Strength and Weakness

Sometimes Strength exceeds the sane limits.

And Weakness defies the insane.

And you experience both together. Simultaneously.

Does that leave you stronger? Or, weaker?

We- The Two Flames

And I’ll meet you at the rear side of the light

At the end of everything thought of

At the end of Time and unfulfilled Desires..

I’ll meet you when we become the flames

Flames with no light

Flames with just heat..

When we don't have anything else left but to unify

Unclothing our identities

Leaving what we earned all through our lives

Only to lose in one other

Gambling our way into the dark..

Touching each other

to dissolve in one another

Slowly losing ourselves

Without thinking of the obvious Next..

Until the you and the me of us

And the outside and the inside of us

Becomes One..

Jail inmates and Patients

Another blog on similarity. Sorry. Pl bear with me.

What’s the similarity between jail inmates and patients in the hospitals?

Everyone is curious to know who is coming on the next bed (or cell, respectively). And as the newcomer comes, the cartels from criminal and civil accusations (or bed ridden and non-serious patients respectively) start betting what the new item is about.

Statistics are used. The newcomer and the cell number have a connection (thanks to my Bollywood style upbringing). Like-

The person in cell no. 10 is mostly a murderer.

The one arriving in cell no. 11 is always under the schemes to dig tunnels to escape.

Cell no. 12 keeps claiming that he was wrongly framed.

Cell no. 14 is always electrocuted.

Similar statistics was used in my hospital that my neighbor patient told me about.

Me – "So what is the statistics of our ward."

She- "Bed no. 10 is mostly an old lady. Bed no. 11 is a lucky one- whosoever comes here gets discharged within 2 days. Bed no. 12 bears a patient with a lot of visitors. Bed no. 13 has a grumpy patient who keeps the nurses at their toes and a menace at night."

Me- "And what about bed no. 14 (my bed)"

She- "Bed no. 14?"

Me (with curiosity) - "Yes, bed no. 14 is my bed. What about that."

She- "Oh bed no. 14 has always…."

Me (Getting impatient) - "Always what?"

She- "Bed no. 14 always has a patient who…"

Me-".... who what?.... Dies?"

She- "...No. No."

Me- "..then what?"

She- "Bed no. 14 always has an English speaking lady and Cantonese nurses hate that...."

Me -" #$%^&*()_+)(*&^%$#@$%^&*()......................"

P.S. My tales of the hospitals are going to be many. Pl bear with me.

Man Vs Injections

(When Karma is (as) a b*tch ....and it cant get uglier than that) 

You ask me to donate a kidney to a needy, I don’t mind. You put me in a cage of hungry lions, I’ll stay put. But ask me to take an injection and you are my foe forever.

So when this junior Chinese doctor came on the first day to inject glucose in my body, I scared him away giving him the logic of his lifetime that he could not relate to and that too coming from a sick and ailing soul!

And as they say Karma is a b*tch and her face appears clearer when she comes in the form (and size) of a sturdy nurse with a 10-inches long needle befailing all your logic to escape asking you to give her your hand for a blood sample (defying your manipulative/analytical sense).

All you can do is to stay shut and mutter “when injection is inevitable, sit back and allow”, turning away your face to be a silent victim and see your nerves losing their virginity to a merciless needle.

For the first time I saw needle pierced in my hand and I took this pic. By this time, my skin had already become pale.

And then I made the nurse another feather in her cap by giving her an opportunity to do what she never did in her professional life- a manicure! (Apparently the surgeons in the Operation theaters lacked fashion sense or were color blind or jealous!).

And look at this pipe attached sucking up my body.

This is how it looks after that. And this was not enough when they said that this needle is not working and they need to find another nerve to fit a new one.

Look at the scars and swellings the earlier one left. 

So yeah… now you know what I went through.

If I can bear these needles.. there is nothing left in the world for me to see. 

And guess what, in spite of these life threatening needles, I came out alive from the hospital!!

Indian Railway Passengers and Patients

What’s common between patients at Hospitals and passengers travelling by Indian Railways in the sleeper class?

Your entry in no way is welcomed. They make you feel like an added problem to the pack of their existing troubles. They turn to their backs at the mere sight of you. (Just like the gaudy sisters-in-laws do to each other in the Indian daily soaps).

As a new comer, such cold response sets off your mood and you feel further sick/ suffocated (and even trapped).

Later on…gradually, as the time passes (and since Time is not healing the wounds) you get connected with a bond of ‘mutual suffering’ and start accepting each other in each other’s territory. While the passengers start to become kind enough to fold their knees to make some space for your hanging butt, the patients will give you compassionate looks.

Now they do turn to their backs but to find the most comfortable sitting pose without the intention to disregard you, and each time they turn to your side, you see curvy lips.

And not to forget, when you become the old one, you will also be joining the club of 'Ignore the new comer'.

More than money, happiness or love, I learnt that it is Pain that unites people. 

A Date with the Night

That was my first night in the hospital. The evening was pleasant with visitors visiting their friends and relatives bringing fruits and breads. The LCD in the hall played some local comedy series that people were occasionally looking at. By around 10 pm, the lights were off (and I cant say everyone went to bed as everyone there is on bed). 

I wasn't sleepy (can anyone be at 10 pm?) Instead of honking trams and grumbling Air Conditioner compressor, I was there to try my luck to sleep between agony filled groaning, cough, beeping blood pressure machines. 

I looked around. A slanted white light from the pathway was making all the white bed sheets everyone was covered with glow. All around me laid the warriors who had just retired from another busy day battling with pain, hopelessness and waiting to get up to see every morning as a new day.

I was tossing and turning in pain. My body had become a slave of pain-killers. A slight movement in the body required an effort of a lifetime. 

I kept groaning in my bed. Like an injured lion. And it bothered none. I realised I was a new stranger amongst the old strangers in this pain-struck land. I tried to shut up myself but I my body had disentitled me. 

And then I took this usual harsh decision- I'll face the pain. I'll see how far can it go and whether it can kill me. Pain, after all is just an unpleasant sensation.
I sat on my bed and rested my head on the table and looked outside the window. The lit up city of Hong Kong was as shimmery as ever.

I started to get dissolved in the silence. The last thing I wanted to do was to look at the time. My lower body had started to become numb by this time. That night, I saw that their are 4 stages of pain- 
(1) Pain-->(2) Unbearable Pain--> (3) Numbness--> (4) Pain is a myth

The still silent night bore no words of its own. It was as black, as wordless, as identity-less as ever without the city lights. It was all full of patches...some dark areas preceded by lighter dark ones and some perpetually thick jet black holes. 

The shades of the night kept changing. The darkness from its naval rose like an unstoppable fountain of glory, and a couple of minutes later, I saw its wings melting. I saw it clustering, vaporizing, struggling and calming itself down. I saw it playing, sobbing. crying, laughing, turning, tossing, running in a circle, walking back, moving forward, turning back again. She hummed silence. 

I don't know if I fell asleep or blinked or she suddenly disappeared . She left without a trace. As if she took back the cloak she brought and had quickly unwrapped everything. 

There was no Sun but some light on the ground. The roads were busier and the black leaves started to appear back- green. And voice of her foot steps becoming fainter with every passing second. 

Barometer of Growth

Today is my birthday. Not that today I have suddenly grown up (well technically I have) but today I feel I stand tallest of all the situations I have seen in the past. How this particular today is better than all the yesterdays. Birthdays are your ‘report card’ days when you get to evaluate your performance.

Out of professional growth in terms of expertise/ money, personal in terms of your behavioral aspects/ friends, social in terms of your relationships, emotional in terms of mental strength, I feel the report card subjects are quite extensive and scattered and hence there is no definite way to term a achievement as growth.

And guess what, we don’t have that much time to spare for introspection. I have recently thought of a barometer that has helped me measure my growth.

The barometer has six slabs-

1.       Prayers- Prayers are the most honest requests. Observe the trend of your prayers. Do you now, think you deserved what you demanded then. Have you been adamant? Do you think getting what you wanted has changed your life more than not getting what you wanted. How significant prayers have been. Do you still pray.

 2.       Fears- Have you won over what you were scared to face. And how convincingly. Not winning over, but facing it is a victory. How have you defined your own standards of what will scare you and what should not.

3.       Acceptance- To which levels have you allowed the Truth to peep inside your system. How much have you accepted and how much you think you need to brush off your ‘How could/ how dare” levels. 

 4.       Doubts- Did you allow doubts to become obstacles or used them as excuses. What categories have you created where you think doubts had been helpful in the past. How much risk averse have you become when it comes to ignoring your doubts.

 5.       Desires- What trend do you see when you watch your desires. Do you still long for things you always did and do you still believe getting those will change you. Did getting what you desired for change you the way you thought they will?

 6.       Gratitude- How thankful you are to the events occurred in your life. How much have you retained the learning from them. How thankful you are to the bad time in your life vis-à-vis good times.  

Events in Life

I always used to think that We…. We are the makers, creators of our own life. That we are the ‘One’ for each one of us. That all we need was to trust ‘ourselves’ and we controlled everything coming to us.

But if I look back or even if I look around, I see the immeasurable significant roles the Events happening in our lives play(ed) in shaping us. We haven’t grown on our own, but we learnt the most from these Events. We never chose them consciously. They are destined to occur or wait for us to act and when we don’t, they act on our behalf and teach us lessons, or best, as Richard Bach says, “The events we bring upon ourselves, no matter how unpleasant, are necessary in order to learn what we need to learn; whatever steps we take, they're necessary to reach the places we've chosen to go”.

It’s immaterial if we attract them or they just cloudburst on us, but how they affect us. It is amusing to see how we become a product of the sequence we followed. 

Probably when incidents take place in our lives and we encounter them at the experiential level, we profoundly get affected. We learn from them what schools/movies/parents/friends could never teach us (or would have taken ages). Secondly, these learnings are so much personalized as they are based absolutely on our backgrounds, fit our circles of social life and perceptions. Hence, learning becomes even faster.

There have been certain topics and sentiments that I had been fundamentally against. And, post this medical event in my life…. I see myself getting softer on these. I am still wondering… How is that possible!

One of this being Trust. I learnt that incapability of someone is not the reason that one should allot to trustlessness. For example, I trusted myself so much that I could save/defend/escape from every situation but then when I was on the operation theatre glaring at the flood lights inhaling general anesthesia, just before knocking out, I realised, I failed in saving myself from this emergency. Does this mean am incapable of taking care of my own body. Should I take back the badge of "I trust You" from my own chest. 
NO. This means my formula was "Trust = Efficiency".

I got to look at myself from the other side of the mirror. And believe me, I don’t look like what I thought I do.

This (petty) Event hasn't changed me. But helped me see what will.

Are these hints from the universe?

P.S. I thought I was uselessly stubborn

We all are small packets of Pain

We all are small packets of Pain

Made of Pain, emanated out of Pain, manifest Pain

Spending a painful life, struggling with Pain every moment...

Hiding behind illusionary Pleasures

Without realizing that Pain is the purest Pleasure

And in the end, we die numb…

P.S. What else do you expect me to write about in the hospital?

First day at the Hospital

Never miss an opportunity to write even if it means writing at the same table where your urine sample lies and, on the rear side of printed medical record showing the series of suspected bacterial attacks your body is undergoing; or, even if you are lying between a century old woman with the tag of  ‘visual/hearing impairment’ on her bed and the other young girl with numerous pipes thrust in her mouth and tagged ‘nil by mouth’.

This woman with impairment is staring at me while am writing. (People with infections don't write?) When I look back at her, her wrinkled face pops up a toothless smile while she is making some gestures watching me write at this unusual moment and the most unusual but the only table I can reach from my bed. 

Probably I had never been so superstitious until I came to Hong Kong and more so until I attended the basic Cantonese Course where I learnt about the Hongkongese (Yes it is a word now) beliefs. Especially about being paranoid about no. 4 or 14. And guess what, wherever I go, I attract this number. Be it the number I randomly pick up while at the cultural session with the Chinese Astrologer (where they say the nature of the no. decides your future) or am allotted a ticket number for a take away order. 

And, right! you don’t need to guess. Out of several hundreds of beds in the hospitals, I am lying down on the bed no. 14!


P.S. So what so you call it when all the incidents in your life are co-incidences!

P.P.S. Ye sab aakhir mere saath hi kyun hota hai!!

P.P.P.S. The date I got operated was "Fourteenth" too!

Love is a flight

Love 
is a flight 
without wings...

Solitude is like a bad marriage

"Solitude is like a bad marriage.

You are desperate to get out of it

Yet...

Panic-stricken to imagine how complicated it could be..... "

The Street Violinist

Central (Hong Kong) is like a gorgeous woman. She always dresses smart as per the occasion. She is sophisticated during the day and sensual at night.

During the day, she dressed in black/grey, looks busy managing the load of human traffic hurrying up while as the day falls, she rides in luxury cars like a Duchess in a lit up gown casting her spell on each and every one in her jurisdiction.

If I leave office post 8 pm, I see Central being draped in a different attire –somewhat sensual yet elegant. A sight that makes me take out my ear phones and appreciate the view.

It is all lit up at every corner in the evening with people- meeting for drinks, strolling towards Lan Kwai Fong merrily, looking for everything that distracts them from the hard day they had.

You'll also see several youngsters at Peddar Street with violins, mouth organs, playing beautiful music and singing while passers-by put some coins in their hats. The cutest part is when white guys sing Cantonese songs to impress beautiful Chinese girls. (You'll see further extensions of all kinds of artists- sketchers, painters if you move towards Central Piers)

Lately I have been noticing ‎an old man at Stanley Street. He stands close to the stairs where street-light can’t reach him. He has no followers (because there is nothing glamorous about him?). He plays such music that touches your deepest emotions. 

I don't know for how long I stood hiding behind the pillars listening to what he played. I also noticed a lot of other smokers, hawkers and pamphlet-distributors doing the same.

He played a sad tone. I don't know the a-b-c of music but I could still fathom what he was playing as he kept on expressing his pain and the irony of life that his life was meddling in to which all the audience could distinctively relate to.

Perhaps music unites. All of us have deepest desires, hidden pain, silent repentance and faded yet still alive hopes that we keep living upon without realizing; and music probably nibbles on that romantically.

I don't say that I get lost when I hear that man playing, but I feel that all of us listening to him felt inter-connected which we rarely do. As if we were all a part of the same mass…as if we were all the toys of the same clay in the same furnace.

We all, after all, are smitten by the same amorist called –Life. 

Love Vs Life

I met this guy who is a painter and a photographer and is into a lot of similar artistic stuff.  (And trust me his paintings are not like the typical modern art paintings where you feel someone erroneously dropped paint on the canvas and while trying to wipe it, ended up making a painting…remember the French movie Untouchables!).

He told me he liked my poetry more than the prose and encouraged me to keep writing.

I saw a variety of his work and I really liked his expression. Very intense and yet simple.

“What inspires you to paint” I asked.

“Lots of things” said he.

“Still….most of the things eventually revolve/ are derived out of one cognitive factor. What is that in your case?”

He had to take a pause to answer this. As if he had never thought of it before.

“I think it is Love”. He confessed.

We carried different ideologies hence it was impossible to have a conversation further. My sudden inherent pause filled with disagreement spilled the beans.

He tried pulling the conversation further.

“OK, what about you. Isn't that every piece of art originates from Love? Doesn't Love inspire you too?”

“I guess I don’t understand art. I think I am just a road-side bugger….err….blogger. You may rename my number in your cellphone as an idiot” I said.

“What inspires you then? He intrigued.

“Love/ Hatred/ Faith/Success/Destruction/Pain/God/ Kindness/ Karma everything emanates from one thing- Life. Is there anything in Life greater than the Life itself? Is anything in the world more beautiful than Life?”

“It is Life that inspires me...”

P.S. Life is really beautiful. Try living it sometime.