The metaphors of life! - Bit of the philosopher in me.

Today the raven in me got past its fears.
I watched him all these years with out blinking my eyes. I was expecting him to move away so that I could fly in and collect my share of corns from the fields. But I am afraid of him. I am afraid that he will hit me with the stick in his hand. He seemed so purposeful. He seemed so sharp. I can’t fool him. Can’t really sneak past him to gather some ears of corn.

I waited this long. I waited so long. But he seems to be so adamant. He doesn’t want me to stray into his fields. I know I can beat him with my patience. In fact the wise ones say that patience is a winning virtue. I waited, for him to blink. I waited, for him to tire. I waited for him to err. And I know I will win at last because I have patience. I have stability and ability to understand the virtues of waiting.

I have proved my metal on my home grounds. I have beaten all those strong and fast ravens. I remember being made the head of the raven community. I made it to the top with my agility and knowledge about the home field. I knew which field to go to have corn. I knew which tree had the plumiest plums. I knew when to get in and when to get out of fields with out being caught. With out having to lose any feather or wing. And I ate and grew.

Now, I am out of my comfort zone. I am out of my territory. These lands don’t know me. I am stranger to these fields. And I have competition here. Competition for those last ears of corn. Wise men told me to watch out for these people who stand all day long, all night long at these fields with long sticks. They have huge eyes. I bet they can see things clearer. They have those loose dresses. I bet they hide that muscular body. They may move faster, their blow can be real fatal. It’s wise to wait.

I saw a young raven closing in to the same tree. A new kid in the block? I haven’t seen him before. He looked lean. Looked little sharp. But I bet he lacks the experience. I bet he lack the virtue of patience. These blocks never last. They are immature.

After being closing in my tree, he went back high, circled the field. Came back onto my tree. I told him to be quieter. I know his dim-witted act would have made the guy in the field more aware of our presence. Now his eyes will not blink. He will hold the stick tighter. Ah! this young fool caused so harm!

I gave the new block, who now settled next to me on the same branch, a look. I talked down to him, to put him in place. To let him know clearly that I run the show here. I told him that wise thing to do is to wait. He gave a glance. And he leaped forward, with all his might, with wild wing swings towards the field. I shouted at him, to stop. Its suicide. I ordered him to come back. But to vain. I knew I am going to witness him die. Witness the reason why I am taught to wait. He is gonna realize how small is he in front of the person at the field. I might witness the field-keepers stick breaking this young block’s skull.

I held my breath. Prayed for his soul already.

The young raven flew past the person at the field, kissed the ground, gathered the sweet, ripe corn ears from the fields and flew higher leaving the field with his pricey catch. I couldn’t believe my eyes. To see the lean, young, un-experienced raven beating the strong person at the fields is so stupendous. He outsmarted me. He proved me wrong.

I am playing the game so obvious way. I was asked to play this way. I gotta wait. I gotta wait till the person at the fields errs. I thought the young raven is nothing but lucky to be alive after that flight of foolishness.

I am wise. I have experience. I will wait. But how long?
I am the raven in you. I am the raven in us.

They call this young raven “abhinav bindra”

He made the person with stick at the field a mere Scarecrow. He showed how easy is it to gather those sweet corns if we believe in ourselves. How will the experience help when the game is new?

Today we old ravens, the so-called “wise raven” still stand by with the virtue of patience, waiting for the person at the field to err.

We end up waiting.

Let’s take a cue from the young raven. Let’s start believing in ourselves. Let’s know that if the field has corns, it’s for the early bird to catch. We might have to take those risks. Gone are the days of virtues of patience. To recognize an opportunity is like creating an opportunity by itself.

Field was my metaphor in here for Olympics. For you it could be life.

Scarecrow was my metaphor in here for those tough competitors. For you it could be those stumbling blocks in life.

If abhinav, the young raven can fly this high with the ears of corn and make us so proud. We old ravens, with all those experience can do wonders with our life too.

Think about it.

Here I salute, the young raven, “abhinav bindra”, for making me understand that the person at field was just a scarecrow.

He made me get past my fears.

Now I will fly, stronger, faster and will close in to those ears of corn which are waiting to be tasted.

I know I can do it too,
If I can, you can too.

Thanks abhinav!

:)

I don’t own the story, the story owns me…

Woke up with a heavy head. Couldn’t sleep much coz of the stupid dream. I had a dream inside a dream. I saw a woman in my dream. She was so normal like those cheerful ladies who think their purpose of life is to give birth to a baby, who will reform her life, reform everyone’s life. Will be the hero of their heart and will be the obvious winner of the show.

She ate well, she bathe well. She groomed well coz she knew she shoulders the greatest responsibility of womanhood. There is a baby in her womb and a hero/winner in her mind. She knew it for sure that the baby is going to bring her days back. I didn’t see her husband in my dreams. He didn’t even play the cameo. I was curious to see him enter the scene. But he was missing. He didn’t turn up for the show.

I saw her confined to a room. Kept her selves busy staring out of the window. She could see the road at a distance. A deserted road. She was particular about what she ate, when she ate and used to get grumpy when she had to wait for the food. She was well fed. She rather made sure that it was that way. At times she will get up, walk to the mirror, across the room, lifts her gown and looks at her belly. A good grown belly. She don’t remember since when it’s that way. But she did notice it growing to this big. She sings out loud, staring at her belly at the mirror and waits for her baby to make some noise or hum. She taps her legs gently on the tiled floor and waits to feel her baby kicking her belly.

Then she goes and takes her position again on the chair by the window. There was her comb, her lipstick lying next to several books on pregnancy on the table near the window. I knew she took the pain of walking up to the mirror only to see her belly. She kept the room tidy somehow. I didn’t know where was I sitting in the room. I could see her from the angle I wished to see. My presence was almost conceptual coz she never acknowledged my presence. I think I was invisible.

What is this all about? What am I seeing? Why am I seeing this dream? I did my prayers before I rested my head on the pillow. I had prayed to make the night pleasant. I wanted to wake up early. So wanted a good night sleep. I never minded when I had to sleep with Salma hayak, make love to her all night long. But why is this happening? I kept waking up through out the night. Did the praying again. Did even try tuning my mind for the steamy dreams, me and hayak dreams. But each time I slept, I got back to the same room. To the pregnant woman.
To see her acting.
To see her acting?????
Acting? Why??
She was very well living. It wasn’t a stage. And I didn’t see any cameras around too. Neither was it any reality life-show. But why was she acting? Why did I choose the word acting?
Did I not mention that it was a dream inside a dream? The script writer of my dream suddenly did a cameo with his voice. He briefed her story to me.

He told me why she is always by the window. Why she sings out loud and taps her feet. He told me that she is waiting, waiting for her husband. Waiting to see the dust rising on the road by the wheels of his ride. Waiting for him to get the medicine she is waiting for.
Medicine? I asked.
He continued, Waiting for him to take her home. Take her to the carnival again.
Take her home? Isn’t this her home? Where is she and where am I? Why she needs medicines? I wanted answers to all this.

He said, “she is pregnant with a dead baby”

What the fuck? I don’t like this dream. Change the dream or at least give me a happy ending. Where her faith and fate brings her baby back to life. Okay? Cant you change the script?
He continued as if he didn’t listen to that, “She sang out loud, hoping the baby could hear her and will make some noise”
“She danced to make the baby tap its leg too.
She hoped to see the baby moving when she stared her belly at the mirror.”

No no no no!!! This is my dream. I want happy dreams. I need pleasant night. Give me some happy dream, or some porn dream but, no, no, no not this dream!
Okay, what about no dream at all?

He again continued, “this is the hospital she was put into.”
Then why are none helping her? Is it safe for her to have dead baby in her? Is this all make sense?

She is so possessed about the baby, about her dream. Dream of her baby finally listening to her songs, humming to her songs, tapping its legs with her legs. She is dreaming to win. She has faith. She has faith on this dream of hers. She knew that she is gonna wake up smiling.

What faith? Cant you do something? Cant you make the baby hum and tap? I thought you own the story. Or at least stop making me go through this. Take me out of this dream.

He said, “I don’t own the story. The story owns me.”

What the fuck!

I forced myself out of the bed. Walked to the bathroom and took a leak. Got back to the bed. Drank some water.
Prayed harder..
Longer..
Visualized pleasant scenes. Hijacked salma hayak from where ever she was. But once I sank to sleep, I opened my eyes inside the pregnant woman’s room again. Salma ditched me. I thought, okay, may be I just have to go through this for the night.

Suddenly I saw her clapping! She started shouting with so much of happiness, “he is here!!! He is here! Now we gonna get outta here.” She said looking at her belly.

I too gazed outside the window, I saw the raising dust. I saw a car. I felt like telling her, “hey he is here. Wow he is here”

What happened to me. How would I know that its her husband who is coming? Even if its her husband, from where will he bring the medicine to get the baby to humm and tap from the land of no return? What happened to me? Why am I getting carried away?

May be I started to hope that it is her husband. I started to hope that he got the medicine. I started to hope them three going home. I hoped so much to see the happy ending to the story. Happy pleasant ending to her dream. To my dream.

It started to fade. It started to blur. It was as if I was loosing my vision. A loud noise filled my ears. It kept on recurring. It took the plug off my dream. The noise.
The noise shook me awake. It was the door bell. Someone at the door. He/she really at the bells, trying to get me open the door as if it’s the door to his/her salvation.

I slowly gathered my conscious. I gathered myself up. For a moment I was trying to think what is really happening? Is this again the dream? Is her husband by my door? What is it? Who is it?

Krrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrinnnnnnnnnnnng, the loud noise of my door bell again.

I forced myself up and got to the door and opened the door.

It was the area “ghoorka” (the watch man). He said with a plastic-y smile, “Krrrrring kriiinnng”. (the noise of the bell is still ringing in my head)

I asked, What?

He said again “Salaam Saab”

I know what is he here for. The usual 30-40 rupees he collects from door to door from the neighborhood. It’s his salary for whistling all night to let us all know that he is really awake!

I gave him 30 bucks. 10 bucks lesser than last time for his ferocity at my door bell and for the krring kring sound he left in my head. I shut the door on his not_so_impressed_by_the_salary_face.
I sank into the chair in the hall. Looked lazily at the clock.

It’s beeping EIGHT O CLOCK!!!!

Fuck!
I got hardly any time to get ready and get to office. But what about the dream? It’s kinda unfinished! What about its happy ending? But what if it doesn’t have a happy ending?

It ought to have a happy ending.
I hope so. I hope that the dream inside my dream ends happily.

I gotta start my day, rush to office, do some coding, chatting, flirting, talking, eating, traveling and get back to bed hoping for a new dream.
A happy dream. May be Salma Hayak. May be nothing but a good night sleep.

:)

Dum Spiro, Spero!!! (While I breathe, I hope)

And I took the 26th step away from the life. The noose is getting looser; the wind is getting its act together. Being the kite, I don’t get to choose much but to take the direction the wind shows. I had some color on me when I set to fly, they got washed away in not sure which rain. Now I bear the whiteness where lot many went ‘artist’.

I am the sky now. It’s rain. The direction to its wind.
I’m the cloud now. It’s white. The weight on its wing.
I’m the bird now. It’s flight. The sound of his plight.
I am the hand releasing the rope-reel now. Its trick. The spin of the wheel.
I’m the earth now. The humility. The warmth of its belly.
That seems so far now. The distance. The length of the rope.

I know I can’t get to reverse it now. I was thriving to fly faster, fly higher. They told me not to hurry. Never thought that I will ever regret about leaving the earth that fast. Never thought I will ever regret about leaving that bird that soon. Never felt I will regret not being with the clouds that much, neither did I think that I will feel this sad to be so far from all of them.

Things had to change at the pace we decides to fly. The more changes, the more we climb the terrains of unrest. Bhagavad Gita says, “The equanimity of mind during all those changes in and around us is called “Yoga”.
Hmmm. May be.

When the mind ran behind maturity and when maturity turned agony and when mind learned abolishing the maturity, it was all my eccentric calls to connect and disconnect with the reel which set me out to this journey. When we are close, we wanna go far, when far, we make frantic attempts to get to the noose. Funny that we follow a pattern, knowingly, unknowingly. It makes it easier. The whole journey, the pattern.
He has been in my shoes. She has been in my shoes. They all have. I would have been and will be in theirs too. To make the game playable, someone made us follow the pattern. And we all did, do.

Dum Spiro, Spero!!! (While I breathe, I hope)

I hope to play it the odd way. The un-pattern-ised way. I am sure many would have chosen this path. Will there be a pattern set for this path as well? Am I choosing to live one of those patterns set forth to me? When the decision is made for me, why do I think? When the game is set for me, why do I strategize?

Dum Spiro, Spero!!!

I hope the game is new. I hope I will get to strategize. I hope I don’t just get to follow the invisible trails.

Dum Spiro, Spero! (While I breathe, I hope!!!)

:)