Excerpts From My Diary : Day 4

Day 4

16th May ’18

(Amritsar ➡ Chandigarh➡Shimla)

7:10 a.m.

Hardly slept and woke up with sore eyes. Train to Chandigarh at 5:15 a.m. We were almost late for our train. We travelled to the station with our luggage in an open rickshaw. The streets were dark. 4:30 a.m was such a desolate hour.

I am sitting near a window in our AC chair car train.

What Do Her Eyes See?

(Amritsar to Chandigarh)

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Her eyes see the beauty and oblivion in sparkles

And she speaks in rhythms and treble.

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She sees the sun as a pole star,

Because she is a sailor for adventure; close or afar.

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She sees withered trees and fallen leaves for inspiration,

And keynotes for catalytic enumeration.

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She sees the glitter of happiness on the window,

And looks out for ruins hitherto.

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She sees pareidolia in factory chimneys,

And words in a medley.

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She sees an unwinding path in every canal

And giants holding electric wires in tug-of-war panel.

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She sees angry birds in straw huts,

And the silhouette of coal in black salt tuts.

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She sees the emancipation of freedom over the horizon,

And the choir of long trees, chanting in communion

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She sees the clairvoyance of her dream

And flags of milestones that guide her path with a gleam.

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9:51 A.M

We begin with our Chandigarh sightseeing. First, we went to the Rose Garden. There, we saw different roses and clicked several pictures. We then proceeded to the Rock Garden. That garden was very beautiful. Many artifacts were made out of different, innovative materials. Broken plates, broken tubelight sockets etc. There was a section where it was like a nature trek with waterfalls. We kind of ‘trekked’ through the bridges and the waterfall which had an historic overlay above it. Later, we went to the Sukhna lake, where we did not stop for a long while because of the scorching hot weather. After that, we proceeded to Shimla in a Tempo Traveller.

Rock Garden, Chandigarh.

1:39 p.m.

As I had to multi-task during the train journey; the same was not possible with the Tempo Traveller. So I had to type on my phone. Also, as things were zooming past really fast, I had to write it in free verse so as to account for my views and savour it too. It is not a perfect poem, just something between a free verse and prose.

Transitive Paradox

(Towards Shimla)

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Lone temples, cascading Colosseum-like stones,

Ghats swerve sight within a squint.

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Expanse of valleys

And a bridge arches with grace

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Trees shudder at the cliff

Fearing the abrupt

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Stones hold their pace

And accompany crooked trees in an alien Salsa

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My sleep fades away

As the flicker of a natural story unfolds

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The humongous mountains overlap

An impossible race.

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Specks of concrete bedazzled by pyramidal symmetry of gravel

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Dried waterfalls depart on a spirituality

Whilst stones fight fate

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Cranes devastate the natural state

I don’t know whether to turn my eyes or accept this abase

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Stones harbour a tinge of pink

As intimidating trees peek at the scavengers of nature

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They spread out like a peacock

But indented, by our niche minds

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Leaning houses take ascent

And trees crawl over one another to achieve the pinnacle

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I change my view as my family suggests

And I’m shook, and I’m in awe

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I miss a few lines as I comprehend, how magnanimous is the mountainous existence;

And we, tiny entities survive in the majesty of our ego.

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It is necessary for civilization to progress

But so much as to engrave nature?

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An ocean of trees, elevating and depressing

A hawks eye view in a spree

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A refreshing purple pigment in profound green

Followed by an embroidery in polychrome.

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But it’s an irony

Because this beauty, is only possible because I too, am a cruel human travelling through the concrete

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Colourful bricks obscure my sandy view

And a street amplifies the dilemma

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Birds sway and flock unanimously

Just like me; devoid of forty winks

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Timeskip cause I sleep lol.

***

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The mountain is like a slumbering being

Fingers folded like hills; spiky nails

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It’s an endless loop of mountains

Temple flags and proud trees

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The car trembles as it thrusts upwards

And the sun accentuates the golden grass.

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With a lopsided grin and wild hair unkempt

I feel truly alive; exhilarated

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The entire world beneath me, the tributaries of green gold

And the peak in quest awaits

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I capture the fragment in my mind’s eye

My hands oblivious of and allergic to a camera

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That is just a garb though

My measly photography skills will taint the enigmatic truth, I believe

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The thrill of steering at the curvy edge

Induces the wonder of the garniture of trees rooted in rocky sand

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The clouds jump in the picturesque bandwagon

And send their infantry to glare at the sun

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Cold air hits my city bred eyes

And my chapped lips stare at the unknown

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The transparency of white shrouds the mountain head

On the contrary, the skinny trees huff and puff and trek upwards with a huddle

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A galore of trees mark the map

And the illusionary dry waterfalls turn into snake-like roads

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I feel omnipotent whilst casually looking at the satellite view of the world beneath

The valley where I left a part of my soul, to the point of no return.

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The rays pierce away the clouds

They temporarily retreat behind the trees for a strategy

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The opposite settlements are spread out like sprinkles of marble

Growing wherever they are desired; like an octopus

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The sun dissipates everyone in anger

For he’s too stubborn to relinquish his throne; akin to a marionette.

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Pine trees descend before me

A procession which is undoubtedly a writers paradise.

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I share a coffee with the valley swallowing the sun

I sit there, entranced, an evident writer’s block, for no words can describe that beauty; deeper than the deepest abyss of thought.

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It took us almost an hour to find our hotel. After several miscommunications, we found it. I was apprehensive at first but when I looked at the view – I was entranced. Diary, let me tell you, it is ‘paradise’. For someone like me, who is inspired by nature (and anime too) there is nothing better than this. Our hotel, though in a desolate area, with markets farther than 4 kilometres away, we have the BEST peaceful view. With hot coffee in my hand, I stood in my balcony and took a whiff of the breeze. DAZZLED. Some of todays account was written by me sitting in the balcony, looking at the aftermath of the sunset. I wanted to take inspiration and write, but I had to complete the previous account first. But it grew dark soon. But anyway, I wouldn’t have been able to write. Why? I said it is a ‘Writer’s Paradise,’ but but but… it’s just so beautiful, there’ll be no words to describe it. It actually induces a writer’s block. It is paradoxical. But that again is the grace of nature.

The sunset, as seen from my hotel.


*At night, after dinner, we used to meet in the hotel lobby and take strolls outside. Though it was pitch dark and the mountains looked like they had disappeard completely from the face of the earth, the breeze and the dropping temperature was something to be enjoyed. After cooling ourselves from the breeze outside, we used to come back into the lobby, chatter for some time, share a laugh or two, then go back and sleep.

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Excerpts From My Diary : Day 5

Excerpts From My Diary : Day 3

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Excerpts from my Diary : Day 2

Excerpts from Day 2

14th May’18

(Towards Amritsar)

9:25 A.M

Last night was devoid of sleep. The train kept on shaking and trembling like an earthquake and I started getting pangs of claustrophobia. Nonetheless, the daylight scenery is worth it all. As someone who loves writing, I’d rather take the long road for inspiration. A while ago, with piping hot tea in my hands, I looked outside as dried lakes and farmers passed by me. This route, I am not as lucky to get a window seat but the one second to it. But I can see well outside. And as usual, anime songs play on in my ears.

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1. Adjacent windmills languishing in leisure,

As the train moves through hills and concrete like a seizure.

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2. Taking a little nap at every station,

My train wakes up with a slow jerk as it loses patience.

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3. Roads, smaller than a metre,

Throw the concrete city to shame without a deter.

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As opposed to the city, with less green and abundance of concrete, these passing villages conserve their concrete and let the trees grow freely. Little stations on the way, without any foot over bridges, just seem like little parks on the way with red benches that stay frozen in time due to the lack of travelling populace. Those stations are just THERE. To remind one that humanity still exists in a place full of ploughed farms, so perfectly divided, that I might mistaken this part as the Harappan Civilization if it were not for the little village schools and temples that abrupt the flowing fields. Every little plant is nurtured so well, as they stand diagonally behind each other, like children in a school assembly. Along the stretches of these long farms lie self-sufficient villages; some buildings, too lazy to be painted, while some jazzed up in purple hues.

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4. Trees lean on, beyond redemption and some wither away,

As trains zoom past, oblivious of their gradual sway.

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5. The hills finally show themselves,

Magnanimously (or not) suppressing ancient ruins, mysterious the deeper I delve.

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The majesty of mountains is full of shrubs, that look like hedgehogs in disguise.

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6. The electric poles trace the curves of the mountains

Whilst they juxtapose over my vision plain.

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Sharing chocolates and junk food with our co-passengers, we all move ahead like we’ve known each other for ages.

Wherever I look, I can only see fields and trees dotted over the horizon.

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7. Pseudo hills, superimpose real ones,

Created with gravels; putting the natural phenomenon in a trance.

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Stopped at Kota station, Rajasthan for a while. My claustrophobia has dwindled. Spicy Vada and Kachori are welcoming to our taste buds. The waiting room was decorated with art, which I clicked pictures of; king on an elephant leading a procession. Paisleys on the arch- like concrete. As we took off ahead experiencing the hot air currents or ‘loo’ in Rajasthan, we only know what weather is waiting up ahead. But our AC train shelters us. We move over to the mountains where the lake looks below sea level from the window. The green plants are a gift of nature, placed so beautifully, they look like a self created path.

The waiting room of the Kota JN, Rajasthan.

We also got down at Sawai Madhopur station for a while. I click a pic just for kicks. After that station, one could see desert spread across. Cacti, tundra etc. were visible.

Sawai Madhopur Station, Rajasthan

4:35 P.M

I’m finally right near a window! I was asleep for almost two and a half hours. We’ve already crossed Mathura, Uttar Pradesh.

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8. Patches of fog render the watchtowers blind,

Like a focal torch-light, the lone sun preludes its flight.

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9. A straw hut or two survive anti-socially,

Even though just metre away their twin forges an existence cryptically.

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I see wires stretching across the entire expanse of the fields. Either there is no end to the fields and overhead wires, or I’m just chasing a loopy mirage. But the sun proves my assumption wrong as he descends lower than before. All day, we’ve been passing through such fields. Relief was little in the patches of desert and some dried lakes and majestic gravel filled mountains. Our train seems like another dimension. I didn’t even realize it was Monday ALREADY. Well isn’t that’s what a diary for? To keep track of time that flies away without notice.

6:30 P.M

The sun looks like a small zentangle drawing mixed with gradients of yellow, orange and a fiery hue. There are hordes of trees, which hide an entire settlement within its silhouette.

We passed by the Nizamuddin station. And as we moved across Delhi, we saw roads full of traffic. The rear red lights of all the cars on the flyover below look like the sea of blood. Lakes with lotuses and Gurudwaras passed by. I looked outside the window at the Ghaziabad station. It was designed using the style of arches and had an archaeological feel to it.

9:30 pm

We’re done eating. All that is left is to sleep. I’ll listen to some music. Think about anime, chatter around and then, sleep. I didn’t sleep well at all last night. Today is our last night in this train. We’ll reach Amritsar early morning at 5. Looking forward to it! It’s a long and fun journey, though it’s tiring and my circadian and biological rhythm is messed up, but hey who cares! Let’s enjoy!

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Excerpts From My Diary : Day 3

Excerpts From My Diary : Day 1

Fantastical Escapism.

What is it about fantasy that makes it so enticing to us?

It’s majorly escapism. And in this day and age; in a world full of expectations and dilemma, escapism is a virtue.

Virtue – not in the sense of displaying morality, but as a habitual self rule. A rule to help oneself keep an arms distance away from this vice called reality. Reality is self detrimental. The more you indulge in it, the more it pulls you down.

It is a paradox. In reality, people expect you to be down to earth. But fantasy helps you reach the sky and beyond. Does it really matter what people say? It is your world. No one has the right to judge you. Fantasy is a world of your own standards.

A world of fantasy is often ridiculed by many as ‘delusion’. A world of warm colours and frolic which cowards escape too. Well, the initial part might be true, but the latter isn’t. Fantasy is basically wishful thinking. And don’t we all do that? I mean how many times in a day do our sentences begin with

“I wish…” ?

We all do this, regardless of we are cowards or not. A world of colours is an incentive for anyone and everyone.

For me, almost 90% of my life is spent in a fantastical world. The 10% of it is just like a formality because I am a human being.

How is it like to live in a fantasy?

First, you need to create that kind of world for yourself. Reality is monotonous. The daily routine of work or school is just like an automated well oiled machine. There’s nothing we can do about it. But in that monochromatic reality, you can create your own little world of rainbows.

Question things. But not in an intellectual way. Think about possibilities that cannot even exist. As long as anyone can prove them otherwise, no one has the right to refute them. When you see a cloud passing overhead, don’t just scoff at it. What if there’s an island in the sky?

I know this is purely wishful, but doesn’t it give you a moments smile rather than just disregarding it completely and getting back to reality?

Look at the horizon, what if there is a magical kingdom which exists where the sea actually meets the sky?

What if the moon is actually one retina of a supreme entity watching over us and the other eye lies dormant in another part of the universe?

You never know. It just riles up your brain. I love juxtaposing fantasy in this world. And after so many years, it has just become a part of my psyche. I can’t even sift reality and fantasy apart. For many, this might be immaturity, but for me, it is escapism. It is my virtue, which follows me like a vice. And ironically, I cannot escape from it.

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Fantasy is just a mechanism to deal with the stress of reality. But to many, many of us, it actually is our life. For the young generation, especially for the ones that intertwine themselves in fandoms, fantasy is something they develop innately. And then comes in concepts of alternate reality. It’s just another term for fantasy. We just believe that our world of fantasy actually exists in a different dimension. And this thought keeps us going. It keeps us happy.

Fantasy keeps that sparkle and child-like innocence alive. And those are very important. No matter how difficult life is, keep spark of curiosity alive. Keep believing, keep dreaming. Somewhere, out there, your wonderland exists. And while you walk on that path, leave a trail of fantastical hues for others to smile about.

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All images used are from Google.

Thank you for checking out this blog! Finally exams are over I can get back to blogging again!

Click here for the previous post. (Cruising Through Freedom.)

Connected.

(Image Source : Google)



The silhouette of my angel is a pristine white,

She flies overhead in an invisibly nimble reality,

Flailing her arms, in the gusts of wind which only I can feel.



Her voice is my impersonation,

Sometimes a soft vibration, 

Sometimes a howl of defiance.



She gazes into the chasm of my unaware eyes,

As I daydream a daily fantasy.



She speaks of authentic naivety,

But then basks in her own limelight of pride and wisdom,

Making a muddle of my grey cells.



Her shadow trails mine into a canvas of silhouettes,

Watching my back in times of peril.



Her motives are indecipherable,

A mere snap of whimsical giggles.



Yet we are connected,

My angel and me;

The voices manifesting in my head.


Thank you for checking out this blog! 
The above free verse poem is in response to the Daily Post prompt ‘Silhouette’.


Click here for the previous post. (An Amateur Philosophy.)

An Amateur Philosophy.


In the labyrinth of life, I separate from myself, body and soul,

A journey to seek my potential, trying to comprehend existence alone.

Life is a malicious maze which compels one to wear a poker face. A strenuous layer of a fake smile is plastered above the jaw. The soul seeks salvation and happiness but the body and mind seek competition. Hence, they don’t comply.

According to Jean Paul Sartre, in the human realm, existence is the primary entity. As we exist, we discover the essence of our existence. I believe existence and essence go hand in hand. As we find our essence, we start existing for the world i.e. people will acknowledge us.

The inferiority of the complex I feel is baffling,

The world around me, in self-loathe, is wilting.

Everyday, I confront someone who is better than me. If in this world of 7 billion people and more, everyone is better than me, then what is the purpose of my existence? What is my essence? 

But then I realised that everyone thinks the same. The ones at the base of intellectual pyramid envy the ones at the pinnacle. The ones at the pinnacle envy the knowledge of the Gods. In other words, wherever you look, all are writhing in self-hate.

I keep walking, my soles tattered,

But I throw back pieces of my heart like bread crumbs; if  I ever need to go back home, spirit shattered.

I have lost my way so many times that my feet have given up. I scrape my way through the desert of life. 

I gave a miniscule piece of my figurative heart to everyone. But they buried it in the deep recesses of their vengeance. I set up a wall around me to test what Socrates said,

(Sometimes, you put walls up not to keep people out, but to see who cares enough to break them down.)

but no one came.

I looked at the mirror in revelation,

I was the only one who could save myself from this retribution.

After experimenting with my trust several times, I lost my emancipation. Defeated, I looked at my reflection. 

I was the only one who could save myself. Liberate myself from my thoughts. Then comes the concept of self-love. Love yourself. Think about yourself first. But not in a narcissistic manner. Live for yourself. That within itself is existence and essence.

I lifted my weary eyelids and set out again,

A winding path of life, abound with a little upliftment and a galore of disdain.

So after I discovered the incantation of self-love, I set out again. With new shoes and a new companion called ‘hope’. 

But still, it doesn’t change the fact that life IS difficult. There are very few people who will encourage you. The rest will wish despair for everyone. But I’ll keep walking. Maybe the beacon isn’t as far as it seems.
Hello! So in this post I have used a different approach by writing my short poem and explaining it to make my thoughts clear.

Thanks for checking out this blog!

Click here for the previous post. (The Wrath of the Moon.)