Haze and Mist

I need a human sympathizer. Someone who would just put his hand on my shoulder and say, it is alright.  Well...  Came across a sher of Firaq Gorakhpuri: فراقؔ اکثر کوئی ہر ایک سے بیگانہ سا رہتا ہے بس اتنے پر کسی کو ل وگ دیوانہ سمجھتے ہیں > Fira Firaq aksar koie har ek se begaana rahta hai Bus itne par kisi ko log deevana samajhte hain   Firaq, often someone behaves like a stranger with one and all That's all it takes for people to consider him mad Wow ! It hit me. It's so true!  I felt that it was I who was saying it to myself! It throws up disturbing questions about social norms and the individual's struggle to belong to the group. It is a cry from deep within; a confession of the soul to itself. Who do you tell about the struggle within an individual? Everyone is going through the same conundrum, the same difficulty. The need of the soul to be left alone, with no care. But if this is spoken aloud, you are likely to face  the charge of being selfish, or usel...

 Met a friendly man I know after a long time. I waved and proceeded but something made me stop and ask him regarding his work. "Yes," he said, " somehow I am going on but... " He didn't complete the sentence but it was clear that he found it difficult to continue. I dropped a name in the same profession as his —designer pottery and suggested, "You could collaborate with him because I believe that he is very entrepreneurial and I hear he's doing well. I'm sure he could open things for you".   (Let's call him) Michael did not understand, or he did but pretended as though he didn't. So I elaborated and told him that a regular flow of some money might give an incentive to continue doing what he did best. "No", he said, "of course I understand that sale keeps you going, and also it is a service to people  who like to use pottery but... "  I noticed that he had developed a way of stopping mid-sentence after a but, like a s...

Again this morning  I postponed dying. No, no,  not suicide, but that routine dying, habitually almost.  I dusted off the membrane of night,  got Bob on the lead,  then we walked into morning air.  (Mornings are beautiful beings !)  There is an un-breathed breathing,  a sort of suspension of an air-intake,  when the inhalant burns deep  in the labouring wind pipe.  Something of that sort happened to me this morning and I let go of the daily dying.  I felt uplifted.  So listen: let the world go to blazes!  Do your thing, Stop dying. 

 Already half the May gone,  not so far from resolution– for four months isn't far.  Six decades long habit has grown old in the body,  touched ground, turned soft.  I have been practicing reclination.  supine, for when they box me in the corpse mustn't revolt.  Nothing to be done now of all those procrastinations.  You are gone; they, as good as gone! 

If we expose ourself to any language we learn it. An illiterate beggar on the road is more likely to surprise us with a turn of phrase which a scholar may not. It is the same reason why an ordinary German may know fluent German than a foreign scholar of the same language. It is because language thrives on the open streets, not in closed biblioteques.  Why we accept the elitist opinions on the beauty of language is beyond me. A workable grammar, proper syntax & a reasonable vocabulary are the survival kit of any language. What gives language its vitality is its easy use with the purpose of carrying a thought across and not ornamental doodah! It is not what the 'Shastrys' of language claim and whose advise is taken by the Goverments in their official documents, circulars, etc. It is not a living language but a pile of dead bodies of words, put together to sound officious only to be, more likely, misunderstood. On Indian railway platforms you read notices with words like ...

I sleep deep & so don't remember dreams. I dreamt last night and on waking up past 3.40, remembered parts of it. Decided to write it down lest I forget.  I was lost in a village, deep inside Tamil Nadu.  Much of the dream is forgotten. Don't know why or how I went to that village. Perhaps in passing, got down in that village mistakenly.  It was a hamlet through which buses passed. There was a temple, small shops selling groceries, etc. It was difficult to communicate with the people because the people there spoke only Tamil & I don't speak Tamil. I have no phone with me, didn't remember any number to call, didn't see a post office or a government building and I had no cash! Had no idea what the name of the place was. One or two people I tried to ask for help waved me off. I wasn't looking like a beggar, I'm sure, not shabby in appearance but I didn't speak Tamil! That was the only reason why they didn't speak to me, is my conclusion. Remember...