A Love-Hate Relationship

Simla - The Queen of Hills. The beauty of theses hills was such that it pulled out an entire government towards itself every summer. The British have long gone, but the attraction towards this lady has carried on. To the extent that to cash on this very beauty, somewhere the beauty itself got marred. Instead of trees, an endless expanse of walls, doors and windows greets you. And except for the winding roads and parking woes, little else reminds you that you’re in the hills. The flood of tourists that throng its streets take away the quiet charm that once lured the Brits. All this and much more on these lines make me detest this city.

Ironically, a love stronger than this hatred exists in me, which draws me in. I curse one and all, the moment I enter the city limits, but once tucked in my room cosily, there is no better feeling. The endless abuse meted out to the hills here has failed to take away the peace that they bring.

Leave out The Mall; there still exist a few quiet roads that are best experienced on foot. These are beautiful walks and a wonderful way to explore this erstwhile summer capital of the British India. The light plays hide and seek as you walk through the deodars and the oaks. Perfect remedy to heal the soul.

Buildings from the time of the British still exude an old-world charm that is difficult to ignore. Even amidst the concrete jungle, they stand apart, on their own, with an elegance that can only be termed Royal. They stand in all their regality, reminding of an era gone by that shall not return. I call them ‘Time Machines’, for they bring the present to a stand still, and are the only one’s that can turn the clock’s hand to the left, giving you a taste of a world lost in time. Urging you to feel it in your bones and forcing you to imagine and experience what it must have felt like then. And lo! You are transported back in time to see the city in a different light, a light a hundred years old – minus the claustrophobic, lifeless concrete, add verdant hills; minus the pollution, and add the freshness and chill in the wind; minus the crowds, and add the calmness; minus the hate, and add the love.

And that is when I love this city like no other.

The latest Bollywood track plays. Something is not right. The puzzlement is over as the reverie is broken. It’s a mobile ringing. And lo! You are back in Shimla 2009.

And that is when I hate this city like no other!

CAUGHT IN THE WIRES

Caught in the wires... caught, tied, trapped in the wires... they tug and pull from all directions tightening their grip with every passing moment. With a life of their own, they will not let go till there is surrender
All started with a harmless length of wire. It was a trap, a meticulously laid out trap. And once caught, there was no looking back. It grows on till it’s an addiction. Till sometime ago, it's existence was confined to the background. Never interfering daily living, the presence wasn’t even felt.
And that’s when came the revenge. Even with the technology upgrading and updating itself with every stroke of the clock’s hands, it couldn’t win the war against wires. All efforts to make a wireless world have been in vain. The irony is that it doesn’t seem so. Take a closer look. The more is the effort to eradicate their identity, the more they are needed in the effort to do so. When the fight for wireless was not on, at least the being was wire free. An average individual would today have a minimum of 12 wires governing the routine. Cell phone charger, hands free, mobile data cable, car mobile charger, i pod charger, i pod headphones, laptop charger, laptop data cables, laptop LAN cables, digital camera wires, camera data cables etc n the list goes on...

The wireless wired world (www) is a stem off of the world wide web (www) and the wires are continually weaving the web, waiting for the victim to fall into it for it all to end.

LOVE???

HURT. PAIN. TEARS. ANGER. REVENGE. SELF. - what really “love” is all about.
Unconditional Love??? Doesn’t exist. It’s all about self.
I love you. Because- you are what I expect you to be.
I care for you. Because- you care for me.
I can’t live without you. Only if you perform your role well enough.
You are my world. Till the time it’s what I want it to be.
Contrary to the worldly concept of love, there doesn’t exist a more selfish emotion.
Selfish. Period.

Wish

It’s one of those days where u for once wish that u could go back in time n just once, only and only once you can go back and change one tiny moment, take that fraction of a second back from time... pray that that specific point in time can be changed forever.
As tiny as that, as insignificantly small in its inherent value but potent enough to destroy all that is around. A spark from a cigarette bringing the whole house down, a tiny atom destroying an entire city, a mutation finishing an entire species, an ignorance wiping an entire civilisation..
The burden of that great a magnitude resting on an if, only and only on an IF... a monosyllabic two-letter word. Hanging on a cliff by a weak creeper, drowning in the sea save for a twig, the last log burning on a winter night, struggling for breath save for the ventilator, clinging to life but for that one single moment. And that is the moment when the creeper gives away, the twig floats away, the ventilator is switched off.
Life is over.
That’s a blessing. The hope in that moment is worse- hoping for tide to change, hoping to fight against time, turning back the wheel of fortune or misfortune.
And I am suspended in that moment. Waiting for the clock to move its hands and tell me its half past noon. Half past noon, the moment of hope or of none. When i shall be either delivered or be doomed.
Till then, I live or struggle to live with the noose tightening around my neck. Killing time. Or may be the other way round.

Re-Birth

I am back, as much as I wish I could say with a bang, nevertheless I am back... feels weird, typing alphabet after alphabet, stringing them together, in a comprehendible, meaningful order... that’s the game, comprehendible meaningful order- I could just close my eyes n hit the keys jfkjfsjdk,gfewjfg; know what I am trying to say..
What makes a great writer, the one who can put the right alphabets in the right order and then on the right words, and then the right sentences and so on... till it becomes a masterpiece, an object of admiration, another proof of the creative abilities she/he possesses...
Great is a little too much to aspire for, but as of now a writer is what i am trying to be... why trying??? Isn’t it true that either you are one or you are not... the degree of creative genius aside... true it is, but after suffering a writer’s block for over eight months that’s all i can aim for..
Stringing the foresaid words, believe me, only these many are making me feel alive, real, true.. i think i can feel again.. It’s a sudden rush of blood supply to a part wherein it had been cut off, or your sleepy foot feeling sensation again, or more appropriately air gushing into lungs after one has been asphyxiated...
To living, to breathing, to writing.