A Transient Permanence

I was 7 when I read my first proper novel. It was one of the many Famous Five series by Enid Blyton.

I was 8 when I wrote my first poem. It was about my friendship with a Flamboyant 'Gulmohar' Tree. (For those who just watched this movie, yes I had a very very Groot friend in a tree.)

I was 10 when I wrote my first play. It was about a mysterious telephone, that apparently talked by itself and spooked the hell out of everyone in the house. 

Of all the firsts I've had in my life, the only firsts which mattered, were the ones that helped me grow. Not just as a human, but as a living, breathing, complex mixture of cells...truly a genetic miracle. 

Today is special. Not the special you'd feel when you first walked, or you first flew above the clouds, or even the kind of feeling when you first fell in love. Today is special because I chose to make it so, and as I write, I feel the creation of memory in mind, like the etching of words on stone. It's like a transient permanence. 

I'm thinking of great men. Men whose faces you can trace in the stars of the night sky. Men whose voices you can hear, like notes shimmering down your heart strings. And I'm a little content...that while I can never be as great as them, I can always dream of them and believe that some day, when my time comes, I can achieve at least a mere fraction of what they did. 

While writing I don't really like noise or any form of lyrical music, but unfortunately I'm currently surrounded by a bunch of idiots who are making a great deal out of some petty homework assignment. I understand that homework is important, but when I look at the likes of great people - Einstein, Feynman, Hawking - I wonder if any of these men actually fretted over competing with humanity. They stepped out of the rat race, didn't they? That's what. They stood out. 

In light of recent events, I actually came across a this Buzzfeed post as a tribute to Robin Williams. A friend showed it to me this morning, and needless to say, I'm quite struck by the beautiful message that Williams' character utters. I thought I'd share it with you all, so that you too may appreciate the beauty of this message - 

"Please, don't worry so much. Because in the end, none of us have very long on this Earth. Life is fleeting. And if you're ever distressed, cast your eyes to the summer sky when the stars are strung across the velvety night. And when a shooting star streaks through the blackness, turning night into day... make a wish and think of me. Make your life spectacular. I know I did. "

It's a great message, and it has been spoken by a great man indeed. Larger than life, these surreal existences which make the entire world look tiny in comparison...!

How would a great man react to a normal life like mine? Every day I am forced to live and follow the conventions of social norm, and what I see is a hopeless despair. Like John Green said, we are paper people living in paper towns. I see the transience of relationships, the uncertainties and insecurities that follow human minds wherever they go. We all want to be an irreplaceable asset in someone's life. But I know I am not, and I will never be. Always the second choice. Always the crumpled paper that was thrown away and picked up after the beautiful sheets of paper were used up. Always, always alone and choosing to remain so. 

What did it take to become truly great? I believe the great men, who seemed eternally happy in their fame and achievements, were actually really alone. Never lonely, but always alone. And people would always be surrounding them, like in the photographs. Physical presences that existed for the sake of existence. 

But once I'm done writing and these facts hit you in the face like a gigantic yellow school bus, I realize that these aren't harsh anymore. When I think of Robin Williams and I appreciate what could be his most beautiful dialogue, I realize that great men were famous and popular and they inspired the world. But even with so many people looking up at them, they were really, actually just alone - on the magnificent stage of life. We don't know what led Williams to commit suicide, but these great men, who seem to go astray silently, they always seem actually - just alone.  

John Keats died far away from home and his tombstone doesn't even have his name on it. It simply says this - "Here lies One who Name was writ in Water". It was done on his request, and more importantly when I think of it, Keats who was a great lover of beauty, wouldn't want a conventional ugly gravestone. He would want poetry to flow through his heart, even after his death and it only seems just to place a reminder of the transience of life on his grave. But it gives you a sense of closure and a feeling of permanence, knowing that Keats who has left this world will always linger some where at the back of your mind.  

You know what I think of people? I think their hearts are like lunch boxes. You know the kinds you took to school as a kid? Yeah, those ones. And these boxes have a few compartments. There's a different kind of food in every division and you don't let these mix with each other, because every food has it's own unique taste. 

I think the hearts of great men had a little space for the few people who were special to them. But there was one big reserved space, just for themselves. It was like that special dish, made by Mum, which you wouldn't share with anyone, because it was yours and yours only. Great men had great capacities to live alone, a feat which only the truly great people can achieve. Because, really, how can you know yourself if you are constantly surrounded by people who belittle you with competition? And then how can you succeed in knowing the world without knowing yourself? 

I don't think there is anything successful about getting good marks and a great job and a spouse and a house and a car. These are material successes that will come and go. But to get a great idea, now that's something. To understand yourself and your passion and your purpose in life, that is REALLY SOMETHING. In my opinion, great men didn't get money and fame - they got this epiphany and that's all that matters.

They strolled down dark boulevards alone, graced the wooden tables of pretty cafes and walked the lawns at midnight, under the silver constellations. They, along with their great minds and even greater souls, tread the Earth, becoming even greater than Kings. They didn't need to be told twice about wishing upon stars, because they were already travelling at a blistering pace to catch up with these very stars. And before you knew it, they alone, made their lives spectacular.  

Letters to the Dead

Dear ________,

Letters. They are meant to be hand-written on yellowing manuscripts, to be stuffed into an envelope that smells like all the old fragrances your grandmother once used. They are meant to be wrapped up with ribbons and dropped off at someone's doorstep. Letters are beautiful and a few simple words speak volumes. 

Unfortunately, this letter will never reach you. Even the most heart-felt written words can never reach the dead. You can scream and yell out to the skies, but your words will only skim the horizon between life and death. 

That's the nature of letters - they only go so far. Yet, it isn't a crime to write to the dead, it isn't a crime to voice thoughts. After all, those who are gone forever are those who were most treasured. 

I'm trying to keep this old-fashioned so please bear with me and read on. Now when you look at us, from wherever you stand, I know it will be nothing. Life in its entirety seems so small and so insignificant now that you have tasted the mysteries of Death. What's it like to look down at us from behind those golden rays of the sun, from up above those silver strands of clouds? A patch of green, a drop of water, the signs of life - they all must seem so tiny. 

What are we but pawns on the vast chessboard of life? If you're playing games up there with God, it must be amusing to watch us all. While we fuss over the little problems, you must be relishing the taste of sweet bitterness - how grand a purpose must you serve to reach Heaven? Do you miss living on Earth? Do you miss living at all? 

Caesar once said,

Cowards die many times before their deaths.

The valiant never taste of death but once.

Of all the wonders that I yet have heard,

It seems to me most strange that men should fear,

Seeing that death, a necessary end,

Will come when it will come.

I wonder how many times I have died worthless deaths even while my heart was beating frantically in fear. I wonder how many times I have failed myself and many others by not living.

You on the other hand, have finally sacrificed your existence and have left the world, in a braver fashion. It's true that those who have embraced death peacefully are indeed so much braver than we who struggle to live. 

When you were alive, I thought I knew all about you. Now that you're gone, I spy questions arising, like glass bubbles from the ocean - so many of them - what was your favorite this? What was your favorite that? Did I even know you at all?

I knew you as a kind person with varied interests, while another person knew you as a completely different avatar of mischief. How is it that two people who knew you, ended up knowing two such contrasting personalities? Then, what were you like in real life? Was I fooled and are you looking at me from up above and laughing heartily at my stupidity?

Now that you're gone, I feel like I never knew you at all. I may have become a closer friend, I may have gone on to understand you like no other - or I may have even come to love you. But what's lost is lost and you are one of them. 

Every time I explore a new interest, I come across something that you may have liked. It enthralls me that even after you are gone, I am coming to know more about you. I stay on those pages for hours. I read what you read with a keen interest. I read between the lines because what I knew about you...I just never knew enough. The unspoken words and unheard conversations, I want to live through everything that could have happened, so that I can proudly say – a someone close to me has left the world and yes I knew so much about them.

Witty talk, heart-to-heart talks, heck even Facebook threads won't be enough. All I'll know is your talent in bantering and your use of great analogies. Will I ever know how you felt deep within? Will I ever unravel the mystery that is YOU?

Of all the people around you, I think I was the one who felt your loss the most. Or maybe everyone feels that way. I will never know because I will never ask. I feel loss, not because of the philosophical connections I had with you - more because of our simpler bonds. Like for instance, you had been the first friend I had spoken to. We spoke about books and movies and art and ideologies. When I ventured the wrong way, you tried more than once, to pull me back. I remember each and every moment like it happened yesterday. You spoke to me - you loved me, like you would love a friend.

Before the day you died, I met you and you asked me once again - "are you in love"? I said "no, because truly there are greater things to life" and you agreed. I am happy that before it all ended, I was able to confess what I really felt to you and sharing that one moment of truth with you, before anything else, was my infinity. 

I know despite all the emotions you must be feeling, right now, there's a smile on your face. You're probably shaking your head saying, "that conversation meant nothing". But I'd like to believe that it meant something. I'd really like to. Because now that you're gone, what you may have felt is an open mystery - a something akin to space - dark and full of a million possibilities. Yet there's light, yet there are stars and one of those glistening fireballs may carry a legion of hope. 

If this letter reaches you, it will be a fine miracle. I don't believe in miracles because honestly, I have never witnessed one. But I'm waiting for the day this reaches you somehow, and I know you will smile down at me...and I'll probably feel happier. And maybe, just maybe, I may start to believe in miracles after all :) 

With love, 
Me