Dreams...w(h)ither dreams

There are times when everything points in the same direction. More than two conversations I have been having today are all about what people want and what prevents them from achieving what they want.
I have always thought I do not know what I want. So I asked others if they suffered from the same ignorance. Some said we were in the same boat. But many others said they knew what they wanted, but could not pursue it for fear of hurting those who are close to them.
Is it justified to forgo one's dreams so that people around do not get hurt? Is it not in some ways a treachery to one's own purpose in life? Where does one draw the line between 'my wants' and 'the results of my wants'? Till when do I think about how my actions will hurt those around me? Till when do I hold my dreams ransom to those of others? To social compulsions, family traditions, peer pressure? Aren't all of these in the long run, some kind of social constructs that we create and we can dismantle at will?
How sacred are these external impulses that we internalise? How sacred is anything? For that matter how sacred are our dreams?

Will the Phoenix rise again? What will keep it going? There are no dreams to give wings to its flight.

Love's labour lost

Flap flip flap

The bird has flown the nest.

On a bright, sunny day, when the heat decays everything it touches,

The bird has flown its nest after years of breathing, living, growing.

The egg had hatched on a cold night in March…Yes, there used to be cold nights in March not so long ago.

The tiny bird came out, wary of everything and everyone around.

It was happy to be alive and out of a cramped, limiting shell.

It learned to breathe on its own,

But did not know its nature was to fly. It ate what came its way

From the warm embraces on hot, humid afternoons to the loving gazes across the greens.

It fed on the long walks through eternity

On debates from God, to theatre to sex

It did not judge, did not grudge and did not budge.

It lived as it thought it should.

There were some who told it to learn to fly for it would have to fly some day.

It scoffed at their ignorance.

After all, not every bird flies, some

Soar and others

Glide and still others become

One with the breeze that threatens to destroy them

So our little bird was content in what it saw as the essence of its life.

There were fights with its conscience, some with the world,

There were long distances within itself, paces to be covered in so little time.

It learned to make the most of what it was given.

Gradually, the world became more important than its own conscience.

There were voices in its head.

And these voices were different from the voices that had questioned what people had always told it.

About flying, fighting and fearing.

It started learning new meaningless things such as

Fear – of parting and not being able to live after that

Pain – of separation and inability to balance between the voices within and those outside

Guilt – of not being able to fulfil expectations and not being able to accept limitations

Doubt – about itself and its abilities and its potential

Envy – of everything around that seemed happy as it thought it could never be

These feelings became a burden. Yet the long summer nights and the short winter days,

The hours spent away from the world discovering itself,

The effort put in to adjust, accommodate and understand kept it from falling apart.

But in secret, the bird taught itself to fly.

So that when the Moment came, its skills would not be found wanting.

And in secret, it kept waiting for the Moment.

It kept looking for the Moment,

Lived anticipating it

Preparing for it

So much so that when the Moment finally came, it did not realise when it flapped its wings and flew, glided and soared.

But from that distance, when the delirium of the wings it had taken died, it looked down on what was left behind.

In a split second, that cold night of March came back into view.

Along with it came the years it had spent dreaming, daring and Living in defiance of the Voices Outside.

It saw what it had once owned and had now lost.

It saw the essence of its being, and how far behind it had left its soul.

And in that split second, the Earth and the Heavens did not stay still.

The Earth kept spinning around the Sun and the Heavens kept rumbling

The bird forgot to flap its wings.

The memory of its past life caught up with its future and brought its present to the ground.

And in that moment, the bird lived and died its destiny.

Something that began in March 2003 and has ended so many times, only to rise like the Phoenix...but this time, the ashes have become cold

Random thoughts II

I have come such a long way from myself that I have lost sense of direction.

Now, I don’t know along which turn I left myself

Or how to go back to who I was.

But it doesn’t matter does it?

It seems to be such an impossible thing to lose oneself.

After all, I must be the sum of my experiences.

So all the turns I took would eventually lead me to my destiny.

No matter how far I run, where I hide, and what mask I don

My destiny will find me.

After all, this is Kali Yuga.

I have to receive my punishment and award here and now

Before Yama comes for me

Before I become one with the universe that bore me

Before I embark on the next journey

Towards my nirvana, my destiny.

Looking for answers. Went on a long drive across the city. Surprisingly, did not take a single photograph. Was with one person who always makes me happy. Surprisingly, even she could not remove the pain and the numbness I am feeling. Saw more lights and firecrackers than I have in the last five Diwalis put together. Yet the darkness within is far from dispelled. What am I looking for? What is lacking? Where will I find what I am looking for?

Let there be light...

Diwali, the festival of lights. Some bitter truths, some unnecessary arguments, some tears and some smiles. And a lot of food. And an inability to recall where I have been on Diwali last 7 years. I have managed count till 2004. Anybody knows where I was on Diwali 2003 and 2002?

Rag doll

I made a doll the other day,

Nurtured her with all my love,

Clothed her with my affection,

And dreamed many dreams for her.

Gave her the best money could buy,

A sound education to guide her life,

Trained her to think,

To be independent,

To ask questions,

To follow her heart with courage and conviction

But when she did follow her heart,

And made a choice that fell below my expectations,

When she did stumble on the path I chose for her,

I couldn't help but berate myself.

I couldn't but help regret giving her the wings to fly

Now that she wanted to fly the cosy nest

I had built with nights of wakeful vigilance

Sacrifices made with a loving heart

Criticisms from the world I dammed within myself,

I felt my heart would break when she flew

I felt the fear of the lives I had seen ruined

Cast their shadows over her future

I mourned my love for her, my blinded love

That forbade me from shackling her dreams

When she was dreaming

All I could see was the path she took

Was the path not chosen by me

And it was a path less travelled,

A path less known,

And a path I had little faith in.

And I had not the confidence my princess

Would cover the distance she chose

But somewhere something nagged me

The fear that a wrong decision she made

Would show badly on how I brought her up

So I took back what I gave her,

The confidence she had in my faith

The conviction of her choices

The beacon of her dreams

But at least my doll is with me now

A bit bruised here, a bit bruised there

But at least she will be safe in my embrace

At least she will be happy in my gaze

To measure up, to show off and to love unconditionally again

There are a number of thoughts rising up like bubbles in boiling water. But surprisingly I don't have any questions for anybody. I am sure everyone has reasons for everything they do. I have a lot to think about. I am looking for clarity, for a footing on which to place myself so that I like what I see. Right now, there is a bruised soul, confused beyond redemption, shrouded in self-doubt and self-deprecation, waiting to see the light of day. But as a Russian joke had it, has recession forced God to switch off the light at the end of the tunnel?

There's rain outside and rain within