Gol Si Dunya


Of all the stories–this one makes the most sense. It is the story of coming and going, of circles and commotion, of pictures and pastels and moving trains. Like all stories–no one feels anything and everything happens all at the same time. Like most stories–no one leaves and no one stays. Like no other story–you wait and you fail.

In that dusty room with the dull walls entrenched in gloom–pictures of happy ghosts stared at him. There was smoke but he was not smoking. There were fire flies–thousands of them and they suffocated him. There was a door–which was closed and from the other side he could hear voices of people and laughter and he could not go see what they were and listen to their stories for he did not know what they meant. But the door was not locked–it was just closed. And he did not know the faces of the people even though he saw them everyday–every night–every moment. He did not recognize them. He did not understand the language they spoke because he was not who he was.

There was a storm which brewed somewhere outside the window which was halfway shut–because there was light but not enough light. Outside was just an empty sky–which told him nothing. Outside were children playing on the grass and riding the swings–and he could not tell if they are happy or sad, red or blue, living or dead!

And there was a sparrow which always came to sit on the big willow tree outside his window. It would just look at him with dark melancholic eyes–and he would smile. Because it reminded him of things which were never to happen. Was he happy or was he sad? Was he living or was he dead? Was he a sparrow or was he a firefly? Was he the sky or was he the sea? Could he feel or could he fly?

Those who were outside the room would keep knocking, trying to get in–to peer and to color him purple. They did not realize that time was an abstraction–and there was no time and if there was, they were out of time. His room had no clocks. Just walls which seemed perturbed. And still–there was knocking on the door–they could enter, for the door was not locked and they would stop momentarily and start knocking again.

He did not know anymore–whether it was day or night? Summer or winter? Whether he was or he wasn’t–for he had no mirrors or music or color. He was a vivid figure, a shapeless form who was stuck in a room–that was not even a room but a block.

The storm had taken over him. There was lightening and thunder. And anger and wrath. All, everyone spoke to him in were languages unknown and foreign to him. And he never knew what it all meant. Because he was a paroxysm of empty unhinged feelings.

And every day, before waking up–he would see choirs and songs and bards–and roses on tall trees. There were paintings of naked Greek women and Roman men–and orgies of filthy rabid dogs. Angels sang hymns about the absence…the great Absence. Regret lamented and Glory prayed. And on a rusty bench–a red haired girl sat and kept staring dead at the horizon. And she would always wait for him to come and she would wait for him to leave. So he sits in the yellow train and passes the hazy shadows and pastel colored buildings but the train always goes in circles…

He would wake up in sweats–in the room which is not even a room but a block of clay. And there is smoke around him–and a thousand fireflies dancing above him suffocating him. And from outside the door are noises–unfiltered laughter and conversation. And he does not understand what it all means.

It is a story like all stories. No one enters it and no one ever leaves.

The Grand Illusion


We–are all, everyone of us, a part of this grand deception. This great illusion. The illusion being that we are not alone. We may have many people by our side. We may have a family. And a million friends. And we may be perfectly bonded and in tune with the nature. But, we are all alone. Each and every one of us. We are all fragile. And we all have this need to grow apart from everything and everyone. This need is the reality. And when we do move apart from the millions of faces and the thousand and one voices—we linger on quietly in a world that is created for the lonely. We sit there and stare and ponder. We are meant to be alone.

This is the grand illusion–crowds.

And so—we hear music.

Microcosm of a Mirage of being Mesmerized.


What is a mirror image? What is it? We all know the answer. But we don’t.

In this microcosm–we are a part of a mirage–of being spellbound, mesmerized. We don’t quite know it, but only because the illusion engulfs us.

But why are we mesmerized in the first place? Because we choose that over reality. Because we are in fact just scared of the truth. And the truth is–that no matter who is there by your side, how many people, pets and friends or lovers–we are alone.

Alone as the space. Empty as the space.

But where did this mirage come from–why is it there? The reason being the fact that we choose being spellbound over reality–the mirage is nothing more than a smoke screen. if the mirage wasn’t there–we’d know the truth. The truth will snap at us.

Truth. What a horrifying word.

Reality. What an abhorrent word.

but these two go hand in hand.

Truth is that this macrocosm will end one day–ending with it the microcosm we are a part of. But we suppress this fact. We linger in hope for continuity. We ignore it.

But our life is a sham.

It is a prose that no one understands–poetry that everyone rejects. Of course there is music in the background–we move to it. But that music is a mirage too.

How do we cater to all this? How do we take it all in, in one go?

We don’t because we cant because we choose not to.

The happy faces–the mesmerized state is but a mirage. You learn that life is a beautiful tragedy. You lean on people who are nothing but a wisp of smoke.

Love–hate. Smile–tears. Happy–sad. Easy–hard.

These are just states. In a transition. Life–death.

You are enough, yet you fall short of yourself.

But we happily linger because we are confused of everything–but we linger in our microcosm which is a mirage of being mesmerized. Because that is what our instinct tells us to do.

We never find out about this microcosm of a mirage of being mesmerized. We don’t dig the layers because it will reveal to us the truth.

Truth. What a pitiable illusion about reality.

Reality. What a curse.

Everyone deserves something!


We are all people with more or less practical human qualities.Yes, we are all in a way or two humans. And we all…yes everyone deserves something.

Some deserve romance. Others a broken heart. Others…a slap across the face. And yet we all end up alone somehow.

So yes…this is meaningless all of it i suppose.

People like me…we deserve to be able to close our eyes and just relax for a moment. We deserve a moment with ourselves.

Forever Lost


Have you ever had a walk…….alone. On a never ending road…Even in your imagination?

I have…many times. With just me by my side.

And so as i walk, there is a cascade…of mostly feelings, from the eyes.

Mostly the wind hits the face many times….as if slapping you and telling you how lonely you are, always were..and maybe, always will be.

Its an empty road, but even in the emptiness, there are memories.

Memories can be tough on some one who does not know how to deal with them.

You get to know that your life has a lot of loops and it is all tangled. And you are the only one to make it right.

Listening to the world go by is not very easy for some one who does not want to let it go.

You remain silent, because there isn’t anything to say.

You know you are being followed, by your shadow…and you know you will take it nowhere, after all its you shadow and shadows follow where ever we take them.

And you want to reach the horizon, but you still have a long way to go. And you are tired, you want to sit somewhere, but there is no place to sit. So you just stand there for hours, not knowing what to do.

Your pupil will stare in a trance, because that is all there is to it. that is all you can do.

It is just a long road..a stretched out long road.

And its then, that you forget what you came looking for, because you know you were finding something..but what?

You don’t know the answer. And many cars pass you by…but you are walking.

You are tired but you must go on.

And whats ironic is that you don’t even remember why.

You have no one to talk to, except yourself.  And that drives you crazy.

Suddenly you realize that you are lost.Because you don’t know where you are going to and you don’t remember where you came from.

Because you left it far behind. 

You are in the middle of nowhere.

And you are helpless. So you sit down at the side of the road, and recall everything.

Tears gush out of your eyes..and that music in you ears isn’t  magical anymore. But its still there.

No you are not crazy, you just wanted to find…something that you don’t remember anymore.

You are just sitting there, while the people in the cars stop at you and look at you with pity. But you don’t know the faces at all.

You realize how triumphant it all is. It seems that you have been going on for infinity.

Then realization hits you…you have always been lost.

You never knew where you were going to. And you had forgotten a long while where you came from.

So you just sit there….realizing …..for a long time.

That is when it all becomes clear. In your head and in your heart.

So you get back on your feet..and start moving…

You know..that you were always lost. You are lost right now..and you must keep moving till you get somewhere.

Or till you figure it all out. Or till you remember. Because you know, that the road does lead somewhere..

So you keep following it, while your shadow follows you..and the music is still there….

You know…that you are Forever Lost.

And you must keep going so you can figure out why.

Till that time comes…You remain..FOREVER LOST!