A Virtual Paradox

A virtual space and interactions closer than in real life

Distances and time barriers rendered totally meaningless

And a freedom that should be exhilarating now at one’s fingertips

Yet a nagging feeling of being let down

As the thrill of emotions and intimacy offered

Through the personalisation that hearing a voice creates

 Replaced with a more convenient form of idea exchange

Words without any add-ons now appear magically

At times serving to mask the real emotions that are better not revealed

And at others offering a precision that spoken interaction may not offer

Yeh Hai Bombay, Meri Jaan!

A short burst of energy, a hurried dash, a shout; that draw attention to themselves

While the more organised or then fortunate

As placid spectators awaiting their turn to join the frenzy

Cannot suppress a smile of empathy or appreciation

Amidst all this not a thought spared for the accumulating stress

That might culminate in a physical or mental breakdown

Adding another significant yet unnoticed and unacknowledged number

To the statistics of those relegated to the periphery

As abnormal, unhealthy or suicidal

A thought never spared for oneself, others

Or the real need or worth of this naturally imbibed stress

Till the city, a land of opportunities, exacts a price

Paid unthinkingly by those, who otherwise

Prefer to count themselves among the best, who walk the earth.

Striking Roots

The storm much anticipated and awaited now settled

The pleasure of the respite from the scorching heat

Beating down and starving the tree, of comfort

Having achieved its purpose of blowing away the dust

That has settled with the sultry heat

Is giving way gradually but slowly

Now going on to shaking loose the seeds

The tree had nurtured and protected for so long

Taking the seed by surprise

For it believed it would lie there in its cosy surrounding

After the blowing away of the storm

Surprised at being pried free from its shelter

The seed now floating with the wind

Hoping that it would be blown away

To some place safe where it can again find hope

To strike roots and grow into a full blown tree

Till the awareness that it can as well be destroyed

As blown to a place that it has dreamt of

(Having been a part of the storm

That it had once only anticipated)

Realises that it needs to withstand the wind

To strike roots not in a place it falls

But in a place it chooses

If it were to fulfil the essence of its being

Finding roots; while simultaneously

Giving shelter and solace to people

Seeking a haven from the storm

That was in fact responsible for setting it on its course.

An Unresolved Dilemma

Carrying the weight of your affection

Through a shared secret that compelled me to hope

And pray that all will be well

For, anything that would have gone wrong

Would have condemned me doubly

Through accusation and guilt

And a nagging question -

Which of this was really worse

A question that was destined to remain unresolved forever

Till the end of my days

I am still plagued with doubt

That your innocent action set in motion

Wondering whether my hope and prayer

Were guided by you

Or a need to secure myself

From a dilemma far worse

Than the one I am facing now

A Realisation

An innocuous question

An unchecked train of thought

A failed attempt at resolution

And a quixotic awareness

Of what makes me me

The engulfing excitement of creative expression

The awareness of your presence

And the need to share it with you

The joy felt as the mind rushes off

To the memories we built together

And a realisation of what makes me me

One thought leading to another

A memory evoking all the close ties that have made a difference

A sudden awareness of a mundane yet disturbing reality

A thought and a feeling separate yet concurrent

And a smile that this evokes, making me me

STRAY THOUGHTS ON DEATH AND DYING

Like many others, I too had been inspired by Steve Jobs. Having known the importance of picking up the pieces of one’s life and carrying on, I somewhere deep within felt a sense of bonding, one that established a connection that obliterated all notions of scale. Reading and learning from the words that were now finding increasing space and visibility, my mind was arrested by one striking line that stood out from among many others and urged me to cross the boundary from reflection to expression: We all — in the end — die in medias res. In the middle of a story. Of many stories.

I had always been fascinated by death, as somewhere down the line we all are – maybe by its elusiveness or maybe by the sheer mystery that surrounded it. Every time I heard of it what arrested me the most were the reactions of those living – their manner of approaching death itself as also their reactions to that particular situation and most importantly to the person who had just died. For me the paradox of death lay in the fact that it somehow seemed to bring out the value of the person’s life. All that the person had said or stood for suddenly seemed to acquire a value that was far deeper than anything that had gone before. Without really undermining the emotions that people expressed, I wondered whether all that was said on the occasion or after it really mattered. All that the person had done suddenly seemed to acquire new meaning and depth with all faults being wiped out, possibly in the light of an unconscious realisation, somewhere deep within that one would now have to suffer them anymore.

Was death really then the end or was it actual awareness that it was not the end of the presence of another but being made to realise the value of what the person meant to you and what the person stood for. And then would being able to witness the reactions to one’s death not be the most valuable moment of all....... and since that would not really be possible would it not be better to react to other’s as if they were dead rather than living, giving the other a different sense of who s/he really is or then possibly affording him/her the scope to actually become that way, making life more meaningful than death.

An Admonition of Technology, As It’s Used Today (With due apologies to W. B. Yeats, whom I truly admire)

When I am old and grey and my memory is weak

And I can no longer rely on it, my appointments to keep

To avoid having to offer repeated apology

It is then that I will consider technology

It would serve to supplement a failing mind

And serve as a help that would remind

Till then it’s surely worth using the brain

To prevent it from rusting and then struggling in vain

For technology is but just an aid,

And cannot seek to replace the head

Or else one’s brain cells would soon be dead

So to keep appointments and remember the tasks at hand

Organise your thoughts and stretch your memory band

Use diaries, phones and the net as a last resort

And your mind will then be your true consort

Preeti Shirodkar

(Dedicated to the Rishavs and Minoutis of the world, of whom there is an increasing number)