Sunday, 30 December 2007

Welcome, Winter !

This beautiful world has generously blessed me with quite a few thousands days to breathe here, live here, love here, be loved here, laugh here, cry here, sing here, think here, learn here, share here and to exist here. It continues to exist in me so long I exist in its pleasure. Our veiled countenances remain obscure in our own sphere of perceptibility. Amidst words silenced by delights in our souls we keep on enjoying the warmth in a passionate embrace that dares to hope for its perpetuity. Those illusory hopes remain effervescent in each distinct flash of its birth so long we remain belonged to each other. Ere long we thought it would be an unending fancy for us to expect of what more turns lay ahead. Destiny remains a forsaken entity in acuity of soulful wishes. It has been a phase only to belong and to behold of.
Time has been a solitary witness to all events of my being in it and its being in me. It has been a pretty old companion of mine since the moment when my first cry had translated itself unto a blissful smile on my mother’s gentle face. Days went by in unfolding moments of experience and kept on bundling itself into months, seasons and years of the past. In journeying through it has taught me to respect and value its presence in my life. Maybe I came quite late in learning so, but it has been a more pleasing ride ever since I was aware of being here only because it had been here with me. I know certainty of that my life will have no permanence in its eternal continuity, will not bear any significance in its progression, and shall never be a cause for it to pause for a while to look back in days of my rest. Still every piece in its treasures has been benignly presented before me to pick any and all at my wishes. It has clairvoyantly chosen each of those precious items buried under bits and pieces of alluring deceptions through countless discrete moments of its eternal journey. My life will never know if our camaraderie has ever had any tiny contribution to its valued possession. Perhaps, my legacy will only. It has been for me only to devour, not to taste its flavour. It is a vivid portrayal of two distinct characters displaying one’s unfettered kindness sans expectation and the other’s unbridled gluttony. Sadly I could only carry hope to perceive its essence so late. It is now time for penitence, to look back and to retrace steps on the trail that we have so far traversed together. Our future journey is to honour our moments of togetherness along the beaten track.
I empty the sack that once used to show off for its treasured collection tucked inside its bulging belly. Smile of freedom shines on while it rests deflated on my back. Gentle ripples of pleasure slowly tempt to convey its impetuous desire to burst forth, and soon it revels in its impecuniosities. I choose to walk back. Silently, time comes with me too. I stumble upon pebbles of those ignored memories lie scattered along the path that I had once marched so proudly on. I start picking up, one by one. I have no hurry in mind and no greed to boast of. I wipe away dusts gathered over and touch it, feel it and it comes out whispering those forgotten tales.
Waves of memories start breaking upon hardened ridges of my soul. I pause for a while and again walk on. The path takes turns, one after another. I tread on, deeper and deeper, looking for where I once started. Scarce are those pebbles as I move farther, and suddenly wind starts fondling the dusty surface in a mysterious cadence of an unknown melody. Swirling dusts rise up dancing with rhythmic beats of my heart—the pathway leisurely fades into an impervious obscurity. Facing me is an alien world sequestering under a yashmak of miasma. Glimpses of those little mermaids appear only to mingle into myriad surreal designs woven in an infinite texture. I turn back to run. I stride out to reach where I may rediscover the way to rush back to the present. Hidden under powdery dusts the track weeps and I hear its soft murmurs. I start walking. Only a few pebbles are still visible—stacked one after another at some points of turns as milestones. I wish to contend with whatever they have to offer. Every turn presents me just a single one, much distinct in form, and I pick up only those at every such turn. My sack gets full again and time, my dear companion, says “you are back to the present, mate!”
Treasures of my memories are now with me to strengthen me to carry on for the rest of the journey. I take out those pebbles, one by one, and tenderly hold between my trembling palms. In absolute recluse existence, gentle smile showers upon my face and my soul and I touch each of those pebbles—memories of those turning points in my life. There unfurls a beautiful sequence of resembling recurrences—a simple harmonic motion—where turns did bend my life. Yes, a strong semblance is distinctly exposed. And I observe that for winter it all exist and I look at how it tied colourful ribbons to my existence at every such turns my trail. My heart leaps in joy when I look at enormous presence those sweet memories in my thoughts. And it blooms in realising significance of winter in my life. The sweetest memories are those that bring memories of those beautiful winters too.
Winter has always been with us for a brief stay, but it has left the greatest impact on my life. My memories of those winters tell me of my childhood when we used to have long vacation after exams, and those were the days of freedom. It was time to smell its sweet fragrance—of days full of fun and play, of going to circus shows and spend hours in hearing music by Navy bands in Eden Gardens. It was a season to taste delicious oranges and of festivities with keen waiting for Santa, cakes and pastries, jingles of church bells, celebrations of the New Year and Republic Day. It was for winter to appear and vanish just like a shooting star and when gone it was for us to bear a wish for the rest of the year that there would be some early jingles of bells following. Those wishes remained wishes inside our cherished hearts and it never came before the time it should, but those innocent hopes of its coming early used to carry us along through ennui of the daily life. Within a pool of sweet memories of blissful moods that winter has so far presented my eyes meet some of the sweetest ones of my life of those soothing days of winter packed with bounties of love and peace, truly relevant to where my life had had meaningful bends.
I hear laughter of my bubbling heart while I journey through recollections of a Christmas day of some decades ago. It was an exciting celebration over the Xmas cake that my mom had baked for us. The year was of celebrating 25th anniversary of our independence. It was her debut attempt on that score and she was pretty excited too. I was too eager to assist and was more excited being a fan of my mom’s culinary skill. It baked so well and tasty that we had finished before one could see how it truly looked. And, I honestly confess that my dear mom had secretly given me a piece to taste it before the Xmas candles were lit. That was also the last cake my mother could bake for me; she died in May next year. My life swerved in a flash. On the same winter I met a little girl with her innocuous eyes. Instant was our friendship. It went on for some more winters. We could only meet in winter, and in that way, she had been a fairy who used to have her annual sojourn every winter as soon as the tune of “Jingle Bells” had filled air and my soul. The season used to come and gallop fast until when it would be time for a silent celebration of her birthday and I knew it would be then time to part, both with the fairy and the season! In one such winter I felt she was no more a fairy, she seemed a reality in my life and I felt that I loved her. With twists in the trail traversed by the traveller in me, I expressed my love to my childhood fairy in the next winter and in another winter our love mingled into oneness and we got united for life. Yet, another winter came and I became a proud father, and my beloved, a proud mother. The warmth of those sunny days took us through further more years. And a few years hence, I had still been awake late on a chilly Christmas night. I could see dreams playing with my darling’s lips and eyes; she was deep asleep and by the side of her bed I kept on watching her face while night spent it by. With the caressing first rays of the sun we were blessed with another gift of winter. Another little child was born. My life advanced for a few more years mostly fascinated by the presence of winter and all I had had of my sweetheart season.
Being charmed with its magic spell, my life has had its journey for so long and with turns after turns, it gets closer and closer to where it should finally rest. Still it awaits a few more bends not to expect of what winter has to offer but only to celebrate rituals of its ecstatic presence in my life. I lean over the path and rest my ears closely pressed on it to hear musical beats of its footsteps and my heart leaps again in delight and resonates in its melodious tune to welcome another winter. Soon it will be time to embrace my benefactor, my saviour, my beloved winter again.
Welcome, dear; welcome, winter !!

Friday, 16 November 2007

On social conflicts

Recently I’ve come across an extremely concise post by an Indian blogger that hit a straight exclamatory (poignant too) note on frustrating impact of linguistic groupism upon the dynamics of social progression. I couldn’t simply ignore it as a matter of fact for two major reasons. Firstly, it has a deeper relevance to a multifaceted academic issue that has attracted a broad spectrum of intellectuals of diverse schools of thought to deliberate on it and has, in due process and demand, also involved scholars from almost every branches of knowledge—social scientists to historians, economists to political scientists, psychologists to linguists, and so on. Secondly, the writer has recently moved to Canada for pursuing her studies and has to experience a different social climate that may have been influenced upon in a different way by varied cultural, lingual and religious encouragements or even by ripples of ethnic impulses; and, for this fact, she must have some clips on human interactions arising in different social climates and how subjective those are under impact of incongruent social, cultural, ethnic or lingual judgments.
What is relevant to the context is not to dispute that the conflict subsists in such social environment, but to consider whether it exists only in such circumstances or does it encompass apparent homogeneity of groups that have similar social or lingual or cultural or national belongingness or does it concern to a sense of loss of inheritance of an individual human mind that connects to the society it feels to belong either biologically or ideologically? In any case, a group is primarily a collection of individuals who are not clones to others and it’s a natural phenomenon that some common pursuits of such individuals bind them together into a group that also tends to solidify a vision to reflect collective responses of its members. Theoretically it sounds pretty well-founded. But, what we could perceive of its practical representations does not often seem to agree to its set theoretical inferences. Group is a simple form of collection of individuals having a defined goal. Society is much a bigger and complex form having too many groups within. Still, society has also some common practices and intentions, and such practices and intentions have deep roots in groups it holds. These are the forces that bind the society to express its commonality before an external environment, but its constituent groups do neither disown its distinct practices nor do subscribe to intentions of other groups spontaneously until such are collectively accepted to be better options by its individual members. And till such point, neither a society nor a group is fundamentally dependent upon the geographical boundary it has, but, indisputably, it can neither be unconscious to general geographic features it is environed with in company with many other groups or societies. Apart from this environment factor, there may be some other natural influences like structural and genetic features (defined either in racial, ethnic or biological form), language (verbal, signs and gestures) and religious belief, which may lay open a prospective field for societies or groups to intermingle into one consolidated social form. In a more advanced phase it gives birth to a complex society. Nation is a further advanced form deeply bounded by a physical boundary having a potential political and administrative control.
In the midst of all these diverse parameters and complexities, an individual may either agree to some or all intentions and practices of some groups within a society, or may also subscribe to some intentions and practices of some groups of some societies irrespective of its relevance to national form or may also disagree in like manner. But, agreement and disagreement are averse to each other. An individual cannot be thrown out of the society for such disagreement. Therefore, without going into a case specific analysis it can be safely said that a society is always vulnerable to disagreement of its set intentions and practices by any or some of its members and expressions of such disagreement may either impel the society to amend, rescind or rewrite its existing intentions and practices or may fail to do so; but, in any event, agreement and disagreement must reside within the society. This builds the situation where the society is classified into a group of people having two distinct identities—an individual and a citizen. They are unique in its content, but discrete in its application. In a complex situation, these two identities may act separately in distinct groups depending upon quality of responses of individual or citizen mindsets. Thus, not only a society is vulnerable to discontent, but an individual mind is also susceptible to such vulnerability while compromising itself with the self and the society. So, the conflict ranges from an individual mind to a group, a group to a society, a society to a nation and a nation to entire mankind. Still, it is an integral part of social progression and a distinguishable form of human expression too. In his essays on Individuality and Citizenship, Bertrand Russell eloquently analysed every aspects of this issue and expressed himself in his natural flair:—
“The elements of knowledge and emotion in the perfect individual as we have been portraying him are not essentially social. It is only through the will and through the exercise of power that the individual whom we have been imagining becomes an effective member of the community. And even so the only place which the will, as such, can give to a man is that of dictator. The will of the individual considered in isolation is the god-like will which says ‘let such things be’. The attitude of the citizen is a very different one. He is aware that his will is not the only one in the world, and he is concerned in one way or another, to bring harmony out of the conflicting wills that exist within his community. The individual as such is self-subsistent, while the citizen is essentially circumscribed his neighbours ……….. The fundamental characteristic of the citizen is that he cooperates, in intention if not in fact.”
“If a man’s life is to be satisfactory, whether from his own point of view or from that of the world at large, it requires two kinds of harmony; an internal harmony or intelligence, emotion, and will, and an external harmony with the wills of others. In both these respects, existing education is defective. Internal harmony is prevented by religious and moral teaching given in infancy and youth, which usually continues to govern with emotions but not the intelligence in later life, while the will is left vacillating, inclining to one side or the other according as emotion or intelligence has momentarily the upper hand. Such conflicts could be prevented if the young were taught doctrines which adult intelligence can accept……………..The matter of external harmony with the wills of others is more difficult, and not capable of a complete solution. Competition and cooperation are both natural human activities, and it is difficult to suppress competition completely without destroying individuality. But it is not individual and unorganised competition that does the harm in the modern world………The dangerous form of disharmony in the modern world is the organised form.”
“A sense of citizenship, of social co-operation, is therefore more necessary than it used to be; but it remains important that it should be secured without too great a diminution of individual judgement and individual initiative.”
These were all written some seventy five years back. Maybe, it is more relevant to the present world than it was to be when he had thought of hat we can perceive is that the conflict is not so frightening act but its organised abetment eventually yielding to a burgeoning impact upon the civil society and in micro level, upon an individual.
An individual is only recognised in a society, he has his identity in such social climate; he can express his creativity, displays his uniqueness and presents his philosophy only before the society that recognises him. He has to thrive in company of others—friends or foes—keeping with himself those essential ingredients of citizenships—competition and co-operation; but both need to flourish on values. It needs to care for external wills—individual faith, ideology, religion, language, and any acceptable human aspiration. When it gets diluted it seeks a refuge of social pollution of organised hatred, aggression and intolerance. Individual expression has to meet a suffocating end when society fails to imbibe values in its collective expression; cause of death is immaterial, place of death is insignificant, we are to repent only for the tragedy. Someway, we could more clearly observe talons coming out of paws of those organised disharmony in a different social climate because it seems to offer mostly unknown practices than we are used to experience, but within our most known environment, where we claim to know names of every flowers that bloom around, if we look deeply, lift that beautiful painted veil, which bears an artistic presentation of fraternity, tolerance and humanity, we could also find some more talons that already have had some prey. Insensitivity has no fascination over origin of its victims; it only loves to have countless victims. Just to conclude I love to refer to Russell again:—
“The world has become so intolerably tense, so charged with hatred, so mixed with misfortune and pain that men have lost the power of balanced judgement which is needed for emergence from the slough in which mankind is staggering. Our age is so painful that many of the best men have been seized with despair. But there is no rational ground for despair; that means of happiness for the human race exist, and it is only necessary that the human race should choose to use them.”

Wednesday, 24 October 2007

A dream sequence

It’s a fantastic opportunity for my immediate boss to be present at Kennedy School of Harvard University for a crash academic programme. When we sat together, someone was interested to know about the contents of the course while another was euphoric in referring the fact that Harvard being a premier institution had so far produced forty three Nobel laureates. So, everyone was unpredictably charged up and I never knew that my colleagues had so much knowledge over a simple subject like “Harvard”. Fortunately, there has always been a wide gap between me and knowledge for the benefit of both. As I look after general administration, nothing stimulated me more than his actual itinerary. But, I was grossly amused to hear that the 5 pm jet, which would surely have a 19 hours flight via Brussels, would actually reach USA by 1 am next morning. I was musing over this strange event that he would be enjoying nineteen hours on flight while spending only eight hours of time actually. I was thrilled enough to scream “Eureka” for this splendid discovery, but soon retreated in the midst of the academically ionised environment. But, I continued to ponder over those 11 hours of bonus time—truly, a gratis for availing a flight to the West. What a heavenly bliss of timely compliment! Wow! The opportunity seemed to me more alluring than the Harvard and I would, definitely, have dreamt for those long free eleven hours—a dream that would not cost me time, a marvellous dream of freedom, a freedom of dream. Sadly, I lose the chance for all realities stubbornly ruling!

Tuesday, 18 September 2007

The Recess

I take leave now, friends!
It’s time to dream now; those serene dreams of losing individuality! No set dowels of fluttering flags of triumph will await me while I pursue a silent walk through those forlorn valleys. I will listen to murmurs of those fallen leaves and tunes of some nameless birds. My wandering soul will feel alluring presence of an imperceptible companion. I shall rejoice in forsaking manacles of prides and prejudices. I will tread on a few more steps farther to nowhere with only my beloved accompanying by.
Perhaps, kismet may not be bounteous enough for me to elude incarcerated city life for long; but, will it be sooner than the next New Moon? I doubt.

Sunday, 26 August 2007

A soliloquy

I am feeling so fidgety tonight! The decent moon hangs around amidst nervous stars, maybe, just to rendezvous those weeping clouds. The gentle blue light it sheds is not enough to quieten those squirming thoughts in me. I find myself alone in desperately looking for a tranquil sleep.

It’s nothing so serious, Man! Count some sheep, make a flock, be a shepherd who sings some unheard tunes and surely, keep some dogs to manage those woolly creatures so you can spend time by the solitary river that you always like to stop by; and be sure, you are fast asleep.

No, it’s of not that kind of restlessness, friend! I can’t just—I just fail to—express myself! Perhaps, I would never be to do!

Believe me! I can feel about what runs in you! The kids are away; your darling is also away to be with them on the month-end visiting! It’s the solitude that’s depressing.

It’s not so, dear! It’s not the first time I’m alone. In every month she has to be there unless they are at home during winter vacation. You know that; it’s as frequent as the full moon drops by. But, I’ve never come across this sort of peculiar feeling before. It’s not a tempest of uncontrolled emotions that sweeps across my head; it’s an annoying cricket call the meaning of which is neither known to the caller nor the listener!

Maybe, you look at it in a different way, but, it’s the loneliness that affects human mind more as the age proceeds. Don’t light another fag! They are ruinous to health to all intents and purposes and more so when someone needs a relaxing sleep. I’ve been with you since you gained your consciousness; but, sadly failed to impress you on those ills. Anyway, leave that serious book by Russell, and go for that—Harry Potter and the Philosopher’s Stone—your younger one’s favourite.

Yes, it was his favourite! But, today when we spoke over phone he said he was finding them boring now. He wanted some serious book. He was telling me how deeply he had enjoyed reading some by Dickens. Yes, I found it quite encouraging as Dickens also moulded my philosophy when I had been of just his age, but the transition seemed to me quite faster. To me Dickens was a space to share my sobs, my sorrows, my loneliness, my voids and my despair. Was it also for my little one—is it so?

Man, you’re stretching it too far!

It’s not that, friend! My darling rang me up this evening after the visiting hours are through; after spending some good hours of togetherness, certainly, she was lonelier than what I am and we spoke for more than an hour over phone. It was she who talked about the change she had also noticed in him; maybe, in a different way. She said, “He needs a broader sky to float. But, the balloon seems to have been trapped in a mesh of spiky branches of an anonymous tree while it has all strength and desire to soar high. It’s a cruelty not to give him a sky enough wide that he yearns to enjoy fly in. Just do something, dear!” She is only one friend of mine excepting you whom I have known since the time I remember not. I know that she’s carried on with all bruises of severance with a facade of silent smile, while she continues to weep deep inside that I can indistinctly hear. Yet, she was there to comfort my ruined soul. But, she’s never seemed as vulnerable before!

It’s true that she’s played a hull to your weather-beaten soul. It’s also very true that she’s carried on journey secretly keeping her woes and cries within and shared her shoulder with you to build a new world of your own. Nothing is unknown to me! I saw a nine years’ old boy crying inconsolably on his mom’s premature death and I watched how he had to sell those books that he’d earned as awards. Before my eyes, you two grew together. I carefully observed how she took over all pains to herself just to bring smile on your face and in the midst of all drudgeries, she was happy to see you smile again. None but I was only there to applaud when four content eyes glistened in unison to set sail a tiny boat into vast expanse of a tempestuous sea. I remember how you’ve played the role of parents to each other; none to guide and none to support, how the boat has sailed long through. So, it may be tiring for her to be strong yet enough! Maybe, her aching soul needs some healing touches of comfort.

Yes, I also felt in that way. But, for long we’ve taken all decisions together. We both have deep influences of care and discipline of missionary education and we owe to those nice people; and, they taught us to dream about a good life—a contributory one—full of knowledge, benevolence, hard work and honesty. We will never forget how they softly moulded us to be just good human being. They used to tell—“Each of us has enough strength to live the life; it’s only the desire to live and let other live in peace that is needed to be nicely blended with knowledge, love, compassion, truthfulness and struggle”. These words have sufficient potency to sustain still in our philosophy. We’ve truly had a long onerous journey, but have the verve to walk down a few more miles, friend! No, she’s not tired. She has, for the first time, left something to be done by me only!

See, you are over-emphasizing the issue. She might have felt so from the mother’s emotional concern. Maybe, she’s feeling such separation has cost too much to her. She just wants to be with them only.

Maybe! But, somehow I feel, somewhere deep inside me, someone is whispering that neither can I fathom out nor can I ignore. It was not for the partition, as I presume, she was so deeply concerned, so anxious, and so pensive. She was infinitely more forthcoming than I had dared to hope. She had said something very meaningful; that’s about something, which is achievable by me only. By me only? What can it be; that cannot be shared by her—my sole compatriot? Is it anything on which she has no control over? Does it relate to my mind, my soul, my notion or my concern?

Dear, she never told you so. She never told you anything to derive such inference.

No, she is the mother. A mother can reach up to the deepest depth of her child’s soul, which is even incomprehensible in the father’s mind. She cannot be wrong in judging. There must be a definite cause behind her apprehension. But, why has she just begged before me to do something! What can I do that she cannot—this is what that is annoying me most? Together our oars danced in rhythm while we sailed through those stormy nights and sweltering days. Then, why is such appeal to me only, to save the boat from an imminent cataclysm? Has she become powerless to face the might of the Leviathan? Or is it all illusory? What more power do I possess? Is there any magic wand in my hand? I feel not. I’m feeling else, dear! It can’t be that visible dark spot on the north-west sky—a sign of an impending tempest—that she fears. It is, surely, something else.

What is it?

It’s me! I’m the Leviathan! I’m there only to free the Heaven from the clutches of all such satanic evils! Here, it’s me, friend! I’m to kill that monstrous creature within me—deep inside my soul. It’s a battle that I have to fight with the enemy within. The sky that my kids long for, the heaven that lets rich souls to flourish can again be freed by me only. Do I have that power to be the victor? Or, else shall I have a rueful return of a vanquished at the end of war?

What do you yourself feel? What else the words of those missionary teachers would deliver if you fear to embrace them? Do you feel that you have the desire to flourish, to expand the sky above so to enable your kids to have a share of it? Perhaps, you’ve ignored it all through your life. Your partner cannot do it for you. Long years of abandonment of such desire have weakened it enough to stand erect. Its feeble cry in your dormant mind is best heard by me—yes, me only—your soul—your conscience. Alas! I could do nothing. I’m only a guide, who can show you ways to burgeon your faculties, your own world; but, it’s up to you to pursue the way you choose. Sadly, you’ve chosen to remain confined to a smaller cell, which neither has a sky above to fly nor has any window to share with outer worlds. Your caged soul has no liberty to offer its hands to your beloved kids. That’s what your darling might have thought of, maybe. What would you feel?

I feel or not, it’s a reality, my friend—my own soul! What I needed to do, I didn’t. Perhaps, I will do now, what I need to do. A venomous viper carrying a sense of self stealthily crept into me only to be satiated in sadistic pleasures of countless recounting of the pains of those days of struggles. Slowly it gained power to be ruthless to suppress any other obsession. It needed the food in pride, in ego and in portraying magnanimity while all your utter cries for deliverance were trampled under my merciless neglect. You remained caged—a hapless soul, indeed! Those years of suppression have weakened my confidence leisurely. My desires, my dreams, the realm of my knowledge, all have those enduring scars of neglect. It’s true, my friend, I didn’t respond to your calls to come out of the darkroom. I kept on pursuing the mirth of freedom within the might of such blinding darkness of confinement. Friend, I have more sins in me than what I could discern yet, and, maybe, I have lesser virtues than what I’ve professed to own. It’s enough late; yet, I need to look afresh. I have it, friend! With whatever little strength still left in me I shall endeavour. I don’t know how far it can carry me, how far shall I be to extend. And, I know not how high I can still ascend. But, here I go. Just pray for me that I carry that much of vigour to reach up to the height that my little one has soared, where we shall meet, laugh together before I would set him free from the tangles of those thorny twigs of crooked tree and watch him fly and soar high and higher till my myopic eye could be able to see. My dreams would regain and so would those nice unattainable dreams of the Heaven appear. Those dreams will go on rejoicing till I lose the power to dream, to live, to love and to exist. Her soul will be too lonely—too lonely to part with a soul whom she loved so much, and she would cry as loudly as she would have strength left in her. It would be unbearable to me to see her cry. We will all depart then. The act will be over; a few unfulfilled dreams and some remembrances will find place in the corner of the curtain-drawn stage. We would meet again soon, maybe, somewhere above—a new unknown space—to watch over those colourful balloons soaring high and higher—carrying no caged souls inside, but the legacy of those unfulfilled dreams that it collected from the corner of that curtain-drawn stage. We would gaze on till our eyes could elude the induction of a deep slumber. Gradually, its bluish mist would engulf our eyes and a fragrant gentle breeze would strengthen us to sail our boat to its last voyage to the wonderful ocean of eternal sleep to dream again.

Thursday, 5 July 2007

The Resurrection

Some time back in summer, we met again after years of separation. It was a nice reunion! We gathered at the place—a sprawling lawn inside the cemetery—that we used to frequent after college-break in early eighties. A batch of four young souls would engage in vigorous debates over a chain of issues that might not have concerned them remotely. It would have spontaneous rumination on literature to environment, culture to art and music, science to philosophy, politics to governance, and life to nature, although never taking a distinct direction. Years went by with life maturing in itself and we were, someway interestingly, taken in to different worlds of professions and societies. We yearned long to assemble, but simply couldn’t. Surprisingly, it happened unpredictably with ease and peace.
The parting years have, meanwhile, blessed us with grey hairs and idiocy of maturity! A few hours of togetherness floated aimlessly with emotions taking more pride in than the thoughts. We remained composed, still felt restless for missing the harmony that flowed silently, somewhere subterranean inside our soul. We were failing to mull over what essentially connected us and continued musing on what crafted, for all intents and purposes, our divergences. Our societies seemed alienated, our languages varied and a sense of loss of inheritance stealthily permeating into the environment. Some more time past, we found ourselves in absolute silence—none to speak, none to hear—only hearts beating high and souls penetrating deeper and deeper to uncover passions that would once burst into flames of candid revelation of thoughts! We sat silently for seemingly endless spell till we all exploded into tears and laughter! The ecstasy in reliving the music from its mute orchestration had surged into a blustering outflow. It grew upon the twinges of irresolute pursuit and pleasures of unanticipated completeness. As if with a magical touch of an unseen wand, our worlds of differences fell shattered and all numb crystallized figurines arrayed along the memory lanes got resurrected flaking shackles of long subordination to indifference. We talked on more and more issues that would never concern us. And, when it was time to part, we silently parted. No bidding of farewell followed, no word of promise was murmured; we just moved on to different destinations!
Years of maturity has only taught us to simply forget the innocent follies of our childhood. We have bigger ideas, greater world in mind to ponder over. Philosophy struggles in converging challenges of different opinions concerning objectivity or subjectivity of values. Battles are fought over idealism and realism. We associate ourselves with our favoured opinions following the theories. Deep inside our soul, we remain stubborn. Theories fail to mould us. We mould theories suiting our own choices. We keep on changing places on checkerboard. We mature, boast about expanse of our knowledge, carp on every wrong done by kids and pursue to win over reverence and respect. Life becomes a game of tricks and trumps! It dies unnoticed while we brag on its values, its essence, its beauty! Death walks along with us. We remain oblivious to premature death of innocence, reason, humanity and goodness while we claim on success in life. Life remains so indifferent to the death of its principles that we spend our days and nights like numb crystallized figurines nicely arrayed only to demonstrate how nice and lively human being we are!
Still life flows. Still Nature blesses. Still humanity survives. Still there is hope!

The epitaph !

Between leafs of time  S leeps the untold tale of life, In dreams of love and love of dreams. Smudging the margin in between The ...