Monday, January 19, 2015

Familiar


It's been a long time.

And i have rubbed many a rock into sand
pondering Love, and Life, and War and Peace
pondering how worthless pondering is

There is no last vestigial string
holding me to what is real
i am floating with no friction
to direct where i need to be
where i want to be
where, if i was right, i'd be

It's been a long time

Since i stretched my fingers and
reached for the wretched beauty
dangling off the cliff

Or since i held on too fiercely to
the puzzle pieces making the difficult fit
around my irregular edges
i wish i could feel like a prisoner again
and push and pull and struggle!
to break free into the enticing unknown

It's been a long time. 

And i have longed to long again
for the light of day, the dark of the night
the confusion of dawn and dusk

i need to run, so far, so fast
that the past is pulled into the future
and shine so dark and dense
that reality collapses into free fall
and roar so loud and coarse
it ruptures this realm to render another

'Cuz really now,
it's been a long time.

Saturday, June 15, 2013

The Ledge



The window screens in the dorm rooms have 'Do not remove' stickers on them now.
Such stickers did not exist a year ago, when I first moved in. I was an awkward Indian freshman, not ready to experience a foreign country or its people. Social interactions seemed like a very complicated phenomena, especially with people who wiped their butt with paper and called football 'soccer'. So it was a relief when my first roommate left after his first month in college, realizing college just wasn't his type of thing. I would like to believe that I was a big part of what drove him away though. The rest of Fall semester was uneventful. Everyday, I would return from class as soon as I could, watch illegal internet streams of a couple of Bollywood movies, skype with my mom and put off doing homework until I passed out from boredom and home sickness. It was nice to have the room to myself though. I could be naked when I wanted to and watch porn without headphones on. Sometimes I would sing loudly, belting out rock ballads from the seventies, hoping that the pretty girl on the floor above would hear and knock on my door. I would enchant her with my snake charmer-like charm and then we could make love to the rhythm of the strong winds that blew into my 8th floor dorm room. But that never happened.
By the time Spring semester rolled around, I had forgotten that I was still paying for a 2-person room. I had gone home for Winter Break, so when I returned, following a 22 hour flight sequence, I was looking forward to collapsing onto the squeaky bed that awaited me. As I unlocked the door I found out that I couldn't. The beds were bunked and the lower bed had boxes lying on a star wars bedsheet. I stumbled over this huge black gourd shaped container. As I did my best impression of the Heisman to keep from falling face first into the wooden floor, I heard a voice that seemed to come from outside my window.
Hey, Are you alright bro?”, questioned a lanky figure sitting on the ledge outside of the window. Panic and shock shivered through my spine as he stepped in and re-attached the screen to the window behind him.
Yeah, I am fine. I just stumbled over this thing.”
O yes, Sorry about that. I need to find a better place to keep my Tuba than right in front of the door”, he chuckled in sheepish embarrassment. “I am Jon by the way. Jonathan Dean Duhamel. You must be Neil?” I was still too shaken up by everything to add to the conversation, but I did respond to his inviting hand by shaking it.
I suppose you didn't read the email about you new roomie. Well, its me”, he said with a smile stretching from one unkempt side burn to another. He wore a plain T-shirt, so black that his pale white skin really popped out. His spiky gelled-up red hair were a weird contrast to his tsunami hit side burns.
Nice to meet you.” I finally spoke. “Were you just on the ledge outside?” I hoped the answer to that question would help me judge how crazy this new chapter of my life was going to be.
O yeah. Had a long day moving in and all, so was just smoking a joint with the wind and the stars”, he looked at me expecting me to share his enchantment with weed and the universe. I responded with a blank look of disbelief. The disbelief you would experience when you just noticed someone sitting on a 3 ft wide ledge on the 8th floor of a building.
Sorry I did not mean to freak you out. You are welcome to smoke some with me.” He put down the window screen and was back on the ledge. I set my bags down and sat in the chair. As I calmed myself down I looked around the room. It looked much fancier then how I had left it. It had a microwave, a mini fridge. I saw biology books on his desk, next to some rolling paper and filters. There was also a very strange glass case like the ones in which you would store a baseball signed by Pete Rose. Only this just had a ball of crumbled up paper in it.
I realized my inadequacy in conversation might have come of as rude. I disliked interactions with humans, but I did not want to come of as rude to someone I would be living with. I slowly made my way to the window, leaned against it and blurted. “So are you pre-med?”
Pre-nursing. I would like to wipe crap off of old saggy butts when I grow up.” He welcomed my conversational advance. I did not know sarcasm well enough yet to know whether he was really excited to be a nurse or not. Nonetheless, I found his comment moderately funny.
Ah. Why nursing?”
You see that glass case on my table. The paper inside was the last letter my grandma wrote from her senior living facility before she died from a heart attack. They said that the nurse refused to give her CPR because it was against policy.”
I was a little taken aback by the sudden change of tone in his voice. For a few minutes he was silent and so was I. I peeked my head out of the screenless window. The wind was strong, and the stars were needles poking through the infinite blanket of cosmic darkness.
The excitement of experiencing new things in a completely new world, kept me going during the first few months in college. But by the time March rolled around, I was missing home a lot. The more accustomed to the environment I got, the more alien it seemed to me. The roads were too smooth, and the cars too big. I thought the world is about to end when I saw the moon during day time for the first time in my life. Talking to people and making friends was a tiring process – the translator in my mind was constantly at work translating American words into Hindi thoughts and back to English sentences. I am sure I sounded like an British robot or that guy they heard on customer service. It was easier to talk to Jon though. He spoke less and really slowly, probably because he was high all the time. And most of it was vague poetic reflections, that could mean almost anything you want them to mean. It was entertaining to hear what he had to say to the questions I asked. I came to the room before him most nights, because he practiced with the jazz band. Most nights he would smoke weed on the window ledge. One night, I came back from a midnight hunger run to McDonalds, and found him outside with his Tuba.
Playing to the wind again?”
Always”, he replied as he moved his lips from the mouthpiece to the filer on the weed joint. He told me once that these were called roaches.
So why the Tuba?” I had always been curious about that. For some reason my prejudiced mind always connected that instrument to some bulky music snob, not a scrawny punk rock ginger kid.
You see that glass case on the table. The paper inside is a piece of sheet music for a Tuba. My dad once went and saw Miles Davis in concert. He was his favorite. At the end, the orchestra through its sheet music into the crowd. My dad caught that paper.”
Wait, What? I was rather confused. “I thought it was your grandma's letter”. He said nothing and went back to playing music. It is worthless to reason with a pothead I thought and left it at that. But this was not the last time this happened. Anytime he would find an appropriate opportunity, he would change the contents of the glass case. One day he would stare at a shooting star and tell me the paper wraps the meteorite rock he found while backpacking through Arizona. Another day we would be talking about women, and he would say the paper was a letter from his first girlfriend, listing all the things that were wrong with him. And I was not the only one. I would over hear the glass case story some times when he had a girl over. Most times he would text me “Peaches”, before I got to the room, which meant I needed sleep on the couch in the lobby that night.
Every night, I saw Jon on the ledge, staring into space. Space that, from his serene, content expression seemed like something really comforting. He never invited me to smoke with him after the first day. Though there was always an empty spot next to him on the ledge.
April 13th was Baisakhi – the Indian festival which celebrates harvest and also the Hindu new year. My mom called me and told me all about the celebrations. She told me about the music, the food, the huge bonfire, and how the family was sitting outside where the elders are telling the stories of the harvest. She also told me that my sister-in-law was pregnant. I talked to my brother, conveyed my congratulations and how happy I was for him.
So what have you been upto?”, he asked in response.
I wanted to say something but I couldn't. There seemed to be nothing to talk about. I searched for a good story, long and hard in my mind but I couldn't find it. “Nothing much. Just classes and work.”
When the call ended, I walked towards the window, then leaned against it. Jon had just bought a pipe. He was getting ready to put it to test.
Everything okay Neil?”
Why do you smoke Jon?”, I ignored his question.
I brings me at peace with reality.”
I chuckled my pothead disclaimer chuckle.
I am telling you man, this way my life is a glass case”, he coughed out through the smoke. And turned back to glance a look at his desk.
What's in it anyways?”
He said nothing.
Reefer-talk has the opposite effect to alcohol. It will lay low and simmer in your head for a few hours and then show its effect. The next morning when I woke up, I felt high on reefer-talk. All day I thought about what he said and what he meant. Did it mean anything? I was jealous of his lack of restlessness. As I walked back from class towards my dorm, I had decided that I wanted to know what I feels like to be on that ledge. I speedily walked up the hill and as I approached the top of the hill where my dorm was, I saw a crowd of people gathered in the front lawn.
I cut through the bodies and the voices and reached the yellow tape. Jonathan Dean Duhamel lay there dead in a pool of blood, his body twisted at an odd angle. The police said he fell from his window on the 8th floor.
I stood still. For a while, I closely looked at his face, to find the contentment that it usually had. There was inexplicable anger – as if he had robbed me of something. I stood there until my eyes were red and wet from soaking up all that blood. I ran up to my room which was being inspected by policemen. I was dazed. I couldn't hear exactly, but I think they wanted to question me about the marijuana found on the ledge. The window was open and the ledge was empty. I walked straight to his desk and opened the glass case. I straightened out the paper. It had writing on it.
Dear Jon,
When you read this I will be gone. They will tell you that you will never be able to see me, touch me or hear me. That we will never sing together, laugh together or cry together. That I will never hold you in my arms and you will never hold me. They are wrong. I will be where you want me, when you want me and what you want me to be. Just think of me and I will be there.
Don't let anyone else tell you what you can or cannot have. Don't let anyone else make your memories. Be your own man, Write your own story.

I Love you so much.
Mom

Jon wrote his own story - the jazz loving, punk-rock pot head who fell to his death. He even sold it for some money. From then on they put stickers on the windows, the removal of which would end up in the two hundred and fifty dollar fine for the resident.
I could never go onto the ledge. I moved into an apartment. This one has a balcony.


Tuesday, August 21, 2012

Violence

I saw him as a human being just long enough to feel the hatred and embrace it. Then it was just a haze of blood, skin and muscle. My arm cut through the breeze but before I could make a fist, the glass touched my skull. I heard it shatter before I saw it burst. Fear, confusion, pain and blood boiled in swallowed spit and the conjured spirit rose through my throat to my eye, and a tear trickled down my face. I smiled as I stumbled into a very realistic illusion of being free from the fake reality of agony and hate.  I glanced towards what was in front of me and then flew my left arm into it with not the intention to hit but to pierce. My eyes didn't see him, my ears didn't hear him, but my knuckles felt his bones.

Tuesday, February 28, 2012

Reflections...

It is one of those nights in Lawrence today. One of those nights when you can smell the rain that has passed, on the lively grass. The wind blows playfully, and it is chilly enough to give you goose bumps but not enough to make you shiver. The night sky is cloudy, but somehow the moon manages to peep out in all of its half shadowed glory spreading its cool ivory glow across the streets glistening with welcomed wetness.

It is beautiful - that kind of beautiful which does not make you feel dandy, but just reflective enough to experience a calm sense of happiness - Dreamy, I would describe it as, And I love that feeling. So instead of studying for my Public Speaking and Communications midterm tomorrow, I am going to sneak around the silent, sleepy streets of nostalgia and try to peek into the haze of the future, while floating on an unsure present.

This past year has been eventful. There have been a lot of tough times but even more beautiful memories I have made. It was about a year ago when during these late weeks of the infamous romantic month of February that I began to fall in love. In love with a woman so kind and gentle, the rain drops tonight remind me of her. She was the kind of girl I imagined resting my head in her lap while she runs her fingers through my hair. And she did run her fingers through my hair :) When I held her I felt free from any thoughts of fear or uncertainty, I felt needed - and no matter how pathetic that might sound, it is a good feeling. In even the most grimmest of moments, seeing her face and listening to her voice was a joy. As a matter of fact, it still is. She made me so happy and gave me so much to look forward to everyday. And I loved her. Loved her so much. There were several mistakes that I made, times that I couldn't treat her how she deserved to be treated. But despite my flaws, I know she loved me. She loved me more than perhaps some times my stupid male mind could comprehend. For a while I thought we were meant to be with each other till the time both if us had grey hair, arched backs and had walking sticks in our hands. But of course, fate an its vile ways. Life seems so unfair some times. It was unfair what happened to us. It was so much more unfair for her, than for me though. But she is strong and will move on to have a wonderful life. And with some help from my family and friends (shout-outs to Tanner, Chris, Luke, Mel, Katie, Arooj, Zac and Nick), so will I. I respect her and I care about her so much. It will be nice to still be a part of her life.

Most of the wonderful memories from the past year were with her and my friends. The lovely walks we had, the dinners, the movies (she made me watch Toy Story!! so grateful :)), lying next to her watching the moonlight reflect of her skin, her daily unusual quirks and expressions ... ahhh sheer happiness :). The winter in India was nice, meeting my friends from back home, catching up, expressing our love and lust for each other - you know, the usual. Their were some unpleasant times too, like the times I thought I will be kicked out of school - yeah, that happened more than once. I really did not want to leave Lawrence - I love it here. Then the constant stress of trying to find a footing and trying to make a career for myself. I don't usually get stressed, but the older I'm getting the more responsibility I feel (sounds weird that I am saying this) towards my family and myself. The pain of losing a precious relationship of course. But whatever happens, happens.

I am a very interesting place in my life right now. There are changes happening that will make me totally re-evaluate how I live my life after this. Things likely will not turn out as I thought they would any more so I will have to take some time and see where life takes me. Right now I feel a sense of stagnance. Not much is going on - a lot of 'wait and watch'. And it is going to be this way for a few months. I kind of like this stagnance - gives you time to take a step back and save and harvest your energies for the challenges to come. I have some time to deal with my emotions and my ambitions and I like that.

I just hope God blesses me with will and strength to continue to live a good life and keep my heart loving and considerate for those whom I care about and sometimes, maybe those I don't. I like making people happy. And I will keep trying to do that as much as possible. I always want to be there for the people who need me, when they need me. And I want to make people I care about, proud (especially my parents).

Ahhh ... that felt good - the nice, mellow kind of good. Soon the sun will rise and this beautiful, dreamy weather will give way to who knows what (seriously, this is Kansas - anything can happen), but tonight will be concluded well by putting my mind at peace and surrendering myself to sweet slumber. Tomorrow is beckoning, and it seems like no piece of cake . ZZZzzzzzzz ....

Monday, January 23, 2012

Words on a page...




Misery, Uncertainty, Trust ...
Trust, Hope, Disappointment, Anger?
Anger, Right, Wrong, Opinion, Hope...
Hope, Love, Commitment, Worthless,
Worthless, meaning, attachment, images...
images, memories, nostalgia, imaginations,
imaginations, reality, Hope ...
Hope, Misery, Peace,
Ignorance, Unknown, guilt...
Guilt, Disappointment, Hope,
Hope, Love, Happiness ...
Unanswered...

Friday, December 23, 2011

Touch



A touch of excitement,
of Christmas bells,
of lost treasure wells.
And of victory
and visions
and of loud legions of lions
roaring...

A touch of support,
of that half broken branch on the tree,
of that plank
floating alone on the endless sea.
Of the only kid who
refused to cry,
who wouldn't be denied
of his chance to
fly...

A touch of passion,
of the rough and the tender,
the triumph of Feeling
And Beauty's surrender,
in the arms of
the empowering blaze-
the unspoken understanding for each others'
vulnerabilities...

A touch of sympathy,
of the shadow under the canopy.
Of the hand that
pats your back softly
to say, "It's okay
You're there where I used to be
someday...


A touch of love
of the reality in the illusions
that are our simplistic imaginations.
And of the who, why and what
of our being
and the things and people
that we are seeing,
in the foreshadowing of our own
dreams...

Sunday, June 5, 2011

Money

I need money

1. new laptop: $700
2. new guitar: $800
3. headphones: $30
4. mp3 player: $30
5. recording mike: $100


I really need money.

Wednesday, May 25, 2011

War and Peace



My sword ready to pierce through his chest,
He winced, "Before you put me to rest,
tell me why we're bent on killing and dying.
No one needs this unnecessary bloodshed,
Isn't this God's will that we are defying?

I slowly twisted my blade, bubbling
with silent rage, I whispered,
" Those whom you fight for,
slaughtered my kin,
Now I do the same to theirs ... "

A painful smile painted his face as he said,
"You are naive to think only you feel for your dead.
I have suffered the loss of loved ones too,
Carried the burden of those shattered bonds,
I've felt that unconditional contempt I now see in you.

But this festival of hate cannot go on forever,
Someday men will truly understand each other,
I do not know the answer to when and how,
But I dream of peace and I have faith in a future,
Void of the unending hurt, these sinister wars allow."

"Amen, to your dreams...", I said,
And let the steel pierce through his heart,
Another soul set free,
from this pathetic world full,
of hollow words and selfish thoughts.

"Peace is nothing but the calm before the next war,
Vengeance will always give men a reason to kill for,
How can we make sense of another man's pain,
when we're blinded by our own misery and hurt,
Leaving us slaves to an irrational cycle of rage and disdain."


Friday, May 20, 2011

825

Today I emptied my room ... 825 - My RA locked the door, and i gave her the key... never to return to that place ever again. I couldn't believe it for a while. Just not being able to go back to my tiny room, was a little hard to make myself believe.
Two years ago, I walked into McCollum Hall, this giant dorm at KU with 3 wings ( what dorm has 3 wings ... ). I was in a totally new country, among people that talked different talked different and behaved different. I walked into my room, 825 written in big bold letters. It was a small room, with the bare necessities for a dorm room. I was 12000 miles away from home, but this room it felt ... nice.
Past 2 years, have been so great. I have had happy and sad moments. I made wonderful friend, most of them who i will keep for a lifetime. I have so many moments with them .. in the 8th Floor lobby .. like when I jumped in a pile of newspaper ... or when we discussed the past tense of jizz being jazz .. or when I laughed so much i cried .. or when we discussed about life and tits and poop and life again ...
No matter what kind of a day I had - sad, awesome or tiresome ... I could return back to 825 .. to the comfort of my bed ... and .. just ... feel better. It was my home. Its where I always wanted to go back to(here in the US). I spent very precious two years of my life there. My room, Luke's room, Zac's room ... the 8th floor lobby ... lot of memories.
I kissed the door when i left. I legitimately loved that room. I feel empty inside. I hate change.