Archive for the 'My Life My Voice' Category

Toodles to where it all began..

I remember.

I was excited. I was at it for almost an hour now. I’m glad that my parents are in the other room. I wouldn’t want them to know that I was online for almost an hour! Dial up is so expensive! I hope it won’t show too much on the phone bill..

But its ok… Right now, its this moment that matters. This moment. I might be caught in lust, momentary infatuations.. Maybe I shouldn’t be doing it. But never mind, I can’t stop… Anyway I had done so much.. Why not do a little more and reach the.. end.. or the beginning..

I was excited. Every time the 56k connection lagged, I sighed, I prayed deeply to all Gods introduced to me by people around me. I was so close… so close..

And yesss! I was there! Wow! Amazing! For the first time… wow.. This is what I had always wanted to do.

I was excited. I called my best friend and comrade-in-action…

I was 11 years old.

I remember that time, when I was so excited. When I had made my first public online presence. With a huge URL which no one would know, or remember. Something like http://www.geocities.yahoo.com/geocities/users/….. And I had some ridiculous id, which I, then, thought was cool. Something like bwmo….. or something. But all that didn’t matter. All that mattered was that I was there, up there, on that huge being which I thought was so cool, which I wanted to get to know better, and conquer, which had become my latest companion, and my best friend in a world where I had none.

And it had all started with this service called Yahoo! GeoCities.

It has been a run since then. For almost half a year, racing with my friend to make the better website. Adding bouncing hippos, and falling snow, mouse overs, and colourful text.. It didn’t matter that no one knew about our ‘websites’. Did not matter that no one, but we ourselves, used or visited those ’sites’. After two or three GeoCities websites, we moved on to other hosting firms, using software to make websites, as opposed to the web application, learning code, designing, making better websites, programming, making concept ideas for websites, designing and working on them, blogging..

But it all started with Yahoo! GeoCities. And I remember.

And my remembrance will it all be. Goodbye GeoCities. And thank you. For making my world for those many years. For making me live.

[For more information, visit Yahoo! Support Pages. If you want to see a website which was on GeoCities, visit the Internet Archive]

On Respect

I wish, I wish, that there was more love in this world. Because, love then gives birth to respect. And respect to humanity, and more love.

But what is respect? Or Respect?

Is it spending a moment of silence because of the death of someone close? Or is it being silent for a moment, or more, because you have nothing to say or speak or sound? Is it restraining yourself from blogging because a friend passed away? Or is it you had nothing to write, because a friend passed away?

Is it calling your father by a respectful name because you are expected and used to doing so? Or is it putting in your entire heart and body and soul and love into calling that name, because it means so much?

Is it fearing the powers of nature? Or is it loving Her, and being humble, before Her who is so humble?

Is it being humble? Or is it humbled?

Is it setting aside something you so wanted to do for somebody else.. Or is it not feeling like doing something you so wanted to do, for somebody else?

More questions that I put before you, my Love.

And while you’re at it, please also try to explain through life, what is love? Is it like artificial intelligence where the program is programmed to behave in every possible imaginable event is termed as intelligence itself? Or is it like intelligence, that which is unexplained and infinite?

Love you.

Mmmmm

Its amazingly funny how things in you can change, and you never realise it. Its just been three weeks in Norway, and I’ve picked up the habit of saying “mmm” for the most life threatning to the most trivial things.

Its not a simple mmm. Its an mmmmm which comes from deep inside – from the very bottom of my lungs. It comes out very deep, like the end three quarters of ‘Om’.

Today, I commented on a dear friend’s blog, and though I loved the post so much, and was very moved by it, all I could say was “Mmmmm”.

And I’m so very comfortable doing it. The first few times I did it, it was like I always wanted to do it. It was like finding a friend who was I was so close to in a past life of mine.

Wow. How things can change… And how it escapes you… Ironically ridiculous, when I think that just three weeks back, my every prayer, and my every hope yearned that I am in control of my change.

I’ve started letting go. Of so many things. Things which I would have held on to, dearer than life, if  were a few thousand miles away, in that place I call home. I find peace by connecting to the Self. I almost don’t cry anymore. I give a hug to myself, console my self, counsel my self, forgive my self… Its a whole sociosystem right inside me – so many people running around…

I’ve been trying extremely hard to give space to others. Because often, I’ve found myself way too dominating. Should have been more careful. Because now, I find that I cannot make that space for my self myself; I have to be offered. How pathetic.

I don’t talk anymore. I cannot talk if I’m not being genuine. And I can’t be genuine if I don’t talk.

The things going on right now would have bowled me over, a few weeks back. But its so easy here, to get bowled over again and again deep inside, and not let a single soul outside know an iota about it.

And after all this, oommmmmmmmmm, and everything’s alright. Everything is in the picture. Everything I see, is the way, because thats the only way it can be. Peace.

The butterfly

Once there was a butterfly. She never thought she was beautiful.

One day, she did not know whether she was awake, or dreaming.

It was horrible. Some things were pulling at her wings, making it hurt excruciatingly. She screamed, and cried, and after a while, she became numb. The pulling continued. They ripped her wings apart, little by little, making it pain, more and more.

Mmmm… Aaaah. The beautiful pain. The pain which is beauty. The pain which gave a comfort. An orgasmic pleasure.

They pulled, and ripped, and burnt and hurt.

She cried, through her numbness.

“Don’t worry,” they said, “Maybe you’ll grow prettier wings!” And they smiled. Showing all their teeth.

And they continued tearing her wings apart. One by one, they tore at her. Poked needles into her. Raped her. Burnt her. Bit her. Ate her. Scratched at her wounds. And hurt her more. And applied chemicals to not stop the bleeding, and increase pain. Little by little, they edged through her beautiful wings.

“But..” She said, “But… I had beautiful wings…”

She had. Not anymore. Not anymore…

*

The ideology of chances is bullshit. The moment you make a choice, your life alters into an irreversible unique path. You have no choice but to traverse it. And you have no chances.

Pregnancy

It all started in those few moments of irrepressible lust. Lust for each other; lust for a new life; lust for a fleeting feeling. Lust.

It led to an expected, but convincement challenging companion. A companion, who would be with you for the next ten months. Ten months of… misery; pain; uncomfort; bearing; sacrificing; developing; happiness; love.

Something is growing within you. A new life. How wonderful that we are capable of making new life. That is indeed the  greatest creation humans are capable of.

In those ten months, every twitch and turn of yours modifies the growing life in drastic ways. The new life’s karma decides how you twitch, how you turn, so as to mould a human fitting the equation to the dot.

Meanwhile, during those months, every twitch and turn of the growth incites you with passion, care, and love. You are happy when you feel its leg softly caressing your belly in a cotton’s kick. Ah!

Those ten months. Mmm.

Every parent wishes for a baby who is better than her/him. Someone who will carry forward their name. Someone who will stand up to the test that time throws at them. Someone who is beautiful. Someone about whom, you can stand up and proudly announce, “Thats my child!” Someone who is moulded exactly like you, except without those few hollies hither and tither. And with a few more positive traits as well.

But poetry is only poetry, nothing more, nothing less.

The baby is a product of her/his karma, not of her/his parents’ desires. Thus the baby grows in her/his way, despite the parent’s influence.And finally, when the baby is born, the parents are eager for her/him to grow up. To see what (s)he is like. Does (s)he look like me? Does (s)he have my nose? And finally when the child does grow up, lets just hope its a child of their dreams, shall we…

*

Ineterstingly, I’m pregnant. I have to go through this for ten months. And I wonder… I wonder what kind of baby I’m going to have. Better than me? Worse than me? Better how? Worse how? Will my ‘friends’ accept her/him. Why would they?

Would (s)he be able to do the work I’m doing today? To complete it?

I’m scared. I’m anxious. Just like any other parent.

Ten months… Ten months, which can either be made special and beautiful, or horribly killing self-esteem.

The only little difference is that, the child and the parent, both, am I.