Enthusiastic Elan

It is that time in our life when arrivez le weekend and you dab that last shade of rouge, grab them sunglasses and head out. Out beyond, the social world is beckoning. We’re young and full of life and this is supposed to be the time where we’re having the time of our lives! The unwritten norm doesn’t allow you to resist. A sociologist or any professional in a related field would call this peer pressure but we would bear it out to disagree to it being more like our second nature.

But every theory will inherently incorporate the concept of the ‘level of satiety’ that wouldn’t take too long to attain – our invariable penchant to be only replaced by an unlikely distaste. A point beyond plain equilibrium after which no amount of coaxing would let you stir from not wanting to do the same things that lured you out but at a time before of the recent past. It varies from person to person, the reaching of such a point. But, it is more than certain that it wouldn’t take forever for us to keep going off on the same uncanny tangent.

There comes a time when all you could possibly care about, on those very same weekends, is the smile and shine in the kaleidoscopic eyes of innocent children who look up to you with renowned hope that was lost early. While not caring about those few winks of Sunday siesta and the cheer it brings to see their adorable innocent yearning, it is also wonderful to see the increasing number of people, especially those tenderly young and blessed with hearts of gold,  who oozing with oodles of enthusiasm are willing to give it all up for a cause noble. The veritable proof of our capability being seen in the genuine characteristic smile on a visage innocent.

An organization/enterprise/initiative of the youth – technicalities would associate different nomenclature to it – has seen many a member come, make a mark, linger on till time and circumstances permit, and then without option and much of a heavy heart, leave. As we bid tearful goodbyes to those whom we’ve grown much accustomed to, we also open our arms wide in welcoming our newbies, the ones with a new found enthusiasm and a quest for satisfaction. With the hope to connect with more people around the world in pursuance of a common cause, we open ourselves as a network, a platform to realize not just your dream but those of many a young one who could be your protégé. With tomorrow blossoms the tender leaves of hope. 

Tumultuous Thespians

Genuineness as naïve as ours, at a time ensconced within the era of uncouth, immoralistic, uncreditable corruption can sometimes scathe scars deep. Trust none, my mother, she told me, at a time when young, impressionable as a child, was I. Years hence, realization slowly creeps in to show the veritable honesty of a simple but wise statement. To grow up in atmospheres that teach you utopian values, the nudge and urge to lend an ear, to listen and to bear faith and not severe a second chance, was but inherent nature.

To err is human, to forgive divine is what the idiomatic phrase enunciates in simplistic terms and so is also what I believed. Mankind however, has the supernatural trend of assaying wrong most, if not all, of everything. Nature brings to fore at periodical intervals, tests that manifest and substantiate to us, the naivete, and gives much of a real shake up shock treatment.

Character, values, morals, ethics are all words which have long lost their haloic sheen and are best left buried in the ancient chest of virtue; the sanctity of definition to leave undisturbed, unchallenged. The absence of these little bagatelles of virtue governs the intricate framework of democratic organization. Rationality of any degree has taken a beating while pseudo flimsy reasons take up centre stage in passing the so-called ‘value judgments’ and imputing such unreasonable irrationality to their consensual notions leaving the innocent marred black. It is good upbringing on the one hand balanced by the inability to step down levels as low that leave us plain appalled and immobile – lacking the mere strength to raise an arm in opposition for we are rooted to the ground, paralyzed.

It is in small institutions like ours where it doth blossom young, the spiteful, vile and conniving basis of differentiation that place the very elements of sense and sensibility far outside the doorstep. Ugly is the scene that unfurls and plays out so dramatically to the tune of ludicrous venomosity and into the hands of truant tabloid appearance seeking ersatz spineless invertebrates.

It isn’t in my position to make utterances that, on the dawn of tomorrow, in all invariability, will turn contortedly controversial. Passionate responsibility with dignity of labour, in pursuance of causes and issues at hand have taken the inconspicuous back seat while riding upfront, loose and aloof, is the vice of power.

What we are is as much an issue in conflict as what we would be if we were not. Being apolitical is impassionate ignorance, or so it seems. At such a point in time what really comes to my mind is the one line from the soliloquy in ‘Hamlet’ by Shakespeare, that has become much renowned among literary architects of the day, and is now much relevant – ‘To be or not to be – that is the question’.

Aurora

The tender youthful ocean, mellow and wan, passing through the vicissitudes of passion and toiling with an unmirthful poignant growl, loftily rising in fainéant formation of a sharp, caustic tide – a transformation unwonted, grave in contrast to the tinsel shades of the incipient skyline as they met in mergence at the horizon. The fine granules of sand on the now deserted beach still felt warm from the heat of a dusky evening sun.

The woman, she sat there, a picture of quaint perfection but with much conflict at heart. Her life, like the convergence at shore of paradoxical wavelengths. Much had transpired, moments to live unforgettable, that she hoped with time would be withered away in tranquility by the gentle hush of a wave.

Yearning for that fortuitous feather like touch, hope tingling amidst angst, unsure of what was once vied, each tear embedded beneath the water, in the sand – evanishing transience.

The last rays of the sun streaking the realm of the ken over the jagged rocks beyond the water, far beyond, through the burgeoning twilight – in brilliance fugacious.

What tomorrow might bring is but always a surprise. The impressions left behind washed – a path anew to walk on, ahead, away. The morrow is, afterall, another day – a day to kiss off that mask she wore, to face them all with clairsentient view, to embrace the life she never lived to learn and love. The waves’ gentle caress against her delicate, effete feet wouldn’t stop her as she withdrew, stood up and trudged forward – the closure of a long chapter in endeavour of a new beginning, one to never bring back within the bounds of the future, the past, but leave crumbling and deliquesced on the coast of yesterday.

(By ancient Roman mythology, Aurora was the goddess of dawn.)

Ricochet

Much as I believed it to be all over, a hopeful star that lead me on, out and away from the overwrought wreck that I was, or so I thought. For you, I know, I hold no more of what I did or what I could have. Futility lead me on. Many a tear I may have shed on those everlasting sleepless nights, but I do now know for sure that at the end of it all, you mean no more than you once, long ago, did – a time that seems to figure in an epoch different. What it has been for you, I do not know and you do not seem to allow. Words fail me. You leave me plain dumbstruck not knowing whether taking a step forward would be inappropriate encroachment. Incomprehensive, speechless, bearing no locus, I feel but ludicrous.

The love, the care can never fade my dear and it isn’t that I would allow the first thought of it. You may not be my world but certainly shall always be a part. Of you, I worry many a day and manage you do to still hurt, to still glisten my eye with unshed tears and beat that little that is left of me. Am I not worthy enough to deserve a better answer?

I wonder now why I even stay. It wouldn’t take long to walk away, leave you behind with  them broken pieces, to have you pick them up on your own and figure for yourself what fits where. Sadly, I wasn’t born inhuman – virtuous I have been and otherwise, I cannot.

As the hurt of one wound seems to heal, the other now looms large as painful, each itching sting a stark reminder of my blindness. It doesn’t matter that no ordinary person would stand by but in the affirmative I say, I shall. In your present temperament, you must think me a fool but someday when sense comes knocking on your door, realization will strike you hard with reality. As they say, the truth, it always hurts.

And then I hope, when unknown, you would turn around and positively assert, with that innocently genuine smile, acceptance of the past, as you head out your way and I will mine.

Goodbye for the present, my dear one, for my presence or absence doth make but any difference.

Spirited Sally

One of many dull afternoons, where the much laden clouds, harbingers of rain long awaited, like a sea of woes, brought upon me a low sense of melancholy. Try, as I did, to rid my memory of moments stashed away never to throw – hard as it was, the shades of grey seemed to resonate and reflect, seemed to glare, from angles all along unnoticed.

The rain, it fell, its first tender droplets like the gentle kiss of a young child. Its soft caress had powers within reaching beyond, that I had but yet realized. To let yourself go, to open your arms, to sway a little to the rain dance can, and from true experience I say, genuinely wash away the frequent spells of anguish that furrow thy brow, those that seem to cling but strongly with and without love.

Soaked and drenched to the bone, as I was, and yet each step forward stepping slightly into those shallow puddles, on to a long promenade, the ripples my feet caused seemed to reverberate how slowly but surely it was all going away – the wounds of a hurt unhealed seemed to be being soothed and languidly drying away.

Much time spent wont in abandon’s abandon, that shroud, now slipping past, let me feel again the raison d’etre.

The mild colours of a faint rainbow shone yonder and from it I saw an array of hope, a promise that tomorrow held wrapped, invisible yet blossoming – the silver lining at the end of a dark cloud, the much needed respite after a thunderstorm, the ability to sweep out the broken pieces without picking them up and to walk on.

Maybe somewhere down the lane, I will find that yellow brick road to lead me on a path to where my heart lies for the journey, it never ends.

La vie

The potpourri like simplistic concoction of words that, when put together, in proverbial form, is much dismissed and contemned by us as a bouquet of axiomatic precepts, that only certain scenarios bring to you why and what they really mean.

Dishing out a smorgasbord-like array of situations, much different in its levels of palatability, the value we impute to all, from people to the inanimate, assume a very different standing. It may not be just through those many happy moments which though more likely than uncommon are quite inevitably shared in much vivacious joviality, but there comes a time when a shoulder to cry on is what you long for more than anything else. And it is during times like these when the reality of the meaning that others interpolate against your person comes to fore. Like many a passing cloud, we meet people, some acquaintances, some friends but among them is a further distinction of the genuine and not, of those would stand by and wouldn’t.

Are there a fixed set of applicable norms as to one’s relationships? A fine thinker of grandiose refinement might put together a theoretical thesis on how, why and what we are and should be. But isn’t that being a little too impassionate, inhuman? For afterall, the natural human tendencies don’t exactly function by a rulebook. There is so much heart and emotion in every action, every event, every happening, every love, every heartbreak that would take much endurance and more than many lifetimes to begin to decipher.

A plain, simple misunderstanding is not reason enough to pass value judgments and discuss one dear to you as anyone but he.

Live, love, forgive and forget for each new day is a new beginning, one afresh for you to paint your reality – of strokes gentle yet bold. It may be that some preferences didn’t work out favourably but behind each action is some fundamental reason that will sketch your tomorrow in tones more pleasant, heart warming and with much love. For after all, c’est la vie.