The Rebel

He was fed up of writing about the skies and the stars, the sun and its rays, the stars and their shine, the night and its solemnity, the morning and its gaiety, the birds and their chirping, the rivers and their gushing, life and its perpetuity.

He was somehow fed up of writing about Life & the living. How could he betray himself when he actually held conviction contrary to what he wrote ! He didn’t wish to stay a hypocrite anymore and the truth was life had exhausted him to an extent that he , in reality, was a weary, wretched person. Life had sucked the marrow out of him.

His words were like mere show pieces…embellished…like filthy trinkets… Others read him and derived a certain pleasure….they reckoned him to be a ‘literary prodigy’. They praised his writes … they said how flawless he was, how fluid his writing was while in reality, he was the only one to know how much he had to struggle, how much he had to shred his soul , how much he had to articulate those ghastly lies to his conscience to come up with an embellished deception that THEY so ardently exalted!
While he mystically and radiantly lauded life in his inscriptions, the one inside him believed Life to be a shroud covering a despicable dead body of his.

But how long could he confine the rebel in him… The one that wanted to break open this catacomb of myth that he had been creating in his pieces ? He ardently waited for the day when he could no longer take the weight of his own lies. He waited for the grand mutiny to happen.

And the obvious did happen.

Once he picked up his pen to begin writing a new piece of mendacity. The pen revolted. The ink dried and so did his soul that could bear the anguish no more. The bitterness of his rotten inside swelled up in the form of the saline tears in his eyes. The drops trickled from his eyes, tumbled down his cheeks to reach his lips and he tasted them.

He tasted his own bitterness, his own excrement, his very own venom and he dropped dead on the paper ! The mutineer in him bellowed, broke open the vault of the carcass and came out with one sudden spurt of his breath through his mouth. He moaned shrilly and closed his eyes.

Who could stop the rebel? It smirked at the dead carcass. It knew it was liberated. It flew away promptly to a region beyond the understanding of an ignorant Euclidean brain.

When parenthood needs a child like nurture

Neera’s eyes were glued to her son’s cherubic countenance. Anirban, her son, was engrossed with his sand castle… He diligently mounded sand, tried to give it a castle like shape... With his little hands, he kept heaping sand to make it larger and bigger.

Neera thought how guileless he was. Anirban , didn’t know that his castle was ephemeral. He had no clue that the slightest wave of the sea would demolish it, leaving not even the smallest trace of it. He thought it would last forever and that he would visit it everyday and heap more sand to it to make it larger than before.

For a moment, Neera felt if she could stop the sea , raise a wall to protect her son’s castle from its waves. She knew, how disappointed Anirban would be to see the sea devouring his prized belonging. She didn’t want to see a tear in his eyes. She wanted to take him away, before a wave could perish his creation.

Anirban, caught his mother’s sight. He smiled at her and resumed his work again. She felt a warmth in her heart to see her child smiling. She wanted time to stop forever for she never wanted him to grow up. She wanted to treasure that very moment, she wished if he could continue building the castle and she could keep watching him, happily engrossed in his work forever. She wanted his innocence never to fade away... She wanted him in her bosom at that very moment… She wanted him to stay far, far away from the cudgels of time, from the brutalities of the world, from the harsh realities of life. She wanted to savor that very moment when life’s race appeared to take halt and everything was as tranquil as the sea.

While she thought about such things that were beyond the scope of practicality, she heard him calling her.
“Mumma , mumma, how does my castle look?”
She fervently exclaimed, “Beautiful!”
She went to him, stroked his hair and kissed his cheeks.
He felt rewarded. He thought his efforts have been paid. He hugged his mother tightly.
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The sea, seemed to look at the castle, with a devouring hunger. Its waves, like raven claws, relentlessly endeavored to pounce on it. It continued to eat away the castle little by little and then the sea, with one lashing wave, annihilated the entire structure. The sand heap fell decapitated and was entirely pulverized. The sinister wave, after satiating its evil hunger, retracted, as if its contrivance had been successfully executed.

Anirban, witnessed it all and so did Neera. She felt her heart torn asunder. She saw a tear drop trickling from her son’s eyes. He rubbed it soon, however.

“Lets go Ani”, she said in a mellowed voice.

“Why are you sad, Mamma? I would make you a stronger castle tomorrow.”
Pointing with his little fingers at a place where the waves were not creeping in, he remarked “I shall make it there and the waves won’t be able to touch it.”

He smiled at her consolingly, reassured her that nothing had been lost.
She kept gazing at him. She wondered, “Perhaps, he is growing up. Perhaps, it’s me who is relying on him. Perhaps, time doesn’t always decay things.”
He took her hands and she grabbed his little fingers.

She found herself guided by him all the way to their home.

After a long hiatus

Hey Word!

Its been long since we last had our clandestine tryst. I won’t say that I missed you… You never were a necessity as such but you lend me a meaning and make a part of me complete. The intercourses that we have had have always left me wanting for more. You have always implanted in me a lust that I had to satiate somehow. Today, after days of practicing celibacy, I could resist myself no more and here I am once again, to have a grand communion with you.

During your absence, I read , I reflected, I meditated, I principled and even transgressed those principles. I continuously underwent the change. The learning and unlearning in me kept happening. Some life changing events happened during this course. I got a ‘job’ that the world hankers after. I sometimes wonder, I got something that I know no value of. I tried to be happy.

I was happy when I thought about my loved ones. I wasn’t quite happy (wasn’t sad either) when I thought of me. Did I actually want this? I am yet to find an answer.

Mind and its perpetual quandary. May I release myself for a while from this cage of confusion? Yes, I must for life is way beyond the crossroads that it puts us at or the TWO choices that it presents before us.

I have been reading ‘Walden’ by Thoreau. Every sentence that I understand, my consciousness voices that ‘This is how a perfect life is built.’ Thoreau was a man of true genius and he devised his way to a perfect transcendental life.
Thoreau and Nature are one and the same. Nature being unable to vociferate her feelings, Thoreau voices them. Thoreau is Nature’s vocal cord.
I want to visit Walden once to let Thoreau seep in me through every pore in my body. Walden or any other place of such exemplary beauty, of such panoramic landscape , of such virgin purity, of such reflective divinity. Through the book, I have pictured Walden in my mind. A Walden where solitude speaks, where silence reverberates, where a mind is at its most active state, where happiness is tangible, where life metamorphoses into eternity, where time takes a halt, where age and senility never cast their dark somber clouds.

I want a cottage as Thoreau’s. A cottage where necessity and space complement each other perfectly, a dwelling where Sun’s and Nature’s infringement is highly welcomed, a place where energy is never exhausted and it gets replenished at every moment.
I cannot lead a life as ascetic as that of Thoreau but still I can replicate a meager percentage and imbibe some of his values to improve my life.

Quoting Thoreau , “Most of the luxuries and the so called comforts are not only not indispensible but also a hindrance in the elevation of mankind.” A man can NEVER find solace in property and status. Freedom lies in much simpler items that money cannot buy, that status or power cannot achieve.
When I read Thoreau, I find no pretense in him, no urge in his writes to be read. Those are some prized reflections, something that Thoreau recounts from his experience, from his learning. They are so honest, so rustic and so fresh.

I can well interpret how clear headed Thoreau was. While you read Walden, never for a moment you shall feel dull or depressed. You’ll feel recharged every time. That is Thoreau’s magic. He infuses in the soul a reinvigorated spirit to live, to see life through a different prism.
Walden is a poem, a Nature’s melody that can never become a monotone. A melody that drives you to depths of your inner self or that elevates you to heights unfathomable. Thoreau is a pearl that his book Walden safely caches. While you read Walden, it isn’t necessary that you shall get the Pearl. Thoreau isn’t easy to access , isn’t retrievable but is ever shining. You will be left bedazzled by the Pearl while you explore the Walden. For certain!