Finding Yourself

“The day you find yourself is when you will find me”

With that line said, she left me to my solitude and miserable fate. As I stumbled to the ground, tears filled my eyes and her silhouette faded away into the blurring of the roadside lamps. Every step that she took further away from me was like the scalping of my heart, as I soaked in my sorrow and bled through my heart. For a minute I just sat there, oblivious to the gaze of those around me, ignorant of the sky that seemed dazed with the flight of my happiness, struck by a fate that seemed cursed and vindictive to my very existence, and a life I had become a victim of. I don’t know if it was the physical wreathing pain of a heartbreak, or the fact that her words had pierced through my heart, my chest suffered a searing pain. I wanted to get up and call out to her, tell her to how much I loved her and how life would be without her. But, as I tried to speak out those words, bereft of any power to resonate a sound, my lips stood pressed against each other staring at the glaring reality of the situation.

Staggering and fumbling, I dragged myself away from the grimness of the place to find some fresh air. I sat in my car and drove away from the eerie place of drudgery to seek calm, think clearly and weigh upon the reality that seemed so harsh. With one hand on the steering and other on the wine, with a vision so blurry, I sought something that was rightfully mine. Lucidity was now a novel notion, curbed by the wine, so I pressed on the accelerator to reel in the helplessness that seemed to swathe over. Finally, I reached a cliff that stared into the darkness, with blips of sporadic lights. In the past couple of minutes, from being a romantic, I wished myself a misanthrope who reveled in the fact, that lights of misery were now far away. Maybe it wasn’t meant to be, maybe it was destiny or maybe it was just my fault.

Churning the sand under my feet, I gathered myself to walk towards the edge.So I stood there, on the extremity of danger, staring at death, breathing heavily, arching towards the ultimate way.This is when I remembered it again, maybe this is how I find myself, so as to find her again.

Soldier’s Dairy #1

Flash Fiction

Lt Rahul Mishra, was the name of the officer whose charred body lay in front of me.He  had been killed in the operation earlier in the morning, trying to flush out terrorists from a two-storeyed hedged roof building, which happened to be the regional headquarter of the Lashkar-e-Taiba. Hardly a year into service, the lad had been pressed into action in the valley, as his first tenure with his parent unit, the 2nd Battalion of the Bihar Regiment. His enthusiasm and valor had been the talk of the town, and this had only prompted me to allow him to lead a section on his own today. With 18 terrorists killed in a day, at the loss of 4 of our own, the statistics were deeply in our favor, it was only the heart which seemed to be giving away

It was like yesterday when this boy, the son of an officer of the same unit had walked onto me,a young Captain, at a party. Smartly dressed for a 10 year old, he had a very calm and equally bold demeanor. On being asked about his ambitions in life, he had a monosyllabic answer, “Army”. One could see the flair in his eyes and it wasn’t long since that day that I knew, that he was no ordinary kid, but a brave soldier in the reckoning. It’s been 13 years since that day, and until today, I continued to see that flair in this boy. My seniority and my age didn’t prove to be a hindrance to my being held in awe by the qualities this young officer had.

It is the smoke from the burning of the terrorist hideout which seems to choke my lungs and swell my eyes, or maybe the irreparable loss which grieves me, I may not know. I just stand here and wonder, how will I carry this soldier to his father, who once protected me like his own, and whom I had now failed .

The 25th hour of the Day

Good news — another hour has just been added to every 24-hour day (don’t ask us how. We have powers). How do you use those extra sixty minutes?

The Daily Prompt carried this unique notion or rather a possibility of an added hour and to how one would utilize this time. I recently watched the movie “Haider”, a bollywood film, which unlike many is a very idealistic adaptation of Shakespeare’s Hamlet. In one of its scenes, the lead is seen digging up a hole in the graveyard. As he does that, he digs up the skull of a rather small child and holds it up.

The kid accompanying the hero then asks him,” Why do the dead always seem to smile” grimacing at the sight of a head.

To this the hero replies that  “it is only when you are dead, you realise that you didn’t live when you were alive, and now in spite of being dead, you can’t survive.”

He goes on to that whether it was Akbar, Hitler or Gandhi, everyone had to make their maker eventually. With their death, their remains dissolved into the sands, and their mortal existence ceased.

The reason that I have gone on to reiterate these lines is because if i had an extra hour everyday, I would make sure that those lines aren’t my life. I don’t want my skull to be the one laughing hysterically in my grave, wondering how life could have been had I had the courage to take that job, or work a little harder to make it through that cut-off.

I would basically use my extra hour like any other hour, and that would ideally be using it fruitfully. Say no to procrastination, and making excuses, Should there come a situation in life wherein you ultimately find yourself lying to yourself, and finding excuses for your failures, you will know that that extra hour is something worth having. Maybe, you can compensate somewhere to down the line. That 25th hour maybe your hour to shake out of the banal existence and be cherished life long.

Violence begets Violence

Since eternity to the ages that shall pass, violence has been the prelude to many achievements that changed history. Violence at the helm and violence in the household, the agenda maybe something trivial or maybe something of great significance, but violence is never productive. Yet, it continues to feature in the daily parlance of every language and culture. The novelty isn’t in the act of it, but in how easy it has become to resort to such measures in the modern world.

In the onset of belligerence in the middle east, there is something unbecoming in the way we see things. It’s not a religion or certain cult of people that seem to have taken stage, it’s bitter disregard for humanity catapulted by poverty, illiteracy and ineptitude to find unity in the face of adversity.  On one side, if lack of governance is an issue, in Ukraine, the very presence of it has become detrimental in perpetrating chaos to fulfill political agendas at the cost of precious lives.  When propaganda of violence is placed before people, beliefs are hijacked and emotions are flared. Rationality remains a concept far from being conceded to, and violence seems appealing. We as human beings are fickle individuals,who are bound to draw comparisons. When the comparisons are placed in narrow context on territorial or religious beliefs, the opponents party to such debates get highly stratified and their ideas distorted. Lack of coherence is then used by proponents of violence to sway people against each other and violence ensues. The apocryphal nature of certain beliefs, wherein the line between fervor and faith is a trail of blood has been the deciding factor to resolving issues.

The pestilence of ” love for chaos and violence” is diminishing not only the physical existence of humans, but at a moral level, is responsible for disparaging our position as the leaders of evolutionary existence. If our mental prowess is insufficient for us to fathom that killing those around and embracing Darwin’s Survival of the fittest as a daily concept to live by, then we are bound to meet a similar fate as those dinosaurs’ ,which now find themselves showcased at museums. In the aftermath of such a fate, probably the continuum between extinction and rejuvenation shall give birth to another species which shall find itself allured by the history of the extinct homo sapiens who now find themselves as a side-piece to the T-Rex collections at museums.

Dead Poet’s Honor

Another great left for the heavenly abode and those left ,wallow in despair. Robin Williams died a few days back…yes died..suicide has a very demeaning tone to it because the word though meant to define death has been played down by society as a taboo for the strong and a notion of the weak and unfortunate. If the society’s hegemony is something to be dwelled in, apparently we have no say in our very own existence.  It is ironical though that the ones who preach in the ideals of living with honor and dignity put forth a very iron-clad stand to issues like euthanasia and suicide. Suddenly, the idea of us exercising our right to live has only one-directional inference and choosing death isn’t an option.

Life and death are two extremes to life, one being the process, the other being the consequence. Happy are those who love the journey and never dread the consequence. But sometimes the hardships of life force individuals to embrace the consequence when the journey becomes an endless and tireless path bereft of anything but death at the end of the path. You see if from a distance and dread it, fear it and somehow, want to reach it faster. There goes a saying about fear, which says that fear is to be feared as long as it is away, but when you reach it, there is no fear but only you staring it down and smiling on it’s face as you lurk near.

Suicide isn’t a preference that people choose when it comes to life. It isn’t a contemplation of a cynical mind who ceases in his endless endeavors of finding more misery, or of the low-esteemed misanthropes who are unable to digest the fact that life can actually be fair and we should stop blaming others around for our mistakes. Suicide isn’t an option, it isn’t a solutions, it is just a dreamless way into eternal oblivion.