beside step.

Friday, November 5, 2010


MARCH,1986: Curtain-raiser.

March,1988: Surprised toddler, trying to explore the limits of his 6'x8'universe.

MARCH,1989: Toddler's first brawl. Opponent: DEATH Duration: 3 rounds lasting a month each. Winner by TKO: Toddler. Rematch pending.

MARCH,1991: Curious kid annoying most, and amusing rest with his relentless efforts to decode the universe.

MARCH,1994: Kid is surprised at how thin the line between LOVE and EXPECTATION is. Confusion

MARCH,1995: Kid has just realised that he is a rat. And that the other rats are trying to win a race. And that he is in the race too! There is just one block of cheese.

MARCH,1997: Kid sees more cheese where the bigger rats won't look. Hope??

MARCH,1999: Young rat with too many explanations and too many ideas. Convinced that he can elaborate.

MARCH,2000: Young rat bleeds. He didn't draw the first blood. Shocked at the passive in activeness of the ones he called "own".

MARCH,2002: Rat being told that other rats are leaving him behind. But the rat feels, if they could just see from the other end, he is really at the front... by a large margin. Violence. Rat is scared.

MARCH,2003: Rat's first major race. Fancy name too... ICSE. But the rat is beginning to doubt he really isn't a rat. A mouse perhaps? Troubled with something else too. The picture on his ID doesn't match the face in his mirror!

MARCH,2004: Rat did win the race. But they won't let him have the cheese. Says the margin was too close. Rat angry. Whether you win by an inch, or by a mile... winning's winning, right? WRONG, they shout! More violence. Fear turns into frustration... frustration breeds anger. But they are so many.

MARCH,2005: Bliss. Met a white mouse! One who is willing to share her cheese. And doesn't care about inches or miles. Says its better to heal his own wounds than fight back. Willing to show how. Another race coming up. Says lets run together! And does. Rat is happy that he is a mouse after all. Feels secure... after years.

MARCH,2006: Mouse is terrified beyond imagination. White Mouse is gone. The one who who promised to be his mentor has banished her. Says White Mice are bad for health. The world laughs. Says there are other mice to meet, that mentors know best. Pain... terror... pain... anger... pain... hatred... pain... helpless... alone...

MARCH,2007: Evolution!!! Mouse is now an angry, violent, outcast schizophrenic. Mourns the death, long ago, of his new-found idol, his Fuhrer. Reads Mein Kampf. Pain turns into hatred... Hatred breeds Violence, and Violence gives birth to Determination. Codes are broken, scruples are abandoned, rules and regulations have no meaning anymore. Mouse is dead. A new breed is created... a ruthless GO-GETTER... with one goal, VENGEANCE!

MARCH,2008: Another one bites the dust. The next stage of his journey begins. Ready to leave home, and start the training that will let him take the best and the worst of the wold and turn it against itself. Resolution. The strongest man is the one who stands most alone. He will fight fire with fire. If the world makes him cry, he will make it cry with him. Yes! He will leave, a mouse, and return, An Angel... The Angel of Retribution... burning down anyone and everyone who stands in his way. Woe be the day the raccoons decided to hunt an innocent mouse. They asked for a demon, they will get a demon. And the day the transition is complete... The Devil may cry.

MARCH,2009: Realisation. If he was pushed, he only allowed himself to be pushed. The picture on the ID card begins to look familiar.

MARCH,2010: There are sharers still. He only had to put down his guard, and stop suspecting people. Of course it was not easy. But then, if it was he wouldn't have been who he last. The first one to share will always be special, like the first bite of your favorite ice cream. But that will not make him through the rest of it away. Not anymore.

EPILOGUE: Six years... and a man has finally left the shit behind. It took a long time, but at last he has put it all behind him... got past the silliness of it all... rats and races, mice and angels. Strength is now a given. He will never be pushed again. But the very assurance of that strength, so hard earned, is a balm in itself. The need to use it is no longer his Moksha. He will no longer seek answers and explanations from those who had tried to move his cheese. No. Doing that would entail going back down those same dirty streets, back into that filthy gutter where the dung-beetles still dwell. No. Not again. Doesn't matter anymore. None of that sorry crap figures here. He will rather walk down the road less taken. The one they tried to keep him from. Head held high, no thorns at his sides, no stolen gold in his pockets ( may be a few thousand Dollars though... :P lol), and his palms to the sky. And when he sits down under an occasional oak, and talks to the travelling Old Monk, or meet his fellow Walker called Johny, or may be see the Grey Goose fly, his heart will be glad that once he was in a race with rats, and that he had met a white mouse who had shared cheese with him, and given him the faith to look out for more sharers. It will be a good life.

What do I know of the cultured ways?
The gilt, the craft, the lie
I, who was born in a naked land,
And bred under the open sky!
The subtle tongue, the sophist guile,
They fail when the broadswords sing.
So, rush in and die dogs,
I was a man before I was a king;
The phoenix on the sword.
---Cimmerian Folksong---