LOST

Death is a strange feeling. It doesn't strike till the time you see somebody close to you suffering. I am witnessing deaths. I am witnessing sufferings. It could have happened to me. It could have happened to one of my close one.

The existence of a person is destroyed, rather vanishes from the world. The sound that you long to hear fades out completely. The face you always find smiling becomes blank ; is disillusioned. A photograph of him/her for once looks full of life. Finally all buries in dust; all buried in ashes.

With the person, the circle around him also becomes 180 degree. Links of the chains break. Everything is lost. The emotions have scattered. Love, hate, depression, frustration are all mere words after death.

It is written and preached that a dead being loses the body, not the soul. But the soul becomes 'soul-less'. It is remembered momentarily in ceremonies and memorials and then forgotten. There is another mishap and new flesh, new bodies, new souls emerge. This is the cycle of life; this is the chain that links us.

Humans are killers of humans. Humans are cannibals. They are murderers of themselves. They are lost in the web of times. They are lost in their own life. They are lost and dead in their souls.

Rock Paper Scissors Situation VII

Rock
Going through complete metamorphosis. Both positive and negative.

Paper
Wasted. Thrown in the bin.

Scissors
Sharpened like a blade to cut the rough edges.

Changing Moods

6 months backs I had written this in one of my posts:

"When I move out of the hostel, I know there would be some prototypes that I would come across. Just like the kid playing with his ball and the autowallahs waiting to get a customer and ask for lumpsome travelling charges. Then as I walk further and reach the busy streets, I am used to see the lady at 'Rasoi' dhaba serving hot parathas to the home food deprived hoggers, the two friends sitting in the roadside restaurant in their usual corner seat and having gupshup over snacks and not to forget the 'once upon a time' fauji who is now a lunatic swaggering with his typical army air in his style and the guy with everything Indianised and an intriguing panache walking alone in the road with no care and worries on his shoulders."


And today I see-

The kid who played with the ball sits in a grocery shop attending customers, the autowallahs are the same. The lady at 'Rasoi' is the only constant factor who still serves hot paranthas to the starvers. The two chairs in the roadside restaurant is usually empty. I don't know why the two friends don't sit there anymore. Are they left with no 'gupshup'?
The once upon a time Fauji lunatic does not swagger. He sits on the corner of the road like a beggar and reads the newspaper as if he has lost that army ego. The guy with everything indianised is no more intriguing to me. I know him now and he is no more a random acquaintance.


Times are changing. And so am I.

What's Stopping Me?

What's stopping me?
The sun, the moon, the stars

What's stopping me?
Parents, relatives, friends

What's stopping me?
Fear, depression, anger

What's stopping me?
Me, you, them

What's stopping me?
Love, hate, betrayal

What's stopping me?
I never know