The grey manifested

The innumerable shades of grey are inescapable. I have long since accepted the ambiguities, yet the shades of grey persist to affect me. At times, it makes me feel crippled and helpless since I know there is no escape and in knowing I am letting it rule me, yet I know that the mind is the ultimate ruler and the numerous manipulations are sheer manifestations of the mind. Hence, acknowledging this fact, the power then resides within the self and yet it isn't as simple as it seems. 

Since time immemorial subjectivity has prevailed overruling  the objectivity and multiplying the shades of grey. There is no denying the fact that objectivity has limitations, giving way to subjective readings. Objectivity hence limits itself to a specific time frame while Subjectivity persists in the ephemeral. They call it values, systems, structures wherein resides subjectivity, giving way to ambivalence. There is no denying the limitations of Objectivity, yet very few can remain thoroughly objective. It is an affray against the convention, against the collectivism. Moreover it is a choice to not be trampled over by the operating forces. It is a choice to not beseech or concede to the prevailing norms and structures but a choice to supersede them. 

Ambivalence remains as it has but what one makes out of it is entirely up to oneself. There are those who choose to override it with a fortitude. There are others who are ignorant of it. There are yet others who make peace with it and then there are those who subjectively choose their objectives. As for me, I choose to live with the greys only in my escapades, where ambivalence is embraced with pleasure.

The fondest memory of my grandpa

There is little difference between an old man and a young child - this is something I've seen often due to my fondness and love for old people. For one, I find both kids and grandparents really cute, but that is besides the point. Children and old people both need love and attention. The child needs love and care to grow just like a sapling needs care to grow. Old people need love to live. The most honest and beautiful relationship is that between a child and his parents. The mother holds the child's hand and makes him take his first steps and strangely the child reciprocates the same gesture when the mother grows old. I suppose the least a child could do for his parents who literally have been responsible for giving him his precious life  would be to shower love over them when they need it the most, to care for them, reassure them and ward off their insecurities.

I've spent my entire childhood living with my grandparents and had my share of scoldings and pampering and now that they live away from me, I miss them a lot. I've always feared death of people close to me though I've never given a thought to death as an independent entity. When I met my granny in August last year, I was terrified to see her in a terrible state. She had lost so much weight, literally shrunk and her legs were sticks. She stayed disoriented and sad,not much hopeful. It upset me to see her so fragile. To think of her nearing the end and to accept it was something that seemed like a herculean effort. When I was back home I constantly worried over her and my sleep too was clouted by nightmares, waking me teary eyed. However things changed for the good. On reading a book gifted by a close friend, I learnt to let go and love as holding on only makes things worse. Letting go did not mean parting away, but keeping alive the memories. 

So when a month back when my grandpa was hospitalised, I was much calmer. I knew he would fight all odds and come back anyhow, that's how I always remembered him as. When I met him,in the initial days I was reconsidering my judgment as he also seemed fragile and weak, not talking much and having mostly non verbal communications. His expressions during those non verbal conversations were the most remarkable, especially when he liked something his smile widened up and left a spark in his beautiful bluish grey eyes (which my mom complains of none of the siblings to have inherited). Whenever I showed him his favourite song video his eyes would light up. Having spent half a month with him, I saw him in a phase that I had never seen before. Since he is an alzheimer patient, he tends to forget certain things, yet he is quite sharp for his age. He would often ask us about where to go to sleep when he would be sleepy? He looked so innocently lost and adorable. I've always found him cute with his wrinkles and toothless smile but now he looks all the more cuter. I don't remember him showing affection towards me by caressing me but in the past few days, he has been taking my hand and kissing it, caressing me and it would make me so happy. Sometimes he gave us a bit of trouble when he would behave like an obstinate kid refusing to take medicines and go for walks, for which he would be reproved by all. I would quietly witness the scene and observe him. He would be puppy eyed and I would have to curb the urge of reaching out to him and embracing him. In the process I knew and uderstood his strength and realized how easily some of his traits have been passed on to all of us. Now he has recovered completely and much of his recovery was catalysed by my granny whom he missed terribly. She longed to live with him in their own house too. It was amusing to see their love for each other and him fussing over her and now they have happily shifted to their own home,very much content to be with each other. I only wish ample of happiness for them till they live and a peaceful painless death.

Enigma

Life is a strange ongoing process, although one may not know what is happening, one is still a part of the process. What is life though?  It seems like a beautiful path with the destination unknown and when the path seems beautiful one doesn't bother about the destination. At other times it seems like an unending journey to places unknown, too tiring to keep going. Moreover life seems to possess more questions rather than revealing the answers, like a continuous riddle. I feel like a nomad without the real travelling, a nomad who travels many a mental states to arrive at some stable peaceful juncture, and yet can only long to reside there forever, but cannot live there forever. I keep walking, in search of that which makes me me but I do not expect to find my answer. I cannot comprehend the antithetical life that I lead, paradoxes with each step. Although I acknowledge the greys, the gradations seem to multiply, often making it difficult for me to separate one from the other. Seeking the truth is always painful than accepting the lie. 

Breaking away from the ideologies of the society, from the pre-destined relationships and from the daunting past is not an option because one cannot break away from it completely - a bitter truth to be accepted. There is immense unclarity over the emotions I experience. Sometimes feeling love is accompanied by pain and I often get tired of being patient, tired of trying to keep peace and eventually I wish brevity to follow everything. Sometimes I feel like I've failed somewhere to get what I should be entitled to. Soon I start realizing that I'm build of such opposites and as if somewhere deep down these already fixed notions undermine me. I cannot identify myself - what is mine and what is adapted? Or for that matter where do I truly belong or what belongs to me? With one's developing sensibilities, one tends to undergo changes and evolve as an individual but aren't the preconceived ideologies as much a part responsible for the change? 

When I think of death, I feel the same mixture of emotions. Sometimes it seems inviting, as if putting an end to all the miseries and sometimes a very gory thought filled with unfulfilled desires and unhappiness because in life one is never satisfied and never completely happy. It seems like the more I run from ambiguities, the more they tend to follow me and when I accept certain truths, I am set up against fighting other realities where eventually I am made to envelope those bitter truths as well. It is as if God knows when to play his cards well, whom to throw into the burgeoning greys and when to weigh down ambivalence over them. Eventually an escape from the mundane into the quiet, from the real to the surreal is what tugs at my heart ever so often,and yet I ponder over it instead of plunging in deep as if it were my last card to be used wisely.

Shadows

It was a dark night and I did not expect him to be there. He would never be among the people I would like to meet again in life. Not now, perhaps never ever again. It is strange to feel this way when I am fully aware of being a part of him ( a truth I cannot evade, nor do I try any more),but unlike him I have always liked to have an uncomplicated life, fighting against odds to find my bands of black and white. He came and stood next to me, looking exactly as I remembered seeing him last, but I didn't even remember when exactly was the last time I met him. They were all brief visits, none of which with even a tinge of happiness, but definitely filled with hope, rather false hope, however those too have faded, just like the scent of a fresh flower with time. Startled - that's what I was on seeing him. He smirked and said, like he always does, pretending as if the years had never passed by, " Hi bebu, how are you?" I could've believed for a moment as I always did, fooled by him that he really cares but not any more. I replied " I am fine." I didn't want to know how was he doing or maybe I did, but that was asking for too much, walking through dark alleys, the end of which nobody knew, so I decided to stay silent. He continued to smirk and I knew he will soon come up with his disturbing sarcastic remarks and he proved me right. Predicting this man all my life has been the most difficult task ever and yet it came so effortlessly now. "Having a good life? That's what you chose. A life away from me and now you don't even want to acknowledge my presence?" he said. " I gave you the choice to decide that for yourself as well as for me, but as always you seemed to be clueless about it, besides I thought it was your own decision to part ways, to which I gladly abided. Works out fine for me. Clarity. Direction. Stability as I always said", I told him. He gave me one of his mirthless laughters but I decided to not hear him any more. The more he would speak, the more it would aggravate my impatience. I had no nerve for tolerance any more, he had exhausted all of it and I had let him. His existence ceased to matter to me but his memories lingered. I said to him, " You will never change, nor do I expect you to. To each its own. I will never try to run or evade the truth. I am not a coward nor am I an escapist. Escapade has another meaning to me, unadulterated from the one you've shown me and I will hold on to that for it comprises of letting go in order to come back again but that's something I don't expect you to understand. I know I'm a part of you but there is one tiny thing that distinguishes us which makes all the difference. I live with the happy memories and you with the bad ones. I've known love and you've known possession and that's where we are two extremely different beings." 

I left him to his own and walked away, thinking to myself ....why is it that we meet people? They say there's reason for everything so what is the reason for this? ....and soon I realized it was a futile question which has always bounced around in my head, the answers to which have never been close to satisfactory - experience maybe? to know the bad to understand and appreciate the good? Fate? and then I settle for fate as the most unexplanatory answer. 

The irony of being

Life encapsulates bitter truths and sweet memories. 

Sweet memories are a haven to reside in when one wants to escape the mundane reality, moreover some of those give me the satisfaction of being my own, a matter of choice over an inevitable outcome. The pleasure of living on the edge is one of its kind, albeit with regrets, sometimes plenty of them, but then again that's how one learns. Some learn to fly falling hard, and some learn to fly easily, but falling is impending in order to fly, just as regrets are an impending truth of life. 

There are times when I like to delve into the mystical, the ethereal, for it seems an enchanted place, offering piquancy. Moreover, an outbreak is my constant lookout and yet I live a life of irony. Breaking away is never an option in its entirety sadly. There are times when I find myself dwelling deep into things that stopped mattering, things that have no relevance, things that happened as they should've and eventually leaving me to fend for myself as it should be, the only way I see life. How strange it is - reiterating into the shadows when you already know the shadow will follow you always, inseparable, like the soul from the body. 

Some truths are averted, rather hushed, though some have put an end to their mortality, complete and in tranquility, others seem to be tempestuous, incomplete, containing tales untold, the end yet unknown. My quest makes me wonder what is my chase? Or is it me on the chase?! 

The predicament

How strange it is, we as human beings are supposed to possess abilities that give us an edge over other organisms. We, for one, are gifted with the great ability to think and reason,something that others are deprived of and this invariably raises several questions in my head, such as the purpose of life! The reason we have certain abilities and qualities that other organisms don't is for a reason, a purpose and we are meant to fulfil the purpose. We all grow up believing in ourselves, in our abilities and act cautiously. We fall and we learn, we tread on cautiously, we are always having the urge for making the right choices. We question, we argue. We introspect and we eventually make a verdict, a settlement and believe we are doing the right thing and we seek happiness in the same and yet, my question is who decides what is right? We are the makers and the breakers of our destiny as they say. We decide and we comply. We act on our impulses and rationality and yet how far can we go with that? 

I am aware each individual has a different take on life, the ones who are practical would naturally feel that they are solely responsible for their own lives and the reins are in their hands, however I truly believe in something like destiny or God, an external force that plays a pivotal role in the shaping of our lives. I believe things happen for a reason and that it is not necessary we know the reasons always, it may be unfolded to us at some later stage. As children we do not have opinions of our own as we see life the way we are exposed to it by our parents, picking from our immediate surroundings, where then do we have a control over what we pick and what we make out of it? Our subconscious is the only constant companion, reasoning and morality follows later. Why, only childhood? Even as we grow up we come across certain circumstances where we have absolutely no control and feel extremely helpless. Sometimes we might have tried everything we could and yet we have nothing to ourselves except patience to hold on to while we wait for the denouement. Are we then really the best judge of our lives? 

I believe destiny and our own efforts go hand in hand, none working independently without the aid of the other. It is of course a matter of personal choice and belief but I have realized that one cannot entirely leave their life to destiny and be unanswerable for their own actions and at the same time one must not be arrogant enough to believe they are mighty having power over their lives and shunning destiny. We truly have the power to shape our lives and in the process shape our destinies, however what fateful end each of us is going to meet is something completely unknown.

Cobwebbed Reality

How pretty are the fairytales, the stories of far off lands where magic is alive. The enchanting land of fairies and goblins, beautiful princesses and charming prince, of magical creatures, of spells and potions, of granting wishes, and yet, of witches and monsters,evil forces pervading through. Silence and chaos, going hand in hand, yet a belief in goodness, in the triumph of goodness over everything evil is what holds me there. 

Reality smothers me sometimes, decadent and factitious when looked at closely. Often betwixt the resolved and the unresolved are matters that are metaphysical in nature, like intution, inexplicable, yet substantial. This journey seems to go on forever, the journey called life, inescapable. Sometimes it is a chase, the farther I go from it, the more it daunts me, drawing me nearer. I wonder why death is considered so morbid? It seems like a peaceful haven, away from the mundane life, lulled in slumber. 

Death arouses plaintiveness, while I find life full of pathos, which can never be eradicated completely. Unpredictability at every stage, the fear of the unknown, like constantly running through a maze, often coming to dead ends that hold no answers. The darkness is burgeoning and the mere sight of light is more than often misleading. Why, then try so hard to find the right way out?  Yet, the fight and the suffering that follows,all in vain.

The cobwebs I build, the mesh completely tangled

the threads I want to break away from, untangle

Because the reality is intermittent

death is the only truth, constant.