Superlife

Quick quiz. Have you heard these before?

It's human to err.

Only human after all.

Human weakness, vulnerability.

The first one, we've been hearing since we were kids. The divinity of forgiveness might have been forgotten, but our errant humanity was branded into our impressionable minds.

The second one, the agent stands above a fallen Neo (bullet motion showed us a flailing Neo desperately avoid a stream of accomodatingly slow bullets before he ends up flat on his back with two creases and a sore bottom.) Trinity comes to the rescue, but the dialogue remains. Only human after all.

The third stands for all the excuses we make. Human error. The phrase condemns mankind to the land of the inferior. The weak. The errant.

Cast out from paradise to grovel on an earthly limbo two sins from hell, such is man's plight. Thus we've been told. We're flawed (the bible says so), clad in a filthy body (no less than a mobile toilet, Swami Vivekananda said), living our life in penance for sins commited long before we were born (the Hindu cyclical path towards salvation). We're only human. We're damned before we're born. Point made. Scylla is done. Let's move on to Charybdis.

Noticed a surge in superhero movies off late? They're getting bigger, better and more real. The fan base is growing (the Dark Knight ruled the IMDB charts at # 1 before the purists came out in hordes to pull it down to a more digestable 7 or 8.) The heroes are more vulnerable and yet more powerful (Spidey pouts, mopes and cries and yet manages to kick Venom's and the Sandman's collective derriere.) The effects are cooler and more breathtaking (didn't you cheer when Ironman tried on his red and gold suit for the first time?) The villains are more real too and yet so much more lethal (Heath Ledger's Joker... need I say more?) We're living in the golden age of superhero movies.

Is it just movies? Let's take books. Tolkien wrote the Lord of the Rings in the 1940s. But did any of us hear about it till the 1990s? Actually, most of us woke up to it in the new millennium, when the first movie came out. But now, everyone has read it. Look at the other books... the stupendous success of the Harry Potter series, the proliferation of hundreds of high fantasy series written by the Terrys, the Davids and the others, and of course, the elevation of the comic to the status of a collectible, with superheroes having their adventures chronicled in glossy high-detail art.

So is it just the books and the movies? Take video games. Take new age urban pursuits like free-running. Take the sheer variety and insanity of extreme sports these days. Take the conspiracy theories that do the virtual rounds and how all of them have the concept of a corrupt system and a chosen one. The collective imagination of the thinking tenth of the human species seems to be thirsting for a release from reality, from mundane inanity, from the plight of being only human.

What is it that we're looking for? Few know the answer. But apparently a lot many of us are looking. While we're at it, we indulge the itch with flights of fancy. We discard our human limitations as our imaginations soar with caped crusaders. We escape this crippling reality for a Neverland that entices us with a better reality, with a kind of superlife. But we do not recognize the symptoms. What our very core seems to be crying for is a release... from all that we do (and the superheroes don't). Think about it. what's the superlife you're itching for? How possible is it? How far are you from it? What are you doing to get there?

You could think about it. Or you could just go catch the latest escape from reality (X-Men? Terminator? Transformers?) Indulge the itch. Let your favourite superhero live the superlife. You can watch in the wings and applaud.

So... What are YOU going to do?

Cogito Ergo Finito

Turn Back Time

Poetry is close to my heart, but prose is a hog for space. Once in a while, I try verse. I never rhyme. This one wanted to rhyme though. And when verse develops personality, you just shut up and write. I had my way though, in bursts. The result is a spooky song with a melody of its own. Stranger, I present my first (almost) rhyming effort in a decade, and the first piece of verse ever to sneak into Wordscapes.

One decision you could undo

One memory you could return to

One moment you could live differently

One blow you could strike more gently

You could try and try

Fight the relentless hands

If they give an inch, they'll give a mile

You could sweat and bleed

Wrench the temporal flow

If only you could, you could turn back time

Would you risk it all again

Would you realise it's all in vain

Would you still want to wash your sins

Would you turn the clock widdershins

You could try and try

To grab redemption

If you can have hope, you can have life

You could kill your present

To remake the past

If only you could, you could turn back time

Will you wake up in time

Will you listen to the mime

Will you resign from this insane quest

Will you just give in to fate's jest

You could try and try

To make them true

But dreams are dreams, they cheat and lie

You could beg and plead

To realise your wishes

If only you could, you could turn back time

Half the book has been read

Half of you is already dead

Half is all that remains

Half is all that pains

You could try and try

But you know it's futile

It's time to let go, it's time to move on

You could reminisce and smile

But you know it's untrue

You cannot, you just cannot turn back time

Cogito Ergo Finito

Changeling

You came into this world, a whisper between life and death. They celebrated your birth as you wailed at what lay before you.


The faerie watched... chuckling at your misery, at the irony of the delight surrounding your tears.


But that knowledge faded till it became just a queasy knot in your gut. You got caught in the feasts and the orgies. You lost yourself in the glamours and the lies. You forgot.
Try and remember. Realise. Know.


Changeling, you are but a visitor. Little more than a knave. This life holds no challenges you cannot surmount and death hides no surprises you will uncover. You will fool yourself with rainbows and optimism, but know that both lie... Colours sprinkled by rays and rain do not point to pots of gold. Dreams spun with hopes and mad wishes do not make a life.


When the fey one holding your cards smiles, you soar. But the faerie are capricious. With every frown, they bring about storms. They laugh in wicked abandon as they see the havoc they wreak. They titter and nudge each other in anticipation as you stagger into the the next rabbit hole. Not long before you plunge yet again... deeper. Soon, you will fall again... harder. You are bailed out, wrung out, and hung out to dry. And then... it starts again. The game goes on.


Your life has been pledged as tithe to Them. The miracle that was your birth will be paid for with your life. Your fate will become a game, a spinning coin, a rolling die. And you yourself, a mere pawn, a toy that amuses and enthralls Them. When They tire, They will cast you away. Just as you came in, a wistful whisper, you will pass on to the next world. There will be tears at your passing, but this time they will not be yours. The mourning will mask your smile of relief as you escape this fey game, this tortuous illusion.


You are but a changeling. This life is just a debt. Live it off. In time, in this world or the next, you will have paid for your keep and the fey will let you go. They'll break the die and melt the coin. They'll free the pawn that circles the board endlessly. And then, you will walk free. You will discover what life can be. Away from the faerie. Away from illusions. Pure life. Pure being.


Changeling... Believe. You will live. Some day. For a moment. For eternity.



Cogito Ergo Finito

Threes

Things come in threes. So they say. Well, writer alter ego of mine says so.

Trouble comes in threes they say
The first one, a toothless hag called Misfortune
The second one, a child named Confusion
And the last one was the deadliest of all
A seductress by name Panic
She brewed it all up
And served up a hot plate full of trouble

They come in threes. It’s the perfect predatory strategy. If you’re reasonably strong, the first one will just shock you. You are still on your feet. The second one will land a sucker punch that will shake you through and through. And then you’re set up. Staggering on your feet, your eyes barely focusing, you don’t even see the last one coming. The third one is always… always… a knockout.
With the first, you lose innocence.
With the second, you lose faith.
With the third, you lose hope.
And then, it’s over.
They’ve won, hands down. But then, it was three against one. You did a good job of hanging in there. You might even have put up a fight. But when they come in threes, what chance do you have?

Cogito Ergo Finito

Me, Myself and Them

A certain amount of thought is necessary. Any less and you’re a simpleton. Any more and you go insane. It’s a fine line, but all of us walk it. We think. And we act. Sometimes, the two are related even.

So fellow blog-brothers and blog-sisters, let’s think.

Question: What makes you tick?

I’m sure you all have your pat-answers ready. Put them aside. Remember, this is a thinking exercise. Pat-answers have no business here. Really. Think. What makes you tick?

Really now? You think so? Okay… try doing this.

Take the last five Big decisions of your life, and figure out why you took them. The Big ones, with a capital B. The last five Big decisions of your life. What were they? Yes, that one counts. No, that one doesn’t. I said Big! Take your time and think. There is a point to this, which I shall eventually get around to. Hopefully.

Done? Good. Line them up. The five Big decisions of your life. There they stand jostling each other. Now tell me, why did you take these decisions? Why did you do what you did? Think about that for a while. Be honest with yourself. Take into account all that your friends, your family, your extended family, your neighbours and the stranger you stopped to chat with had to say. Try and see just how much all of that went into the decision you took.

Now, if you can answer the question ‘why’ to each of those decisions with an honest ‘I wanted to’ and nothing else, you can walk out of this entry right now to the sound of thundering applause. You’ve lived a worthy life. I’m sure you are extremely happy and have already got a prime spot booked under the Bodhi tree.

What about you? You didn’t leave? Damn! You actually took a Big decision that you did not want to? More than one, you say? Oh, that many? You might have taken at least one purely because you wanted to, right? Perhaps? Well, fellow blog-brother/sister… Welcome to the desert of the real.

Advice, counsel, suggestion, opinion, demand, command… One way or another, someone or the other, working alone or in groups, seems to have insinuated themselves into the most important decisions of your life. The I-want-to factor seems to have faded into insignificance, relegated to an insignificant extra in the movie of your life. What happened? How did that happen?

In the past, when I wrote about life, and other related matters, I somehow managed to turn it around into a paean of hope, or at least of defiance, by the end of it. This, I’m afraid, is not one of those entries. This once, I merely try to strip the wool off the lupine external influences that seem to be masquerading as one of your sheepish decisions. That’s done. Now what?

Breathe. That’s the secret, someone once told me. Breathe right and you’ll get most of your life right. And yes, some of those future Big ones… try and do them for yourself. You might get a few wrong. But at least you will be living your life, instead of having it run for you. 

Cogito Ergo Sum

The Write Way

All of us are good at one thing. There are some who are blessed in different ways. But there is one thing that we really enjoy doing. We might not be the best, or even amongst the best. But then the superlative is a relative concept. What matters is that there is that one thing that gives you joy. And that one thing is what you live for, what you breathe for, what defines your very purpose in life.

Some of you might have no clue what I’m talking about. Never mind. You won’t understand this one. Move on.

I write. Words are my lifeblood and the rattle of keys or the scratch of pen on paper is my breath. I write when I’m happy. I write when I’m sad. When I’m ecstatic, I struggle to find the right words. And when I’m heartbroken, I discover that I can’t write at all.

I write. I used to at least. And now, I try. This year seems to have been a bad one for words. They have dried up. There seems to be a veritable drought in the wordscapes. But then, I’m not much good at anything else. And so I continue to try. And try. Till I reach a point where I can write. Or…

After much effort and frustration, I decide to write about the block. Attack the demon head on. Maybe that would thwart its evil eye. Maybe that would bring back the words. And so here goes another attempt at breaking the famine. Let the words come.

…

Silence. Paralysing silence. Not a word comes forth. My hands shake in anticipation and I hold my breath as I wait. But my fingers don’t fly across the keyboard. They barely move. My mind doesn’t buzz with thoughts that can scarcely wait to leap on to the screen. There is nothing. And all I can do is report in numb desolation on this morbid phenomenon.

I try again. I take a deep breath. I can do this. I have done this all my life. I can write. I can write about anything. I can write as anyone. I can express the pits and the peaks of human emotion. Of course I can write! Day after day, year after year, I have honed the person I was to become a writer; one who writes. I discarded all else as frivolous and superfluous. All I wanted was to write. All that mattered were the words. If there is one thing I can do, that is writing!

I look back at what I’ve written now. I struggled through some of these words. At other times, indignation and fury lent wings to my fingers. I seem to have achieved a few words, meagre yet substantial. Incoherent, disjointed, disturbing. But still words. I have written.

I write. That’s what I do. That’s what I am. And I will continue trying, spewing words out, till I find the old rhythm. Because, in that rhythm lies the heartbeat of my very existence. And till then, all wordscapes will see are these anguished outpourings, these desperate attempts at what used to be. Perhaps I will find a new way of being. But it will be a new way of writing. Because that is what being is for me. Nothing else will do.
Cogito Ergo Sum