Illusions

“Magic is an illusion,” He said,” Full of tricks and unreal things.”

“So is Life, “She thought, “It’s the same. “

“We try to be with people to be under the illusion that we are not alone.

We fall in love to believe the illusion that we are now complete.

Most of us believe in the collective illusion that there is a big man in the sky who can set things right.

The illusion of owning things, when you know you came here alone, and that you are not going to hold on to anything when you leave.”

She smiled.

Daddy looked at his little girl smile and thought, “She’s too young to understand.”

Stories, poems, thoughts and noughts

The editors pick of the best stories/poems from the blog:

The Gypsy and the Caged Bird
Life's little pleasures
Epiphany
Nemesis
A Wall and Beyond
An Evening Breeze
The Impossibility of Hope- Part 1
The Impossibility of Hope- Part 2
Buona Fortuna!- 1
Buona Fortuna!-2

The Carnivorous Island
Sun, Sands and Salsa!
The one you never tried to know
Of Sea and Skies
The Beginning, and the End
A Memoir to Rorschach
Of Love and Loss
Winter Rhymes

The Carnivorous Island

As a young child in search of wondrous books, I had stumbled on Life of Pi, by Yann Martel. The book promised to restore your faith, and I was at a crossroad those days- a crossroad where I would stay for a considerable amount of time. Little did I know that I was holding a life changer in my hands. It was the book that questioned the faith, ideas of believability and the nature of human-ness. It was a book that asked you to ponder about your beliefs, and how you arrived at those beliefs. But for now, let’s just look at a little (though definitely not insignificant) chapter in the book.

For the uninitiated, Life of Pi is the story of a boy Pi who escapes a ship-wreck in a boat stuck with a tiger, a zebra and an orang-utan. Drifting in the high seas and nearly dying of hunger and thirst, Pi and the tiger stumble on a wondrous island of tropical greenery. Delighted at their fortune, the two take their time in making themselves at home, enjoying the riches that the Island provides them. It is inhabited only by Meerkats, which are extremely social creatures who are notable for their erect stance, acting as sentry for the tribe watching for imminent dangers. Pi notices that despite the beauty of the island in the day, something is amiss at the night. The Meerkats rush to the trees and leave the ground, causing a perplexed Pi to follow suit. Over the course of the story, he understands that the Island is a carnivorous one, drugging the inhabitants who are unable to escape to trees in the night and digesting them. Terrorized, Pi realise that his own life is in danger. He wonders why the Meerkats are still living in the island despite knowing the terrible secret that the island houses. He realizes that the Meerkats are too complacent with their lives and probably have not theorised about a life away from the Island. In his moment of realization, Pi leaves the island and the tiger follows him to the boat.

Quite an implausible story, many might add. Given the whole nature of the story is mystical and the chief narrator Pi is unreliable in his recollections, it is quite difficult for most to understand the significance of this particular chapter. So was the case with me, until a sleepless night caused me to open this book and read those lines again.

Religion- what a relief it must have been for the ancients. At an age when people could not decipher what the globe of fire that rose in the east and gave light and heat to the world, when people could not understand who it is that showers rains upon the parched lands, religion offered an explanation, a refuge. At a time when moral debates and philosophies had not yet emerged, religion was their sole beacon of light. Promise of an all-powerful being at the helm must surely have brought some comfort to the men of old. The fear of retribution of a vengeful god prevented men from pillaging their neighbour’s wealth. For the common man, it was an oasis, an island. After years of drifting in the high seas of fear of the unknown, subject to the capriciousness of ignorance, the fruits of religion and god must have seemed sweet to the common man.

Slowly, we all turned to Meerkats, comfortable in the sunlight of faith. Some of us may have noticed those who were consumed by the carnivorous island. Religious riots, the crusades, the executions by the Church, the purges. Yet, we chose to stay, too complacent to consider an alternative. Like Meerkats, we stood and watched at the distance for a predator, unaware of the dangers lurking right beneath our feat. We bequeathed our power to reason, our power to theorize to this island. Yet, some of us Meerkats have escaped. And in these modern times, whence Science has developed to such an extent that it answers most questions logically, we should realize there is a raft for us to escape. Of course, it is a choice that only the brave can make. The meek may inherit the earth, but the sole legacy that the Meerkats may inherit is one of lack of will and complacence.

The House on Avenida Azcapotzalco- Part1

Memory is such a curious thing. Just yesterday night, I forget my backpack somewhere in the campus with no memory the next day of where it was. Yet, I remember every single detail of those days spent in La Resistancia at Avenida Azcapotzalco in the company of amazing people from around the world. But that’s a different story however, and the house in question was not the benevolent Resistancia. Come to think of it, I’ve always had a writer’s fetish about houses. The abandoned Mohan Villa near my old home, the Glass House of the nameless architect.. Speaking of memory, I wonder how much of it was memory, how much was imagination. They say that time smoothens out the edges of your memory, so that remembrances are always fond.

It was a beautiful January evening in Mexico City, with a weather that precariously treaded the line between sunny, windy and chilly. Quite enough of a fine weather that we decided to take a walk down to the magnificent Parque Bicentenniale a couple of miles away from our home. We being myself and Esther, the sweet yet very strong headed German girl who had the persistence and patience to drag my lazy self from a comfortable afternoon nap to a healthier yet less comfortable alternative. We jogged, correction, she jogged and I walked right behind the lady along the streets that were already becoming familiar to us. On the way, I barely noticed the house on the way, yet somewhere in my subconscious it must have struck a chord of emotional resonance. It was on another walk some days later though, when I had the time and opportunity to fully appreciate what treasures the journey to the park brought me.

This time it was with two other people, Rishab, my Indian friend and Paulina, a freshly acquainted beauty of a polish girl, that I was trudging along purposefully. It was the dog that first caught my attention. Or to be accurate, the elaborately patterned sweater the dog wore. I stopped and stared, like how any normal soul blessed with the usual dose of curiosity would do.


[To be continued]..

Sun, Sands and Salsa!

                                   

Mexico- It’s not a name that always pops up in the mind of a quintessential Indian traveller. And so it was with some apprehension that I set forth for what would become the most treasured pages in my book of memory. The apprehension was lifted as soon as we arrived at Distrito Federale a.k.a Mexico City- by the ever helpful, gentle folk of this land. Right from our host-buddy who picked us up from the airport, through the ever smiling and helpful staff at IPADE, we were overwhelmed and spoilt. Of the seven students selected for the program at IPADE, 3 of us were staying in Mexico City, while the remaining 4 studied in the campus at Monterrey, which is to the north of Mexico City.

I stayed in an apartment block five minutes from the school, with almost all the other international students- Indian, German, Italian, Polish, and American and French, it was quite a cosmopolitan experience. Friendships were forged easily, as we found out, amongst each other, the pleasure of learning customs and cultures of faraway lands. Of course, as soon as the classes started, it was another learning experience. The subjects were quite different, and so were the approaches. Here, the case method was the backbone around which the entire course curriculum, time-table and the academic culture was built. But then came the weekends with the promise of Mexico City’s famed nightlife- the never ending nights in Mama Rumba, the salsa club where even yours truly was made to shake a leg to the rhythm of Latino music, and the many varied pubs and clubs of the city with the beautiful Mexican people. Mexicans take their weekends very seriously indeed, I found out to my delight.

Mexico City had many more to offer, the ruins of the Aztec past and the Castle of Chapultepec amongst them. The castle was on top of a hill in the centre of city, and served as the palace of the ruler. One could enjoy quite a view of the entire city, while perched on top of the Castle. It was a city bustling with life and passion, every minute. The Zocalo, historical centre of the city and a witness to many battles during the revolution was the living, beating heart of the city. Once, we were strolling through a mysterious and beautiful neighbourhood called Coyoacan, where we came to stumble upon a rare sight- a group of Mexicans, performing an ancient ritual of connecting with their past, chanting songs in the near extinct Aztec tongue, asking nature  to bless us and punish the ones that hurt us. It was as time had stood still, with the smell of camphor and burning tropical leaves in tandem with the brisk, strong and graceful warrior-like dance steps of these people.

Every long weekend we managed to travel to places far away, in the company of our friends from the dozen odd countries. The colourful buildings preserved to date from the 18^th century and the narrow cobbled streets make the city of San Miguel De Allende beautiful in a sense one has to see to comprehend. The city of Guanajuato was another traditional Mexican town I had the good fortune to visit, with the unique Callejon De Beso, i.e.  the alley of the kisses and delightful Mexican food. Puebla, a magical town separated from Mexico City by only a volcano (!) offered unique gastronomical choices. The Mexican food deserves an article by itself. For a person flexible with their eating habits, this country can provide some very tasty and spicy meals. Another trip to remember was Acapulco- the famed resort town of the pacific coast. Tropical beaches with extremely jovial citizens made the short stay in Acapulco very remarkable. In Acapulco, even the local transport buses have a party going on within all the time.

In IPADE, matters were getting interesting- presentations of companies such as Microsoft, BCG and Deloitte, followed by cocktail parties with the absolute top brass of these institutions. The college kept everyone busy with competitions, and finally exams. After the classes were done and dusted, we finally had the time to travel to the south of Mexico, the Yucatán peninsula which was home to the ancient Mayans. We set out on a road-trip across the Yucatan, armed with the little Spanish we had picked up. We ran into quite a lot of adventures en route, the car breaking down in the middle of nowhere amongst them. The azure beaches of Caribbean were a sight to behold, sparkling with the shade of blue I had previously seen only in paintings and wallpapers. Tulum, with its majestic Mayan ruins atop a cliff, which leads into a stunning beach down below and Cancun’s Kukulcan Boulevard remain etched into my heart and soul. Diving into a Cenote of crystal clear water to see the labyrinthine caves beneath, beholding the mighty Chichen Itza, a marvel of Mayan architecture, and the serene ruins of Ukmaal, nestled inside the jungle- There are many vignettes that refuse to fade away from the mind’s eye.

Eventually, it was time to bid adieu, to all the amazing friends we made, to have one long  last embrace to remind  ourselves of what a precious time we had. As I was arriving at Delhi, a signboard at the airport captured my emotions in their truest sense- it said:

 “We travel not to escape life, but for life not to escape us.”

Memoirs of an Amnesiac-1

The mad man walked on, uttering unintelligible curses at the stone walls of the tunnel. There was heavy rain outside, and it was beginning to get cold within. In the distance, a train was coming, chugging along noisily through the tracks. He wanted to cry, but he could not find tears. He wanted to shout, but he had no voice. Most of all, he wanted to talk to someone, to anyone, but he had lost his words.

They were walking away very fast, from the several eyes chasing them. He had clasped her hand very tight, and he was almost dragging her through the tunnel. Not that she minded, though. Enjoying every moment of their bliss, she realized how cold his hands were. Was he a little worried, to be holding on to her? She was beginning to wonder, and then she saw the steps. He noticed it too, and their gait became slower. He looked at her with a playful smile, and let go of her hands. She must have been waiting for it, for the moment he left her, she darted away to the steps to the top of the tunnel. Not before stealing a look at him, ofcourse.

Outside,It was raining heavily.