Of inspirations... and The Inspiring

prologue:
"He felt that he was hardly of the one blood with them but stood to them rather in the mystical kinship of fosterage, fosterchild and fosterbrother."

....

"Welcome, O life! I go to encounter for the millionth time the reality of experience and to forge in the smithy of my soul the uncreated conscience of my race."

====== A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man, James Joyce=====



My dear S,

I really don't know how best to put this, so you get exactly what I, and most likely others whose lives you have touched (and thereby, and most likely, deeply affected), mean when I(we) say and/or feel, that you are an inspiration. Most people, rather we all, except the most non-human ones- the half-evolved Ape-types who won't lift up their hearts to a fine tune and a peg of old oak-matured whiskey when the sun sets- go through life looking for an understanding of our selves, within the self, and outside. What I mean is, that what makes us human is the human heart; something that cannot be made, cannot be programmed; you cannot write it to a disc, or put it into a chip. The real miracle of evolution; a mere 'pump' that seems to pump more than the fluid running in and out of it's tetra-sectioned tanks! And every heart beats an unique beat, and every beat tells a different story.

But you know, what the problem is? The heart is not a book you can open and read at your pleasure, or a cassette or disc to be played, at the mercy of your whims. And it's language is unique, the symphony is unworldy; the notations cannot be taught. Not all stories are meant for everyone to hear, as the ancient Norse would say. You can only tell your story to one who is meant to hear it. The sooner you come across the one who was meant to hear yours, the better off you are. Once you have had that meeting, your life is never quite the same. And no story is complete unless it has been told, and heard. An untold story is like locked up animal; it strains and struggles and fights to get out, to break free. And it will scratch and dent the cage, and damage it beyond repair. But just letting it out is not enough; you have to let it out where it can be at peace.

So, we go through life, trying to feel at peace. Looking for some way to reinforce that tiny voice inside that tells us to be true to ourselves, that no matter what, our life is ours' to live, and that it'll be alright. Hoping to come across that point in life's highway where someone will tell us, “ hey! That's one hell of a story, and don't worry, you've made it this far! You're gonna write the rest all right.” And that happens only when someone who was meant to hear your story, comes across it. Now, when you find that people have traveled the same road before you, and not lost themselves, have written a similar story and not broken their pen, nor torn their diary, rather have traveled the way, all the way, and is waiting for you to join them on the other side, as their kinsmen, the little voice inside, once timid and squeaky, now roars with delight. And you cannot help but feel that wonderful feeling inside, of gratitude, and encouragement, called inspiration. The ones before you might not have, and most likely did not, set out to do anything extraordinary. They had just done their part, done it well and smiled when the ordeal was over. But all the same, the very fact that they had come before you, and had yet lingered long enough, not faded into oblivion, but have stared the down the road they had traveled without dying on it, was bound to tell you that it can be done, the road can be traveled. Had been traveled before you, will be traveled long after you are dead and gone. They have already become the ones inspiring you to stay on your feet, telling you that the end comes to all. That doesn't matter. What matters is how you meet it, on your feet or on your knees. They are the ones you, we, look up to and feel comforted, because they are Inspiring. The question, whether these people deserve the tag, does not arise. Because they did not ask for it in the first place. As one wise man so wonderfully put, “ Inspiration like much else is something others see in you. For you to accept it or not is irrelevant to them!"

born to be wilde

"Death must be so beautiful. To lie in the soft brown earth, with the grasses waving above one’s head, and listen to silence. To have no yesterday, and no tomorrow. To forget time, to forgive life, to be at peace."

— Oscar Wilde, Delight

still alive...

“Don't know about lofty life-like love, Sam. Once knew and I am grateful it died. Love is not for idealising. If we can't live it, all we can do is just grit the teeth, heave a sigh or shrug and go on. Tough call, but that's life.” So says S, dearest of all my friend(s ??), my brother. Can't help but wish I could feel the same. I do, to some extent at least. Well, at the very least I do see the logic and the rationality, and the deep seated pain (one that has taken hold)- although this last one might very well be a pure imposition of my own psychological predicament- behind what the man must have meant by those brutally honest, painfully selfless, and forgiving words.

But, brother, how do you pick up the threads of an old life? How do you go on? When deep in your heart you begin to understand, that you can't. There are some wounds that time can't heal, some that run too deep, that have taken hold. Time goes on. But it never fully heals. And perhaps I am to blame for that too. Perhaps, in a way, I don't really want it to heal. Why, did you ask? What is to be gained from this eternal lamentation?

I know you are concerned. And it troubles me to see you, another who cares, disturbed because of the turmoil in my mind. There is so much I have lost, brother. The things I gave up, when I was too young to know their worth. And there is so much more that I have ignored, consumed by the guilt of the earlier loss, and pre-occupied with grovelling self-pity and regrets. So busy I had become mourning the first pit I fell into, I forgot to look out for the ones ahead! And now I have strayed into this field, full of pits. And with each passing day I walk deeper inside. While the ones who care, stand helpless and watch my staggering footsteps carry me closer and closer to the edge. I want to cry out for help, reach out for the helping hand to guide me out of these snares of insanity, doubt and fear. But I'm too far in. May be not far enough, yet too far. Going back is not impossible. The beacons of hope are still lit. Every once in a while a voice carries through. Yet following it out of this abyss is so difficult. Giving in is much the easier. Why? Am I so lost? Am I the only one? People have lost before- love, friendship, trust, faith- bigger, stronger and better people. And I know I am not the last. Why then do I find it so difficult? Yes, it is difficult. But there is really no other way, as you, my brother, have pointed out so many times. I will have to take the same way out that brought me in. There is no short cut home. And help will always be there, in the forms of the ones who cared enough to care. Yet, some blackened pride still burns inside. The ego, that wants so desperately to claim that dark throne of blood and tears, reserved by the ancient Greeks for the tragic hero.

Is that it, then? Is it really about my own mistake, about my failure to hold on to what I wanted most? Am I just using the memory of one who is gone to dress up my own incompetence? I loved her. Yes, I did. And she did too. But, why then do I find it so difficult to acknowledge that I don't have to stop loving her, or deny my feelings or memories, to accept that she is gone. And where she is, I can't go.

There wouldn't be any ambivalence, if I could put my right hand over my heart and claim, without blinking, that this is all I want to be, a tragic hero. Lord knows, I can't, and I don't want to. There in lies the concern of the loved ones. And I guess that's what S meant; that we cannot always be torn in two. We have to be one, and whole... for the days to come, for the road yet to be travelled, the things left to be seen, the songs yet to be heard, the laughters yet to be laughed, the tears yet to be tasted... the life I still have to live.


"I have changed
I have changed
Just like you
Just like you

For how long
For how long
Must I wait
I know there's something wrong

Your concrete heart isn't beating
And I've tried to
Make it come alive

No shadows
Just red lights
Now I'm here to rescue you oh

Oh I'm still alive
I'm still alive
But can not apologize, no

Oh I'm still alive
I'm still alive
But can not apologize, no

So silent
No violence
But inside my head
So loud and clear

You're screaming
You're screaming



Covered up with a smile I've learned to fear

Just sunshine
And blue sky
Is this all we get
For living here

Come fire
Come fire
Let it burn and love come racing through

Oh I'm still alive
I'm still alive
But can not apologize, no

Oh I'm still alive
I'm still alive
But can not apologize, no

I've learn to lose
I've learn to win
I've turned my face against the wind

I will move fast
I will move slow
Take me where I have to go

Oh I'm still alive
I'm still alive
But can not apologize, no... "

[ disclaimer: The lyrics of this wonderful song is by Lisa Miskovsky. I am just quoting her because I feel it suits the mood of what I have been trying to get at in the paragraphs above. Only the prose is mine. I HAVE NO CLAIMS, CREATIVE, ARTISTIC, OR OTHERWISE AS FAR AS THE LYRICS OF THE SONG QUOTED AT THE END ARE CONCERNED. If the owner has any copyright infringement issues I will immidiately remove any part(s) or the whole of the song.]

confessions before the Old Monk

"He would fade into something impalpable under her eyes and then in a moment, he would be transfigured. Weakness and timidity and inexperience would fall from him in that magic moment.

...

He closed his eyes, surrendering himself to her, body and mind, conscious of nothing in the world but the dark pressure of her softly parting lips. They pressed upon his brain as upon his lips as though they were the vehicle of vague speech; and between them he felt an unknown and timid pressure, darker than the swoon of sin, softer than sound or odor.
...
I do not fear to be alone or to be spurned for another or to leave whatever I have to leave. And I am not afraid to make a mistake, even a great mistake, a lifelong mistake and perhaps as long as eternity too.
...
Old father, old artificer, stand me now and ever in good stead."
== A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man, James Joyce==


Is this why I can’t ever go back to you? I've too many words to tell you how much you meant to me, but they will be just words. It's been so long, and all my actions have only proved the opposite. I will forever be searching for a love to replace the one you placed in me. I was cruel. I admit that. I promised you love, and yet took it away! I had to take away something beautiful because, I was selfish and cared too much about myself.

You Know I Cannot Forget You !!

Cannot Forget Our First Kiss ..
Cannot Forget Your Smile ...
Cannot Forget How You Made Love ..
And Talked About My Eyes ..

You Know I Cannot Forget You !!

Cannot Forget That Night ..
Cannot Forget That Ride With You ..
Cannot Forget That You used to feel jealous
whenever you saw someone Else In My Eyes..


And then... just For A Mistake,
You went Away ..
And Want me To forget you ??

Is This What Happens In Love ..
Are All Those Memories FAKE ??

I can't erase you from my past, ever. I can't delete you from my mind. All I can do is to say goodbye. I can't pretend you were never here, right in this room, where I am sitting right now. Every corner of my room smacks of your aroma, every picture in my old album is reminder of your time with me, every cassette is a witness of how you loved to listen to your favorite tunes, right here in this room, after school. I can't fake like it didn't hurt when you disappeared. I refuse to use a fake old grin, but then again I’ll never win. I can't pretend that I don’t care. I can't pretend that you are near. So I guess I'll just pretend to say goodbye.

You were always there for me
Always... by my side.
I guess I couldn't see
Without you I just can't abide.

Those times I loved the most,
Just talking to you...
who would've known...
now I'm all alone
and all I can do is think of you!

I loved it when you held me;
all safe and warm.
I felt no harm could touch me,
in your loving and protective arms

But then I messed up.
I really don't know why
I broke up...
And now I am sorry... eternally I fear.

Realized your Importance,
After I Lost you.
Understood my Feelings,
When you went Away...
Something I want to Request Today...

All I want, is a second chance.
I understand that's not easy to do...
even if you won't give me a glance,
I want you to know,
I'll always love you...

a look back in novacaine

I have a confession to make. About I how I feel right now, about the last six years. Now, that the novacaine is wearing off. So here I go...

I had a huge crush on this classmate, and I dare say I was not the only one :P ... from the 9th grade onwards.... didn't have the guts to tell her for a long time! But fortunately things worked out and we started going out in our 11th!! Man!those were the craziest, wildest and happiest days of my life...2003-2005... the two final years of school leading up to the ISC! I had a blast: in a phrase, the vacation and celebration that started at the end of the ICSE continued for two whole years, and before we knew we were taking the ISC! Well I did screw up a bit, coming out with a mere 61%... also the relationship not working out.We sort of just fell apart. People talking, pointing fingers, all that gossip, and in between, two kids just out of school... guess I should have had more guts...will I ever know what really went wrong? Keep asking myself that. And everytime, the details just get more confusing. But I don't resent that; the memory hurts, but the pain also reminds me that at one point it was all true, and I had things exactly the way I wanted!(thanx bro) At the moment when things started going downhill, after we left school, friends for thirteen years went separate ways, all promises seemed fake; the world was literally changing, and everything seemed to fall apart! But now looking back, past EFLU, and the Phonology classes, the interview that I screwed up, the second list I was placed in, and trying to look into the not so distant future, into another list, when I shall claim what is rightfuly mine, I hear a voice inside, whisper, "Hell, I did alright". All these years those memories have kept me going; things that worked out, and things that didn't,friends whom I found and the ones I lost... the laughter and the tears... went into making me who(ever) I am today. May be things could have been done better,but looking back now, I don't think I will change those moments at all! I don't regret anything, and that's all that matters!And in any case, I will,at least, have a great great story to tell... or at least to recollect to myself! When I'm done, when the time comes for me to hang the gloves on the wall, the day I say"That's it! I'm done.", the day I retire, at least I won't get bored. I will have all the materials to pen the next great pulp-fiction!! :P

hoooooooooo- haaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa

p.s. the novacaine's gone, but I guess some of the booze is still left inside... lol!!

a man against the world

A righteous man before me stands
A hero in these filthy lands
Let me ask if you do,
In your heart, see him too?
A brother in arms;
In heart are you?
I was really hoping,
You'll get it too.

of walks

A very close friend of mine talks about a walk he had. Wonderful words, adorned with so much of love and longing, smacking of that sweetest fragrance, nostalgia. I am not much of a walker. But those lines take me back to an august summer night. The night I had that walk. A walk... yeah I had one too... must have been at least half a decade back. The moon was high and the sky was clear, the summer wind was comfortably cool, and the lake was still as the night. I had a walk that night. Sandwiched between the woman I loved and my best friend ( or so I had thought)... one slow, soft, calm, relaxed, unwinding walk, down that path, round the lake. I wonder what could we have been thinking, what must have been going through our minds then? It feels like another lifetime. but then, what else could we have thought, what else could we have wished for, than hope that the night would never end! Looking back now, I know what went wrong. I understand better why things have come to this point. And I am not angry anymore. Because I understand it now; we don't have to judge each other for falling apart... we just have to forgive ourselves for growing up