Really.

It's about this. Really. It's about the pure joy of a novel creation, the non-judgemental love of your closest friends, a coffee with buddies, the unadulterated fun that overflows so naturally, those strong bonds with long time buds that distance never manages to erase, the beauty of trees swaying on a rainy day, the melody that takes you beyond time, those moments where you get mesmerized by the brilliance and creativity of the past generations, of people who have left their mark on time in any form, the effervescence that comes from a great beat, an aha moment, the impact you make, the baby in a halloween costume, making your dad proud, thinking about your favorite teacher, talking to an old chum for hours about 8 year old memories, making that one finger-licking dish, cheering up your collegue after an especially stressful day, admiring the cuteness of your newly purchased socks, random girltalk leading to that deep bond of trust, the guilty sweetness of sleep after the snooze, the feel of cool gushing air that drowns music on the freeway, the bliss of an approaching Friday evening, its about this. Its about stopping in your tracks. And getting a perspective. Really.

Finally, Mao explained...

Maoism is not just a concept; it is a way of life, like chouism. Maos are the cutest , most adorable creations of god, and have a terrible self-respect that can even cause them to purr and claw.

For the uninitiated, the ones who have been ignorant of this powerful maonfluence in their life, here are some of the semantics of the language:
1. The classic antonym, the one that has for ages depicted the contradiction between good and evil, sweet and sour, man and machine, and similar, is called chou and ghou in mou linguistics.
Chouuuuu=> all the goodness and appreciation , ghogho=>figure it out
2. All the sentences, or the string of words u choose to end abruptly, always end in the past perfect tense-as zaal hot, bi ke nye kel hot beeet
3. The intent of the words can dramatically vary by the tone of the voice used to express it. As I said, Mao is not just a medium of communication but a way of expression for the Mao within you. You really have to feel it before you say it.
4. The language revolves around mao, or cat in mao language, and all the different variations around it. As a matter of respect, there are a multitude of words dedicated to the mao, and often times words are formed out of sheer awe for the mao. Meaaw, ,myyawww, myafooo, bnaaf, myaaf, myuff, maopona, mu, bu, bao, moew, and the like
5. Of course the Webreet has to exist too, and have its presence felt. Though generally timid and shy, the webreet is a very intelligent being, and can sometimes even try and provoke the aggressive mao. It always runs in fear in the face of danger, but wants to try and mentally attack the mao given the chance. It is the best friend of the mao. Some of the many ways of addressing the webreet are tibre, shibweet, mingarweet, chingarpingarweeet, squibreet, wubrgeet etc.
6. Maos place great importance in sleeping tight, and hence one of the principles of the language is GURGOOT. Mao lok gurgoot xoptaa. The webreet on the other hand is tibik in all its actions, and hence TIBIK is another fundamental that students of the language should master.
7. The mao loves to roam and loves to go on drives. It also enjoys breaking speed limits. It likes randomness like this.
8. On days when mao gets tired, or is forced to walk, it cribs and complains in the following manner…..paaaay dukhtaaa…..ani thendi vaaaxteeee….ani paay dukhtaaaaa…ani thendi vaajte…..ani paaay dukhtaaa…..
9. The disciples of the mao chant these hymns each morning and also in times of danger, like deadlines, maaooponaaa…..bola maoponaaaa…..maoponaaaa

Following are some of the nuggets you might hear in a mao conversation:
• Ehie, he tor zaal pon hot choupone minje asa
• Hein, hein karaych hot beet, manath
• Wubrgeeeet, wubrshubwgeeetttt
• Mao lok kashe xopta? Gurgoooot. Mao lok kashe basta? Tibik.
• Moja pon aaal hot, wawaaaa
• Nye nye, bi thod, kepon fukie maarla asat hihi

If the mao in you has found a calling after reading this, and it can no longer be suppressed by the vices of this vile world, welcome to the mao following, and join its ever-increasing clan worldwide.

To a friend

Like a petal that forgot to blossom
Like a distant star that forgot to flicker
Like the evening orange that saddens silence
Like the monotone of the heavy hush
Like the sensation I could never capture
Like the cool black shrill that pierces the night
Like the bond you could never define
Like the music that lost its way
      & wandered into my life
you will be lost in the depths of my mind
      & there will be no escape.

A scent from the past

For no reason at all, I went through my archive of clothes today. A really old but graceful dress waited in a bundle. I lovingly picked it and happily went about my day.

Just as I finished my breakfast, something wonderful happened. I was taken aback. It was a scent, a distinct one. It was a scent from the past. I took a pause to savor the moment. A strong emotion swept my mind. It seemed like I was meeting an old friend, someone who had been lost in time. I tried to recollect it; a vague ambience flew by. Nothing concrete. I smiled to myself and left for work.

All of a sudden it was again there…a whiff of the same fragrance, slightly sweet, ever so light. It was a memoir from a point that had disappeared in time and memory. Why did I feel so strongly about it? Did it remind me of someone? Did it remind me of a frame of mind, a state of life, a beginning? Did it remind me of lazy afternoons with friends, of evenings spent working with fervor? Did it remind me of the times I had smiled to myself, the times I had been elated, the moments of anticipation? There it was again, haunting me as I drove to work. Was it a perfume, a talc? It was just that…a scent from the past.

I thought about it on my way home. It was just so personal, the dress, the scent, the feeling, it made me so nostalgic, it pulled at me…tried to tell me something I could not understand. It tried to bring to me all those umpteen unimportant moments of life that are lost in the tracks of time, but are still very much you. It was a maddening feeling, the whiff of this fragrance; it ached my heart in a way I could not decipher.

As the day drew to a close and I reached home, I paused for a while before I changed. I wanted to keep it forever. I wanted to capture this scent and keep it crystallized…somewhere. Maybe someday, I hoped, someday, something would bring the scent alive, tell me more about my conversations with myself, take me back to those nostalgic times in life, give a form to this enchanting feeling. For now, the memory of the scent continues to haunt me; fascinatingly mysterious, yet so familiar, slightly sweet, so haunting.

Crystal Daybreak

In the waft of this cloud
In the silence of this jingle
Nothing ever seemed so serene and perfect
The heavy hush dragging itself
The sweet coolness, unable to hide its color
A single molten leaf drifts by
Crystal clear, pure, perfect
Heavy footsteps complement this silence
Gracefully they sway
At the pull of the hush
The jingle plays along
Light, as never before
Wetness, reminding of snow
This magnificent frame in which I stand
Hues of watery yellow, playful blue,
The shine of the bushes faraway
A squirrel darts by
Music floats, and a leaf stirs in magic
Shivering water, unwilling to move
Sharp edges, and the hush silences
Feelings condense, as my mind still unaware
Floats along
What corner of existence is this,
Timeless, selfless
Vapors dance for a moment
As warmth fights to creep out
A sudden radiance, a sheen to this magic.

The difference

I lost a single one
It made all the difference
Took away my clean slate from me
Pulled at my integrity

Everything summed up into that one
The angst, the hurt, the fumes
Tears of the heart at all those times
The bleed that the razor incurred
The sharpest ones are pained the most;
it does crystallize the resolve
The energy fireballs, and it did
But for that single one, a teeny small one that preferred to stay
I wake at nights, unable to bear the thought
The hate of the cause of the one,
Gory dedication frozen just at the edge

Unbelievable though, the highest passion
would wrap itself around the one
The sinusoid of life would crest at that one
It was a filthy way to lose;
but an incredibly satisfying one
Yes, it summed up everything, completely
The angst remains, but a smile soothes it
It's all a mind game, really is
Parched integrity dips in untold joy of the time

The present reflects on the places the mind has been to
Marvels at the way the one could capture
Deep resentment and deeper attachment
The impact can never be etched out
Yes, I lost the single one,
I got back an imprint in time.

A simple day

I went to my dad’s office one day. I checked my mails on his computer, we photo-copied some stuff, and went to the bank to finish some paperwork. It was a simple day. The memories are forever.

It started with the local train journey. I wondered … this morning murmur, the brisk heat of routine…it must have been so much a part of his life for years. He looked satisfied that we managed to get a good seat in the train. Simple happiness. It was a part of the thing for him; an outsider’s view for me. I sensed he was happy, by me just being there, to share his ride, one day. He talked to me often, telling me mostly world things that happened while I was away. It’s funny sometimes, how the world is always there to fill up your conversations. I had mostly memories, faint ones, here and there. Occasionally his face brightened up by a random recollection. I was not completely ‘myself with my dad’ in the presence of others, but he was just the same. My Popo. When others intruded in our silent world, he sometimes talked to me in whispers, like we were a team. Indeed we were. A team of three. Right from the beginning. Do I even know the beginning? Perhaps he does.

We alighted at the terminus. Dad hurried to get us out before it got crowded. I followed him. Just the way I always have.

He talked a lot to me on the way. I could see the changing world in his eyes. His practicality and acceptance flowed just as easy. Everything seems so uncomplicated if it is just a part of routine. We reached his office. 10 year old memories rushed to me. The place had changed, or maybe my mind had just hazed out the details. My popo’s office. He talked to the lift operator on the way. I went to dad’s room and looked out of the window. People still looked really teeny from there. So that was not just a childhood thrill after all. I saw dad at work. For the first time I knew what it means to see him when he’s not popo. We went to the basement to photo-copy. The place talked to me. She told me she knew my dad. She had seen him around for years. Always the same brisk manner of purpose. Slightly absent minded. She said she felt that my dad was always thinking about something even when he was doing the most mundane of tasks. I wondered if she knew what. The back road that we took to the basement; how many times had my dad crossed it? We left for bank; I was trying to keep pace with him. He was just the same, he would like to say, constant velocity. Again the same fixed purpose in mind. What was it with today? What was it with that place? A hundred thoughts swept across in patterns. What was this that I was feeling? Why did each small action feel so special to me? , And then I realized it: Each moment I had been saying to myself … It is right here…the life of the man who I know so completely …the life he has lived for 20 years…

.…It seemed like I was looking at the other side of the picture. It felt like today completed the mosaic. It has always been like this. Practical. Brisk. Extremely Emotional. Popo.