Death of a Stranger.

Death of a Stranger

Stranger: What does it take to be known?

He: A lifetime and that too won't be enough.

Stranger: What else is needed apart from time?

He: The train is arriving. Where are you heading?

Stranger: I've come to kill myself. I'll be throwing myself on the track anytime soon.

He: Well in that case you already are dead long ago. What you have is just the machine that’s still running well but is not producing anything. You can kill yourself brutally by staying alive for some more time. If you want to be more dead then live and suffer. That's a better death if death is what your concern is.

Stranger: But tell me for how long do two individuals remain strangers to each other.

He: Forever.

Stranger: Don't you have someone you know?

He: I don't even know myself yet.

The Stranger stood up and paced towards the track. The train whistled louder. He turned to say goodbye as he postponed his death.

You are brave He said and smiled while throwing himself on the track; the cacophonous screams muffled the whistle. The train headed for the next station. 

She Asked.

She Asked.

She: Why do you read so much?

He: (closed his book and looked inquisitively into her eyes.) There is a void inside us. Most of us are so busy filling it with petty gains that we forget how futile this effort remains. A lifetime of a man is just a speck of dust in this vast universe of timelessness. More I read, the more this meaninglessness destroys me. And I love this feeling of destruction. I float in this timeless abyss of my existence.

She: No, you read because you don't love me like you used to.

He: (Fixed his gaze into the sky full of stars and moon.) Your absence is true but isn't at the same time. I still cognize you but you'll never know. Since the day you left I had no one except this void that gave meaning to my love and being. Since then I'm forever falling inside the void. But the abyss never let me feel the adrenaline rush; I don't fear it anymore. I'll never hit the bottom in my life time anyways, it won't hurt me. I fly with you as you've always wanted to. More or less it does keep me away from the meaningless wakefulness too.

She: So, you've started sleeping more don't you?

He: (Stares into her eyes again.) Inside the void we are nothing but our thoughts and secrets. You are the secret and my fall inside this abyss is forever relentless. More I read, the more destroyed I become and consequently more aware I become of this void. You know what happens then? I become aware of your presence. That's why I read.

She: When did you change your glasses?

He: (Closed his eyes and undid the spectacles. But she was gone, like every night.)

Zariya :_CHAAND_:

Silence or Poetry

As a kid i used to ask my mother: "Ammi aur kitna parhayengi mujhe ? Mujhe malum hai 'A' for Apple hota hai." (How much more do I have to study ? I perfectly know 'A' stands for Apple?")

Ammi would say: "Parhai khatam nahi hoti beta."(there is no end to how much you can study.)

I had always stayed away from books. Alphabets seemed funny to me. The weird shape of 'Q' made me inquisitive as to why the 'Q' has to be this way and why can't I invent my own 'Q'. It was later that I was able to break the confinement of questioning the shapes and consequently strode forth to observe the things in broader context. I started questioning the meaning of the 'words'. I realized words are not merely assemblage of alphabets rather they are raw junctures whose meanings are inconsistent. Different meanings for different people in different circumstances and in different contexts. On further expedition I needed to broaden my vision a bit more to make sense of the things. So I started contemplating the 'sentences'. Sentences are trap; you need to be careful as they are volatile. You can say "Get away bitch" or you can say "I've got a beautiful dog in my home and her puppies are beautiful, such that nothing in this world could match her beauty except you;  you resemble her quite much and I can't afford to loose you both. Even if you need to go then you can go. I won't stop. I'll surrender myself to this profound devastation of my soul." In situation like this I prefer my destruction in silence. Words are not always the manifestation of your feelings. You can have something in heart and still will be free to utter it by whichever way you desire. You are the master where you can deceive any one through the formulation of your sentences. These formulations are called 'Lie' at times. And now I've trust issues with all those people who speak straight forwardly because nothing can be said in that way. I've a deep reverence for those who talk poetry. I've greater reverence for those who understand the language of silence. That's the real language trust me.

SOCIETY

I never consider myself a social being. Working of the society has failed to penetrate my head. I despise they way how an individual looses his authentic identity in the hands of the labyrinthine passage that ends at the doorstep of vague social goal. Who is a 'Social Being' in a concrete sense? Going through the same age old procedures by taking one delicate step at a time, where your mistakes will cost you your self-esteem and will make you question your self-worth. If your steps are perfectly balanced and measured then bingo! you are successful and you'll soon be garlanded with the tags that are of a good husband/father/employee/son and what not. Is this the goal a man should strive for? Is becoming successful all life is about? 

My fellow human beings listen; 

birds will sing, sun will rise, 

dogs will bark, crows will caw,

flowers will bloom, rivers will flow

and ocean will not loose its depth,

whether you are successful or not. World will be the same anyways; you just need a change in your perspective. Philosophers have defined us as 'Social Being' but deep down our demands are Individualistic, sometimes we know it and other times our actions and words insinuate the same thing. Some of us prefer self imposed isolation but then society is quick to reproach if you fail to live your life up to its generalized standards. It's the high time that society should learn to let the star of 'Individualism' shine on our chest. Why put us under restrains to seek answers to the same age old questions? Why push us to cover the same age old track and live for the same hegemonic defination of success.  It's imperative that society stop belittling people and stop judging a human's worth by measuring his success. Every human has a universe inside them, they are in pain, agony eats them, they are sensible, just respect that. Its imperative that we stop finding answers and start asking better questions.

ZARIYA. : --- "Presence" --- :

Perhaps in Suffering one does find Himself.

      There are sorrows in this world which we haven't touched yet let alone the thought of living them. Out there exists pain that are far ahead of what we can endure. Pain has some unexplored facets that are beyond our comprehension. There are unfathomable sufferings that we can't even imagine to suffer in our life time. Once you feel how sorrows have damaged a person you'll realize maybe you're not as broken as you might think you are. Every second person is in torment for something he can't control and he endures it in solitude. Every second one of us holds a universe of pain inside their skull and rib-cage. When he dies the universe succumbs along with him.  The pleading gaze wander like a beggar who gets no alms and is starved to death. His eyelids grow tired of seeking rescue and in the end the gaze is shut. Even his heart gets tired of beating when his organs feel they are a bunch of wage workers whose payments are always postponed for the next day. Nobody stands for his rescue. His hopeless life ends and the only moment he is helped is when his soul less body needs cremation. They say empty handed we come and empty handed we depart. But what is the fate of all those 'Questions' and 'Pains'? Do they bury it too ? The  Questions remain suppressed and the Pains never get utterance. 

       Society is not going to miss you if you are out and gone. Few people will shed tears but for how long? Tears are not oceans but they are like downpour, even if it brings flood it cannot keep the sun rays hindered for long. You become a wound in some people's life but the wound will heal and the scar will fade out eventually. You'll be gone into oblivion as if your presence wasn't necessary all along. Can you accept that you are alone ? We are a herd of strangers always claiming that we know each other. Ooh, how less is known. The suffering is the price we have settled for in return of our survival. So in the end lamenting holds no meaning. We don't choose pain nor is the suffering. It is something that is always thrust upon us. Maybe suffering is what life is; perhaps in suffering one does find himself. 

Meaninglessness is a Lie

''Your senses deceive you'' is an undeniable old saying but have you ever considered the other side of the coin ? Many a times meaninglessness took a grab of your hopes in a manner that your sense of well-being gets permanently affected. Sooner you'll notice how you've started breathing the air of self-doubts and you struggle for a firm grip on your survival. Meanwhile the void inside you deepens and so do the survival instincts where the later know the rules of the jungle. That is the moment where the instinct reins over your senses and takes you on a roller coaster ride of realizations. One fine rainy morning you start seeing your world for the first time with your newly acquired realizations. You see how the Universe is not Meaningless rather Blank. You are wounded but you're liberated. You think of ways to create meanings out of everything. You discover the vast ocean of meaninglessness was a lie. Things don't mean anything until you give one. You close your eyes and you see everything.  You know what you do ? You create Art, you become a creator and subsequently will become a survivor. .

.

Letter From The Ocean

     

Letter from the Ocean.

It was Blue all around before I was born. But something came up and a desire to see Red overwhelmed me. Deep inside the ocean I lived a mystery but something caught me and a desire to unsolve the mysteries took birth inside me. I wanted to fold the mysteries to unfold again. I desired Red and a Will to born seeded inside me. I left the ocean bed and rose above. I was standing in the ocean when a wave passed across me. It shook me and then it returned. I strode forth and saw at once the distant island that seems united with the horizon. My eyes glued to the vision and the Will kept me aside from the urge of returning back. It never occurs to me that I shouldn't take birth. It never appeared to me then that the fascination about Red will be the end of my Blue. It wouldn't be improper to put this blame on my whimsical nature. I strode forth silently and gave birth to myself in the island. I had unlearnt good amount of lessons but the lessons left their mark deep inside me. Perhaps that's why whenever I face the ocean they return there gaze that seems to ask me something. I did know the language of the ocean but I unlearnt that too. Somehow when at night I gaze at the horizon I felt home. It’s been quite some time since I was born and lately I'm having some blurry hallucinations about my Blue past. I've suffered quite much and I've implored a great deal to the ocean to bring me back home. It's too much to bear in the island I don't feel the Red soothing anymore. The mystery that I lived was my home. Deep under the ocean bed I must have someone who must be waiting for me. Perhaps a different mother or a different father or even a different set of questions I'd seek answers to and certainly there must be another me that awaits my being. Red is not good and so is this island. The state of the affairs here is such that the things that matter here eventually leaves and the thing that stays after, holds no meaning. Craving for the 'IF' overwhelms; it’s heavy such that it drowns you inside the ocean of Red that has darkened so much that it seems Black. On the other hand 'Red' in its actual sense means to float. Once you are drowned you are blackened and you are indifferent to the waves as you glide somewhere between the waves and the ocean bed. You become so black that it reeks. You'll not have any qualms about your position in the ocean whether you are settling your scores with the waves or you are having a good time in the black ocean bed; it’s the fall from the top to the bottom that destroys us. You don't know how to swim, you don't have infinite amount of oxygen inside your lungs and the bottom is mystery to you. You struggle to keep yourself from dying. You struggle and beg your lungs to be with you, it asks for air and salt water it gets.  The vindictive organ does what seem fit. You are still in the midway and you are lost. The mystery of the ocean bed is eventually solved by your body shreds partially eaten by mysterious creatures; your black soul moves up. You wake yourself up only to ask,

 'Where am I?'

     Among us some have this heroic ability to float and some holds infinite amount of air in their disposal that they reach the bottom and solve the mystery; but they never comes up afterwards. They probably feel at home down there. They master the Red in order to see Blue in it. I'm not a hero and I have no such feat at my disposal to call myself any of that. ‘I just want to go home’- that was all that I had been thinking about until I found something that grew out of the flower plant that I had planted sometimes back. It resembled fruit. I plucked it and saw that it was coiled and held inside its heart, a balled up parchment.
      I received the letter from the ocean- it isn't dated. I remember everything now. He invited me perhaps some long time ago as the foxed parchment suggested. There was a map inside it with a single vertical line that ran along the length of the paper; right beside the line was written -

“SURRENDER YOURSELF TO ME”

Time is My Playmate

 'Time' is my playmate. It plays with me and look how I still use it to create non-existent 'You and me'. It doesn't occupy any space; you can't see it but that doesn't make it any less realistic. Only if you could feel it through me. Your inability to feel didn't make me suffer much but a little, for instance, how my eyes suffer when i look at the stars without my glasses on, when I take a sip of chai but without a single cube of sugar, as if I'm reading a story of a language unknown.
       I've built the strongest walls around 'You and Me'. Your disbelief wont be able to penetrate it. I've laid some real brick blocks of 'Time' securing them against your gazes that seem empty now. 

ZARIYA

Dying differently or Living differently ?

Dying is a phenomenon

Ceasing to exist is another.

There is a difference.

We are trying to validate 'living' by the parameters we've got from the society. True it is that there are innumerable ways to be alive and there are innumerable ways to be dead. The biggest question one can ask at a situation is at which side one is existing. Once you have your answer  you are free to some extent. Ask yourself what is the truth, how have you been validating your existence so far; dying differently or living differently? The perspective matters as long as your body is technically alive.

Rejections.

How rejected can a person be? How much is left inside which is due for more rejection? Rejection is a part of life they said. But when you see that whole your life is based upon rejection then things do not make sense at all. One might feel disgruntled to the fact that whatever you have been rejected for at any moment is an implication directed towards your superfluous existence. One question remains unanswered whole throughout the realization that why is it so that only rejection is expected to be construed as insignificance? On the other hand rejection is unavoidable if one is insignificant. When feat acquired by cascade of tireless efforts lead one to put forth the display of his significant role; one just want to prove how significant he is where in reality he isn't needed even to his own self. Often the realization keeps knocking at the door of self doubt. What does it take and what does it give is seldom asked. Question remains hid beneath your feet that has been set upon the plank adorned with petty achievements. When life has been designed above the base that is of ultimate rejection then how is it that you can take pride on acceptance and lament on rejection? Whole of you is insignificant in this insignificant crevasse which is ever-widening a gap that has no end. It is nature and it is a truth which has always been misconstrued; rejection isn't a phenomena at all. It is but a passage whose end is an ultimate rejection where the rejection is indeed implied to your insignificance but at the same time the sentiment it entails is not that of misery or even a sorrow. The end of the passage is rejection of the mirage whose soul purpose is to deceive you of the truth. You are an authentic human when you can see acceptance in rejection. Up there the light and mirage of petty gains are missing and down here you fight for it. When you are insignificant you fight to gain more insignificance for yourself. Let loose this skein which has kept you imprisoned and accept your fall inside the crevasse whose end is infinite.