Monday, July 22, 2013

Tibet's 55 Words.

This is a 55 word story I wrote when I was in Dharamsala. Sort of gives a short opine on Tibet.

The charred remains of what once was skin, shines with opulent irony aided by beads of glistening sweat. The leg, now an object of abstract attention, brings to mind many horrific stories. 
Told. Retold. Some, untold.
Of a nine year old boy, crawling his way across border. 
And they dare to say, Freedom is overrated. 

Sunday, July 14, 2013

Because Someone had to Say it.

It's a fucking paradox that all that you think will be, never, usually does. In the sense, it comes with a very wry sense of non-permanence, so as to speak, nothing really lasts.
And I speak for most elements, in life. Writing projects, sunglasses, subject notes, relationships, unseen entities like trust-Hard to get by, easy to lose.
And in most cases, what really fucks us over, and gets us at our weakest spots, is how naturally we assume that things will stay. We proceed to spend the money we saved aside for cigarettes, and generously barter it in exchange for the most bass-inducing-quality-music-transferring headphones ever. And just as quickly, we attach these banal, man-produced specters of growing commercialisation to our hearts, like they could mean more, than the orange hues the evening sky sometime produces.
And mean more, they do.
Albeit, a short while.
Because, like I whined fifteen sentences back, permanence or the very thought about it, is absolutely stupid. Considering, that we shall, at some point of time, be reduced to the same saw dust we were conceived from. Screw religion and the acts of Karma, and even re-incarnation for once. Speak science, and think logically.
Are we going to survive 100 years from now? Probably not, with its probability making as much sense as a unicorn being the national animal of Scotland. So why are we thwarting life's happy moments, and building a huge pile of crap? Why are we even, as a remote idea, considering the possibility of friends for ever, and relationships till death, when those are clearly uncontrollable facets, and rather spending our energy on finishing the one great novel of our lives, when in utmost unanimity, the talent in you will not only fetch fame and money, but a higher degree of life satisfaction.
Screw the nights that you spent worrying over a fight, or a friend you lost. What about those nights, when you almost abandoned your writing assignment, your pet project, your art masterpiece, your one great novel. Does that not pull at your guilt strings? Because if it doesn't, then clearly life priorities are not balanced in your mental sphere.
I will just spell it out for you, loud and crass- Permanence is a Paradox.
Friends come and go. They satisfy the sole purpose of social interaction, and physical needs also, more or less, get satisfied.Don't nurse the wounds of a heartbreak. Rather, nurse your mind to feel a great sense of loss everytime your level of intellect is questioned. Those are things that one must feel sorry for.
Because as nothing might be permanent, your work of brilliance shall always be respected.