the ghost

 

Can you see the ghost

Standing there at that window

Blocking not the dusk-lit corridor

Staring at nothingness

Or is it a reflection

Of me and an unsure past

That technicolour #wrapper

An empty waste not discarded?

#vss365

from 'Path of No Return'

 

"Is there a temple on this #skerry?"

"This is not a skerry. We call it thuruthu. There's a temple for lovers---the Place of No Return."

"Lovers?"

"Only couples are allowed. If they are truly lovers, they won't return."

"What happens to them?"

"What happened to us?"

#vss365

from

https://newnonentities.blogspot.com/2010/11/path-of-no-return.html

O Almighty

 

I saw a squirrel leaping

From my window to the ground,

Dropped my soul for a nut

Or some other amusement

And there I was 

Another dead one

Staring from a window

Praying, 

"O Almighty Squirrel,

Hope you know that

That #hopeless thing

Is to be recycled?"  

#FromOneLine 311

#vss365

spectator

 

I remember a basketball match long ago,

I was a spectator and slept throughout.

I am once again just that,

The gnarled hand fondles before the big sleep.

#vss365 #gnarled

but free

 

Do not look so cross

When I release you from chains.

Sad, lonely but free. 

#vss365 #release

#haikufeels #cross

train to nowhere

 

On the train to nowhere, a beggar sang about going somewhere. There were old familiars. The young lad with a smile for goodbyes; the teen with dreams; the twenty something left bereft; the older ones defeated clowns. "All with the same name, nice," the ticket examiner noted.

Not Really A Story

Not Really A Story

 [click here to download]

This is a selection of short stories and ‘poetry’ from the 3 collections of Swapna & New Nonentities (Musing, Voiceless New Nonentities and Without Reason).

I would truly appreciate any feedback regarding this process of discarding, selecting, editing and arranging; and, of course, the selected stories and ‘poetry’.

Fare Thee Well

Without Reason

For once, let me be true. I am doing this without reason. I think that is true.

Without Reason

 [click here to download this third collection of stories and poems]

References:

Collection 1: Musing [click here to download]

Collection 2: Voiceless [click here to download]

Collection 3: Without Reason [click here to download]

Check This Out

Here are some photos taken during a trip.

For more on the trip, check out: http://justoneavatar.blogspot.com/2011/04/story-tellers-sabbatical.html

virtual hara-kiri

`With pleasure…’

With my friend Arjun, it is usually more pleasing to place his answer before my question:

`If I were to perform hara-kiri, will you be my kaishaku?’

I really rely on him. A few weeks back, I asked him to read one of my blogs, a seriously funny one. He read it carefully, hugged me tightly, whispered softly `Lovely…it is sad!’

Recently, on the topic of blogs once again, he surprised me with a request:

`I want to feel a book…here, in blogosphere.’

`What?’

`I mean,
• go away from frenetic on-line activities;
• stay off-line with a collection of blogs;
• lazing over the cover, the preface, the table of contents;
• using old skills without tags, labels and search engines;
• having a bird’s eye view over a sea of gathered and discarded thoughts;
• swooping in on that blog which I feel like reading.’

How can I refuse him? Anyway, with regard to time and effort, I found the task to be only as daunting as the task of writing a single blog. This is the output:

COLLECTION OF MY BLOGS
(click here to download PDF file,
size ~ 2.75 MB)

Anyway, a year has gone by since I wrote my first blog. This proved to be ideal to view and arrange with a fresh perspective before moving on.

`Hope other friends try it out too…and, let us know when their collection is ready.’

`That would be nice.’ I really think so.

Arjun said, `Byeeee.’

`Take care.’

`By the way, what does this have to do with virtual hara-kiri?’

From Behind The Calm

It is a beautiful day in February. While the plane readied for landing, I studied the beautiful fresco – this city, laced by the light brown beaches, the blue-green sea merging with the azure calm extending from those depths to the plains carpeted by coconut trees and the green hills with the topi of grey stone.

“It has to be so,” he had said, “when you return…ready…”

His place is close to the city centre, a non-descript house with living quarters on the ground floor and his room upstairs. During the taxi-ride from the airport, I tried to remember the first meeting.

It was an April after the first shower with the smell of earth in the air, and I reached his house just before dusk. His wife politely advised me to try the next day but I waited outside the gate. Much later that night, I saw a woman leaving the house and I watched her walk away.

When I looked back at his house, I saw him at the gate studying me. He must have seen a sorry bedraggled figure. He is young, of medium height, fair, lean and when I got closer, I saw only his eyes, tired, soft and caring, and totally focused on me.

“Please come,” he said. When we were inside, he asked his wife, “Is there kanji (porridge) for us?” I started to speak but he begged for silence, head lowered with his left forefinger at his lips. We sat side by side on a bench at a long table within, finished the meal and then, went upstairs.

It is an empty white room. He must have seen doubt on my face, “Did you expect gods and demons? Aren’t they here?” He added, “Before…there used to be symbols, each symbol with a story…what are stories for?” I listened in silence. “To suit one’s needs, hopes, thoughts. A mirror’s enough, isn’t it? With me – the mind will do…and uncluttered space, without distraction. Some call it insanity, some…black magic…it’s just…the power of the mind.” We talked the whole night. Close to dawn, he told me what I had to do.

As I was leaving, he said, “My part will work but remember…it could strike…you or them.”

I left promising to return only when he calls, living according to how he had prescribed. I lived outside this state, in small flats in big cities, ready to shift with a suitcase and light bedding, a plate and a mug. For lunch, I forced myself to have a full meal and, water or coffee with biscuits for breakfast and supper. No sex, alcohol or tobacco; no company of any sort; no contact other than a few phone-calls per month to avoid unnecessary enquiries.

At first, I felt lost, defeated and disinterested. Then, I could barely sleep, always feeling raw, bitter and frothing rage. Finally, I lost sense of time and space, and stopped waiting for his call. Then, at all times, I saw them…the people who destroyed me…and, I started feeling that they had already ceased to exist. He called me two weeks back.

Today is the kind of day when I can return – a day so beautiful, peaceful and calm.

We are in his room, leaning against opposite walls, silent and static, focusing on each other’s eyes. I remember his words,

“…it could strike…you or them.”

I could feel his eyes enveloping me and I heard:

From behind the tranquil calm,
In the guise of hope play their role,
They come to wreck and harm,
Not the body but the immortal soul.