When Dogs Charged At Me Like Horses Of Rohan

When Dogs Charged At Me Like Horses Of Rohan

There was this one time I used to live in school quarters. A huge school. Vast in area, with fields and brilliant architecture. It was not a school beyond par. But it was a school which had its own charm and awe. 

It was just another ordinary day in the life of a 8-year old: carefree, playful, irresponsible, childish. It was the time when the sun just began to set. Maybe around 4:30. I was walking across one of the many fields. Playfully jumping around and swaying, alone, merrily. My surroundings looked quite natural and as if they had been that way since ages, yet new. There was a huge tamarind tree behind me, which looked like a HUGE umbrella. Beside it was another huge mango tree. To my right was the primary section, big and wide. To my left was the wide expanse of sand and field, with tiny goal-posts. 

This merry mood of mine chose to ignore the dogs resting far away in that field. As I was journeying homeward, dancing with great pleasure, i heard a 'Woof'! A bark that seemed revengeful and angry. I looked in some directions and thought it was an illusion. A moment later, another bark, louder than before. This time my ears heard them right. On my left, running across the field, towards me, were 20 dogs, in one lengthy, abstract row, which seemed to be bringing doom and injury in every trod of theirs. Impulse said "RUN!". It did not tell me where. I was stuck in a dilemma as to climb a jungle gym and sit there or whether to run in another direction. 

In that spur of a moment, I ran. I looked back, and saw an army of dogs, charge at me like the well-bred, strong horses of Rohan. It seemed as if they'd stomp me to death. I remember this one dog. It was definitely not stray from the beginning. It was a breed one would usually have at home. Maybe it was abandoned. It was furry and hunky. Even more deadly looking than the others, though its domestic-pet-counterpart would look cute. 

Well, the run broke and I kissed the ground. My slippers tore. I was too slow to react. I was surrounded by these horses.

I was grounded, in every sense of the term. I could'nt get out of that ring. All i did was wriggle and swing my hands and legs wildly. I had no spear, i had no sword. I tried to inflict damage by delivering fluke kicks and punches. None of them landed. Now, i only tried saving myself and saving my body from any bite or scratch. I remember this one black dog, which only tried to bite my thumb toe off. And another one behind my head which tried to bite my head off. 

All i heard for another 5 minutes were my own wailing, loud, cries and growls of dogs. I did not lose hope for a long time but eventually lost out on stamina and energy. 

My swinging slowed. I became more vulnerable. I lost the power to survive. The Valinar saw. My cries were loud enough. High officials like the principal and other members from the B.O.G came with foot-soldiers and kerns, armed with sticks, stones and plastic pipes. This weaponry was enough. The horses, usually well-bred but turned wild, ran away. 

Somehow, I got out of it without a scratch. It did not make me hate of fear dogs. It just made me more close to them, maybe. 

Now I remember this in a series of images rather than one strip of video. But its still something i don't think i'd ever forget.  

Memory..

 Memory..

The problem is not bad memories. Its the good memories.
What harm do bad memories do? They probably sting for a jiffy. 
What harm to good memories do? They keep stinging for ages. 
If not ages, the time it takes makes sure the damage is done. They last long enough to inflict the damage.

The thing is, only few memories which are sad retain. Very few. Maybe ones which you caused and worsened and now you can't revert them.
But when a good memory which you really want can't be obtained, that's what stings more than a sad memory. Because sad memories can be gotten over. Good memories; you don't want to get over and want them back.
There will be one good memory you want to relive like hell. But you can't. You won't think the same about a bad one, nor will you care about it after sometime.
Better ones may come, you say? How do they matter when your focus is to relive those few memories. What good is it to get some other memories which are again in the risk of loss? The very thought of the good memory is impossible to leave behind and impossible to keep aside. As more good memories keep pouring in and emptying by the day, one is filled with regret and remorse and stinging pain, drowning in deep nostalgia.
Life has good things which it gives for rent. Its like giving a really awesome dog just to take it away the next day.
There is one particular time which i want to relive and i'd love reliving it a gazillion times.
The good in each passing day is gulped by nostalgia. When one is in constant nostalgia, there can't be much of identifiable good.
And every good memory leaves a scar. Every bad memory, leaves a healing wound.

The Starry Ground

The Starry Ground

That place was just amazing. 

Like random mosaic maze-ings.

The view was stark and breathtaking.

Three-hundred feet high. 

A cold and mildly starry night.

A fort of rocky might.
A light towering above all of the city lights.

As I looked down, it seemed as if space has fallen onto Earth.

Felt like stars fell from the sky after ripening.

As if they left the sky and their allying.

Wierd patterns these 'stars' formed. 

Some moved. Some lazed. 

A few amazed.

It was a sight for clueless gaze.

Down under, far below,

A conch bellowed.

Careful speculation showed gallows.

Right in the centre, the stars formed a lit halo.

Beside me went random chit chat and gossip.

How could they miss a sight 

Which gave serenity 

In every sip?

It does not seem like its quite justifiable.

Some stars heralded festivity. Some showed melancholy.

Some honked jolly.

Some were just holy.

A palace i ignored for this.

This was not a view someone could miss.

A cold mild wind gave me a gentle kiss.

Suddenly, there were a myriad stars up there.

Some shot through the pitch black sky.

A stupid floodlight spoilt that sight.

"Break the light!" There's enough starlight. 

Maybe, this is not  enough to describe it. 

Again, describing the sky on land 

Is not an easy knit.

An 'Unmarred' World of No Memory

An 'Unmarred' World Of No Memory

It is said that neither person nor object can be perfect. A person is alive. An object is not. So obviously, how can one decide the perfectness of an object? There are many ways: physics, chemistry, biology, philosophy....perception. It all depends on how one perceives things in his life. 

But what makes one perceive things? Experience? Emotions? Attachment? What do all these big yet little words add up to? They all sum up to memory. These words are all stored in this thing called memory and that's what decides how you're living.

Once a perception of something is on a negative scale, a bad memory is created. A memory that could haunt you forever or cheer you up forever. But eventually, one has to get over them. But is it not that many many people suffer for as long as they live, from these trauma? Is it fair to let the people with positive perceptions lives happily and people with negative perceptions live in grief? Is it fair to let them live in such a way until they die? Why not destroy memory? Why not make a world in which recoverable memory is absent? 

This world would have no sadness nor happiness for eternity. No pain or joy forever. No boredom. No ego. No selfishness. No permanent relation. No experience which would live on. No one would cry or laugh, frown or smile, chafe or praise anyone forever. 

A world without memory would be an unmarred world. Words like "everyday" would not exist and a new day would dawn new experiences. Everyday would be an adventure no matter how many times one does the same thing. 

The everyday problems of ego, greed, temper, obnoxiousness etc would not trouble anyone the next day. 
No need to dwell in the past. No need to think of older problems or happy moments. Maybe, without knowledge, one would relive the moment he would've wanted to if he had memory. Maybe he'd do the same thing the next day. 
There would be no authority. There would be one authority. Oneself! he is the master of himself. Maybe an authority would rise by depriving himself of sleep. How long can one live without sleep? 3 weeks? then what? death. Authority is dead. People will forget that there once existed an authority. 
Well, why? Is'nt the world similar to today's? What do people remember once something dies? One finds it hard and worthless to remember a dream. How would they remember a death? A birth? A joy? A grief? A similarity. People just forget once something is gone. The dead object is just another molecule in an ever-flowing river.
This world could only exist in a primitive one. maybe where the basic instincts of satisfying hunger, sleep, reproduction are the only ones that have developed and where evolution is at a halt. 
Careful speculation and questioning, however, shows that even this world is flawed.
No attachments, no heed to the dead, no permanent meaning of life, no ways of knowing oneself.

"how would you love them?

how would you know who you are?

what your own moral fiber is made of?

what you value?

it takes years to know oneself

love for everyone is good but like i said balance as much as there is love just as much there must be violence

thats why mother nature is not fair"
 These questions need answering. 
Turns out a perfect world of no memory, after all, is not achievable. Turns out memory plays a crucial role. Turns out that perfect and flawless are boring. Turns out that life is nothing without memory.
But thinking about such a memoryless, primitive world, keeps me enchanted and thrilled. New possibilities may pop out. New perfections, new pros and new cons. However it may go, i'm for a memoryless, primitive world. 

A Sonnet for the Rain

A Sonnet for the Rain

I'm lying on my bed,

Singing tracks of Troy

And rain pours like heaven

Bringing winds of joy.

I can see no raven,

Missives of bad boys.

The pour is some music,

It ain't some noise.

I can see a great shadow

Covering the Sun's eyes.

Clouds so grey and shallow,

Lighting up my mind.

Drops of water hollow

Eager to be filled with eyes

And the lake that far away,

I can't see it, it ain't a lie.

Wind-driven droplets thrilled

Keeps me calmly chilled.

This ain't no darkness of which to be sad.

This is a darkness of which one must be glad.

I see the flowers bent;

Playful but spent.

Strips of lightning 

Bring with them some noise..

And now i feel the wind,

Push me away 

From the brink.

Now that force will suffice.

Now i'm unknowingly drenched,

As water droplets clenched

The whole of my size..

Now the door is shut,

By no force but that,

Of that chilly wind that now cries

The rain is now hidden,

Beyond a shut door forbidden,

From myself to open,

Just to feel the rain one last time..

But now the rain is hidden.

By a door forbidden.

From myself to open.

Just to feel the rain.

One Last Time

Weekend of info flood!

Weekend of Info Flood

Weekends are generally peaceful, quiet, serene, restful blah blah blah. Some weekends are extremely extraordinary. One such weekend, a quizzing weekend, a flood of info. 

Saturday, The Kaikuu Quiz Fest. A whole day of extreme quizzing with people pouring in from all over the country, eager to tackle and win. I was just another small fish trying to survive the ocean of these quizzers. These "thope" quizzers whom are at par with few people. Where would I stand?

In a place where you can't tackle  what you're facing, its better to absorb all of it and use it in another place and tackle them, than to lose everything in one attempt; the war, the weapon and the chance.

Starting at 10 O'clock,preceded by a steep hike to a museum, the quiz went on till 9 in the evening. I, rather my army of 3; we stood no chance possibly killing about 4-5 in 2 of the 3 quizzes. The last one, with an army of 2, we killed 12-13. That day of war was over. It was all a flood whenever I chose to sit aside and watch how to kill a question, in every positive sense of it. Looking at those other aces ace each question, i learnt maneuvers and battle strategies. All that is left, is research and practice. At The end of that, we had dinner in a fort. 

The next day, The battle was called "Landmark Open". It was a tough competition. The stakes were high. Losing was dishonour. WE HAD TO WIN! Hence we started, digging through all the memory lanes, me and my army of 3, all the lanes we could go to. We got out all we could to plan killing each question. There were 40 odd questions. We managed to kill 18 and took half the life of another. The other people at par, they killed less. The final battle, fought by brothers and elder people, it was another flood of newer and greater knowledge. 

My army won the battle, we were the best army.

More than the winning, the flood and absorbing all the minerals in the flood, is what made me something new and someone better at war today. Maybe tomorrow, i'd be a bit more better now that i plan on starting research about the tactics and strategies used in the first war. 

A day as a tour guide

A day as a tour guide

I've always seen tour guides on TV or at some tourist destination I've been to. I always thought it was an easy job. Ask whether they needed a guide, show them around, cash and repeat the process again.

Only day before did I know how bloody tiring it is.

It was to be just another normal day. Maybe it was exciting for some of my friends. I was not excited at the prospect of showing around my school to students from another school. It was just another day, though it was the first time I'd be doing something like that. 

They arrived. An army of students. A battalion. Maybe 46-50. All dressed in pure white shirts and blue shaded pants. Neatly combed, freshly ironed. We had to go and introduce ourselves and mingle with this battalion to make them feel comfortable, homely and friendly. 

They were quite friendly. Maybe not all of them were. The ones I spoke to were quite social. I asked them questions accompanied by my classmate and they asked me questions about school and life. Questions, answers, conversations.

Time came to show these foreigners our magnificent school, spread over a 190 acres. A fellowship was selected. Myself and 5 others. A fellowship of 6 students, armed with the knowledge of the school, set out to show the foreigners the awe-inspiring fields and other unique features of our school. 
A journey of over 2 km. A journey across labs and fields. Planes and tanks. Musicians and cricketers. Hiking and trekking. ......... basically all the tiring activities. 
The list is too big. My activeness and patience, quite small. I'm too lazy nowadays. So basically, i figured out how tiring a guide's job is. To roam around the whole place and giving continuous information about the area. ~sigh~. Well, new experiences. They last!