T a l k i e s

The Best Cigarette

bvn — Thu, 19 Aug 2010 02:55:11 +0000

And “Ten Days of Spring Rain Have Kept Me Indoors”

is a servant who shows me into the room

where a poet with a thin beard

is sitting on a mat with a jug of wine

whispering something about clouds and cold wind,

about sickness and the loss of friends.

I’ve been a fan of this American poet laureate for a while now, one of my favorites was the slow death of brain cells he portrayed beautifully. I came across this poem at a time when I realized I was forgetting names and places one by one, while the feelings those names and places created remained etched. A poem or for that matter any work of art reveals it’s true depth when the reader or the boy in the audience is prepared for it. If I’d read ‘One Hundred Years of Solitude’ now, it would have left a better revelation in my psyche. Reading about Macondo as a teenager, while impressive, was in hindsight a not-so-optimum idea.

www.youtube.com/watch?v=kbRifIzMth0

So when Shashi Tharoor says he read 365 books in a year, I am impressed. It shows his intellectual horsepower or at least his reading speed, which again is an important thing (because even at that speed, as per google, it will take one person 355,794 years to read all books ever written). But when you read a book or treat yourself to any form of art, for which you are not emotionally or intellectually prepared, through experiences in life and through learning, you would end up reading the lines without reading much between the lines.

This has been my personal experience, and I acknowledge the fact that I have many friends who read through ‘Amsterdam’ and ‘Love in the times of Cholera’ without getting emotionally swayed. Again, at a personal level books like ‘Sputnik Sweetheart’, ‘Love in the time of Cholera’, or Kundera’s ‘Unbearable..” left a deep impression on me, affecting my deliberations for weeks, and I doubt if those revelations would have come to me for good or bad if I’d immersed myself in those books before I’d experience some subtle, sensitive, and at times tiring strains in relationships. I mean, my ability to appreciate tragedy was not inborn, though it gets better over the years. It’s like they say about Frank Sinatra’s voice -- he had a voice which developed over one too many heartbreaks.

Smoking used to be sexy, it used to be a sign of that creative energy symbolized by Albert Camus and Hemingway and Picasso and Guru Dutt and MT Vasudevan Nair and a thousand other literary geniuses. Smoking isn’t sexy anymore. Cigarette smokers are outcasts in almost all walks of life. Outcasts in office buildings which ask cigarette smokers to keep twenty five feet from the other office workers who are gonna live a thousand years, outcasts in rental applications which make you lie that you do not smoke so that you have a place to stay, outcasts in the Starbucks of the world which sell that pink colored cake with two icings of cream on it, outcasts in the trains and airplanes where people would rather sleep for fourteen hours than smoke a cigarette, stay awake and do something productive for the world -- because one cigarette shortens your life by seven hours. But the outcasts still light their cigarettes over freshly brewed cups of coffee, stare at the evening skylines, and make those final decisions which can only be made in silent rooms.

Billy Collin’s poem “The Best Cigarette” speaks only to those outcasts, listing out those moments of calm, induced by nicotine, before they make those brilliant decisions. Then he reveals his favorite moment. I could have put this in a more simple way, that’s what the second poem speaks about. As I understand more, I guess I will simplify more. For now, two poems from Billy Collins. And that ladies and gentlemen, brings up the 350th post on Talkies.

The Best Cigarette by Billy Collins

There are many that I miss

having sent my last one out a car window

sparking along the road one night, years ago.

The heralded one, of course:

after sex, the two glowing tips

now the lights of a single ship;

at the end of a long dinner

with more wine to come

and a smoke ring coasting into the chandelier;

or on a white beach,

holding one with fingers still wet from a swim.

How bittersweet these punctuations

of flame and gesture;

but the best were on those mornings

when I would have a little something going

in the typewriter,

the sun bright in the windows,

maybe some Berlioz on in the background.

I would go into the kitchen for coffee

and on the way back to the page,

curled in its roller,

I would light one up and feel

its dry rush mix with the dark taste of coffee.

Then I would be my own locomotive,

trailing behind me as I returned to work

little puffs of smoke,

indicators of progress,

signs of industry and thought,

the signal that told the nineteenth century

it was moving forward.

That was the best cigarette,

when I would steam into the study

full of vaporous hope

and stand there,

the big headlamp of my face

pointed down at all the words in parallel lines.

Reading An Anthology Of Chinese Poems Of The Sung Dynasty, I Pause To Admire The Length And Clarity Of Their Titles -- By Billy Collins

It seems these poets have nothing

up their ample sleeves

they turn over so many cards so early,

telling us before the first line

whether it is wet or dry,

night or day, the season the man is standing in,

even how much he has had to drink.

Maybe it is autumn and he is looking at a sparrow.

Maybe it is snowing on a town with a beautiful name.

“Viewing Peonies at the Temple of Good Fortune

on a Cloudy Afternoon” is one of Sun Tung Po’s.

“Dipping Water from the River and Simmering Tea”

is another one, or just

“On a Boat, Awake at Night.”

And Lu Yu takes the simple rice cake with

“In a Boat on a Summer Evening

I Heard the Cry of a Waterbird.

It Was Very Sad and Seemed To Be Saying

My Woman Is Cruel--Moved, I Wrote This Poem.”

There is no iron turnstile to push against here

as with headings like “Vortex on a String,”

“The Horn of Neurosis,” or whatever.

No confusingly inscribed welcome mat to puzzle over.

Instead, “I Walk Out on a Summer Morning

to the Sound of Birds and a Waterfall”

is a beaded curtain brushing over my shoulders.

And “Ten Days of Spring Rain Have Kept Me Indoors”

is a servant who shows me into the room

where a poet with a thin beard

is sitting on a mat with a jug of wine

whispering something about clouds and cold wind,

about sickness and the loss of friends.

How easy he has made it for me to enter here,

to sit down in a corner,

cross my legs like his, and listen.

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Apni aazaadi to bhaiya

bvn — Sun, 15 Aug 2010 22:37:52 +0000

“Aaj ka launda yeh kehta hum to bismil thak gaye

Apni aazaadi to bhaiya laundiya ke dil mein hai”

Despite the gravest agrarian crisis in recent decades, the most striking consumer price rises in the whole of developing and developed world, the most potent uprising against India till date in Kashmir, and the worst natural disaster in recent history killing thousands in our neighborhood, it may not be an August to remember. But I hope we remember that there are things still worth celebrating.

Yet the biggest let down of the day was the Prime Minister’s speech. Every time I hear Manmohan speak, I lose faith in democracy. He speaks like a person who has no stake in what happens in India, forget the fact that his speeches are as some one called “Butt-numbingly” boring. Boring isn’t just the only problem but he clearly eluded the core issues of public distribution, price rise, and made a quarter-hearted plea to the naxals -- which forget the naxals, cannot even bring my angry four year old cousin to table for talks.

The most glaring disconnect in Manmohan’s speech was the plan to create jobs for Kashmiris. Atal Bihari Vajpayee would have never said that. Even after the 7 continuous speeches from Red Fort, does Manmohan and his chelas still believe that Kashmiris are giving up there lives every single day facing Indian Army bullets for jobs? My Prime Minister would have apologized to the people of Kashmir. Even Vajpayee probably would have. Independence day would have been much better without Manmohan’s miserable speech.

In other news, one of the largest natural disasters in recent years is unfolding in Pakistan, with one fifth of the country under water. As UN calls it “fortnight-long flooding of the country as a calamity graver than the three biggest natural disasters of this century put together — the tsunami of 2004, the earthquake in Pakistan of 2005 and the Haiti quake this year.” The disaster has been completely shelved by the Indian media, but what surprised anybody following the issue was Krishna’s phone call to Qureshi offering “5 million dollars” in aid. Unconfirmed reports say, he also offered three kg basmati rise and two goats to the flood victims to make biriyani during Ramzan. Qureshi must have been taken aback, that he didn’t respond to the offer. But unconfirmed reports say the Govt. of Pakistan send an official sms to Govt. of India. The sms read “Fuck Off!”.

There will be a large majority of people who still don’t understand why we should be helping Pakistan. There isn’t a better way to summarize the country’s malaise under “Manmohanomics” than by these lines from Piyush Mishra in Gulal.

www.youtube.com/watch?v=RJpAoUMEbWA

sarfaroshi ki tamannaa ab hamaare dil mein hai.

dekhnaa hai zor kitnaa baazuve kaatil mein hai

waqt aane pe bataadenge tujhe ae aasmaan

hum abhi se kyaa bataaye kyaa hamaare dil mein hai

o re bismil kaash aate aaj tum hindustaan

dekhte ki mulk saara kyaa tashan kyaa chill mein hai

aaj kaa laundaa yeh kehtaa hum to bismil thak gaye

apni aazaadi to bhaiyaa laundiyaa ke til mein hai.

aaj ke jalson mein bismil ek gungaa gaa raha.

aur behron kaa wo relaa naachtaa mehfil mein hai

haath ki khaadi banaane kaa zamaana lag gayaa

aaj to chaddi bhi silti englison ki mill mein hai

dekhna hai zor kitnaa baazuve kaatil mein hai

waqt aane pe bataadenge tujhe ae aasmaan

hum abhi se kyaa bataaye kyaa hamaare dil mein hai

sarfaroshi ki tamannaa ab hamaare dil mein hai.

P.S: Peepli Live is one of the best movies in recent years. Go watch it! Happy 63rd

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Prithviraj :)

bvn — Thu, 12 Aug 2010 20:11:13 +0000

This is too funny not to post. Link via Karu. More Videos.

www.youtube.com/watch?v=DspTjoGLUWg

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WordPress 3.0

bvn — Sat, 17 Jul 2010 11:25:52 +0000

Long 6 hour upgrade to MySQL 5.0 and then to WordPress 3.0 (“Thelonius), the latest and fastest version of WordPress. Its 4 AM on the pacific sea-board. Behold ye all the lengths to which I go to keep you guys happy. I am sure you all appreciate that.

And till I figure my way around WordPress 3.0, and find a suitable theme, you might see weird things happening here. Or in other words everything is Beta, or they say in Christopher Nolan’s Inception “limbo” – between many worlds.

Not to blow my trumpet, but I went for the premiere day before yesterday night. Nolan, Christian Bale, and Steven Spielberg were there. No they weren’t. I hope the movie released in your respective cities. But seriously guys I think you should all come and stay in California. Today I saw the sun setting – for real, it happens like 3 miles from my office.

Nolan’s movie is truly cerebral, very challenging, though a little short of feelings. I loved it, you must also love it. And I believe everybody must love each other. Do you have any theme suggestions for the blog? Please don’t suggest your own themes, I’m sorry your themes suck.

If you haven’t watched Inception yet and is still wasting time reading this post – its the little girl who kills the old man. That’s the suspense. Burn! Theme suggestions anyone?

Thank God its still Friday night technically.

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Nelliyattuveetil Shyamalan

bvn — Tue, 13 Jul 2010 21:33:21 +0000

Last Airbender is clocking a tragic 7% rating on Rotten Tomatoes, and 4.4 on IMDB. Arguably the most famous malayali in this side of the world has a catastrophe in hand. This graph based on Rotten Tomatoes ratings of his movies (courtsey NextRound) is much indicative of the downfall of the highest paid screenwriter on the planet. While I do not completely agree to the ratings, and it is often that Shyamalan is evaluated based on Sixth Sense, and people take time to like his movies, I think making movies like Airbender would no doubt add fuel to the ever growing list of his naysayers. That said, I loved “The Happening”, there was a subtle plot in the movie which many a movie goer missed. Writers like Shyamalan are part of an important creed, that still believes in a strong plot and a subtle screenplay, something that is vanishing from hollywood.

P.S: i loved “Despicable Me“, Go Watch it!

P.P.S: Perhaps the most awaited movie of the year Nolan’s ”Inception” comes this Friday.

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I Hate Luv Storys – Review

bvn — Sat, 03 Jul 2010 11:19:41 +0000

No Spoilers Ahead – didn’t see any potential to spoil further.

“I hate Luv Storys” is centered around its lead heroine’s need to make her life picture perfect. While the usage of the word ‘perfect’ in every scene of the movie may sound annoying to an average movie-goer, it has its roots in classic gothic horror fiction with a strong Faustian theme which bodes well for this classic tribute by Karan johar to Oscar Wilde’s The Picture of Dorian Gray.

The plot of “I hate Luv Storys” revolves around Jay (played by Imran Khan) who is a filmaholic serial killer. He spends nights watching film noir classics and prowling the streets of Mumbai searching for his next target. Each of his killings is thematic, based on a crime classic plot, and the targets are people who like love stories(he has a long hacked list of people who bought Erich Segal or Sarat Chandra Chattopadhyay on rediff shopping) . Simran (played by Sonam) is an investigative journalist on the night beat putting together the pieces of evidence Jay leaves behind. She realizes that Jay’s plots follow the IMDB Top 250 movies list, and she figures out his next plot. But there is a hitch. Simran loves love stories. Where can the story go from here…

See there are hundreds of better ways I could have spend the money and effort Karan Johar has spend on this movie. I am so ravished and depressed by the consistency with which Karan makes these movies that wastes top talent, insults our intelligence, and makes egg scramble of our better senses. “I hate Luv Storys” is a bomb of the cute kind. It tells the story of a dude who hates Karan Johar movies, but finally goes down on his knees and accepts that he loves Karan Johar movies and the magic in them. It is a hidden tribute to Clockwork Orange by Karan Johar. If this movie doesn’t bomb, then the collective IQ of the Karan Johar segment of Indian cinema is sixty nine.

Story: As you would have guessed, the serial killer thing wasn’t the actual story line. Now hold your breath, this is the story line. Simran (played by cute Sonam) who is in a relationship with Raj (played by an irrelevant actor) loves Jay but Jay rejects her, and then Jay falls in love with Simran but Simran rejects him. Where can the story go from here?

The story then creeps through your hand and starts munching on small pieces of your brain which would have by then exploded after listening to 29 songs, hearing Simran’s logic around the color she likes and drinking on weekdays and statements like “Agar fate mere side pe hota to jay mere side pe kyon nahi hota”, and quivering with guilt realizing that you ended up going to another Karan Johar movie.

Good: Imran Khan does a good imitation of Aamir Khan proving once again that the chocolate crown remains in the family, Sonam has a cute and energetic presence but that bus cannot go so far, and Bruna Abdullah gives a solid performance as Giselle (an irrelevant dumb girl) which takes our eyes off Sonam’s character which is actually pretty dumb and Sonam’s accent which is a little Katrinisque.

Bad: It will be published in three volumes over the next ten years. Pre-order and you get a picture of Karan absolutely free.

Verdict: I have no clue what goes inside the mind of Karan Johar, nor the 80% female crowd giggling around me in the theater. Seriously.

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Have a new kid by Friday

bvn — Tue, 29 Jun 2010 21:09:31 +0000

I have seen people do crazy stuff with Google suggest. I tried bingu’s suggest today, not many surprises. Fun

Google is god Someone wanted proof I guess.

Obama is not a US Citizen, but a lying stupid socialist commie Muslim. He is Antichrist too.

It’s all about Google for Bing. But nowadays it seems Bing makes stuff for Google to imitate.

Lucky guy! Luck 11 year old guy. PH is his BFF. And she is the 1.

You must understand. India is not like Russia which Americans can see from their front porch. At least Sarah Palin can.

Palin and Bush surprisingly (not so) has the top result in common

Lady Gaga isilluminati with a lot of attitude and she is a boy.

Bing nails it this one time.

Long live the King. Now that internet says he’s dead.

Well, how do you know if a girl likes you? Why isn’t it one of the top results?

Hope you enjoyed it. Have a new kid by Friday

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Mamta Mohandas’s Kadha Thudarunnu

bvn — Sun, 27 Jun 2010 09:51:33 +0000

It is almost two months since Sathyan Anthikad’s 50th movie released back home, so a review may not be timely, but this is one movie you shouldn’t miss. While Sathyan moves out of his comfort zone and regurgitation to try something new with an intelligent and subtle screenplay, it is Mamta Mohandas who carries the movie through the slog overs with commendable panache making “Kadha thudarunnu..” one of the best malayalam movies I’ve seen in the last five years. And trust me I’ve seen them all.

www.youtube.com/watch?v=qIGwRxkBWxY

“Kadha thudarunnu..” may not have the extreme intensity of Thalappavu, or the cunning intelligence and social commentary embedded in Paleri Manickam, or may be the breadth of emotions of a Kerala Cafe, but Kadha thudarunnu in the inimitable Sathyan style portrays the best within us and underlines the timeless creed that we, human beings, are essentially good. It appeals to the same heart’s side of the brain which classics like ‘list’, ‘life is beautiful’, and ‘redemption’ appeal to. The movie is a first from the Sathyan stable, inspite of ‘Achuvinte Amma’, which accepts ‘single mother’ as a respectable and inevitable social reality than as a sad transitional phase. Kadha Thudarunnu has around ten characters we will remember (not many movies can claim that), a clear strength of the Sathyan Anthikad style, while it stays clear of exaggerations seen in his movies like Sandesham, Achuvinte Amma, and Innathe Chinthavishayam. As my friend VN mentions in his NowRunning review “the film follows life rather than love”. It is a beautiful movie and every bit a must watch.

Story: The movie begins with a sneak peek into the happy life of Vidya, Shanavas, and their bubbly kid Laya. The couple antagonized their parents when they decided to live together, and are pretty much on their own, living on Shanavas’s meager income. Shanavas gets killed in a freak murder, a case of mistaken identity, which thrusts Vidya and her daughter into a harsh new world without a home, with no money left, and with no one to to turn to. Their world regains some balance when Vidya meets Preman (played by Jayaram), a superstitious auto-driver who once aspired to be a pilot. The movie follows Vidya and her daughter as they journey through one obstacle to another, and their endearing journey, and the story, continues in our minds(as the name puts it) even after the titles roll.

Good:

1. Screenplay: The suggestion has been made more than once, that Sathyan Anthikad and Blessy should rely on external screenplays rather than craft it themselves. Sathyan gives a fitting reply in his 50th movie. The screenplay including the song sequences are crafted with a lot of thought, weaving a woman’s anxiety and a mother’s helplessness into relevant social commentary and a thread of happy possibilities. It all fits in very well making the movie a repeat watch. It does not fall off the box-office cliff of tear-jerker into the the abyss of over-emoting. Sathyan says the story of good people, and as the saying goes, good people do not need many words between them. The screenplay does just that by answering ‘where does the money come from’ question in two frames in a song sequence, and even treating an amateur womanizer employer with a little difference.

2. Mamta Mohandas: and Baby Anikha lighten up the screen without the hyperbole one saw in Achuvinte Amma. Mamta refuses to cry, but still conveys deep angst, without the usual ‘podippum thongalum’ of our ‘kalathilakam’ heroines trained in ‘Kathakali’. Mamta once again proves her mettle with a strong performance without exaggerations and verbosity, and Anthikad makes a good call casting Baby Anikha who brings in a endearing freshness to several situations in the storyline which otherwise would have made the movie tad heavy. Jayaram understands where he fits in and plays his card with control and elan. KPAC Lalitha should be given JC Daniel award next year, it is already too late.

Bad:

Not bad, but the supporting cast except a few can be placed in many a Sathyan movie from over the years. But Sathyan has been creating our own malgudis in his past 50 films, so I wouldn’t complain.

മമത മോഹന്‍ദാസിനെ നോക്കി ഇരുന്നു ഞങ്ങള്‍ ഇത് കണ്ടില്ല , സത്യന്‍ കൊച്ചു കള്ളന്‍ (via Jocalling)

Verdict: If I am not the last person to watch this movie, you shouldn’t be too.

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Paanashery nambi.

bvn — Sat, 19 Jun 2010 00:04:38 +0000

“…athu….Paanashery nambi

Maniyambra Purushothaman kolu vachu, contract avan pokkattilakki

Puroshathamun Arabiyum koode Ding Ding…pimp CHANDRADASAN”

This is a question thats been nagging the boys and yours truly for years. In a recent meetup in San Francisco, the standing (also sitting and sometimes lying down) committee on “Figuring out what the hell Mohanlal talks about in his movies” watched Mohanlal’s Raavanaprabhu (as per Ranjith, the 2nd installment of a story that burns like a petromax lantern in the Malayali psyche) about 3 times back to back to see if we can figure out the question first raised at the Chavadimukku internationale about 8 years back.

In the past 8 years, multiple efforts were made using the DVD and theatre version of the movie to understand these hidden gems and symbols in malayalam’s epic classic. I will not be able to cover all the hidden symbols in Raavanaprabhu in a post, because some of them are even more subtle than Monalisa showing the middle finger in Davinci’s classic painting. My primary attempt here is to figure out the Chandradasan question. It is quite significant in the sense that it occurs in the movie about 1 minute before the classic “Nateshaa….kollanda” dialoge which over the years has attained cult status, and has attained multiple unrelated meanings.

…Athu….Paanashery nambi

Maniyambra Purushothaman kolu vachu, contract avan pokkattilakki

Puroshathamun Arabiyum koode Ding Ding…pimp CHANDRADASAN

Everybody knows Maniyambra, pakshe Chandradasan? This our last attempt in finding out who Chandradasan really is.The boys suggested that we use the power of the internets and the new age social media to crowd source the answer to this 8 year long itch. You can closely watch the video here.

www.youtube.com/watch?v=axc5Jgwxb-U

In case you are able to figure this one out, we’ll need your help in understanding who Balan Pillai is. It is the scene when Mohanlal arrives at Napolean’s house during Siddique’s engagement, gets out of his car, tilts his head to the left and says “Balan Pillai!!”, straightens his head and then says “ha…ividem onda”. Balan Pillai is another raging mystery from Raavanaprabhu. Any help will be highly appreciated by the boys and your’s truly.

In other news, today is a Friday. Vaikittentha paripadi

And there was too much drama at the World Cup. In further news Manisha Koirala got married,and Amrita Arora turned 29. Congrats! and Happy Birthday to you!

Off to watch Ravan. TGIF!

P.S: This has been an inside joke for long. Now someone’s put it on facebook. Desirability and number of hits

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The misFits

bvn — Wed, 16 Jun 2010 21:51:32 +0000

The following belongs to “About me”. If there was ever a piece I could relate to, completely, its this. Just that I haven’t written it. And I don’t even know who has…all I know is I’ve had it on me for a long long time.It’s a tad long but read it. Trust me.

We lost ourselves the day we were born

Since then the search began

To find those of our family

We were confused

For we were given a family of birth

We had friends from our situation

In this funny place called “society”

We travelled

And felt the semblance of the primeval sensation of life

We wondered why we felt at home on the road

We were made to believe we were a little strange

For how many stay away from “home” for so long?

How many become the rebels we did?

We wandered on empty streets in the night

Feeling the wind of the sea, the river, the mountains of wherever we lived…

We had so many questions and no answers we found

We searches, always searched

We searched even for ourselves…

We delved in unfathomable depths of the being

We rowed for months in strange alien seas

We searched for friends of the soul

Somehow no friends we had, ever

Seemed like friends enough…

How could we explain what “friends” meant to us?

Friends were beings so akin to us

They could read our minds

Walk in step with us on those roads of life

Friends were those who travelled with us

Climbed mountains, forged rivers, conquered seas…

Friends were one life breath, strangely

Such few “friends” we ever found in this world

We stayed aloof…from so much

The norms, the religions, thought processes of the world

We risked our lives, our positions, our family relations for our beliefs

We did the things we believed in

Worked for none but ourselves

We were called selfish for we cared

About our own well being…

We fought, we battled,

We ran like mad from so many, so much

We hid, we absconded, we hibernated

Some of us found our soulmates

Some of us didn’t

Some of us had homes, children, love

Some of us lived lonely in far away homes

Some of us were fulfilled having found the love

The understanding we seeked, the minds akin to ours

Some of us…after a long time stopped searching having understood that in some lifetimes we were meant to be alone

Our soulmates parted from us, living another life…

May be in another world, probably another time zone…

We, the seekers, the thinkers, the rebels

We ache to get together for nowhere seems like home

We long for company of similar minds, sensibilities

We hurt, we bleed, we pain, we die…

But we live completely, every moment of our lives

Live the good and bad as same

Give all of ourselves to the world…

To nature… to art…

For there is no other way to live we know

We seek answers all the time

We question all the time

We are probably the only ones who know how deep pain carves its being into us

And how full happiness makes us feel…

We are comfortable with extremes

We are comfortable with tears, with abandonment, with aloneness…

We, the unknown ones

We, the misfits

We, the seekers, the thinkers, the rebels…

It is a simple poem. I don’t know who wrote it, nor do I belong. I guess different people will be able to relate to parts of it, in different ways. Found it in Bohemian Rhapsody.

We lost ourselves the day we were born

Since then the search began

To find those of our family

We were confused

For we were given a family of birth

We had friends from our situation

In this funny place called “society”

We travelled

And felt the semblance of the primeval sensation of life

We wondered why we felt at home on the road

We were made to believe we were a little strange

For how many stay away from “home” for so long?

How many become the rebels we did?

We wandered on empty streets in the night

Feeling the wind of the sea, the river, the mountains of wherever we lived…

We had so many questions and no answers we found

We searches, always searched

We searched even for ourselves…

We delved in unfathomable depths of the being

We rowed for months in strange alien seas

We searched for friends of the soul

Somehow no friends we had, ever

Seemed like friends enough…

How could we explain what “friends” meant to us?

Friends were beings so akin to us

They could read our minds

Walk in step with us on those roads of life

Friends were those who travelled with us

Climbed mountains, forged rivers, conquered seas…

Friends were one life breath, strangely

Such few “friends” we ever found in this world

We stayed aloof…from so much

The norms, the religions, thought processes of the world

We risked our lives, our positions, our family relations for our beliefs

We did the things we believed in

Worked for none but ourselves

We were called selfish for we cared

About our own well being…

We fought, we battled,

We ran like mad from so many, so much

We hid, we absconded, we hibernated

Some of us found our soulmates

Some of us didn’t

Some of us had homes, children, love

Some of us lived lonely in far away homes

Some of us were fulfilled having found the love

The understanding we seeked, the minds akin to ours

Some of us…after a long time stopped searching having understood that in some lifetimes we were meant to be alone

Our soulmates parted from us, living another life…

May be in another world, probably another time zone…

We, the seekers, the thinkers, the rebels

We ache to get together for nowhere seems like home

We long for company of similar minds, sensibilities

We hurt, we bleed, we pain, we die…

But we live completely, every moment of our lives

Live the good and bad as same

Give all of ourselves to the world…

To nature… to art…

For there is no other way to live we know

We seek answers all the time

We question all the time

We are probably the only ones who know how deep pain carves its being into us

And how full happiness makes us feel…

We are comfortable with extremes

We are comfortable with tears, with abandonment, with aloneness…

We, the unknown ones

We, the misfits

We, the seekers, the thinkers, the rebels.

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