red blogpost#20

Red, the most vibrant of them all. The shade that signifies power, fury and anger. The color of the blood coursing through our veins. It stands for danger and alertness. And as some of us humans like to live life on the edge, the color draws us towards it, grabbing our attention quicker than any else. A natural calling towards a spectrum of light that our eyes can perceive. Some stray away from it while some charge towards it like a bull to the matador, who is also flaunting red. How can we have so much emotion linked to a color? Perhaps it’s our primal senses. Maybe seeing something that runs under our skin latches out for our attention.

Pulling up to an intersection in the middle of a hazy, deserted night. Glancing over both shoulders and seeing nothing that refrains you from moving forwards. Nothing, but the red light of the traffic signal, basking you in its glow, shining against the rain drops that trickle on the windshield of your car. With each passing second, the sheer agony from your shoulder intensifies. Covered in the dampness of your shirt, you reach to soak your fingertips. You click your tongue as your pull your palm below your chin to see the same color smeared against your palm, red. You can almost taste the iron. One bright shade, insinuating danger if you were to cross the intersection recklessly, one dark shade compelling you to drive off to stop the pain sooner.

You remain, deciding to not risk any more danger but a glint of red shines against your rear view mirror, radiating off the siren of a police car advancing your way. You change your mind and your boot settles the pedal against the floor. A blaring truck horn passes as you rush the intersection, fading behind you as you catch speed. A chill flows through your spine, all the way to your tailbone. The needle on your dashboard that signifies how fast you’re going is crossing into the red zone, a danger zone for your car. But there’s larger things at stake. As time passes by, your shirt becomes damp all across your chest and the vision begins to go dark like the night skies around you. With trees racing past you on both sides, you rush. You reach into the glove box to get a hold of your painkillers but your fingers prick against something, looking over you see the set of roses you bought at the store you’ve just robbed. A familiar shade of red brings a smile across your face. You fade into the darkness and you decide to shut your eyes, no longer wanting to know how far your headlights can throw its beam.

 The next thing you know, you open your eyes to find your world upside down and dust settling around you. The same taste of iron by the edge of your lips as blood flows down your neck and makes its way to your hair. The only thing holding you in place is your seat-belt and the gunshot to your shoulder is the last of your worries. A vehicle in red and white is all you see through the shattered windshield as your eyelids feel the weight of your night. The last thing you feel is the grasp of an arm reaching in to help you. You peek to notice the same roses against his wrist, the same shade of red on the tattoo. Existence is beyond you now, you begin to enjoy the silence, hoping it lasts.

Language blogpost#19

Language, the most powerful invention in the world. an absolutely stunning tool that man has given birth to, far sharper and stronger than any other he can wield. the possibilities are not just limited to a swirl of the vocal chords. you can use it with a mere flick of your finger or the arch of an eyebrow. the method used by the youngest of children to ask for food and the oldest sages to call upon the divines. the same tool being employed with different levels of comprehension and control. a way to convey your intent and idea. be it through action which is body language or by wording which is verbal language. magic. 

i find people who speak multiple languages to be very attractive and intelligent. for you have your way with a weapon so influencing, i couldn’t match if i had six arms with an armament of the worlds most damage-inducing blades or bullets. assigning meaning to the way your vocal chords tingle and dance to form words, the same way gargle or a cough manages to do so, but here, you chose to pick the sounds you wish to assign meaning to. not all of them but most of them. 

imagine how powerful the people who created these languages were. they are sole decision makers to the birth of something so precious and marvellous, they should be named Gods. 
here, i’d like to discuss something i came across while basking in a profound flow of thinking. the language hindi and it’s phonetically similar cousin languages have something in common. a beautiful language it is, the way certain words and sounds swirl the tongue and roll over in various nooks of the mouth. 

the word “kal” has two meanings, dependent on the way it’s uttered. tomorrow or yesterday. but if you were to dissect the word down to its rawest form, it has no meaning. and by no meaning, i mean it doesn’t have a definite meaning. it has either none or multiple. because i used standalone words in english for you to understand it. what if i just said “kal”?  

the small humour that the creators of this powerful language decided to play. they chose to accept a certain phonetic vocalisation to be a hindi word but has no meaning on its own. pure gibberish. if i said “harabarabarabal”, you say it’s pure gibberish cause that certain group of sounds do not possess any meaning in any known language, or atleast to my investigation lol. the makers of hindi decided kal would be worthy enough to be accepted into the language but it’d just stay gibberish until someone associated a motion or another word to it to give it tone and meaning. “kal milenge dost” and “kal hogeya tha” have different meanings that employ the same result. 

accepted gibberish isn’t it? my roomate who is equally ascended at this very moment in time has a different opinion. he says hindi is a very positive language and by default it looks forwards. therefore, the word “kal” on its own means tomorrow. and you’d need to add more words to make it mean yesterday. what do you think? 

faces. blogpost#18

there you sat, melting into the melodies that your speaker sings. you’re flowing into the groove of a younger self, where life was much simpler. you wish you could go back to your past every time you listen to a song that made you recall a certain phase. imagine having a playlist on your phone, all songs individually representing each frame, each year of your life. a journey into your mind's library, you will see pages flipping past you during a difficult exam of middle school. another one reminding you that sad bus ride home after a heartbreak. and finally, one to help you recall the happiness rushing in as your mother plants a kiss onto your cheek. here, you zone back into reality and realize how wrong it has gone. suddenly, your phone screams the name of your old buddy and for a few seconds, your mind frowns and puts on a disguise of comfort as you inform them you’re alright. a face to put on even to your closest friends. i ask you this, if you had one shot to go back and do everything again. at what price?

an overture to my repentance #blogpost17

you never appreciate the value of something till you no longer have it. be it an emotion, a luxury or a person in your life. i yearn to share a tale about a leap i hesitated to make. a second guess i took before diving into unsteady waters. why? because i was stupid enough to stray from the path of my heart. you’ll only understand how much they’ve made your world a better place in their prolonged absence that follows. a regrettable void that leaves you awake five minutes longer every passing night, being the cause and a frequent visitor to your subconscious state of mind.

state of mind, you’ve got me tangled in one of those. from every memory that i cherish of us to all the times i’ve treated you in ways that were undeserving. guess that’s something over nothing. she came into my life at my lowest, uninvited yet so mysteriously welcoming. it was as if the universe hurled me a rope to help my own self climb out, my escape. your palm felt soft, i held on a little longer than i should’ve. here’s to a lot more of those, a little time to feel alive. maybe all i needed was more time to get it right.

“she wasn’t asking for much, she was asking the wrong motherfucker”. it was idiotic of me to not perceive the signs, i shunned away the advices i was offered for they posed nothing more than empty opinions to my mind. the considerable weight that “i should’ve listened” carries has been our beloved companion since childhood. our parents, our friends, our lovers. whom did we really listen to but ourselves? awaiting someone that never took a chance with his heart, that’s what she did.

she was a timepiece that helped me forget time, not be reminded of it. the desiring smell of your favourite cuisine, the gentleness of still water. she uplifted me but what did i offer in return? seldom a few good words and some closure. what did she deserve? everything i am. i wish i could lay here with you, and watch the world turn without saying a word. to hold you close, to reassure your happiness, to tell you everything is going to be alright.

i can’t compete against what she is now. its far too late in the night to call you. guess i’m staying up five more minutes tonight. i feel the distance, it’s grown a wedge between us. darling, i can give, but i cannot take love. fuck it, i’m feeling like a drum without a beat. but you used to dance so well to my rhythm. 

steel Blogpost#16

One by one, droplets of sweat and blood joined together and trickled down my forehead. Trailing along the temple, they hung onto my furrowed eyebrows and underneath, nestled my hazel orbs. A tempest of anger reflected in my eyes as every breath I drew nudged more sweat down the edges of my face. Although my heart was racing, my palm remained perfectly still with cold steel in its grasp. Firmly I held the knife as I looked down onto the foe beneath my boot. With every degree of strength I forced down onto his windpipe, the more his countenance begged for mercy. Unable to get himself up, incapacitated, he laid against the concrete. He was starting to pool himself with his own blood, making it easier for the forensics to trail his body. A perfect outline with blood, guzzling out of multiple entry points delivered by my beloved knife.

As the night froze, so did my thoughts. My determination fueled me, clawing against the back of my skull with blades sharper than mine, at every passing second. My inner voice whispered, guiding me to shatter the man’s neck under my heel, to put an end to his existence. I felt the power rushing through me, my senses sharp to the adrenaline coursing through my body. The clouds and the streets were my bystanders, it was a gloomy night and the air felt cold. Colder than the blade in my hand, colder than steel itself. For what is power if I do not exercise it? What is strength if I do not utilize it? These two questions rang from ear to ear, like a rat trying to find its way out of a maze. Alas, I took a moment to understand the silence of the night and it brought my breath to a stand-still.

With regret, I took a step back, both mentally and physically. It released air into my foe’s system, he tasted rich oxygen as if it were a commodity he could now afford. I understood there was sheer tenacity in my grip, and it was ultimately mine to control. Will he live? people seldom die drowning in their own blood. 

A Fierce Introduction Blogpost#15

1999, Silent Valley, El Yunque National Forest.

Radio static breaks the silence of the deep rainforest, muffling the crunched leaves as the group of poachers advance, in search of an unknown wild beast causing carnage around the higher regions of the Silent Valley, located in Puerto Rico of South America. The jungle is known for its natural beauty and density, surrounded by tales of spiritual presence and folk-lore. The jungle covered her mouth, dampening everything but the movement of the attack squad, whose hearts grew fearful with every step. They hesitantly and unwillingly followed radio commands to a certain death. Unaware of the horror awaits ahead, the jungle welcomed their fate. With every few paces, the darkness intensified and left them surrounded like a piece out of M. Night Shyamalan’s work. “Find them, recover the luggage”, muttered command as the squad tried to relocate their missing numbers. They could overhear gushing waters, echoing off a nearby river and proceeded towards it. Further into the light, a small piece of land left open for the ground and the water to bask in the Luna’s light. With Luna peering down onto the situation, she sneered. For she knew, what lies beyond.

The poachers took a moment to examine the location as they finally have clear visibility under the moonlight and decided to reignite their lanterns. Using the lake as a water resource, two of the poachers kneed before it to gather and revitalize themselves, only to find the water was muddled in an unfamiliar mixture of blood, trickling down the side of the rocks and diluting into the water. Horrified by what they saw next, they exclaimed and alerted the remaining members to a sight so gruesome, it could be considered art. Three of the missing members, mauled by large claws that sunk so deep into their flesh, it cut through like butter. Leaving the insides to be scattered, barely latching onto the organs. Something that Hannibal Lector would do, if he had claws that were 9 inches long. The blood of the fallen enemies laid pooling against the soil, bathing under Luna’s glow. This sight instilled fear into the poachers and sent shivers all the way down to their tailbones.

“Command, we’ve found three of them. They’re dead, over’, whispered one of them with a trembling voice from having witnessed the terror. And as soon as they gave away their locations with a relaying radio contact saying “FIND THE LUGGAGE!”, by an angered commanding official, their fates were sealed. The jungle no longer kept quiet, the leaves began rustling and the birds began to chirp into the skies. A faint growl was heard from afar and the poachers quickly reached for their rifles, pointing north all at once. Having no clear visibility into the denser forests, they remained under the moonlight, awaiting whatever caused this to come forth. Tigers are known for their ambushes and a great one was awaiting them. Attempting to ignite a lantern, one poacher pivoted about to stay clear of the winds finding their way through the landscape. And as soon as he lit up the lantern, it glowed its weak light forwards, shining the patterned fur of the tiger. Noticing a faint yet large figure with stripes moving, he aimed the lantern higher so as towards the tree branches, where he saw the cunning eyes and large canines.

Before the man’s vocal chords could vibrate to alert the rest, the tiger soared with its claws forward, using its heavy mass to down his prey and promising him death, instantaneously. Now, the fight began and the tiger had the upper hand. Overwhelmed by the situation they were in, one poacher accidentally fired forwards as he heard the thud of his fallen ally. The gunshot rang into the ears of all life present in a large radius and echoes into the murky skies. Within moments, the jungle’s wildlife came alive and started to scatter at the gunshot’s blow. They were at a positional disadvantage as they had no hunch about the horror standing behind them due to their rifles pointing north. “Did you see anything?”, asked a poacher to the one that fired and before he could finish “I thoug.-“, his voice turned milky as he gargled onto his own blood by the strike of the tiger to the back of his neck. The tiger was masterful in combat and these numbers were no match for his ferocity and grace. With an array of slashes and torn organs, one by one the poachers fell to the ground. Tapping into the Rage, the tiger was able to finish his enemies without disturbing the entirety of the forest anymore. Shots were fired towards the tiger, wounding him as it’s hard to miss hitting an 800 pound animal from an arm’s length. However, the shots they took were their last as the tiger’s blessings of fortified vigor were no match for their weaponry. In a sequence, the tiger clawed away at the enemies of the forest, ending the threat as a whole. The lifeless mangled bodies of the poachers laid against the soil, pooling blood that seeped into the lake. As the tiger examined them, he overheard the radio once again, “Status?”, to which the tiger channeled his spirituality and took his human form, standing over them. Trilok lowered himself into a crouch and reached for the radio, putting to by his mouth before speaking with a growling undertone. “I promise you the same fate if you enter the jungles again”. He then crushed the radio within his grasp before rising. The jungle returned to its silence as the man walked away, carrying a bag over his shoulder into the heart of Emerald Mother's lands.

christmas blogpost#14

With a dazed glance, I found myself in the comforts of my speeding car on the night before Christmas. The murky skies awaited the waking dawn as I drove further under the moonlight. With the lamps as my guiding light, I took a moment to wander my gaze atop the festive decorations on the warm homes around me. A joyous emotion resonated off these lovely lights. As I faded into my consciousness, the stereo embraced me with my favorite indie rock song. I pondered about my destination for the night and it came to me as a weak knock on the door. Finding myself at a dimly lit doorstep. My face barely visibly under the hanging star, giving off emanations as a late guest to this old couple’s cozy living. Grunts and grizzles were heard as a man, frail in movement, made his way indifferently to answer the door at 04:00 in the morning. It was an hour early to his usual rise, yet I was hours away from home.

We don’t talk much, the old man and I. The feelings we share for one another outweigh any clock or night. Perhaps we’re both too stubborn to express, maybe we’re simply too distant in our own cases. The door creaks open as the first few words I hear as signs of an acting disgruntlement. I lay gaze onto the man emerging out of the darkness to meet me under the same dimly lit star. Our faces shined with a red hue, flavoring the moment with the Christmas theme. I was no early Santa. For him, being unable to recognize my countenance was smoothly understood. This marked me with angst, trying to recall when my last visit was. Neither of us could quantify it. His memory has been losing the fight against his age and my facial attributes has struggled the battles of puberty.

My fingertips grazed against the torn envelope I have in my chilly grasp. A man from the bygone era where postcards flourished, in all his eighty plus years of life has never missed to send Christmas greetings ever since my birth. With a swift gesture, my palm rose to reveal the postcard to him. Following the smile that curled onto the edges of his lips, I uttered my first few words that have been long awaited by the old man. “Merry Christmas, Grandpa.” I noticed his brown orbs lazily shut as he took in his moment of reunion, one that we both awaited years for. I yearned to be his present on the night before Christmas as the man of the past opened his arms to my sides for an embrace. We shed no tears of joy but our hearts felt one another in a soft gesture of endearment. I froze in time as we momentarily became a single entity of unconditional love.

After sharing a few seconds to help us memorize that moment, he took his time to pivot and welcome me to our hall. I slipped the postcard into my jacket and rummaged through it to safeguard my gift I have brought for the loving old couple. I felt the first glimmer of light sneak through the open doorway with the dawn of Christmas blues. Taking the first steps into my home, I left the door wide for the morning breeze to accompany us.