The day I dreamt of becoming someone


Reading a story is like pealing an onion, each chapters reveal new secrets and show more hidden layers. Every person has their own story to tell, which are mysteriously connected with the stories of millions of other people living in this planet or had lived. We think ourselves as an individual with our own identity and conscience, but NO, we are connected beings not just with DNA or through our blood lines - but through our stories. Stories are at the heart of our being, and at the core they are our reasons of living. The physical being of us has no meaning, but as a connected being with millions of other stories, we individually play an important role. So here is my story of dreaming.

Story doesn’t being when we are born, or when we are given a name by the almighty holy priest. It beings when we all hit upon our consciences that pushes us to make a decision which transpires our story and defines our character and role in this world. For some it begins early, but for some it begins late. However, it always beings with a clear thought of what you want to become. At that moment of discovery, you find reasons and that alone motivates you to move ahead.  

For me, I know exactly when it began and I feel grateful that still remember that moment. It was a lazy afternoon, we all were  inside a sunny and warm room. All of us had our books opened to a new chapter we were about to read and the teacher was just beginning to start the class. The chapter read - “The life of Leonardo Da Vinci.” The teacher went us to tell us how Vinci would stare at the sky for long hours observing birds fly and would sketch them. Later he would design a prototype of a flying machine - the blueprint of aviation industry. This was story about a man who encompassed passion for life through his arts and inventions. That moment I knew what I wanted to be - I wanted to be like Leonardo Da Vinci. So I tried being like him, and building my own little experiment to fly. His story introduced me to some new words so after I reached home I start looking for its meaning they were physics and engineering. So it was clear I had to know these stuffs too, so that I can become him. Little did I know that the world had changed so much since his being. But even than his stories entangled with me giving me a new meaning. And thats how the story begins.

I don’t think anyone in that class was affected as strongly as I was. And till date, I am still affected by Leonardo Da Vinci - though I am completely ignorant to the whole conspiracy stories and theories around it. The reason being that it has no effect on my story. The only string of thread that connects my story with his, is the passion for art and inventions. This passion is more towards “doing something” on the contrary to “knowing something”. The story for me was about achieving something in life to live behind new stories. It was the spark that fired by desire to achieve something. After that day, every thing that I have done till date ties up to that fine lazy afternoon in the class - dreaming of being some one, the dream to achieve something extra ordinary.

  

Waiting for the right bus


Everyday, after college I would walk home with my friends. Wandering around and talking about future. What will we do? How will we be? How much will we change? Ideas! Ambitions! Life!!!

Everything always tumbled down to a cup of tea at a near by shop, where we were regular visitors. A sip of tea and bunch of thought provoking questions and contradictions. All intelligent and weird minds searching for the answer to a common question - the meaning of life. Trying to find that right path towards salvation. Complete Consciousness!!

Now and then we would simply get lost within ourselves, in the midst of the crowd. Thoughts wandering far beyond the time frame. Everyone building their life on their own dimensions. Confident. Lost. But hopeful.

Like some lost sailors on a boat, every one of us would be looking at different directions hoping to see some signs of calling. But then we wouldn't find any. "What are we searching for ?", would be one damning question in every one's mind. But the pattern would repeat itself and we would find ourselves in a never ending  loop, looking at different directions with our backs facing each other.

It was an isolated space we had created for ourselves, safe from the outer worlds. I think that is what friendship does, isn't it? It creates a space within this chaos of life, where we find ourselves secure and submerged to own-self. A space untouched by the judgments and its overpowering expectations. But for how long?

With the stretch of time, the space would soon collapse into the fabric of social norms exposing each of our vulnerabilities and weaknesses. A bubble of cocoon waiting to burst dropping us into the ocean ruled by sharks. And here in the arena of death, we all would find our own harbor. A war of life!

All these thoughts would connect us telepathically when we are not together, creating a surreal experience of becoming invisible in the crowd. But again, for how long?

At times, I would find myself disconnected and standing alone, facing the wilderness of the world. Alone, but among crowds, waiting for the right bus to come and take me home.

These rides would be just as experiential as a conversation with the philosophers of the world. Dangling with people, popping out of all the open spaces, bus would come screeching at you. As people struggled and jostled towards the opening of the portal, I would distant myself to observe and wait for the bus with the right number. Is it even coming?

Like a trained sales person conductors would scare you that its the last bus tonight, no more is coming for you. But the experience has already told me to ignore them in disbelieve. He is totally lying, I would say to myself. How is it even possible? There has to be the bus with the right number coming for me. Its only 8 PM. I would then wait in the darkness.

Time can be cruel, specially as the darkness begins and struggles for its own existence. Often I would wonder, should I have just rode on that last bus, no matter what? It would have at least taken me somewhere - safe and sound.    

Then, I didn't realize much, but when I think about it now. May be I was waiting for one of those Hayao Miyazaki's magical cat from "My Neighbor Totoro" to come and pick me up, take me to the world of dreams. Ya exactly the same way.

But I would always end up riding a bit early in one of those dangling bus, defeated by the wait - not really the friendly Totoro which I expected. Among the midst of human slaves, I would find myself indifferent. Its one of the contradiction of a society, which I find amusing. Some how we can always cocoon ourselves within our own existence. People generally blame technology for this indifference but its there, inherent within ourselves. Over time, the technology has only replaced the anchor of safety, but the anchor has always existed. The anchor that holds our emotions safe within the confine parameter of control. If that anchor is loosened I am not sure what kind of emotional calamity the world will have to face.

Faces filled with experience and sorrow. I have never seen a face that carries the experience of happiness, its always that long scar of sorrow that we all carry. Even behind a smiling face, lies some untold stories. The ways we carry our sorrows are different than the ways we carry our happiness. Happiness is like a shooting star, it comes and goes within seconds. Sometime you even doubt yourself, if it even existed. But sorrows are like billions and trillions of stars just staring at you every night, watching you and making you watch them in return. You will never be able to run away from them.

I am never sure what we wait for the most - for the sun to rise, or for it to set. Thoughtful contemplation!

And sometime I would just wait and wait. But there would be no bus to take me home. Like a soldier who had lost a battle, I would walk all the way back to home. I am not sure till today, if I wanted to get to home or somewhere else. But every night I would always end up in my room with a bag full of unanswered questions.

The fallacy of dream is that its unreal and based upon memories created through your weak senses. Its a place where the questions of the day would finally find itself slowly unraveled but wrapped into a mystic symbolism. Conflicts, fear and all your desires painted into a canvas like some abstract art.

Neither you nor the painter can understand the meaning behind it. All your years of experiences is distilled into this one night's dream. And this abstract form of art is nothing but stacks of paintings layered one upon the other. Upon close observations you can notice fine brush strokes from your past, still clear and sharp. And just when you feel like you have understood, you are awaken from the dream with a fresh canvas of memory waiting to be filled by the day.

But what if at that moment of wait, you would not walk to your home and keep waiting. Even if the streets are cold and empty with an unbroken vow of silence, what if you didn't move an inch. Killing your every instinct to hide in your burrow, what if you stood there motionless like there was nothing to fear. What if all you had was your conviction that the right bus would come. And even if it didn't turn up at the dawn, would you still have guts to wait for it every other night?

Tic Tok




I didn’t do anything,
I just sat there, 
keeping silent,
eyes closed,
heart beating,
mind wandering,
long breathing,
in and out,
just breathing,
just waiting,
for nothing.

I just didn’t do anything.
I just sat there, 
holding down the tears,
listening to tic tok,
tic tok
just listening,
just waiting,
for nothing.

when i opened my eyes,
tears rolled down,
mind went numb,
heart stopped,
no more tic tok
i had lost it
i realised
I whispered to myself
i had lost it
took long deep breath
and just sat there.
just waiting 
for nothing.

- bexdeep

Image taken at Allahabad