Thursday, 22 November 2012

Tribute, Late and Insufficient


I am late, very late indeed in paying this tribute. It is about Mr Ziauddin Ahmed, my grandfather. If I start by his achievements, I would stop never. So, I better tell about his love for me.
At the age of 4, I left home with him for a 15 days trip, never missing my mother which was apt for any boy.
On his deathbed, he was telling me how important it is to get educated. Indeed for someone, who lost his father at the age of 3, he couldn't complete his formal education. But in my 30 years, I have seen very few, if not none, who can compete with his knowledge. He once told me that, he used to read from 10 pm to 3 am every night after handling his business day long. Finishing and recording 10 books in his mind tells all what kind of a thirst for knowledge he had.
I attended school very late for he believed he can teach better than those teachers. My academic records, if you have seen it, may certify his confidence was justified. It was him, with his unending dedication to education, told me to appear for my MBA interviews properly.
So many love stories end with death. I lost him when I was 24 and now I am 30. Never during my failures, my dark days, days when I feel I am living for no purpose, he fails to visit my dreams and tell me what to do, which direction to move.

I remember, when I passed my MBA from a reputed institute, few days later, he came in my dreams and said, I am so happy, but its time to go for PhD. I never went, I know my limited qualities and I am ashamed to meet him, even in my dreams. How I wish he was here, giving me confidence of doing the undo-able, like he did during the MBA entrance exam. I have lost my force, my way, my direction and my guide.

Now when my marriage is a failure and both of us considering divorce, when I am probably on the verge of losing my job, he just visited me today. He was sending me off to England, for three years, and hugged and cried, saying, what if I don't live enough, what if I die before you return, this might be our last meeting. And I was crying hugging him. Even death couldn't stop him from taking my care.
I am Indian, and I don't want to pretend to be something else, I don't believe in wearing the Peacock feathers to be a feather. If I am a crow, I am proudly so. Telling this because, once my grandfather, who never attended high school, pointed out 16 grammatical mistakes in a single leave application. The applicant was a girl with her master degree in English.  

Sunday, 11 November 2012

Draft Redesigned

It is weird,strange and almost unbelievable the perception of myself I donate to some innocent souls. Perception, as the dictionary states(well, I checked dictionary to be sure that this is the correct word), is ¨apprehension by the bodily organs, or by the mind, of what is presented to them¨. What do I present to some friends and followers which made them claim like, you are a wiki (which certainly I am not except if wiki has changed meaning recently and means idiot now or immense sarcasm is used of which I am doubtful) or you have an idea of/answer to everything. Well, I dont deny it completely since I generally have exactly ¨an answer¨ to everything asked, and it is nothing else than ¨I dont know¨ or some variants of it.
It can prove one thing, as the cynic may point out, that I am surrounded by hypocrites.Why would they say it, I ask back, as I hardly am beneficial, financially or otherwise, for anybody. The cynic goes back silent or mutters something which arent for printing for sure.
The jealous enemy fills in the slot left vacant by cynic, and says, because you are among a bunch of idiots. I must protest against this derogatory comment against my elite group of followers ,who more often than not follows me because they want a good laugh, free of cost and gets it just by being near me and observing,and I do. How can you be alone correct and all my followers wrong? ohh I see, it is because they preferred me over you, isnt it mate? The silenced enemy retreats.
But how on earth I answer myself!! Why do I receive those comments? For one thing, have never, in any way whatsoever, tried to prove my superiority over my followers and most of my this inactivity or laziness arises from the deep rooted belief that I cant, even after my most sincere efforts, prove I am better than anybody in any aspect.
Well, as the last resort, I tried to ask one of my followers, who happened to be online, and I received, the answer as following(pasting from chat):
Rose: yes you are
Rose: discussion is over
Rose: hahahahaha
In a flash, finally I understood the greatest mystery which puzzled me since the inception of my relation with italki.
Thank you italki, thank you my followers, you are the best.

The Eternal Dilemma

It is often the eternal question, to be or not to be. The future holds the key and as we are as unsure of the future as any famous astrologer, we just don't know which way to take. The worst thing is to reach old age, know very well life is spent for once and all and regret making wrong choices. So powerful is this cycle that we never really get out of it.
 Whether to become a sportsman or an engineer? My heart wants to be a sportsperson, my father,with all his goodwill and desire, wants me to be an engineer. I can take one way really. What should I do? At the age of 65, should I regret being an engineer or being a sportsperson? this overwhelming question bogs us down. The indecisiveness takes over.
 There was a time when I used to think that there should be some unfulfilled desires, those only if make life so much more interesting. But now when I am standing on the verge of a decision which generally people takes only once in a lifetime, I am with this dilemma whether to push a bit more with positive hopes or to break free. Which will not make me regretful? I don't want to regret that I didn't try any more nor I want to regret that I tried all life in vain.
This indecisiveness has gripped me so strongly that I have stopped living a normal life, both sides are pulling me with equal strong forces. God, show me a way, I want to die as a happy man.

Tuesday, 8 May 2012

Can you explain?

When Oscar Wilde stopped composing people asked him the reason. He replied, when I didnt know, I wrote; now I know so I dont write anymore. Without claiming to understand what he exactly meant I may use that excuse as well as you may have noticed in my every writing I talk of things which I dont understand at all and thus I keep on writing. This is no exception and so if you are tired of phrases like ¨Ï dont know¨, ¨I dont understand¨ then you may stop reading right at this dot of time because I am again going to talk about love, which although I have felt and come under the influence of, never actually understood. But why be harsh on myself? Who understood this feeling and went on to explain it completely and fully!

We had a maid who had an unusual life by Indian standards. She was married and had a little son when she eloped with her childhood love and married him. She took her son with her and they were living together. At this point of time, she started to work for us. The kid wasn't too attractive, often used to be sick and always whining.
The news came as a shock. We, in our family, knew that the stepfather doesn't like the kid (well then which step-father does!) and often slaps and shouts at him (I forgot to mention, the kid was around two and a half years old). Little did we guess that one day, in a drunk state, he would beat that little kid so badly that the kid would die.
The news spread like fire, local people stopped the fast and quiet burial the stepfather arranged, local police were informed and soon they arrived. People also had some fun slapping exercise (this is the cruelest part, people behave like they finally have a chance to have some fun by harassing the culprit rather than to express the anger against the crime done) but what surprised me was the attitude of that woman.
Silent she was, no tears, no crying, no nothing. I was there (don't ask me with what intention). She was rather sympathetic when crowd physically harassed her husband although not being too expressive. People called her a witch, a heartless bitch, the cruellest mother on earth and many other chosen unprintable names. At that moment I also agreed because, after reading and experiencing mother´s love for her kids, it was almost unbelievable that she wouldn't have any visible grief on her face.

It was after few months, to be more specifically yesterday (yes, I couldn't forget the incident and often wonder what happened to that couple in police custody because the stepfather later confessed his misdeed) a new thought hit me. What we saw was a cruel mother, biggest display of heartlessness but on the same time we saw a crazy lover who couldn't stop loving and caring for,forget hating, the killer of her own son. The display of complete lack of love towards her son was also a display of unwavering love towards her life partner.

Once again, I must say, I failed understand what love is. Once again I accept, like always, love, like many other divine issues (life is one) can only be felt not understood. To understand love is to be God. For us, it is just a chance to witness the new colours love can take and keep your eyes wide open for you don't know when in which shape love may appear.

Friday, 20 April 2012

When You Miss Me

Like every other winter, this winter came. The migratory birds started flocking in. They always take rest for a few days here, in this city before going further east. It suits their need to weather. Never do they mingle with local birds, they look upon them as someone who has been city-pent for all their life. The migratory birds are better, they have seen life, they have seen the world, they know how it looks when snow fills up the world. They pass colourful cities.mountains, rivers. They fly over the ocean, they know so many cultures. Some of them can speak so many languages. Compare it to the life of the local birds of this city, dreary,same old routine. Wake up, eat, chirp and go to bed exactly where their ancestors slept.
This bird came too, with the other migratory birds. They have landed here tonight. Tired from the long distance they flew, they probably will see around the city, to see if anything has changed from last year. Nothing changes actually. It is always the same, be it any city. But this is his first trip. He was drinking the beauty of unseen world with open wide eyes. Can world be this much beautiful? All summer he has herd from his mother and now he was watching. He was singing the hymn in praise of the almighty which his mother taught him when he was a kid.
Tired, he found a place a bit away from the parents, after all he is grown up now. Watching the star filled sky and remembering the journey which was nothing less than a colourful vivid dream, he soon fell asleep.

Next day, he woke up early. All city must be seen, ohh nothing must be missed. He saw the parliament, strange round top it has. He saw the market and so many spices people are buying. The aroma was best he ever inhaled. He saw the big ground where lovers sit and talk endlessly. It was rather late when he wanted to take a bath in the nearby river.

He went there, choosing a good spot away from the crowd. The local birds were all bathing that time. He cant understand even a word they are chirping. He searched and searched for a somewhat lonely place. But alas, these local birds have made it their national bathing time perhaps. Giving up he started bathing near them, ignoring the envious and curious gaze he was receiving from them.
Suddenly he heard a song. This was perhaps the best voice he ever heard. He stopped bathing midway and tried to find the singer. Soon he spotted her. It was a local bird, not as gorgeous as his own clan, sitting on the branch of a riverside tree and her bath was done. She was jerking herself dry and singing. He forgot bathing. Not only the local bird was the best singer he ever heard but also there is a charm of simplicity around her. She wasn't pretty but so cute. She wasn't much colourful but in her simple look there was an appeal which his young love filled heart couldn't deny.

Strange things happen. The migratory,whose clan didn't consider the local birds worthy of greeting even, fell in love with a local bird who was nothing. He flew to her. She was amazed, she was surprised, she was shocked. She also has never seen someone so handsome nor someone has ever praised her beauty so much, leave apart her singing. For she was just one of them, an ordinary bird, destined to live within the city boundary forever. How can this happen? But before they realize they were in love.

They stayed there for long time. They talked little and watched each other more. And when her parents came looking for her,they were surprised to see her with a migratory. Rather awkwardly, they took her away. She promised to meet him early morning of the next day at the same place.

That night none of them could sleep.

They came like they promised next day. She was so shy but love removed every barrier. She taught him her language and she had to sing again and again for he was almost begging her to sing nonstop. She took him to places known only to local birds, she explained local culture. She even introduced him to her friends none of them could say a word out of sheer hesitance and surprise. Everywhere they went, amazed eyes of the local birds greeted them. But when did lovers cared? They lived a dream day of heaven.

The evening came, next day the immigrants were to leave. They stood facing each other, on the same branch they met for the first time. There, he first took her hand and kissed it. She shivered but how will .she hide the tears! He wiped the tears,¨call me whenever you miss me¨ he said, ¨ for how can I be away if you call me, I shall come¨. The day was like dream of heaven and the night was turning out to be a nightmare of hell. ¨I shall wait for you¨ the local bird said. ¨See,only few days and soon I will be returning from there and we will meet again.¨ the migratory bird said.
She left before her parents come looking for her, he accompanied her to her nest and waved good-bye.

Early next morning he left.

The local bird realized one thing when he left. They haven't asked each other´s names. How idiotic, she giggled at first, I shall ask it when he comes during return journey. He is idiotic too, he doesn't know the name of the girl he loves.

Days passed. He flew to further east, and then they spent all three months there. He cried alone when he learnt that the flock comes through one route and returns via another.

He went back to where they belong and waited for her call. For if she calls, he would fly even a thousand miles alone , just to be with her. The call never came.

The local birds wanted to call him but she didn't know his name. She lost her charm, she sang not ever again. Alone and sad she counted days,weeks and months for his return. Finally, when she couldn't take it any more, she started going to the same branch where they met first and sing the same song she was singing when he came to her. She thought ¨when you miss me¨ is his name because he has said, call me ¨ when you miss me¨ . So, with all her heart, she used to sang, ¨when you miss me¨. The voice was so sad that the tree cried, the bank cried, the river cried. ¨When you miss me, when you miss me, when you miss me¨ she called out.

She still sings, wake up during early morning, and listen carefully, somewhere near your house, she is still waiting and singing, ¨When you miss me, when you miss me, when you miss me, ¨

Friday, 13 April 2012

Why I believe in God?

Even at the mere suggestion of it, I jumped awkwardly and ran away almost invariably always,taking His name. ¨Oh, my God, no, not me¨ is how I expressed my inefficiency generally. For how can I write on something on which I am no authority. But, friends can be persuasive to the extent of emotional blackmailers and even worse a nagging pain in the neck. I finally decided to write this piece to alleviate the pain I am having in the neck for last few days.

Why I believe in God? The easiest way to answer this everlasting enquiry is to follow the principle ¨ offence is the best defence¨ and ask, why shouldn't I believe in God. To avoid the ohh-I-knew-you-wouldnt-answer-directly smile from my opposition, I am,albeit somewhat reluctantly, dropping this idea.
I chose to be a theist, after knowing and seeing and judging every piece of proof forwarded by both sides myself. Does that make me less logical? No. Believing in something which you cant understand doesn't prove you illogical. For example, I never can understand the mathematical proof of famous formula by Einstein, E=mc2. Should I deny to believe in it? I may do so, at the risk of getting ridiculed by this very scientific clan which often calls me illogical for believe in God without any empirical proof of His existence. I dare say, many of Stephen Hawking´s theories, esp about the 5th, 6th dimensions are not empirically proven. Why then the same minds bow to Hawking and shouts encore encore (in French).?
This universe, which is very orderly, yes I staunchly support what I just said and extremely orderly if I am pressed further, can not be the be outcome of some haphazard cosmic formations. I mean to say, every plan needs a planner, no plan is unplanned. How can this so very minutely planned system, be it ecology or spatial alignment of cosmic bodies or the arrangement of atomic particles, come into existence without having a definite planner? What you call that planner? I call Him, God.
Another point, which I learnt not from anybody but thought about, is the first life. OK fine, the big bang happened, some illegible permutations and combinations took place and this earth came into existence. How life came on it? Science does answer so vaguely that it is not even worthy of the time and effort spent on it to learn it. Lets analyze this a bit ´scientifically´.

There is no life on earth. Mathematically, it would be denoted as, Life = 0. (We may also use the set theory but I will certainly not dwell there to keep this simple)
Now, Some time after, there is life, mathematically again, Life = 1.
Now, how can we make 1 from zero by using zero only. The answer is simple, by multiplying it with infinity. And lo, there you have God. Didn't in every religion God said, I am infinite? And for the transition from ¨no life¨ to ¨life¨ i.e. from zero to one, we needed the touch of infinity, the divine touch.

(Mathematics experts may say, why not, 0+1 = 1. The answer is again simple, where from this 1 came, my learned logical friend that you are adding it to zero? Arent you forgetting, on earth life = 0.)

I was about to write my next point when Pasha, who was idly dragging cigarette with eyes fixated on what I am typing, said, you know what my friend? God isn't a theorem but a hypothesis. You cant prove him like a theorem, but believe Him like you believe in a hypothesis and you can prove everything else.

My pen dropped....

Saturday, 7 April 2012

Its raining here

Its raining again here. I woke up at midnight missing you.The window was open beside the bed, I let the wet moist air to hit me, to keep me awake, to remind me of your absence more. I let them make my eyes moist. Sometimes it feels good to be sad intentionally. At least the feeling is true, far from the artificial smile and happiness I receive from materialistic tangible pleasures.
Do you still remember when we ran under the portico of a roadside building when it suddenly started to rain? For the first time we were together and the area was in complete darkness. The slanted rain still hit us and we were shivering. Standing close to me, I remember, you were watching my eyes sometimes.
I remember, may be you don't, I used to walk in rain, without caring, just to reach you on time.I still do, just this time, too hide my tears. Yes, I know Mr Chaplin said this, but didn't he say it wonderfully?
Or my incessant poems and songs, you never were tired of those. Some self-made some from poets de la creme. Your watching me, saying, you will catch cold, you never care about your health....when I coughed just now I realised nobody says those anymore.Or may be there is still your memories, who whisper. I still smile like I used to do those days, ye jaan bhi agar nazar karoon to kam hai (even if I gift this life, its nothing.)
It was raining the evening when I said, I love you.
It was the rain who witnessed your acceptance.
It was again raining when you took my permission to leave for the last time. That day, it rained hardest. Or was it the sky crying ?
Aise hi rimjhim aisi fuhaarein aisi hi thi barsaat
khudse juda aur jag se paraye hum dono the saath
fir se wo saawan ab kyun na aaye
-- Majrooh
(same was the drizzle same was the rain same was the weather
away from the worlds and far from ourselves, we were together
why it doesnt now rain the same again )
I still wait, like I used to wait when it used to rain and you used to be late. I had the belief you would come. I still have the belief. Just this time I know my belief is wrong.
humko malum hai Jannat ki haqeeqat lekin
dil ko khush rakhne ko Ghalib khayal achcha hai
(I know the realities of heaven,but
so stay happy, O Ghalib, its best to pretend)
I hope its raining there too and the rain will write this message on your doorstep but till you read them, new rains will wash those away.