Slice Of Life

इंसानों का शोर, उनकी गाड़ियों का शोर, उनकी लडाइयों का शोर, उनकी चुप्पी का शोर. शोर क्या हमें कभी शांत लग सकता है? कईओं का शोर  किसी और के प्यार से  शांत होता है, कईओं का  सिर्फ अपने बैंक बैलेंस से, तो कईओं का मन चाहे खाने से और कईओं का दूसरों के लाइक्स से. मगर क्या शोर... हमें कभी शांत लग सकता है? कईओं की गाड़ियों का शोर करता है कईओं को अशांत, कईओं की सफलता का शोर करता है कईओं को अशांत, मगर क्यों... कईओं की लडाइयों का शोर करता है कईओं को शांत...? कईओं की चुप्पी के शोर से क्यों होते है कईओं ही शांत...? शोर क्या सच में... हमे... कभी शांत लग सकता है? लग सकता है.

The air today Has an ease  About it; The kind of ease You have  In a 'head-start'.  The ease I am Talking about Dominates today; Maybe not tomorrow; Maybe never in 2019; But today... yes.  Yeah, there  Is fear as well, But somewhere behind.  Been reading  About letting go Off your fear (s); Been watching  Happy people On Instagram; Been listening  About today being   'the first day'. 'The first day'; Sounds nice...huh? Feels comfortable...hmm? Hence, at ease.

The pages turning yellow As the days Pass by; Desire to write Burning inside, Wanting to destruct The world With my fucking arrival. The lusty craving Of being A famous artist Drives my actions, Thinking that I Am making Art And serving Art And aspiring That I am an Artist, Is fucking dangerous To art itself. Kurosawa inspires To write and never Ever stop. The thirst, The lust Is insurmountable. I want to Fill the diary With Ideas Emotions Illustrations Scripts Stories And make A living, A fucking name... My fucking name. The ideal Of creating For, In, With the present Is the Ultimate endeavour. That seems damn Elusive right now. Beckett, Scorcese, Anderson, Tendulkar, Joyce, ionesco, Kurosawa, Chekhov, Tarkovsky... All inside the Lusty craving Entirely to become The Big Artist Who creates art Of Originality, Quality, Provocation. The diary And The pen, Tools forever, Colleagues forever, Saviour forever.

We are travelling. I can see some white lines, criss-crossed and curved, bending time. These days they are bending my mind as well. On those lines we are surfing. Very fast. Buoyed by each other. The lines are as light as a feather falling from a height And as relaxing as a shower in summers. - 2019

Fear is  on my surface, visible  and dancing like a kid with an ice-cream on a summer afternoon. they see my ears, my nose, my cheeks, my eyes... my body... my fear- it's a  permanent resident.  i wonder  where it stems from; what makes  it sit  so deep in me, on me, with me, and besides me; what are its roots. reflection of  my past gives  me lot to  visualize, but not the  root .  did one experience add up?  or two?  or more than two,  that i became a being  of fear?  oh, this vulnerability is so evident to  the world. will it make  use of it and  cut me down to pieces?  if it does, i am sure it'll start with the  root.        

There is some talent in everyone and what I have is, feeling lonely, angry with myself or at others, with uncontrollable upsurges worth causing severe harm to myself or others. I can be just fine right now and I can be a hurricane tomorrow; it happens so fast and nobody even senses it; I just want to go, sit alone, think about what happened and what triggered until I realize I need to become a breeze again. Because... this hurricane develops like a poison in my head and I strongly, very strongly feel that only I suffocate in it.