When you don't know whether to feel happy about a memory or sad, shed a tear. A tear can be both
Thursday, 18 June 2015
Saturday, 6 June 2015
A Train of Thought Lead Me Home.
I came back home today. The day has not been all that great.
But again, the days haven't been good for quite some time. Thoughts have been bothering me, one after another and it is for the first time in a very long time that something like this is happening. Immunity has its holes.
I participated in a quiz today and I performed miserably. I haven't won or even qualified in any quiz in the past year. But, as my friend had made me believe, it was the beginning of every quizzer in college. Today, was a whole new level of screwing up. One more added thought. All of these, they made me question where I was going and where I had been going in the past year. I just built confidence and enthusiasm to do things, did those things, achieved things that others didn't. But, today, I did not see the point. I've helped people before and their reactions to the help always used to bring a smile on my face. Today, even those made no sense. "Why did I help them?" Nothing seems to be making sense, anymore. Not having company is like a singularity pulling my mind towards disaster.
I was to go to dinner with my friends after the quiz. The quiz had done enough. I tried to pick myself up. Then, I saw a message that sent me back into turbulence. We cancelled plans to go for dinner but decided to meet, anyway. One my way to his house, it started to rain; rain like you wouldn't imagine. The raindrops were like the wind, everywhere. Clouds and rain were my panacea. They didn't work. They further worsened the darkness in the mind. I cancelled all the plans for the day and made a run for the station, unable to see anything through the rain. I ran like it didn't matter. I crossed the tracks like a parkour runner, with a train approaching me. It just didn't matter. I waited for another train, so that I could go back home for no reason. Just go home. I waited for the train, drenched. The shirt took a darker tone, the pant was pitch black, my hair was fuzzy and the spectacles were fogged. I didn't care. It didn't matter. It was raining, what would anyone expect? The train was filled with people I didn't know. Yet, they seemed like people I could find respite in. People going somewhere, for some purpose, however similar it was to mine. I just reached a stage where I wasn't willing to recognise my own purpose. I had given up on the thought of fighting something that was retarding me.
I got off the train and it was still raining like it were wind. I walked through the drenched crowd, eager to get a train home or wherever they were going. My thoughts weren't slowing down, weren't cooling down. They weren't burning either. They were on a constant simmer; chained to a frying pan, sizzling slowly. That's more painful that just turning into ash. I gave up my usual methods of respite. It was raining heavily. I was in the neighbourhood. I could've bought ice cream. I could've gone anywhere I wanted to. Instead, I gave up. I just sat down on a bench on the platform. Sat and did nothing. I didn't know what to do. I didn't feel like going home. I just wanted to sit down. The rain blocked out any other sound. The announcements were a distant echo. I just sat there and let the thoughts run for as long as they would. Soon enough, I realised what a bad idea that was. I tried to think of those days before the turn of the year, school, the first days of college. Every single good memory got washed away by a wave of memories that reminded me of where I had come to after all that. Questions popping up; unanswerable, unquestionable, unbeatable. Questions after a questions were eating up the insides. I let them, because I couldn't do anything else. I surrendered. I was about to raise the white flag when a man came and sat next to me. He must've been in his forties. His beard was white and his hair was white in certain parts. He was wearing khaki pants, black sports shoes and a checkered shirt and was carrying a lunch box. The pant reminded me of my school uniform. Strangely enough, it looked like one of my old uniform pants. Didn't matter. This man, for some reason, was like a candle to me. I decided to look up and see what was going on. It was just the usual train station. I felt like making conversation with him, but, I didn't. I didn't stop looking, though. As the thoughts continued to eat me up, a train stopped at the station. I saw some people get in and some get off. It reminded me of time. It reminded me of how times bring some people and take some people away. If we're lucky enough, we see the same person again or, they're gone forever. So are the times, if we're fortunate, we'll never see such a bad time again and that gave me some hope. I tried to fight back. it worked a tiny bit. I looked at the man and there was an ant crawling up his back. I brushed it off. He looked at me and I gestured as to what I had done. He smiled, I smiled. I don't know why. Still sitting there, I saw a police man walk by. I was staring at him and he was staring at me. I decided to smile. He smiled back, thinking I was laughing at the incessant rainfall. The man sitting next to me smiled, too. After a while, I finally asked the man where he was going, because, I didn't. He named a place that I knew was far away. Very far away. In that rain, even more further away. Yet, he was waiting for that opportunity go home, where he can finally rest. I laughed at the distance. He laughed at the distance. There was silence again. The man gave me something I couldn't really fathom, at that point. It stopped raining. I decided to go home, for some reason. Even though I felt like staying till the man caught his train which was more than delayed. Yet, I decided to go home. I came back and didn't feel all that good. Certain happenings further disturbed me. But, as I am writing this article, I am able to fathom everything that sitting on that bench showed me.
Everyone is always on a journey. Some know why and some don't. Some trains are just not ours, like some days. Some trains are entirely ours. The others depend on how packed they are. No matter what we do, at the end of the day, we want to take that train home. I did everything I did, however it is affecting me and however it has affected others, to take that train back home, a place which I can call mine, which I can design, which is where I find rest with myself and provide warmth and comfort to others. That is why I helped people. To show them the glimpse of home they were away from. By trying to put a smile on their face and by trying to make them feel the warmth and comfort of some place they could call home. While the present train isn't mine at all, I'll find my way home, somehow.
But again, the days haven't been good for quite some time. Thoughts have been bothering me, one after another and it is for the first time in a very long time that something like this is happening. Immunity has its holes.
I participated in a quiz today and I performed miserably. I haven't won or even qualified in any quiz in the past year. But, as my friend had made me believe, it was the beginning of every quizzer in college. Today, was a whole new level of screwing up. One more added thought. All of these, they made me question where I was going and where I had been going in the past year. I just built confidence and enthusiasm to do things, did those things, achieved things that others didn't. But, today, I did not see the point. I've helped people before and their reactions to the help always used to bring a smile on my face. Today, even those made no sense. "Why did I help them?" Nothing seems to be making sense, anymore. Not having company is like a singularity pulling my mind towards disaster.
I was to go to dinner with my friends after the quiz. The quiz had done enough. I tried to pick myself up. Then, I saw a message that sent me back into turbulence. We cancelled plans to go for dinner but decided to meet, anyway. One my way to his house, it started to rain; rain like you wouldn't imagine. The raindrops were like the wind, everywhere. Clouds and rain were my panacea. They didn't work. They further worsened the darkness in the mind. I cancelled all the plans for the day and made a run for the station, unable to see anything through the rain. I ran like it didn't matter. I crossed the tracks like a parkour runner, with a train approaching me. It just didn't matter. I waited for another train, so that I could go back home for no reason. Just go home. I waited for the train, drenched. The shirt took a darker tone, the pant was pitch black, my hair was fuzzy and the spectacles were fogged. I didn't care. It didn't matter. It was raining, what would anyone expect? The train was filled with people I didn't know. Yet, they seemed like people I could find respite in. People going somewhere, for some purpose, however similar it was to mine. I just reached a stage where I wasn't willing to recognise my own purpose. I had given up on the thought of fighting something that was retarding me.
I got off the train and it was still raining like it were wind. I walked through the drenched crowd, eager to get a train home or wherever they were going. My thoughts weren't slowing down, weren't cooling down. They weren't burning either. They were on a constant simmer; chained to a frying pan, sizzling slowly. That's more painful that just turning into ash. I gave up my usual methods of respite. It was raining heavily. I was in the neighbourhood. I could've bought ice cream. I could've gone anywhere I wanted to. Instead, I gave up. I just sat down on a bench on the platform. Sat and did nothing. I didn't know what to do. I didn't feel like going home. I just wanted to sit down. The rain blocked out any other sound. The announcements were a distant echo. I just sat there and let the thoughts run for as long as they would. Soon enough, I realised what a bad idea that was. I tried to think of those days before the turn of the year, school, the first days of college. Every single good memory got washed away by a wave of memories that reminded me of where I had come to after all that. Questions popping up; unanswerable, unquestionable, unbeatable. Questions after a questions were eating up the insides. I let them, because I couldn't do anything else. I surrendered. I was about to raise the white flag when a man came and sat next to me. He must've been in his forties. His beard was white and his hair was white in certain parts. He was wearing khaki pants, black sports shoes and a checkered shirt and was carrying a lunch box. The pant reminded me of my school uniform. Strangely enough, it looked like one of my old uniform pants. Didn't matter. This man, for some reason, was like a candle to me. I decided to look up and see what was going on. It was just the usual train station. I felt like making conversation with him, but, I didn't. I didn't stop looking, though. As the thoughts continued to eat me up, a train stopped at the station. I saw some people get in and some get off. It reminded me of time. It reminded me of how times bring some people and take some people away. If we're lucky enough, we see the same person again or, they're gone forever. So are the times, if we're fortunate, we'll never see such a bad time again and that gave me some hope. I tried to fight back. it worked a tiny bit. I looked at the man and there was an ant crawling up his back. I brushed it off. He looked at me and I gestured as to what I had done. He smiled, I smiled. I don't know why. Still sitting there, I saw a police man walk by. I was staring at him and he was staring at me. I decided to smile. He smiled back, thinking I was laughing at the incessant rainfall. The man sitting next to me smiled, too. After a while, I finally asked the man where he was going, because, I didn't. He named a place that I knew was far away. Very far away. In that rain, even more further away. Yet, he was waiting for that opportunity go home, where he can finally rest. I laughed at the distance. He laughed at the distance. There was silence again. The man gave me something I couldn't really fathom, at that point. It stopped raining. I decided to go home, for some reason. Even though I felt like staying till the man caught his train which was more than delayed. Yet, I decided to go home. I came back and didn't feel all that good. Certain happenings further disturbed me. But, as I am writing this article, I am able to fathom everything that sitting on that bench showed me.
Everyone is always on a journey. Some know why and some don't. Some trains are just not ours, like some days. Some trains are entirely ours. The others depend on how packed they are. No matter what we do, at the end of the day, we want to take that train home. I did everything I did, however it is affecting me and however it has affected others, to take that train back home, a place which I can call mine, which I can design, which is where I find rest with myself and provide warmth and comfort to others. That is why I helped people. To show them the glimpse of home they were away from. By trying to put a smile on their face and by trying to make them feel the warmth and comfort of some place they could call home. While the present train isn't mine at all, I'll find my way home, somehow.
Saturday, 16 May 2015
A moment's wait
Staying away from home, I usually have my dinner in one of the stalls across the road. They reassure something that I have always believed in; the roads are a sad place.
Every evening, I see a lot of beggars asking for money, while a lot of people and I just ignore them or feel sorry for them and continue eating and filling our stomachs in front of someone who might not be able to eat anything at all. I ofcourse feel sorry for them and feel ugly about myself, but, reality's reality. It's often that in these cases, you don't think beyond your own needs. There are two specific persons who come to that area to ask for money. One of them is a young girl and the other looks like her father, blind and perhaps, mentally challenged. The father walks as if he walks and his head is tilted towards the sky. He constantly keeps nodding it from side to side and his eyes are white. They go around, like every other economically devastated person in hope of getting something to sustain on.
One particular day, while I sorrily denied them any money while eating my food, again, they went to a man to ask for some money. The man was extremely tall and well-built. He was half-bald and looked like someone I knew (He wasn't that person). He had just lit a cigarette and was smoking it like a professional. While his other companions and friends had denied them money, he stopped them. He literally blocked the way they were taking to go to another place. This caught my attention. I stopped eating and looked at what he was going to do. He lifted his hand to his face and shot up three fingers. Logic dictates, as it was true, that he had asked the father, "How much is this?" It did not look like the father replied. The daughter tried to escape, but, he blocked their way, again. It made me angry and question his actions. All this time, he had a one-sided smile on his face. It ticked me off further. But, well, what could I do? I was just another person with a mind to prevent such humiliation and no body to do it. The man asked the father, again, "How many fingers am I holding up?" It was almost as if he was doing it for his own entertainment. The daughter replied something that I could not understand. The man spoke with the daughter for some more time, asking her questions. I tried to place myself in their shoes and think of how devastating it would be, for someone to doubt my disabilities and plight. I wouldn't have cared, after living in such conditions, about what other people thought when they had heard me. I would just feel devastated about someone questioning my disability just for their entertainment. I do not think that the father even replied to any of these questions. Maybe, he wasn't able to. I was watching this scene and I felt really bad. But, then, something magical happened.
The man who seemed to be taking fun out of their plight was not some bully I had thought him to be. He was being a kind man. The man did not intend to add salt to a wound, he sought to add medicine by sharing the pain and knowing their story. He was making conversation with someone no one would. He was being friendly. I know this, how? Soon after the daughter and the man finished talking, he pulled out a fifty-rupee note and gave it to the daughter. The daughter took it and went away. I don't know if she showed any expression of gratitude. I don't know if the man felt good about it; maybe he did. I would've. He calmly walked to his group of friends and smoked his cigarette, nodding to some chat his friend was having about office.
This scene made me smile. A moment ago, I felt like thrashing the man and a moment later, I felt like felicitating him with the highest humanitarian award that there is. I'm thankful that I had waited that moment, because, it gave me a gem of a memory that I will cherish for a long time.
Every evening, I see a lot of beggars asking for money, while a lot of people and I just ignore them or feel sorry for them and continue eating and filling our stomachs in front of someone who might not be able to eat anything at all. I ofcourse feel sorry for them and feel ugly about myself, but, reality's reality. It's often that in these cases, you don't think beyond your own needs. There are two specific persons who come to that area to ask for money. One of them is a young girl and the other looks like her father, blind and perhaps, mentally challenged. The father walks as if he walks and his head is tilted towards the sky. He constantly keeps nodding it from side to side and his eyes are white. They go around, like every other economically devastated person in hope of getting something to sustain on.
One particular day, while I sorrily denied them any money while eating my food, again, they went to a man to ask for some money. The man was extremely tall and well-built. He was half-bald and looked like someone I knew (He wasn't that person). He had just lit a cigarette and was smoking it like a professional. While his other companions and friends had denied them money, he stopped them. He literally blocked the way they were taking to go to another place. This caught my attention. I stopped eating and looked at what he was going to do. He lifted his hand to his face and shot up three fingers. Logic dictates, as it was true, that he had asked the father, "How much is this?" It did not look like the father replied. The daughter tried to escape, but, he blocked their way, again. It made me angry and question his actions. All this time, he had a one-sided smile on his face. It ticked me off further. But, well, what could I do? I was just another person with a mind to prevent such humiliation and no body to do it. The man asked the father, again, "How many fingers am I holding up?" It was almost as if he was doing it for his own entertainment. The daughter replied something that I could not understand. The man spoke with the daughter for some more time, asking her questions. I tried to place myself in their shoes and think of how devastating it would be, for someone to doubt my disabilities and plight. I wouldn't have cared, after living in such conditions, about what other people thought when they had heard me. I would just feel devastated about someone questioning my disability just for their entertainment. I do not think that the father even replied to any of these questions. Maybe, he wasn't able to. I was watching this scene and I felt really bad. But, then, something magical happened.
The man who seemed to be taking fun out of their plight was not some bully I had thought him to be. He was being a kind man. The man did not intend to add salt to a wound, he sought to add medicine by sharing the pain and knowing their story. He was making conversation with someone no one would. He was being friendly. I know this, how? Soon after the daughter and the man finished talking, he pulled out a fifty-rupee note and gave it to the daughter. The daughter took it and went away. I don't know if she showed any expression of gratitude. I don't know if the man felt good about it; maybe he did. I would've. He calmly walked to his group of friends and smoked his cigarette, nodding to some chat his friend was having about office.
This scene made me smile. A moment ago, I felt like thrashing the man and a moment later, I felt like felicitating him with the highest humanitarian award that there is. I'm thankful that I had waited that moment, because, it gave me a gem of a memory that I will cherish for a long time.
Piloting a Spaceship
It must be my obsession with scientific things or my obsession with space and its wonders. I'm having dreams in which I'm learning how to fly different types of spaceships.
A few weeks ago, I had a dream in which I was a secret agent, along with two other friends, working for an extremely secret organisation. The case was one of extreme risk and secrecy involving something that would decide the fate of Earth. While working on the case, I come to know that the 'something,' a piece of information stored in a pendrive, is gone. So, I investigate into where it could've gone. It was some building I had been in before. Big, yellow, glass windows, trees and plants inside with a glass roof. So, I went in, with an entire team of agents, knowing what I'd be dealing with in there. But, what I did not expect, was one of my friends being the rogue agent who stole the piece of information. This 'friend' was someone I could not recognise. She shot my other friend and shot me, taking advantage of the shock we were in. As my eyelids slowly shut themselves, I saw the roof open wide and then, something took off.
When I opened my eyes, I was in a place I did not know. The place was dark with small yellow lights flickering in certain places. There was window, and it was dark outside. I was lying on the floor and the gravity felt weird. It was different than the gravity I was used to. The temperature felt synthetic. There were some 'beep' sounds in the background. I got up and went to the window to see where I was. It must've been a dream, because, right there, in front of me, was a blue star with planets orbiting it. I was in the orbit of one of the planets which was entirely blue. I looked to my right and inside there, was a room with bigger windows. In the middle of that room, there was something that looked like a column with a plate on top. As I went closer to it, I saw buttons and other things on it. On one of the screens, there was an image of something that looked like a flying saucer. It did not take me much time to know that it was the spaceship I was in. It was black in colour, as if it wanted to hide itself in Space. I did not remember I got into the spaceship. I did not know where I was. But, none of this was shock to me. It was as if I knew that interstellar travel exists. I was in one of those star systems. There was life on the planet below. The ships flying in and out of the planet made it clear. Then, I placed my hands on the "plate" and the ship made a sound, as if it got activated. The outer rim of the saucer started rotating. Then, I pushed the plate forward and the saucer tilted forward and moved. I pulled it back and it moved back. With each push or pull, the outer rim moved faster. There were no buttons, really, than ones which looked like they'd be activating the weapons bay. Something I did not want to do, with an alien planet below me. I had a thought about finding out where I was and message Earth. Two holographic screens opened up. One of them showed me where I was in the galaxy. The other patched me through to Agency HQ. The technology in the ship, everything which was not weapons, worked on telepathy. The navigator showed me that Earth was a few star systems away. The communicator showed me people who were shocked to see me. The director of the Agency, a wrinkled, old man with square spects dashed to the screen to talk to me. I told him whatever I could recollect and he ordered me to return to a world in danger. I knew I had to go home. So, I pushed the panel forward and backward again, to check if I had got it right. Then, sideways to see if I had go it right, for sure. Ascent and descent were, again, telepathic. With the basic knowledge of flying an alien spaceship, I made way for home, or, as far as I could go. I did not know what the saucer ran on or how far it would take me or whose it was. I had to get home.
I don't suppose I'll ever know if I had reached home and looked at what was happening.
Maybe, now, I can fly a spaceship modelled like a flying saucer.
Last night, I had another dream. I was with Sandra Bullock from 'Gravity' and Anne Hathaway from 'Interstellar.' We were on a mission to rescue Earth or, perhaps, the people on Earth. Anne and I were trainees and Sandra was the trainer. This ship wasn't a flying saucer. This was a long spaceship that could carry lots of people. The cockpit had just enough space for three people, unlike the saucer's. Everything was physical, unlike the saucer, which was telepathic. The yoke of the console was between my legs, just high enough to reach my hands. My feet were on two pedals. To my left was a tool that would help me determine fuel ignition and speed. Two other similar consoles lay to my right and to my left. Sandra was sitting to my left and told us about the basic controls. The pedals were brakes. One of them was an air brake. The cockpit had small windows; narrow ones just enough to look ahead and slightly above or below. I was sure that this ship belonged to Earth. Next, Sandra taught us about ignition and speed. She asked us to slowly push the throttle ahead until it reached '6.' I pushed it till 10 before she completed her sentence and blew the ship up. It was a simulator. So, no harm. The next time, I heard her properly. She told us to push it till six, slowly and to leave it. The throttle, apparently, would calculate the need for more ignition, if required, when taking off. So, the second time, I did it right. We were off! The next thing she taught us was landing. She told us that the landing would not be vertically down, but, horizontally in a landing bay. So, we had to fly the huge, enormous, gigantic ship close to the landing bay, whose gates must've been huge, and wait till we felt a magnetic pull. This was to be our path to follow. As we would enter the landing bay, we had to eject anchors. The anchors weren't big, metal flukes, but, bulged, metal parachutes. When ejected at the right time, they would get pulled towards the magnetic 'anchor pods.' The anchors had inertial balancers so that the ship wouldn't rip itself apart because of being stopped at that momentum. It was pretty to look at. The next thing she taught us was the procedure to follow in case of the ship crashing or when under threat that would cause the mission to be pointless. There was a button in cockpit that, on pressing, would take hold of every life-form by deploying a blue bubble around them. It was supposed to be an air pocket and something that would fly them to nearest human establishment, as soon as possible. It was fun to look at.
So, I'm learning how to pilot spacecrafts.
A few weeks ago, I had a dream in which I was a secret agent, along with two other friends, working for an extremely secret organisation. The case was one of extreme risk and secrecy involving something that would decide the fate of Earth. While working on the case, I come to know that the 'something,' a piece of information stored in a pendrive, is gone. So, I investigate into where it could've gone. It was some building I had been in before. Big, yellow, glass windows, trees and plants inside with a glass roof. So, I went in, with an entire team of agents, knowing what I'd be dealing with in there. But, what I did not expect, was one of my friends being the rogue agent who stole the piece of information. This 'friend' was someone I could not recognise. She shot my other friend and shot me, taking advantage of the shock we were in. As my eyelids slowly shut themselves, I saw the roof open wide and then, something took off.
When I opened my eyes, I was in a place I did not know. The place was dark with small yellow lights flickering in certain places. There was window, and it was dark outside. I was lying on the floor and the gravity felt weird. It was different than the gravity I was used to. The temperature felt synthetic. There were some 'beep' sounds in the background. I got up and went to the window to see where I was. It must've been a dream, because, right there, in front of me, was a blue star with planets orbiting it. I was in the orbit of one of the planets which was entirely blue. I looked to my right and inside there, was a room with bigger windows. In the middle of that room, there was something that looked like a column with a plate on top. As I went closer to it, I saw buttons and other things on it. On one of the screens, there was an image of something that looked like a flying saucer. It did not take me much time to know that it was the spaceship I was in. It was black in colour, as if it wanted to hide itself in Space. I did not remember I got into the spaceship. I did not know where I was. But, none of this was shock to me. It was as if I knew that interstellar travel exists. I was in one of those star systems. There was life on the planet below. The ships flying in and out of the planet made it clear. Then, I placed my hands on the "plate" and the ship made a sound, as if it got activated. The outer rim of the saucer started rotating. Then, I pushed the plate forward and the saucer tilted forward and moved. I pulled it back and it moved back. With each push or pull, the outer rim moved faster. There were no buttons, really, than ones which looked like they'd be activating the weapons bay. Something I did not want to do, with an alien planet below me. I had a thought about finding out where I was and message Earth. Two holographic screens opened up. One of them showed me where I was in the galaxy. The other patched me through to Agency HQ. The technology in the ship, everything which was not weapons, worked on telepathy. The navigator showed me that Earth was a few star systems away. The communicator showed me people who were shocked to see me. The director of the Agency, a wrinkled, old man with square spects dashed to the screen to talk to me. I told him whatever I could recollect and he ordered me to return to a world in danger. I knew I had to go home. So, I pushed the panel forward and backward again, to check if I had got it right. Then, sideways to see if I had go it right, for sure. Ascent and descent were, again, telepathic. With the basic knowledge of flying an alien spaceship, I made way for home, or, as far as I could go. I did not know what the saucer ran on or how far it would take me or whose it was. I had to get home.
I don't suppose I'll ever know if I had reached home and looked at what was happening.
Maybe, now, I can fly a spaceship modelled like a flying saucer.
Last night, I had another dream. I was with Sandra Bullock from 'Gravity' and Anne Hathaway from 'Interstellar.' We were on a mission to rescue Earth or, perhaps, the people on Earth. Anne and I were trainees and Sandra was the trainer. This ship wasn't a flying saucer. This was a long spaceship that could carry lots of people. The cockpit had just enough space for three people, unlike the saucer's. Everything was physical, unlike the saucer, which was telepathic. The yoke of the console was between my legs, just high enough to reach my hands. My feet were on two pedals. To my left was a tool that would help me determine fuel ignition and speed. Two other similar consoles lay to my right and to my left. Sandra was sitting to my left and told us about the basic controls. The pedals were brakes. One of them was an air brake. The cockpit had small windows; narrow ones just enough to look ahead and slightly above or below. I was sure that this ship belonged to Earth. Next, Sandra taught us about ignition and speed. She asked us to slowly push the throttle ahead until it reached '6.' I pushed it till 10 before she completed her sentence and blew the ship up. It was a simulator. So, no harm. The next time, I heard her properly. She told us to push it till six, slowly and to leave it. The throttle, apparently, would calculate the need for more ignition, if required, when taking off. So, the second time, I did it right. We were off! The next thing she taught us was landing. She told us that the landing would not be vertically down, but, horizontally in a landing bay. So, we had to fly the huge, enormous, gigantic ship close to the landing bay, whose gates must've been huge, and wait till we felt a magnetic pull. This was to be our path to follow. As we would enter the landing bay, we had to eject anchors. The anchors weren't big, metal flukes, but, bulged, metal parachutes. When ejected at the right time, they would get pulled towards the magnetic 'anchor pods.' The anchors had inertial balancers so that the ship wouldn't rip itself apart because of being stopped at that momentum. It was pretty to look at. The next thing she taught us was the procedure to follow in case of the ship crashing or when under threat that would cause the mission to be pointless. There was a button in cockpit that, on pressing, would take hold of every life-form by deploying a blue bubble around them. It was supposed to be an air pocket and something that would fly them to nearest human establishment, as soon as possible. It was fun to look at.
So, I'm learning how to pilot spacecrafts.
Thursday, 23 April 2015
The Promised Visit
Hello....
As much as I'd like to fill that ellipsis with 'Love,' I hold myself back. Perhaps, it is the guilt of leaving you or the knowledge that I can't make it up to you. Either way, it's been a long time. Hello.
The last time I had written a letter to you, I told you about Jurisprudence. I told you that I'd be spending my five years over here, if not longer, with her. Well, she left. It's hardly been a year. For some reason, which I may be knowing rightly, I don't feel sad about it.
Things are worse than ever and there is nothing to make it better. The mind rots without you, Love. It really does. Maybe this annoys you. Maybe this makes you angry. It was my choice to leave you over there, and I regret it. Physics, I'd like you back, but it's too late. I'm just glad that I can still visit you, in reality and in my dreams. But, I also feel sad that our relation won't ever be as strong as it once used to, when were each others' getaways.
To make things worse, there is someone who is making me miss you more than ever! She calls herself Pol-Sci. Oh, you should see the way she tries to woo me! You'd laugh. You'd pity her. Whenever she tries to imbibe herself into me, thoughts of you push her away. She is appalling and pungent, Physics, and she can't ever be you. To be honest, there has been no one yet, who could match you. You, Beautiful Thing, are beyond anybody else. You're the star that cannot be reached, however hard someone tries. I hope I can be the planet that revolves around you.
Speaking of Pol-Sci, the last time she tried to woo me, I ended up trying to make new landing sequences for re-usable rockets. That's what happens every time. I end up coming back to you. I was one of the Quiz-masters at my college's annual fest. You should've seen how much I had controlled myself to exclude you from dominating my set. I did add a few memories, though. Good stuff. People loved it.
To be honest, I am forgetting certain things about you, but, I'm sure they're just slipping to the back of the mind. All I need is time to spend with you. Quality time. Perhaps, we can do it someday... I hope we do.
Gandalf once said that every good story needs embellishment. You, Physics, are my embellishment.
Yours Lovingly,
You-Know-Who
As much as I'd like to fill that ellipsis with 'Love,' I hold myself back. Perhaps, it is the guilt of leaving you or the knowledge that I can't make it up to you. Either way, it's been a long time. Hello.
The last time I had written a letter to you, I told you about Jurisprudence. I told you that I'd be spending my five years over here, if not longer, with her. Well, she left. It's hardly been a year. For some reason, which I may be knowing rightly, I don't feel sad about it.
Things are worse than ever and there is nothing to make it better. The mind rots without you, Love. It really does. Maybe this annoys you. Maybe this makes you angry. It was my choice to leave you over there, and I regret it. Physics, I'd like you back, but it's too late. I'm just glad that I can still visit you, in reality and in my dreams. But, I also feel sad that our relation won't ever be as strong as it once used to, when were each others' getaways.
To make things worse, there is someone who is making me miss you more than ever! She calls herself Pol-Sci. Oh, you should see the way she tries to woo me! You'd laugh. You'd pity her. Whenever she tries to imbibe herself into me, thoughts of you push her away. She is appalling and pungent, Physics, and she can't ever be you. To be honest, there has been no one yet, who could match you. You, Beautiful Thing, are beyond anybody else. You're the star that cannot be reached, however hard someone tries. I hope I can be the planet that revolves around you.
Speaking of Pol-Sci, the last time she tried to woo me, I ended up trying to make new landing sequences for re-usable rockets. That's what happens every time. I end up coming back to you. I was one of the Quiz-masters at my college's annual fest. You should've seen how much I had controlled myself to exclude you from dominating my set. I did add a few memories, though. Good stuff. People loved it.
To be honest, I am forgetting certain things about you, but, I'm sure they're just slipping to the back of the mind. All I need is time to spend with you. Quality time. Perhaps, we can do it someday... I hope we do.
Gandalf once said that every good story needs embellishment. You, Physics, are my embellishment.
Yours Lovingly,
You-Know-Who
Friday, 17 April 2015
"I Look Out Upon, See, Hear and I Am Silent"
I have always held this view. The streets are sad places.
You feel happy when you see balloons in one person's hand and sad in another's. You feel rejoiced to see a balloon in the hands of a kid, smiling and happy with the balloon. You feel that the world is a happy place. Then you look at another kid who curses the same balloon because that is all he can do for a living and yet, the balloons are not so kind to him; they won't sell. You see the morose look on his face and the story of a lowly life in his eyes, brimming with tears, or dreams. Perhaps dreams that he thinks he just may bring into reality one day. Seeing this, you question the 'Happy' world. You see the kid trying to make money with balloons in a world where virtual media has taken over the simple pleasures of life. I remember those days when balloons in the hand was a greater pleasure than any modern gadget that you dream of having. You see the kid and you feel for him, but, what can you do? Nothing. And you feel bad about this; that whatever you do, you cannot help the kid in that moment. The kid needs money, his family needs money and you feel like you can help, but, then you realise that you need money, too and that the 'simple pleasure' is not worth the cost. Not worth or not affordable, one of those. Something that seemed so simple is now so costly that you hesitate to lend a hand to help someone crawl up by a tiny, negligible bit, even though your heart cries out, bleeds out for you to lend that hand. Yet, you won't. You can't. Something else is ruling over your heart. You realise that you yourself are in a helpless state. The question 'How will I help somebody else?' will keep hitting you at the back of head with a sledgehammer and you won't be able to stop it. Whatever plans you had of buying the simple pleasures or even helping the kid, all vanish at once. It's like how Walt Whitman says in his poem,
I did not like him for saying that even though I partly agreed with him, a year ago. I see his point, now. I agree with him entirely. I sit and look out upon on all these miseries and I do nothing. I can do nothing. After all this, you realise that the world might not be that happy a place after all. Not everything is rainbows, some of it, most of it, is thunderstorm. Every moment of some lives is thunderstorm of the worst kind. This makes you think and contemplate and feel sad about all of it and, now, you know for a fact that the colourful Earth is not a stack of rainbows. It's just another abstract spillage of various colours. And at some point in the canvas, a bit too much of 'black' got dumped, which smudged itself all across the rest of the canvas. It made sure that it can be seen in the brightest of colours.You see that the world is like this and will be like this, even though it shouldn't be. You know that you can't make a change to this. But, then, you recollect all those people, and perhaps yourself, who spend on pointless pleasures when there is so much more you could do with it. You recollect the expenditure on things which pleasure you for a mere instant, gone with the next wind that touches your skin. And even then, you know that you can't help it because in that moment of pointless expenditure, these things will rarely strike you. Even if they do, the urge and excitement to buy the thing that you think will make you 'happy' destroys your conscience to lend a hand. The next thing you know, you're carrying home a nice shopping bag made of posh plastics. Perhaps, the same plastics the kid wanted to sell, just with some extra effort and tonnes of hope. It rarely strikes you. Well, that's how it is and you know it.
Rousseau believed that the dawn of reason was where the dawn of the demise of happiness of man began. He said that with the dawn of reason, man began of think of 'mine and thine.' Come to think of it, Rousseau is right. One doesn't need historical evidence to prove this. The present is evidence enough and you are witness enough.
I saw the kid with the balloon today, like every other day. I was not able to do anything, like every other day.
You feel happy when you see balloons in one person's hand and sad in another's. You feel rejoiced to see a balloon in the hands of a kid, smiling and happy with the balloon. You feel that the world is a happy place. Then you look at another kid who curses the same balloon because that is all he can do for a living and yet, the balloons are not so kind to him; they won't sell. You see the morose look on his face and the story of a lowly life in his eyes, brimming with tears, or dreams. Perhaps dreams that he thinks he just may bring into reality one day. Seeing this, you question the 'Happy' world. You see the kid trying to make money with balloons in a world where virtual media has taken over the simple pleasures of life. I remember those days when balloons in the hand was a greater pleasure than any modern gadget that you dream of having. You see the kid and you feel for him, but, what can you do? Nothing. And you feel bad about this; that whatever you do, you cannot help the kid in that moment. The kid needs money, his family needs money and you feel like you can help, but, then you realise that you need money, too and that the 'simple pleasure' is not worth the cost. Not worth or not affordable, one of those. Something that seemed so simple is now so costly that you hesitate to lend a hand to help someone crawl up by a tiny, negligible bit, even though your heart cries out, bleeds out for you to lend that hand. Yet, you won't. You can't. Something else is ruling over your heart. You realise that you yourself are in a helpless state. The question 'How will I help somebody else?' will keep hitting you at the back of head with a sledgehammer and you won't be able to stop it. Whatever plans you had of buying the simple pleasures or even helping the kid, all vanish at once. It's like how Walt Whitman says in his poem,
| "[I sit and look out upon]All the meanness and agony without end, I sitting, look out upon, | ||||||||||||||||||||
| See, hear, and am silent." |
Rousseau believed that the dawn of reason was where the dawn of the demise of happiness of man began. He said that with the dawn of reason, man began of think of 'mine and thine.' Come to think of it, Rousseau is right. One doesn't need historical evidence to prove this. The present is evidence enough and you are witness enough.
I saw the kid with the balloon today, like every other day. I was not able to do anything, like every other day.
Wednesday, 15 April 2015
You, the Starry Night Sky
I remember that day you walked in
Like a serene winter's breeze on a
Golden Summer evening.
I remember that day when you sat by me;
As pleasant a feeling as listening to
The song of a Canary.
I remember that you asked me if I had liked it.
I told you that whatever I said would not be anything like it,
Because you looked like a starry night sky.
I stared at you from the ground,
At You, the boundless beauty that left me spellbound.
Like a serene winter's breeze on a
Golden Summer evening.
I remember that day when you sat by me;
As pleasant a feeling as listening to
The song of a Canary.
I remember that you asked me if I had liked it.
I told you that whatever I said would not be anything like it,
Because you looked like a starry night sky.
I stared at you from the ground,
At You, the boundless beauty that left me spellbound.
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