Sometimes reading this blog makes me think how the complexity of feeling and the constant need for it, is most simplistic.

I was reading Safdar Hashmi today, talking about his dreams for theatre, for the people. His almost innocent, unflinching belief in hope struck me. It made my easy cynicism uncomfortable. A man beaten to death for performing a play outside a factory. In an interview he says, "when the emergency was declared, many of our friends were arrested we got scared as hell. We thought we were a threat to the Indian State. We exaggerated our own threat and thought we were bound to be arrested and tortured. So we disappeared, We didn't perform anymore..."

He wouldn't have known, the lines would ring as comically prophetic and piercingly satirical one day.

I was born many years after the emergency he refers to was lifted.

He was murdered in public just a few days after my second birthday, leaving me and those born since with the knowledge that the emergency was always in continuum and the response could be either- hope that smells of sweat(as Safdar and those like him would have most days of their lives) or cynicism, the smell of my air conditioned classroom.

I choose the latter too many times, this blog tells me.

Sound Energy

To convert a continuous function of space of time into a discreet function of space and time... a wave, a signal, science, certainty, decipherable

...to break a big story, into smaller ones and choose from that your own...waves too slippery, signals too mixed up, science too poetic, certainty only of being undecipherable.

The difference between living and not living is living

The difference between knowing and not knowing is knowing

The difference between feeling and not feeling is feeling

Its not the not but the thing itself ...

Ellipsis

It's one of those days when i have nothing to say, but i must say something because
i've spoken too much.

To the point where all that you speak becomes a distorted drone to your own ears the moment it escapes you. It's happening often these days, i am realizing the senselessness of me.

It's a sick thing being self righteous, its an amazing thing being put into your place by a dream. Illogical play of colourless shadows, vague faces, no plot, no climax. distinct enough to make you scared, even of yourself. It's amazing.

from a film:

To Luciano,
because we are also all that we lose.


i was thinking of all that i am about to lose, want to lose

will it become me at a later time? Will i become that?

...

Come, come, whoever you are.
Wonderer, worshipper, lover of leaving.
It doesn't matter.
Ours is not a caravan of despair.
Come, even if you have broken your vow
a thousand times
Come, yet again, come, come.

- Rumi

A summer evening

The orange green of warm twilight leaves

indescribable tranquility

the desire to stay undiscovered forever in the window seat of a rickety bus

the delicious knowledge of traveling from nowhere to nowhere

sudden uncontrollable panic

the traffic lights hardly ever stop working...

I've been in love too many times now.

out of it also.

too deep inside.

too far above.

the difference is difficult to tell.

Between here and here.

So it's that difficult?
No it's that easy

to all the grief that leaves us... alone, mourning...