Sylvia Plath and I. Part-2.

As I continue reading the book, the tornado of thoughts struck me yet again. I was supposed to be having the time of my life. Basically, I had everything; or should I say, I would soon be having everything I ever wanted. I knew it certainly. But the human mind, never ceases to stop accumulating disturbing thoughts. 

I moved from one thing to another. One fig to another and another and another and another. And as I saw them, right before my eyes, one by one, they started to blacken and lose their shine, they started plopping down and lay lifeless next to my feet. I wondered.. Was that a sign? I didn't know. Maybe, I didn't want to figure what that was.

I resume to The Bell Jar. I had learnt from the previous pages that my mentor, my idol had a similar series of events. But right after that, she had the time of her life  (Remember, it is impossible to fight the urge to know all about the one who inspires you, by now, I knew most of the things about Sylvia Plath.)

Time and again, each line is penned down beautifully. I experienced deja vu to the extreme now. More often than not, I share my experiences immediately with people. But I didn't bother to now, for I knew nobody would understand the intensity I am experiencing. Somethings are better left unsaid, right? '

And then, I ricocheted to the extremes of happiness. I wondered how I could do it. To be quiet and sober a moment and then jump with overwhelming happiness the next second. Is that what neurotic meant? Well, everything was coined a meaning based on some reference, a reference that could have been a mistake. For now, I was content. I knew I was not one among the crowd. Extremity had its own pleasures for me and I had long accepted it.

The monsoon was at its peak. The lashing rains brought back a thousand memories, memories that were washed away in the waves that struck the sands ashore. Sweet nothings. The moment was good, not really happy but good it sure was.  Most of all, the summer had ended. And,  I was grateful. 

And then, I read this -

“I liked looking on at other people in crucial situations. If there was a road accident or a street fight or a baby pickled in a laboratory jar for me to look at, I'd stop and look so hard I never forgot it. I certainly learnt a lot of things I never would have learnt otherwise this way, and even when they surprised me or made me sick I never let on, but pretended that's the way I knew things were all the time.” 

I smiled. I smiled. I smiled. Even as I'm typing this, I smile.  That was a part of me. 

At about this point, I felt peculiar. I looked around me at all the rapt little heads with the same basic plan and view. I felt suffocated. How could everybody fade into an indifferent personality even after being highly-qualified ( whatsoever that meant) and having the gift of life. I no longer felt belonged. I longed for a different atmosphere. 

There I was, yet again, juggling back and forth between deep thinking and heartfelt laughter. The last thing I wanted was infinite security, to be played at or be a place from where the arrow shoots off. I wanted change and excitement and to shoot off in all directions myself, like the coloured arrows from the Fourth of July rocket. I needed to be insane; I was deep down. But a little voice kept piercing me that you had to be rich to be insane. 

The one thing I was good at winning scholarships, hearts and smiles, and that era was coming to an end. I looked at the drew drop on the window pane, shinning brilliantly with all of what reflection, refraction and total internal refraction had done. I gazed at it, hoping it would tell me what to do, it had lost it's patience and it trudged down and vanished right before my eyes.  'See you', I said. And then ,the pages of the book fluttered in the wind and decided to pause at a page which said, 'I closed my eyes and listened to the old brag of my heart. I am. I am. I am.' I smiled for the umpteenth time. 

I love you Sylvia Plath. I pity those who termed her a depressed poet for she was a literary brilliance, magically comparing life and everyday-articles and wooing her readers. Therefore, continues my urge to know all about her. 

Sylvia Plath and I. Part-1.

I was getting worried about becoming too happily stodgily practical: instead of studying Psychology for instance or singing or tidy my table --- I go make a cup of coffee, or slide out to notice the clouds, or ponder about the electromagnetic spectrum and it's beauty. Whoa, I said to myself. You will escape into domesticity and stifle yourself by falling head-fast into a bowl of cookie batter.

And just now, I pick up Sylvia Plath's novel, "The Bell Jar." And she works off her depression over fighting the urge to travel to far off lands, for she felt suffocated at the thought of staying at a place for over 19 years, over Ted Hughes, (One person, I most hate) and still moves to New York and cooks sausage and breathes. Bless her. I feel my life linked to her, somehow.

Right from reading her poem, 'The Mirror' to following her works ceaselessly. I can still hear her voice in my head, that precious voice of hers that read her own poem; Daddy. The thought of which sends a shiver down my spine. But her suicide, I felt I was reduplicating myself in the cold monsoon of 2014. Only I couldn't drown. I suppose, I'll always be over vulnerable, slightly paranoid.

I was afraid of getting old. I was afraid of adulthood. Spare me from cooking three meals a day-spare me from the relentless cage of routine and rote- I want to be free-free to know other people and their backgrounds-free to move to different parts of the world so that I could ponder upon the customs, morals and standards besides my own. I want to think, I want to learn, I want to be hurt, I want to be cherished, to be omniscient. I want to be able to do a lot of things. But oh, I cry out loud silently. I am strong. But to what extent? I am I. The wires in my head had short-circuited long ago.

I advanced towards The Bell Jar. I played through the pages. The scent of a library book, a mixed scent, agitated by passing through hundreds of hands, worn-out yet beautiful. It tugs at my heartstrings. I want to own the book. All of Sylvia Plath's books. Are the coincidences listening? After all, everything in life was a coincidence, that is what I wanted to believe.

I stop at a random page somewhere in the middle of the book. I'm stunned. A chill down the spine yet again. Just one difference, now I had goosebumps too. I found my eyes constantly clinging to a paragraph. My thoughts had been penned down there. I felt happy. I wanted to be her. I wanted to be her. For once, both the mind and the heart wanted the same thing.

" I want to live and feel all the shades, tones and variations of mental and physical experience possible in life."- Sylvia Plath.

I spent my days listening to her read out her poems in absolute brilliance. And then, a documentary on her. And then, her books. And then, her interviews. And then, her personal life. And then, her fears. And then, her interests. And then, it continued. The window on my left let in a cool breeze on this cold-monsoon evening. That didn't distract me either. I was listening to a classic. I was silent. All my senses could notice was her works. I continue reading the book.. I know this woman. Some how. Her gaze is known. I didn't know how or why. 

The Sisters : Fate, Coincidence And Luck

The events of the past few days have given a brilliant opportunity to both of them to think about these three sister factors : Fate, Coincidence And Luck.

Fate might have put her into contact a classmate of a decade long gone by. He however underwent a complete metamorphosis in the years gone by and became a mirror image of her. As Justin Timberlake rightly put it "It's like you're my mirror , my mirror staring back at me". Maybe the first time realization dawned that songs are nothing more than a way of putting through emotions and situations. It was a time when the cortex buzzed with understanding. That 5 or 6 minutes were something that could be related to their situation. A smile on the face they adorned the rest of the day, leading some to conclude that insanity had set in.
"Their minds were on another track..A track never trodden by these feet...A track leading to an unknown place." - The similar soul

Coincidence might explain some events too. A very chatty person , similar likes and dislikes , similar opinions and ideas... Does there exist a Divine Xerox machine that copies a person's uniqueness ? Because if it does..It might be the only possible answer to all these "coincidences" that have been chanced upon in a short span of time. Talking about coincidence... The only question buzzing through this mind is " To be or not to be ? " . One rarely chances upon something so thought provoking and yet so crisply said in six words.It is often that she thinks " He maybe admitted into another department but it is for sure that this friendship will last more than the four years study usually lasts".

It may be left to Luck to owe up to her faults ; making the person get the same area of study, making sure he's like the self. It is unto this that he looks inwards and often thinks "Is this luck or was this meant to be?". A decade gone by and this person becomes a part of daily life. How often does that happen to you? Luckily enough he was kind enough to leave behind some spontaneous quotes for her to ponder upon..Hopes are that it will set your grey matter abuzz.

"You know yourself, hence you know me" - On similarities and understanding each other's minds.
"He taught me art, the art of the mind" - On learning psychology
Said he " She be like a box of chocolates, full of treats and happiness once opened" - On understanding the feminine mind
"Life is a pandora's box of surprises" - On life in general

The only hope is that these would have set your minds into thought and you would be able to express infinite gratitude to these three sisters for your life.

The author leaves with these words
"For men may come and men may go ,
But I go on forever"
-The Brook,
Alfred Lord Tennyson

Appreciate life and live it to the fullest. Because life doth bring thee surprises, learn to unravel them and be surprised. Most of all, enjoy the unpredictability of life because that is what makes it worth living.

Rest in peace: English language.

A recent article in the newspaper intrigued me into writing this post. An issue of grave concern that is left unattended and unnoticed being thumped down by the layers of fast growing technology which has resulted in people using abbreviations in the worst possible method.

But I'm glad of one thing - Poets such as John Keats, Shakespeare and Emily Bronte are long dead to notice what has happened to the language they once mastered in and the worn out significance of literary devices. 

Otherwise they wouldn't have had to use such flowery lines, metaphors, personification, rhetoric and alliterations. 

"So with love -

Sighs from the deep sea of affection.

Laughter from the colorful field of the spirit

Tears from the endless heaven of memories."

Khalil Gibran's extract from the poem, 'The Song of Rain' embraced the incredible happiness that the rains bought with them and evoked our imagination to great heights by just a combination of words. But here we are, where the word 'stuff' stuffs itself across our urge to speak and we place it effortlessly when we are in debt for words. Not to forget, the conversation terminator- K. What K? Pottasium K? Sigh. 

They could simply use the omnipotent word "stuff" of today's language and the poems would result as such-

"So with love-

Sighs from deep sea and stuff.

Stuff from the colorful field of the stuff

Tears from the endless stuff of memories."

Moreover, the social networking sites give you an opportunity to notice the murder of the English language. 

Hey guyzzz, what's upzzz. HoW iS YoUr DaY gOiNg? 

What actually happens here? Does some part of the brain literally switch ON and OFF juggling between common sense and psychological bafflement? Do the fingers refuse to type in a particular case and twitch instead to use the shift key after every alphabet? No, you don't have to answer my questions. Just  provoked vexation. 

Back in the Elizabethan era, Shakespeare was  applauded for his classical insults. They were void of vulgarity or obscene words. But the usage of the literally devices; in so beautiful a language, was enough to choke anyone to death. 

"OSWALD

Why, what a monstrous fellow art thou, thus to rail
on one that is neither known of thee nor knows thee!"

A simple sentence with a metaphor usage perplexes the general public. It has to be summarized in words such as 'stuff' and 'and all' to actually provide the basic meaning as though it were a code to be cracked. A pitiful situation. Reading books by wonderful authors best known for their satire and literary devices stings me to not to belong to that era. Anguish, trauma, delightful-ness, exaggeration, displeasure and every other form of emotion could be amazingly formulated and produced. But the present scenario is just completely bizarre. Excitement, disappointment or anger, whatever the emotion might be, the four letter swear word is most famous and ready at the tip of the tongue to be uttered relentlessly. 

Call me old-fashioned, but  I prefer the Shakespearean-language: respect and awe in all leaps and bounds. 

Farewell, modern cruelty. I bid leave of you. 

Oh sorry, let me translate the above to the  21st century language- K.BYE.CYA.

"You know yourself; hence you know me." - A similar soul.

"Well, look who I ran into," crowded Coincidence.
"Please," flirted Fate, "this was meant to be." 

How many times does your heart and mind come up with this sort of conflict? Well, almost every moment for me. After a decade of lacking complete information, or let's say, lacking even the slightest memory of existence of a childhood friend, life comes up with a mood for playfulness.

It wishes to surprise you;
In all its splendor.
In readiness for a purpose.
As though, this was part of the plan;
A plan that seemed bizarre at first.
Only to magnify the cherish-able sea of events.




It was a queer evening, when I narrowed down my contacts from an overwhelmingly huge number to just a few omnipotent ones. An unexplained happiness crept in upon me. I looked at my phone, for it had the wallpaper of Sylvia Plath, 'Ah! How I love this woman,' I wondered. Her strong gaze at absolutely just nothing; seemed to signify she knew she would be disappointed sooner or later. Such literary brilliance this woman was filled it. And then, the peaceful thoughts were disturbed. The phone beeped. A strange curiosity which  wasn't experienced before. Very amateurish and yet archaic.

And then: I had the time of my life. In every word next uttered to me, I found myself. It was as if my soul had been stolen and my thinking, view-points, dislikes, likes, humor, critic and anything that was 'me' was presented to me, like how a plane-mirror reflects, no more, no less: Just the way I am.
The odd pleasures of finding a tragically-alike person in your long lost childhood friend is like that of finding the house you have lived in for your entire life at the end of a path that got you lost; dripping with agony and fear and yet, happy to the sight at the end of your path.


I sank back in my gray, plush seat and closed my eyes. How often does this happen? You don't always bump into a person just like you, in all aspects. In leaps and bounds. Maybe it is true that; Everything happens for a reason. A reason that only after a certain saturation point, you realize. The room is so silent but my mind & soul are in a thunderous rage, a positive rage that left me overwhelmingly elated.

It drives me crazy because this is magic. The split second of a transition from someone I barely knew existed to a perfectly similar version of me. We spoke about the tragedies, about the happiness, about the preciousness of life, about people using 'sunglasses' inside a dark room, about over-rated artists, about dying art and most importantly about how wonderful life was, for it knew when to surprise us with what.

All the heat and fear had purged itself. I felt surprisingly at peace. I knew I didn't have to worry. I knew there was a soul  indistinguishable from mine. I was grateful, after a very long time. No, I am grateful. I will continue to be. Sometimes, a friend is all you need. Research says that our friends are genetically linked to us. It is that spark in the gene which lets us chose our friends.

Life has been some combination of fairy-tale coincidence and some ecstatic self questioning.
But now, I am content. It doesn't matter if it was coincidence, fate, you name it. All that matters is, I had found my long lost friend. We didn't argue about anything. We didn't have to. Why? Because everything said and done was a reflection into each other's soul. We felt wise and unique as hell. Now it should have been an irony, to be similar and yet unique. But it is what it is.

Thank you, life.
Cheers to you, my long-lost-&-found friend.

The Alchemist; Because wherever your heart is, that is where you'll find your treasure.

There are books that are among your collection but you couldn't read for some unexplained reason. And then, there are a few other books that you have a strong urge for, but unfortunately ain't one among the collection. 

We always strive for something that isn't ours and more often than not, forget about the ones that we possess. The reason being simple; I have it already, therefore, I can get back to it anytime. Well, guess what? Sometimes, just sometimes, procrastination is a virtue. Maybe it is out there, crawling far away from you, appearing unimportant or too simple to remain in readiness for a purpose. A purpose to strike you at the right moment, a moment at which you can most relate to it and learn from it. 

Long story short, 'The Alchemist' by Paulo Coelho did something similar to me. It twiddled its thumbs until the right time, which was a few days ago. After a series of fickle minded thoughts, crushed dreams, new inspirations, out of focus plans and failed trust in what seemed to be promising, you give up on the magic in the world. Oh yes, and  also a couple of wonderful books such as 'The Secret' and 'The Magic' and 'The-whatever-book-which-seems-to-give-you-hope' and a bunch of motivational videos and all that. Thereafter you decide to go with the flow. Next jumps in an omen. The abandoned book. Let's try that as well. 

The Alchemist, a magical fable about following your dream, listening to your heart, silencing the fears and most importantly, looking out for signs and omens for every little speck takes you nearer to your dream. And and and and, the famous dialogue from the blockbuster movie 'Om Shanthi Om' which goes something like this - "Agar kisi cheez ko sachhe dil se chaho, toh poori khayanat tumhe usse millane ki khoshish mein lag jati hai" in fact being the translation from the book. The original being this, " And, when you want something, all the universe conspires in helping you to achieve it”. Wonder if they had the copyrights? Anyway, unnecessary right?

The book has taught me that sometimes, you will have to go through a few disturbing phases which makes no sense at all at the moment after all your hardwork and desire to accomplish your aim and drain you out of all the hope in the world, but trust me, that disturbing phase which seems unnecessary in fact turns out to be the significant core of your journey to reach the destination.  All the hassle makes sense only after you reach that ultimate position. What’s important is to listen to your heart, always, just always, and to keep moving forward embracing all the omens and signs that come your way. 

I have started noticing my omens. Reading a book that was lying around for years and relating to it just right, is one of biggest signs, isn't it? A big, bold, underlined, YES.

And those of you, who still haven’t read the book, this is a must read. It boosts you and amid-st the odds, you’ll figure out a way. All you have to do is listen to your heart. Because you know what?  Nobody is ever happy by doing what others want; neither the person doing it, nor the one who asked you to do it. 

Your heart is the greatest adviser. Follow it and you’ll be amazed. All the magic is out there, I’ve come to realize that. Certainly, your heart would lead you to pains and risks that you may not want to try, but hold on, keep going, for after the darkest hour of the night comes dawn. And perhaps, someday the revelation will burst in upon you and you’ll see the other side of this monumental grotesque joke/ tragedy/doubtfulness. And then, you’ll smile. And then, you’ll be grateful.

Apparently, when you have to choose between something you have become accustomed to and something you wanted to have, go for the latter. The reason being this: you could always go back to what you have, you  could always enjoy something you possess. But after a while, on a late winter’s evening, while looking at the dull moon, for a moment, you might think of what would have happened if at all you had made the courage to step into the road not taken, the road you chose to abandon in exchange to a safe road, which you knew in all leaps and bounds. The moment of regret there, isn’t a good one. Go for what your heart wants, at the end of the day, you could always go back to your safe road, but a single step towards what you really desire makes all the difference. Trust me, it does.

Also, a quote from the book which influenced me and in which I affirmatively believe in – It’s this: that a certain point in our lives, we lose control of what’s happening to us, and our lives become controlled by fate. That’s the world’s greatest lie.

The biggest, cruel-est, mean-est lie ever.

Sigh. Am too good at this right? No? But my heart says so. And the heart is always right. Yet another weekend, well spent.

My heaven on earth, COORG.

They say the best trips are unplanned and I couldn't find a single speck of a reason to disagree with it. Yes, indeed the best trips were unplanned and just happened to me effortlessly (affirmatively). Somewhere between the end of total mind-toiling incidents(the semester exams, that is) and the beginning of a new session, Coorg happened. Yes, just like love happens. No, I guess Coorg happening-to-me is undoubtedly ecstatic than love-happening-scenes. Relax bro, not another bad-relationship-metaphor-writing. This is straight from the heart. Afresh, happy and beautiful.

Just as Switzerland is to the world, so is Coorg to India. Well, my friends from other hill stations would want to disagree mentioning about the beauty of the respective places but then, Coorg is Coorg. And that's what it is. So, let's get back to my trip to this wonderful place. I love you so much, dear family friend, for belonging to Coorg and absolutely for making me fall in love with it. Gratitude and all, check. Now starts, everything ONLY about COORG.


Now a bit of an activity time for your imagination, dear reader. Imagine one of those movie scenes wherein you're sitting in a car, now do not think about the details of the model/color/condition of the car for that is irrelevant. You did do it, didn't you? Ab-ra-ka-dab-ra, back to the scene with you inside the car, listening to your favorite song, now a few of you are shaking you're head back and forth along with the music and a few others are tapping your hands in tune to the classical music, I lie somewhere between these two, bingo!

You're driving and driving and driving. No? Okay, somebody is driving and you're travelling and travelling and travelling. And then, all of a sudden, a strong aroma strikes you. Like just strikes you out with such brutality that you can't think about anything else other than that aroma. And then a slight nostalgia about the evenings. You can't remember what it is, because remember? The aroma is so wonderfully strong. After a few seconds, you smile for you know what it is. C-O-F-F-E-E. The fresh aroma of the coffee plantations that is amazingly refreshing.

For the next 60 minutes you spend your time somewhat like this - CLICK, CLICK, CLICK, CLICK, CLICK, DELETE, CLICK, DELETE, CLICK,CLICK, DELETE, CLICK until  the screen says Battery low, as if it were asking you to leave it alone. You shove it away and get back to the graceful looking outside the window scenes and posing, hoping some secret photographer would be capturing your photos. Ah, how I wish that happened.

Those huge, perfect and really tall trees grab your attention now. Suck meany-attention seekers I say! Trust me, they are just so tall. And green, and fresh, and full of activity as if they were waving at you, and beautiful and totally photographic-material. But keep in mind, battery low already. You can click later, now is the time to experience it and not look at it virtually through the lens.


Meanwhile you realize there is no traffic, screeching noises of horns or anything that makes you grin. Everything out there is just making you smile. Now you drive past through a few farm-houses, people smile at you, welcome you, such overwhelming happiness, right?


And those birds which your textbook had among the endangered list are actually out there, singing beautifully. What a sweet sound. The heart is elated, springing with joy. And amidst these sweet little things, you doze off to sleep continuing the journey to reach your destination.