The Show Must Go On

...Even the sun held itself back, shyly, behind the curtains that hung in the sky. We were preoccupied by a great dose of nervousness that soon grew contagious to the air surrounding us; anybody in close proximity would have felt it. Nobody spoke. They just bustled into the auditorium, with their long black drapes doing the talking, as they whisked across chairs and other pieces of furniture, trying to find their allocated seating. From where I was sat, I could see Padma and Ruby - both with a glint in their eyes. We exchanged the same thoughts and knew what was missing. They both smiled nevertheless, gesturing a thumbs up. My heart skipped a beat, as I realised that it was not going to be too long till I had to put myself in front of the entire graduand body and present an inauguratory farewell sermon, and immediately went through what I had to say over in my head, trying hard to not let my thoughts wander...

...I barely heard her say my name. In fact, I do not even recall making the effort to walk over to the dais; it was as if a trance had carried me across. I cannot even remember what I said, or how I said it, or if any of it made sense at all. All I know is that I mentioned him. I knew he would have wanted me to. And that Padma cried into her gown, as I narrated the poem that we found he had written. Not an eye moved. Not a whisper was made. They all sat there, listening. Perhaps out of intent. Or perhaps out of a lack of choice. It did not matter. I let out what I had to, whether good or bad - whether true or false.

The auditorium burst into applause the moment I silenced.

He was right - a voice in my mind said. He was always right. As I gazed over the applauding body of people, I went into another flashback. I remembered his words, as if he had said them to me yesterday - and even though everyone had started departing for the exit, I kept repeating them over and over, perhaps to convince myself:

Change is the only constant of life. It will haunt you. Mock you. Make you uncomfortable. Or surprise you. But it will meet you every once in a while. It will meet everybody, whether you prepare for it or not. Kind of like death...

There will be days when it all comes to shambles. There will be days you have to run after the bus. And there will be days when you hang by a thread.

Change is all that and more.

But no matter how much of there is change - it must not stop. It must all go on. From the first musical note to the last, it all has to be there. It does not matter if it is bad or rubbish. It has to be complete. It has to end. Someone has to do it - imagine all the songwriters and musicians and artists of the world facing a writer's block (so to speak) - exactly! There will always be one of them who will finish the song, no matter how many all-nighters he might need to pull. Because he knows, he has to deliver. Not doing so will only leave him behind...

My legs had carried me amid the wave of students out into the lawn of the Grand Hall, where the graduates gathered for the much awaited tossing of the hats. Padma and Ruby caught up with me. We hugged each other with a smile, whispering a congratulations in between.

We missed him - we truly did. After all, we had started this journey together. Even when the road got coarser and narrower and difficult to walk on - we were together. At Padma's wedding and Ruby's oath to the Queen - we were together.

And today, when it all was to end - he was not there.

He was completely right - the ending was not how we quite imagined. But it was an ending, nevertheless. We could either cross the finish line, or be left behind with no one to blame but a series of unfortunate events.

We bustled into one of the photography cubicles.

"All three?" asked the photographer.

"Four, actually," I replied, pulling a hand into my pocket to retrieve a photo of him. "He's the fourth."

The photographer did not ask any further questions, and prepared for the shot.

"Smile, please."

"For Armaan?" Ruby asked, with a faint smile.

"For Armaan," Padma and I replied, mustering smiles on our faces.

And at that point in time, all four of us were smiling into the photo.

The photo that signified the ending. The photo that concluded it all.

Ebony And Ivory

In recent years, I have stopped fussing over how old I turn every year on my birthday.

Yes, my apathy has quite a lot to do with the fact that people cannot seem to remember just how old I am; so, to avoid the craziness, I have more or less hushed up my years, and will graciously accept any birthday wished (even forty-one, seriously).

But also, in recent years, I have taken on more of a sober approach to life in general (do not laugh). And while I believe it is not important how old you are, what you wish to do with the chance to (hopefully) live an additional year on this planet is what I give more focus and my attention.

For me, how I spent my last year, and what I would like to do with the year ahead - is more important.

Whose sorrows can I share.

Whose happiness can I be a part of (even a tiny bit).

And how can I make this world a slightly better place to thrive in.

At the end of the day, age is and always will be, just a number. And with several billion people walking on this planet, that number is less likely to leap out. I mean, nobody ever remembers my age. It is natural.

What they will remember, is how I have been with them. Every one of them.

Thank you for the generous dose of love: I really hope this coming year I get to dream some more. Strive some more. And hopefully get as far as achieving a tad bit more.

And I will definitely need you there by my side. Even in spirit will do.

Because without Ivory, Ebony is sort of incomplete...

For my two previous birthday posts, click here and here.

Brave New World

So they say Osama Bin Laden is dead. The cat-and-mouse chase that stretched almost a decade has finally come to an end; and the United States of America have proven to mankind (yet again) that the end justified their questionable means.

A lot has been said about the September-11 attacks.

A lot has been said about Al-Qaeda.

And a lot is being said about the great American victory.

As for me - I could not care less; Osama Bin Laden may have been a fierce terrorist, responsible for the present upheaval in several parts of the world, but eliminating him does not make this world much of a safer place.

There are still countless thieves, murderers, rapists, kidnappers and smugglers out there waiting their turn. They claim to have put one down today. How many will rise tomorrow?

How many innocent lives will be sacrificed, next?

So rejoice not the loss of that one foul soul - not yet - instead, fret over how many more dreaded to go before there is peace.

Perhaps, another seven billion...

"O wonder! How many goodly creatures are there here! How beauteous mankind is! O brave new world! That has such people in it!" ~ Shakespeare, The Tempest

With Tired Eyes, Tired Minds, Tired Souls, We Slept

The brave do not feel pain. Or at least they cannot sense it any longer. Their hearts - an in-corrosive boundary of steel seldom leap with pangs of excitement and nervousness. Tears - there are hardly any. No matter how brutal life behaves, the brave muster a straight face. An expressionless facade. Are they lying? In a way, yes they are. We all are. In fact, I want to give up my bravery. I would rather cry my eyes out, than to have to bear this faint feeling of dejection. I would rather vandalise my surroundings, than to have to wake up with the happenings of yesterday rolling over in my head. Denial, at this stage, is pointless. It is like closing our eyes to the world. The world of reality. I mean, I knew it would sting. But what I did not know was that it would sting this much. It stung me so bad that I took up smoking to cure the ensuing depression.

After all, it was only a game of cricket, right? Probably not.

It was more than just a sport. Way more than simple viewing pleasure. It was something to look forward to. It was an exhilarating event, where we wanted to triumph. We wanted to make a statement to the world. We wanted to earn back our lost respect. But alas, this world only favours the weak. The nimble. It asks the brave, recurring, to make the sacrifices. It tells the bold to let go. Because, only the brave have enough strength to get back on their feet following the fall; only they can stoop over to collect fragments of whatever is left behind; only they can heave a sigh and start over. And unlike the rest, only they can rebuild their dreams.

And till that day arrives, they yearn.

We just had to lose, because there was so much at stake for the opponent. And for us as a nation, in light of the ongoing rebuke, mockery and the propaganda that we have been subject to, perhaps this defeat was always on the cards. It was not supposed to have made a difference to a side that already was in deep hot water. And as a democratic state where the people have no voice (whether by regulation or apathy), it was just another day when things did not go our way. And after that rush of fervour, zeal and ecstasy, we subsided. It was not fair, I know. But it was the only way it made sense.

With tired eyes, tired minds and tired souls we went home. Like we always have.

Like we always do...

A Voice In My Heart Telling Me I Should Not While My Head Telling Me I Can

Looking back now means giving into all those tears. And we cannot afford that at this time, can we?

No, I suppose we cannot. So there shall be no looking back.

There shall be no retracting of decisions or changing of minds, either. We must focus. We must move on.

Each step forward does push me in the right direction, one step closer to where I want to be, but the way is getting steeper. And I am getting tired.

Not yet, you are not. You can do this. You must do this!

It was easier said than done...

Focus! Focus! Focus! We have made progress. We can go all the way, I know we can. I have faith in us. You keep your nerve, too. And believe.

That is all I have been doing. And it is not working out the way I wanted it to. I am all alone. I never wished to be alone. I wished to have friends. Family.

Friends? Family? You are losing sight of your purpose, boy. The purpose for which you made this journey in the first place.

I was mistaken. I had no idea it would be this hard...

Did you think it would be a walk in the park, then? Go bloody walk in the park all your life, for all I care, and we shall see how many friends and family join along in your fancy escapade.

The truth is, you were born alone. And you will die alone, too. This is your journey, not everybody else's. So I cannot see the need for somebody to be accompanying you. Be glad when you have a shoulder next to your side, for that is nothing more than your good fortune. Otherwise, you are pretty much on your own, mate.

You could either hang in there, or quit, altogether. And this world does not welcome quitters. They will stamp on you and carry on about their business as usual. And you will be forgotten...

And that is when I realised that in the short-run, there was no best-way out of it. Yes, I was alone. Without friends. And family.

But there was hope, at least. The hope that keeps a dreamer alive. Keeps them dreaming. Both in the day and at night. There was hope, that some day I will have family with me. And I will have my friends.

And I will be happy.

And on that day, my heart and my mind will synchronise - in perfect harmony.

Lost In Translation

Social interactions have refused to make sense to me. I have been with a lot of different people at a lot of different times, and yet I am no way close to deciphering how a basic human mind functions, minus all the games and tricks it occasionally conjures.

I have let almost everybody down, at some point in time, both deliberately and unintentionally.

I have broken trust.

I have let slip secrets.

I have cared a lot – and then not cared, at all.

And I have apologised, over and over.

Yet, I still do not know when and how to keep my mouth shut. Or what to say, even. So much that, every apology of mine sounds rehearsed. Superficial. Coming from anywhere but me.

Every morning, I wake up hoping to begin today with a good degree of positivity. And almost every night, I silently sob away into slumber because I failed, promising myself that I will change things tomorrow.

But it just doesn't happen.

I have a big mouth, which opens wide a tad too much for everybody’s liking. It works fine on days that are sunny, but comes back to bite me when the sun ain’t shining. And quite frankly, the sun does not always shine, sugar; I, of all people, should have learnt that by now.

Those days, I realise, I am not fit for human interaction. That I should rather cower under a shell and spend the rest of my life typing away on this blog, pretending to be something I clearly am not. Ensuring that way nobody I care about is disappointed with me…

I wanted everything, and I cannot even maintain a f*cking relationship.

I have failed. Failed as a (boy)friend. Failed as a brother. And will soon fail as a son, too, I am sure.

I have failed, and there is nothing I can do about it.

I have failed, and all I can say now is…

I am sorry.

Came Across An Angel

And I knew then, what I meant to them...

As I drew a last breath, as I turned away to face the other way; my legacy was written down, quoted and even remembered. A part of me stayed behind. And lived on.

I knew I will not be forgotten. And nothing else mattered.

Growing Pains

And there we shall wade through troubled waters holding on to each other...

I was always sure I knew what it meant to have a family. Absolutely certain about my concepts of what made up one, and never really thought the need to be critical.

I believed that family was the unit one borns into: your brothers and sisters, Mums and Dads, and so forth. Many a times I have voiced my feelings about the temporariness of friendship, and how it never appears to stick through when you really need it to; and that how always, placing great emphasis on the word, your family does. Like a buffer that breaks your fall. Recurring.

I liked my friends (and still do - well some of them, anyway), but felt the need to withdraw myself from their company. While I was with family, I did not need anyone else.

But then, something unusual happened; I learnt some very valuable lessons about this world. And its people.

I found myself watching a blow-by-blow account of the rescue of Chilean miners trapped deep underground.

I heard stories of orphans working as a team to sail through reality shows.

And I had my own crap to boast about, as well.

All of it, challenged my views of family...

I realised, a family does not need to have brothers and sisters, or Mums and Dads to complete it. In fact, you do not even need to be formally related to start a family of your own.

Anybody can have a family. Everybody can find a family.

All one needs to do, is share. Share experiences. Moments. Memories.

A family is anything that feels the pain you feel. That cries when you cry. That smiles when you smile. And still manages to catch you every time you trip over and fall.

A family is beyond words and complicated relationships. It is beyond begetting and having begotten.

It is simply a feeling. Of belonging. Of love. Of togetherness...

Yes, anybody can have a family. Everybody can find a family.

He found me one, too.

The Thousandth Man

One man in a thousand, Solomon says.

Will stick more close than a brother.

And it's worth while seeking him half your days

If you find him before the other.

Nine hundred and ninety-nine depend

On what the world sees in you,

But the Thousandth Man will stand your friend

With the whole round world agin you.

'Tis neither promise nor prayer nor show

Will settle the finding for 'ee.

Nine hundred and ninety-nine of 'em go

By your looks, or your acts, or your glory.

But if he finds you and you find him,

The rest of the world don't matter;

For the Thousandth Man will sink or swim

With you in any water.

You can use his purse with no more talk

Than he uses yours for his spendings,

And laugh and meet in your daily walk

As though there had been no lendings.

Nine hundred and ninety-nine of 'em call

For silver and gold in their dealings;

But the Thousandth Man he's worth 'em all

Because you can show him your feelings.

His wrong's your wrong, and his right's your right,

In season or out of season.

Stand up and back it in all men's sight

With that for your only reason!

Nine hundred and ninety-nine can't bide

The shame or mocking or laughter,

But the Thousandth Man will stand by your side

To the gallows-foot - and after!

- Rudyard Kipling

Sometimes, they say everything impeccably.

Last Man Standing

You are only safe till it is your turn. Then fate will take its toll on you, too.

We have always expected our good fortune to be alongside us.

Advising us at crossroads. Lending a hand inches away from death. And almost always, it is there for us: invisible force with an aura so strong, you can sense its presence around you.

Lately, however, we have taken our kismet for granted. Just like we have taken almost everything else for granted. We have used it, abused it and yet expect it to be on our side. Always.

And fate plays its part cleverly too, mind you; it can lead you past obstacles and hurdles many, giving you the feeling of invincibility - and then in an instance, when you least expect, it stabs you in the back. Making you realise how vulnerable you are. How weak. How pathetic...

But there is only so much your lucky streak can do for you. Ultimately, the test comes down to you, putting you in total control. Of what you think. Of what you say. And what you do.

Your greatest weapon therefore - is yourself. You can use it to defend. Or to attack. Braving the consequences, regardless.

How you live your life is discretionary entirely indeed; how you end it, on the other hand...not so much.

We all shall fade into the Earth eventually. Never sooner. Never later.

Then we might as well do away with the army of external forces deployed outside our doors to protect us. For, when Death shall arrive, it will creep past unnoticed...

The choices are ours to make. The repercussions are not. And can never be, either.

After all, even puppets exhibit anomalous behaviour at times.