Souvenir from the past

“Trampled at the center, torn at the creases,
The red layered parcel of memories found its lost path
As it lay at my door step, awaiting to be opened;
Blue ribbons adorned the top right corner
While the black ones naturally followed the left,
On the whole it was a weirdly decorated box
A box that kept coming back, one smaller than the other,
As I kept opening one after the other with little insight
On what’s really in store, about the truth I failed to see
From the cover, about the lie I understood only from within;
The ribbons threaded together the memories of my past,
The ones I hid carefully from, until this very day
The demons that I had stood guarded for long
Were unboxed without any hesitance as they stood across
In vengeance, with an eye staring into me for redemption
To find moist eyes and a bleeding heart to do with;
I sat across the corner in the warmth of the walls that coincided,
Coming to terms with the past that haunted me for long
To finally be awoken by the reality that had knocked
Time and again, only to be responded today,
The day I found a red souvenir from the past on my door step,
Torn at the creases, trampled at the center
Yet alive, yet important to begin a new phase truly afresh.”

Advertisements

September Blues

“There are things too many to worry about
That there is hardly anything to ponder about,
There are deadlines brewing across the place
That there is hardly any space for conversations to happen,
There is enough chaos everywhere around us
That there is an unsaid peace settling within us.

In the tinsel town of Jamshedpur
We sit along the hustling stairs of life
Believing in the wind that brought us here
And the magic that it had unleashed
To stay strong, to stay true,
To be, in all humbleness, ourselves
Despite all that exists outside the door;
We choose to remain unfazed, untouched,
Because we know we matter more than the storm will ever be,
And we know we will survive this together no matter what be.”
Period.

#XL

One Christmas Eve

There had been piles of cases lying on my desk, a few aligned to a legible orientation while many lying in no position at all; abstract art I used to call them when my girlfriend, sorry ex, complained about how shabby my desk was.

“Welcome to my shit hole, Welcome to your paradise”, the board outside called out the same that went a little further and read out the only few things that mattered and I cared about, Detective Rajbir Singh, Ex-Intelligence Bureau (2012-2016).

Alas! How quick the time seems to pass? It feels like only yesterday when she slammed the door on my face, leaving the beautiful tulips THAT I HAD BROUGHT FOR HER, crushed in between. 24 days 15 hours 31 minutes, to be precise, the difference between that yesterday and today. Don’t start judging me for accuracy; I am not stalking anyone, I am just good with numbers. Maybe I am only good with them, may be that’s why she left me because I wasn’t able to satisfy her needs and desires, maybe it was that manager of hers who seemed to have an eye on her, may be not. Okay I need to fucking stop this! This raucous flow of thoughts isn’t helping me solve this case. Focus Rajbir, focus, this isn’t your crying testament, this is your work journal and you need to goddamn concentrate.

Document 5. A daylight robbery, blah blah blah, pizza van, blah blah blah, gunfire, blah blah, one casualty and five severely injured, and I stopped all of a sudden with beads of sweat forming in quick succession over my forehead while the case file slipped out of my sweaty palms on to the ground. Wait, is it the same bank? I hope not, I hope not, I whispered as I picked up the case file.

“Jomon Bank Private Limited”. I frowned as I re-read the name on the case file. It is the same bank, the same fucking bank that started all of this in the first place.

It was a peculiar case that had happened a couple of years ago, I was only a rookie in the detective circuit and this case landed on my desk after record 40 detectives in the city had refused to solve it. Daylight robbery, pizza van, gunfire, two people injured, that’s all I had. Out of the two, one was severely injured and was shifted to the ICU while the other one was Meenakshi, my current ex, the woman who had left me 24 days blah blah minutes ago. I had met her for the first time to discuss the case and to gather her testimonial against the robbers but all it ended up was a coffee date at the infirmary cafeteria. But that’s a story for some other day. Today, it was about the robbers who stole 7 crore rupees in 2016, doing it all over again with one casualty already to their name. The irony of matter stayed, the one which made me frown at the possibility, the one where I knew who the robbers were and how they got loose the last time around. Only if I hadn’t compromised then the little girl would have been alive, only if I hadn’t budged that fateful day. 25 December, 2016. The bloody Christmas day at Saket, New Delhi.

#1/3

 

 

26. Hope.

“Over the years, I had made it a point to write on my birthday no matter what. Anything about everything which criss-cross my mind during that very day while delicately garnished with impressions that have stayed with me from the incidents of the past. Pretty long line, you might think. Indeed, a long year I wish to believe.

Life at post quarter. It took me time to digest that, but all is fine now. Maybe I am still trying to digest. I don’t know. However, the year has been more than eventful to be honest. I had my share of ups and downs, like every other, which includes another failed attempt at the prestigious Civil Service Examination. But anyways, this post isn’t about that. It’s about a beautiful thing, called hope.

Hope. The bright light that seems to rise higher in intensity with every failure in my case, drove me towards an unexpected milestone, a moment which I would happily term as “Happyness”. Yes, it has a ‘Y’ in the middle and yes, I am referring to the movie with the same name. It happened a month ago, I got selected, finally. XLRI Jamshedpur offered a seat in its prestigious college for pursuing a MBA and I was taken aback, in a good way. I had this tune from this movie playing in my mind as I rushed home to inform my parents, my brother, my friends; all my pillars of support. There were tears of joy, there was an unknown smile that kept rushing inside, an experience that I will treasure for a lifetime. I don’t know how but sometimes the most unexpected things create the most happier memories for us. It did for me, it could surely happen for you too.

Thus, with the ink running dry over the successive failures at one end, a small door awakened into light with a long-promised dream coming to life. Yes, this year has been amazing, and I am more than happy to admit it.

Family, Friends and everyone involved, we surely did something good this year, we indeed did. Thank you. Thank you!

Period.”

Marx.

“Opium of masses; Religion is the opium of masses.” The sociology sir spoke in his humble voice as he expanded upon the theories of Karl Marx. We on the other side of the table listened with utmost attention, unable to digest how our long held notions were weathering away in the storm called Marxism. A thought played out synonymously on our minds that the man with the huge beard wasn’t wrong, in fact was completely right in certain aspects.

In the age of unbridled materialism where our ideas are influenced based on the material outcomes they help us achieve, where a person’s value is judged by the economic weight they carry, where we have more than enough for the rich to feed but hardly any for the poor to survive, yes some of his principles stand true even for today. But having said that, I don’t believe in the communist society that Marx made us dream about but I do believe we have a long way to go for achieving equality and inclusion for all, in a method or an ideology of our own, a socialism which is indigenous, a socialism which unites us in progress and even in our fall.

Karl Marx, you along with Engels ignited a new theory in our minds, and after 200 years of your birth, I sit along with my e-note, like many, remembering all your great moments and how it impacted me, how it made me understand the constancy of change or the eternal flux where no destiny is earmarked and no feat unachievable.

P.S. Communism and Socialism aren’t same & I haven’t used them synonymously.

%d bloggers like this: