Do your bit. Save the earth..

We don't have a life support system elsewhere. Go green.
Act. .!!!

Tuesday, January 19, 2010

The end of life as I knew it!

Hello! Here I come, again, with one of my 'returns to the blogosphere', and with the intention of making this one a comparatively more permanent kind. I've got to confess that's its all been sheer laziness all this while. I'd be lying if I say I was never inspired enough to sit in front of the screen and type. Its the contrary, truth be told. I've probably never been as inspired as I've been in the past six months. I've felt elated on some occasions, moved on others, hysterically ecstatic sometimes. And in the same breath, I must add that I've maneuvered through some of the most abysmal emotional lows. All very capable triggers of inspiration, and imagination.

Today, as I remember it all, I find plenty of things I could write about. But then I'm completely blank the very next moment. I guess that happens when there's too much to pour, and too small an outlet. And with this six-month-full database of moments, each moment brimming with 'memories-dreams-imaginations-emotions-and-what-nots', and with this limited capacity to express, I feel handicapped. I'm forced to think that maybe it was not just laziness. Maybe it was this handicap that's been preventing me from blogging all this while. Maybe this handicap is what has left me speechless.

Tell me. Aren't you left speechless when you look back at your life, and realize that for a good twenty years of your life, everything appeared meaningless to you, and then suddenly just when you're turning twenty-one, everything starts falling into place, in a perfectly meaningful scheme of things? Doesn't it amaze you when you feel yourself waking up from an ignorant slumber, replacing the imposter that had been charade-ing your existence all your life? How do you bring yourself to give vent to it all? Or, let us paraphrase it in a more profound manner:

If you were BORN with an absolute capacity to communicate perfectly in all manners possible for a human, and with the level of consciousness, intelligence, cognition and emotional ripeness of a twenty-one-year-old, what would be your first words? Or even first thoughts? And what'd it be that you'd want to communicate the most?

Now, as obscure as it may sound, expressing myself right now would be a good approximation to sketching the practical extrapolation of the philosophical speculation in the italics above. From nothingness, to the highest form of consciousness, this other me has not taken too long a time. There's less clarity, and a lot of incomprehensibility, and describability. Its easier to talk in images, because images have tentacles that protrude in all directions and dimensions, and thus can express even the things that remain to be comprehended. Like a record playing a symphony.

Talking of images, there are a few that have found permanent foothold for themselves in my mind. A noisy steamer bubbling with people, a windy summer evening, a majestic river bridge, a riotous river stretching almost as far as one's vision can reach, scintillating city lights all around- neither too close nor too far. Nice setting, ain't it? Let us get the details in.

The steamer ride from Fairley Place to the Howrah Railway station sometime back is one image that fails to escape the bastion of my reminiscences. It was beautiful with the vessel cutting through the voluminous Hooghly below, and the Howrah Bridge glowing a delightful yellow at a distance. The cool wind was caressing my hair incessantly, relieving me of the tortures the day temperature, and a few other things, had showered upon me. It seemed to me as if the copper evening was making love to the world around me. The day had been one of the most unfortunate ones one could ever wish for.. But somehow the approaching night seemed to hold great promise of a gorgeous morning gestating inside its belly. I like to think of that tiny journey as being symbolic of the transition I was going through. From nothingness to being. From despair to joy. From slumber to awakening. From the nonsensical to the meaningful. From the life(or maybe, the absence of it) I had all my life.. to the life I was about to have for the rest of my life.

Coming to the philosophical question we pondered on again, I think my first word would be 'Wow' or any of its synonymous expressions, single-worded or otherwise. The first thought would be that of gratitude, albeit towards no-one, or nothing in particular. And I suppose I'd be dying to communicate to the audience, how I find this thing called life that I have inherited, or acquired or whatever, so darn exciting, and so beautiful!

I bring that image back on, and reminisce across it once again. It appears even more heartwarming than on the previous occasion. It refuses to wane or wither, no matter how many times, and for how long I think about it. I wonder what is it about it that makes it linger on. I wonder why it makes me say 'Wow' to myself. I wonder why I feel grateful for having had those moments. And I wonder why I so wanted to communicate this to all of you who read my blog, or are going to read it!

Going through the reel again... Wait a minute. Have I told you about the girl who was standing by my side all the while on the steamer? Oh, I didn't?

Okay. Go back to the lines where I was telling you about the transition, and add this tiny li'l bit to the 'from-to' drift: From singlehood to coupledom! ;-)

Saturday, June 27, 2009

Canvases of dreams..

Of all canvases, sky is the greatest, and the most amazing too. And its only been a while that I've come to realize this. Otherwise, I've often thought of it as a huge TV screen, with someone behind it changing channels, making it exhibit one visual extravaganza after another. Brilliant red sunsets, warm copper dawns, enchanting rainbows and those humbling holders of beauty of the highest form- auroras. Now I see clearly.. these are all natural occurrences- scientific reasons offering explanations available.

Magnetic effects of the giant magnet our earth happens to be; reflective, refractive n dissipative treatment of light by our atmosphere. Its like we get to see things beyond our control. There's no menu. We don't get to order our stuff. We are served completely unexpected dishes, and at times we don't expect them at all. Surprises sure have their charm.. but as I said.. looking at the sky, watching the things it wants us to see, is like watching TV, only without any known pre-telecast programme.

Come desires, temptations, dreams, imaginations and the giant TV falls terribly short on its appeal. What really makes the sky the greatest and the most amazing of all canvases, is that it has sufficient room to harbour all our imaginations- sensible or otherwise. Its like a huge playground, and there's no censorship over the games we could play.

Shape spotting is one such game. You look at the clouds in the sky and you try to find shapes. It does sound like you're supposed to discover them, but the truth is, you always end up inventing them instead by making suitable, convenient assumptions and ignorations. Because you never can possibly find the shapes you look for. But, hey, that's the very point!

Sky.. is the breeding ground for wishful thinking, in the face of the probabilistic credentials of the world we live, and most importantly, love in. The shapes that turn up as clouds, are only a few of an infinite number of possibles. One of the possibles could be 'the pout of a carp'. And yes.. the chances of it actually showing up are practically zero. But, we don't lose heart when our imaginations don't materialize. We touch up the reality, mould it the way we want it, the way we dream of it. And therein lies all the beauty of the shapes that actually aren't even there!

The shapes don't have to be there for them to appear beautiful, or even true. You sit with a girl by a pond, with the wind scattering crazy ripples all over its heavy surface, and then rising up to hit her in her face, throwing her animated hair in all possible directions. She looks gorgeous with all that migratory hair, sitting pretty as a crown on her head one moment, and brushing her forehead restlessly the next. Yes, she doesn't know any of it.. but she looks GORGEOUS !! And sitting under a skyful of shapeless flowers, mountains, hearts, dragons and what-nots.. she ignites whirlwinds of fantasies inside you.. whirlwinds that devour you and make you restless down to your cytoplasms. You start feeling dissatisfied with what's around. You start looking for a snow-clad peak in the foreground.. or maybe woods in an otherwise arid geographical setting. And then when with one of her delicate finger, she points a peculiarly shaped cloud out, and says 'look.. look... butterfly', when its not even a caterpillar.. you still give in n say, 'o yes yes. How cute!'. The magical part is, you don't lie just to make her happy or anything.. you lie because its more beautiful that way. Its like living your dream right in front of your eyes.. painted across the giant canvas of the sky above, the way you want it to be.

Truth, after all, is not only what you believe in.. but also what you'd hate doubting even in the face of convincing evidence of it being untrue. Truth is what is beautiful. The rest of it is just 'correct facts'. Dreams don't come true when you top some merit list. Dreams come true when you're lying down with your friends in a 'top of the cliff' shack overlooking a pretty beach.. and white gulls fly in front of your eyes.. wings dancing in an elegant denial of gravity, and burden. Dreams come true when you help an old lady write a complaint letter against some corrupt govt officer so she could get her justice, and she showers upon you the genuinest thankyou you could ask for. Dreams come true when a filthy looking dog comes and scares her while you're sitting by a paddy field.. and in a swift, quick movement she gets hold of your hand and shifts closer, seemingly unaware of the discomfort of the moment presently, and hiding the embarrassment under the veil of 'reflex action, out of fear' later on. You feel so grateful that you actually thank the doggy!

Dreams come true when she points THAT cloud out and asks, 'Do you see the butterfly?', and you don't even look up to confirm, and say, 'Heck! I see the butterfly flying!'

Dreams do come true.. on the greatest canvases of all. Paint on! :-)

P.S: This is just a casual return to the blogosphere, after a particularly strange phase in life, replete with illnesses, examinations.. and err.. a few surprise elements! I understand I've kept you readers waiting for the Magnania episodes way too long. I'll come back to it as soon as possible.. In the meantime, keep sending in your comments ! Cheers :-)

Monday, May 4, 2009

Catch my drift..

A certain Mr. Poincare had once said that, thought is only a flash between two long nights, but this flash is everything. If it were true, what my mind is playing host to right now, must be complete fireworks. I can't hold a thought steady. And all these consequent, completely random flashes give me a feeling that I'm heading towards (read transcending into) a state of 'everythingness'. In simpler terms, I'm restless and I'm becoming too self-obsessed!

Okay.. lets see what could have possibly caused such a huge eruption inside me.

It was a really ugly summer that we were having so far. Unbelievable mercury levels, really. But.. but.. yesterday chose to be a li'l different. I was walking down the highway, back to my room, when all of a sudden the sky started taking a very seductive touch of grey. The eucalyptus trees that lined the road shone gleefully, the white glory of their lustrous barks beautifully juxtaposed against the increasing darkness of the clouds that had suddenly appeared out of nowhere. It didn't take much time for the expectant clouds to deliver the goods. And like light creeping in through tiny slits in the walls of a dark room, the rain covered us all in a brooding envelope of sensory relief. 

I recall I was almost dancing on the highway- shouting out insane crescendos of exclamatory utterings in every possible language I could think of, contemplating how a gorgeous female company wouldn't have hurt. And those of you who think I over-reacted, well, cross check your facts again. A good two months straight of blast-furnace-like temperatures ! Heck, I would have been justified enough, even if I happened to throw open all my clothes. 

Such an orgasmic release,
sure deserves a strip-tease!

The furiously cold wind (read May wind) made the raindrops take crazy forms - at times a huge chimney coming out of the sky's womb and attaching itself to the earth's navel like an endless umbilical cord, and at others a haphazard riot of watersports. God, I love rain !

Yes, partial courtesy to yesterday's weather! It was so bloody intoxicating, I'm still chronically hungover. That would partially explain my restlessness. 

Only partially, though. Means there is something else. Oh yes, the whole cocktail of Bertrand Russell, William Wordsworth, Descartes and Rousseau ! Each one of them is such a powerful mover of human thought. Just imagine the combined impact. The hyperbolic doubt concept, though still dubious, is a thumping triumph of logic and reason and of a man's hold on them. Russell's distinct differentiation between the world that appears to be, and the world that, supposedly, is.. is again a genius seriously at play. Nobody had it better than Rousseau when he summarised the whole spirit of the Romantic movement in five goddamn words- I felt before I thought. And oh that glorious Wordsworth verse !! 

Now, that menu above would mean complete enchantment, right? Well.. just a minor addition. Complete enchantment and... and.. and complete agitation

Okay, what else?? Oh yes, my guitar! My heartbroken darling. Devastated in a fit of rage, by her own master. It looks terrible, honestly. The neck is all loose and hanging.. as hanging as those famous gardens that go by the same name. The only note it can play now is that of melancholy. I can't take my eyes off her, but can't stand looking at her at the same time. It makes me think of me.. like when I'm broken (yes, at times, I am).  And then, it makes me think of how I rise above all the self-pity and repair myself, all the freaking time:

Cry not for me.
For I'm not gone.
For this ain't no dusk.
Coz there's been no dawn.

Cry not for me.
for in these skies
no shadow can have me eclipsed.
For I'm the sun,
and I'm yet to rise!

Yes, I have a pretty obstinate spirit. I just wish my stringy love was as solid. Couldn't endure a gentle blow. Such a shame! I hope it repairs itself the way I do. I'm dying to play it again. I'm restless.. to play it again.

I haven't slept in fourty hours.. and I'm not falling asleep anytime soon. That should tell you there must be many more such agitating things going on with me. Or alternatively, maybe, ONE hugely agitating thing. 

Well, confession time, folks!

Ahem, ahem! Okay. Yes, there is. Only a meagre few of those flashes have got things to do with the rain, the guitar, or Wordsworth. Most of it is something else. I would love to tell you that, but you know, I can't. Right now, revelation can complicate things. So, while I bask in the delight of veiling yet another secret (okay, okay.. that 'yet' was an exaggeration. There never were many, actually!), I'm gonna leave you with this:

Drenched in sunshine, famined in rain.
Does pain relieve? Or is relief the pain?
Oxymorons, they tickle and tease me now.
I need to rush, but I wonder how!

Sunday, April 26, 2009

'Deja vu'-ed love..

As you stand before me today,
overcast with a hundred shrouds, sky’s blaze cutting in,
like on a wet September day.
The hands of reach, shutting in,
like a bug engulfed in the cattle’s hay.

A pompous carnival, of memories
breaks loose inside, and takes
me to those pygmy trees,
and birthday chocolate cakes..
and desires’ blameless luxuries.

Summer mornings lazily spent,
amid Disney-ed breakfast, and the pet cartoon.
And excited evenings dispensed many a vent,
to man’s erstwhile conquest of the moon.
(That’s how my Dad’s car got that ugly dent!)

NASA plans, voiced gleefully aloud,
resonated prettily with Monica’s cloning schemes.
O how nice it was then, when the world allowed
wishful thinking, and maniacal dreams,
nursed in restless hearts- fertile orchards, rich and boughed!

Complain boxes, obligingly hearing
your naive grudges against your pals,
housed your silent curses, tearing
apart vengeful walls, for who else shall
embank hate’s constant raring?

And Oh, those enchanting Christmas eves!
The wise men from the east!
Embellished, sparkling, X-mas trees!
The comely mass, and the following feast!
O how we conjectured, what Santa leaves!

Today, as you stand facing me,
the morning dew shining on your skin,
like diamonds glistering disarmingly.
I manoeuvre through a mandatory tailspin
into the burrow of past, so blaringly!

The frost settled on your luscious pout,
melts in the heat of your ignited breath.
And your moony eyes distinctly tout,
a redolent foray into the discontented death
of the past’s distant, fanciful shout.

And like the transcendence into a mighty superhero,
like the pursuit of hundred, and like the despisal of zero.
You choose to be an oneiric temptation,
an alluring nirvana, an awaited vacation,
a seat at NASA, a place on the moon,
Santa’s arrival (that ain’t pretty soon!),
a much hunted crown, yet another Dolly,
at times a feat, at times a folly,
a promotion deserved, a pending complaint,
a road unpaved, an uncanonized saint,
an ascent of the K-two, a shot at the Nobel,
eye-feast of the ball, the charming ‘la belle’.

So, don’t just stand off there, you eluding delight.
You’re all mine, or I’m dead, downright, outright!

Thursday, March 26, 2009

Love, me and a few others. Part II - Resolutions

As the night grew in darkness, the clouds grew in lethality. The monstrous raindrops kept shattering the sails of the vessel. The crew was having an arduous time keeping the water out, as the ocean threatened to get in every time the elephantine waves burst out of the abysmal goblet of liquid darkness underneath. The puissant wind shook the sailors from head to toe. The skies blew furious trumpets above, overpowering the blaring shouts of ‘Hard to starboard’, making them sound like faint whispers.

As the night grew in darkness, apprehensions grew into hopelessness. No, Brave Solarus did not doubt the existence of Marvelina. How could she ever be just a figment of his dream? She had appeared more real than all of the magnificence of Magnania..That is why he had embarked on the voyage in the first place.. paying no heed to his father’s repeated warnings about that being an inauspicious time. Now he feared the possibility of the inauspiciousness metamorphosing into misfortune. The oracle’s words provided little solace. Sure, they were words right out of fate’s mouth. But there was no certain outcome. This could be one last conquest attempt of the great Prince of Magnania. 

Unlike all previous territorial battles, what lay ahead wasn’t human challenge. Solarus now confronted a puzzling design plotted in the clandestinity of the high heavens. He had been entrusted to call the tune. He did not want to fail the heavens. He did not want to fail himself. He did not want to fail his father and the centuries of unquestioned supremacy running in his veins. And, he did not want to fail Marvelina.

My body's but a mere device,
the 'me' inside is yours to savour.
This 'me' won't freeze an inch in ice
and won't die of all the labour.

So let my limbs be cut, or my head be dead
or my armour adorn the ocean's bed.
In time, my love, I'll come to thee
Soaring above the mighty sea !

As the night grew in darkness further, his head grew in agitation. So did the ocean. And in one final defiant blow, it caught Solarus and his fleet napping. The vessel toppled like a madman diving off a giant cliff – tail up, mast down into the stomach of the sea. Like a dagger cutting into the flesh of some gigantic beast, tearing the skin apart on its way down. The sail remained afloat bouncing with the waves, mocking at the sheet’s attempts at drawing it inside. Moments later the sea vomited the shipwreck back, sans the men aboard. 

Ravened by fate, buried into its hollow,
Preceded by wreck, and the silence to follow.
Should courage perish on the altar of love?
or should it endure the fate's fatal shove? 

Outside the train, the approaching night was insistent on killing the copper twilight. Inside it, hesitation was insistent on killing me. It was almost making me feel that fantasizing was the only resort. The pantry guy’s repetitious appearances added to the indecision. I finally decided, it was safer to enter into a tea tête-à-tête with the accompanying guy first. 

“Which college, buddy?” 


“Pretty decent. Which course, by the way?”

“B.Com, 2nd year”
“Great! I too have a friend there. Would you like to have some tea?”

It wasn’t that short. And it wasn’t that simple. But it hardly matters, for the outcome was in my favour. The girl duly consented to provide company. I asked the pantry guy three cups. 

The sexiest thing in and about this world is ‘motion’. When a girl is sitting by a train compartment window with the wind blowing into her face, its her animated hair. When a girl walks, its her gyrating hips. When a girl doesn’t talk, its her stirred up eyes. Likewise, when a girl talks, its her lips. And its amazing how often the motion in lips makes you go weak in knees. When a girl sips tea, her lips forming an inviting siphon and enticingly touching the border of the cup to suck in the liquid rolling inside through its flushed fullness, its a thoroughly bewitching spectacle. 

Did I say tea is a good conversation starter? Heck, it’s a paranoia inducer! And a girl sipping tea, ohhhh, its an out-and-out turn-on! 

Oh how invalid have you rendered me, love !
Don't make me breathe in through my skin.
And please shoo off these lovebirds lingering above.
Er.. why do your feet resemble a mermaid's tail fin ?

Floating above the teacup, surfacing through the air in between, her vision travelled in quick leaps, and halted right before my eyes. Blinking my eyelids didn’t seem worth it. The vapours from the tea formed crazy patterns, wrote something in the ‘staff notation’ all around me, played a million silent symphonies. A gold pendant shone cruelly, pitched against the blushful fairness of her skin. A random piece of paper hovering around randomly, randomly brushed against one of her cheeks. I almost got up to prevent it from touching her, lest a mere touch should make her crumble down into a gazillion flower buds that she appeared to be made of. 

I was going overpoweringly insane. Love? Hallucination, maybe? I didn’t know. But, as it has dawned upon me now, love indeed is hallucination. Wish I knew it then. Wish I had kneeled down in front of her with the whole compartment watching, and told her that I could sure live without her, but it wouldn’t truly be living. But then, I wish a lot of things. Like, I wish I had kept a track of time and had seen the station penultimate to my destination pass by. I would then have had enough time to scribble something on a piece of paper and somehow pass it up to her. Enough time to take this a notch further.       

But, as it turned out, time was something I was terribly short on. The train was rushing towards the station as if propelled by a jet engine. My time to get down had come. Actually, to get down from the train I still had a minute or two, but if I were to get down on my knees, this was it. 

Seconds went by. Then, minutes.

The shipwreck was scattered all around like dead men lying on a battlefield. The waves tossed the remains of the ship at will. But, the crew was still nowhere to be seen. And then all of a sudden, Solarus erupted out of the sea like a volcano, emerging from unfathomable depths of the sea. All body armour intact. Nerves threatening to tear out of his forehead, the mighty Prince advanced in quick, powerful strokes, ripping through the tumultuous waters. With the sea subjecting him to strangulating torture every passing moment, Solarus grew in agility to keep his hopes alive. He was prepared to go through a thousand such ordeals just to ensure the lessening of the distance that separated him from his Marvelina.

Aboard the train, about to get off, I had failed to manage enough courage to get down on my knees. And now standing just clear of the footboard, I repented like hell. I suddenly realized I had nothing to lose. And everything to gain. But I had almost let go of ‘my shot at love’. 

What do I do now? What do I do?
Show you some dance now? Or should I Kung-fu?
What do I do to blow off the dirt?
Scream out my love? Fuckin take off my shirt?

No, I couldn’t let go. I had to do something. Do something mad, something illogical. Something otherworldly. Does telepathy work? Not sure. Will going to a temple and offering an honest prayer help? Too filmy. Will hunting her down by trying every possible mobile number in the world work? Shut up, dickhead!  

Could I skip getting off, accompany the girl to her destination, and take some other train back. Too ‘in the heat of the moment’. No.. wait. Not thaaaaat bad. Okay I’m not getting off. I’m not going, lady! I’m coming, love!      

To be continued ....

Saturday, March 14, 2009

The secret

The actualization of the artificial solicits complete familiarization with the natural.

Wednesday, February 25, 2009

Obscurity of Communication

To tell something is to conceal something.

Love, me and a few others. Part I - Intimations.

You come across her when you least expect to. While shopping in a supermarket, or browsing through a bookstore, or maybe in a hospital where you're having your regular check-up. In my case, it was during a train journey. The 'my kinda girl'. Ohkay.. not just my 'kinda' girl. The one of whose type I had desired the most. Pretty as hell. Feminine as hell. Graceful as hell. Elegant as hell. And those two goddamn dimples punctuating that 'one hell of a smile'. Hell.. She looked every bit 'my lady'! She talked like a dream. And with every minute movement she made, my heart felt like a huge bomb about to explode. Ohkay.. all of this sounds pretty cliché. But the cliché is cliché because it happens.. isn't it?

Hey, I've hit the best gym in town !
I've pushed it up, I've pulled it down.
I've fed on shakes, eggs and bread,
So on a beefed-up chest, you could rest your head !

So here is this gorgeous co-commuter who's just entered the compartment. I help her with the luggage. She says a gentle li'l 'thanx'. Everything perfect so far. This could be a beginning.. an inconsequential looking minor incident spiraling our lives into eventually merging with each other's, irreversibly. Two catches though. One, she was accompanied by a boy who in my opinion wasn't her brother (for the simple reason that he wasn't 'beautiful' enough to qualify.. and even if he was, I wouldn't say it for he was f*in accompanying the girl !). And two, I had to get down in, lets say, 20 minutes. But those weren't immediate worries for me. In fact, nothing was a worry for me, for I was already in a dreamland. With whom is anybody's guess. Troilus and Criseyde. Me Troilus, she Criseyde.

How ferforth be ye put in love's daunce?
'By god,' quod he, 'I hoppe alwey byhynde!'

- Chaucer

Then Romio-Juliet, Sohni-Mahiwal, Jack-Rose, Om-Angelina took turns. I kept looking at her. I managed to spot a few unintentional (or were they?) glances from her side too. I beamed at the prospect of her finding me desirable. Shuttling between reality and fantasy, I thought of the ways to initiate a conversation. Asking her the time. Damn, I had a watch on my wrist. Maybe telling her that her luggage is about to fall. I glanced at her bags. Stationed perfectly where they were supposed to be. The pantry boy brings in tea. Offering her a cup, on me, seemed okay. It could appear as being purely out of civil etiquette. And offering the guy she was with one, would eliminate the obvious chances of doubt over my intentions. Tea is known to be one damn good conversation starter anyways. Perfect !

But.. I hesitated. What if she turns down?

Oh how I wish I didn't fear rejection !


Meanwhile, in a place separated by an un-traversable distance from where all of us were, the sea was on a boil. Waves the size of towering mountains tossed the mighty ship at their will. The wild waters were black as coal, whitening occasionally with sudden bolts of lightning setting them ablaze momentarily. The unfriendly clouds above wrapped the stars in a thick blanket of gray, showering harshly on the crew. Solarus, the son of the great Enormus, the mighty emperor of Magnania, stood on the deck - unfazed, unperturbed, fearless..

This was no time for fear. Let the others dread the unusual hostility of the sea. They weren't as dauntless. They weren't as powerful. And most of all, they didn't have the conviction of that dream. A dream that Solarus remembered creeping into his unsuspecting sleep like rainwater seeping through layers of the earth, to the very bedrock, seven nights ago. A dream that had kept him up, wide awake, restless ever since. A dream that was so real it took him an hour of interrogations to those around, to realize it wasn't real. And even after he realized that, he believed in it. He believed in what he saw. He believed that on an island somewhere on the east, there was a Marvelina. And he believed she was as beautiful as she was in his dream. Marvelina, a maiden so fair that he was almost blinded on the first sight, his eyes left galvanized by the infinite aura of light that surrounded her. And her pink skin, radiant against the halo at her back, and the highs and lows on it, had made his heart forget its most basic function - the perpetual duty of beating. .

Your lips so red, they murder me dead.
No heaven I seek, take you instead.
All I desire, lies in your eyes
between your thighs, my paradise !

She fluttered her eyelids there.. and here, he heard a thousand bagpipes at once. Blended notes - love and longing. Blended notes - heartleap and heartache. Blended notes - Marvelina and Solarus. Cased exquisitely in two beautiful dolphinous eyes, were the lake blue pupils - each detail discreet, each line etched flawlessly. And the way they asked Solarus to come to her, it was inescapable. The resolve that he made in the dream.. lingered on even when he was out of it. Restless as a deer with a arrow buried into its flesh, he went to the oracle, and told her about the dream. As he spoke, the oracle looked into his dreamy eyes and declared:

To the east, where the sun is born,
is she, who plagueth thee thus.
There be Marvelina - troubled, forlorn.
You she needeth. To the horizon, rush!

Today, as he faced the dungeon of unknown peril ahead, his only concern in the world was to get her and then love her like there's nothing else. There was no fear of death. Just the consistent fear that fate might reject his mad endeavor.

Oh how he wished he didn't fear rejection !

 To be continued !! The next part - Resolutions.

Monday, February 2, 2009

A moment of thought

Feel it. You can always understand later. :-)