Love for a pen

Some stories are meant to be written with a particular pen.

And I have decided to write all my stories for few coming months with this pen.- Cello papersoft

I am actually not branding a pen here while in one way I am definitely doing so.It all started that good moment when I borrowed a pen from my cousin for a minute or two at my uncle's place which I got to visit on my trip to India this year.
While I am that sort of a person who when borrows pen try to make sure not to walk away with it as it is usually the case. People just walk away in conversation taking the borrowed pen along, to never return it back. And this good way I have often lost some of my favorite pens.

When I say favorite, I mean that when I write with a pen for a longer time I tend to develop a bond with it and go emotional about it. Crazy I know. and when someone just walks away with it, I feel that was not really a great thing to do. Hence when I borrow a pen I make sure I just return that back thinking the other person could be one of my types who have actually developed a bond with his/her pen.

So I borrowed this pen from my cousin and when I wrote with it, I was like flattered with the kind of writing that came out with it.

And I went emotionless to betray my cousin and slipped it in my bag and literally stole away. And I actually did that. And it has been good three months that this wonderful pen of mine is still with me , creating stories(particularly grocery lists) and literally sharing a bond with me.

Fearing that the ink would run off anytime now, I have got a stock for it through one of my known dears coming down to Jacksonville from India. More stories to go written with my fresh stock of pens.

A word of thanks for those lovely people who got these for me.

Why are you giving me that look ?

And my heart will go on ..

I think I have a serious liking for the places that run 24X7 around patterned life. Life running at all moments  at such places gives me a soothing heart. Airports, stations, bus stands, taxi stands, while I wouldn't like to mention hospitals, but seriously with a sight of these places, in general, I recount that life runs all the time in all possible dimensions, in a rush to grab some unknown, in a desire to meet unknown, or like a play which would reach its end, and in its limitations,in all habitats,in all time zones, with every possible emotion, under many clock ticks, it does run all the way and all the while.
As I sit to watch around,
I feel closer to Life.

DEDICATION TO DEATH .

DEDICATION TO DEATH

--------------------------------------

An alarming call,
To a doctor was made.
To visit a hall,
That had suddenly fallen in shade.

A body lied quiet on bed,
Like in deep sleep or having rest.
Around stood hopes,
Holding a lost strife,
To a question,"does it hold life?"

Hand in hand,
Did stand,
Those relations of red,
Those relations of love.
Waiting for miracles,
Praying to Almighty above,
To extend some breaths,
To let life be slow,
But they had surrendered to death,
They didn't know.

The flow stopped,
Of blood, of life.
Touch of an ice cold body,
Had sent shivers through spine.
With blind hopes,
The body was shaken.
To take it out,
Of that incredible silence.
And it was done,
Till hopes were shaken,
Which finally died,
And eventually turned to cries.

Pain was ample
And so were the efforts to take it out.
Those cries,
Were so wide,
Stretched all the nerves inside.
Tears kept flowing,
Eyes went blind,
But still fell meagre,
To the sorrow,
That it had just broken all the cords behind.
No doors were open,
No ways could be found,
That pain,
Through which could go unbound.

So motionless and lifeless,
It had never been,
No stories on lips,
No expressions could be seen.
So satisfied it lied,
No creases on face,
Over that materialism,
Gone that madly world race.

People were around,
To make loud sound
To show off, they felt the grief
But it was more of noise
Surely not to any relief.
What a drama they played,
So fine actors.
But death is the plot,
Of which were they aware of?


Draped in white sheet,
And on four arm support,
It headed on a new path,
To set free the soul.
Harder was to accept it that way,
But the only consoling fact was
That life is a mere play.
Something seemed to have been snatched
Something to put on a severe loss
The way was tough
Because life had conned.


Life is so odd,
And so its ways.
A person so intimate to you,
Is finally set ablaze.
To let him rest in peace,
Or to find his route to sky, he finally flees.
He departs forever,
And now,
No chats would happen,
No sitting together.

But when life is born,
Death walks along,
Concludes on a day,
To take that life finally away.
And just leaves memories behind,
Which on its way, it finds.
Memories,
Some of which stay in heart, And some stay hung on wall as a piece of art.

Dot dot dot ... ?!?!?!

Life can have many philosophies on which it can be explained .Like a religious Hindu sect of people which believes in idol worship can explain all their life on the basis of facts revolving around idol worship. A doctor can do it on the basis of all medicinal causes, purposes and reasons. A scientist or a technician can do it all on the basis of his knowledge.

Hence to describe , explain and conceptualize life, emerges out philosophies of varying kinds which has their origins in the kind of the knowledge the philosopher of the respective philosophy possess.And each such kind of philosophy tends to contradict the other one and in a case where people of contradicting philosophies happen to clash over an issue, it is hard to find out a true, reliable and trustworthy solution.

And such a mess finds its physical existence for me when I am one of those contradicting parties which is arguing over subject, a subject that primarily could be of self-importance , while usually it is the one concerning societal practices, beliefs and vision.

Like a case where someone was foretelling bad fortune of a couple in discussion for marriage and girl and guy both happened to be my friends. Such a case would stand substantially apart when given a vision of a scientist or of the fortune teller himself or of some Hindu pandit or of some physicist or of some financial analyst or of the girl and guy in the discussion itself.
And life in such a case wont just be life. It becomes a perspective projected on the basis of the knowledge held by the respective beholder. And hence it becomes so damn complicated.

Or probably simply the case that I have mentioned would mean a lot when the origin of such a case is shifted to Indian suburbs or to a sect of society which die-hardly holds such beliefs, while it would hold no meaning if origin is shifted to a society like that of West or probably the Sikh sect in India itself.
So does that mean the fortune for a guy and gal in discussion change had they got birth in some other Indian sect or probably some other part of the world .I get confused at such a point. Actually.
And I doubt to hold on to any belief other than of simple and easy living.
A logical living.
Isn't this world, life and society if described on the basis of so many philosophies based on varying pools of knowledge concerning some million aspects of life makes everything all the way messy ..?
Isn't chilling the best way .. ?