Two Way Streets

What we often fail to realise, is the two-way-ness of social human life. We fail to see, that in a social context, thoughts and feelings emanating out of the self are not enough to guarantee the same from others. To feel is not to be felt. To see is not to be seen. And so on.


of forgetting ...

today. someone i'd remember even in my sleep, forgot my name. and instead, called me by what i actually mean to them. it hurts like hell. fuck.


genjo sanzo ...

" ... embrace nothing. walking down the path - if you meet the buddha, kill the buddha. if you meet your father, kill your father. live your life as it is, not bound to anything ... "
finished watching saiyuki a couple of days back. not a very great animé by any stretch of imagination. but indeed, i could not have come across it at a better time. it is loosely based upon the línjì school of buddhism.


there is no buddha outside yourself. if you see him at a distance - know, that it is not the truth. your redeemer and your guide. is you. it is there you must search for him. inside the many folds and layers of your own self.

right now. i see a multitude of buddhas coming towards me. in a neat golden line. like a thousand suns with much promise. and it is precisely at this moment they must be killed. for they are hopes and lights which stem from outside my soul. chains which seek to bind me. to suns which do not burn for me. or from me.

now. at this point. one might wonder if this is all a sad masochistic device, born out of fear. if this does nothing but to alienate the self from the world around it. to build a cocoon. but what one must realise is. for the self to meld with the non-self. for this union to satiate. for peace to follow. the buddha must be pure-born. of the seed of the self. for only then can this union be equal. for only then can the play be pure and unconditional. for only then can the self be saved from being alone.
"you want your freedom? then live ... "


To go home

I am kind of lost. More like. I have lost myself. Somewhere. I must get myself back, I know. But I don't know how. Or if it is even possible. I sure hope it is. I hate floating around like this. Having known the shore once upon a time. I long to walk on the sand. To experience the surety of standing up on my own two feet. Have my lungs filled with air. Again. I am tired of yielding to the currents. I am tired of the smell of the sea. I have started believing the sea is me. And that the mermaids and the dolphins are real. That the land is a hallucination. But there is memory. And there are ghosts. And they will not let me be. They haunt every idle second. Every storm-less night. And somewhere inside the sea of me. There is a tiny piece of land. Floating. Constantly reminding. Of the continent I used to be. If only. A man could gather himself from the sea. If I could. Arrive. Grain by grain. Till the whole shore was me again. And the trees. And the footprints. Were me. For the hundredth time. In this continuing erosion of a million years. I resolve. To go home. But maybe it is already too late. But maybe it is not.

PS: To Go Home - Daniel Johnston


New Day. Huh, what?!

Things are looking up. After a long time, am meeting people. I am able to concentrate on things. Bené is behaving more agreeably. I am able to work, build acquaintances, go out, and generally enjoy the little things life is putting on offer. I think I might be returning to normalcy. Yeah, right?! Might be. Still have panic attacks, extended bouts of insomnia-depression-loneliness and weird asphyxiating-on-my-vomit times. Still space out. But I am pulling through. Have a feeling that pretty soon I will start writing again too. Hell. I'm smiling so loud!

Latest development: A trip to Italy. Found my favourite part of Europe. The first thing which struck me was that everyone is literally dancing when they talk! And everybody is loud. And nobody thinks it ridiculous.

The architecture is lovely. Old, and yet maintained really well. The streets are clean. The traffic is Dilli, especially in smaller cities. Everybody is fond of dandy cars and pedal-flooring. If you take the freeways. You feel like you are blocking the traffic at 140.

O yea. The Last Supper is everything it promises to be. Don't miss it if you're around.

Food. Delicious! And prepared with much love. And not so expensive. The coffee is absolutely the best any place has to offer. So are the pizzas. Most food is fatty though. Nevermind.

Life is relaxed, easy and people love to be on the streets and in parks. At all hours. And not just them young folks. People of all ages!

The company was good. We roamed the streets, as opposed to trying to fit in the same frame as some giant famous monument. We did visit some of them, but they were not the focus. The focus was breathing in a bit of Italia. The aroma is strong, and leaves you wanting more.



i rise
from the depths of you

to leave
for a different ocean

for the ocean
that had cradled me
has chewn me
and spit me
and does not want me
any more

PS: i woke up today. with the ashes still on my eyelids. all around me i could see, the bombed city of us. and i decided, to leave. just like you had, a long time ago ...