BITS, Pilani for next 5 years. It had been decided for long. I continue to Hope for some things. And as for others, I dont anymore. As of now, see you soon.

Confusion

Today it will be decided where I will be taking admission! Does that bother me? I dont know yet... There are many things that are lurking behind the conscious mind.

I hope soon the pieces will fall into place.

The War

The sky was overcast and slimy mist wrapped its cold finger around everyone. A feeling of dread and foreboding hung around and the weather even, mirrored the peoples’ mood. The sun had hidden for many days. And even if the sky wanted to be clear, dust and smoke, wouldn’t let it be. The nature too had been condemned as if, to a fate.

Amidst all this, she was reluctant to let him go. She didn’t want him to be any part of this senseless carnage. This war had just seen loss of life on both sides. Yet, unrelenting and hungry for more carcass to adorn its fields. A demon hungry for blood taking roots in the fields, alleys, roads wherever the blood flowed. Why should she lose her only angel to this demon, whom no one has been able to sate!

It was the base camp of soldiers. From here in another hour, two ships would sail separating families forever from husbands, fathers, sons, and brothers. Another pack of men to feed the army. So families came to see them off. They all knew it would be the last time, but no one dared utter it, lest it prove to be a black prophecy. A semblance of hope was needed to live by, once those ships would have sailed.

Some bravely fought on. Pushing this thought back to the darkest corner of their mind; succeeding but not quite. Reality gnawed on such foolish optimism. But with that too lost, these people wouldn’t have anything left. Better foolish than that!

She was still standing and talking to him, telling him to take care as she fiercely pushed back her tears. There shouldn’t be any reason to cry. He was her angel and he would come back. She was trying to make him believe her vision and infuse in him strength; she was painting stories of their ‘happily ever after’ in her sometimes small, sometimes strained, and sometimes too jovial voice. She asked him to make her proud and come back home. He was going to serve his country, of course, she was proud.

He looked at her kindly, wondering if she really meant it. He wondered where she was getting this strength from and not breaking up. For a moment, he just let her voice wash over him, trying to memorize her voice, her eyes, lips, face. Trying to record her every nuance in his mind, take her with him in the sanctuary of his mind. He was going to face a lot more than long cold nights alone, and he needed every ounce of strength to remind him, that he must not give in. She shivered in his arms. And he saw through. It wasn’t the cold that did it.

She was terrified. These pictures she was painting were more for her. And he knew that. He wanted to shake her to make her come back to reality. How could he just let her ramble on, like that? It killed him in ways that a whole army of soldiers couldn’t. Yet he hadn’t the strength to break her himself. To make her see the reality or force her to see what already was staring at her.

The mothers had found solace in grieving aloud, crying. The fathers’ grief was beyond tears. Other contended themselves with crying softly over the dead and maybe, soon to be. Everyone was scared of tomorrow, but none could live this moment to the fullest. Dreading and waiting in mind numbing pain… each wondered, if they would lay their eyes on the other again. Tomorrow would things still be same or never again?

Conversations were no longer punctuated even by a widow’s shriek. It was commonplace. Goosebumps still rose as she relived her pain over and again in her cries, but people had learned to ignore it. Why waste even a moment of their lives, when none knew how long the future held…

And not just men died, so did the people for whom they were the reason of life.

She too, heard everything. Numb by her pain, she too felt nothing. If not for those strong arms still trying to secure her, she might have not realized she was still rooted to reality. Partially, anyways. Her incessant chatter kept up though, shielding her from insanity in many ways, and yet she seemed insane. She held herself too rigidly. Her grief and tensioned was coiled in every muscle. He was scared now, for her. Maybe she should have cried; it would have helped. He could have dealt with that but not her denial of reality. They had just a half hour together now, maybe their last. Maybe the longest and yet, the shortest. Who would take care of her after that, if she didn’t stop this right now?

He kept trying to smooth the tension away, carressing the small of her back. Tried to talk sense to her. She must see things as they were. May be even forget him, he realized with sharp agony. Or atleast love someone again. She was so lovely… anyone would fall in love with her just like he had. It seemed like yesterday when he had asked her to marry him, and she had agreed. Two years that had flown by. He shook himself out of his reverie, refusing to get lost in those dark brown eyes like he always did. Not today, maybe not ever. He had to talk to her. “Listen… yes, listen. I will always love you. And I need you to take care of yourself for me. Do you get me? You do this for me. And if I don’t come back, will you mar..” She covered his mouth. And then in shock, backed away breaking his embrace. “I know you will come back. Don’t you believe me…”, her voice trailed off. They wordless communicated, each moment prolonged. The intensity of their stares spoke of the shared love and time spent together. And in these long glances, she acknowledged her fear, her pain, her desolation subconsciously. He knew she would have to fend for her own because she wouldn’t give him up. He had lost on that point. So, he fused as much love and strength he could into his stare and asked her to take care.

Did she hear correctly? Some of her numbness vanished as fury boiled through her. How could he ever ask her to choose another man? Then she saw the pain and the love, and the reality seemed to shine through again. Waves after waves of fear, anger and pain/sorrow crashed over her. She felt nauseated. How could he say that? They had a happy life ahead. A small cottage and the two kids they planned. How could he even dream of puncturing her dream? Correction, this was her reality, and the only reality she was determined she wanted to see. There had to be her ‘happily ever after’ there in the future.

But, her resolve was breaking. Voices mocked her as they taunted, “How will you pull this one off? You are just thwarting yourself. Give up.”

He was close to slapping her only if to end her madness. To jolt her senses. Already she was fragile and brittle. No, he couldn’t do it. And then the hoot sounded. The precious hour was up.

They synonymously fitted into each other’s arms. He bent his head down to kiss her lightly. But all the yearning and sadness and pain coursed through them, to make what was a gentle kiss to a fiercer one. He gave her his strength and she, her hope. Each trying to burn this moment into their minds, each trying to ask for more…

Then he pulled back and left. He went on without a backward glance. It was hard for him but it would only make it easier to her. She was standing too still. He reached his ship. Soon it sailed. He waved at her. As the ship pulled out, many came rushing forward. She was yet too still and mute. Her face was getting obscured…he was growing restless and afraid, for her. The mist promised to engulf them soon. He shouted her name. and suddenly with tears streaming down, she started running, pushing people around her. She reached the front and waved to him. He was too far away, she hoped to see her tears. And then the mist was upon the ship, as if it never was. And that did it. The tension uncoiled suddenly as fast as a spring.

She was running into the sea, after her man. Many hands held her back, as she thrashed, screeched and shouted. Soon, exhaustion won over and the prize was a dreamless sleep.

When she awoke, the cost of living, the cost of living alone…seemed too high. Fury, sadness, pain, realization, loss, and reality crashed on her simultaneously. No hope, no dreams can survive such an inferno. She was sacrificed with the many who died on the field. Her soul was dead. She came home thinking about the kids she never would have. The war had managed to kill the unborn too. Tears cascaded, as she spent ever ounce of her strength, every fibre of her being to hate this senseless war. She threw herself in some corner as tears flowed without abandon. She cried herself into those exhausted dreamless sleep. She wouldn’t be so lucky always,

She woke to find a moments silence. After which the demons returned with despair, anger, fear and the like. She ruefully smiled… she was getting used to this? The war was wrong; the reasons, the people, the actions, the motives and the grief was all wrong. But there wasn’t anything you could do. Atleast she couldn’t. She lost her soul. Her life too added party to the carcass that adorned the battle grounds.

The Block

Sometimes, I have a block. Not a writer’s block but something more. It’s something that blocks feelings, ideas, emotions and creativity. I can not think or perceive. Days are spent in an order of monotony which I can’t break. It’s like being under a sedative, a slumber which is bound to break but with a struggle.

I was feeling very restless for some days. As if I was missing something, forgetting something. Yes, I am missing some of my friends. I am missing my daily routine of studying. May be even the pressure at times. Still, this restlessness I am sure has some deeper roots.

For me, it’s easy to be distracted. And being distracted is what I have done since my exams got over… I have met friends, gone out, met new people, read books, watched a lot of movies and yes, heard some music. Television, playing with my sister... I am not too old for the word playing and never will be. Distractions, easy.

Often I have questioned myself. What am I supposed to do with all this time? It is after all my free time. Then, why this restlessness almost as if guilt. Should I be doing something else? Have I despite myself, started believing fun is taboo? Do I like pressure now? All these thoughts accumulate in my subconscious. As I said, distractions are easy. And then the break in the monotony tries to come up. Instead of facebook, I decide to go for a walk. I go, walk for sometime, till I reach my favourite park.

Its quiet there and dark. The way I like it. It also has swings as to why it’s my favourite. I am upset. During the day, what all I had hoped for did not work out quite as I would have liked it to. And I sit in the park thinking. I realize that perhaps, I am lonely. All my friends are away, and there is no one more than a friend. I am unhappy too. Cause like a child I have never learnt that in the real world, hopes are dashed. I am irritated with myself for believing in childishness. And I am 19 for god’s sake and may be I should try to grow up.

The swing beckons to me. After all if I am the child I say, I wouldn’t mind. I go and sit there. I use my feet to push myself backward. Just like we all did or do still. And then the monotonous ‘point your feet backward while going back’ and ‘point it outwards when going forward’ takes over. The desire to let the million of voices in my head demanding for answers die, takes over. The monotony of physical exhaustion, the mindless action takes over. Forward backward, push and pull. I feel the wind on my face and try not to think of anything else. And you know what, I succeed. I close my eyes as I touch higher and higher speeds. The wind rushes faster. I push myself back as much as I can without losing the grip. My eyes are closed and only the rhythm and the wind tell me that I a gliding. What if, I am flying? Who cares? For all I know, this could be heaven.

And then I open my eyes with a jerk. Déjà vu. I feel something momentarily as I see the ground rushing up. I don’t know what it is? The thought, the emotion or the action which repeated itself. I wonder if I am remembering this from a dream. The panic and the subdued voices return. Much louder in the sudden absence of silence. The block is gone. And the rampage starts. Insecurities, betrayals, love, happiness friendship, career, fear, everything returns with colossal strength. I am still swinging but confused, shocked.

I try to slow myself down, mentally and physically. Physically more. May be if I am exhausted enough, I would have some peace. The swing slows down to a level, I jump off. Off balance, staggering I go sit. I miss a hug only a best friend could give. All the tension of the past few days, months and years roil over me in waves. Desperately, I am still looking for something to end this, something to soothe me. I don’t feel like crying. It hardly seems appropriate. I sit, fidget with my phone, trying to call him. He is busy. No phone hugs either it seems.

Then what, wait. Time is the only thing whose nature is constant. It passes. With sheer exhaustion at the havoc which they wreaked, the voices die. For now, the block is back. Some days of blissful monotony are back. At least for a few days, while I remember the exhaustion and havoc and seek refuge in monotony. Till I forget and hate it. The cycle has begun. It too, is constant. Companion of time. Sometimes, when neither the exhaustion nor the pain rule, I enjoy little spaces of sunshine in my brain. And then in these meadows of sanity, I look for answers. Often though I do wonder, whether time and this cycle were meaningful without each other?

As I go back home, walking by the roads that I remember from the very beginning of consciousness, that may be some answers were salvaged. The déjà vu was this cycle breaking like many before. When I start developing habits mean that I have lingered long enough on one thing. Monotony, hence restlessness and the block

Family Trip To Kinnaur

I have returned to talk about the wonderful time I had. We went to Kinnaur District of Himachal Pradesh. That place is just so beautiful. It was almost an 18 hrs drive from Delhi. And since we weren’t sure if our bodies could take so much strain, we decided to halt at Sarahan, Shimla District.

We travelled all night, starting from Delhi at 10 20pm. The cramped quarters did not matter because the enthusiasm of going someplace new was coursing through us.

We stopped for tea right after starting the climb up the hills at around 4 o’ clock, at a small roadside dhaba. It had just opened. And they were preparing for the day with peels of onion and potato and peas littering the floor. We got out of the car. And could certainly feel the difference in the temperature. I was shivering.

I religiously took out my camera and snapped a few pictures.

The fun just began…

Then came the sight of the sun rising from behind the twisted contours of the hills. I love it. the twilight, the most MAGICAL time of the day. The birds chirping. The tiny pinpricks of light on the hills. Absolutely Magical.

And since I was shooting from my car, the pictures blurred to make interesting images.

Then we reached shimla at around 6 am but could getout only by 8 am. The roads were so jammed and then we ran into this huge jammmmm, a hold up rather. Mostly due to the non intelligent and random driving skills of the locals. We were supposed to have breakfast there but to escape the jam, we went further up to Kufri and stopped outside the main city at Ras Resorts, right on the road for breakfast. I got out my big camera, and started shooting stuff finally. I mean… oohhhh!!! What joy!!! The whole of Srikhand range!!! Snow capped mountains with the sun beating down on them.

The brilliance of the sight burns a long lasting picture rigt into your mind that you will not forget for a really long time.

At Ras Resorts.

We were seriously hungry after that 12 hour ride. Actually more than that.

We proceeded on asking for directions at crossroads. Though the path is very simple to follow and basically you have to stick to the NH22. I had printed the map before embarking on the journey. They are easily available on the internet. Our destination was Kalpa basically which is just 7 km from Recong Peo, the district headquarters of Kinnaur.

We passed Fagu after Kufri till

Theog,

Continue on NH 22 towards Matiana

Narkanda,

Continue on towards Kingal, Nirath

Rampur,

Go Straight on NH 22 cross Jeori, Chaura

Karchham

Continue on NH 22

Powari,

At Powari, Turn Left towards Rekong Peo

To Finally arrive at Kalpa.

But we need to stay over at Sarahan. It was still a 6 hour drive from Sarahan to Kalpa. After Rampur comes Dhar, a small village. After that comes Jeori. Right after Jeori, we take a right turn from the NH 22 to proceed to Sarahan, a very scenic little village. We stayed at hotel Snow View, a budget hotel. The staff was extremely helpful and most cordial with very clean rooms. The food also was very passably good. We had done the bookings from Delhi on phone. The no. and the names of the hotels were searched on the internet.

Finally it had started to seem that we are finally close to our destination. From here the mountains seem so beautiful. The whole of Srikhand range, so radiant with the setting sun’s deep red rays. It looked as if the whole range was on fire. After having lunch and getting refreshed, we went for a walk in that beautiful little village. That place is teaming with birds and is in fact a birder’s paradise. I at Kinnaur, I saw loads of Himalayan bulbul, flycatchers, other bulbuls, loads of drongos (the black, the white bellied, the spangled and the racket tailed), shrikes, swifts, babblers, titmices(many species), robins, the shama, sunbird(scarlet sunbird among them), minivets, the yellow billed blue magpie, the Eurasian and the grey winged blackbird, the red billed chough,a lammergeier, mynas, loads of sparrows,

some munias etc. Sarahan is beautiful pine forests and oaks and small jharnas flowing past at your every step. It also has the Bhimkali temple, one of the 51 Shaktipeeths of India. With its exquisite carvings, it’s a very fine example of the loose Indo-Tibetan architecture. I had originally not been able to identify it as the temple. The Bhimkali temple also gives lodging to people but then with prior bookings. Other local attractions include the well maintained bungalow of (Raja) Vir Bhadra Singh, the former chief minister of Himachal Pradesh. I clcked some really nice pictures there. And then again made friends with the (royally) handsome guard dog. A funny thing about these mountain dogs is that they are such quiet, almost dreaming creatures throughout the day. And at night they just don’t stop making noise.

                                                    The Black Drongo

                                                                                   
                                          The Bhimkali Temple.

  

My Friend: I made friends with so many dogs….

What they call the Rajar Baari (the King’s Palace).

People interested in trekking and adventure sports can do so too. Just Google out the necessary information and well you are there.

We went to attend the Sandhya Aarti at the temple, a enriching experience at 7pm after a stroll through the village. After 7 30pm though, no shops are open and as such there isn’t anything to do. But then, its one of the best environments to catch up with one’s family and to recuperate from our otherwise busy worlds. Its quite cold there even in may. So its advisable to take jackets and sweater and socks. Heavy woolens wouldn’t be a bad choice either cause if it rains then, the temperature drops below 3 degrees. Also take some caps or mufflers to keep the head and the ears covered. Next morning, I went for a walk at around 5 30 with a slightly reluctant cousin brother. We saw many of the above said birds, and in the end it was worth it. The locals also are so helpful and chatty. Its was wonderful there, at Sarahan. After breakfast, we proceeded for Kalpa. Had tea at Rampur, to break for refreshments. Then finally had lunch at Recong Peo. As and when we proceeded towards Kalpa, and the snow caped glaciers seemed nearer and nearer, the weather turned colder, we realized how high up we are. We had crossed 35 or more mountains to reach Kalpa. You feel as if you could almost touch these mountains.

                                       The Kailash Parvat.

It started raining at Recong Peo, and instantly the temperatures dropped. Recong Peo has some nice hotels and restaurants. It also has 2 ATMs, one of State Banks and another of Punjab National Bank. It has almost all modern ametinities and could almost pass for a town. After lunch we proceeded to Kalpa. It was very cloudy. I took some amazing photographs, but then they were nothing in comparison with what one can witness with one’s own eyes.

That evening we took this walk in the village and talked a bit. I had taken my father’s laptop with some movies in it. So I watched them later on in the night. At 21000 ft there was no signal in our mobiles of Idea and Vodafone. So we took a local Airtel sim, against the hotel manager’s no. This hotel also was booked from Delhi named Hotel Blue Lotus. The staff again was very helpful and room service good. The food again was passably alright.

For the first time ever, on this trip, I and my sister got our own room. Yay!!! It felt great. A benchmark may be at being recognized as eighteen plus. We planned a trek to the nearby glacier for me and my cousin with a local guide. My sister had gotten a terrible cold and was unwell, so she couldn’t think of accompanying us. But then because of the cloud cover, my parents were reluctant to let us go. Though we were supposed to be back by 12pm. And as luck would have it, it started raining by 12 30. To think that I missed the trek for no reason. So instead, we all went for a walk through the village. Kalpa has beautiful chilgoza forests, apple orchards, and may other orchards too. The village is so green and scenic. There are mountain streams running down every few steps, nourishing the fields. The locals there hang old shoes at the gates etc of their orchards to probably ward off evil spirits and bad luck. And hence we find hoards of abandoned shoes along our journey.

We visited the local temple and the monastery. And then spend some time playing cards, sleeping, watching the sunset, seeing the pictures I had taken till then on the computer, talking etc. Beautiful and peaceful.

The next day, when we were supposed to leave Kalpa, the cloud cover had shifted to give us brilliant sunshine. We were supposed to go back to Delhi. But instead we decided to stay over at Sangla valley for another day and then go back. So we reached Sangla, booked rooms in the guest house and proceeded to Chitkul, one of the last villages in India. Its really high up and very beautiful. Its surrounded by glaciers. The landscape is barren mostly due to the altitude. The motorable Indian roads stop there. Its small village of 650 odd people. The Sutlej River originates from the glaciers there and keeps us accompany throughout our travel in Kinnaur. After Chitku; which is an hours drive from Sangla, we returned to our Guest house. Had our lunch, the food being excellent. Again the afternoon was spent playing cards and watching TV.

The next day morning, the final morn, me n dada went for a walk, came back a bit late after the regular breakfast, we left for Delhi at 10 20 am. Just stopping for a tea break in between and then dinner at Punjab, at 1pm, we reached home by 4 am in Tuesday morn.

It was all good fun and heavenly… For more pictures, readers, you all can check out my facebook account for more.

The rustle of wind through the pines forests. The ground slippery with the needles. The chirping of birds. And the majestic himalayas set on fire by the blazing sun. I shall revisit this dream as often as possible.

Each time I touch this dream to morph it into reality, I become a bit more alive. A bit more aware.

Each pulse tells me of the excitement coursing through my body. Cause everytime I am the in the laps of nature, I feel as if I belong there. And everything else should be virtual instead.

The coming five days will be pleasure. I shall experience things I love most. Nature and Photography.

Though I do not upload too many pictures here, I shall photoblog the trip for once, here too.

ROMANTICISM

“the path of mystery leads inwards”-Novalis

(A part of my english project written two years back. And though the initial chapters are missing, this one talks about Romanticism, with which I quite indentify. The project dealt with my interpretation with philosophy and psychology and with self analysis. I have included some pictures that I have taken overtime to represent how I see nature.)

I have always been interested in psychology and philosophy. As I have been a nature lover. I have an unspoken intimacy with the wild nature. As I have with beauty. Also I am prey to imagination and ideas which keep flitting about in my head. I write especially poetry. And I love art- music, painting, literature, culture etc.; anything creative and aesthetic is an art form for me. As is cooking, like making new dishes. I myself indulge in all of these whenever I am prone to my creative outbursts – when I have to create something new… a poem, or a drawing, any dish, whatever. A restless energy flows through me which when I create, flows out of me into the creation.

And then there exists the way I perceive the world … as energy infinite. I have always tried to use logic to answer my questions. Some of them have been philosophical and psychological. I also realize that psychology and philosophy do merge at one point. And so I started reading on the subject and I did gain a lot of interesting ideas to mull upon. Philosophy whenever tries to propound its ideas, it give pure logic behind and it’s scientific. You can apply them in your lives and feel that they are true and not some highly conceptual theory. It also helps people to get a better understanding of them and of the human behavior. And it was reading up on the subject that made me realize that I was a romantic. My self-synthesized ideas and beliefs have always been the core ideas of romanticism. And I am a bit awed how ideas independently reproduce themselves at different points of time.

Romantics are those who identify themselves with the world. For them, even the non living or the nature has an “ego”. The natural and the spiritual merge into one and a world spirit flows through all. The non living is also said to possess a slumbering intelligence according to this train of thought. And I believe so too. It’s pretty evident for anyone who has read the first few chapters that I believe that everything has energy at the core and energy shields around. They also hold the infinity and one can know about the whole universe by penetrating into its energy shield and working up inside. I have extensively also tried to explain how by trying to reach the soul one can gain the eternal truth, thereby explaining “the path of mystery leads inwards”. Novalis was a noted romantic philosopher and as was Schelling who propounded the “slumbering intelligence”. I believe so from ages and its fascinating how they repeat in an isolated mind. For me energy from the infinite to the infinitetesimal, all carry the same recipe of truth. Like for example, the solar system to the atom, planets or electrons both are revolving following the almost same principles of physics around the nucleus or the sun. Even science for me is just the energy imprints of creation. The hidden clues to the eternal truth manifest themselves in the rules of designing the world, science. The forests, trees, a tiny flower, a puppy with brown eyes and a passive ocean all have a superego. They have such impressive fields and the world spirit flows through them such that they affect and impress us. They make us realize that they too are there and in the case of nonliving, seemingly passive and but the underlying activity is for us to feel. And we do feel our mother earth breathing through winds, tempests, clouds and thunderstorms. And we do have the oceans with the sprays and whirlpools. Even the serenity by the sea side is telling us of her calm and the millions of lives she nurtures within. The mighty sun setting is not for just visual delight and has a deeper meaning. It may be a different reality for all but everybody interprets the colours of nature in their own hues and shades. They connect with the world spirit at different points of their conscious and of time. And this world spirit for me identifies with the cosmic energy which encompasses the big and small and is the eternal energy only in a slightly different form. There is also a slightly different form of spirit called the national spirit. The national spirit identifies with the locality. It is the soul of the language, the culture, the cuisine, the dances, the folklore, ad of the people. It flows through the mysticism, the traditions and the spirit of cultural gatherings. It also lives in the stories recounted by the elders of the group and the cultural and natural history of an area. It’s a spirit that binds people and makes them one identifiable body that lives socially and united for each other.

Romantics have a very strong bond with the nature. It forms a very important part of their cognitive “I”. Study of philosophy, nature and poetry merge for many romantics, including me. I have very strong roots with the nature though I may be partial towards the mountains. I used to visit the mountains about twice a year since I was about 6. I was left free to roam the woods alone or with a friend who was a year younger to me. I had learnt falling and getting up as I trekked up and down the slopes with the nature by my side. And also finding my paths through boulders and roots which seemed insurmountable to a child like me. But I enjoyed every minute of it and I remember quite a lot of details too. They have impressed my mind such. Even now ask me where the holiday being planned should be and I would say that it should be in the lap of nature and preferably mountains. I am in love with nature. I used to dig out earthworms from my flower pot and used to study them, taking notes when I was about 9. I nurtured caterpillars, stray dogs, grew a whole lot of plants (I really enjoy gardening) and what not. I didn’t let any chance of getting close to nature pass. It gave me highs and I felt this sense of discovery that urged me on, on such expeditions.

I also write poetry, which one of my major hobbies. Actually it would be wrong to call it a hobby. Poetry is a way I express a lot of feelings not apparent to the world. It’s one of my major creative outlets. Lots of unrecognized ideas get their form through the lines I may pen down as if in a trance. It’s almost as if my soul has suddenly transferred some energy into my subconscious which has sought a way of release through my creativity. And I do emote through my poetry. I realize a lot of things as I have fun when I write. I always learn but. A lot of ideas take form and thought process start that I didn’t know I had somewhere inside my subconscious. I have expressed my love for life and nature as I have expressed my despair and sorrow through a few lines and it does lighten my heart and enlighten my brain.

But talking of creativity brings me to another aspect of romanticism. Romanticism means “imagination”, “feeling”, and “experience”. It means interpreting the world with your reality and truth. It means artistic genius and it means creation and love. Being a romantic is like being a prey to mystery. There is always confusion and a double nature approach to things. By this I mean that a single thing can be interpreted in millions of ways. And it gives us freedom. You can see the world as your reflection as the whole world also constitutes you and lies inside you. Imagination is a tool which makes you what you are. It helps you realize that you are one with the world as the world is one with you. Feeling gives you the access to the reality and helps you read it in your own language. It helps you understand the world spirit. And experience is what you get after imagination and feeling have combined hands. I could say experience is getting a small truth from the subconscious into your conscious, a small step bringing us closer to the final truth. Imagination, feeling and experience have another meaning though, which is vital to every romantic. It’s the artist in every romantic which manifests it’s self because of these. The passion that went into creation reflects in the creation and is another reality bearing the eternal truth for the artist which got lost in the truth itself and realized it fully before creating the reality of his creation. Here the creation means a world itself with the separate reality and the artist is the super creator of this world. He is the eternal truth of this world. He just paints his reality which becomes the core energy of his creation. He therefore is getting closer to his own eternal truth as time he paints some truth, he is drawn closer into his subconscious and nearer to his soul. Here the artist is not just a painter but it could be any art form. Beethoven himself was a romantic and the passion with which he created his music is evident in the Moonlight Sonata as it’s in his other creations. The passion is unmistakable. Also one feels the spirit that flows through his music and that is Beethoven presenting to the world his own truth and spirit that absolves the audience. Wistful souls communicate and we feel moved. Such concentrated spirit of an artist’s creation doesn’t pass without making an impact on us. The artist is the god of his creation, the super creator of his truth that flows and communicates with the world spirit and manifests itself each time it’s admired.

Souls have been equally stirred by paintings and poetry. People do recognize the beauty and the story, idea and feel the energy behind every creation.

Although the romantics identified themselves with the world spirit, it wasn’t as if they didn’t have individuality. Each artist created his own reality. Each romantic read the world in his language. Their methods of approach were different but there realization lay in the same truth.

Often the romantics believed in the ideal genius. Idleness was a virtue in the romantics. They believed that the daily rut was for the common people whom they called the philistines or the enemy. They thought the daily life as too trivial a matter to engage their sensibilities with. They ran after the conceptual to derive and devise new meanings of life. Often they were rebellious, moody and alien spirits. They thought themselves to be different from the rest of the world. I have very similar beliefs. It’s true that a romantic is different because his very approach to life is different altogether. Even I prefer thinking in idleness or doing what I like. The fact that I don’t remember the details which I classify as mundane details of the daily rut is due to my disinterest towards these common matters, that I know now is characteristic of romanticism.

Romanticism also means being deeply involved in emotions. Romanticism is like chasing a golden deer like in Ramayana. You don’t know what you are up against but you feel it or intuitively try to know it. You go on discovering as you travel the path of life. At each step there is this sense of discovery as there is sense of loss. There is a sense of satisfaction but always you are restless and wistful for new challenges. Often it’s based on short term goals but hard work is put into creation of some highly desired creation though it may be a long process. The romantic is also deeply wound into emotions. His experiences, realization etc are always emoted. Logic does play a great part but then the logic is also felt first and then analyzed later on. He is always going through a live connection with his soul and his internal state is always that of a strong breeze. Old ideas are washed away and new ideas are synthesized and given root. A romantic is also very independent. He always understands things via his perspective, a different understanding for everything that may not match with anybody else’s understanding.

And a romantic is always a dreamer. He may remain lost in thought or awe over a trivial flower which is but powerfully beautiful to him. He may hear wisdom in the melody of the songbird. And this because he often gets the glimpses of the infinite in the finite or the macrocosm in the microcosm. At that point of time he suddenly feels the “sampurna shristi” in the “beej tatva”. For a romantic dreams and reality often fuse. He doesn’t draw the line between the dream and the real because the dream itself produces the hidden aspect of reality. He believes in the super conscious and is constantly trying to understand it consciously and unconsciously.

A romantic is a naked soul. He is a person who has cast off the cover of sophistication, the attributes of civilization which tame humans and make them distant to their basic primitive instinct. A romantic does away with all his pretence and amplifies his basic nature. He creates from the conceptual and after he has cast off sophistication, he is closer to his core energy. He identifies himself with the rugged nature nut also the soft maternity of the natural world. I write as I feel. And often my writing is abrupt. Often with too may ideas going through my head I am at a loss of words to express the whole volume which is there in my head and pounding my creative urges for a way of release. Always what I wish to create with my camera, words, paints, or ideas isn’t perfect. Often what is there in my ideas completely reflects in my work. And though that does bring dissatisfaction, on trying again and again its teaching my brain to focus and bringing me closer to the artistic reality of a particular aspect of my work. It also represents my unsophisticated cover which is not perfect. And my love for philosophy shows my yearning for the mystic. But being born in India has really helped as here philosophy has been so highly developed since ages unknown. Indians have always charged the unknown and tried to rationalize the unknown and the truths hidden in the dark. I find the Indian thinking so ripe that I have often used Sanskrit terms in various articles of this collection. A few words are strong enough to have the whole “saar” of the issue in them. India has always been the land of intellectuals but it stagnated as knowledge wasn’t exchanged with the world. In India we have always studied science and philosophy together. They were extensions of each other. We have always discovered high mathematical truths for centuries that the western world recently discovered. Our mathematicians were philosophers also, who wrote in verse form the science of mathematics, also respected as the language of science with its cool logic. Because of these facts I believe, that with the oriental mysticism and the philosophy which believes that the macrocosm is the microcosm and the ideals of beej tatva etc. our philosophy definitely has a romantic shade.

And this brings me to the close of my self analysis which has I hope helped me reach a bit closer to my core energy. And meditation I hope would take me forward as would focus on any goal of mine. Due to the Indian flavour of romantic ideals I have indeed identified with my National Spirit as I have with the Universal Romantic Spirit. They are basically not very different but are flavours of a very same essence.

It will always be a quest for me, life. I know I am very young and lot of people might think I have not enough experience to state whatever I do state right now. But I do realize it from long back. And it’s somehow inherent in my spirit. To rationalize and analyze. I was born with the spirit of a romantic. I may not be the most satisfied person of earth as when I gain something a new quest begins. After all chasing a golden deer is not easy. Its elusive and doesn’t exist except for in my imagination. But I am a romantic and my dream and reality are but one. My golden deer is my eternal truth luring me with a bait of a smaller truth that draws me closer to itself using with bigger and bigger challenges. And that is the quest of a romantic reaching eternal truth. Through forms variant and art will I reach it finally but I will.

By Coleridge …

“ What if you slept? And what if, in your sleep, you dreamed? And what, if in your dream, you went to heaven and there plucked a strange and beautiful flower? And what if, when you awoke, you had the flower in your hand? Ah, what then?”

I think. Therefore, I am.

Thought

सपना नहीं, होसला टूटता है|  

Sapna nahi, hosla tootta hai.

Pardon the speling, best I could do with translator.

I will not falter, I will not shatter.