kasme vaade pyaar vafaa sab, baaten hain baaton kaa kyaa
koi kisi kaa nahin ye jhute, naate hain naaton kaa kyaa

Touch

You can touch but you can never feel. But unless you feel, the act of touching is meaningless isn't it? Isnt Touch: The act of putting two things together with no space between them. heh

So i think about stuff in life that i would never be able to touch (feel). But why think of something thats not going to happen? why not think of something thats not surreal and something closer to reality. But what if i say i am fed up of thinking of the reality surrounding me. I fight it in my sleep, on my desk, in my thoughts, in my mind, in my head, in my talk, in my senses. In my heart i don't like it. but then this cannot be a story just like that. Its like watching a play from the middle. You just assume what might have happened in the past. If this is reality then i fail to acknowledge it at all. it cannot be because it means nothing.

So my reality is a result of some past which i don't recall but the nature does? well it sounds like giving up to the twist of fate or irony of fate or karma but nothing else makes much sense. Frankly i don't care about what happened in the past because my mind cannot read it, its been recycled. So u pay for something u dont even know. And then you hope u repay with each fading hope. You stand up, try n hope "oh this might work now". But perhaps the past is too steep. I dont regret it. If given a chance to find out the reason i wouldnt want to know. i would only want to know the reason about stuff in this present life form. but then that again is like watching the play from some tme interval to the other.

This was supposd to be the best years of my life? Youth remember? But Youth fades away like shadows into the night with each hole in the soul, heh. If i survive and grow old in my life, i would have changed much. The fun element has been deleted from my script. So even if i get all the riches or all the fun its not going to be worth it. I often think if this is really worth it all? Dont know where my Ayn Randism is in this moment of weakness.

I would trade that for one smile, one Touch, and possibly one *hug*. As the time flies by, as the world turns, as the world runs and wins yet again everytime i hear stories. i sit, i wait, for that one moment. That one touch, that would make me real.

Can you picture, what it will be? Ohh So limitless and free...

Fearless

As i sit in bodily discomfort and mental scars today, i was thinking about the word 'Fearless'. So whats fearless? Is it the complete absence of fear from our mind or is it like ignoring the exsisitance of any fear?We face fears each day, we fight them. We are scared by some of them and not so scared by some of them but we choose to fight. why? I am not so sure.

So while i googled for some notes on Fear and bravery, i found out an Indian Soldier's diary. Although its got nothing to do with my quest for the word fear but i think the diary gives a very honest view of what life is and what life can be. We do take things for granted. Mostly we take freedom for granted. Anyways, here is the soldier's diary excerpts. n Btw you know what's like being fearless?

You say the hills too steep to climb
and
You think there is no way he can even try
But
I Climb the hill in my own way.
may be i just wait a while for the right day.

A Soldier's Diary

In Batalik, you can't breathe normally. There is less oxygen there. The air is rarified. The lungs scream for oxygen. The blood vessels cry for oxygen. At 15000-ft, you are not normal. You cannot be. The human body is attuned to a certain altitude.

And that's where our soldiers are. Fighting the enemy. Facing the bullets. Dying alone in the snow. Falling to death from the high ridges. No one hears their scream. It's such a lonely death. A tiny piece of metal is all what it takes to die.

They are our infantrymen. The finest in the world. No other soldier has ever fought at these heights. At 15000ft, they can't move with ease. In Batalik, there are no tracks. Climb. Clamber. Crawl. A soldier carries a week's ration, ammunition, a 5.56mm assault rifle or a mortar or a rocket launcher. He carries over 20 kgs on his back as he pulls himself up on this rugged, cruel terrain.They are fighting a war - a war which has been forced on India.

They are doing what any soldier would do for their motherland. They have promised themselves that they will not rest until all the land occupied by the pakistani army is taken back - until the tri-color flys happily over what is Indian land under pakistani possesion.

He doesn't sleep. He doesn't have time to eat. He doesn't have time to urinate. Life is not what it is. Life is a shell. It is the terror of death. It is the courage of facing it. It is fear, raw, unalloyed, unrelenting.... the enemy is up there, somewhere hidden. It can see you, can track you down like a rat, can pick you out so effortlessly...and yet these men move, slowly but with determination to fight for the nation. To die for the nation.

You know how it feels to be up there in the cold, cold mountains, carrying a heavy backpack with a gnawing fear that you will never see your eight-year-old daughter. That sweet little thing with a ponytail and a smile that lights up your world. You may not hear her giggles, see her climb your shoulder, run around, throw her dolls in anger, paint the walls in doodles.... You will not be there for her.

You know what fear is. That is the fear. Not being there. Death is not what matters. What matter is that you will not matter anymore. And yet the soldiers go up the hills, like the charge of the light brigade, never asking questions, never expecting an answer. They know they have a duty, they have a pledge, they have a promise to keep. Their tryst with destiny.

It is not easy to imagine a soldier, an infantry man's life up there in Batalik, where the wind can sear your windpipe, chill your brains, make your eyes weep with pain and lungs cry out in sheer exhaustion. Brave. That is what these soldiers are. Brave in the face of death. Brave in the face of fear. Facing bullets. One hundered & Eighty of them are dead. Many more will die. Let not their death go waste, unacknowledged.



This was written by a Indian Army officer who participated in the Kargil War in 1999. The officer died in the fighting and this article was found in his diary.

Blan(c)k

It was quiet and the wind stood still
I spent some time with nature
To remind me of all thats real
Its funny how silence speaks sometimes when youre alone
And remember that you feel

Again I stand, against the faceless man.

So which way will the coin fall? I fear for the worst and still hope that i can see some light after the long blackness, the blankness. Cause if dont see the light, I know Ill have to walk alone. And if I walk alone to the other side, I know I might not make it home.



So people ask me, Oh wtf are u upto? What do u keep doing? Ur pic? whats wrong? Well, the Blackness is a reflection. Its a rather true and honest reflection which perhaps most people would not be able to relate. Yeah and why would anyone want to relate in the first place? Its a selfish world. Its like that video, "Survival Of The Fittest". But whats Survival? To exsist? To breathe? To be content and happy that you have two arms and legs and two eyes which some unlucky ones do not have?
You have a phone that never rings and each day you hope it would? but u tell yourself that your oh so lucky that atleast u have a phone.

You have plans in your head which never take shape because you cannot see the light with all the darkness, so youre supposed to tell yourself that atleast u have a mind and atleast u have a plan?

Hell No, thats exactly the point. Its the biggest sin to know you have better things to offer yourself but you are engulfed in a fever of darkness, some old clouds, some new ones. If one is dumb, he can be happy within himself but if you dont consider yourself to be like most of the others you see around you then youre either dumber or smarter?

Ok then how do we know you are smarter? Hell you man, you cant even make a phone call. Your are fucked up in ur mind because of your fears. Hell you have to think 10 times before u call, hell u feel so fucking dejected after the call and hell you still pretend and sound normal and cheesy. Hell would anyone know what that meant? The amount of prepration that went into that small routine act like making that phone call? Hell you still imagine abt that "crack of voice" *Laugh* and wonder. You wonder about the mystery of the crack. You shrug and go back to your routine shit of fighting fears and then u think about the faceless man again.

Hell you were black (with some mild white line flowing, heh @ db) and now you are blan(c)k. You stare at your phone. You would then go out and stare at the sun. and then in the night, The wind would cry back in the silent night...