On Jokaland...

and that uncanny sense of belonging.

The following relates to a moment of extreme emotion that hit me while on my way back from lunch a few days back. And the fact that that feel was further accentuated yesterday night, when I was blessed with this track from Omkara's OST, means I embed that here.

You are requested to play it before proceeding.

So.
That lazy afternoon was one of those satisfyingly slow ones, where one gets some time to pause and look around, after having spent many weeks in the throws of hecticity and its fine friends.
I'm not sure what it was in that moment, that led to that which has been en-heightening my self since then. That wisp of a semblance of a scent which caught me unawares, or the indifferent, passing by female, or my predecessor behind her; whatever it was, it came by in one unassuming, unexpectant moment, stayed there, watching me stare at it in absolute wonder and then left with untouchable grace.

It had however done its job.
For in that moment, for the first time ever, my conscious self identified Jokaland as its home; for the first time, I felt that which one feels when one returns home after a voyage across 7 lives; for the very first time here, "that uncanny sense of belonging" walked up to me, looked me in the eye and gave me that hauntingly beautiful peck on the cheek.

Thankfully it wasn't a one-moment stand.
After that, different things came by, each inviting me home; each in its own way, a path to find one's home, to find that which drives one through all of the world's wonders, that which lends one meaning, purpose, and that comforting warmth, which en-numb-ens all that needs to be, while bringing to life the sobbing, hapless child within.

I realize, as I proceed with the above track embedded firmly in my ears, that my eyes have filled up for no apparent reason.

The track lends itself to the general sense of amazement fast enveloping me, with downright awe inspiring finesse. That it meant something similar to the sender only adds more hue and saturation to the developing scene. With it playing, one reaches that fast disappearing habitat wherein one is accorded the luxury of simply letting go of all that burdens the self, and floating on the gentle waves resounding in every bit of one's existence.

It is not surprising then, that one now finds greater meaning in that which awaits the senior batch in another 53 odd days; that one is reintroduced to that ideal which had kept one in perpetual awe of all that one saw, while keeping the self surprisingly light within. One finds oneself marvelling at this chance opportunity that has found its way into the 24.5 hour schedules that one subsists on.

One is alive once again.
The enslaved child is freed from the dark recesses that had gobbled it up with eerie glee.
The light (Noorunallah indeed!) has pierced through the walls that had erected themselves around one.
One finds some form of that elixir-esque concoction of hope, love and light.
Meaning, purpose and evitabilities take their rightful place next to the throne, thus silencing the beast, at least for now.

Till one finds the truth all over again; till one finds oneself back home in the blink of an eye, again; till one dies to embrace another tomorrow's life, I shall bid you farewell, kind passer-by.

Good Night.
Be happy.

PS:
"O ri raani, gudiya
Jag ja, ari jag ja.."

Sigh..
:)

Noorunallah!

Pre Scriptum: Before reading this, it would perhaps be advisable to scroll to the bottom of this post and play the track that shares its title with this post.
Thank you.
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This is borne out of only (mostly), and only what this song has given to me this fine morning.
Given the loss of words I find myself in at this point, I shall buy some time by starting with what formed the backdrop for this experience.

Mid terms just ended, I found myself surprisingly free Friday evening. Though there was considerable work pending in matters outside of the classroom, the very fact that another set of exams had just flown past, was dope enough for the mind to fly and be free, after a long, long time (or so it seemed at least! Time dilation anyone? ;)

Starting that night, to the second that has just skiiped by, (yeah, that one right there!) I have finished 4 movies: Memento, Amadeus, Trois Couleurs: Rouge, Trois Couleurs: Blanc.
While people around me are in the double digits, 4 is a treasure for the time spendthrift movie fan in me. Further, prior to this I completed a blog post, which was supremely satisfying, albeit the slight aberrations that may been induced by the forces of empty-tummied-ness, and general insomniation.

Nevertheless, as has been made amply evident, these last 3 days have given wings to that which was stifled somewhere inside, in the face of a world growing up too fast. While this new found freedom provided several such flights, it was also responsible for the coming up of several old questions on life and the likes. However, it is stuff such as what forms the subject of this post, that invokes that all overriding call to divine procrastination, and its all embalming plea to a faith as blind as 2 bats sharing a drink at a tavern north of Northumbria.

Noorunallah.
The Light of the Almighty One.
The light which brings to life all that it falls upon.
The light which once seen, blinds one to the trivialties that the world throws towards one.
The light which, given our instrumental role in schemes larger than our selves, shines often through us and those around us.
The light, which helps us up when we fall into the maze that we ourselves create so masterfully.
The light which blurs all distinctions between I, you, Him, it and that.
The Light which shines through a million little eyes, yet complete as a whole, with meaning that waits, contingent, only for the one to give in to, and indeed become, the One.

All of the above, and SO much more which escapes my mortal comprehension and expression, is what lies concealed under the covers that this piece comes with. Blessed was the day when I procured this folder from my frontie, one of the early days in Jokaland.

To Noorunallah...


PS: Couldn't help but quote this, from this post long long back, which was magical in itself...

"To think of the day that has just passed,
My heart sings to You in joy,
Your eternal love all around me,
What else could I ask of Thee?
I love You and You love me,
What more do I need to be?"

Sigh... Such days... Such light... Such persevering, immaculate, eternal love...

Potently visible by its very absence

The seed for this post was planted late last night, or lets say prohibitively early morning today. Around 5am it must have been, high on a sponty trip to the city for a 2nd dinner, and hours of thass to top, I had America's Ventura Highway on, and was just leaving hostel for another "walk to remember", armed with phone and camera, and accompanied by the muse that reaches out to me through them.

As I was turning to the right, something caught the corner of my eye. Just for a second, I saw a human form walking. But that was all that it was. A momentary aberration of the elements within and without me, to bring to life a figure invisible, yet wholly present; (perhaps) non-existent, yet undenyably alive. To the naked eye, it seemed as if the figure had been carved into the ambience, thus perfectly camouflaged, yet visible by the void it seemed to embody.

However, as is often the case with posts such as these, it is what meets the eye that counts.
And thus began the rapid germination of said seed planted previously.

The need for a particular object/entity (referred to, here on, as 'it' for convenience) is what defines its presence in our lives. Thus to experience it, one need not necessarily have it. Rather, the very fact that one feels its need/importance/indispensability et al, suffices.
Thus, as was the case with me today morning, it needed not the presence of a person there in the morning mists, nor that of a living example of His love, just the very cognizance of such a presence, such potential, such love.

It is in fact existent, solely through the meaning it portrays, the power it weilds so blithely, and the very fact that it is acknowledged among the mortals that spot the earth. In fact, extrapolating this hypothesis further, our very existences are defined and governed by how we influence and affect our surroundings; without a canvas on which to display our colours and shades, our existences woud (perhaps) remain just that, mere, lifeless existences. This canvas is not to be mistaken with a necessarily external, worldly, gaudy object of self adulation, rather, it may be taken to be anything that takes one away from the compelling realms of the self and related derivatives.

Returning to the original theme.
Our lives, are thus (perhaps) governed by an (in?)finite set of needs and wishes that punctuate our existence. And each one of those needs comes to life, by its very presence in our consciousness, as do we ourselves.
Thus, one need not be present to be there, rather, one's absence is as potent in its influence over another.

This is strongly reminiscent of Prof. Rita Ganguly's little discourse at NSIT, after a glorious Spic event (where she ended with our beloved "Zara dheere dheere gaadi haanko"!). There, explaining one of her pieces, she spoke, of how lust did not need the presence of another being; rather, it was defined, and lived in all its glory, solely by the thirst, the need, the longing.

That should be it for now. May we all live to experience that which is always a step ahead, either through its presence, or the lack of it. For, quoting from a post long long back:

"it is the feel that truly matters. Instances of the feel just give it a name, a shape; the feel remains ever free, ever unbounded, ever present, waiting always and only, for the one."

Cheers!

PS: The following deserves a special mention, for the role they played in the R&D of this post! :)

WINAMP playlist

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4 tracks in playlist, average track length: 5:29 Playlist length: 21 minutes 58 seconds Right-click here to save this HTML file.

Playlist files:

1. America - Ventura Highway (3:22)
2. Hazaaron Khwaahishen Aisi - Man Yeh Baanwra (Qawwali) (3:04)
3. Mrigya-ganga (10:31)
4. Steve Vai - Instrumental solo (5:01)

The speed of thought...

The muse for this little post came to me when talking to a friend yesterday, whose Dad was coming over for the day.

Upon asking how much time it took to reach from her native palce to Calcutta, her answer came in 3 parts, one each for air, train and road travel.
Something about that progressively increasing time span, her eyes as she replied, and the general manner in which she reminisces about the days back home, opened up a window in front of me.
Just for a moment, I experienced the infinite speed of thought.

How the mind had the power to transcend all barriers of the world, that too in good time; how it could give you a taste of Goan fish curry you had 15 years back, and in the next instant give you a glimpse of the next big thing in Manchester United, astrophysics or even your own self.

It also seemed incredibly beautiful, how one could travel to any place in the world and beyond, flying on the gleefully free wings of one's mind. How the mind thus, had the power to heal (and dig up?) wounds; to render a thousand enemy arrows useless; to search and pursue any little matter is so chooses.

How true is Milton,
"The mind is its own place, and in itself, can make heaven of Hell, and a hell of Heaven."

Cheers to that which has the power to do SO much, waiting only for an able saarathi for a master.

The outstretched hand

It waits.
It watches.

It looks around at the many people it so loves.
It reads this, and finds a growing sense of purpose in its fleeting existence.

It waits.
It watches.

It craves to bring joy to those around it.
It longs for that one glance that would fulfill its life ambition.

It waits.
It watches.

It tries to be of use when those around it are blues-stricken.
It feels helpless at the seeming futility of its role.

But it waits.
It watches.

It stretches out its hand, to reach out to a friend in need.
Its eyes watch with love streaming out.

And it waits.
It watches.

Having waited and watched and longed for that one touch,
It looks back at the life it has lived.
It remembers the moments that have been its days. It recalls every instance of its attempt at being put to use; of its glance upward at every passing stranger; of its sweet, painful desperation for being a part of something bigger than itself; of its undying love for those it cared for; of that all pervasive, all overpowering need, to be loved.

Hands still outstretched, tears in its eyes, and with a hope for a brighter life ahead, it finally falls, and dies.

Dear, dear flower, Rest in Peace.