Time, having invented timing, is really pathetic at it. The fact that invention doesn't mean mastery is a concept which has yet to stick, despite it being right in front of our eyes all this time.
And that is how the day begins, with fresh dash of heaviness and the willingness to succumb. I seek to fight against time which notoriously stands still when I am trying to move, and I seek to avenge the time I've lost so far because it was in a hurry. Many say that a start should be positive, but they fail to understand the sheer amount of power and hunger the darker embodiments provide. Besides, beyond the idea of a positive or negative morning, vests the battle between my starved psyche and an empty night. And thus, things pen out, regardless of how they've panned out.
किस्मत से कहाँ, तू खुद से लड़ता है, फ़िर हारे तू क्यूँ यहाँ? जब टूटे हैं ये दिल, रो भी न तू पाए, और कुछ न कहे ये ज़ुबान, जाता, जाए तू कहाँ पता तेरी मंज़िल कहाँ?
My commute now as become mechanical, a part of my muscular memory. The same songs on repeat every morning, the same trains, the same path - even the same blocks of tiles I tread on the station everyday. I keep my eyes low, as there comes a place which intersects my monotonous commute and a special - still - yet stale hue remains, and every night it gets a little stale. That's only until I pop in the station again, in midst of a bustling inferno of commuters, and I pause for a second twice a day. And I remember words I said after singing 'Jab Koi Baat', "Andheri me toh thaama hi hai, andhero me bhi thaam lena."
खड़ा हूँ आज भी वहीं, लगी तेरी ही आस है, कैसी है ये बेबसी, ये कैसी दिल की प्यास है? छू लो जो मुझे तुम कभी, खो ना जाऊं मैं रात दिन, नज़रों मेरे तुम हो बसे! कह दो जो तुम एक बार, मेरे हो बस तुम मेरे! नज़रों मेरे तुम हो बसे!
And then I reach the end point - a place where I am supposed to be, whether I want to be or not. My wants to be in that place are not affected by what the place in itself has to offer, but who the place has to offer. I don't see a point going there to experience deja vu of my academic experiences all over again. I don't want to be in a place where leeching with smiles is rampant. And from there on I don't wan't to go to ease my mind. I don't want my life to go to the beach and ask questions which the sea cannot answer - the sea just gives you the same things again and again until you understand it - be it as it may that you're 15, 18, or 23. I can't go to the sea. I think it doesn't want me back.
I look about, frantically, for someone to come and talk. And that is when I realised that telling people that you're available if they want to talk doesn't mean that service is reciprocated. There is absolutely no bearing on the fact that you may have heard people out, but that's because you can, and their willingness to listen.
दिल मेरे तू है इक नाकारा, माने न तू क्यूँ किस्मत का मारा? ना काबिल नादान ढूंढे जिनके. दिन माया सूने बिन रस्ते. उन बाज़ारों में दिल के फिरता आवारा, झूठा दिल, झूठा है ये जग सारा!
And then I come back. Lost. With nothing new to say, do or write. Yet I work and finish things off. Pain is forbidden fuel. The hallways where I talked, the bed where I woke up with a text, the restaurants where we ate. I halt there, and for a second I am lost, in a paracosm of the past; until I am jerked out. I want to leave them behind. Far, far away, so far that it can't follow me for I know it will always haunt me.
I want to go away. Far off the isles of familiarity. I want to be away. I want to sleep. I want to... be.
क्यूँ चलते-चलते रुक जाए तू कहीं? क्यूँ मुड़के ढूंढे कोई अपना यहाँ? सब है तेरे पास, फिर भी तू क्यूँ रोए? ना सोना, चाँदी तू माँगे रब से अब ना कर तू ये ख़ता छोड़ आया अंजाने में क्या वो मिल पाएंगे वहाँ?
I think I am off. I don't know where and when. Till then, the pen is shut, as I need to seal a lot other things. To make peace, to unscramble the present and to unravel the future.
Till then, Ciao.
है बदनाम पल वो मेरे, गुज़रे थे जो कल में तेरे, किरदारों में उलझा, उलझा जग सारा, गरदिश में चमके वो टूटा तारा!