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He fell in love with me in a crowded dream. He had eyes only for me. The first man who wrote me a poem.
The dream brought you so close and disappeared with the despair that dreams alone can bring. And you did not know.. and I did not know how to let you know.
I am awake now and the world is pleasant but the dream remains in the distance, incomplete and unanswered. This pain will never die.
I miss you and it hurts. Who are you?
Note: There are many people who are scandalized when I speak the truth, I cannot be fulfilling their need to be in denial.
Dear sir, I read through your article titled “Reflections on Career Choices and Success” on your website. I need some help with understanding my own choices in life and I believe you can help me understand something that will make my inner confusion go away.
My father is Mr. R.Ravichandran who was your batch mate at the IIT and he had mentioned you to me several times with reverence. I also think that you must be a very different kind of a person to have followed your calling and not fallen for what is popular or mainstream. I have read just one book by J.Krishnamurti named “Freedom from the Known” and I altogether gave up reading and so many other things after that. Although I started reading again, the messages in “Freedom from the Known” were strong enough to make me discard most things that are projected as superior in the world.
I had a kidney failure at the age of 20 and I was on dialysis for almost a year after which my father donated his kidney to me. I suffered a lot of physical pain which cannot be dealt with either philosophically or rationally. However, that period helped me evolve into a quieter being. My awareness for experiences heightened and I am my own master. Due to this, I am sometimes perceived to be irrational, impulsive, arrogant, irreverent or rebellious.
My health condition means that I must earn a good sum of money to provide for my own medication. I have worked for some major corporates in the past 4 years (including Wipro and Accenture) and life is increasingly monotonous and pseudo. I have repeatedly considered becoming a writer, a translator, a teacher, an artist and a number of other things. I also applied at “The School” over 3 times and did not attend the interview when I was called (because I had got a job at Wipro.) Over a period of time, I have also become a cynic because of disillusionment. When money governs art, teaching or writing, rules have already been laid out for how things should be done. Even ‘passion’ is defined and art often involves fake social interactions, lies and deadlines. Why do human beings transform everything into a process that produces an output? I have sometimes written pages and not saved them because the process of writing was more interesting to me than the byproduct that was on the paper.
Would you tell me if there is some work I can do apart from the moneymaking that I have to force myself into? I want to spend time with real people and learn from them about being uninhibited, creative and honest. I am tired of the know-it-all box that binds me in its clutches. I fear becoming broke and penniless (and becoming a burden on others) but I still have conflicts with the work I do and I am always trying to escape towards that ideal world and a dream job. Is the struggle endless for all humans because life keeps brewing new conflicts? I am asking you because somewhere I imagine that you have managed to merge “what is” with “what should be” or have you?
It is not necessary for you to reply to this mail but I am sure it will make a difference to me if you did.
Last night there was a power failure for 4 hours. I thought to myself “This is how it feels to be alone in a dark and silent room”. There was a thunderstorm outside.
Then I remembered the homeless man I saw in the evening. He was crouching on the sidewalk with a plastic sheet over his head to protect him from the rain. The place where he usually slept had drowned under a puddle of water.
How does it feel to be alone in a dark and silent world?
When entwined like the ends of a barbed wire,
Where does my space end and yours begin?
In an unspoken word that the cigarette swallows,
Where does silence begin and smothering end?
The traffic offends on tarmac roads
Where does trust begin and anxiety end?
Midnight sweats like an unanswered panic
Where does empathy begin and selfishness end?
Loneliness strangles in the arms of strangers
Where does freedom begin and dependence end?
In the depths of pain, a craving beckons need
Where does growing up begin and childhood end?
Merciless coldness is dubbed as maturity
Where does anger end and limpness begin?
In the heart of thought, an instinct tempts
Where do necessities end and rules begin?
The past haunts endlessly staining the now
Where does begging end and choosing begin?
All gestures are misread and opinions formed
Where do masks end and realities begin?
All life is change and everything dies
Where do laws end and where does love begin?
May I write to you when banal reality cobwebs my dreams?
To your denial and the muted truths in your silence.
May I write to your incoherent kisses that eat me in little portions?
To your hundred lies and postponed happiness…
To the cozy desires hiding in your repressed closets..
May I write to the secret you made love to
And abandoned in the clamoring streets of everyday?
To distance and the death of potential orgasms…
May I write to our unborn children living in a hope cocoon?
How they metamorphose into tomorrow’s seeds of pain..
May I?
Where Does Love Go When It Dies? – Def Leppard
Could you ever steal a prayer to deny your god?
Could you ever buy your love and not count the cost?
Could you ever take a life when all was lost?
And would it ever be enough?
Could you bite the hand that feeds and then ask for more?
Could you kiss the wound that bleeds spit it on the floor?
Could you open up your heart then close the door?
And would it ever be enough?
Every word you whisper
All the tears you hide
You die for love when it’s alive
But where does love go when it dies?
If you came across your dream would you walk on by?
Hold a candle to the wind and just let it die?
And is there room inside your mind for one more try?
And would it ever be enough?
I watch the time go rushing by it’s like an ocean wave
Showing you no mercy throwing dirt upon your grave
You’re drowning in the darkness and you’re blinded by the light
And there ain’t no prayer that’s gonna save you now
If you woke up from your sleep blood on your hands
Would you wash the pain away no one understands?
There must be someone out there who can help you breathe again
And would it ever be enough?
4th Dec 2007 (Tuesday)
6:30 PM – Aruna Sairam (Vocal) @ Brahma Gana Sabha, Sivagami Pethachi Auditorium, MCTM School, Luz Church Road, Alwarpet
6:45 PM – P. Unnikrishnan (Vocal), R. K. Sriramkumar (Violin), P. Satish Kumar (Mrudangam), S. Karthick (Ghatam) @ Kartik Fine Arts, Satguru Gnanananda Hall, Narada Gana Sabha, TTK Road, Alwarpet
Which one to choose now!?
I spent two hours with the rain.
Sandals
I should have asked you
Before I decided to naughtily wade
In that puddle of rain
Now I hear your disapproving squeaks.
Nonstop Rain
This morning I spent so much of my time with you. Yesterday I was in discomfort. Then I tried to dry the dampness by frivolity. I could sleep at the end of all the exhibitionism. This morning came with so many prospects for the future. Promises of fame and fortune. Which would demand intense madness that comes with unwavering concentration, of course. And then began dainty pain. I read his poetry. Ravisubramanian. And it left my mind disturbed with inspiration. I wanted to cry. I wanted to run away from the urge to create. It would mean endless suffering. Why do beautiful people drag me into their lives all over again?
And then you started. I wanted to drive away the passion with superficiality. And dismissal. But you started sending your fragrances into my olfactory lobes and kindled in me the love that I wanted to forget. And you drove me restless. And his villainous imagery. Why does beauty come back to haunt my lonely existence?
Love. I cannot deny you with theories and cynicism. You just exist beyond these extrapolations. In rain you come innocently bare naked and strip me of my nonchalance. And you shatter my filters and leave them spattered all over the floor in a thousand pieces that reflect me. And I laugh in relief. Tragic shameless adorable enemy love. Translucent burlesque artist love. Sideshow love. Striptease love. Damned love. Damned rain. Hahahaha! How I laugh now!
Between puffs of smoke, a cup of coffee, and chocolate I tried to drown your infinite thrumming in my lonely ears. But you just rampaged into my space. Invasive sniper love. I love you so much.
And I had time for little flowers in the puddle of water. I had time for the leaves tantalizing me with their sheen. I felt like a bohemian cow let loose in a field of rainbow poetry. And my hair was all over my face while I laughed in eccentric helplessness. To myself. They might want to lock me up. 
And time had me. My glasses were misty with steamy love. My clothes were wet with drippy love. My hair was disheveled with moist love. My sandals were squeaky with seeping love. My books were damp with soaking love.
The leaves innocuously sat on my vehicle seat like accidental polka dots. And words are gestating and wilting at lightning speed in my mind. And I run after them. These torrents of freedom pelt me like love-loaded pain kisses. I’m deprived of umbrellas. I dream of stained-glass pieces. My mind is coming undone in broken kaleidoscopic bangle bits. I thirst.
The ferns quiver. Thunder strikes like a sudden dog bark on a lonely road. I tremble. Notebooks should melt. Words should die. Memory should die in experience. Writing should never happen. Writing is an inadequate whore that attempts to repeat in shreds, the intricacies of an infinite magnum opus. Like a repetitive drone. Incantation. Cacophony. Writing is craving to repeat. To relive. And writing can never quench. Memory can never make up for existence.
Here I am. Like a dragonfly battling against an invisible glass wall. Why won’t this sky admit me into its folds? Why does the space between then and now stretch like a chasm without a bridge? And why does this leap of imaginary faith, fail? In a certain lobe in my brain where the founts of deja vu live… I wish an infinitesimal error occurred… and I would relive it all over again. I wish regression was irrevocable and I would be stuck in a place where I cannot see and I cannot interpret. And I can only be.
Rain. Bloody rain. This love is…
Kids can ask such seemingly innocuous but mind-blowing questions.
Check out these two:
Dear GOD,
Instead of letting people die and having to make new ones,
why don't You just keep the ones You have now?
* Jane
Dear GOD,
Who draws the lines around the countries?
* Nan
Check this link for more:
UCB Parents Jokes & Quotes: Kids’ Letters to God
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Tags: sweet
