The air, The lights, The dream.... 

The air was different, the lights were dancing, the crowd was flying by, their pace perpetual, never-ending, like they had nowhere to go. The air hung around as if, it had no other purpose but to stay, by choice, not under any coercion, free from forces, free from laws which it has always acceded. For once the smell of air was its own- odorless , not of the factors that fouled it. Not that these factors were not present, but somehow senses could discern, or actually discover the nothingness. If air was doing its bit, the lights added to it with sereneness. No doubt, that the lights were dancing but there was no briskness about its movement, no hurry of proving its mettle to the world; the dance was of solemness, of collective solemness, for the lights passed on the mantle selflessly among one another, but they knew the mantle will be back soon. Togetherness gave their movement meaning, if solitude was to prevail, the scenery would have died. The crowd walking by didn't share the sentiment,  but the air, the lights made them redundant. Though it didn't matter much, but their presence however transient, was felt. No matter how intriguing there personality seem, none seem to last the moment, you could feel their being, but before you could conjure up your thoughts, it was gone, vanished into thin air soon to be replaced by the next one, who is to soon share the same fate.
When all senses were in for a regale, then the tongue and palate were in for a treat too. The food looked exotic, however mere it seemed at previous encounters. There was no need for selection, or of any proper order to be followed, the only factor that mattered was the taste, and the variety did taste good.
The air, the lights, the crowd, the food made the evening special, or was it something else entirely, a dream, a fanciful walk in the serene air, among dancing lights, with ephemeral thoughts. Perhaps it never happened, all of it was just a well conjured fantasy. On second thoughts it did happen, for it was shared by a few more, making it more solemn just like the lights did with their togetherness. The feeling faints now, moony one may call it, but it happened and that too pressingly beautiful as if a dream.

The Line of Thought

Oh!I have a lot to say or should I say a lot to think. I have been stopping myself from doing so, for the fear of being judged or fear of not being logical or the fear of not being in line with what the masses think or not being in line with the intellectuals. Is it just me or may be you too have the same fears, and why just you, perhaps everyone. I am writing this post in great haste because very soon I will fall in line!(Do come back to this line when you read the last line. Not Now!) And then writing this post would be very difficult.

I will tell you the few things I thought about which dragged me into this mental dilemma. But before that I will tell you the feelings that couples with it. You feel being pushed by a strong current of water down the stream(Never, had this feeling, but sounds about right). Or let me give you a different example, like appreciating a movie because the critics sang wonders about it. Or being forced to snatch the beauty of abstractness from a feeling just because some logical fellow wants the pillar of logic supporting it. I will not say I felt each bit of it but I thought and was forced to think more.

 Let me begin then, firstly I feel I don't have logic for everything, and most of those are the things I feel. Now that I think about it, I don't need to. And not just me, you would have felt in different moments that few things need not have logic. The movies you see, the novels you read, the people you like need not have a column of reasons attached to them. Feelings need not be defended by logic.
Second and perhaps the most dominating factor is the novel "The Fountainhead" by Ayan Rand. I finished reading it recently. It was a good read, maybe one of the best I have read. Out of many one important inference the novel made was that of individualism over collectivism. Ayan Rand's complex explanation got me confused or to say I didn't relate to it. I can agree to individualism being effective or noble and even better than collectivism but I didn't agree on the point where collectivism was rubbished. Let me steer back the ship for I am not writing this to discuss this issue but the fact, that it is not always mandatory to fall in line or not always fall from it either, not to always believe what others believe or not to always have wayward beliefs. Life has always been a mix, even for those pillars of society who appeared rigid. A bit of flexibility has always given man the rightful breath needed.
So don't be tough on yourself, it is fine to fall out of line once in a while, and if you are a firm believer of doing things differently, it is okay to be in line for a change(Now you can go back to that line!).

Blogs...of course....

"So you write blogs, that's good", nodded an impressed presenter. My friends too felt awed, and inquired about my blog address. I swanked it across everybody, as if some state of the art (highly intended R&D joke) masterpiece. It felt good, orgasmic even(read ayeee.......ranjit style). Finally I had a hobby to brag about (or for a moment I felt I had one) , more importantly which at least qualified as a hobby. .......past....the ragging era....name place branch HOBBY....blah blah blah Sir, my hobby is I play basketball. ******@@@%%.....saaale yeh kaisi hobby hai bey, abhi khel ke dikha, do u even understand the meaning of hobby, saale aaj kal kaise kaise laundey aa gaye hai, saale jee ka standard bahut gir gaya hai. Note-This trend and these statements uphold themselves year by year and I have lashed them at juniors numerous times. ....back to the present era....

So, I returned back to my house fully contented that I had a hobby, opened my blog, read it entirely(...just 7 posts...) with pride and self-admiration. Next day in office I was all ready to gather praises (good, hats off, pat on the back...), mind you there were few, but one 'fine' friend (fine is to be read in derogatory sense) said with utmost sincerity(..dangerous..), "yaar you have only written 7 posts and last one was about a year ago". It brought a small round of laughter, and of course I defended myself but in vain(..of course..). But my hobby, my well sought after hobby lost its charm and I( read bechara) was left with my all time best, evergreen hobby- basketball at my aide. But in lieu of my ever fighting spirit I am planning to write more blogs in hope of claiming for my well sought after hobby.

P.S.-The incidents in this blog are highly morphed to suit writing. This blog is not intended to increase number of posts.
P.S. to P.S.- Just completed 8th post.( ayeeeee....ranjit style)
 

HOPE

I am a day dreamer and don’t tell me you are not. Countless of times you must have projected your future with open eyes, admired your future form, and then laughed it away. And, I too sail the same boat.
I am currently doing my summer internship, took a day off (....mind you this occurred often), and was off to Ranchi with other interns. On our way back, sitting at the window seat of the bus, enjoying the cool breeze on my tired face, I dozed off into a mini dream. May be the soothing music or the subtle and sweet wind contributed to my deep slumber.

I was driving a ravishing car, can’t say it was mine, but a strong, confident clutch of my hands on the wheel made me feel it’s mine, it always has been mine. I could feel air of self-assurance around me, a feeling of self belief as I enjoyed all luxuries of life, and the one’s left are not farfetched. I could feel the breeze blowing against my face, meliorating my feeling.

Just then the bus hit a small pit on the road, blowing my assured form away. The dream was gone and so was my self assurance. I played the previous song and tried to go back into the same dream. To my credit I soon dreamt but a new one altogether.

I was walking in just the perfect rain, not alone but with a pretty girl by my side. Her smile was elegant, her aura refined; her look affectionate, presence benign. She held my hand as if she trusted me. Just then a flash occurred in my dream and I saw her (the one I ...), but it soon receded. I had moved on, I was with someone remarkable, someone as beautiful as the rain. The dream concluded itself abruptly, again owing to the pit.

I couldn’t dream or day dream or whatever again. They can be creepy, can betray you. But, they have optimism about them, if you dare to hope. I soon got into another day dream, wherein I decide to pen this all down, for it all seemed wonderful, as if a mystic art and can touch reality if you have the guts to hope. Hope is a good thing, may be the best of things. And no good thing ever dies. (-quoting the ever so famous line from THE SHAWSHANK REDEMPTION)

I penned it down for I hope the other dreams would soon follow. I hope I will soon have that feeling of self-assurance about me, I hope very soon a pretty girl would walk in that rain with me, I HOPE.

The 'Right' Shoulder

Recently I was off to a week long trip away from college, comprising of the sports fest at IT BHU and cousin sister's wedding in Delhi. One tends to be reminiscent after such an awesome trip and that 'one' in me wanted to share it with everyone. But, what to write? About sports, or about last day at Banaras ghat or cousin's wedding or the complete 'eye soothing and beautiful' trip. But, as a matter of fact, you won't appreciate lengthy crap and even I won't 'tend' you to it. So, amidst of this disarray, I considered one of my seniors appreciating comment on my last post, and chose a very small incident from the trip or a very small 'part', for that matter-'Her Right Shoulder'.

My first encounter with her right shoulder came when I hurriedly approached a amassed empty bench at Kanpur station on my way back to college. As I was helping myself into the tiny space available, my left shoulder rubbed a adjoining shoulder. I shot a firing glance at the bothered shoulder, and the next second my frame shrunk, lost and gave way to her shoulder. Her beauty was not spellbinding compared to what I had witnessed recently at Banaras and Delhi, but her timid, cute face and her gritty right shoulder made for a interesting combination. With earphones on, preferring not to speak, she waved a suave finger at my shoulder making me shrivel my frame and even drooping it, vacating space for the feisty right shoulder. I clearly lacked the uncanny quality she had, and thus, my shoulder sagged, complying with my diffident nature.

Weird, it may seem, but I wanted to catch her attention, actually the attention of the 'bolder her'. I wanted to nudge her slightly, have a small shoulder chat, but bold is not the word you attach with me, let alone my shoulder-the timider me. She was kept engrossed by her earphones and I was engrossed in hope for a small prod by the bolder her to the timider me. As my hope burst away, I soon puffed another-'one with her seated beside me in the train', ignorant of the fact that she might be in a different train altogether. Right then her train came bursting away the latest hope of mine, and grabbing her luggage she walked off, with her timid gait but cruising shoulders. She hopped on, with the train just starting to leave. My eyes followed her for one last time, her timid face, those black earphones and that right shoulder, all fading away ,and despairingly, I went tiptoed to catch a glimpse of the bolder her-The Right shoulder.

Just a Stroll

Just when I was strolling through my mind for apt thoughts to share on my blog (....though I am never in lack of inept thoughts), my hunger got a grip over me and hence shutting both my laptop and my mind I strolled out of my mind into the real world (read RD). Perfectly alone, (....remember ...switched off mind) I walked slowly, .......filling you all in, my exams are over and nearly all my friends have fled, apart from few unlucky ones like me, so if you have wrongly interpreted, I am not a recluse or a hermit or a nerd......, enjoying the chilliness of coming winters. It started drizzling, just so light, just enough.

Upon reaching my destination I was soon enjoying the perfect tea and snacks. I found a bunch of familiar 2nd years hanging out and I hopped on to there boat. As the conversation smoked through my solitude allayed, and they got to hear some interesting tales of our ragging days and our friendship ventures. They had some similar ideologies that we had during our initial years, unadulterated, unharmed by politics,unscathed by realities.Their eagerness to pull each others' leg, and frequent frustrating comments about their life just connected us.

The conversation made me reminisce the past, and stories kept flowing out. I never realised wen the clock ticked through the hour. They soon bid me farewell, and left me with a small bill to pay, nothing compared to the solitude busting time I had. As they were receding away nudging, swearing each other, I remembered all my friends and felt satisfied with my life, not ever thinking of bidding farewell to them.

I sauntered back alone, much the same way I came, but with calmed solitude, and a pleasant feeling.I thought of them again, switched on my thinking cap and I knew what to pen today.

LOVE

Trapped, I have been,
in a circle of love.
Love, it may be,
Conclusion, tough.

Trapped, between doors,
I have desperately knocked,
I still hope though,
not eternally locked.

I refuse to believe,
there ain't a possibility,
still clinging am I,
to window of opportunity.

Why can't you love me,
adore me, or whatever,
but please consider,
why we can't be together.

I can't remain I,
with solitude of mine,
I long for you,
In measures divine.

Move on, quit, abscond,
screams my head
but these bloody emotions,
still hold the thread.

Trapped, I will be
in love and insanity,
Till I decide to quit,
Till I redefine eternity.