Lateral Perspectives

The huge world inside a tiny head

Archive for the tag “love”

Woke up before September

Hello There,

My non-existent invisible readers.

Heh.

It was a huge break this time, was it not?
I have my excuses- I was very, very busy.

I went back to India for a while, hugged my mom and dad so tight,spend time with all I loved,
making sure I valued their presence. As I grow older, I find myself loving deeper and deeper,
caring less about the worldly stuff. Guess what the old people were saying was true.

Oh, and yes, starting to agree that my parents were right most of the time.

Then I came back and started preparing hard for one of the Cisco exams – CCNP Switch. And I passed!

The thing is that, I will cherish the time I spent studying. Because in the beginning, it was so freaking hard.
I couldn’t concentrate for more than half hour, (I still may not be, but that is not the point),
had doubts about myself, and was generally not in a great mood for most days. Committing or aka forcing myself
to study was a huge task, and eventually, I got the better of it.
And once I started preparing, other things started falling into place. Started realizing that I was just
making bullshit excuses and whining instead of just doing stuff.
Been practicing simplicity lately. Don’t need it? Throw away, remove it from your life.
Make it a lot easier to search through the rest of the stuff.

So yeah, here I am wiser(hopefully), smarter(hey some more modules to go before I graduate with a degree),
and working better. I didn’t need someone to wake me up before September- random fact just because I goddamn
love that song so much. And oh, I did write some stuff, but most are in Malayalam and spread across the pages
of my real life scribbling books.

End rant.

Digital Memories

You exist,deep down
in a folder hidden so well
With distractions along,not because
other might find you,
but so that I shall lose
my way, from keep going back

You exist, hidden among thousand pictures
your laughter, gay and static
beside the beach, and with me
somewhere in the corner
and because of the thousand pictures,
I won’t pretend to see it

You exist,far back in my brain
as dreams and moments and memories
like waves in an ocean,
you come back at night,
during high tide,
many a sleepless night

you exist, among the hundred commuters
on the train, in the mall,
all the places that I go to
I try my best not to glance at them,
out of fear, what if i see you?
And sometime, I do see-
bits of you in the smile,
part of you in the child’s dance
the lovely glance of the old couple

And why do I keep all these memories,
these digital memories of you?
I tell myself I don’t want to look back
Yet, destroy them, I do not

So I will let those , let be
souvenirs of a bygone time
A happy time, nonetheless
a dot in my past,
A digital memory.

Intimacy

More than just being curious about sex, I crave for intimacy. 

I wonder how it is to sit beside a person. To have her head on my shoulders. To entwine my fingers with hers. To kiss her on the forehead, and then talk about something, anything – a past memory, a future plan. 

To sit somewhere windy, to feel that wind, and to hold her close. That sense of being together. 

It must feel wonderful. Isn’t it?

You lucky little fucking couples. 

And then life went on.

All that I asked of you, was warmth
and a shoulder to support,
in the dark evening.

There we could have sat,
arms locked, heads resting,
and be in complete silence,
yet, be at peace.

But you said,no
the most terrible no
I’ve heard in my entire life,
And it simply broke me down.

I didn’t even hide it,
and you pretended not to see it.

Even worse, I knew the reasons
for your choices,understood the unfair
desperate,circumstance that you were standing on.

Doesn’t make it any less painful.

And then life went on.

Disturbed

I am disturbed. An unknown wind is blowing in my mind and I do not know in which direction.

Sleep is avoiding me. I coax it with music, meditation. It does not heed me.

I feel like this some days. Those days where I think too much. Instead, I sleep like a log on those days in which I have no time to think about, when my mind is filled with other stuff- money, work,upcoming movies.

So, is that what I should do? To make my mind race, react and obey, so it does not think? What kind of life , will life offer me in return? Will the future be benevolent? I recognize this feeling. This feeling to write something that sound wise.

Ha!

What a load of bullshit! I wish I could have been more expressive than that. To have written more, to be having writing more each day.

To live with the sins of the past. What a burden. To think about cause and effect,to think about the lives of others,to be responsible for our actions and words.

Big words, those. Sin, burden, others! Do I even know the meaning of those words? Have I even committed those sins?

Is it sin in and itself? Is it not that a desire spiked out uncontrollably?

Who defined my sins and blessing anyway?

Who defined my happiness, my sadness, my fears?

When did I learn to question those facts? When.. when did I learn that all was not was it seem to be?

That behind every action there is a motive, a selfish desire. How peaceful my life had been.  Now that I know it’s in there, it will gnaw me from the inside.

Long back I have learned that this, writing, this blind obedience of my fingers to type whatever  my brain instructs it to, depending on my moods, is the only salvation, the only prayer, the only drug, the only love.

Call it whatever. This is my true calling, and this is what I will turn to.

Relationships are a mess when society is involved. Two people should be able to freely do whatver they like, without adjusting to the norms of the society.

I asked my friend about why he prohibits himself from certain things. He said such and such. I asked him  why.

He said, again, another reason. I kept asking him again and again. He finally became silent because the answer was that we are afraid of others. He was afraid of what the rest of the world would think. A world that includes me!

I am also afraid of certain things.

So basically, he is afraid of my judgement, as much as I am about his.

Increase the pool of example, and you will find that people are afraid of each other to do the things that they like.

If you think about it, the reason is pretty obvious. The only reason you are limiting yourself is because you are afraid of what society will tell you and label you when you speak your thoughts.

It requires much strength,to overcome the poison that you have been fed, to NOT be, one of the sheeps.

Goodnight World!

Oops. Morning!

Snow and Compliment

Today, as I was lying on my bed lazily, toying with different ideas- about literature. Stuff I would probably write about, creating scenarios,plots, those small sentences that can create an impact ( writers pleasure) etc..

A sudden thought struck me. Where did all this actually start from? From when did I decide that I would write things occasionally?
Rewinding back to early teenage years, I don’t remember trying to write things with this vigour, being this feverish.

It was along the secondary school days (Saint Peters Senior Secondary School, Kadayiruppu). When I was in Class X.15 years of age at that point of time. I wasn’t much of a writer(still not am, but a lot more confident). I did scribble at times,
write a few bit here and there. I was a voracious reader. I devoured books- except text books. I read a lot. OK, you get it. But to me, it was an entire different world. Escaping into this wonderful words, where authors created characters humans and diverse. It was my way of getting high.

Anyway, one grant day,I strolled through the library, looking for a random book…

Oh wait.

Have I ever told I how I chose books from the library?

Maybe its just me, but in most cases, I don’t look up a book and go fetch it. You see, I had no computer at home.
I did not search in the internet for stuff like- What are the top science fiction books? What books would you recommend a 15 year old? There were no rule books, no one to recommend anything.

No. I chose books at random. Given the probabilities,and the books that were present in the school library, I loved it.

I walked around the library. I ran my fingers over the books. I touched. I felt. Some books would catch my attention. Usually its the title. Single titled books usually never caught my attention.

But,as I was saying, one fine December evening, strolling through the library, my eyes fell on a blue cover book. It was slightly thick. Some inner voice immediately said, grab it! grab it now!

I complied. I read the title. It was called Snow. Written by Orhan Pamuk.
Of course I didn’t know about this great author. I didn’t know he was Turkish,or that this was translated. I read the synopsis in the back. Something about a journalist investigating suicides in Turkey. What was so much to write about this? I thought. Also since it was December, the name snow sounded intriguing, decided to give it a try.

Went home, and started reading it the same day. Beginning was slow, but then, it started growing on me. Here was the story of some fictional guy, whose thoughts and actions, resembled that of mine. I was surprised, happy, ecstatic. After hundreds of book, I encountered something that I could personally identify with. Perhaps it was because
I had a crush on a beautiful girl, and I felt sympathy for the character. Whatever.

After I finished the book, I couldn’t sit still. Ideas were swirling in my head. I couldn’t point my finger on what was wrong. Something was amiss. Something needed to be done. And i grabbed a pen and started scribbling something. I became furious. The pen was not moving fast enough for my thoughts. I couldn’t get the correct word I was looking for.
I remember striking out long lines just because I couldn’t find a suitable word, or just because I wanted to use this cool word I’ve learned.I hated looking at the dictionary(Yes, peculiar for someone who wants to write). When I ended up putting my pen down, my fingers were shaking, but I was at peace. I knew, or had a glimpse of, what an artist felt like.

And there folks, blossomed what I will fondly remember, my first pieces of literature. Unfortunately, the books where I had written the stories were school note books. They were given away end of the year. Summer came, exams were over, and it was time for playing all round. Writing took a back step, and I didn’t think much of what I had written.

Come next year, class XI found myself giving name for the story writing contest as well as for poem. I was surprised that I actually had the courage! My friends were like, Of course!
You read all those damn thick books. You were prone to write at some point!

So I went and wrote all four- story and poem in English and Malayalam(my native language). And lo and behold, I won both story writing.

But the biggest surprise for me was a week later, when my previous Malayalam teacher, Mrs Bindhu, called upon me. I was strolling after lunch( not stalking my crush, I swear!)
She pulled me to one side, and said, Praveen, I read your story, and its absolutely stunning,well beyond my age.

It was a story about a drunk man who has an accident,and his last moments.My face must have been so red then!

I was pleased beyond myself. That was the first compliment I received that felt true, and it found a niche in my heart.
She said I had a great future, and that I should write more. But since I was in XI, she didn’t say too much.

I was on cloud nine the day. Beaming all around like a child who just got ice cream. A teacher, one who is on top of her subject, congratulates me on something I had written? Great Scott! I felt like the king of the world.

Ever since then, I swore to myself, I will never give up writing. Be it a line or two, I will always write something if I liked it. From then on, in all my books, papers, textbooks,along the pages and most definitely in the last page of the book, you will find something scribbled down. Please note that I didn’t had any method, any desire to be famous. I was content with my own words, with slight annoyance that some thoughts couldn’t  be expressed on paper.
Of all the things that has shaped me who I am, I can very clearly state that the two most important things that ever happened to me was

1. Reading Snow by Orhan Pamuk
2. Getting complimented by a teacher on something I wrote.

EGO

I am probably going to remember this for a very long time. Yep, you must have guessed from the title itself. Like you, I too have a very big,giant douchebag of an ego. I was pissed off about a particular friend of mine(She didn’t know it though). Things are bit complicated between us, but hey, we are friends still the same, and both of us understand each other. I had not talked to her for quite a while. She messaged me a couple of days back. I wanted to call her immediately, but my friggin ego made me give some one-word reply. She responded with an open ended answer,but i closed it with a shitty “mmm”.  I thought now she would be pissed off, and we both would sulk for some more weeks and then I would call her. But no, she messaged me again, and…I have never feeled so ashamed in my life. How can people loke her be so humble and unselfish?

I just know that this is one friendship I should never let go off. May the God she believes in, bless her all her life.

All these days, I had this dark, negative feeling around me, and now I am just sort of bouncing around in my room. I feel so happy!! 

Screw you ego! How many lives have you destroyed so far??

Throw away your ego people!  Call that person right now! Fuck it, buy a bunch of chocolates, some flowers, bring a carton of beer, sing and dance, give them the tightest hug you got and say that you are so damn sorry for being an asshole. You will come off better off it. Praveen guarantees.

The Lady by the Cottage

I was wondering what to write over here, when I realized that, I have not seriously attempted at writing a poem. Well, I sort of had written something up earlier, and thought I could just put it out here.

Will you bring your walls down?
Here I am,waiting at your door,
I can’t move from here,
I am going in circles.

Your wall seems to be growing taller,
I used to jump up and could see,
the wooden house, the enchanting garden,
and you by the swing.

Heard you had a beautiful castle,
with your doors wide open
and a wizard passed your way once,                                                                                                                                               and burned everything to ashes.
Oh, no wizard I am,
your neighbour next door,
ready to be the knight in armour
if something dreadful comes your way.

You have given this passerby
pleasant sight for his sore eyes,
He has heard the love in thee songs,
when none thought you spoke

My lady, there is a heart,that
yearns for thy songs,
yet the heart knows, that the destruction
by the wizard, was too evil

And that it takes time,
of which, you have none to spare,
as you need to leave this place
for all that must be done

For ask you to wait,
I cannot, and you know that too
So here I am, outside your walls
helpless, sore and lonely.

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