Joy, sorrow, fear, loath, passion, aggression, beauty, kindness, forgiveness, remorse, repentance, realization, relief, pain, pleasure, purpose, peace, pragmatism, serendipity, adulation, boisterousness, blushes, cacophony, creativity, confusion, diligence, decorum, dance, drama, efficacy, effectiveness, enigma, effervescence, faith, futility, grace, hunger, happiness, humiliation, intimacy, inertia, jokes, kinesthesia, love, life, levitation, maze, mars, mesmerism, naughtiness, opulence, plunder, pace, purge, quarrel, queasiness, recklessness, races, success, surprises, tantrums, trepidation, touch, voices, vacuum, zombies………….the list goes on and on and on…its just that awake, alive and kicking it could think of so few words to describe about attributes we attach to dreams .
Fantasy, hallucination, dreams, call it whatever you may – its about thinking, feeling, experiencing and living in the non-existent but something which is so real that it shakes you up and makes you take notice of it and feel what it intends you to.
It may be the morbid world of virtual reality concocted in our minds but they can get as real as real can get or better, or as far as truth can stretch itself. One might surmise it as the poor man’s passport to richness, an artist’s stroke of genius, a scientist’s aspiration of breakthrough, a film maker’s magnum opus, a student’s view of higher study, a sportsperson’s sojourn to success, a philosopher’s hope of life, God’s dream of mankind, a child’s dream of fantasy, …take anyone who you want, any living soul or may be even those that fail to satisfy that criteria, everybody does dream.
The doors of our mind’s limit are extensively researched into in this inexplicable yet intricate and interesting journey of pseudo-reality. In spite of all the euphemisms and adjectives that may ascribe to dreams as a figment of imagination built on castles in air with the foundations of fallacy and pillars of fantasy, they are as unfathomable as the deepest of the deep oceans or the complex contours of human existence.
There is more truth in viewing dreams in a pragmatic and prosaic manner by enjoying its vivid nature and borderless beauty and endless creativity or to put it right the abundant opportunity they present us to stretch our definitions of “possibility” with regard to anything that we can connect to rather than to question and query its veracity and infallibility.
Whatever may be the mental picture that dreams create they are so full of life… so lets dream and DREAM BIG!!!
Saturday, November 03, 2007
Friday, April 13, 2007
Sometimes you are not what you want to be…
Sometimes you are not what you want to be. Most times you are not what you are. And always, is it always? … you are not what you were meant to be.
Friday, February 23, 2007
RiTeLy RoNg
In the ornamental world of words, there happen to be bitter sweet truths, true lies, utterly beautiful ideas expressed with shadowy pellucidity. The dark light of creativity that intersperse the bright lull minds, which elucidate the cheerful silence, the loud muteness or the flagrant simplicity that signifies blatant modesty.
Polarized unison of ideas stream through with purposeless aim and immaculate imperfection flanked by diverging cohesiveness and dithering focus. In between, there still runs the channel of insignificant wisdom which in all fairness might be insipid inspiration to an unsure progress in the lost direction of a blurred goal.
The journey might be placidly rugged or painstakingly peaceful, strewn with redolent blandness, marked by diminishing progress. It could be a fictitious reality with frivolous seriousness and fraught with frail strong points. The composition might vary from pejorative affirmations to meek diatribe studded with charged lacunae of sleepy dynamism and seductive freedom.
The works though, with all their fervent carelessness, fiery indifference, veritable fallacy, disoriented purposefulness and muddled clarity must not cease to continue for only from the process of being rightly wrong, the epiphany emerges. Out of cluttered calmness are born the thread of fresh thoughts, profound styles and a whole new perspective that help one establish amongst the prying, cynical and obsidian eyes. Ultimately it is the passport to give you the right to proclaim your rightfulness even when you wrong, that is if you write right the art of being rightly wrong!
Polarized unison of ideas stream through with purposeless aim and immaculate imperfection flanked by diverging cohesiveness and dithering focus. In between, there still runs the channel of insignificant wisdom which in all fairness might be insipid inspiration to an unsure progress in the lost direction of a blurred goal.
The journey might be placidly rugged or painstakingly peaceful, strewn with redolent blandness, marked by diminishing progress. It could be a fictitious reality with frivolous seriousness and fraught with frail strong points. The composition might vary from pejorative affirmations to meek diatribe studded with charged lacunae of sleepy dynamism and seductive freedom.
The works though, with all their fervent carelessness, fiery indifference, veritable fallacy, disoriented purposefulness and muddled clarity must not cease to continue for only from the process of being rightly wrong, the epiphany emerges. Out of cluttered calmness are born the thread of fresh thoughts, profound styles and a whole new perspective that help one establish amongst the prying, cynical and obsidian eyes. Ultimately it is the passport to give you the right to proclaim your rightfulness even when you wrong, that is if you write right the art of being rightly wrong!
Friday, December 22, 2006
WHY ?
I often wonder why we were born on this planet (perhaps there exists a better one) to embroil through this sojourn called life, brought into this place by two of those of a different genre and the reasons behind the same may not be as simple as it appears to be at the surface level. You may think as to why suddenly this brainwave flushed o this fellow’s mind. My answer to those who feel so is, whatever we are currently doing we will do it better by knowing so much more about ourselves. We are not involved in a wild goose chase, the stakes are high and there is only one round we can fire at this game called life. Even those who supposedly hit the bull’s eye aren’t remembered always and so it might be only logical to strive to make a mark for ourselves. If you do agree with me, how we leave behind a trail good enough for it to last long, let us find out.
As I started to jolt down the above said lines I had no idea as to what I was actually unto. Have I already made my point? Is there a glow in your face, a sparkle in your eyes that I can spot of you having it recognized? Yes change is what my thoughts are all about. It is easy to ask to do so but hard to put into practice what we actually want to. The answer lies in questioning, thrashing your mind to the point that makes you crib why you don’t do so, to push to the limit the tolerance of asking yourself why and finally the breakdown after that saturation point and give way to new and refreshing modern ideas according to which you wanted to remodel yourself. Going that extra mile beyond what ordinary mortals do will fetch for it for you. The metamorphism will for sure take time but do not lose heart. Perhaps this way I seemed to have found the answer to the query I initially posed. The answer to life lies in discovery. The probability is that the creator apart from bringing to the fore all other entities in this realm of existence wanted to have his own way of fun by forming two kinds of the same class albeit poles apart with some extra Grey matter and sit back and relax to see how his manipulations tinker with whatever they are blessed with to reason out and interpret why they were meant to be so. And to find the answer to that doubt of mine I have made you read all these lines (honestly did you do that?). It is my way of doing things. Shutters…
As I started to jolt down the above said lines I had no idea as to what I was actually unto. Have I already made my point? Is there a glow in your face, a sparkle in your eyes that I can spot of you having it recognized? Yes change is what my thoughts are all about. It is easy to ask to do so but hard to put into practice what we actually want to. The answer lies in questioning, thrashing your mind to the point that makes you crib why you don’t do so, to push to the limit the tolerance of asking yourself why and finally the breakdown after that saturation point and give way to new and refreshing modern ideas according to which you wanted to remodel yourself. Going that extra mile beyond what ordinary mortals do will fetch for it for you. The metamorphism will for sure take time but do not lose heart. Perhaps this way I seemed to have found the answer to the query I initially posed. The answer to life lies in discovery. The probability is that the creator apart from bringing to the fore all other entities in this realm of existence wanted to have his own way of fun by forming two kinds of the same class albeit poles apart with some extra Grey matter and sit back and relax to see how his manipulations tinker with whatever they are blessed with to reason out and interpret why they were meant to be so. And to find the answer to that doubt of mine I have made you read all these lines (honestly did you do that?). It is my way of doing things. Shutters…
Saturday, August 12, 2006
Truth about truth
The truth about truth is that it is not true about anything true in its truest form for truth in its truest form is not true about anything true.
Thursday, May 04, 2006
PARTING SHOT
A child was on cloud nine when the parents took him to a theme park as per his wish.He thoroughly enjoyed the visit,had his thrills and spills and finally had to move out when the exit neared...
Good times do come to an end.We need to bid farewell to those things that we cherish and enjoy at some point of time.However tough it may be,we need to accept the fact that a shift in our fortunes occur,that twilight zone exists for everyone and learn to make a smooth transition under the fading light.
Many in sporting arena, have found this fact hard to digest.They have not been able to time their exit right or rather be able to time it at all what with retirements and their subsequent reversals becoming commonplace.When the hearts still continue to yearn for those things that were for long very close to it but the body which is ageing refuses to live up to the ideals called for.
It is a struggle, a mortal combat between the soul and the physique, one which has become a matter of wide prevalence these days.How does one bid adieu,when to do it and in what way can the demise be made graceful, that remains as the million dollar question?
Sporting heroes who are otherwise immortal have found it hard when it comes to the point of frankly confessing and openly avowing "I'am done and ready to hang my boots" .Either they prolong the lifetime of the weary body by constantly hibernating and resurfacing from a state of anabiosis usually accredited to injuries which acclaim fame only next to their names ,pushing them through the brink of breakdown and want to limp on for as much as they can or condescend from their thrones with the music still in them.The former seems to be more commonplace.
Some stalwarts of the game such as Sourav Ganguly,Glenn McGrath,greats in their own right would not have imagined that they would become trapped in a time warp where past performance seem to be forgotten with utter impudence, in the milieu where new kids show up on the block every day and old warhorses have been compelled to sweat it out against these swift legs.
Guile,tact,skill and experience seems to account for nothing when it comes to performance on the given day.Although this is a hearty transition ,to play the policy of 'Horses for courses',yet it appears to be too harsh to give the veterans,the legends,a cold shrug when it comes to letting them choose their final flight.
A slump towards the end (the notion of which is albeit unclear) has quite predominantly lead to speculations and seeds of doubt are sown in the ageing minds whose valour and courage in the past have been made to look silly in the face of existing circumstances.They are made to bite the dust and expected to come off unscathed with the same acumen and poise they would have been praised for in thier hey day.
It appears that equanimity of thought does not apply in this case and only the toughest of the minds can withstand the barrage of odds stacked against them from various quarters to signal the end, out of their own free will and punctuate their last lap in a fitting manner in their truly own style and have a remarkable swansong.It remains to be seen whether the pegion will soar again and the tiger will roar again.The child though clearly knows the exit ,will such greats be able to make the grade?
Good times do come to an end.We need to bid farewell to those things that we cherish and enjoy at some point of time.However tough it may be,we need to accept the fact that a shift in our fortunes occur,that twilight zone exists for everyone and learn to make a smooth transition under the fading light.
Many in sporting arena, have found this fact hard to digest.They have not been able to time their exit right or rather be able to time it at all what with retirements and their subsequent reversals becoming commonplace.When the hearts still continue to yearn for those things that were for long very close to it but the body which is ageing refuses to live up to the ideals called for.
It is a struggle, a mortal combat between the soul and the physique, one which has become a matter of wide prevalence these days.How does one bid adieu,when to do it and in what way can the demise be made graceful, that remains as the million dollar question?
Sporting heroes who are otherwise immortal have found it hard when it comes to the point of frankly confessing and openly avowing "I'am done and ready to hang my boots" .Either they prolong the lifetime of the weary body by constantly hibernating and resurfacing from a state of anabiosis usually accredited to injuries which acclaim fame only next to their names ,pushing them through the brink of breakdown and want to limp on for as much as they can or condescend from their thrones with the music still in them.The former seems to be more commonplace.
Some stalwarts of the game such as Sourav Ganguly,Glenn McGrath,greats in their own right would not have imagined that they would become trapped in a time warp where past performance seem to be forgotten with utter impudence, in the milieu where new kids show up on the block every day and old warhorses have been compelled to sweat it out against these swift legs.
Guile,tact,skill and experience seems to account for nothing when it comes to performance on the given day.Although this is a hearty transition ,to play the policy of 'Horses for courses',yet it appears to be too harsh to give the veterans,the legends,a cold shrug when it comes to letting them choose their final flight.
A slump towards the end (the notion of which is albeit unclear) has quite predominantly lead to speculations and seeds of doubt are sown in the ageing minds whose valour and courage in the past have been made to look silly in the face of existing circumstances.They are made to bite the dust and expected to come off unscathed with the same acumen and poise they would have been praised for in thier hey day.
It appears that equanimity of thought does not apply in this case and only the toughest of the minds can withstand the barrage of odds stacked against them from various quarters to signal the end, out of their own free will and punctuate their last lap in a fitting manner in their truly own style and have a remarkable swansong.It remains to be seen whether the pegion will soar again and the tiger will roar again.The child though clearly knows the exit ,will such greats be able to make the grade?
Wednesday, March 29, 2006
SLEEPY HALO
Ever wondered how the road to your death smelt like?What are the sounds that grace you on your venerable march to your final destination.How you are treated to,in the journey to your graveyard,in our beloved nation.
It is like all hell let loose( even if it be so that you are destined for heaven).The epiphany of few young mad men on display.All their histrionic skills come to the fore.The drumbeats,the crackers it is like a parade commomerating a great achievement,like a time of celebration.Perhaps,the celebration from bondage of a soul that was struggling in the whirl of the world,wailing and waiting to free itself from the cudgels of confinement,one might presume.
May be the crowd that leads the way does not wish you to feel alone before you have to eventually embrace loneliness.That is why they make all the cacophony in the world in a travail that is considered to be a mark of commiseration.Dancing,dreaming they do lose control to get a whiff of what the man of the moment goes through.It is ultmately brotherhood,one might logically interpret that leads them to behaving this way.They too wish to feel what it means to be liberated in the true sense of the word.
The promenade does not lack flavour too.The perfume for the dead is the aroma of roses strewn about with careless disdain all over the place in the path of permanence.For,once in their lifetime the subject deserves attention,at least a causual glance if not anything else is theirs for the taking and to be looked at is what those guys around are trying desperately to get for the man in the question.Like a metaphorical symbolism of the eternal imprints of the person passing away lie those flowers all over the place.Also some noble intention of providing a refreshingly different breath for the passers by is unwittingly welded with the ceremony who are otherwise left to smell rotten on their respective routes.
The sounds do not lack the rhythm.There is that cadence and at regular intervals the bursts of fire rips the ears apart,the occasional whistling,the ethereal dance .It looks like these people are bringing the best out of their kitty to assuage the pain
in the last lap of the eternal ride.Is it joy, pain, a motley of emotions or sheer sense of duty that they want to do enough justice for what they were paid to do.
At one end it seems gross mockery of the dead,on the other hand it sounds like a frivolous set motives not of any particular importance to be analyzed or dissected to this extent.Certainly not for us to unravel,atleast when the protagonist of the play seems to be in a state of Sleepy Halo of beatitude and bliss!
It is like all hell let loose( even if it be so that you are destined for heaven).The epiphany of few young mad men on display.All their histrionic skills come to the fore.The drumbeats,the crackers it is like a parade commomerating a great achievement,like a time of celebration.Perhaps,the celebration from bondage of a soul that was struggling in the whirl of the world,wailing and waiting to free itself from the cudgels of confinement,one might presume.
May be the crowd that leads the way does not wish you to feel alone before you have to eventually embrace loneliness.That is why they make all the cacophony in the world in a travail that is considered to be a mark of commiseration.Dancing,dreaming they do lose control to get a whiff of what the man of the moment goes through.It is ultmately brotherhood,one might logically interpret that leads them to behaving this way.They too wish to feel what it means to be liberated in the true sense of the word.
The promenade does not lack flavour too.The perfume for the dead is the aroma of roses strewn about with careless disdain all over the place in the path of permanence.For,once in their lifetime the subject deserves attention,at least a causual glance if not anything else is theirs for the taking and to be looked at is what those guys around are trying desperately to get for the man in the question.Like a metaphorical symbolism of the eternal imprints of the person passing away lie those flowers all over the place.Also some noble intention of providing a refreshingly different breath for the passers by is unwittingly welded with the ceremony who are otherwise left to smell rotten on their respective routes.
The sounds do not lack the rhythm.There is that cadence and at regular intervals the bursts of fire rips the ears apart,the occasional whistling,the ethereal dance .It looks like these people are bringing the best out of their kitty to assuage the pain
in the last lap of the eternal ride.Is it joy, pain, a motley of emotions or sheer sense of duty that they want to do enough justice for what they were paid to do.
At one end it seems gross mockery of the dead,on the other hand it sounds like a frivolous set motives not of any particular importance to be analyzed or dissected to this extent.Certainly not for us to unravel,atleast when the protagonist of the play seems to be in a state of Sleepy Halo of beatitude and bliss!
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