MEDITATING UPON A CONVERSATION

This is where it all began

Picking up a thread, from where I had last time, I am writing again.

Yes, the urge to write has always been honest. But, the urge to seek inspiration, I agree has earned some reputation. I won’t wish to still tag it as procrastination. But, the process of writing, as an art form, has definitely slowed down.

Thus days went by. After ‘My letters for October’, I really didn’t write anything much interesting. Today, as I write this piece, I am left with very little choice or no choice at all. My inspiration, this time over too is none other than the man, who created that magical drama on celluloid called OCTOBER. The man, Mr Shoojit Sircar.

I’ve been his fan, ever since his first cinematic presentation of YAHAAN. Yet his imagining of PIKU, PINK and OCTOBER, turned me into a bigger fan of his. Of late, I’ve been spending a lot of time on YouTube; listening to his interviews, watching the making of his movies, discovering him share his experiences & learning. Just then, a post popped up on Instagram. IFTDA (Indian Film & Television Directors’ Association) had put up a poster, which informed about a Masterclass to be conducted on May 19. I knew I had to grab this opportunity.

There I was, seeing and listening to the man himself; Mr Shoojit Sircar (The Storyteller) in conversation with Mr Anjum Rajabali (Another Storyteller) at the ISKCON Auditorium, in Juhu.

Besides sharing some rare gems about how he respects his writer, Mr Shoojit Sircar left me feeling rich with an experience, I can’t define in an ordinary manner. At the same time, he taught me something very important. The learnt lesson is so significant that it made me grow selfish by the time, the seminar ended.

I must confess that Mr Shoojit Sircar put all my inner and outer conflicts to rest. The lesson, I learnt from his conversation, almost magically, took the shape of meditation. I am in no mood to reveal any details of that very special lesson. Instead I am going to turn this learning, this meditation into highest source of inspiration.

This inspiration will lead to something; I haven’t felt before or associated with either. His words were simple but their intent was extraordinary.

Even though, I was eager to present him with the copy of my blog, in appreciation of OCTOBER, I hardly got a chance to meet him in person. But that leaves me with no regrets. There’s always that next time to hope for and the next moment to be a part of.

Suddenly all the excitement, which seemed to have taken a backseat, has returned. Yes, the urge to write has always been honest. Yes, the urge to write will continue being honest.

One person, who made this possible is Mr Shoojit Sircar. If not today, maybe someday very soon, I am going to sit across and convey my heartfelt gratitude to him.

Two amazing storytellers in action

-Virtuous Vociferous | May 20 | May Blog-1 | 2018

MY LETTERS FOR OCTOBER

I watched and I experienced OCTOBER, irrespective of the flood of reviews, reactions and response.

I watched and I sensed OCTOBER, with my mother seated beside me.

I watched and I felt OCTOBER… My eyes turned moist. My speech trembled. My faith in love turned unconquerable.

Thus, I chose to write these four letters; my letters for OCTOBER.

Letter #1 for October (To Writer, Juhi Chaturvedi)

Dear Juhi,

I was eager to gift my mother something very special on her 65^th birthday this year. She celebrates her birthday on April 13. Like every year, I asked her, if she had something specific on her mind to receive as a gift. Just like every year, she smiled and said, “I’ve everything my son. I wish to see you happy. I think as a mother, I can’t ask for a bigger gift.” Moved emotionally, I stubbornly clung to my wish to gift something special to her. Then, OCTOBER came by. So beautifully written by you; almost like poetry in motion. Since I knew, I will be busy with meetings on her birthday; I booked the tickets for the last show of April 14. Guess what Juhi, we were seated there at the multiplex, watching OCTOBER unfold in the month of April. Both of us kept wondering, how could you’ve thought about creating those two lovely characters of Dan & Shiuli (By the way Shiuli is my mother’s and my favorite flower. Our garden has a total of three trees. Mom and I too enjoy collecting those fallen flowers every morning). Coming back to Dan & Shiuli and their presence in OCTOBER, let me tell you, it was the way you told the story, which left us speechless. Such a wonderful story. Being a creative writer myself, I can understand the detail, which went into making us experience the pathos in this epic love story. I simply love the way, your pen moved and created an amazing October for us, in the month of April. Trust me, as I write this letter to you, I am still in tears.

More power to your pen!

Regards,

Purnesh

Letter #2 for October (To Director, Shoojit Sircar)

Dear Shoojit,

The movie ended. The credits rolled. The lights jumped back to life. My mother and I left our seats and started walking towards the exit. I was holding her hand tightly so that she didn’t lose her balance on the stairs. Just a day prior to today (April 14), on the day, you released OCTOBER (April 13), she turned 65. As we held hands, she looked at me. My eyes were moist. I was yet to recover from the story. I was yet to recover from OCTOBER. I connected with the movie emotionally and in every single way that you might have wanted the movie to resonate with the audience. I just wish to ask you one thing Shoojit – How can you think of a character as selfless as DAN? I wish to ask you another thing Shoojit – How did you think of making SHIULI walk into our lives and take control of our lives? Tell me Shoojit. I am still seeking answers. You are the one, who introduced us to this OCTOBER. Therefore, I request you to answer my questions. Let me conclude by confessing – I loved OCTOBER to the core. I loved it because you made this amazing love story come my way;  when I went out seeking love but realized that the story had never begun and yet, I kept seeking a conclusion (rather a happy ending). Thank you Shoojit. Just like Dan, you made me find my purpose in life.

I wish to sign off saying, “You reaffirmed my faith in love.”

Please don’t stop telling us such wonderful stories.

Regards,

Purnesh

Letter #3 for October (To the two miracles, Banita & Varun)

Dear Shiuli (Banita) & Dan (Varun),

I remember confessing my love to her. We were not even a breath away from each other. I ended up saying it to her and made it sound like a normal conversation. But the conversation wasn’t that normal, simple or forgettable. I know, she heard me. There’s no reason to disbelieve her. She didn’t deny anything. Neither did she accept everything. Somewhere she made me realize, we could be great friends. But, I committed that stupid mistake; I grew possessive about her, I suddenly grew protective about her. I started taking control of her emotions, her behavior, her conversations; almost everything. Not for once did I give myself a chance to love her, like her selflessly. Before the love story could begin, I could sense it was over. Yes, Shiuli & Dan, it’s over. So I told myself, no more falling in love. And then, you both came my way. I met you there, in the multiplex. Not for a moment, I could take my eyes off you. I invested all my senses in your love story. But, yours is not a love story… yours is a story of love. That is what, makes the difference. Loads of love to you both; Shiuli & Dan, thank you for coming my way. I might not endeavor seeking love the way, I went seeking. You both, made me realize, I should rather allow love to happen.

So Shiuli, next time, when you ask – WHERE IS DAN? I will be the first one to tell you, where he is.

Love to you both for making me feel in love again and helping me start to love myself.

Regards,

Purnesh

Letter #4 for October (To the flower, Shiuli)

Dear Shiuli-The Flower,

The next morning, when I or my mother shall come downstairs to collect you, I will be reminded of OCTOBER again.

Regards,

Purnesh

Conclusion of this post: Love, if selfless by nature…. can create GREATER WONDERS!

-Virtuous Vociferous | April 14/15 | April Blog-1 | 2018

DRAWN IN FAVOR OF 40

I might have not felt it strongly on my first birthday. Maybe it was during my twenty fifth birthday in 2003, I knew that 15 years down the line, I will turn 40. Does that give rise to a thought that I might be preparing for it? Did turning 40 require any preparation? Honestly speaking, it didn’t! 40 arrived as smoothly as 25 could have. All I did was take a quantum leap of making an announcement to the world that I was feeling MIGHTY AT 40. Millions of thank you to one of my senior designer’s in office, who created a logo around the theme. Even though I am yet to thank him in my special way. But I am yet to live up to the promises, I had made to him. On being asked as to what I would do with the logo of MIGHTY AT 40, I had made him clear – I will make visiting cards, print envelopes, get a t-shirt printed. I did none of them. Not due to any particular reason but, due to lethargy.

Someone asked me, how do I feel being at 40? I replied with the zeal of #MightyAtForty. I compounded my reply with the same old cliché of ‘life begins at 40’. Someone brought in his own touch by adding – hey dude, being naughtily sexy at 40. Yes, I feel sexy. Thanks to the newly found freedom from many reasons, which kept me tied down to unnecessary responsibilities.  

Equally surprised I am at writing as much as any reader of my personal blog would be. Why am I writing so late about my experience of having turned 40? There’s no logic behind it. I am yet to share my splendid experience of having attended TedX Panchgani in the month of January. That was good old 18 days ago of my birthday. Now, almost after one month’s time, I am still waiting to write an account of it.

As I stepped in the 40^th year of my life, I stuck to the ritual again. This ritual is the one, I’ve been following for years. At exactly 8.05 am, I touch my mother’s feet; she blesses me and kisses me on my forehead. She recollects the stories that revolved around my birth at the hospital she was admitted in. I followed this ritual in 2018. I shall follow it in the near future too. Only this time, I was a bit forthcoming about my plans of celebrating my MIGHTY AT 40 moment in style and with friends.

Having turned 40, I am analyzing my stance in life. This age, this phase seems like a blank cheque drawn in favor of 40. I am not tense like others tend to. I think, I haven’t felt so excited ever. I feel now is the time to grow emotionally intelligent, physically alert, mentally sound and absolutely determined. I can sense the urge, to not wanting to stay stuck, with what I have or what I could work my ass off, to have or possess or achieve.

I am not the only one to have turned 40 this year. My closest friend Prashant and I turned 40 this year. Prior to us, a year back, my best friend Nikhil too turned 40. In a smiling manner that he took it in his stride. He might have complained about loneliness; but, he didn’t. He sounded so happy to have the run the race so willfully. I think Nikhil’s immense faith in himself made me rethink my 40. Replacing old thoughts with new ones, turned me into a research scientist. The journey of research, I’ve embarked upon, in the month of January, will continue for a few more months.

The research that I was speaking about is more human than being practical/engineering.

But what’s the agenda for this #MightyAtForty? Maybe a little mightier!

-Virtuous Vociferous | February 18 | February Blog-1 | 2018

WHEN IN KONKAN PART-4 (THE CONCLUSION)

Kevin Kelly had quoted – TRAVEL IS STILL THE MOST INTENSE MODE OF LEARNING. The three-day trip to Konkan was one such learning. I learnt how strangers become friends and eventually evolve into a family that travels together.

The day broke earlier than expected. Our bags were packed, the breakfast was served and Vicky stood there supervising every move. Bidding adieu, we moved out of Vicky’s guesthouse.

We stopped by a newly built temple, which is regularly seen in one or the episode of a famous Marathi serial – GAON GAATE GAJALI. The next stop was yet another temple. From here, we made our way to Vijaydurg fort. History seemed to be still alive in here. This is a fort, which was built by King Bhoj, won over by Chatrapati Shivaji Maharaj and now in ruins. Luckily we were helped by a guide to understand the history as well as the geography of this fort.

By the time we finished, hunger had announced its immenseness. Local food rushed to our rescue again. After a sumptuous lunch, we made our way to Vaibhavwadi. This is where, right in the middle of crops and with a mountain range serving as the backyard, we were welcomed to Kranti’s (our team leader) native home. The temperatures had dropped. The mosquitoes had grown fierce. As we spent a large chunk of our time at her blessed home, we couldn’t stop ourselves from checking our watches.

At around 8.30 pm, from Vaibhavwadi station, we boarded the Tutari Express back home. All we held closer to our hearts were memories. Memories of Konkan.

When in Konkan… Make sure to have all the fun!

Dedicated to every awesome soul on this trip.

-Virtuous Vociferous | January 01 | January Blog-1A | 2018

Saying a Goodbye 

Visiting the temple

Temple run continues

Vijaydurg fort

WHEN IN KONKAN PART-3

There’s a difference between checking in and walking into a hotel. But it makes a big difference, when you step into a home and are left to think, “didn’t they say this is a guesthouse?” Vicky’s guesthouse in Malvan did exactly the same. We were left to think. Initially I had my doubts as to what a guesthouse could put on offer! Trust me, these guys have put more than one can expect. Had they not done so, they wouldn’t have found a mention in the considerably prestigious ‘Lonely Planet’.

Vicky’s guesthouse seemed to be one of the best parts of this trip. Possibly the best discovery too, through our team leader Kranti’s extensive research. The more we thank her for this trip, the less it feels in the tradition of conveying gratitude.

After freshening up, from the lovely surrounds of Vicky’s guesthouse, we dashed to Tarkarli beach. This was one of those moment, I had been personally waiting for since long. Especially after I had closely missed accompanying my friends from Pune, for a New Year bash on December 31, 2016 (regret it for reasons, not closer to the heart anymore). At Tarkarli, not only did we bathe in the saline waters but, saw the skies change colors, heard the waves grow louder & fall silent too, sensed a different kind of energy run within us.

On returning, we were treated to one of the finest dinner spreads from Vicky and his family. This was the moment, when we realized how Vicky had transformed his guesthouse to a home, for many of his guests. Each of his family member (including his fiancé) worked together to keep us happy. After we rolled in, some foreign guests checked-in too; we got introduced to only in the latter part of the day.

The next day morning by 9 am, we were already sailing around the outer peripheries of Sindhudurg fort. Our only expectation was to spot some dolphins. But we seemed to have already run out of luck. The dolphins had retreated. The boatman apologized. I somehow felt sorry for him and hugged in return. It’s while boarding this boat that I misplaced my camera’s lens cap. I was instantly reminded of my own piece ‘IN THE SERIES OF NASTY REALITY/REALITIES’ (http://virtuousvociferous.blogspot.in/2017/11/in-series-of-nasty-realityrealities.html). In this piece, I had tried to establish that the things we lose might just be hinting at us to do away with the past. This lens cap too was a part of one such past. Post the breakfast, we were back at the beach to try our hands at parasailing. I must say we did pretty well.

In the evening, we sailed to a massive historical experience called Sindhudurg fort. The moment you step in; the fort makes you realize the great prowess of the greatest Maratha warrior & ruler Chatrapati Shivaji Maharaj. The legacy that he left behind is fast fading out. I wish, the so called custodians of a million odd things could have, for once saved the forts. I would like to put it this way – Old, unattended, uncared forts are earth’s most helplessly decaying monuments.

To conclude in the next post…

-Virtuous Vociferous | January 01 | January Blog-1 | 2018

On the quest for dolphins

Kissing the skies

Sindhudurg fort

WHEN IN KONKAN PART-2

In our concrete cities, everything is readymade; luckily in the wide expanses of Konkan, things are still natural, human. Take for instance, right here, in our cities; we walk into a restaurant and are sure of getting served on time. But when you are in Konkan or anywhere else, which is considered to be ‘the’ countryside, erase all your expectations, once and for all.

Therefore, taking ahead from where I had left last time - The destination ahead was already beautiful in the mind; I wish to now proceed a little further (and not at all faster).

Once we alighted at Kudal, our bellies were reeling through first & fresh pangs of hunger. Since we had hired a van, we could feel the urgency of our hunger. Similarly, our driver too knew, how to settle us down. So once we had huddled inside the van, he drove a little faster and stopped only when he knew, he had the right restaurant on his mind to host us.

Remember, when we are traveling out of our cities, the rules of eating out changes! Restaurants stop being flashy but, the food starts getting tasty. Restaurants grow a little clumsier but, the hospitality starts growing warmer. We had a similar experience. Not too far from Kudal station, we walked into a restaurant, which moderately advertised itself as Hotel Pankaj and had it written loud within a bracket – Only during afternoons. This meant, we shouldn’t expect the place to be open during other hours or the food to be readily available at any given point.

Hotel Pankaj was thin on manpower but high on taste. The place was packed. Families, lovers, friends, groups, locals, runaways; everyone seemed to be thronging that place. We were politely told that we might be made to sit separately (this also meant, we could be brushing shoulders with strangers…complete strangers). We were also told that the food will take long to come to us. But finally when the food arrived, we were left overjoyed. The fish thalis, the chicken thalis, the veg thalis, the fried Surmais, the fried Pomfrets; all of it tasted so divine that we were no more left hungry. But we were left feeling greedy. For a moment, I thought we could have been blessed with a better appetite to consume more.

We were done with the lunch. We were done with the chewing of a sweet delicacy too. By the time, we stepped out of Hotel Pankaj, other groups rushed in. Their hunger pangs seemed far higher than us. As we geared up to board our van again, we could hear a flurry of burps go up in the air. To conclude, all that is cooked well ends up being eaten well in Konkan.

To be continued....

-Virtuous Vociferous | December 10 | December Blog-2A | 2017

Hotel Pankaj, Kudal

The 'Only Afternoon' rule, the warm little hotel follows

WHEN IN KONKAN PART-1

When in Konkan, the sea never seems too far, the food is never too late, the extended hospitality is never an unpleasant experience. And Konkan is where we chose to be at, for a short span of three days; December 1-3, 2017.

The time spent might seem too little. But the experience will continue to be too special. During this short trip to Konkan, I realized why the natives long to come back to their hometowns.

Konkan kept me excited. Maybe next time when someone invites me home to Konkan; I am going to promptly accept the invitation and pack my bags up.

Kranti, our tour team leader had proposed this trip while we were on a tour of Kaas Pathar plateau in Satara district. Initially I showed no interest. I was not even in a mood to give this outing a thought. Simply because, I wanted to save the weekend from just another trip and the exhaustion that ensues. But nothing was going to stop Kranti from planning this trip for us.

The blueprint was ready. The time had come to simply execute it. Kranti got everyone onboard and there we were; at 5:15 AM, on platform number 5 of Thane railway station. The much awaited journey was to begin now. Our gang was a motley crowd of 9 individuals. All of us were excited because we were travelling by the Tejas Express. On arrival, we didn’t have to hurry. Our seats were reserved in advance. Once we stepped in, Tejas treated us well. The AC temperature within was perfect enough to ensure desired coolness. The breakfast was delicious. The destination ahead was already beautiful in the mind.

To be continued....

-Virtuous Vociferous | December 10 | December Blog-2 | 2017

The Tejas Express

At the core of the sea

The Pomfret Thali

Dual Surmai in one plate

Ready to Sail

YES, ENOUGH

Enough of this life, which is normal.

Enough of this promise, which is unbreakable.

Enough of this faith, which is deep-rooted, inseparable.

Enough of this vision, which keeps seeking the watchable.

Enough of this mind, which is prone to sane thinking, again and again.

Enough of this journey, which takes me to specific destinations.

Enough of this breath, which is laden rich with the choicest of aromas.

Enough of this pen, which rightly shapes the form of my writing.

Enough of this bond, which is too believable, lovable and shatterproof.

Enough of this happiness, which carries the echoes of honest laughter, impressions of humid smile.

Enough of this passion, which is addictive, infectious and magnanimous.

Enough of this devotion, which is a routine every day.

Enough of this book, which is being written, rewritten, rethought and recreated again, again, again.

Yes, enough of everything, which is so accessible, simple, shareable and achievable.

Enough of this soft board, which is flooded with the best moments, happy moments.

Enough of this stubbornness, which intends to win over everything, leave nothing.

Enough of this wardrobe, which is so well-organized, arranged with care and compartmentalized.

Enough of this plan, which seems to get everything almost so perfect, unchallenged.

Enough of this voice, which is louder, over the top and carries a magnetic attitude.

Enough of this melody, which is so well-turned and all the notes producing almost the right sounds.

Enough of this friendship, which is so robust and continues being a strong bond.

Enough of this love, which is so picture perfect, referred to, recommended and given examples of.

Enough of this road, which is well laid, taken often, returned to and continued upon.

Yes, enough of everything, which is so durable, defined, demonstrated and opined of.

Enough of this me too, which was clueless till yesterday.

Enough of this me, being me.

Yes, enough of simply being and wanting to go beyond. Going beyond being this enough.

-Virtuous Vociferous | December 09 | December Blog-1 | 2017

IN THE SERIES OF NASTY REALITY/REALITIES

In general, I am too careful about anything or everything that belongs to me. I am overprotective. I am over possessive. I am overzealous in making tall claims about how nothing goes missing. But such are the twists of times. In the last one month’s time, I’ve lost two things; the loss of which pushes me down the aisle of unnecessary thoughts. But the truth remains unchanged; I couldn’t insure myself against these losses. 

So, what are the two things, which I couldn’t protect from losing?

A total of two: 1) A digital lock and 2) The duplicate key to my bicycle.

In a span of two months, two losses! Therefore, this is not my moment of glory or considerable fodder to imagine, craft, write or narrate a story. But I am still at it; greedy enough to tell the story.

The digital lock that I am speaking about just disappeared. Even though I don’t remember the exact time day, date and the moment of the loss, I remember having returned from my seven-day stay in Kolkata and seeing it hanging intact, from one of the corners of my suitcase. A minute later that I was reminded of procuring the same and putting it back to its regular place, the digital lock had disappeared. But I believe the loss was inevitable. The signs and symbols of its loss had been coming my way for a long time. I ignored all of them. I do remember a similar experience in the month of April. We had not gone too far but, we still chose to pack our clothes in a suitcase, which was locked with the help of the same digital lock (now lost). On our return, the lock had disappeared in similar circumstances and resurrected after a week. This time, the loss took an irreversible form when the combing operation launched by me (within the residence) produced no results. The investigation was carried out for one week in a row. The investigation included lying flat on the ground to check the remains beneath the bed. The investigation also involved a moment wherein I extracted every stinky content from the trash can, placed them on a piece of paper and still failed to locate the digital clock. The digital lock had disappeared. I suffered a loss and I haven’t yet stopped repenting the loss.

The second incident of losing another possession of mine took place this morning. At around 5 AM, I put my hands in a cloth jacket, to pull out the keys to my bicycle. On pulling out the key-chain, I was shocked to see one of the duplicated keys having gone missing. Once again, the instantly launched combing operation yielded no results. Signs of this loss had come my way in the beginning of this week. The (now) missing key had chosen to dive out of my trouser. But I managed to put it back. But the story changed this morning. I had incurred another loss.

But I am amused by the pattern of these losses. The digital lock went missing in the beginning and was followed up by the loss of a key. Are these back-to-back losses trying to hint at something? The lock was the first in the series, the key next and then what next? These two losses also make me realize that nothing is permanent in this world. The concept of ‘nothing is permanent’ is too special to me. The credit of my faith belongs to the creation of a Mandala, the representation of the world in divine form, perfectly balanced, precisely designed, is meant to re-consecrate the earth and heal its inhabitants. But it is more than a picture. It requires millions of pieces of sand to make a mandala five by five feet square. It requires a team of monks working anywhere from days to weeks, depending on the size of the mandala, to create this floor plan of the sacred mansion that is life. It requires the interplay of vivid colors and ancient symbols.

When the mandala is finally finished, however long it takes for the monks to deal in this divine geometry of the heavens, they pray over it — and then they destroy it. They sweep it up, every last grain of sand and give handfuls of it away to those who participate in the closing ceremony as a final memory of sublime possibility. Then they throw the rest of the sand into the nearest living stream to be swept into the ocean to bless the whole world. And that’s it. It’s gone. In an instant, after all that artistry, all that work, it’s over.

The underlying message of the mandala ceremony is that ‘nothing is permanent’. Nothing. All things are in flux, it says, beautiful but ephemeral, moving but temporary, a plateau but not a summit. All things are called to balance and enlightenment and the fulfillment of the Divine image in them, yes, but in flux. Always in flux.

Nothing is permanent, neither their state in life — nor ours. The fact is that the politics of permanence is a sham. It has never lasted, and it never will.

I am sure there is an underlying message in my two losses too. The loss of the digital lock indicates that I should not lock myself within the confines of my past or present, pleasant/unpleasant, memorable/forgettable memories, experiences, emotions. I should break free. The loss of the duplicate key to my bicycle indicates that I should endeavor unlocking new doors, new experiences and a new life (a ‘nomadic’ life). In short, I need to let go millions or handful of things by telling myself – ‘nothing is permanent’. And I have to accept the fact that the series of realities will continue being nasty.

(Please note: The text for Mandala portion is a reproduction of https://www.huffingtonpost.com/sister-joan-chittister-osb/mandala-why-destroy-it_b_970479.html)

-Virtuous Vociferous | November 25 | November Blog-2 | 2017

NOMADIC BY CHOICE

Ralph Weldo Emerson had once quoted

“Live in the sunshine, swim the sea, drink the wild air”

From the time I discovered this quote, my mind hasn’t stopped slipping in and out of a meditative state. Every action, I’ve been initiating since then has been a lot more footloose, free and fun as well.

Talking about being footloose, free and fun, reminds me of the nomad that I’ve been seeking for a long time. Therefore, today when I settled down with a sane mind to think, I decided that I would rather write things with a nomadic bent of mind.

I can sense the nomad. From millions of miles away, I can sense the nomad. Do I need any words to describe it as well? I am fine being the nomad with the nomad.

The transition may seem sudden but it isn’t. The transition is a result of many untaken journeys to barren lands, forgotten destinations and unheard philosophies.

I am enjoying this transition. Even though it is just a week now; the nomad and I have been together. We are exploring. The nomad is invisible at the moment. Right now, the nomad is an imagination, which doesn’t necessarily demand to be presented in a human form. Is the nomad human? Undoubtedly the nomad is human. I would rather say - "I am in love with my Dear Nomad. Let the world count my words and sense through."

The nomad is immune to all opinions. The journey with the nomad too is immune to all opinions. To sum it up, I am in a mood to celebrate this nomadic state of being rather than staying stuck in fulfilling expectations.

My desires are in place - “To live in the sunshine, swim the sea, drink the wild air”

But I am not alone anymore; this fertile phase of transition is with me. The nomad is with me! Cups after cups of coffee to run an unending marathon of words. Thankfully the thinking nomad's soul beats within me to keep me going strong and take the right turn to destinations undefined!

At this moment, as I stare at a blank piece of paper, I can envision the path ahead. There are challenges; big, small and unimaginable. But are these challenges going to pose a bigger challenge? As if I care! The path that I am envisioning right now possesses an element of distance; a distance that can’t be gauged or covered within a span of few hours. The presence of the nomad is the truth. The truth now is nomad.

As I reach the end of this post, I would like to open an imaginary bottle of champagne in my mind and spray its contents on everybody around it. Why am I celebrating? The reason is something; I think the other half of my imagination, the nomad is in a position to reply.

Days will conclude as weeks, weeks as months and then months as a complete year. Happily, there will be no regrets. Because even if none of us travel solo or together, the journeys would continue in full swing.

I see no reason to better conclude this post without bringing the nomad’s words into play - "The cleaved soul of the Nomad was left open to fix up. The other Nomad shamelessly slid in with love and stole it forever."

-Virtuous Vociferous | November 19 | November Blog-1 | 2017

STARDUST ON HER EYELIDS

I wasn’t expecting the rains to come lashing back towards the fading end of September. Despite the reasons potent enough to complain against this fluid recurrence, I continued traveling adamantly. Purely driven by the instinct of the tireless Train Spotter Updater within me, this evening was no different. I had just left the metro behind me. The rains had started swelling. Each drop hit against the skin like missiles. Trains were plying way behind their schedule. But I remained unshaken. I was chasing the solo objective of boarding a train, protecting myself from the rains and trying to make it home on time. I was eagerly waiting for the train to arrive.

The train’s arrival sparked an infectious excitement among all eager bystanders on the platform. I was one of them; the Train Spotter Updater. As the train came to a halt, I jumped in and cut my way through the crowd. Even though my intentions were pure but my actions seemed otherwise. Pushed, pressed and pressurized against my wishes, I found myself almost squeezed against the giant screen of the gent’s first class. This giant screen is a passport to fantasies unlimited. This giant screen is also called the video coach. This is a gold window for us men to get to stare at women traveling by fist class. Some of us stare with loads of love in our eyes and some with unapologetic lust. Not too excited with this prospect, I continued making some space to stand comfortably. The train started picking up speed, so did the rains. Many arguments later, the women in the first class agreed to close the doors of the compartment. This gesture of theirs helped us men stay dry.

Two stations later, I too couldn’t resist the temptation of staring at the giant screen. My eyes fell on her. If I am not mistaken, she was on her way back home after attending an event. Or maybe she was one of those who sell highly priced brands of nail paint, lipsticks, kohl etc from behind those counters of beauty in a mall. Dressed in a dull pink top and a black skirt she was trying against her own luck to save the makeup. It was eroding. Yet she looked stunning. Especially because of what shone on her eyelids.

A thick layer of stardust seemed to have claimed their occupancy on her eyelids. The rains had left a few parts of it wet. Delicately but with great care, she was still trying to save it. In between regular intervals, she would pull out her mobile, activate the camera and put it on selfie mode to keep checking if the stardust was wearing off.  I could see her smile. If that wasn’t enough, she would pout, click multiple selfies and stash the mobile back in her bag. She kept repeating her actions. I continued gazing at her. The train was slowing down. The rains were roaring. Yet the stardust on her eyelids continued shining.

The journey concluded. The fury of rains continued intensifying. I saw her walking; a few yards ahead of me. Following her was not on her mind. But going ahead, she herself paused. I continued reducing my speed of walking. Had she caught me gazing? Had she sensed me following? I didn’t see any of it coming. Taking a pause, she pulled out her mobile again, activated the camera and put it on selfie mode. I started walking across her. I turned around and found her seated on a bench. After a short while, she too started walking; this time out of the station. The thickening effect of rains seemed to directly threaten the stardust on her eyelids. But she started saving it with great pain, not allowing the stardust to wither. I stood there, watching her. The rains were showing no signs of stopping and neither were my eyes tired of dreaming.

-Virtuous Vociferous 

NEWTON’S THIRD LAW OF MOTION

Right now I’ve constrained myself to remain unaffected by the sight of the well-made bed. I simply wish to avoid the temptation of sleep, the reward of leisure and the bonus of pleasure. The Sunday is bound to die soon. Monday will follow like a rude beast of sorts. Therefore sleep should be the first thing on mind. Somehow I think, today I will succeed in postponing it; provided Newton doesn’t interfere.

Is something bothering me? Well, of course something is! Or else I wouldn’t have been spending this time, patiently thinking and writing these words. I am wondering and trying to choose between two sides of my life as a professional, a creative writer and a creative director. What are these two sides all about?

Side #1 – Should I turn a blind eye towards non-performers and embrace ignorance?

Side #2 – Is it OK to act like a coward and secretly keep praying to save the job?

If given a choice, I wish to abolish both. Seventeen years of my tough career in advertising have taught me certain principles; one of which is – Seeking Clarity. Even though I stuck to it like a dictum; in the last five years, I haven’t stressed on it firmly. As a result, a not so rare breed of unthinking client servicing executives seems to have taken undue advantage of the same. Rather than blaming them or holding them responsible, I wish to plead guilty. A certain guy called Sanjay Mukherjee spoilt me to the core. His was a personality of a hardcore client servicing executive who easily brewed an infectious blend of passion, persuasion, precision and presentation. How could that idiot never walk out without impressing or winning the client’s approval? Some say, he was blessed. But I don’t believe them. I cursed him every time because he drove me crazy with his ambition to achieve. Bloody hell, I succumbed so easily that I am yet to recover from that process of winning. Circa 2017, I am struggling to make the nonbelievers in good advertising to still seek the bigger purpose of creative communication. Shame on me!

I feel more ashamed because I read from the Bhagwad Gita every morning. Why does it time and again remind us to expect no gratification from our deeds and continue slogging? I feel ashamed because I memorize the line, extend it further by adding ‘never expect anything from anybody’ and I still fail on all counts. I start demanding answers. I start seeking results for the hard work I put in by setting my ass, my mind on fire. It sucks even more when the responsible act irresponsibly, choke the communication network to death and come running towards me to announce – ‘Taking a note of the caused delay in delivering, the client has sent a stinker’. I own up to the discrepancy and deliver. Suddenly the client seems to be in no hurry and the conveyor of the stinking news starts showing withdrawal symptoms. I start demanding answers again. I betray my own learning from the Bhagwad Gita – Continue delivering. Expect nothing. When none of these work, I voluntarily decide to rest my case and lose my cool. This is where Newton’s third law of motion jumps in.

I feel more ashamed because I read from the Bhagwad Gita every morning. Why does it time and again remind us to expect no gratification from our deeds and continue slogging? I feel ashamed because I memorize the line, extend it further by adding ‘never expect anything from anybody’ and I still fail on all counts. I start demanding answers. I start seeking results for the hard work I put in by setting my ass, my mind on fire. It sucks even more when the responsible act irresponsibly, choke the communication network to death and come running towards me to announce – ‘Taking a note of the caused delay in delivering, the client has sent a stinker’. I own up to the discrepancy and deliver. Suddenly the client seems to be in no hurry and the conveyor of the stinking news starts showing withdrawal symptoms. I start demanding answers again. I betray my own learning from the Bhagwad Gita – Continue delivering. Expect nothing. When none of these work, I voluntarily decide to rest my case and lose my cool. This is where Newton’s third law of motion jumps in.

To conclude, the fearless mind that I have been born with and the restless soul that I will continue being, I believe my action will definitely lead to reactions. Will that stop me from causing ruckus? Will I stop demanding answers? Will I decide to act like a coward? Or simply raise my voice and allow Newton’s third law of motion to take over! I think only when the apple falls; the issues concerning me will gain some gravity. Till then, I shall rebel.

-Virtuous Vociferous

ABRUPT LOVE STORIES

Picture Courtesy: Google Images

The time has come to bid adieu to sugarcoated love stories. In my opinion, all the visible sweetness is mere illusion. Or somewhere we are still trying to convince ourselves to stay believed in pretentiously sweet love stories! But they aren’t sweet. The line between love and lust hasn’t blurred but it has vanished forever. It is this cusp that makes me realize that love stories aren’t tender any more. Thankfully I have accepted the fact and I am not convincing myself to try narrating a sweet love story ever again.

My abrupt love stories take place between a Certain He and a Certain She. They don’t have a name. They are invisible to your naked eyes but omnipresent. Do they believe in religion? Are they victims of communal tension or soft targets of fluctuating faiths. Do they pray? Or they are happy being atheists! Are they rich or poor? Do they indulge in sex? Are they bisexual, homosexual, heterosexual, metrosexual? Are they sound, sane and in control? Or simply rebellious, wild hippies! Do they smoke and drink? Do they sleep with different people on different occasions? Have they been living under the same roof or they have been renting apartments in numerous cities, and disappearing without clearing dues for months! Frankly speaking they are an interesting twosome of a Certain He and a Certain She.

Both characters are a sum of their vices. Before He knows it, She is already done plotting something against him. By the time She comes to know of a certain action, He outsmarts her by being constantly, lethally active against her. I haven’t met these two characters in person. But I have met their exact opposites in the many journeys I have smoothly or abruptly embarked upon. Be it the certain He or the certain She that I am talking about, I know them of being emotionally unattached to each other.

The Certain He and the Certain She I have been talking about hide nothing from themselves or the society. They live within the stories and breathe within the stories. At the end of the day, their stories, which are so abrupt by nature, continue to matter the most.

Abrupt Love Stories are my hottest obsession, passionate possession and unmistakably my most favorite creation. Will these abrupt love stories culminate into a book? I am not even thinking of it right now. What if someone tries to copy them or copy the style? Did I say the stories are not getting copied, shared or reproduced? And I would never say that the style is yet a virgin. Thankfully, if searched by the hash tag #AbruptLoveStories; most of the results and almost all the results bring into fore my series of Abrupt Love Stories.

When I started writing the couplets with the hash tag attached to them, a few eyebrows were raised. But these are my #AbruptLoveStories and why should I reveal the source of my inspiration? If you wish to know more about these stories, follow the simple path – READ THEM, FEEL THEM, LIVE THEM.

All the love stories, which are abrupt in nature derive inspiration from the hidden side of the lives, we live without sharing a thing about them. My interest stays anchored deep in there. Where else but that little seed of abruptness, I observe in the love stories that most of us are faking like fake orgasms on a bad night of abrupt sex. Therefore if you come across a love story that’s sweet; chuck it and suck up one abrupt love story at a time.

-Virtuous Vociferous