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

What the Manual Said

Somewhere in an Indian metro, a decade or two back, there was this family. It was nearabout this time of the year; Diwali; time to buy things for the house. That particular year was about getting a VCR (remember?). Buying the big, flat, black box was one thing. And using it was quite another.

There were all these little buttons and knobs and dials and god-knows-whats. The family was lost. And then, voila! They found the manual. Saved! Well, partly at least. The bits in English helped. The bits in Japanese looked more useful though.

This is where we come to the what’s-the-point highway café common to most of my posts. You can see ‘Blaze of Glory’ and ‘The Cleansing’ catching a coffee in that corner.

The point. We all need manuals, for some or most things we do these days (life is getting complex, isn’t it? But then, that’s another post). Some manuals come in these booklets with the information in half a dozen languages. Some manuals are stored in the balding, graying heads of an older generation that seems to forget everything but manualese. Some manuals are created on the fly, as you figure out your way of doing it. And because you are so proud of your way, it becomes the Holy Grail. It too becomes a manual.

There are three i-words that I hold very dear. Apart from the plain ‘I’ that is. These words are: instinct, impulse and intuition.

Now there are some who will raise a polite, tentative finger and ask; excuse me, but weren’t we talking about manuals? Patience, my friend.

Like I was saying, instinct, impulse and intuition. These are words that are linked to the plain ‘I’. The me, rather. These are words that have told me what to do. These are words that have shaped my life, that have shaped me. These words never needed a manual. And furthermore, they did not insist on being manualised either. Because, like evanescent angels, they appeared when I needed them, and then they shimmered away, gone with the moment that was theirs. Their wisdom, their beauty was not meant to be captured and hammered into someone else. Those someone elses would just have to find their own i-sets.

Thank you for indulging my erratic meandering. Getting back to manuals… There are times I have used manuals. There are times I have figured it out without a cryptic booklet to tell me how. And there are times when I have gone plain against every Holy Grail manual and every one of the walking-talking grey haired variety too. There are times when the manuals have shook their collective heads sadly and said, ‘tch tch’. There are times, when the manuals (still getting over their surprise that I managed to pull off a Lebowski) have said, ‘Ah, I told you so.’ Oh yes, the manual is always right.

You do things. Simple things like brushing your teeth, you figure out the how, even if you forget the when at times. Complex things involve lots of other things you need to do. And this is where manuals come in to tell you how to get these things done. The books are alright. They suggest, and don’t take offense if you decide to strike out on your own. The other manuals… well, they take some handling. And there is no manual on how to do that.

The point is that you do the things that you do. A lot of them are based on conventional wisdom and you can listen to the manuals. Some of them though need some improvisation. You didn’t come out of a mould, and neither did your life. Manuals don’t work all the time. What these things need is the i-factor. Remember? Instinct, etcetera… Yes, those ones. That’s what you need.

But what about the manuals? Won’t they be offended?

Well, go on and look like you’re reading the manual. You could even pretend to be trying out some of the steps. But with the really important things in life, what you really should be doing, is figuring it out by yourself. The I way.

By the way, if it works well for you (which I hope it does), please do not manual it on someone else.

Cogito Ergo Vivum

Blaze of Glory?

As Mastersmith Silvus used to say, “… always set the context. You never know what form words will take if you do not set the context. Words are like a dragon. Till you have forged the reigns and the whip, do not set the dragon loose. Or you just might burn for your sins!” At that, he would burst out into booming laughter. He was a strange one. Things he found funny could well send a sheaf of shivers down your spine. But then, he was right. Context is indeed important, and I shall provide it.

I actually quoted myself! Can’t tell you how kicked I am at that!

Well, the point is that this exercise is a little strange, and without context, it will seem like I have indeed gone over the fine line between insanity and eccentricity that I have been staggering along this past decade. So here goes the context.

Like most of us do, I went through the standard rebel phase. And during those abrasive, reckless and glorious years, Bon Jovi’s ‘Blaze of Glory’ was one of my anthems.

Yes.

I know.

Well, I just listened to the song after a long time (as in listened properly, letting the lyrics sink in), and had a rather strange dialogue running in my head. I thought I’d just write it out. I’ve written out the song by verse, as it plays, and followed up the verses with my meandering rumination.

---

I wake up in the morning
And I raise my weary head
I got an old coat for a pillow
And the earth was last night’s bed
I don’t know where I’m going
Only God knows where I’ve been
I’m a devil on the run
A six gun lover
A candle in the wind

I wake up in the morning and I raise my weary head. I’ve got two pillows for a pillow (and a resultant crick in the neck), and two stuffed mattresses for a bed (I’m not a bed-bed person). I know I’m going to work. And I vaguely remember having been to a party last night. I’m not the devil but am still on the run. I’m inherently restless and move cities every year. I can manage an air-pistol but have never handled a six gun. And I’m a li’l too robust to be a candle in the wind, no matter how much I’ve fluttered and threatened to go out.

When you’re brought into this world
They say you’re born in sin
Well at least they gave me something
I didn’t have to steal or have to win
Well they tell me that I’m wanted
Yeah I’m a wanted man
I’m colt in your stable
I’m what Cain was to Abel
Mister, catch me if you can

I was born a Hindu, and then lost my religion (along with my faith). So sin doesn’t work as a concept for me. Mom and Dad have been great, and I got the start I needed to make it in life. Head-hunters from recruitment agencies tell me I’m wanted, but then corporate desire never turned me on. I’ve never been a horse (or been on a horse either). I did write an entry about burying my (figurative alter-ego) brother but then he was more Cainish. I am not very good at running and you probably will catch me if you tried (though why you would want to, I have no clue!)

(chorus)
I’m going down in a blaze of glory
Take me now but know the truth
I’m going down in a blaze of glory
Lord I never drew first
But I drew first blood
I’m no one’s son
Call me young gun

I’m not going down, yet. I’m just 27 and hope to make it through another 27, at least. I’m not up for the grabs, but I’m ok with telling you the truth, if it’s any of your business. I reiterate, I’m not going down. I’ve never been involved in a shootout. And though I have been in a couple of fights, I never struck the first blow. My dad would be offended if I said I was no one’s son. And I’m not really very young or much of a gun.

You ask about my conscience
And I offer you my soul
You ask if I’ll grow to be a wise man
Well I ask if I’ll grow old
You ask me if I known love
And what it’s like to sing songs in the rain
Well, I’ve seen love come
And I’ve seen it shot down
I’ve seen it die in vain

I do have a conscience. And in the absence of religion or the divine being as a guiding light, my conscience is all that keeps me from becoming a monster. I’m not too convinced about the soul concept. I don’t know about wise, but there are days when I definitely feel pretty old. I’ve known love, yes. And I’ve lost love too. But then, love has a habit of coming back, just when you give up on it. And that faith (or hope) has kept me going with pockets of redemption every now and then to fuel it a bit further.

(chorus repeat)

Having refuted the statements, I maintain stoic silence through the second rendition of the chorus.

Each night I go to bed
I pray the lord my soul to keep
No I ain’t looking for forgiveness
But before I’m six foot deep
Lord, i got to ask a favor
And Ill hope you’ll understand
Cos I’ve lived life to the fullest
Let the boy die like a man
Staring down the bullet
Let me make my final stand

I go to bed most nights. Sometimes, it’s morning by the time I crash. I don’t talk much to God, or even overtly acknowledge His (or Her) presence. I have asked for forgiveness when I have wronged people. And I’d like to be buried at sea when I die (and hopefully, a few leagues down and not just six feet deep). I’ve never seen the point in asking Him favours. I have indeed lived life to the fullest (when I could), and done the best I could at other times. I have been a man for some time (I was a boy before, for those who’re considering the possibility of a sex-change), and don’t have grandiose notions of dying to prove my ‘manhood’. I think it’s a biological fact that should be accepted and let be. And I hope like I hell I don’t get shot. I’ve heard it can be really painful, especially if the bullet hits the bone.

(chorus repeat)

One last time. I am not going down. I am not violent. I am not (very) young. And I don’t like the thought of being called a gun. Period.

---

What is the point? Well… I wish I could go back 10 years to my rebelling self and tell him to take it easy. I wish I could ask him to choose another anthem, even if it was a Bon Jovi one (my current favourite is ‘Someday I’ll be Saturday Night’). I wish I could tell him that life will turn out to be a bit boring with no shootouts and posses chasing him; but it would be peaceful enough with double-mattresses and other nice things to prop it up. It’s not the blaze of glory at the end that’s so important, but the comforting flame that will keep him going all his life… all my life. He didn’t know it back then. I’m glad I do, now.
Cogito Ergo Vivum

Move Along

Take five minutes to do this… But do this.

Close your eyes (after you have read this paragraph). Think of the best memories you have had. Over the last five years. Every intense, beautiful moment where you felt you wanted to stay right there in that time and place forever. Some of them might be linked other memories you want to forget. Some of them might have turned to bitter ashes over time. Some of them might be part of who you are today and what you still have (lucky you!). But try and isolate those memories for the sheer beauty and happiness they brought you back when they happened. Ready? Close your eyes now…

No, really. Close your eyes and do this. You can read on when you’re done.

…

Welcome back, stranger. I don’t know the mood you’re in or what those memories were. I don’t know what you’re feeling either. But there is something I want to say to you that needs you to be in the frame of mind you are in now.

That smile, that tear (funny how you have shed tears so often in the most beautiful moments in your life), that precious little ache in the heart, that all-pervading feeling of blissful happiness, that rush of adrenalin which for that one moment actually took you to the top of the world, that intense desire to clutch on to the moment for all you’re worth… Did it all come back? Even for an instant, did you at least feel the fleeting ghost of those glorious emotions?

If yes, then you are where I want you to be; in this happy, nostalgic place where you remember just how beautiful life can be. And before you slip into the melancholy that comes from the realization of what you’ve lost (or the satisfaction of gloating over what you have), let me tell you something.

There is more.

Much more.

It might not be bigger and better (or new and improved!), but it will still be intense and beautiful. Life is putting together a whole new bouquet of these moments for you. But if you are too lost in reminiscing over faded, brittle skeletons of dead flowers in the scrapbooks of your past, you might just miss out on picking up those heady blossoms that life throws at you to fill up your present. The beauty that you felt in those moments you remembered in the five minutes is over and done with. It will come back at times and pass you by like an angelic vision you can appreciate but can never possess. But you do realise, it is gone.

Life goes on. For every divorce, there will be ten weddings. For every funeral, there will be a hundred celebrations of birth. For every memory that you have, there are a thousand more experiences that might still be.

Life does go on. And it tries to take you with it. But if you’re clutching on to that thorny husk of a memory long dead, with your eyes screwed shut to everything else… you might just miss the train to something new that awaits you. So open your eyes, unclench your cramped limbs, stretch… and move along. Life is waiting for you.
Cogito Ergo Vivum