Cocoons

Today, I'm on an expressing spree. This might be an indication of opening up to communication, which wasn't the case a few days ago... It's always when people are happy that they want to open up.

People are always hungry for happiness- when it exists, they secretly pray that it should stay longer; when it doesn't, they crave for it from the bottom of their hearts. When they are happy, they proclaim to the world as to its cause, effect, consequence... and rejoice its mere presence... Otherwise, it's their little melancholy cocoon that comes to the rescue- helping them hide from the world. Hiding from the world isn't necessarily bad- it helps the person recover from a disastrous event that might have shaken him to a great extent, it goes further to help the world run away from the wrath it might be subjected to, considering the agitated state of mind that the person might possess.

When they do hide, they again seek happiness (Remember the hunger then? The same one.) and mind you, happiness is tricky, because it's relative- people might take a peek-a-boo from the cocoon once a while, to see happy (or apparently happy) people outside- people who are genuinely happy plus the ones who adamantly refuse to get into their respective cocoons. You can't blame the cocooners again- it's human nature- to constantly look at others... and compare. It's all relative anyway. Some other times, when they peer outside the cocoon, they look out for people- loved ones- to call out to them. Or may be for the loved ones to glance toward the cocoon and wonder where he went and why? But, those loved ones might have been busy with life, routine is addictive... they might be in their own little cocoons, looking out for others to help... they might not really be the ones that loved, but the ones loved by the cocooner. It may all be cumulative, a bigger challenge. But such is life.

Everything is a puzzle: people in mazes, emotions in a flux, wrong signals having fun... and hope fighting its way through the playfully alternating drudgery and despair. But without such labyrinths, we would all be bored- either within the cocoon or outside... Even after realising how much subsequent sorrow the present happiness can bring, people will still crave for it, people will still run to their cocoons, people will still hopefully peer outside, people will still wonder why loved ones aren't wondering where they went...

If not for emotions, life would be dead, nay?

It's All About Showing

Is it that it often happens, or when it happens that it hits you hard that there exists so much turbulence and entropy in everyday dealings? Sometimes disturbing, otherwise desired… But the level of discrepancy between the two kinds and the turmoil itself seems to be amazingly high… or perhaps that is precisely the reason for the difference in emotions. The mere presence of the turbulence would suffice, but its varying extent- each time more intense and fateful than the former- would leave little precipitate. If it does leave deposits, they could be analysed as to the trigger, enhancer and aftermath of the phenomenon. However, the entire process seems to render itself so emphatically persistent that there remains no realm of question or even amazement- shock waves would not take a century to reach you; it would happen in a split-second… all eager to play with some serene waves. It’s fascinating to see how it is always the serene ones which lose the game… or may be the battle. They never seem to learn from experience or may have not been bestowed with the skill or courage to combat the turbulent ones. Or perhaps they know the taste of imminent defeat- they might have known that they would always have to lose, so some relatively brave ones would attempt to fight back, others would just give up even at the prospect of those arriving.

This might just lead to an exchange of waves… Others which have sufficient experience to realise the intensity of such confrontations would be knowledgeable enough to dare not question the strength of the opposition. It would be foolish to challenge the obvious, to go against the forces of nature, of things which were bound to happen anyway, whether they liked it or not… Either way, the exchange is inevitable- some serenity dies through willing surrender, some after a fight. Where did we hear that fighting back is always appreciable? When you know you’re going to die, fighting back would indeed be foolish. It is one thing to be known for bravery, to be known as a fighter who valiantly fought back till death deprived him of that, to be renowned to set an example by your deeds in times of crises… It is yet another to attempt a show of bravado, portray dauntless ability to encounter challenges and depict heroism. Irrespective of whether you can fight or whether you know the outcome.

After all, we are all eager to depict something through our actions- there is always a motive… life is indeed a play and we, definitely, actors on stage. It’s never about ‘being’; it’s all about ‘showing’. The capabilities of such showing are so amazingly tall that it causes that notorious discrepancy in emotions and entropy in everyday dealings… Just as relationships struggle hard to stay alive trying to view people’s acts in the light of ‘showing’, rather than for their genuineness.

Of Blissful Non-Existence

As I walked down my favourite avenue path, I paused and looked around, as a sense of stillness filled the morning air. It seemed to dominate over the weather’s attitude, as though challenging the signature cool, refreshing breeze that usually tranquilises my daily walking routine. As I took a few more steps ahead, the stillness walked along, dragged itself to accompany me on my destination-less solitary journey. There is a reason why I call the avenue a favourite- it is amidst the busy city pace and the amazing levels of composure that dawns bring along, a perfect blend of the two extremes.

But today was new- the stillness in the air had a gaze which troubled. It of course seemed to be a harmless entity- with no ability whatsoever to affect varied lives that were strewn across the avenue. It was as harmless as harmless could be, and it was then that the absence of the daily welcoming breeze hit my face with all its vigour. Perhaps I would have never felt the inertia in the air if not for the longing for the breeze that the stillness had reminded me of.

That’s strange, I thought. How can some undesirable element evoke emotions towards something extremely complementary to it, even in cases of its mere existence? Every single day till today I had walked past this thicket of trees, anticipating the freshness of the breeze that lovingly whooshed around playfully… every time the breeze stroked my hair, it used to instigate a train of thought, memories, emotions, everything! Of all the glories of life, times of fun, embarrassment, joys lost, people missed, good days, mishaps…

Today, in the absence of that prolific breeze and a contrasting panorama, these memories stirred in my head all over again- with the same confusion as they had initially began to take complex forms when they were first born. I could see them all- Distinct. Uniform. Detailed. Incessant. And more complex. May be the stillness in the air was not innocuous after all; it was in fact guilty of creating a desire, many desires. A longing for that freshness in the breeze that had not greeted me today… a craving for that one moment in the day when I stop and think how beautiful (or not) life actually is. Realisation then dawned and created a perspective- that the stillness in the air was not something different from the breeze, it was its mere absence.

Just as the breeze had earlier weaved innumerable emotions together, in non-uniform, and even absurd, formations, today, when I walked into the lifelessness of the path, it took me to a different level of introspection. Or even a better one, where it showed me the leeward side of the locale of the breeze- it was a better view indeed. As I began to savour the scenic mural, the breeze was all forgotten. The breeze which greeted me every single day and ruffled my hair to streamline ideas in my head? It elapsed, and happily. It could now come and go when it desires, and I would have no inclination to feel possessive- about the loving breeze or the favourite avenue. Absence itself can be serene, blissful… the presence of everything we desire would only shamelessly pamper. When we come to terms with accepting that “absence” can be delightful… and this happens in a way that we could never have imagined… it is then that we start walking along a wholly new avenue, contemplating about another breeze. Or may be its blissful non-existence.