An Illusion

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AN ILLUSION

There is a stark difference between illusion and reality. Though the Ancient Vedas describe all reality as Maya(Illusion), a fine line separates reality from illusion. When an orphaned kid roams about the streets of an unknown city, it all seems like an illusion to him. But suddenly his head starts spinning his legs grow weak; the hunger for reality makes him stumble over a little pebble which he could earlier have jumped over.

Even this hunger may seem like an illusion on a wider perspective, as to why the body needs food when the world is getting filled up with wastes. When we have very little to survive with, the wastage is minimised-- almost nil, because even the wastes become productive things. So this maybe an illusion that the world is getting enriched-- with the manifold increase in unwanted matter!

When the lonely traveler (a Baul) goes on walking through the dusty streets singing for his maker, singing for himself, he does not feel the pangs of hunger anymore-- does not feel the pangs of reality. This world all seems like an illusion to him. His melancholy song does not fill the ears of his listeners, because he has none! He does not share a stage with millions thronging before him to hear his notes. He does never crave for fame, never thinks of carving his own fiefdom in the epoch he lived in. He lives in his own illusion of the world!

**

Suddenly Nantu found himself standing in front of the staircase. He was craving to have a taste of the natural air, being confined in the air-conditioned room for so long. Though Nantu was a bit claustrophobic as a child, he had to get hold of his mind as he could not leave his work within the closed walls of his chamber and manage to get some fresh air more often. When Nantu could get over such a grave illness with the solitary strength of his mind, the number of people visiting the doctors may come down, at least some day.

While climbing the stairs, Nantu tried to think of the last time he made his way to the top-- that was quite a long time. Though he had left sports a long time back, his heart was still strong enough to be suited to pumping enough blood even beating in a low note.

Nantu did not remember if the number of stairs had been so much, still he was not a person to pull himself back from an idea he had conceived. Finally he reached the end of the stairs and remembered that the construction had not changed a bit. There were two doors opposite to each other on either side of the staircase. Nantu pulled open the door to the left when suddenly his mind was clouded like the sky above. Working in the artificial environment of his chamber he had forgotten to look out through the window before coming up.

Nantu did not want to get drenched, though as a child he liked the rainy season above all, when he could jump on the puddles and smear his shorts with the mud, when he could play football on his bare feet trying hard to get a foothold in the mud.

With all those memories crossing his mind, Nantu suddenly saw someone sitting in the farthest corner of the roof with his back towards the door where Nantu was standing. He was astonished as well as flabbergasted trying to think as to who could be sitting there in the rain with just a white cloth to cover his trunk. The unkempt hair went down the back with the raindrops gliding over the bunch of hair.

Nantu could not keep himself stranded in that corner seeing another person getting drenched in the non-seasonal rain. With initial hesitancy he ultimately walked into the rain towards the half naked figure. The locks of hair were evidence to the uncountable number of days it hadn't been washed properly. Still Nantu was in a dilemma if all this was another dream he was having.

He went further ahead so that he was facing the man. Looking into the face with the closed eyes of the old man, Nantu was taken aback.

**

The flowing white beard had become a tuft of wool drenched in the rain. The face was somewhat sublime and its expressions told Nantu that the person had no feeling of the chill of the rain or the presence of an unknown man before him. Seeing the eyes of the old man fully closed and engrossed in some heavenly concentration, Nantu tried making some abrupt noises to draw his attention. Was this yet another dream he was having-- Nantu pinched himself, but it hurt!

In the midst of the non-seasonal rain the old man's face no signs of remorse, let alone discomfort. His mind was probably in some other world, with the body drenched in the earthly rain. Looking at the halcyon face of the old man Nantu remembered something-- once, while in Banaras he saw several sadhus, after a peaceful smoke in their chillum stared into the Ganges and had a peculiar expression on their faces. As if no mortal wow or dissatisfaction could hinder their peace of mind. He could draw unfaltering similarity between the two.

The colour of the old man's face seemed somewhat pale to Nantu and he could not answer himself if it was for the chill of the rain or the other worldly feel that he was having probably. But slowly the face was getting ruddy and was filling up with a colour he had never seen before. Nantu was wondering if he could no longer stand the chill of the rain or even the growing power of the meditating face with those closed eyes.

Nantu could not help himself running away from the rain, the gloom and the unknown power of the old man.

**

He ran towards the other door to the terrace, the one on the right side of the staircase. On opening the door Nantu saw a very bright and breezy evening before him and the kids were flying their colourful kites, fighting over the stray ones which had landed out of nowhere. The kids, being from well-to-do families, had enough pocket money to buy dozens of such kites. Still they were fighting for the single stray kite that fell on the terrace.

Nantu knew whatever money one had in his pocket, there's nothing like fighting over a stray kite-- even he did as a kid! Even though you have enough money to buy a hundred kites, there's nothing like fighting for that single stray kite.

Nantu was staring at those children as if in an illusion as to what men really wanted to become!!

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Raindrops

Raindrops high above,
Dancing in the wind.

Obscured visions;
The curtain of life.

Sucked in...
By the force of destiny---
Obedience is the rule.

The drops scatter,
Only to remind
That raindrops merge again!

--- dedicated to all those people who were a part of my life, but now live only in the pages of memory, because of the harsh wand of destiny.

Autistic

Look up
The trees fly by,
Fire above the ocean,
Cardboards moving around.

Those inciting lips;
Words they call them,
Beyond the valleys
Below the trenches.

Who are they?
They don't
Share the oasis---
Drinking, and drowning.

Gazing at the dying sun
Waiting for the eloquent beauty;
The burning candle
Floating, in the meandering ravine.

The curve in the lips
Clouded in daylight,
The leprous saints
Submitting to destiny.

The maladroit gestures,
Indecisive feelings,
The fallen leaves of autumn
Blown away by the wind!

Visions

Hanging
By the arrythmic thread of destiny;
Hoping
Not to end up in oblivion.
The lost catacombs
The impenetrable darkness,
The purity of fire
The ravenous misdeeds ---
All flash past
The misleading paths of memory.

Remembering
The pristine dewdrops on the grassy blades;
Recalling
The cluster of fireflies showing the way.
The velvet-skinned moon
The black rain-bearing clouds,
The freshness of the evening flowers
The poignant breeze from the sea ---
Memories of a childhood
Overshadowed by treachery!

Wishing
That mortals become human again;
Hoping
To see the rivers run pure again.
The dinghy boat swivelling among the waves
The hungry hawk vacillating overhead,
The winter birds nesting along the lakes
The sunset scattering hues, unhindered ---
Visions, not of a world utopian,
But of a world lived in!

In Remembrance of Those Cherished Memoirs

A gush of wind blows past
The barren land of lost thoughts;
Blowing away with the fruits of tommorrow,
The reeking past still beckoning!

Smoke from the dying fire
Rising high, wanting to be seen,
The cackle still resounding
Along the unknown paths trod by the lost nomad.

Shards of broken memoirs
Trying to join together,
Only to be made obliterable
By the harsh wand of destiny!


---- alas! the four resplendent years of graduation life (most importantly, hostel life) has ended all of a sudden....

Dithery Manana

Burnt remains
Of ashes and dust,
Of those capricious dreams;
Watching them incinerate apart
Like an infant staring
At its dead parents.


Thinking of jumping in the fire
But wanting to read,
Those unturned pages of destiny;
Like the sailor of a sinking ship
Trying to save himself
With desperation and hope.


The chill of the wind
Howling along the fecund lands,
Earth, fire, water and air
Conspiring together for this despair;
Nothing to confront the forces of nature
No time for the seeds to grow in stature.


The shattered dreams,
Resonating along those memory lanes;
The eluding past a reward,
The unwanted present exposed---
The mystic future vacillating
With those crushed visions of hope!



--- the future is gloomy....

The Lost One.

The dark feathers
Stimulated by the chill,
The weak legs
Trying hard to hold on;
The visions of the past
In those diminished eyes,
The lost soul
Confined in the avian body.



Flying at its own will
Barring the wind,
Flapping its wings
To remain motionless;
The ricocheting thoughts
Of those moments long gone,
The fixed gaze
Prevented by the eyelids.



Searching for a shelter
Frightened to come close,
Forsaken by mankind
Unscathed by nature;
Unfulfilled wishes immortalising
The unresentful memory,
Inured by the jaunt
Unrealised visions of the past.



A speck of fear resounds
As the sun starts to set,
The wind grows colder
And the journey it must undertake;
The eyelids become motionless
To savour one last image,
Time for it to fly away
The lost black crow!

----- sometimes the soul of the dead ones are reincarnated in other earthly forms....

Pragmatism

It was exceptionally cold for a day in November. The moon was unseen in the star-studded sky. Neksus felt the chill in the air when he went to bed. He was still wondering if it was the wind or his mind that was making him shiver so vigorously. Seeking refuge under the warmth of his quilt, he was feeling terribly miserable.

For the past few days he was not having a good, sound sleep. He used to wake up traumatised - shivering and sweating profusely only to find the moon in the sky. For all these years Neksus never had a sleeping problem. But of late, he was scared even to lie down in his bed. Murderous and gory thoughts always crossed his mind. Sometimes he would see himself in some sort of a ritualistic ceremony where he had to pierce his hand for a few drops of 'holy' blood. He would wake up terrorised to find the piercing in his hand in exactly the same place as he had seen in his dream. Neksus could not decipher the connection between his brutal dreams and reality. No matter how much he tried to forget them and not think anymore, he woke up aghast at hideously killing a beautiful child in his dream!

Neksus never shared these experiences with anybody. He thought of seeing a doctor and have those prescribed sleeping pills, but was dreadfully fearing the consequencesof speaking of those slaughterous dreams. Always remaining a very reserved person, Neksus never liked those rave partiesand social gatherings. His heart was writhing in agony within those four walls. The window was also close to bar the chill.
So disturbed was his mind that he was thinking if he would live long enough to see the next day. His mind was crossed with thoughts of newspaper headlines reporting his untimely death.

******

Suddenly Neksus sat up straight. He seemed to be in some sort of hurry and was hastily looking for something in his room. Never caring to switch on the lights, he was fishing in his wardrobe. Neksus didn't have a roommate, so both the wardrobes in the room belonged to him.

The only person staying back at the residential hall during this long vacation was Ikspir. He was the only person with whom Neksus went along pretty well. When Ikspir wasn't around, Neksus did not care to mingle with the other inmates.

On getting what he was looking for, Neksus ran straight out of his room towards Ikspir's. Very politely he rapped on the door. It was about to dawn and Ikspir was fast asleep. Slowly the raping gave way to thumping and the sound reverberated thoughout the building. On such a chilly weather, Ikspir did much to get out of his bed - "Who's that?"

When there was no reply, Ikspir knew it was Neksus' dirty tricks on him. Still he opened the latch of the door. As soon as the door opened, a strong blow on his forehead left Ikspir unconscious. Neksus was wearing a black woolen cap that covered his face except the eyes. He looked at Ikspir's body and with much affection lay him on his own bed. The he carefully locked the room from the inside and switched on the lights. He caressed Ikspir's forehead as if to help him gain consciousness. Suddenly, in the blink of an eye Neksus drew a sharp knife from the back of his jacket and held it up, above his forehead. With closed eyes he cantillated some sort of a prayer. As soon as he finished it, with a ravenous stroke Neksus slashed off his left wrist. He put his bloody arm over Ikspir's face such that the blood drops pooled on the latter's closed eyes.

Quite contrary to having an excruciating pain, Neksus' face was filled with relief! Ikspir was stil out cold owing to the massive blow with the bludgeoning weapon. With the swiftness of a mongoose, Neksus slit Ikspir's bot wrists like he did to his own. As a result of this bloody affair, the latter tried in vain to sit up only to find himself tethered to his own bed!

Ikspir could not believe his senses when he saw and felt his surroundings. His hands had become numb due to excessive blood loss. His eyes suddenly were gazed on Neksus' demoniac eyes. He felt Neksus was possessed - "Stop it Neksus please! What on earth are you doing?", yelling at the top of his voice. Neksus quietly looked at Ikspir's face - "Bye! May thy blood quench the thirst of many!" and he slit Ikspir's throat with the knife. Blood guzzled out of the throat as Neksus stared at it with a relieved face. The whole roome was red with blood and Ikspir's bed was soaking in it. Neksus stood still with blood dripping from his left arm and the knife held firmly in his right; his eyes locked into those of Ikspir, watching him writhing in pain and struggling to get free. With a massive volume of blood loss, Ikspir was becoming paler and ultimately after a very short period, he lay motionless. All this time Neksus did not move his eyes from those of Ikspir's!

All of a sudden a chill went down Neksus' spine and he was wondering why his left arm was paining! He felt as though he was having a dream, yet he saw his friend in that abominable state and his left wrist was unbearable. The only thing he remembered was that he was trying to get sleep in his own bed...