The Night

It was the end of a long hard day’s worth of work and he was finally home to his latest infatuation. Truth be told, she was the best he had laid his hands on in a long long time. He dumped his bag on the table, tempted to open her again. But first things needed to be done first. He opened the cupboard and brought out his precious scotch glass. Special days deserved special rites. Carefully, he added 2 cubes of ice and poured himself a golden drink. This was the life he aspired for. He set the drink on the table, touching her, for it was testing for him to stay apart from her for so long. All through the day, he’d kept his mind from thinking of her. But no more. Now he was back, he was going to enjoy her to his heart’s content.

He laid her across her table and set himself on the couch in the most comfortable position. All was set. He opened her with a gentle touch. Careful, not to let his excitement get the better of him. He eyed her casually before he began. Tonight, he would have all of her.

A glass of vanilla coke in one hand and Rowling’s book in another, he continued reading.

Tandav

Sitting on a cold barren mountain-top, with no trace of cultivation for miles, he is at peace. He’s stayed there since eternity, to a point where time has lost all meaning. Few have summoned up the courage to join him in his struggle. Few have reached him just to admire the monk. Most, have died in the struggle.

He lives at peace, mostly meditating. He has taken a wife, a woman strong enough to not dispose of her elegance but stay by his side. Not that he needs it. Neither does she. But when he opens his eyes, it gives him peace to know she’s by his side. His accomplice. The one who gives him a silent look of understanding. As if she knows everything on his mind. He knows she does. He understands she’s not serving him, unlike his brother’s wife. His wife is a part of his own soul. Not a servant, but his power. An equal. His Shakti.
He’s not a monk mind you. He enjoys his time smoking, singing and dancing. He makes love to his wife. He wrestles with his fellowmen. He adores the sunrise and the sunset. The trait which gives him the aura of a hermit is his hunger. He has outgrown it. He has outgrown all need, desire, hunger, want and expectations. He simply exists with nature, at peace with it. He’s not interested in playing games with the world or running the show. He helps those who seek and deserve his help. But his help is the most difficult to get. He cannot be incentivized. A man who has no needs cannot be offered a bribe. He can only be requested and the discretion to help lies with him.

So how do you get a boon from him? You ask. You plead. You try to show how much he means to you. You stand on one leg for ages hoping he’d notice your effort and appreciate it. But the cold hard mountains have made his heart cold. He is not easy to please. Most prefer to die than to go the full length of pleasing him. Most are simply not able to. But it’s true. Given enough time, he notices the worth of human effort. And then, opens his eyes.

There’s another way to please him. Help him in his purpose. That is the only way to indebt him under you. He has no needs, but he lives with a purpose. He understands the most depraved man is a man without purpose. He wants the world to function with justice. Where the effort of man is not looted and men are allowed to bear the fruits of their actions. Work must be paid for and thievery must be punished. Men must learn to treat others the way they are prepared to be treated. If humanity loses this balance, Shiva stands up.

Shiva dances. The most violent dance the world has seen. The last dance men will ever see. Shiva doesn’t care which innocents are killed in the process. Either they didn’t speak up when they had the chance. Or they have lost their right to voice to the society they were unfortunate to be born in. Anyway, their death does not matter. The world has reached a stage where the only way to purify it is by first destroying and then rebuilding it. Each of Shiva’s steps throw the world off balance. When he turns his face, the world stops turning. He pants, soaking in the air of the world. He jumps, and crashes on the world.

The usually calm and patient Yogi transforms into a formidable force of destruction. The warrior. The unstoppable.

So the choice lies with you. Either treat the world as you would like to be treated. Or participate in your destruction. Because Shiva is not a God of penance. Shiva does not forgive. Shiva does not forget. Shiva is the Yogi. The one with the stone heart. The one who understands that actions cause results. The one who rewards sweat and punishes guilt.

He’s not a God of Love. His duty is destruction. His is the life of pain. So many millennia of destruction have scarred his soul beyond repair. He does not care for trivial lives anymore. He is the most difficult God to please. He is the hermit. The one who has outgrown desire. The destroyer.

Monsoon

Sitting in an abyss of oblivion,

waiting, for the next big adventure

I see chasms of emptiness, around, surround

me and I try to find meaning

 

In art, in my favorite literature

In poetry which mesmerizes the soul

In the voice of a captivating speaker, motivating millions

In the silence of meditation, I try, I fail

 

For it is not what the mind knows what it wants

it is the blessing of that unexpected moment, which brings a smile

The unexpected word of a friend, the gift unforeseen

The metallic voice from the machine which says, someone remembers

 

And going through the list of those I wish to catch the attention of

My eyes return to a name, a face – auspicious, grand, gorgeous

With a cute round face and straight hair, she stands proudly and smiles at me

And I don’t know why, I’m drawn to her

 

She embodies a mentor, whose words guided me through a dark period

and her silhouette glows with our teacher’s wisdom

Yet, I’ve hardly spoken to her, I don’t know if she would like to

I do know her learnings, will take her on a journey I wish to accompany her on

 

And so I leave my inhibitions behind, believing a lose thread connects us

Never having been so direct before, I ask her to join me for supper

Taken aback she is, for few have dared to approach her so direct

Amused I am, and anxious for her response

 

I know not where the story leads, I know not if I care

I know not if she would be a friend, or more or nothing at all

But sometimes, you need to give life that chance

to take a step ahead and discover someone

for that someone you might not be able to afford to miss

Sometimes, you need to take that leap

and let your fall guide the rest of the way

Sometimes, you need to walk out in the rain

let the breeze touch you

and discover, Monsoon

 

Vishal Gupta

July 19^th, 2014

C First Mid-West

I once knew a beautiful bird

With many wings of many kinds

each wing, had feathers few

each feather, of a different color

The wings flapped differently, but always took the bird ahead

Soon, they discovered their purpose, and strived to fulfill

Seldom helped, by others, seldom on their own

Together they flew, towards the common goa

One such wing, very close to my heart

had feathers ten, very strong

Without even one of which, the wing was incomplete

And the wing ensured none would be left behind in its glorious flight

The first feather, the heart of the wing

the one on whom the rest relied

The one who had his own demons to fight

the one who came out strong every single time

The one who grew quiet in the dark

and danced when any other wing won a reward

He was the one who became the life of the wing

he couldn’t have predicted, but his glory was meant to be

The second feather, was small at sight

perhaps the most crucial, when the wing took flight

He ensured the bird never fell

When the bird soared, his name would we tell

He cared not for fame or glory

he cared for his work and that was his story

The smartest feather, I know of

Slightly averted to others, as most geniuses are

The third feather, even quieter

ever so focused, the silent striver

The others seldom forgot of his presence

Until his need arose, when he rose to the occasion

The one who knew, where the path headed

and effortlessly strode, to the goal selected

He cared little, for others and opinions

his faith on himself, was his guide and redemption

The fourth feather, was an unusual one

with doors welcome, he valued his moments alone

His path unclear, he strived to find

never wasting a moment, never willing to lag behind

He had better friends, outside the wing

for the wing was never, avert to friendly kin

Not much we knew, about that feather dear

but we stood together, in all success and failures

The fifth feather, the most colorful

the best at his job, the most joyful

He built his place and was proud

when he set his mind on a target, he would let himself drown

He understood the wing, the bird and the flock

never restricting himself, to any one accord

He dipped himself, in every color

and came out flying, adding himself to the bird

The sixth feather, my favorite

the one who led and gave the wing direction

The one humble, to not acknowledge his power

the one intensive, to use it when required

The one to whom each other feather was indebted

the one who never asked anything, in return of his blessings

The one, whom I miss the most

the one, whom I know will shine in every place he goes

The seventh feather, the most innocent

never failing, to bring a smile to a sad face

A child at heart, afraid of monsters under his bed

a man discovering, the only reason to fear was fear itself

A friend helpful, in every time of need

an ear which lent itself, whenever it could heed

Someone whose face still doesn’t fail to bring a smile

someone, parting from whom I’d regret every single time

The eight feather, was a feather in the cap

the most beautiful, whom the bird kept for last

An artist, with tricks for every party

be it dance or painting or calligraphy or photography

Excelling in each, he made art his life

music, acting, fashion, design, guided his light

He devotes himself in pursuit of his passions

reminding, you can never fail if you never choose the second option

The ninth feather, a dirty one indeed

the multi-tasker with tricks in his sleeve

He spent his time for fun and work

and failing to prioritize, he pursued them together

The devil, he was quick to a temper

the wing helped, to calm down his anger

The cutest one indeed, in brief smiles he passed

the ninth feather, would make the wing complete again

Each feather, be large or small

played his part in making the wing

and such wings made glorious phoenixes

who soared the skies of a little-known city

Each one, coming together, playing

Fighting, amending, burning, healing

The birds turned to ashes

and rose again

Shared feathers

and called them back

and as for my wing

I am, the tenth feather

Vishal Gupta

October 29^th, 2013

I Share. Therefore, I Am.

Before you start reading this poem, send out that last text

for immediate replies, mean more than meaningful ones

Send out a compliment, or wishes or mere meaningless words

but read this only, when ten minutes I can behest

 

Not that I don’t like those snippets of words

small texts, comforts, distant hugs

It began with online chatrooms and virtual communities

and calling out to the world, realizing aspects of my personality

And then I unplugged

 

Excited, I learnt about myself in the virtual world

to lead a better life in the real one

But today, something seems to have gone wrong

when an echo of a buzz wakes me at dawn

A little device in my pocket seemed to have made all the difference

 

Today I text during meetings and shop whilst in class

my prized skill is to text while maintaining eye-contact

My parents ignore me for their phone over breakfast

and my attention to my sister doesn’t long last

Heck! I even text at funerals

 

I have removed myself from grief and reverie

I have eradicated any self-reflection capacity

I successfully am alone, while being together

I am with you, but also everywhere

I customize my life, and go in and out of where I am

I cherish the control, on what enjoys my attention span

I only observe, the bits that interest me

 

Yes, I have lost all friends in an array of screens

yes, it is I who has been lost in the sheen

Perhaps, I should be interrupted

but honestly, I’d rather go through the ordeal

I like people in the Goldilocks zone!

 

Someday… someday which isn’t the present

I would like to learn how to have a conversation

But conversations happens in real time,

where I can’t control what I might relay

I like to clean my messy relationships with technology

 

I am connected, I just do not converse

and I don’t mind, I miss nothing

after all, don’t these sips of communication

add up to one big gulp of real conversation?

No. They don’t.

 

They are good for relaying information

letting someone know I think of them

but I do not learn, know and understand someone

I do not learn, know and understand myself

But I’d rather just text than talk

 

I wish I could just dispense with people altogether

why can’t Siri be my best friend, she always listens

I like Facebook too, I see people listening to me

I see empathy there, and it’s not very different from the real thing

Technology, gives more to me than people do

 

I’m lonely, but I’m afraid of intimacy

I wish the comforts of companionship without the demands of friendship

I turn to technology because it offers the comforts of companionship within my control

But am I comfortable? Am I in control?

No

 

My phone allows me to put my attention wherever I want

it tells me I will always be heard

it says, ‘you will never have to be alone’

and so whenever I’m alone, I panic and my anxiety reaches for a device

Being alone, feels like a problem that needs to be solved

 

I connect, I share. Therefore I am

If I want to have a feeling, I send a text

I feel alive when I connect

I lose my capacity for solitude

And in losing solitude, I isolate myself

 

I connect, to use people as spare parts to support my fragile self

being connected, makes me feel less alone

but again, I feel more lonely each day

and I know if my children grow up the day I live, they will only be lonely

I’m smitten, by technology. Too much talking might spoil the relationship

 

Solitude scares me, my children don’t understand it

my phone offers a much better restitute

I communicate, I speak, I feel alone

I avoid the boring bits, and long being understood

I let technology win the bid over human connection

 

Technology says it will take something complicated, and promises something simpler

Life is hard, relationships are filled with risk

Technology is simpler, hopeful, optimistic, ever-young

With technology I can love my friends, I love my body, I love my life

I look for romance online, I love in worlds online

Robots, are my true companions

My evenings, are better spent on social network than with friends

 

I live here, I love here, I end here

This is a life I have chosen, I have no regrets

And now, if you please, may go back to yours in a world

for a screen awaits, and has not been checked in  while

 

Vishal Gupta

23^rd September, 2014

An Affair of 4 Years

I met her when I was 18. I’d seen her from a distance in school. I never knew if I’d get to her. I didn’t know what awaited me. Then my only job was to make myself worthy of her. When the time came, she invited me to come upto her and understand her. One of the first lessons she taught me was to let go of the past, for I’d earned my right to the present. Slowly, I started spending more time with her. I’d be reluctant to go home because I found her company better. I didn’t know if this was falling in love. I didn’t care to know. I just knew that I was in for magnificent 4 years of my life and I had no time to regret any of it.

 

One night she invited me for a walk with her. It was my first 2.2. A track I’d come to know so well. That night I started to pour my thoughts to her. My secrets, my likes, my passions, and she listened. I didn’t realize when she became my home away from home. Home more than home. When we had to part that year, I cried. I knew my hands were fuller than when I arrived. That first year had given me more love than I had deserved. Such was her affection. Reluctantly, I turned my back and left, only to think about her all summer and return.

 

As the 2^nd year started, I knew I was in love. I knew my existence was going to be defined by her. I spent a lot more time with her. I discovered her soul and looking back, it was the time I spent with her which taught me about her. She taught me more. She taught me what it takes to achieve greatness in life. And she taught me where men fail on the road to success. She taught me that struggle was not bad and life always rewards a job done well. She showed me avenues where I could succeed. I chose the one my heart aspired for. As time went on, she rewarded me for being true to my calling. She allowed herself to depend on me. And I vowed to never let anything disrupt her trust.

 

The 3^rd year started and I dedicated myself to her service. She provided me with the best comrades and friends in my struggle. She showed me unexpected avenues of trouble. She was careful to give me guidance where my abilities failed. She was never easy to please. But I knew that her appreciation was a mark of a job so well done, that it would have no comparison with anything in the world. And I worked just to please her. It was not a flowery road. Sometimes I scolded her. Sometimes I fought with her. Sometimes I lied to her. But whenever either of us felt dejected, one of us would hold the other in their arms and say, it’s okay. It didn’t have to be this serious.

 

That was the year when I started having nightmares. She made no respite in making life hell for me. It was my learning. Yet, when the year ended, I wanted to do it all over again. I wanted to live that life once again. Once again I wanted those nightmares and once again I wanted that struggle. But she’d made me strong enough to understand, that love was not only about allowing your breaths to be commanded by someone else. Love was also about gracefully letting go. And I understood that my time had come. And now I’d have to let go. It pained, but that was the time I was told that I smiled after an year.

 

Came the final year. The year she’d been preparing me for since the beginning. The final struggle and she took me further than ever before. She prepared me, lashed me, prepared me more, rejected me, rejected me again, scarred me, taught me, she took me to the top of the highest mountain and threw me. Again and again and again. Days of pure agony went by. And every night when I’d come back dejected, she’d be the one who’d heal my wounds. Like the doctor treating a wounded soldier, only to prepare him for the battle next day. Only to make sure that when victory came, it would be well deserved. Only to prepare for the next big battle. Only to say that I must bleed in battles, to win the war.

 

And I did win! And I owe it all to her. Looking back, those were the days of pure agony I went through. But those were the days which made my present possible. It is still a constant struggle to live up to her standards. But that’s the only thing she demands of me. To be true to her teachings.

 

Finally, the time to say goodbyes came upon us. It was difficult to say goodbye to all of her teachings. In so many ways she’d lifted me up. A lot of her teachings were gone, leaving me behind. She’s trusted me to be a part of her flow. I know I did well. I knew it would be one of the most difficult things I’d ever do to say goodbye to the 4 years which shaped my life. I knew I’d keep coming back for a while. Till there would be nothing to come back to. Yet she’d go on and I’d go on. And I’d carry her in me all my life. And she’d be unable to let go of me because I gave her my love and life.

 

I remember the last day of silent admiration. When I looked into her eyes and saw the last 4 years going by. Neither of us said a word. But in that moment we knew that the time had come. She took me in her arms, silently thanking me and receiving mine at the same time. And then I turned away and left.

 

I’ve seen her in all her glory. In her highs and lows. In terror. In joy. Serious. Calm. Thrilled. I’ve seen everything she has to offer. I know her.

 

बूँदें

बूँदें

फिर बारिश हुई, और दिल की कश्ती ने यादों की लहरो को थाम लिया

थोड़ा हमने ज़िंदगी को बहने दिया, थोड़ा ज़िंदगी ने आँखों को भिगा दिया

थोड़ी यादें उस चेहरे की आईं, जिसे देख खुदको भूल जाया करते थे हम

थोड़ी यादें उस लम्हे की, आख़िरी बार बाहें छोड़ वो दूर चल दिया था जब

कुछ यादें उस दोस्त की भी हैं, जिसका हाथ पकड़ साथ चलने का सपना देखा था

कुछ दर्द उस वक़्त का भी, जब महसूस हुआ वो साथ नही है अब

वो दिन भी याद हैं, जब माँ की गोद में सर रख सोया करते थे

अब नींदें सिर्फ़ दुनिया से आँख मूंद लेने का ज़रिया हो गयी हैं

वो दिन याद हैं, जब रखी का दिन होठों को मीठा कर जाता था

अब उन राखियों बिन कलाइयाँ सूनी लगने लगी हैं

ज़िंदगी की गहराइयों में गोते इतने गहरे लिए, के अब याद नही वापस किस ओर जाना है

दिल ढूंढता है रोशनी, पर ज़हन को अभी और दूर जाना है

कभी साँस लेने आए, तो दिल की कश्ती ने यादों की लहरो को थाम लिया

थोड़ा हमने ज़िंदगी को बहने दिया, थोड़ा ज़िंदगी ने आँखों को भिगा दिया

विशाल गुप्ता

जनवरी 31, 2014