The Secret

(This is something I wrote for an online contest that I won nothing in. The theme was “Open Spaces” and I had 1500 words to write. I considered writing a moving piece, something high on philosophy and emotion. I chalked out a story of a prisoner serving a life sentence without much memory of his past. Then I thought, oh what the hell, lets get crazy.

What ensued was a couple of hours of unrestrained crap flow resulting in the disaster of a piece that I now present to you with utter disgust at my own shamelessness.

P.S.  To the few, maybe very few, and probably about to be fewer, admirers of my serious stuff, I am sorry. If you bear with this shit, I promise you better stuff soon.

To the others, further reading shall be at your own risk. We do not assume responsibility for your resulting intellectual numbness.)

21st July 2027

Dear Blog, 

Exactly 13.73 ± 0.12 billion years before 10 AM yesterday, the universe was filled homogeneously and isotropically with an incredibly high energy density, huge temperatures and pressures, and was expanding and cooling very rapidly. At some point, an unknown reaction called baryogenesis violated the conservation of the baryon number, leading to a very small excess of quarks and leptons over antiquarks and antileptons—of the order of one part in 30 million. This resulted in the predominance of matter over antimatter in the present Universe. 

This, was the beginning of the Big Bang, the same woefully mysterious phenomenon that gave rise to all those useless planets and stars and galaxies that have since been moving around in circles for no apparent reason. Of course, it also created the earth, on whose utility I shall politely refuse to comment. Anyway, the Big Bang did originate in open space, a lot of open space actually, by which reason one should be thankful, or vengeful, towards open spaces, depending on how happy one is with one's life. I'm quite happy, and correspondingly, quite thankful. 

Open, is the way man was always supposed to be - outdoors, accessible, ignorant, innovative. And that's the way Adam lived. But then along came Eve, who got tempted into eating from the evil, evil Tree of Knowledge and things have never been the same again. The once totally open man got covered with leaves, the forever partially open woman too got covered with leaves, and it took them both much more time than it should have, to find the open spaces that would, in time, be the source of 157 billion members of No. 986 in the top 1000 most intelligent species to ever inhabit the earth, the moon and the mars (Ranking of homo sapiens as calculated on a six-point scale by National Geographic, A.D. 2157). 

Basically then, at the heart of all life is the open space. The human race comes to life in the open space somewhere inside a woman and ends in the open space between a few planks of wood placed in the womb of the earth. Most of us, however, fail to realise the overwhelming significance, or even the inextricable presence of open spaces in our life. I did too, till not very long back, but now that I see it, I shall make it a point to enlighten at least the very few people who actually manage to make their way through this whole piece alive and awake. This whole piece, that is a collection of a few small pieces from my fairytale life.

The fairytale began two months after I was born, when the conqueror within me set out to discover the world beyond the cradle. The earliest discovery was that cradles of such brave warriors as me are usually fortresses surrounded by deep valleys on all sides, and when we decide to move out unannounced, we usually fall head first into the bottom of the valley, which in turn, is usually hard. Soon after this first war campaign of mine, God probably realised what a masterpiece he had created, and came down to whisper in my ear the one advice that would make me the all-powerful, the invincible king of the world: "Look out for open spaces."

I did. I was a toddler crawling on all fours, determined to find an open space. Soon I realised I didn't know what to do when I found one. Even as a child, open spaces didn't mean much to me. The masterpiece named me was either a joke by God, or the valley had done irreparable damage to my head. I was a dumb kid who did nothing much except eat and shit. So the only open spaces I ever encountered were two diametrically opposite points on my almost immaculately spherical anatomy. I grew up a bit and started frequenting the neighbourhood park to get bullied by the big kids. Simultaneously, open spaces added themselves in my exquisitely crafted nanoparticle sized vocabulary with another meaning : (noun) park, where I play. It took me some time to realise that "play" was supposed to mean something other than what I had in mind: (verb) fetch ball, get kicked.

A few years later, I happened to stumble upon a couple of newly manufactured nuggets of valuable knowledge. 

1. God was kind enough to create a few people dumber than me. 

2. Open space could mean more than I had previously thought possible. 

The big occasion here was a fine young man, somewhat paradoxically named Prince, falling into a manhole somewhere in the hinterlands of India, and all the major news channels unfailingly and unflailingly showcasing every moment of his pleasurable experiences down there. Now, as evidence for nugget no. 1, I had the dear boy (come on, no offence, but who falls into a manhole, really??), and if not him, I definitely did have the people running the news channels (I mean, 3 days, nothing else?? Get a life)

As for nugget no. 2, ha hah, I had found another connotation of my favourite open space.

I continued to grow. Surprisingly, so did my brain. I soon began to hear carelessly dropped words like aliens, meteors, the global warming demon. Around the same time, a certain Mr. Cameron came along with a film of the kind they say is made only once in a lifetime. Now, my skull was too well insulated to be penetrated by any modicum of deeper meaning attached to the film, nevertheless, I did understand that there is such a thing as outer space which is generally open. And the very evening I watched the movie, I came home and stared at my father's laptop for a minute. "Eureka, Eureka" ran the echo behind me as I rushed to check my sister's PC and reaffirm my finding that the space bar on keyboards is usually big, and always uncovered. This was a day of extraordinary fulfillment. I had added two extremely meaningful pieces of information to the ever-growing database of life-changing moronisms that I had inside my head. And yes, moronism is another word out of my personal dictionary that is going under the hammer at Sotheby's next month.

The growing up refused to stop, however much I cared for the limited resources and tolerance of the world. I got to high school, and girls got to me. My unwavering belief in my childhood hero Karamchand's words - "All girls are dumb", was reinforced when even I managed to get a girlfriend. In a couple of months though, she began to say she felt claustrophobic with me and needed her space. I asked her if this space she needed would be open, just to be safe. I still remember the look she gave me before walking away. It was one of confusion, of disgust, of awe. I didn't know what to make of it, so I just took it to be a yes.

I went on to study social sciences, democracy, parliament, terrorism. I was taught that a democracy was a place where everyone had the freedom to openly express their beliefs, and a parliament was a place where elected leaders did just that: express beliefs. I also learnt that terrorism was the unauthorised use of violence to express one's beliefs. I deduced from experience that both terrorists and parliamentarians expressed their beliefs in open spaces and that their methods were usually interchangeable. From simple mathematical rules that I had mastered, I went about the following derivation:

Terrorist x open space = express beliefs violently

Parliamentarian x open space = express beliefs violently

==> Terrorist x open space = Parliamentarian x open space

==> Terrorist = Parliamentarian

I gave a complete version of this discovery of mine in all my college applications, apart from an in-depth explanation of my insurmountable understanding of open spaces, confident of being flooded with offers. To this day, I wonder why the offers never came. I can't help but settle with the explanation that everybody thought I would be too good for them.

Well, I did however get into a college soon after. I had to mask my ingenuity though, but then, most extraordinary beings in the history of the world have had to make sacrifices like these to prevent an epidemic inferiority complex in the human society. I shall get through too.

I am still on the lookout for open spaces, and shall probably be for a long time to come. But I did chance upon an idea just a few days back.

That an open space is just what the name says it is: an open space, something that is full of possibilities; something that is willing to be looked through, to be looked at, from different perspectives; something that is all for new ideas and visions; something that one may immerse oneself in and come out clear; something that is nothing, but, open.

P.S.  Dear Blog,

You are an open space, and I shall do my best to harass, violate, and disgust you as often as I can. Just your luck.

A Walk with Life

The journey began with me, ever the whimsical pirate, setting eyes on the target and feet on the ground, fumbling and stumbling with that tiny pair I'd got, and declaring savage war on the tinier footed red army perched atop the clay hills, ultimately capturing two of their soldiers before bravely going down - into my mother's arms, both of us jubilant at the victory, celebrating with a loud giggle, and a heartwarming smile, making it the most pleasant, and the most memorable fall either of us ever had.

The journey continued, hand in hand with the first girlfriend, walking the narrow tree-lined alleys behind the school, both kids in shock and awe at the opposite sex not being so despicable after all; talking mush, not knowing much, turning red, walking on anyway.

Time flew to the final days, and nights, of university, companion changed to the quintessential best friend, and the journey went on, with two young men walking down corridors, and down memory lane, reliving their hilarious antics, worrying about pending test scores, lending life some precious advice; all the time hoping to delay the incongruous bend in the path.

Life propagated, roles reversed, and here I was, walking life, alongside my little girl, dropping her to school, taking her to the swings, watching cartoons, hiding from mommy; here I was, reliving the beginning of the voyage, enjoying it more, praying for it to last longer.

The road moved on, so did I, walking with the love of my life, with grey hair, and with high spirits; closer to this companion than I ever was to the others, laughing more than I ever could with the others, the journey continuing with this walk-eternally beautiful, endlessly fulfilling, yet... not for ever.

Today I see this journey conclude, memories being given away as souvenirs, as I walk away, into the dark; as I walk away, on another voyage, as I walk, inevitably, alone. . .

Moonlit

I...
The unabashed winner, having things my forsaken, forbidden way, bending fate, redirecting destiny to suit the vanquishing inconsistencies of my whims…
For once… I've lost, and this once, I know, will last for ever.

I…
Used to winning these staring contests with my oldest comrade in nocturnal nadirs, he batting the first eyelid, giving in to the piercing reach of my self-righteous, subverting gaze, surrendering into the mist…
For once... I've lost, and this once, I know, will last for ever.I close my eyes. I open them. I'm awake.

.....

I see him, up there. I see the familiar round face, the perpetually expressionless eyes, the numb yet gentle glance; its luscious luminosity irradiating the horizons with more than white light. I see the glance, once a cherished reminder of an expectant evening; now an intriguingly intimidating, excruciatingly empty stare; a spiteful one that seems to have questions, unanswerable ones, a stare brazenly betraying the broken heart of the solemn starer. I see it, with the hazy, fluffy clout that ought to accompany it on nights as these, nights seemingly of doubt, possibly of remission, expectedly of retrospection.

I'm awake, I'm aware. In the middle of a keen staring contest, and in the midst of the woods and the remains of my erstwhile car, I know I've lost. More than the contest. And the feeling , however unruly, however unresolved, is no longer new.
I've known it since the night had just begun, the night that has continued without cease, superseding days and months, rebuffing light and life.

The night that was preceded by the most ethereal twilit sky, witness to the eternally beautiful reunion of the red of the sun with the blue of the seas, scattered with the beaming, twinkling joy of the stars coming back to check on their favourite children.

The night whose earliest memory, painfully graphic in its imprint on my mind, continues to kill in parts, and whose remorse, shockingly sullen in its attempts at purgation, remains an insufficient customer of redemption.

The night that began with an expecting yet awkward silence characteristic to lovers aware their differences should have been settled much earlier; that saw the long emotional embrace that a long missed, dearly loved one deserves; that witnessed two quiet, sober adults turn into two loud, excited high school pals with a sudden realisation of their immense love.

The night that saw two people in love, kept apart by humane mistakes and inflamed egos, finally come together; that saw them share the love of a lifetime in a few precious moments; that could not help but revel in their revived affection and renewed vows; and that should have done nothing more than raise a toast to and give way to the dawn of their reborn relationship.

But maybe I had won for too long…I had to lose this once. This once, that set in a year back, right here, in the midst of the woods, in the remains of my erstwhile car. Right here, with her life leaving her in my anguished arms, and leaving me to face the night, alone…

I'm awake. Wish I was not. Wish I never had to be.

.....

I close my eyes. I open them. I'm awake.
I look again, up there. I see the familiar face, the other one this time, the other of the only two that I ever knew to be all mine. I see the eyes, overwhelmed with the pain I thought mine, and now know to be shared. I see those eyes, hazel, deep, moist, overwhelmed with the same effervescent love I noticed in them when distance was never imagined to be a factor. I see the glance, the same quietly mischievous, alluring glance that would make me give in to anything it ever asked in the many years and the few moments in which I lovingly and gratefully experienced it. I see the glance, to feel the affection of which for a few lost seconds, I know I would trade away the remaining of my time.

I see it, I feel it, the glance, her glance…betraying her broken heart. We look at each other, into each other. We feel each other, hearts broken not so much by the distance between us, as by the pain of the other. I see her smile, the benign smile of the benign woman I knew, and know, to be mine, the smile that wouldn't kill the pain, but would certainly help cure it.

I know why she's here, I see the love, and the pain, in those eyes, I know what that smile asks of me…

…..

I close my eyes. I open them. I'm awake.

I look up, again. I see the familiar face, the one that belongs to my nocturnal comrade, the expressionless eyes, the numb, gentle glance… but there's also the familiar, benign smile, behind it…subtle, but present…to watch over me, to be my companion, my keeper, my moonlight...

I'm awake, I've lost, but this is not the end...

The Dream

There he is, the prince, in his palace, the breathtaking new beginning to architectural renaissance, the most eloquent rendition of love ever built, the reinstatement of glory never lost. There he is, with his princess, the most fluent of the Lord's creations, the most flawless of Nature's beauty, the most entrancing of beings ever known, and unknown. There, he is.


And then, here he is, the prince, in his palace, not the most eloquent rendition of love ever built, but, without doubt, a rendition of, and a witness to, the most expressive, the most ornate, the most immersing love ever shared. Here he is, with his princess, the most precious of his one treasure; to him the most lovely expression of art, the most beautiful of inspirations ever inspired, and uninspired. Here, he is.


There, he, on his bed of roses, with his golden maiden curled around him, long asleep, ethereal as ever, her chin comfortably perched atop his shoulder, her silken hair caressing his rugged beard, her exhalation quenching his chest's thirst for warmth, her slender arm moving with it with his every breath. There, he,  on his bed of roses, staring into the golden dome, questioning the diamond chandeliers, searching his soul.


And then, here, stretched across his bed, with his golden maiden, long asleep, her face turned away from him, never once touching, feeling; depriving him of love once eternal. Here he is, lying wide awake, on his bed, not much more than a hammock, staring into the sky through the many, and the only avenues of light in this palace of his. Here he is, staring into the sky, questioning the fading stars, searching his soul.


There, he, in all his grandeur, leaping onto his extravagantly embellished equine, taking off to war, to victory, to vindication; leaving his lover behind, taking her love along. There he is, executing her wish, annexing all neighbouring territory, making the princess of his heart the princess of the world. There he is, warring for her ambition, fighting for her love, searching for himself.


Here, he, in his ivory armour, brave warrior of his under siege kingdom, taking off to war, to a probable death, to redemption; leaving his lover behind, taking his love along. Here he is, looking to her for a farewell, for a possibly last expression of her love, for a probably last chance to express his. Here he is, warring for his country, fighting for his love, searching for himself.


There, he is, the roaring lion, the battlefield his own, fighting, killing the 'enemy', searching his soul; seeing his own die, searching his soul; fighting on nevertheless, for his lover, for her love…


Here, a warrior no less, fighting, killing the 'enemy', searching himself; getting hurt, searching himself; fighting on nevertheless, for redemption, for another chance to his love…


Here he is, the last warrior, standing, fighting, flailing, failing…Here he is, closing his eyes the last time, seeing her face in the horizon, the overhead sun blinding his eyes, he, struggling no more to get up or to live, just to have one last look to the horizon. He knows she's coming, to him, he knows she loves him, he knows it; he sees her, in the horizon. He sees her, he breathes, he closes his eyes, one last time…


There, the prince, in his palace, the most eloquent rendition of love ever built, the reinstatement of glory again glorified. And there she is, his princess, the most fluent of the Lord's creations, the most flawless of Nature's beauty, the most entrancing of beings ever known, and unknown; in the arms of another. There he is, victorious, vindicated, winner of the war for her ambition, the fight for her love. And there she is, giving her self, and his love, away. There he is, the lord of the world, suddenly losing everything that mattered.


There they are, the prince, the princess, looking at each other, each searching the other.


There they are, looking at each other. . .the last time. He, drawing his sword. . .the last time.




There, he was; here, was his dream.


The dream he would die to live, and live to die.