Love Story

Love.

What am I doing, talking about love? Well, why not? In the thousands of years of evolution of this ethereal and evaescent species called humans, there has been no emotion that has captured the imagination of millions more vividly and more deeply than love. Fear is also a close contender, but fear is a reaction that comes forth when something that is loved is threatened. All the other emotions are offshoots of this curious one.

Love is a humbling experience. Love makes you fall down on your knees and weep. Love makes you look up and see the vast, blue sky - wanting to just levitate and be embraced by that giant shroud. Love is all you need.

I am in love, as you may have surmised. How am I in love? I will tell you.

It was a hot afternoon - the kind of afternoon that you want to sleep through but can't. There was humidity in the air thick enough to stir it with a spoon. And my sweat was adding on to the salty taste in that seaside air. There were tiny blisters on the underside of my feet - and every step I took was like that of Ariel's, the little mermaid that forsook her fins for legs just so that she could walk the sands and meet her lover. Every step cut like a knife. And I was walking to a shop so that I could buy a pair of swimming trunks.

"Uncle? Are you going to Mummy Daddy?"

She was all of ten years old. Dark skin and darker eyes. But her clothes and her skin were painted over by a collage of colors - red and pink and purple. Evidences of a celebration were clear in her skip. Holi? At this time?

"Yes." Mummy Daddy was the name of the shop that sold swimming trunks, among other things.

"There is a shop called Hot Breads right opposite to it and my house is a floor above Hot Breads. Can you help me cross the road? I am not supposed to, on my own."

"Sure!" I discovered the beginnings of a smile on my face. She misread it.

"Don't think I am mental, okay? I am like this because we had summer camp and we celebrated holi. Everyday, we celebrate one festival. Yesterday we had diwali. And the day before, we had Janmashtami. And before that, Christmas. And tomorrow, we will be doing New Year!"

"That's lovely. And I don't think you are mental."

We walked on - me in silence and she talking about her school and the summer camp and the fat boy that had tried to kiss her earlier. *YUCK! BOYS!*

"What's your name?" I asked her, not taking my eyes of hers. Such beautiful eyes!

"Neha. And yours?"

"I am Raju." Raju is the name I give when I am not in the mood to discuss the curious evolutionary aspects of my other name - Joos.

"That's a nice name. Even my brother's name is Raju. Actually his name is Raj, but he calls himself Raju. Are you in college or working, uncle?" All this was said in a single breath.

"I am working."

"Oh! Infosys?" Smart kid. All she had to go by were my dorky glasses and my weird haircut.

"No. I am a writer. I write stories."

"Wow! I love reading stories!"

"But I am afraid these are the grown-up variety."

She mused over that one for a while and then said, "Oh! Love stories?" The smile on her lips were mischievous for having found out something naughty about me.

"Ummm....yes. And some other stories too. Here is the shop. Do you want to hold my hand while we cross?"

"No. That's fine, uncle. I am a big girl."

We crossed while she kept talking about the stories that she liked to read. Once we were on the other side, she thanked me sweetly and vanished.

I was glad that her mother hadn't warned her about talking to strangers. And I was in love.

Love. It can make you smile in the middle of a busy street on a hot, humid afternoon when you have blisters on the underside of your feet.

Modus Operandi

Currently reading - Hardboiled wonderland and the End of the world by Hiraki Murakami (Did I spell that right?)

Currently listening - to Albert Collins, The Imperial Recordings

Recently watched - Into the Wild

Currently blowing - my own trumpet

There! My deed for the blogworld is done. I don't play the usual tag games that you find elsewhere. I have discovered confirmity. And it doesn't suit me.

The joys of fucking the thingy

"Fuck! I think I left my phone back at the cafe!"

"Fuck! That's some seriously awesome piece of work!"

"Faaaack! Way to go dude!"

"She wants me to buy her that dress with those thingies hanging out. Fuck, it's costly!"

You get the idea.

There is beauty in calling a thing by its proper name. 'The streets are lined with rhododendrons like a huge grey carpet bordered by the blood of a thousand beautiful souls' definitely sounds better than 'This is fuckin' awesome! Look at all those red thingies!'. But there is a joy in convoluting names - in monopolizing the language with expletives and zing-a-whoos.

'Fuck' is like a bomb going off in a packed bus in the middle of Times Square. Like uncorking a shaken bottle of champagne, 'fuck' gives out imageries with dazzling colors and intense emotions. And 'thingy'! Well, what can I say about the 'thingy'! The 'thingy' is the cornerstone of any intellectual conversation and no other word has furthered the cause of universal acceptance and oneness than the 'thingy'!

Language is not a barrier. Language is the gateway to conversing without words. Once all the thingies are fucked, we can start talking.

The Dragon Hunter

Death is but a beginning - in a sea of beginnings. But truly, there are no beginnings. We are forever caught in this vicious cycle of friends, family, money and love. In truth, these are nothing but the sidedishes on a platter called illusion. These are the fine gossamer threads in the curtain that has been put over our eyes, blinding us from the truth.

"You are too young to be thinking about things like these! It is a mistake to give these thoughts the freedom that you have given them!"

Critics are forever hounding us. These servants of illusion toil ceaselessly, imprisoning as many souls as possible. Here, take this job. Work till you are grey in the hair and weak in the soul. Here is a car. This is a tiny box-like thing that will take you through a bigger box, to meet little people. It IS a small world, don't you forget that! Here is some money. Buy yourself more boxes - houses. Ah! Here is a lovely girl. She is smiling at you. Go and embrace her before the other man does. Here is a handsome fellow! He is yours, can't you see? Hold hands and make love. This person will be the final turn of the key in your padlock. There is no escaping it. Get married - because that is the language that we understand. Uh oh, you are going to die because of all the stress. Don't forget to turn off the lights when you go. Have a nice day.

We enact a script, switching roles often. But the play is old an boring. Noone can ask questions. Of course not! It just wouldn't do if someone decides to doubt the will of the Masters. You get nailed to a piece of wood for doubting something like that. You can say you dislike a person. You can say you hate a movie. It IS a free country, after all! But you can't dislike God. You can't hate religion. These are things that are and should be taken for granted.

When you live in an illusion, you need a myth to survive. And we, as humans, have embraced countless myths - money, power, lust, religion. These are the empty hopes that we fill our mundane lives with - evanescent destinations in a pointless journey.

WAKE UP!

Look at those trees filtering the early morning sunlight. There, can you see the color of the sky and that little girl? That smell - that underlying smell amidst a huge smog of deoderants and perfumes and paav bhaaji - that is the smell of humanity. Inhale it, let it mingle with yours.

Every second that we live is another second of pure bliss. To be here, in this time and space, and knowing that there are other times and spaces that we can go to at any point, knowing that there are different layers to illusion, knowing that infinite compassion is what truly keeps the heart pumping - oh! What joy!

I am off in search of this joy. I am a hunter, looking for dragons under unturned stones. There are no more dragons, you say. I don't know that and neither did don Quixote.

So, this will be my last post for some time to come. My bags are packed. The road is long. The signboards are dead.

Wish you well.