Why do we fall?

To rise again right? No. That would be an extremely optimistic view. The question is not a simple one. It warrants a deeper understanding of human psyche. I am thinking out loud here. So please bear with me.
The simple answer to the very complex question is; we are afraid of success. We fall because we are scared of heights.
Lets look at this equation from a physical sense. Imagine that you are a mountain climber who is afraid of heights. The moment you reach 10-15 feet, you fall. You pick yourself up and start climbing. Again and again. People around you wonder aloud. "What a brave person (s)he is". And having reached the first cliff at 20 feet, when you raise up your arm and say I am satisfied, people will cheer you on. If you had reached the height on your first try and had called it quits, you would be treated as a coward, One who settled too soon. But now you are the hero. Who conquered it all and would not say quit.
We all knowingly or unknowingly employ this routine at many junctures in life. Some people are unaware of this strategy at work even when they employ it. Some use it as the last resort and some open with it. While there is an ocean of difference between the first and the last, the technique is universal.
The beauty of our world is that it glorifies failures and turnarounds much more than actual successes. Everyday thousands of soldiers stand guard over many national frontiers and guard it with such perfection that no infiltrator in the right mind would choose that passage for incursion. But when mismanagement and logistical gaps lay an easy way for such attacks, those soldiers laying down their lives are heralded as national heroes. I am not saying that their actions lacked bravery, I am just pointing out the thousand others who have equal if not more patriotism and live and die unrecognised and am asking; "what about them? Don't they deserve the same, if not more?"
The concept of failure is a strange one. We have always believed that failure is a bad thing and success is the best option. But as we go deep success in the first try garners less applaud than a string of failures followed by success.
Some things are funny that way. These things are as obvious as the elephant in the room, but someone has to switch on the light for you to see the gentle beast.

Staring at the stars all night

Night. Now that's magic... When the clouds are wiped off the slate and the black sky is dotted with diamonds and jewelled with the moon... That is truly heaven on earth for me. Love, Life and worries go to neverland and bring me closer to my creator. Its like night creates for me a wifi with God. Wireless data transfer with my father in heaven.. I know the similie is beyond lame, but can't help it.. Haven't you felt the same? Ever feel like you were chatting with God and not praying to the Almighty? Ever feel the presence beside you and not as the light leading you on?

if so you will understand. I believe it is like the green dusk. The one of which many a sailors wrote, which few had seen and loads had lied. it is the moment when you realize that there is something much bigger than your ego holding you in place... That is the moment when life unfolds... Life unfolds. For a guy with a open life, there isn't much to unfold but my secrets are few but deep and dark... They will die with me or kill me... Truth is we never have that moment for eternity

To those who, regardless of the time, duration or location have felt like brothers with God more than his humble and imperfect son, you people are lucky to be alive and have your heart beat again and again pumping that knowledge deeper into you.

To those who haven't, trying isn't the solution.. living is. Live your life and only yours.. Don't fake your self for friends or fame. Because you are God's image. And He isn't looking for a plastic surgeon soon!

Path to redemption

She walked alone, her white robes contrasting the dark night like a silvery moon descending upon the earth and its silvery light trailing behind. Her eyes were tainted with tears thick as blood. She shivered a bit but not from the cold that surrounded her. Her eyes roamed the earth as if to catch a ray of hope upon the barren heath. She must have seen nothing that held her heart for her pace grew quicker and heart beat faster. Blood pounded her veins and made her hallucinate of a distant land of sand and dust.

As she walked her feet stung bad from the scorching sun that blazed over the sandy land. At a distance drew a vision of perfection, a green lush with an ocean of water. But her trained mind foretold a false heavenly hope that nothing but sand and heat lay ahead. Just as she foretold, she reached the spot and saw the lush vanish before her eyes. She knelt on the barren sands and prayed for a drop as a river cut across her cheek. She closed her eyes and thought of the vast seas and the never-ending stretch of water on all sides.

She lifted her face and saw the sun through the blue shade, she kicked her feet hard and after an eternity broke the calm surface and took a deep breath. Love was dearest for one’s existence. She surmised, looking on all sides with mute despair. She eyed with hope a distant plank of wood that floated teasingly far off for the

Between the Woods and frozen lake

The woods were and oh so beautiful!

With the road a ribbon of white velvet.

The flaky snow made the night so white;

And covered the world in a heavenly glow.

And the lake was frozen as if to bear

A parade of dancers on its smooth floor.

As lovers dance hand in hand,

Eyes locked deep in a steady smile.

The ghosts of dancers from long lost loves

Fade away before mine eyes.

A gentle breeze flew all around

Taking the snow flakes round and round.

The world at this moment was beauty entralled;

To lose this moment was a price too steep.

Miles go on for ever and e'er;

My life ain't a road but the beauty it holds.

This is a second thought to the poem "Stopping by the woods on a snowy evenng" by Robert Frost. For those who have not read it, you should.

Angels are Vengeful

The cold steel blade felt at home in his hands. When it plunged into the depths of human body, it came out plucking more than blood and bone. It also ripped of the life within that shell, with the ease of picking a flower. But was that all? Didn’t it also take with it, a part of the yielder’s heart? The part where humanity thrives. The part that makes one human?

In a warrior’s mind these thoughts are taboo. But he was not born a warrior or a murderer. Everyone is born to this earth as a bundle of joy. It is life that makes scars too deep for healing, and a mind prepared to do all it takes to fulfill the primal instinct within. The instinct to survive.

But the problem is when one starts enjoying the process. And as he stood there awaiting his target, his heart beat a bit faster and his mouth started to dry. Adrenalin pumped into his body like an intoxicating drug. This was his peak. This was his life’s prime moment. When he felt that he was more than a bug which could be trodden on by all around him. To feel alive he had to hold within his hand the power of life. If God could give life and he could take it away, doesn’t that make him God?

It had started raining, but he barely noticed it. The wait was when he truly lived. He had to savor these moments for they were precious few. Rain dripped down his coat and crept into his boots. He hastily swept his long hair from his eyes. His wait was ending, and his moment was approaching.

He stepped out of his alley and walked toward the man who was fast approaching him. He was young, and from what he could make out, handsome and rich. As the gap closed fast, the young man’s eyes rose to meet his end. Something flashed in those black depths, a mute understanding. In the second that separated the blade and his chest, he must have known that his end was at hand. In the next moment the blade hit home and warm blood flowed free from the open wound. His eyes met the victims and he felt the same pain in his guts. Like a piece of his soul had died with his prey. But this time the pain was deeper than ever. Did this young man remind him of his early days? Emotions had no place in a killer’s heart. Then why was this pain betraying his heart.

He turned and ran before the prey hit ground. He knew fully well that the rain would wash the blood fast from his clothes. He ran for some time but the pain was not gone. He stopped for a breath but his body would not go on. He sank to the ground and watched blood flow from his clothes.

The blood flowed and flowed but it didn’t stop. All the while his pain grew more and more. So he slowly removed his loose coat and stared blankly at the silver hilt of a dagger poking from his chest. He looked to the sky and saw a lonely star. Rain washed off a single tear from his face. As his world grew dark and emptiness closed around, he was half smiling and half amazed. That angels were vengeful he had long suspected. But the swiftness of their deeds amazed him still.

To those who have gone and to those who are yet to come...

The first drop of rain fell on my face as if it had been born just to shatter on my cheeks and break into a million beautiful artworks crafted to perfection by almighty. Then came the next and then came the rain, pouring down on my face like a vengeful spirit bent on soaking me. They fell on my face like a lover's touch. This is my moment. Here I become one with the universe. These raindrops float around m and lift me up to the heavens for a mute conversation with those who have gone before me.

I am not one who has secured my second mind. I am not someone who has taken the pilgrimage to discover boundless knowledge and glory. I am just a guy who likes to walk barefoot in the rain.

Then again, who said that conversing to those above should be hard? They were with us before we came here. Those who walked with us before this life and those who will walk with us after this life. Friends. And to speak to friends you don't need ceremonial parades or preparations. You need to have a mind and the eye to see them. I see them in the rain.

This sounds crazy to anyone sane. But to each man, what is more precious and the most well kept secret than his personal insanity? Isn’t the drop of madness as essential to life as air to life? Without that madness we would be logical beings still living in the stone age. It is said that there are two percent of the population on earth who have somewhat higher levels of madness. One percent is locked up in various asylums and the other one percent is responsible for every major breakthrough in history. Imagine a sane man saying “Let’s collide two atoms and see what happens!”

But I’m straying. This is about my madness. Rain. When it pours I walk. The world is mine when it rains. I watch the normal people crowd under shelter to escape the water. Fools! I exclaim. They do not know what they are missing. But then again this is my personal pleasure. And in this walk I crave loneliness.

Loneliness. That’s the wrong word there. Alone is better. For I do not walk with men but I am anything but lonely. Every drop that shatters before my eyes have come all this way to give me company on this special occasion. How can I be alone?

Barefoot is how I prefer it but usually that isn’t possible. I still remember the day at the beach. Me, my ride and a true storm around me. The sea soared sky high and crashed before my eyes just as the rain made even my bones soaked wet. But in the streets I dare not walk barefoot. But nothing can keep me from being out there. I do not know or care what you will say when I tell you that when the wind blows the rain to my face, its like kissing my one true love. A breath of passion and pure love, only soft lips of my love can give. How incredible it is that one can see passion, love, hope and tenderness in something as simple as a raindrop.

It has stopped pouring, for now. I can already see my house at the distance. There will be other days if God permits me life, to soak in the rain as if I could melt away. People will leave and people will come. Life will move on and take me far and wide. But I pray to my gods to be merciful. And let me walk this ground with those who have gone before me and those who are yet to come again and again till I truly are by their side…

A cup of tea

The smell that rose from the mug was distinct. It had an exotic fragrance that the city life screened away in the IT hubs all over the world. I looked at the mug as if it was something taboo, something stolen out of another man's life. But this house had been my world for the first twenty years of my life. Perhaps the most beautiful years of my life. It stood more to the village side of the nation and hence had more space, more privacy. The tea plantations that spread across the hills lining the horizon formed a visual treat that I had once taken for granted and later missed more than I could have dreamed possible.



My life took me away from this heaven all at once and ignorance prevented me from thinking twice. My life was here, my mother was here. And all of that I left for a prize too small. And when it dawned on me that the choice was wrong, all that was left was a shell of the past.



I left the room and walked around just to see if much has changed. I can remember every inch of this home like I never could any of my new houses. My legs had a mind of their own here and they took me to corners that once smelled of my sweat. Memories of innocent friendships and playful pleasures came back to me. Or had they never left the back of my mind?



Life was simple then. Pleasure meant a rubber ball and a sunny day. Now it meant expensive cars, finest wines and exotic holidays. But could all that money can buy compensate the pleasure of that simple rubber ball? If I answer that, my world would come tumbling down.



My feet took me away from my home, to the nearby stream were me and my friends used to swim. The stream had dried up but if I stood and listened long enough, the flow of water and sounds of laughter could still be heard. I sat on the dry banks and tried to shed a tear for the long lost days. But all I could do was smile at my own stupidity. Those days are gone for good. I started my return, this time my head guiding the way.



At a distance, my home looked as beautiful as the days bygone. As I reached closer, I saw someone standing at the door looking at me like a long lost treasure. My heart skipped a beat and my breath stopped short. I kept looking into those beautiful eyes. For that one moment, I was once again twelve and was running back home to my mother's arms. Tears that just moments before had refused to yield now flowed free blinding my eyes. I blinked away the tears and looked at the empty space. i knelt down on the dirt road and wept till my soul was pure once more.



Once I had left this land which loved me. Now I pay the price in memories and tears.