An Incomplete End

Are you real
or surreal?
A delightful illusion
or of feelings a diffusion?

The song which I beseech you,
My words do not reach you.
You promised there’d be no tears
Of distance I should not fear.

What do we still try to treasure?
With what scale do I measure.
Promises, we managed to break
Pain is all that I get to take

Remember! Remember?
We deign to remember.
That moment for long, is lost.
Those times, unforgettable are not.

A cherished memory,
a part of my history?
Or of cruel reality
A banal finality?

Is this the end?
My eternal friend

“This is the end, my only friend- the end” – The end by the Doors

morbid thoughts

A Broken Stream

My tribute to Edgar Allan Poe

Failure: - whether Apparent or not, Evident or not, True or not. Hurts. To work with a single minded devotion to achieve his goal, a thing for which he craves from the bottom of his heart. The thing which in his eyes defines him. He gives his level best, but still falling short of the target is not a thing easy to handle.

Just to see someone else climb the pedestal of triumph, with knowledge of the fact that he himself failed, feels as if an arrow pierces his heart, blinding one’s eyes with the sheer pain. Fortunately, sanity prevails, the realization dawns that whatever he is feeling is not right. A split second later, he claps along with the rest, for the moment his own aspirations recede from his thoughts, into the many corners of his convoluted mind.

If this was a fairy tale, and emotions predictable, I would stop here, but for the first time I am sorry that the story hasn’t ended.

Finally, when he is alone, constant fear gnaws at his heart, grief fills his mind, torturing the very soul. It brings to mind the fatal phrase, the root of all mischief “WHY ME??”

In the silence of darkness, panic grips him. His life has no meaning, his thoughts no direction, his own words seem hollow and worthless. He wants to run away, to take a drill machine and tear away these malignant tumors from his mind. Through the pain he does not wish to regain consciousness, he just wishes for it to end; no matter what the cost. At this point of time, nothing else matters, only relief from this excruciating pain. Family, friends, life, everything…nothing. There is only a growing sense of urgency. An urge to kill, to die.

As this burden of failure slowly brings him to his knees, he sinks into the bottomless pit of self-destruction. The pitch blackness overwhelms the glow of every positive thought, everything fades into the background. He feels as if naked, stripped of all dignity, wriggling worthlessly like some primordial creature. He opens his mouth to scream. To scream as the souls who are burnt in Tartarus for all eternity would, but his throat chokes. No words, only short gasps, like someone’s last breaths escape him. Slowly, very slowly, he sinks deeper into this black pit of failure. His eyes go black as if someone has pulled shutters over them. There is a continuous ringing in his ears like an annoying bee he would like to swat away. His own senses overpower him, dragging him deeper into the void.

Desperately, he searches for the escape hatch, he knows it’s there. He knows it, just isn’t able to find it. Desperately, he searches for an outlet, but he only clutches thin air. As his desperation builds so does his speed as he falls down the dreaded pit.

He doesn’t know what to do. What CAN he do??

His fall is suddenly broken by something cold. Fluid and yet unrelenting, before a sense of relief can come to his tortured soul, the fluid begins to rise. It just doesn’t rise about him, it flows into him through every nerve on his body. It’s pure unadulterated, exquisite pain. His mind goes into shock, reeling as if from an overdose. Slowly, similar to the curtains being raised for a horrific play, he registers the pain his nerves are yelling at him to feel. He still feels apart, like a spectator watching in horrified fascination. He could even clap if he wanted to. Suddenly, the pain rises to his throat, choking him. He tries to bring his arms to his neck as a reflex. However, with the fuse of his senses blown, he grows disoriented. The world about him begins to blur in its black and black forms.

His own limbs betray him, they refuse to follow the commands of his brain. It’s as if a puppeteer, much greater than himself, has taken over his strings. HE is there controlling him. He is simultaneously glad to be along and chilled to the bone to be without company. He holds his breath, trying to live through just this one moment. Slowly his agony magnifies, but he lets go. He lets go, and finds that he doesn’t float. Nothing goes away, everything just intensifies. Somehow, he manages to get up from the chair, managing to escape from his bonds. He stumbles over to the bed. He goes under, and then there is silence.

He closes his eyes. Tears do not come to him, only terrifying dreams of a starker reality. He begins to tremble, goose bumps rising on his skin. This is the time, the agnostic remembers God. He feels a hand clutch his heart, squeezing it tighter and tighter, almost as if to expel the pain. He can’t breathe or even think. Just the pain of it is enough to kill him. His struggles begin to cease. The pain does not stop, only submission begins. His eyelids drop, agonizingly slow. His breathing slows to a halt. Even when he is in harsh bright light, a calmer light darkness takes him. He breaches the boundary of the world of blissful freedom, the dreamless chasm of senselessness. Only now, his senses subside, the fear and pain finally releasing him and receding from his body. His mind soars through the valley. He never looks back to the stormy horizon disappearing behind him on the horizon.

He is once again free. He thinks once more.

He is.

Oh! So many..

- Pushkar Aggarwal

I really don't know who I had in mind when I wrote this. It started of as a goodbye message to a friend and then somehow ended up like this. Evidently, a little inspired by my recent forays into dramatics.

so many thoughts never aired,

so many words never said.

Waiting for the right time,

so many lines never completed.

Is this the tragedy of my life?

so many things never shared,

so many memories lost in the hay.

In your eyes,

so many moments I could have stared.

Is this the romance of my life?

so many smiles never cracked,

so many jokes never inflicted.

With a word or two,

so many tears I could have restricted.

Is this the comedy of my life?

So many things I would have found to say.

So many questions left in my head.

However, now I go away.

Happily or not, I will not say.

Is this the DRAMA of my life?

p.s. the font is inspired by my first play Bang, Bang You're Dead

Back with a bang

I am back to writing after what seemed as if the writers block had blocked my ink before coming even settling on paper, it returned.

From now on, I promise myself...two posts a month try to do justice to it

Also, this post marks the rechristening of this to rakhsup.blogspot.com
from conversations-with-nothingness.blogspot.com

Had gotten tired of writing such a long name :P

Irony

this is just an illustration the irony of life here in IITK. Perhaps, just the irony of life..........It concerns the condolence meeting held to commemorate the death of the son of a contract labourer on the campus, supposedly due to negligence by the Health Centre(HC) three days before the first Mid-Semester examinations

I am sitting in the library, trying to make some sense out of the things floating in my notebook. The dull monotone of the fountain is disturbed by the erratic pitter-patter of raindrops falling outside. It is so soporific, it lulls me to sleep.

The rain is still falling outside, is the first thought that registers in my groggy head as I slowly wake up. My neck hurts due to the thickness of my book pillow. I stare into blank space for a moment, but as my eyes converge on the dial of my watch, I recall that a condolence meeting was supposed to be held in the SAC in the evening. My eyes sweep over the desk covered with notes and books. A lot goes through my mind in the following second: studies, thoughts, promises, convictions, illusions, pretenses…. The decision is not taken lightly, but I proceed to the SAC. I’d spend about 30 minutes there, is what I think.

As the raindrops are still falling outside, everyone slowly congregates in the small covered area in the SAC. I stand a little apart, scrutinizing every face as they slowly come in and take their places. Many are unsure of how to act, Should I be somber? Do I greet him with a wave or a shrug? Is it too cheerful to smile? Do I frown, or do I look into the distance? People as usual form small groups among themselves, there are two topics of conversations, the one at hand, and the one at the back of everyone’s mind.

As we hold the two minutes silence in mourning, I try to fathom the reason behind a face being there. Does it feel pain? Is it sad? Is it socially responsible? Is it here for a break? Is it here to accompany a friend? Or is it plain hypocritical, here to show off??

Some faces have names, some have associations, and others are complete strangers. Then the realization dawns that the reason for the paucity of familiarity is due to the absence of people. Maybe it’s the raindrops falling outside, definitely the midsems, but the present situation is exactly how I had pictured this thing in my mind.

A kind of discussion is started which leads me to think only one thing, Why am I there?? I had no particular objective in coming there. I had ambivalent feelings about the issue. As the discussion progresses along some very predictable lines, my mind wanders further. Not surprisingly, it remembers the things still left to be studied. The group also struck with a feeling of urgency, is now slowly building up in energy. With action imminent, reason takes a backseat. After twenty minutes of discussion (useful or not, I will not say) a plan of action of formed. It is decided that everyone would go to the HC, and enquire about I don’t know what. Even now, some people are very enthusiastic about finally doing something about the thing at hand, some are cautious about whether this is the best course of action to take. Some have already started walking; some are urging people to follow.

Is it of any use, I ask myself? I sure would like to find out. However, I remember my books spread on the desk in the corner of the third floor of the library. As people start moving towards the HC, I walk the opposite way. Soon, I am seated on my desk, staring through my notes again.

Still, the raindrops were falling outside.

random thoughts

a point to point,
deviation from point.
A pointless point
to prove my point?
:)

WHY?

Why?

Why do you do this to me?

Nothing really,

Just some ifs and buts.

Some maybes,

A few why nots.

Some things that could have been,

Things that should have been.

Answers to questions that were never answered

Questions to answers that were never asked.

Why?

Why me?

Just you,

No one else.

Some inspections,

A little introspection.

Because of the shadow of your doubt,

That overshadows your soul.

Filling the void inside of you,

The hollow that fills you up inside.

Why?

Why now?

No Reason.

None at all

My whims

Your fancies

Perhaps your heartstrings struck a chord.

Resonating with the discordant noise of the clock.

Strike while the iron is hot!

Isn’t that what is said?

Why?

Why You?

You

And me

The alter ego

The conscience

I am the thorn in your heart,

I am the mirror you once cracked.

I am the reason why you ask,

WHY?