Walking away from Mirages

God… I so much wanted to have a post with the title Mirages… since the inception. Only I knew nothing of the message I was trying to convey with the name. Or more like I did not have a message to convey. But that’s past… anyway…

So someone recently told me, not really to me, not in the context, not related even… but told he rightly… When you see a mirage, pause, turn around and walk away.

But I don’t do that. Do I? We don’t do that… we take pleasure in running for a mirage, not finding nothing, getting to see more mirages, running more, dying more, wishing more, writing more, crying more. Ah we! For if there are no mirages there are no stories. Stories are about mirages. Oh they are the best mirages in the world, aren’t they?

Stories are your ‘self’ that doesn’t get to live, the mirage that your inexistent self doesn’t get to find. Stories are mirages that never be, yet you see them, invariably, consistently, faithfully. I love fiction. Fiction that never comes true. Everyone loves that. Don’t you. It’s all in its never coming true that makes it so special. I use to love writing stories as a kid. Though most of them made no sense. They lied somewhere under the beds, tight, waiting to make sense someday.  Only they knew very well all along, they never would make sense. Those are the best kinds. Utopian. So unrealistic that you can’t get drifted from real. You never lose the sense of their being unreal. You never leave the sense of their being a mirage and not even a tiny drop of water.

Oh it’s all sun. Shining sun. and Mirages. And no drops of any waters. Here… in a bunch of old stories in my hand. From under the cushions. It’s all fiction in here, strange unrealistic stories of strange unrealistic people… Karan… Antara… Kabir… Bella… Jon… they don’t exist. They never did. They never would. Other than in here. I Can’t let them go, a part of my heart says. But you let them go, for writings might be, stories might be, but life is not about mirages. In life when you see a mirage, you pause, you turn around and you walk away… silently. For that’s all you could do.

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The weak in me

It’s been days. Or say only a few days. I am too distracted.  I like to think I have my reasons to be so, which is not true. But anyway…

I needed to share this with someone, I thought. And I thought of you… as usual. But the thought went on… and it said… why do I need to share with you when I am weak? Why do we need shoulder to cry on or finger tips to shed tears? No, I don’t say everybody needs eyes to share tears, few of us are really strong, or at the very least portray well to be so. Nor do I say we don’t need faces to share smiles… few of us again… are very amicable. I am just going with the general trend… Or honestly speaking my trend.

When I am happy, when I am successful, when I am on the roof top, I think of you. I swear I do. But not so much. The thrill to show off… the rush of new plans… new dreams take over. I am light, I am fearless, I am adventurous,  I am open, I get caught in the wind… and I get taken away from me. I get taken away from you. When I am weak, when I am in a dark corner of the room, with head in knees, I am free of the winds and thrills and rushes… I am more me… I am more stagnant… I am more closed. I do not let it in… it being anything and everything… I cannot. And then you enter… through the closed doors… and you close the doors more after you… forceful and effortless… and I cannot stop you… I am helpless and weak… and in your arms…

I happened to read this little thing.

“With all my strength of personality, my goodness, my success or impression of these, there comes that little nasty thing… That bout of showcasing, that urge to be known that way, to be validated by others…

…My unadvertised weaknesses, my failures and their internal admission are my only saving grace, my only salvation… Only spots where I feel God has touched me.”

Pasted from <https://www.facebook.com/findkartikeysingh>

That right there is me. Taking you for granted for all the smiles and needing your shoulder for all tears…. That is so me. You are most mine… you are the nearest… when I am at my lowest self. You are so mine… in all the small big complaints I have from life. You are so mine… in those little jealousies. In the tears I shed sitting alone on stupid fails I earned… it is only you. In the feel of jealous… in the feel of weak… in the feel of guilt… in the feel of being hit by a bolt…. the feel of being wrong… the feel of being hurt… the feel of desperation… the feel of losing… in the feel of betrayal…in pains unbearable… I see you.

They say all that is good and pure and right is you. May be. But is that it? Are my weaknesses not a part of you? Are my troubles not a part of you… my grudges… my wrongs… are they outside you? Is a part of me… not you? How can it be a part then? How can you be the whole then? And how then that part could bring me nearer to you than all my good… my smiles?

O Dear! All the pure in me is you. I don’t deny. All the righteous honest paths I take are you. I don’t doubt the boundlessness of good that is you. All I want to be ensured for is that no part of me… however painful… how so ever impure… is outside you. No side of me… is on the side opposite to you.  Each of my smiles is you… but so is each tear. If each of right steps is you… then so are the wrong turns I took. If you are the love inside me… my hatred is equally a part of you. You are the giver maker and bearer of all the successes in path… oh you are… but you cannot be untouched by my failures too. You are the firmness in me… you are all the strength… may be… but sure the weak in me… is equally you.

I try… I quit… I loop.

I am waiting for the 60th second to tick… I know that the doorbell won’t ring since the 59th second… In fact I know it from 58, 57, 56th seconds… But I still wait. Against all odds… all logics… all rationales… all thoughts and theories and rules I wait for something to end… Something to occur… Clock to tick… Tick a whole number before I give up… And then to tick a few more numbers… And then to tick a few more…

Why is it so natural to keep waiting…to keep lingering to an old habit… to keep living an old life… so easy to keep on going… and so difficult to stop. So difficult to stop looking at the ticking clock and lock the door… So difficult to stop trying to listen for the phone ringing from under the sheets and go to sleep… so difficult to stop yourself from checking the old mailbox hundredth time…  So difficult to stop hoping for miracles that would not be. There is no door bell, there is no phone ringing, no miracles what so ever. Oh but I am waiting.

I read in books about keep trying… keep playing one’s part…  about hanging in there. Is that not what I am doing? Is to keep looping back again and again and then again not persistence… is stopping not giving up? Stories I believe in talk of retrying… of not losing hope… of not giving up… but for how long? Forever? None answer that. I can do that – keep waiting. I am comfortable doing that. But is that the right thing to do? Was to keep waiting the preached sermon? Was it not?

What is better? Facing it in face and keep facing till you break and wretch and mess it up… and continue facing post that too… or leave it before it sores?  What is better? Ditching the possibility of it’s being right some day… leaving it for the fear of failure or fighting for it with whole of your heart? Huh! Sounds different… doesn’t it? Change the tone… change the choice of words and it just flips the meaning! Did they know? Those who preached  persistence and those who preached letting go… did they know? Or they just knew that nobody else knows too?

Have you ever felt the pressure of blood released through your heart at the very second you decided to let go? The suddenness of release? And ever, have you felt the pressure of blood running in your veins after the very last wait when you decided to try once more? The consistency of determination!

I have felt the two. Connected with none. Kept doing both… Is there a third way? Is there a way to not try desperately and yet not give up? Is there a way to wait but not be miserable? Is there a way to give up and not be a quitter?

You cannot give up on something that you believe in… stop believing… that is quitting. You can not stop being desperate till you stop looking at the clock… to stop looking at the clock… you have to kill the wait that makes you alive. You can not let go of a dream that you know deep in your heart you deserve… you stop only when kill the faith. Kill the faith and there is no you any more.

I try, I wait, I fail, I cry, I quit… and… I loop back… with a new wait or the same old one. Because I am still living.

Dance of crippled thoughts

Oh they dance! And they don’t let me think with any clarity.  They can’t stand. They can’t walk a foot on their own… But dance they do… wild in my head.

I try to think simple… And they come limping… as fast as they can… falling on each other… stringing into one another… hundreds of threads… making the world complex… ugly, limping dumb thoughts.

I want to walk straight… I want to not look around and feel fragile… I want to commit to my life… I want to live with an unfailing faith. His idol charms me to fold my fingers… to bend my head… to have the long lost faith. I stand still in a hope for some calm… some connection and a little of His voice. And all I hear is my heart wandering asking for creepy wishes, chances n’ choices. With surprises and miracles He only loses more of my faith in His being true. Feelings I felt and thoughts I thought only changed meanings as the time flew. And I was left juggling with life… not knowing what to hold or what to lose.

There are so many strings… so many threads… so many stories… which one to pick. There are a thousand of roads… which one will lead to you. So many chords to touch… so many words to say… so many meanings to draw… so many emotions to fake… so many creaking thoughts to dance with…

I erase them hard. I unwelcome them disgraceful and stern. I don’t think of them for days. I make them starve… make them run out of room to survive. I kill them to whole. And I sit back smiling with an empty mind. The world looks beautiful.  They are left behind. And all is good. I walk straight and I don’t look around. Lonely and silent and peaceful… here I stand looking into nothingness…

But I want to look back. Oh… I can’t stop willing to look back for one second. I miss them. The multithreaded complex cabalistic stories…  I am craving for them… Starving without them… I want them…so much. I want them each moment till they are not back limping and dancing in my head…  ugly, creaky, crippled thoughts!!