Roots

I visited this region after a long time, more than two years, and I said to myself, not much has changed here. The roads are still quite broken every time it rains, dogs still run rampant on roads and many a time die without anyone giving much of a bother, cattle still roam around where ever they feel like, they relieve themselves or take a seat when they deem fit , where they deem fit. People walk on roads and pavements are meant for hawkers to sell vegetables, fruits, cheap knock offs, rat poison, medicines that claim to cure impotency and paan (a peculiarly delicious edible made using betel leaves, betel nuts and many other things I cant really explain).

Do I have a problem with it, hell yeah I do. But there is flipside, and a rather big one at that. Life is simple, people are simple. Needs are few and people are generally happier.

It was after a long time I took a train. The route, Asansol, a town in West Bengal, to West Bengal's capital, Kolkata. The train station was filthy, the stench awful. But somehow, it was not entirely unacceptable. Do not get me wrong, it is not that I would not do something about it if I could, it is just that I do not dislike the place inspite of that.

The fact is that these are my roots and this is the person I am. I have grown out of this. Upon deeper consideration, roots have this nature. The more deep seated they are, the more unchanging they get. The fact that your roots are filthy and nothing much can be done to change them, signifies the fact that you are a part of something ancient. You are a part of a generation, one of many, that have derived their origin from the same roots.

So yeah, no matter how dirty, filthy and rigid it might be; this is where I come from and this is where I belong.

Journey

Travelling can be a very profound experience. I have heard many say that but this is probably the first time I am noticing it (or may be this is just the first time I have had the sense to record the thought).

Anyway, it has been brilliant. I guess after eight months of a state which might resemble your brain being hurled around in a centrifuge, I had eight hours completely to myself. No thoughts of bother to give me company. Just one, of a certain someone, very dear, very loved, taking up the entire space within my head. The sublime feeling of uninterrupted indulgence in thoughts of that one person.

Flying out of Australia is a pretty unique experience in itself. As you leave Melbourne, you leave behind a city with a beating heart. It is bright, vibrant, lively! But as you move up north, the population grows sparse and accordingly dwindles the density of lights you see down below. I do not know if I actually saw it or it was my sleep deprived brain playing tricks, but I at a point, just before leaving the land mass, did see a ring of fire. It was magnificent! Once that was gone, the flight just had the company of stars. The sky was clear and the view from the tiny window epic. It almost felt being in a time capsule. You know you are moving, you know the clock is ticking, but the object you are looking at just lies there, staring right back at you. The whole experience was enhanced by a drink of whiskey and the never ending loop of the thought of that certain someone.

I did watch a very crappy movie which could have destroyed the experience (Transcendence, don't ever watch it). But a couple of other movies saved th day (Million Dollar Arm and The Grand Budapest Hotel). Anyway, now I am sitting at the Kuala Lumpur International Airport waiting for my next flight and utilizing the time and technology to dish out this text.

Good stuff!

I have the right...if I can

It was a bright day,
A sunny day,
Thought to himself,
Come what may,
Think in a hopeful way.

He had reason,
He had scope,
Long it had been,
Since he had seen,
His peace not elope.

Time moved on,
Quick yet smoothe,
Confident he was,
He could now see,
Toil had lead to fruit.

Alas, this was not to be,
Not so soon at least,
Questions were raised,
Past caught up,
His thoughts in haze.

Why, why now, now again,
To himself he said,
It was perfect, immaculate,
Alas, wish it was easy,
Dejected, he surrendered.

His mind was puzzled,
His heart heavy,
Will almost broken,
Deep in his gut,
A voice spoke muffled.

Do not, he whispered again,
This is not the time,
Fight, push, get up,
Reach out unfazed,
Work it out, for me and mine.

I don't give a fuck!

I do not give a fuck a anymore,
Fuck this Shit!

The Diatribe

I am an employee at a million dollar firm. Well it could well be a little more than that, but that is inconsequential. And I am what is referred to as a deputed employee. It basically means that I am co-located with the client. People in my organization or any other would give a limb in my situation. Money is good and life is good; or is it?

The natural question is why. Money being good, life should follow right? I wish it was so cut and dried. As a kid I came to realize that man needs money to live a decent life and that was pretty much it. But when I started working and saw people around me work, it seemed that the purpose of a man's life to make money. Work is worship, a high concept when I was growing up, was taken a little too seriously and the attention to detail was mental. Competition was the word of the day, everyday.

Hence, the journey started. I was fully committed to the rat race and I was a winner. Progress was in leaps and bounds; the plan seemed to be working just fine. But whose plan was it and was it a plan at all? Another classic case of monkey see monkey do, could it be? Whatever it was, it was strangely satisfying.

Three and a half years and the elation is now all gone. I work more than when I started, the standard of life good, even if barely so, but the quality of life is questionable. When a man sleeps, he should be allowed to sleep in peace. He should not have to sleep with his phone, always alert that his assistance might be required. He should not be made to feel that he has to save the world when it is not his job. Every issue should not be treated as a life threatening situation when in fact no life depends on it. What can be done another day, should be done another day, if time permits. He should be given enough time, enough space to spend time doing things he likes outside work. He should be allowed to breathe free and live a life with the people he loves. He should be allowed to go easy on the gas pedal once in a while.

It is a sorry state of affairs but unfortunately no one wants to do anything about it. The most anyone does is to sympathize with the situation and say, "Tough luck. Soldier on." People have given up, the system has given up. Welfare of the people is not something that takes precedence over anything.

So why do write this piece? Because I cannot do much myself. And yes, this is it!

Rambling again...

The fate of man is a funny thing indeed. Written by his own hand, crafted by his own actions; yet he blames himself not. Circumstances, luck, chance, influence etc. is what he hides behind to name a few. When he errs he wants to take solace in someone's pity while he puts on a mask of his ego to hide his crippled belief in his own capacity. None can match him at beating his own drum; he can do no wrong, righteous he is, ever so much. Give him the resources and he can move a mountain, or so he claims. Yet when the time comes to take a side, the ground beneath him shakes. His constitution is weak, his demeanour fake, he can sell the world if it were for his sake. And hence the doom, the end certain…

Sons and daughters of Adam and Eve,
Forever they run,
Forever they hide,
Pleasure and pain,
Side by side.

Stepping out

So it is the last day,
The job is done,
No more sobbing,
No more crying,
My time is done.

Not very long ago,
You were here,
Broken, shattered,
And I was picking pieces,
My job it was.

Not once, not twice,
Again and again,
You broke down,
Hit the ground,
Waiting for me to come around.

You are fixed now,
No more holes,
Pieces I took out of me,
Whole once again you are,
But where do I go from here.