Empty rooms

Sometimes I like to look at my room from the outside, with its door closed. Things it has kept hidden inside, stay hidden. After years and years of perseverance of being, it has accumulated enough objects, memories, and sounds and it doesn’t shy away from flaunting all it has. It still has those incomplete conversations, buried in sobbings, controlled and some uncontrolled laughter, and forgotten pains. It still has the chai that slipped from your fingers when you were playing around. It still remembers the notes of the songs you always skipped. It has all the words unsaid during fights and all the in-head decisions that were unmade. It somehow has all the letters and greetings we burnt down the hallway. During the darkest of the nights, the fluorescence of your beamings becomes visible. Occasionally, the room leaks the water collected from the drippings of your raincoat, seemingly forming a stream down the memory lane. On starry nights it projects the remaining half of the French cinema that we had postponed indefinitely. In autumn it smells of the flowers you would bring from your hiking trails.

I like to look at my room from the outside and I wonder, does it still have everything inside? The outside world looks much more oblivious and forgiving, and I look at the closed door with mixed hopes. It keeps giving a probable fake reassurance, ‘Yes, everything inside is going to be inside forever, even if it’s empty.’ But I fear, maybe, just maybe I touch the knob to open it and my Schrödinger’s cat escapes on its own quest.

Notes: Slightly influenced by an old song, ‘mera kuch saaman’. Starting with the title, I had a thought: can rooms be called empty if their mere presence invokes emotions/thoughts? Fiction.

तुम

जब शामे ढलती जाती है,
हलकी हलकी रौशनी, रुकी रुकी सी रहती है,
तुम याद आते हो।

कभी आसमान काँप उठता है,
अनगिनत सवालों की बेड़िया उछालता है,
जब बरसातोंके जवाबो में सारे ही,
तुम बूंद बन कही कही नज़र आते हो,
तुम बहोत याद आते हो।

कभी जब राते अटक सी जाती है,
ना आगे बढ़ती है, ना सोने देती है,
आनेवाली हर ठंड की लेहेर,
और हर निकलते प्रहर के साथ,
तुम यूंही याद आते रहते हो।

दूर कही कही, ख़यालों में ही शायद
कोई खोई खोई सी किताब नज़र आती है,
तुम्हारे उस मधुशाला के पन्नो में,
जब हम अपना नाम खोजते फिरते है,
तुम हमारी नयी यादों का हिस्सा बनते जाते हो।

Notes: This is my first attempt at writing in Hindi, a language that sounds most poetic to me. I wrote this poem a day after capturing this sunset moment. Also, it rained heavily that day.

Afternoons

I look outside the window of my office. Sometimes, I see someone outside my window. (And I’m prompted to write something up, quick quick). Sometimes, it’s just the trees and some sunlight trapped in clumsy clouds, trying hard to find its way to light the boring afternoon, ‘one day, I’ll again get rid of the clouds and brighten your day, in and out.’ There’s a bit of sleep in my eyes and a lot more calmness in the air. I look away from my work and everything around starts getting into their characters, building their stories, and broadcasting them to the world, ‘We too have stories, wanna hear us out?!’.

These days I daydream a lot. After the fall, the trees here have become mostly barren, but not entirely. They seem to hang some weird balls on them, probably full of seeds. They still have one or two oldie branches, full of dry leaves, glued to the trunk with yesteryear’s perseverance. The tree can never turn them back to green, nor can it get rid of them. It is torn between slipping into the last spring nostalgia and doing its best to move on. But alas! it lacks enough balls to cover them up. I keep looking at their evolving relationship with utmost interest. More so when the extreme winter winds force the tree to bend and threaten to take away all the fancy balls and its hope for tomorrow. The branches reassure the tree, ‘we will never leave you and you see, will also protect some of your seeds!’. The tree pines for the spring to come.

My afternoon seems endless, but as time passes the tree looks forward to its daily meet with the birds. Morning birds are chirpy, but the afternoon birds are definitely more relaxed, ‘We also want to settle down, soon!’. I look at the pile of my work. Until this point of the day, I keep telling myself, ‘the whole day is remaining, will get done with everything today, as planned!’ The 4 PM sunsets in the midwest certainly do a better job at reminding me. ‘We’re done with our job today, and we call it over!!’ My daydreams get a sudden hiccup as I hastily try to pack up my thoughts and align my pile of work. The tree again looks at me and pacifies me, ‘The spring will come!’, ‘wink wink’.

Outside My Window.

I see you outside my window.
Do you see me yet?

The fall is falling on you.
Standing amidst the forsaken leaves,
do you remember the spring we had?
I still nurture that spring in my heart.
Will you once gaze inside?

The autumn colored leaves talk to you.
Ask if they also saw only their blossom,
when all the tree could see was their death?
My room now grows black colored leaves.
Don’t those leaves call you yet?

The Chicago wind runs through your hair.
And I am suffocating inside my room.
Will your wind carry some elixir for me?
I still see you outside my window.
What is making you deaf to my screeches?

The far faraway sun shines on you.
As the sky starts packing its sunset colors,
Where are you looking at, outside my window?
When the darkness blends me with everything else,
will then your indifference spot me inside?

Notes: I started writing this poem on a somewhat boring Saturday afternoon, which I spent in my lab preparing my presentation. I told someone ‘I see you outside my window’, which sounded a bit poetic :P. The 4:30 pm sunsets in Midwest are surely depressing, but this one ended up being super energetic as I challenged myself to write a poem starting with this line. Although the poem itself is a bit sad, as it talks to an old love, I had a lot of fun writing it. Tldr: I’m not depressed.

Nights

Often I get late while coming back from the office. My comfort chair waits for me with open arms. Somehow, it manages to look sadder with the time passing as if it pines for someone. Every day, I’m confused about whether to first remove my shoes, my bag, the office I’m carrying with me, or just carry it all and lose myself on the chair. Sometimes I lose myself on the chair and those nights never end.

As soon as I’m lost, my senses start playing all the illusions of my life. Rahul Deshpande’s voice penetrates all walls ever made, inside and outside, and my dreams suddenly get flattened on the super sharp teevra madhyam. At that moment, the whole world resonates at the same frequency as my dreams and nothing else matters. Sometimes, I look at the sky from my window and the stars pull me out, with all their force, yet I’m still on my chair. More often than not, there’s no rain, yet it’s raining and I’m completely drenched. I can see the reflection of all colors in every droplet falling on me and the petrichor is strong enough to topple me to become one with it. I ask myself, is this sleep? The chair pulls me further in and reminds, maybe not. I stay on the chair and yet cook the entire dinner and eat it. Cleaning everything after dinner is the most fun part to accomplish, and doing it from the chair itself is a cherry on top.

The day starts to set, long after the sun has set. Teevra madhyam slides down a bit now. It stays unstable for a while, while passing the madhyam, and both the gandhars. Gandhars make me utterly restless, despite being so calm themselves. There’s a rainstorm outside, and I can hear the trees and the leaves, although it’s very peaceful and serene. The soothing and misty moonlight seems to enkindle the uncalled for longings. There’s a glance of tomorrow and the day after and even further in time. My chair renounces all attachments as the Rushabh arrives and I’m on my own instability until I reach the komal Rushabh. A long breathless Bhairavi taan echos around, arousing some unknown emotions. The soft and gentle breeze of komal Rushabh lifts me up from the chair. And then, the night never ends.

Notes: This is about the everyday tired nights that get sucked into the sameness of the routine. Some nights, however, linger around a little more and make up a mark. These are my never-ending nights, often captivating because of a rich musical flavor. I can’t put in words what music has done to me, but not being able to put it in words isn’t something I can take either. So here’s setting the records straight with both of these.
Teevra madhyam is a sharp frequency, slightly higher than madhyam (ma). Gandhar (ga) and komal gandhar are below madhyam, and rushabh (re) follows komal gandhar. Bhairavi, a raag known for eliciting intense and multiple emotions, uses the distinct note of komal rushabh, which is largely kept oscillating.

Evenings

Sometimes I venture out in the evenings, to unexplored and a few overly explored places. When ambitious mornings and never-ending afternoons come to an end, the tranquil nights gain every right of pulling me out, “but this time just the soul, please?”. I leave all ties at home and yet the very door that I close reminds me of the keys I’m carrying with myself; to help me come back to this, only this place and bind to all the ties that I want to set loose, even for a while. I exit the corridor which still carries the bits and pieces of my identity to finally join the road where anonymity becomes a choice.

There is a new world out there. Blushing, flourishing, esoteric, and vividly eccentric, but it still has to wear a blanket of sanity. It has its own ties with the society that keeps on dictating the right and the wrong. There are more wanderers like me on the road, often confused as to whether they are masquerading as total strangers or continuing in their good old identities. They sometimes look into each other, and instead of acknowledging their existence, they look for the bag of their differences and identities. They gain power and pride from their disparities, “Yeah, I’m better”. Although sometimes all they radiate is the warmth, “I see a story from the past the moment I see you”, “I build a story with me in, the moment I see you. Glad you exist”. We all keep going forward; making, breaking, and anticipating multiple stories in mind. “I am important, ain’t I ?”

I sometimes take longer routes so that I can keep watching the sky preparing for the final showdown of the day. The yellow color clearly loses every single time, but often it makes sure to remind us that it’s the ultimate force. After being on the throne for a day-long, its ego doesn’t come in the way of blending in with its dethroners, “After all, I’m the maker”. Every day is set to rest with a beautiful pattern emerging out of the sky. The showdown is accompanied by a little play put up by birds. A flock of birds is always moving parallel to my direction and one or two kiddos are always left behind. They mess around and take a turn or two and again continue their journey, nudging me to look for my way back, “Wait for us, we’re coming, we’re coming!”. I’m suddenly reminded, “oh didn’t I plan to enjoy and contemplate on a few things while on the walk?”. Before becoming more mindful of the walk, I’m close to my place, already carrying the ties that I had left behind, “oh, but the sky was so beautiful, wasn’t it? After all what is tomorrow for, then?”

Red Flower

Was just waiting for it to happen. The inside was a complete reflection of the outside. There were zones. There were beasts. There were rabbits. Soothing water flowing as a connecting continuous river. Waterfalls. Crazy, noisy, scary waterfalls. Little pebbles and hard rocks. Mountains. A group of jackals, friendly and unfriendly. Elephants as the ultimate great philosophies everyone went to. A haunting night jungle lore. There was white noise, and innumerable insects producing it. It was all there. Then, it had Mowgli, who was allowed to enter a few zones. Some places; maybe not. But he would often drift away to the unexplored, captivating new places. He was the ultimate, unstable, wavering mind, perceiving surroundings as he would wander around.

Was waiting for it to happen. Things had recently started drying up. The trees, rivers. The food chain was completely rappelled. Every new day would bring more and more heat. Everyone knew the solution, but the question was how to reach the solution. The jackals had a meet with the rabbits. The elephants discussed with the rivers. The night lore sighed. The jungle needed a red flower. It was high time. A bright red flower, followed by seemingly unstoppable rains. Mowgli was still wandering in the jungle, largely unaware of the rapidly changing forest. But slowly, he had started noticing the dearth. Although he could feel it, being immature, he wouldn’t understand the problem and its solution. The night lore finally came up with the plan and its implementation.

One day, as the sun started setting, the trees began rubbing against each other when the whole forest was heated up. The monkeys pushed them hard. The rabbits set the dry leaves together. And then there was a bright ignite. Mowgli was asleep. The whole jungle shattered. Everyone ran around, took shelter together as planned by the jackals. The red flower bloomed all over the forest. It continued for the entire night and day, burning everything around to ashes, cleansing more and more unwanted stuff. Then it rained and rained and rained. The ash was completely wiped away. The dearth got over. It rained continuously for seven days. New seeds were sowed, new beings took birth. The river was flooded and the elephants took a refreshing bath.

Mowgli was drenched in the water. He successfully lived through the forest fires and the rains. The new world looked fascinating and pleasant. He thanked the rain god and the fire god. He went to check on his friends and said hi to the new beings. The freshness of the air and its scent took him to various places. He bowed down to the river and the clouds. The rabbits and the elephants shared a small laugh, ‘silly mind’, as always. The trees blinked, and the night lore took a deep breath, smiling through its eyes.

P.S. This post and this section (Just so Stories!) is a tribute to one of my favorite authors, Rudyard Kipling.

Notes : I wrote this story after watching the California forest fires from a plane, as the feature image shows. Every year, California has a ‘fire season’. Some people are sometimes charged for igniting a part of it, but most of the times, and from a long long time, the fires just start somehow, and keep burning everything for weeks, covering the state with smog and ashes.
This story is about the ‘inside’ of the mind, as much as it is about the ‘outside’ forest. Many times you’re stuck; you need to undergo transformations, structurize thoughts. You dissolve a few things, start afresh. Sometimes you give credit to the outside factors for making you who you are. But many times, things just happen from within. Can we always know how our thoughts/actions are influenced? Why do we depend on outside factors so much?

मी प्रवासी, अखंड.

‘आज बोलणार आहे मी. किती दिवस हा आवाज दडपणार आहेस? जाणीव होऊनसुद्धा असं वागणं म्हणजे बेदखलपणा झाला हा.’

‘समजून घेत आहेस तू? अरे त्या कर्णानं इथे याच विलक्षण तन्मयतेने उपासना केली, मीरेने स्वतःला अर्पण केलं, तर शिवाजीने अशक्यात शक्य शोधलं. मी तिथेच पोहोचण्याचा प्रयत्न करतोय, इंच इंच अंतर रोज काढत.’

‘खिजवायचं म्हणून नाही म्हणत, पण कुठे पोचला आहेस तू आजवर? इंच इंचाची गोष्ट करताना पुढे जातोयेस का मागे याचं तरी भान आहे ? आणि पोहोचायचय ते तरी कुठे? जाणून आहेस ना, अगणित अमर्याद ते गाठता यायचं नाही. कधीच. शक्यच नाही.’

‘शक्य आहे. कित्येक तरी संगीत उपासकांनी संगीतविद्येत शोधलंय त्याला. रामानुजन ने तर गणितात शोधलंय. विवेकानंदांनी ज्ञानात शोधलंय.’

‘कुठे शोधलय? कशावरून? आणि कुठपर्यंत? व्याख्या करता येतेय तुला, जिथे ‘पोहोचायचय’ त्याची?’

‘व्याख्या? करायलाच हवी का ती? ब्रह्मानंदी टाळी लागणे याचा अर्थ उमजतो? मला तिथे पोहोचायचय जिथे मी स्वतःला विद्येच्या उपासनेत, माझ्या स्वकर्मात, स्वतःला विसरून गुंग होऊ इच्छितो. आता ते नेमकं काय हे तिथवर पोहोचल्या शिवाय सांगणं अशक्य.’

‘प्रत्येक गोष्टीला मर्यादा असतात.’

‘मात्र मी मर्यादेपलीकडच्या प्रवासालाच लागू इच्छितो.’

‘कसं करणार आहेस ते मात्र? कसं समजेल आणि?’

‘खरंच फार कल्पना नाहीये, अजूनही. पण जे जे काही अगणित अमर्याद आहे ना, ते सगळं माझ्या विद्येची जोडत जाणार आहे मी. त्याचसोबत विद्येला ब्रम्हांडात एकरूप करत उपासना करत राहणार. बाकी समजायचा भाग. जर ह्या विद्येची व्याप्ती इतकी प्रचंड तर ती उमजायची, मोजायची गरज भासत नाही मला. तो एक फक्त अनुभव असेल अनुभव, अगणित आनंदाचा. आता तर माझा फक्त प्रवासच सुरू झालाय.’

‘नक्की शुद्धीवर आहेस ना, भान वगैरे हरपलं तर नाही ना?’

‘भान हरपायलाच हवंय. जाऊ दे मला. मी जाणार आहे. ह्याच वाटेवर.’

‘बरं. जा तर मग. उपासना कर. कधीच मागे वळून पाहू नकोस. आत्मविश्वासाला तडा जाऊ देऊ नकोस. ज्या क्षणी तुझा विश्वास बसेल की तुला माझ्या आवाजाची गरज नाही त्यावेळी तुला असणाऱ्या माझ्या आवाजाची गरज संपलेली असेल. किंबहुना तो क्षण आता आलाच आहे.’

‘हो.’

‘पण लक्षात ठेव. ध्येय अगणित अमर्याद म्हणून ध्यास सोडून न देता मर्यादेकडून अमर्यादा कडे जा. थेंबे थेंबे तळे साचे जाईल. विद्याप्राप्ति तीच ज्ञानप्राप्ती तीच ईश्वरप्राप्ती. आणि तीच स्वप्राप्ती. तिथे माझं अस्तित्व राहणार नाही; किंबहुना तुझंसुद्धा.’

Notes : Influenced by the trailer of an upcoming film ‘The disciple’, by Chaitanya Tamhane. This is a conversation between two contrasting sides of our mind, one which wants us to go forward and one which holds back because of potential risks. After watching the trailer, I kept wondering about the subject; how long and to what extent would we keep striving for excellence. Even after thinking of knowledge/ vidya as the ultimate goal, is there any end? If so, is it really the end?

I look up to you.

Been a while.

I’ve been busy pushing myself to explore newer dimensions of life. Here’s an update- I’ve started learning Hindustani classical. Been a while. The new spaces have been thrilling all along. The quarantine made me ask myself- what am I here for? What do I indeed prioritize? I designed a clarity, confidence, and control program for myself. Isn’t it thrilling to learn about what makes you gain the CCC’s over your life? I feel I’m still in the beginner stage of all this. All this while, clearly, writing has suffered.

Today, I was planning to start my work, and I consciously made an effort to understand the effect of opening my window in the morning. Rays of positivity rushed inside, making all my surroundings lit, metaphorically and otherwise. Every surface of my freshly cleaned table, and the walls, reflected the energy fully, scintillating the whole room. A group of house sparrows was chirping all the while, ‘we’ve started our day right, we’re fighting, we’re enjoying, come join us’. Looking at all this, I planned my day very passionately, thanking the energy that drives me.

Talking about positivity, here are some suggestions that I find extremely beneficial-
1. Atomic Habits- A book by James Clear
2. This Youtube Channel by Andrew Kirby https://www.youtube.com/channel/UC8JNIm02zw8h_3NBrP_zsZA

They chase me
All the way down
I look up to you.
They come after me
Through every dark shadow
Through every little disappointment
Through every little failure.
But I look up to you
You come here everyday
Shine on us mortals incessantly
Vary your brightness
But sparkle nonetheless
Bring in a counterforce.
They get rattled, baffled
The thoughts forget their existence.
I look up to you
You send innumerable rays
Each filled with an army
Full of ecstasy
Celebrating their beingness
“I exist.”, “I exist.”
I look up to you
I redefine myself.
Everytime, a bit more
More like you.

Quarantine effects

I was always against making this blog personal, for some uncertain reasons. Now that I think of it, I can’t pinpoint any particular cause. Maybe I didn’t want to associate more meanings to my writings, by revealing my character or any thought processes. I find it amazing to have ‘not so clear’ takes on stories, so that everyone who reads those would automatically explore the emotions from within, without thinking of the intention the author has. However, here’s the funny part. The first thing that usually crosses their minds is how I, as an author, came up with the idea or if I indeed go through those feelings/emotions. After keeping it way more abstract until now (at least from my point of view), now I find it okay to make it a bit more personal. It could be a quarantine effect too (:P). I would be updating my older posts too, wherever I can. Let’s see how this goes.

It’s been more than a month now; I’m stuck in a small apartment in Champaign, all by myself. It’s weird how everything operates. The light rays still get blocked because of the window curtains, but waking up in the dark isn’t the same as before. The supermarket is still right in front of my house, but seeing more number of vehicles parked there had never been more meaningful. Both of my flatmates have left permanently, but the word ‘permanent’ doesn’t carry the same meaning as before. Our favorite ice cream shop is closed now, killing all our summer frozen desires, and I regret not going there in the last snowy winter. I spent my last year in Mumbai, sharing a room with two other roommates, and here I am now, all by myself in a 3 BHK. I always stepped out of my place to study, but now my best attempt is the room next to my bedroom.

But life is not sad, and this is constant! I feel we all are more prepared now, to tackle everything that comes and disrupts our way of life. I wonder what would be the extent of things going wrong and the humanity still standing high. Of course, I’m aware that not everyone is as lucky as those of us who have enough resources, but I still see the majority fighting back hard. Many of my friends are stuck in countries like Italy, Spain, Germany, UK and everyone is going through the same crisis on personal levels. Living in isolation is actually not that bad, is an important realization. Yes, to some extent, we’re not getting everything that we used to get earlier, but time and peace are some of the gains. I could rediscover some of my joys, find time to appreciate some art, cook a lot of new things, and just be happy doing nothing. Also the quarantine seems to have made some insightful effect on human relationships too. I wonder if we would ever go back to our old ‘normal’.

This whole corona/quarantine scene apparently makes me see much more beauty around, which I would have missed otherwise. The spring is finally here, and I could see it coming all the while. Here are some snaps, which I took in this beautiful park near my place (the shots are no way artistic, just as the captions, but the scene was serene) :

The sky also looks as happy as it can get.