The Maudlin Conundrum

Why?

This one word is capable of posing the toughest question to whoever is willing to be asked. Why are we here? Why do we live the way we live today? Why must people pretend to be heartless and ruthless , individualistic, always pushing others aside for the sake of what is being asked of them; even though all anyone, everyone wants is to love and be loved? Why?

Why must I, like countless others, suffer the agony of this ill-conceived world, always bound by limitations and restrictions?

A lone girl’s incoherent wonderings, you may say. You may even go so far as to put to the whims borne by the sheer insularity that I must bear with, day in and day out.

Go ahead, look down upon me with your merciless stare and cruel smile as I writhe in anguish of my incapability to express myself, to articulate the torment in the deepest recesses of my soul.

You are no different. I was…I still am the same as you, always careful about not pressing my needs, my desires upon others, holding back words and thoughts that could wreak havoc on the delicate and yet shifting balance all strive to achieve; despite being pained at the very farce being made out of my life as well as of those around me.

Do not gaze me down with the veiled superiority that you possess…that you moved on with your life, held yourself together while I miserably failed. For a day will come…oh, whom am I kidding? It is there everyday, the mirror to haunt you in your dreams, the few moments of solitude that is always thrust upon you where you are face to face with what you really are and what you ended up becoming.

Why do you think people choose to throw themselves to things which will serve them no lasting purpose?

Look me in the eye and tell me whether you are truly happy. No…don’t give me all those nonsensical excuses – I’m contented, but I don’t have this…I can’t be happy until I achieve that…my relations tend to get troublesome, otherwise I think I’m fine - is your physical, materialistic life the measure of your fulfilment? I wish it had been so: it would have spared me the gnawing vehemence of seeking to tear apart my world, if only to discover it was real or not.

You and I, we are both besieged by demons of illusion. You cannot deny this – it will take me a little while more to work on your scripted persona, to delve into your equally distressed soul.

Do not sigh that way. Call me a heretic, for all you are worth and you will still know that I never meant to embellish my realisations, painting them as true for everyone else. Is it a crime, for me to show you my most vulnerable, perhaps deplorable side? Am I not allowed to practice the cherished virtue of honesty, even within these confines where there is nothing else to lose?

Or are you wondering, hell, worried that I will drag you down with me in the withering comprehension of our duly chaotic existence? That I will strip you of all you held dear, deemed necessary for survival, to your original, raw form?

I dare you; go on and shake me out of my delirium, knock sense into me, if you will. 

But you know I am right. I always will be.

A Tenuous Quest

I’m back from the dead! Or well, at least to me, it seems like that.

(This is going to be a deviation from my usual to the point posts, so you chose to read the rambling that follows, okay? I hope I make myself clear.)

Let me deal with all that I missed, nevermind the fact that I just barely stumbled out of finishing Boards before rushing to finish registering for CLAT and starting the preparations for cracking the same. (which also reminds me that I just learned how thoroughly I detest paperwork. Add to that how I ironically aim to throw myself into an administrative framework for a career. The Indian Foreign Service, with any luck.)

Ahem, before I completely forget about what I was going to say, back to where I started.

First, thank you all for your good wishes. With God’s grace, I have done well in my examinations. Now, I have been fortunate enough to be awarded by the very astute Supernick  at The Devil’s Workshop. The Overlord, of all things! To the awarder, I cannot thank you enough. I only hope I live up to all the praises.

My only contention is that I’m not eligible to pass on the award, mainly because I haven’t been stalking enough blogs. Scratch that, I haven’t been commenting as often to strike an acquaintance with most bloggers. So, my followers and all other readers, don’t be surprised if I’m suddenly here, there and everywhere. I should know as a writer that any feedback is appreciated and yet as a reader I hesitate to give the same. None of that anymore.  (It will take me sometime to catch up with reading, of course)

There, that’s done, what I had to say has been conveyed. Onto the part that will finally end the tiresome rant, I believe.

What I could all manage was a dismally short Inception fanfiction (my current obsession and I do have a tendency to randomly obsess myself with things, the predecessor to this wonderful movie being Big Bang Theory.) The reason I’m choosing to post it here is a hopefully not-in-vain attempt to garner more feedback than what I got on Fanfiction. Without spoiling it further, all I would add is that it’s written from Eames’ perspective.

Now I should really let my writing do the talking here.

... ...

He watches Fischer open the safe and spot the will, only to remove the pinwheel – their key to extraction – lying beneath.

It was done. The job was completed, successfully. He continues to watch impassively the scene play out between father and son.

Emotions. Sentiments. Feelings. So very captivating and more often than not the purpose of existence for majority of people.

To him, they were simply convenient.

An emotional block could easily turn out to be an insurmountable maze for a person of his profession but it was the very base for his deceptions as a forger.

Naturally, he has to get it right, always. In the world of extraction – and now, inception – there are no second chances.

It is at such times when he muses upon his ability to decipher the emotional strength of his subject from a perspective that allows no such indulgence on his part.

He only has to remember Dominic Cobb to be reminded of what attachments and even possessiveness can do to one’s subconscious.

(He would be lying if he claimed he knew the story. But it is not difficult to piece it together.)

It is almost strange, what love and fear – the two sentiments that comprise everything that could possibly dictate one’s actions – can do to people.  It is those feelings that manipulates every single time, always choosing to disregard the thought that he could be dealt with in the same manner.

Of course, he is no less immune; time will tell. No less immune than that stick-in-the-mud Arthur, with his seemingly subtle preference for Ariadne.

They had all gone to extraordinary lengths to cultivate the veil of professionalism and detachment to keep them from falling apart every single time they took on a job.

How long till it stopped working? He, despite his laconic, devil-may-care attitude, always comes face to face with that question.

The ignored thought still remains hanging: how long till he loses his grip on reality?

(After all, everyone is entitled to their share of self-doubts.)

But his mind quickly clears when the kick sets in and with a last look at his surroundings…the dream world, he undoubtedly knew of the one certainty he shares with everyone on the team (even Cobb, despite it being his last job)

He would be loath to leave it.

Castle Of Hope

“I hope I won’t lose my heart in this game of gamble called love.”

She sits by the dormroom window, wondering.

Daydreaming is a luxury she cannot afford. Pending assignments and reports, daily studying already lagging behind…yet she doesn’t care.

(After all, caffeine is always there to rescue her.)

But the thought, the nagging feeling doesn’t go away.

She’s had her share of falling for people. More than experiencing the bliss and the pleasures of being in a relationship, it was insecurity and despair and admittedly, envy.

Having one’s heart broken is enough to lose faith in love. Still, people persist, even for their entire lives, either going to finally find someone or being left alone.

She’s one of them. And she won’t end up alone. It is her belief, her solace that will someday turn into reality.

What is the harm in dreaming?

Maybe being a writer by hobby does make one romantic…perhaps foolishly so. But then again, isn’t it the hope, the desire of loving and being loved by someone is what adds a certain essence to those otherwise ordinary words?

Sometimes, the mere prospect of such a future is enough.

And that is why, even with a love life that is alive one moment, dead the next, she will keep hoping. She will look forward to playing the game called love.

Even if it meant losing her heart. For eventually, love is nothing without surrender.

“I’d lose anytime. But, if I believe that I can do it, then I can do it.”

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Written for my dear friend (and once writing colleague) Terry-May, who is and shall be my first overseas friend. Happy Birthday, Terry! I sincerely hope you like this. 


With this, I embark on a month-long hiatus. Shall be back once I'm done with the Boards. Till then, ciao! 

Threads Of Fate

What is it that I share with you?

 What is it that binds us together?

 In a relation, ever so uncertain, ever so tentative?

 It’s more than love I feel; it’s more than affection I feel,

 Your pure and gentle self, hidden behind a veil is what pulls me,

 To reach that unimaginable zenith, of something that is beyond

 The realms of this constricting world, the mortal chains of time.

 With you I fly, to that place, ever so desired,

 At this point, nothing matters to me

 Than the fact that I’m with you,

 Relations wither like flowers with time,

 But this moment is infinite, is eternal,

 We are together; nothing can change it

This moment of absolute love, that remains

 Engraved in our hearts, for as long as we live…

Wistful Reminiscences

Despite everything, we’re still friends, right?

Yes. I never wanted you to go away.

She reads through the words. They are just a few among the countless words exchanged over nearly two years.

Twenty four months (no, 22 months and 21 days, she corrects herself) are inconsequential in a life that is meant to go on for decades.

But sometimes, it’s enough to change your perspective altogether. More than enough.

It is what she has presumptuously claimed to be a relation of a lifetime. Even if it didn’t last long, it was something never to be forgotten, effaced from her memory.

It doesn’t rankle her to see that so much of her effort, time and emotional investment – to the extent that she naively thought she was in love -  seems to be going awry. That treasured beautiful relationship, nearly ruined only to be salvaged again. But the spark was gone and the distance grew only further.

She was no fool; she had been acutely aware of her feelings. It was by no means attraction or even romantic.  But she had been too idealistic in believing it could be reciporcated in the same manner. Had she misread the signs? Wasn’t intimacy possible in a friendship – did it always have to have those implications?

That understanding, that mutual affection, that fondness, she had been so happy. So…fulfilled. In hindsight, she was perhaps too forthright, too expecting. Perhaps trying to define it in the first place had been the biggest mistake.

She’s had her share of anguish, of despair. It is never easy to severe ties; it is always painful. To break away from the comfort of knowing he was there for her caused her unnamed agony.

Her first heartbreak. And it had been her doing alone.

 Believer of destiny as she was, she held back from assuming it was all over. Unrequited love was one thing, friendship was another. They had resolved to put the past behind her, hadn’t they?

The future is always uncertain. She would never know. If only…

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If you are thinking this is what an approaching Valentine's does to me, well, it's not true. ^^

On the contrary, it is meant to be cathartic in nature. This is milder in comparison to this outpouring.

In any case, that is all I'm letting on. :)

Mortifying Consciousness

I’m unwilling to do anything, to even write, but I force myself to grip the pencil and scrawl across the gleaming pages of my pristine notebook, throwing methodical mannerisms to the wind as I have no patience to bear with a forcefully elegant fountain pen.

…And yet again, I focus on the trivial. But that how is my mind works, my thoughts run. For it is my belief that it only takes a few words and an encompassing perspective to breathe life into the most mundane of things. And so it is – I spend every waking moment trying to create such scenes, in a vain attempt to appease my insatiable desire to feel…well, touched, even inspired.

A mammoth task for someone in the grip of disillusionment.

Disillusionment: a perfect word for describing the very void which everyone faces at some point of their lives and subsequently tries to escape. That vacuum which I’m currently face to face with. The void which speaks of nothing but the bitter, unchanging truth – reality is merely an illusion and this world, our lives are equally transient, expendable and perishable. We who are entangled in the charms of this world are only too aware of the ephemeral form we inhabit and gaze upon everyday in the mirror. And we, as always given to fear, run away, seeking to distract ourselves from our impending certainty – with what, I think I hardly need to illustrate.

It is through such existential ponderings that I have been stripped of all that I have ever known about myself – feeling nothing, unable to relate to anything.

How does it feel to wade through mechanical, repetitive actions merely meant to ensure your survival in the society, knowing you have absolutely nothing to look forward to?

This merely scratches the surface of this limbo-like condition.

However, enough of this morose stuff. My purpose to write was – as a person does during times of crisis – to try and create something that I could revel in, hoping meanwhile it will last long enough to take me through this dark tunnel of a phase to see light at the end. For my being is trained to respond to stimuli and my mind, as fickle as ever, always craves for the unexplored. It must be something profound enough to negate this state of nothingness that I’m presently caught up in.

But then again, what do I even write about? 

Essence

You were always there, standing

Not by my side, but behind

Lurking in shadows, lest

You come in my way.

Even though I was never fulfilled,

Going further and further, in vain

Seeking to be completed.

Yet did you not ever think

Of making me realize

That what I sought was so ephemeral,

Fading at the slightest touch.

How foolish I am, despite

Crawling back to your embrace every night;

You were my own to call, my very refuge,

Always reminding me of the knowledge

Not yet turned to wisdom: I am nothing

And will return to nothingness.

Till the journey ends, you shall remain.

For even if I may call the shots

As the illusion fades, I will be

Just another creation, another lifetime.