A Schizophrenic Writer

There are schizophrenic dual-selves in each one of us – a self which is an artist’s vision of ‘who one can be sans society’.

Perhaps, an identity that’s doesn’t try to conform, to fit in, or compromise.

There’s that secret fantastical-self for each one of us who revels in absolute freedom, interacts to the point, & is dramatically confident like a ‘super-hero’.

A writer, they say, is unfortunately caught up in countless such selves –
a secular-liberal at heart who disdains the idea of lack of ‘freedom of speech’, but is forced to choose silence; a sarcastic asshole who is hidden behind the veil of a chirpy exterior; an anxious over thinker who is super-confident & alive when alone on the road to wanderlust.

Traveling for me thus works as a breather from these countless selfves, bringing me a little closer to ‘who I was born to be’, hidden beneath perfectly conditioned layers of societal falsehoods.

Parvati River Kasol
Parvati River Valley, India

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Adios – My spirit animal!

Sometimes, a small life matters to the whole universe. And sometimes, even a grand existence goes unnoticed or unappreciated.

For me, a dog’s life has always been that ‘small life’ that mattered & aroused a holy curiosity. I have sought pups since I can remember.

Maybe it was one of those things that is related to a past-life connection.

My bond with a dog grows naturally. However, the ability to form such a bond with a human remains elusive.

For, there’s something about a pup that resonates deep in the chambers of my heart – an undying sense of humor, displayed through naughty-kind eyes; a sense of joyful saunter in its walk; absolute trust, so unnatural in a human being; and that protectiveness with which it guards you like a lion. 🙂

I am especially amused by the ‘first bark’ that comes out of a pup’s being – a bark which sounds funny to our ears, but, feels like a roar to the lil amused furbaby, if you notice its angry-cute expressions. 🙂

Today, I lost one of the puppies that belonged to a litter of 8 wonder-street puppies that came into our lives a few months ago. A lot of times people call it a rescue case, but, I’m the one these wonder-pups rescued with their unconditional love & unfettered freedom.

This is a ‘thank you note’ to ‘Blacksome’, a homely, handsome boy who went missing in the bushes just today, probably taken by a predator (though I hope he somehow comes back). You’re not only a ‘good boy’ who stayed home, but you’re also in fact a ‘great boy’ whose naughty antics made me laugh unconditionally.

May you be my ‘spirit animal’ in the lives to come. :)))

img_20190527_115531_2437429093631670178590.jpg

Rape – a word we would rather not speak of!

The-Scream-Painting

Rape. A word that sends shivers down the spine every time I hear it.

Not that any other form of violence is any less traumatic!

But there’s something in a woman’s system that creates an ‘angry void’ when she hears the word ‘rape’.

For a woman, the unsettling reaction to rape isn’t a reaction to the actual act of rape.

It’s a long ‘suppressed reaction’ to something that runs deeper.

It almost feels like a hollow scream from the crevices of her soul. Something that’s painfully present in her journey from being a child to a woman.

The-Scream-Painting
The Scream by Edvard Munch

When she’s just a toddler, she’s just a young child jumping around in her pretty pink frock.

Slowly, the innocent, doe-eyed child observes that the men in her life – neighbours, cousins, friends – don’t necessarily look at her soul or consciousness or mind, when they look at her.

Rather, she’s being ‘looked at’ for the way her body is becoming.

Gradually, the girl starts to get accustomed to being stared at, leered at, touched, without her consent or interest or even understanding of why it’s all happening in the first place.

Sadly, the final act of being born as a ‘woman’ doesn’t happen when she becomes a financially independent individual in her late 20s.

It’s that fleeting moment during those ‘mmature teens’ when she finally accepts the fact that’s this is how it’s always been, and this is how it always will be – not an easy transition into the complexities of womanhood, if you ask me! 🙂

For Asifa, and many toddlers & children like her, perhaps everything got lost at the initial stage of being a young child. May Asifa and likes of her rest in peace and be re-born, if at all, as a boy!

This city is dead and desolate !

Utility Cars, iPhones, 4 BHK;

Insatiety! Greed for accumulated “things”-

The momentary pride of a new car,

Compared to carefree ride on the rusted bicycle!

Disconnected AI of an iPhone,

Versus deep-meaningful, soulful conversations,

Rhythmic “tring-tring” of the landline era!

Comforting memories of a warm-cozy home,

Small kitchen garden, Sparrow for a friend!

Anti-depressants, sleeping pills – in the 4 BHK.

Scattered shit, lifeless kids, out on the street.

Perfumes and incandescent candles,

In the house that’s not home – the 4 BHK!

Countless confusions & counted apprehensions,

Chaos is the namesake,

Of this city that’s dead and desolate!

Nature’s way – a celebratory note!

A starlit gaze,
A glossy red rose,
Endlessly wide horizon.

An owlet’s hoot,
A rainbow butterfly,
Quietest-slumbering valley.

A cow’s gentle moo,
A doe-eyed babe,
Canvas of a scarlet-orangish sky.

Nature’s way – a celebratory note,
Disquieted human mind ruminates thought-stress.

Red rose and Butterfly

Copyright © [Meru]. All rights reserved.

About dream-thoughts and death

A dreamless sleep works perfectly fine with me. A dreamless wakeful state is a perfect bliss! A life devoted to living in the present moment is about being present to each and every breath

Yet, here I am!

After years of “trying to live in the present moment” mania , getting caught in the abyss of the dream-thoughts once again…

A fine wintry morning with the Sun blazing overhead is why India is a curious place to be in.

Winter-morning-Sukhna-lake

But this winter morning isn’t about the Sun or the sunny things.

It is about long-lost human-treasures.

We all lose people at some point of time – to death, to circumstances, to destiny !

But the ones torn apart untimely , sometimes even timely, by death, are hard to let go of. And when you think you’ve forgotten, a confusing dream keeps you sleep-sobbing & wide-awake.

Such dreams allow you to meet the soul-treasure once again, to feel them alive again, to feel that gush of warm-secure blanket of love once more!

The moment feels more real than the day to day life, where we think we are awake!

And once you are awake, a warm awareness engulfs you, – those grandfathers, brothers, uncles are far far away, yet nearer than we’ll ever know.

The bond that is LOVE can’t be broken… The thin thread that gravitates one towards the loved ones can’t be seen or felt…

Just like space – an empty vacuum that envelopes us, whether we can prove it or not… Its absence is an illusion! It’s presence, a fact we miss out, while we get caught in the dreamy haze of thoughts.

Copyright © [Meru]. All rights reserved.

​For the Night is Dark, and Full of Melody!

Naya Nangal

A cricket’s love-laden chirps adds a kind of mystic melody to the quiet night – an ancient love-call for the nocturnals to celebrate the darkened silence of the night.

Notice how the incessant chirping of the cricket is never a disturbing noise! It rather adds a sweet lullaby to the disquieted mind, that quietly numbs one towards a peaceful sleep.

It seems like the chirping adds a kind of  rhythm to the night!

 Like a pre-arranged agreement between nature & its elements, that allows the insect to add a sweet sweet melody to the quietness of the night.

 A perceptive mind can see that there’s a melody even in the constant murmur of a passing river & a gentle drowsiness in the splashing waves of an ocean. 

 Everything is perfect & in complete harmony in mother nature: the sounds, the noises, & the sacred silences!

 But it’s a complete reversal in a the chaotic human mind, a mind which brings disharmony and imbalance in nature & life of all the other beings on the planet.

If only a person could sit silently in the lap of mother nature, gaze at the magical canopy of a startit night, & understand that though the night is dark, it is still full of Melody:

a melody lost to the death-deaf human species ! 

a melody that brings a sense of belongingness to mother nature

a melody with which the ancients were connected to!


  Copyright © [Meru]. All rights reserved.


 

The Curious Case of a Writer’s Block

writers block

A writer’s block. A malady understood by only .1% populace. An incurable & inexplicable phenomena that afflicts both the wanna be & the established writers equally.

So, what is it that causes the curious case of a writer’s block?

If creativity is a divine gift , is writer’s block a punishment by a not-so-happy divine hand? 😛

If creativity is 99% practice, how the hell is one supposed to practise the inability to practise something ?

Not-so-easy to answer questions!

Let’s start with the basic one.

What is a writer’s block???

The exact feeling can be figuratively compared to a bad dream where one is falling down a steep hill without any bodily control & wakes up with a sudden jerk.

The meaning of the phrase is the inability to; write a sentence, possess a linear thought process /flow of ideas, or sometimes, a condition when the ability to write even the next word is lost, for a week, a month or, in my case, a number of months now.

It feels like the heart might give away completely the moment the next word will come out of my mouth/ pen. The thing is it is too lame to be expressed, yet happens to the best of us.

“Writing about a writer’s block is better than not writing at all.” 🙂

– Charles Bukowski

I can’t fathom the depths of failure that writer’s blocks brings upon someone. It’s different for everyone. And I’m sure the easy answer is to look at it as a technical issue rather than a psychological one (a reality of over-thinking writers).

But here’s what helps me at times, & I’m sure the answer is different for each one of us.

  • Read a thought-provoking book
  • Solo travel
  • Meditation
  • Strenuous physical activity
  • The art of doing nothing

Any one of the above, or when I am lucky enough, all the above mentioned activities slowly steer me away from the wretched blockage of creative energy, & allows me to relax enough to write naturally.

I guess more or less, the lack of inspiration or monotony is why writer’s block manifests. And doing that one thing that always takes you on a “joy-ride” is the key to unlock the much-dreaded blockage.

Do share your ideas on how you get past your block in the comments section. 🙂

writers block
To write or not to write, that is the question?

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