My other blog - mostly related to my rendezvous with the Civil Service Examination -
kshitij-tyagi.blogspot.in/

मैं परिणाम हूँ

 

मैं  विजय  की  घोषणा  में , हार  के  अश्रु  में  मैं 

अधरों  के  कम्पन  में  मैं  हूँ , मैं  मस्तक  के  स्वेद  में 

पारितोषक  वीरता  का , फांसी के फंदे में मैं ,

कर्म  का  हूँ  मैं  अनुगामी , हूँ  तेरे  हर  क्षण  में  मैं

गांडीव की हो गर्जना या कृष्ण का शंख नाद हो 

यीशु की पीढ़ा में मैं हूँ, शिव के तांडव में भी मैं 

हो मुहम्मद का अनुयायी, या बुद्ध का शिष्य हो 

भाग्य सबका मैं ही मैं हूँ, भूत  या भविष्य हो

निष्काम सेवा कर तू मेरा पूर्ण अनुग्रह पायेगा

तेरी ऋणमुक्ति में मैं हूँ, मैं तेरे सौभाग्य में 

सारांश मेरा हो तटस्थ अब समझ जो जाएगा 

क्षीण मानवता से पृथक वह आज ब्रह्म कहलायेगा 

Three Hours

It'll soon be almost a month since my CSE interview. I haven't been able to bring myself to begin studying for the next cycle yet. As much as I would like to blame the uncertainty inherent in this long painful wait before the final results, I cannot escape from the fact that the reason lies elsewhere and I am cognizant of it. I've given my best shot in this attempt, and I probably couldn't stretch more while staying in my current job. I am aware of the futility of trying to better what already is best. I haven't attended coaching for this exam. My interaction with other candidates in the fray has been sparse. I, therefore, am unaware of my competition. All I hold on to is a strong belief in myself and my destiny. I wait, anxious and silent, for what lies ahead.

I distinctly remember the sepia tinged evenings, when I would return home after the day's work, with drooping shoulders and a searing headache to match, and in spite of it all, I would push and cajole myself, to somehow snatch those ever so elusive three hours from the jaws of the evening that would otherwise vanish into the quicksands of time, almost brutally so. Those three hours have made all the difference. I'll never question their strength or sanctity; I'll never doubt if they were good enough to get me a good rank. All I know is that I gave it everything I had during those three hours.

As the result approaches, I continue to read books that have nothing to do with this exam, I continue to try my hand at calligraphy, aware of, yet unmoved by the renewed efforts of other candidates for the next cycle. I'll probably never live those three hours again, irrespective of what future holds for me.

I ran. I ran hard and long at daybreak, almost trying to outpace the sun. The body just obeys the mind, even when the latter is clueless and hopelessly lost.

Often people run away from something they can't wrap up in a sheath of verbiage, something ineffable. I run from absurdity, or so it seems. I wonder if there's any getting away from it.

Sometimes I try running away from my own thoughts into a void somewhere between verity and falsehood, reality and imagination. The cerebrations are indeed too random sometimes for me to handle. I've always faced this conundrum, and the time I spent slogging for civil services exam was no different. With the frequent detours of the mind, and an attention span that's quite unenviable, I wonder how I've done in the exam vis-a-vis the other candidates, but I do draw satisfaction from the fact that I did what I could within the constraints of time and resources. I remember D.K. Goel, the owner of FIITJEE, once defining perfection in a similar manner.

It's been more than a year now... since I went dark ...both in virtual, and to a certain extent, in the real world. I've been successful in erasing my blip from the radar of social networking. I am not expecting these words to grab any eyeballs other than the ones that are being used to write them.

But I do intend to revive this blog and may be even write something sensible ...

Lansdowne

Well, it seems I've been able to gather myself quite well for the next round:-)
Though I am still looking forward to some lifestyle changes and a few moments of peace and tranquil before I start training real hard this time for another exchange of blows with the father of all exams (we'll see who's daddy ;-) )

Coming back to the search part, I am headed to Lansdowne this weekend (another British Legacy, now well kept by the Garhwal Rifles Personnel and the residents, who I've heard are somewhat proud of having maintained the virginity of the place). Heard the place is relatively untouched by the greased hands of humanity. Let's see what it has in store for me.

एक अरसे बाद :)

है लक्ष्य यह अतुल्य सा,
अप्राप्य सा सुरम्य सा।
है पथ कठिन विषम जटिल,
असाध्य सा अगम्य सा।

स्वरक्त को तू चख चुका,
तू सह चुका तू थक चुका।
अग्नि में समाज की,
तू जल चुका धधक चुका।

पर युद्ध अभी शेष है,
वेह लक्ष्य अभी शेष है।
की चेतना में वीर की,
परब्रह्म का परिवेश है।

तू सिंह सा दहाड़ अब,
तू शत्रु को ललकार अब।
कर मेघ सी तू गर्जना,
तू कण नहीं पहाड़ अब।

है लक्ष्य तू है पथ भी तू,
है ब्रह्म तू परब्रह्म तू।
उठ खडा जो तू हुआ,
हर ग्रन्थ का है जन्म तू।

Love

I am the dreams you see
I am the hopes belied
Call me the truth you seek
Or the moment you lied

I am the novel smile
I am the learned smirk
My name is reality
In myths do I lurk

I am the trust you show
I am the one you deceive
Kiss me, I am your life
Or the death you receive

I'm The God that failed.
I'm The Devil that succeeded.
I am all you ever feared.
I am all you ever needed.

Chrome

Burning blood on the street
Neck-break speed, kiss of death
Oh what fate, bitter or sweet,
Do you plan this empty shell to meet?

Spirits rising to the brain,
Golden fairy smells of hell.
You looked away, her tears rained
The yearning was for love, not pain.

The chords in place, the volume high
The screaming chorus, the heavy beat,
Sound just like my last lullaby.
Why my love? I wonder why.

So you gave me burning chrome
If only you'd opened your heart
My love, I'd be home
You ****, I'd be home.

The devil is in the Dots

Hunger.Hope.love.novelty.excitement.knowledge.first crush.convention.morals.competition.academics.seperation.new friends.
discomfort.phoneys.solitude.focus.books.monotony.
loneliness.friends.inspire.enemies.inspire.teachers.conventions.
morals.attraction.lust.crush.romance.trust.betrayal.fantasy.reality.
focus.aim.morals.conventions.academics.hard work.
success.superficial.astray.sheep.morals.conventions.stigmas.
yearning.freedom.thought.pain.alcohol.addiction.friends.comfort.desire.pain.
alcohol.addiction.years.tears.change.first crush.friends.love.hope.courage.freedom.city.love.
hope.memories.desire.ambition.hopes.
hunger.hunger.hunger.hunger...




P.S : I know! ...

Arbit...

...something from one of my all time favourite works in lit :

I'm sort of an atheist. I like Jesus and all, but I don't care too much for most of the other stuff in the Bible. Take the Disciples, for instance. They annoyed the hell out of me, if you want to know the truth. They were all right after Jesus was dead and all, but while He was alive, they were about as much use to Him as a hole in the head. All they did was keep letting Him down. I like almost anybody in the Bible better than the Disciples. If you want to know the truth, the guy I like best in the Bible, next to Jesus, was that lunatic and all, that lived in the tombs and kept cutting himself with stones. I like him ten times as much as the Disciples, that poor bastard.

- Holden Caulfield(in chapter 14)

The Catcher in the Rye

(J.D. Sallinger)

>>>>

Hit 150 at NH-8 today in my chevy. The guitar solo at the end of Comfortably Numb is to blame :D. Amazing how ten seconds of emptiness can be worthier of living than 5 years of stereotypical slogging.

...

Shell of hopelessness...
broken, eyes of change...
round, rapt, rigid
The novel winter sun
The playful wind
The false welcome

and then they died
crushed, torn,
Betrayed.

the last battle

Black lettered pages, wine coloured nights,
Blot of ink, swing of sword
And gold stretched with crystal ice.
The smoke-filled dungeon and the tamed green dragon,
My son, calls for but a heavy price.

So when you leave for the last fight
Leave your cavalries and your swords
For here he comes with words of might
Show some courtesy and respect, my son
For here comes The Dark Knight.



P.S. :As you may infer,...I have got absolutely nothing to do :D...so, have been posting whatever arbit stuff that's there on my mind...:D...

Angst.

Angst, severe as he could have been,
With infernal fury, blood and pathos.
Becalmed he was, as no eye had seen,
Not by your God(s), but an old chaos.



P.S. : Being a hidden message, this might not make much sense. But I did manage to give it a vague poetic form ;-). The person it is written for wouldn't need to work too much to decipher it. :)...yeah alright! Another wannabe crypto! :)

se7en

Why my love
do you not shield my soul
while the fluid demon
swallows me whole?
You look away
and I go insane
You feed my gluttony
You feed my fear
You feed my...pain

Why my love
do you not show content
and force my puerility
give way to wicked intent?
You look away
and I go insane
You feed my greed
You feed my fear
You feed my...pain.

Why my love
do you not comfort me
when they all fall low
as low can be?
You look away
and I go insane
You feed my pride
You feed my fear
You feed my...pain

Why my love
do you let it rain
as I walk in purging flames
and it's all in vain?
You look away
and I go insane
You feed my lust
You feed my fear
You feed my...pain

Why my love
do you look past my zeal
and tend to the knavish
who beg and steal?
You look away
and i go insane
You feed my sloth
You feed my fear
You feed my...pain

Why my love
do you let me bleed
and leave me for them
when you're all I need?
You look away
and I go insane
You feed my envy
You feed my fear
You feed my...pain

Why my love
do you twist the blade
and spawn the steely demons
who mock me, unafraid?
You look away
and I go insane
You feed my wrath
You feed my fear
You feed my...pain

You feed my fear
You feed my pain
You feed... me.

When...

When my introversion is taken for snobbishness, my habits deemed as my definition, when I am applauded for who I pretend to be, forgotten for who I am, when I am expected to do what I can't, unexpected to do what I can, when I am loved for my weaknesses, despised for my strengths, when I am respected out of fear, feared out of respect, when my prayers are taken for blasphemy, my profanations deemed hallowed, when my verity puts me to shame, my lies fetch me fame ......It is precisely at these moments when I feel cathartic happiness at the fact that I spat in the face of morality.

The Outcast

A bohemian who once was,
bludgeoned by his fate.
Wedged by the world around
to shed his evil trait.

'twas espousal he cried for
and de trop it was to ask.
As the fake world of morality,
mandated the moral mask.

The Tenth Muse.

I wrote this when I had to pay the price for NOT being a hypocrite :


Ha! so you had to do it.
Speak out your fickle mind
Surefooted delusions
that maketh you a grind.

Afterall can't you see
that love is but a pompy show?
With your savage ways
which blue lady won't mop and mow?

Why can't you just lie?
It is your tenth muse
when gross accusals
make prejudices fuse.

Ha! so you had to say it!
ignorant of interpretations
which in all puerility
could be virgin obligations.

Afterall if you had lied
or not said anything at all
the chauvinistic insinuations
couldn't have caused your dreaded fall.

Ha! so you had to do it
Speak out your fickle mind
surefooted delusions
that maketh you a grind

The Last Crusade

He returned, yes he did
The consecrate knight
of burnish armour
His mighty steed
galloped, with him
on a thousand thoughts
of his maiden so fair

Left behind were blood and gore
wounded pride, crusades,
promised lands of death and wrath
the shining sword ...had served

It kept him alive, the purple flower
that spoke
of thimbleberries, by the brook that was
of the puerile love, that had been
of innocence, trust and unabashed faith
of her it spoke with tears of joy.

Return he did from the righteous crusades
The sands of time had turned vicious
tears of blood, of betrayal, of her
had washed it all
the dream was gone
love vanquished, hopes swallowed
by the agony of destine dismay

The cold that was
in her eyes, distant,
spoke of love gone awry
rage or despair?
unknown the feeling was

And he rode into nothingness
his mighty steed
galloped quick
He tried to his end, but in vain
to elude the shadow that was.


P.S : Hey A , this one's for you....if you ever read it :)

Critique

I recently confronted two questions pertaining to my previous post named "cerebration".
I am posting the questions along with my responses here, simply because the critics were convinced, and understood things from my standpoint which I do not experience often.

1. What about God? What are your thoughts about God?

A. As far as the concept of god propagated by the labyrinth of the organised religious systems is concerned, I am an atheist.
My concept of God is any tangible or intangible force that gives me the feeling of being able to look up to it as a recourse, as a guide, as a friend....and as myriads of other effable and ineffable entities. He/She/It might be myself, another person, an event, an idea :all playing the requisite role at various points in time and space.
(From my experience, you can't convince people from the opposite camp if you put it in a plain fuckin extremist capsule:D(unless you have a chrome plated sixer in hand) but this got her thinking atleast)


2. How can thought be evolution free…? Then it would be stagnant wouldn’t it???
It makes you think this piece you have written … but is it a part of something bigger .. it kind of feels incomplete…

A. Thought may be stagnant and still not bound. For example, we have evolved to be able to think out of the species, to be able to lose the herd instinct. Whether we do it or not is again our choice. Our thought may be stagnant as we may not be able to imagine what future beholds, but still we are free to think in our capacity. What I wanted to lay emphasis upon is that somehow even this freedom to think with our full capacity is being curbed by the factors that I mentioned; and this hurts.

The Dreamer

The world is like a ride at an amusement park. And when you choose to go on it, you think it's real because that's how powerful our minds are. And the ride goes up and down and round and round. It has thrills and chills and it's very brightly coloured and it's very loud and it's fun, for a while. Some people have been on the ride for a long time, and they begin to question: Is this real, or is this just a ride? And other people have remembered, and they come back to us, they say, "Hey – don't worry, don't be afraid ever, because this is just a ride." And we … kill those people. "Shut him up. We have a lot invested in this ride. Shut him up. Look at my furrows of worry. Look at my big bank account and my family. This just has to be real." It's just a ride. But we always kill those good guys who try and tell us that, you ever notice that? And let the demons run amok. But it doesn't matter, because – it's just a ride. And we can change it anytime we want. It's only a choice. No effort, no work, no job, no savings and money. A choice, right now, between fear and love. The eyes of fear want you to put bigger locks on your doors, buy guns, close yourself off. The eyes of love instead see all of us as one. Here's what we can do to change the world, right now, to a better ride. Take all that money we spend on weapons and defenses each year and instead spend it feeding and clothing and educating the poor of the world, which it would pay for many times over, not one human being excluded, and we could explore space, together, both inner and outer, forever, in peace.

- William Melvin Hicks

Pious implosion

"What distinguishes us [scientists] from the pious and the believers is not
the quality but the quantity of belief and piety; we are contented with
less. But if the former should challenge us: then be contented and appear to
be contented! - then we might easily reply: 'We are, indeed, not among the
least contented. You, however, if your belief makes you blessed then appear
to be blessed! Your faces have always been more injurious to your belief
than our objections have! If these glad tidings of your Bible were written
on your faces, you would not need to insist so obstinately on the authority
of that book... As things are, however, all your apologies for Christianity
have their roots in your lack of Christianity; with your defence plea you
inscribe your own bill of indictment. "

-Daybreak, Nietzche

Where angels deserve to die......

He had no craft,he had no veil.
No one's joy did he ever steal.
But for one lingering question in his mind
Oh Master!Where art thou if thou art ever so kind.

But innocence gave way
And his mind would stray
From birds and flowers and beauty divine,
He fell, and proud morbidity seemed just fine.

And mortality it was, that engulfed him
As it shone upon his countenance, right up to the brim.
He walked and walked, with bloody feet
On the one dreaded path he wasn't meant to meet.

Another day, as he cried with dreary eyes
Heavens opened up and the path did rise.
And it said unto him with such a voice,
That he had to heed and had no choice.

Lucifer, My son! Thou shalt rise
For I see thou being ever so wise
See thy purpose and follow thy way
And let not your mind astray

On his feet did he fall and cried with joy
And free was he, of greed and ploy
But Lucifer screamed, for he was ever so keen,
Oh God! Thou art omnipresent, but alas! thou can't be seen

Thou can't be seen
Thou can't be seen
Thou can't be seen

jack's life

I wouldn't say Jack is your average guy next door. In fact, if it were left to the so called psychologists to decide, he would be bludgeoned with lofty terms from those tomes of abstractions, into an oblivion worse than the one he is in at present, but I wouldn't say those "specialists" are normal either. Anyway, that's besides the point.
Adjectives being relative, his way of life, if it can be called a life at all, can best be termed as peculiar. The same day seems to be repeating itself again and again, as if tied to the needles of his old wristwatch, which has ceased to bring back any fond memories anymore. He opens his eyes. Had he been sleeping? How could it be? Was it just a dream? No way! He remembers what that correspondent had been talking about all this while, and is still there on his computer console, talking about future with fanaticism, the conclusive part of the documentary. Then what was all that stuff that seemed more like fantasy, that he could still picturize vividly? May be it is insomnia. He couldn't care less. Lights up a cig. It's still dark outside. When did he fall asleep? What day is it? He has no idea, and doesn't make an effort to find out. Looks at the tacky environment of his hostel room, with emptiness in his eyes, and a randomized thought process which has been haunting him for as long as he can remember. Gropes in the darkness for the bottle of some leftover whisky from the night before.....doesn't quite prefer bright lights, the table lamp being more than enough. Makes himself a peg in his favourite green chalice.....picks up the book he's read umpteen times, about some teenage college dropout.....used to make him pretty uncomfortable some years ago, but not now. Lights up another cig. One hour, two chapters, 3 pegs, 6 cigs and a few randomized thoughts later, he gets up, ready to go for a walk. Looks at his wristwatch. It's 3 at night. The streets are empty, just as he prefers. A mile or two of warped thinking, and he briskly starts back for his hostel room, decided on something. The room isn't as dark as he had left it.....empty bottles, cigarette packets, books, cobwebs ......and some wafer packets which he frisks out of hunger, in vain, now reveal themselves with smiting glee. He gets back on the computer, types some gibberish for an hour, and spends another lying on his back, looking at the ceiling, not sure of what he is thinking, or what he is supposed to. There's a knock on the door. He doesn't answer it. Doesn't feel like answering it. May be someone asking for cigs or a good samaritan waking him up for the morning class. He doesn't even shift his gaze. The phone rings, and although not being used to people calling him, he doesn't pick it up. In all probability it would be the credit card lady, or one of his previous blunders trying to give him a piece of it's non-existent mind. Anyway he didn't prefer talking anymore. Things weren't always like this. He could vaguely remember being punished almost everyday for being the most talkative brat at school. The thought brings a faint smile on his face, but it doesn't last. Something within him died along the line. In fact, sometimes days pass without him uttering a word. He has got used to being treated as an outcast, so much so, that he has neither pride nor sympathy for himself. He doesn't care, not anymore, and has become more or less stolid.
Dawn breaks, not that the time matters, but he freshens up, has breakfast, and returns to his den....downloads a few files, for the ever so stagnant time to pass.....followed by a long session of conflicts, real and unreal, wars, love, superficial as well as deep, the past, present and future, preferable and not quite so, followed by another session of random reading, mystics, saints, scientists, warriors, fiction, ...reality, and real sense of comfort that one might experience while being intermittently away from it. It's evening. He's skipped lunch as usual. Gets ready and heads for his usual hangout, a rather gloomy place, about a mile away, where they serve drinks. Another four hours just flow like a viscous fluid......elusive, yet so full of everything he has ever wished for. He drinks till he is inebriated enough to forget this day, only to live it again.

If there was only one such person, you people would be right to label him insane. But, unfortunately, that isn't the case.

cerebration

Humans, as I have come to understand, are the only species who, heretofore, have been persistent upon destroying themselves with the sword of evolution itself. Logic and reasoning have been rendered vestigial time and again to make way for more brutish pursuits. As the present scenario would have it, the most prominent goal seems to be propagation; wild, directionless, regardless of the cost involved.

That being said, there are a handful who still cherish the most beautiful gift of billions of years of evolution- free thought; but as the obnoxiously predictable society full of half wits would have it, they are forced to live like outcasts, or a non-entity, a part of the crowd. It seems we have gashed our own hands while forging this sword, and the wounds have spread to take more ghastly forms as in organised religion, conventions in everything from education to profession to behaviour, even in thought. Mediocrity being rewarded as it is today, presents a more vivid and picturesque view of where we are heading to.

How I died.......

3:28 AM : All right. It's decided now. I am gonna flunk tomorrow :p. Meanwhile, came up with some more crap of my own :

It matters not how dark the pit was
It matters not how I died
How hard I suffered
How long I survived

The truth as it once was
Let it now be told
For if I don't confide in you
You are bound to stay cold

First thing I remember
I was tethered in the hole
As I groped in the darkness
For the chains that cut my soul

As I cowered in the corner
Screaming out of fright
Their voices grew stronger
To my naive delight

As I shrieked out in agony
They opened up the gate
The sudden rush of light that was
Could well have sealed my fate

And then they entered
Followed by a face
He was someone I remembered
As he raised his holy mace

Before I could speak up
He stooped a little more
And laughed in such a manner
That froze me to the core

"Sinner" they screamed in unison
Told me it was hope
that called for the penance
with which I couldn't cope

They cut my limbs off
And laughed in derision
As the holy mace bludgeoned me
I had a blissful vision

As I laughed my heart out
To their disbelief
As death was lurking by
I spoke with some relief

You could pierce my flesh
Or beat me to plump with that pole
But you could never steal my hope
You could never kill my soul

That is why I cry in anger
Plead to you through words of love
You may one day fall into the abyss
But never bludgeon the white dove

It matters not how dark the pit is
It matters not how you die
It's all about how you live
It's all about how you survive