Black???...Enough!

Black was just a colour to me until I started realising the world around me. Not everything around me was fair, in the literary sense and in the philosophical sense. The tag of a black kid was set on me at a very young age. I still remember going to my mother after school and asking her why i was born so dark. The kids at school never really understood that it hurt me badly to be mocked at for my natural body colour tone. I used to be really aggressive about it, but it is easier to close a crack in a dam and than to shut the mouth of a person. Well, i felt that things would improve when the kids grow upto be teenagers and when they become mature. But, alas even today, while working in an MNC, the stigma of being a dark guy, follows me. To be honest, I really don't like being made fun of for my colour.

Black is associated with power, elegance, formality, death, evil, and mystery. This is the basic implication of black as a colour. But, am i really black? All these people who enjoy calling me black, i don't think that i am really black. I am dark, but i am not black. Indians are basically chocolate brown in colour. That is the colour of the mud and in a way, I am proud to be born of that colour. I am closer to Mother earth than any of you!!! I was born in a poor family and my father was a person who came up in life through hard work and determination. When I was young, he used to tell me tales of how the landlord saw my father and his family with contempt and how they had to move out of the way when the so called fair guys came by. History calls it untouchability...I call it atrocious. Having grown hearing all the hardships my father had to endure because he was born in a poor family and becuase he was dark, i hated anyone who found too much pleasure in making fun of my body colour. Fun should never be at the expense of hurting another person's sentiments. At that point, you cross the line of fun and enter the dark area of insult.

Back in America, making fun on the basis of colour was called Racism. What do you call it now? I think it could be associated to some fun time in an office. It is strange and pathetic that people really find pleasure in making fun of some individual's physical shortcomings. I don't understand why people don't go around making fun of physically handicapped people or mentally ill people. They view them sympathy and try to support them. I don't need anyone's sympathy nor do I need anyone's support. I have always been a loner in my life and have always suffered at the hands of my friends. But, could you please refrain from hurting me again and again? Each time you make fun of me for the colour i was born in, I look upto God and ask him, why me of all people??? Can't you see it my friends??? Each of your rebukes are like nails thrust into my flesh. I am sure you will not understand. But, some things have to be experienced and not just seen. When i write my life's story in this blog, you will understand why I am getting hurt. Until then, you can really go on hurting me...calling me black!!!

Again, when I think of it, if you are really being happy calling me black, you could as well continue with it. I believe that if I could make a person smile and know that he is happy, then that is the best feeling in this world. So, go ahead and have fun at my expense. I just want you all to know that i am black because I was born to my father!!!

Don't think I can't answer back

Words aplenty in my mouth, I do pack

But, each time, you call me black

I feel, it is culture, that you lack!!!

Love & Peace,

AK

Criticise...You have to say something,right???

Criticism is a word writers appreciate and hate at the same time. Most of the time, most people tend to take it as a license to insult and rebuke other people through their work. They fondly call it criticism. But, what is criticism as far as literary works are concerned? Criticism can be defined as the practice of analyzing, classifying, interpreting, or evaluating literary or other artistic works. The three words analyzing, classifying and interpreting are very important here. I feel them as important because the so-called critics casually tends to forget the first two. Their criticism has got to do more with the interpretation of the work, without any sort of analysis or classification. Mostly, criticism happens because people feel that they will be belittled if they don't something about a piece of work. It has got more to do with making his or her presence felt in the crowd than with any real understanding of the work.

Now comes the most interesting angle to criticism. I understand the idea behind criticising something which is a modified entity. It could be a literary work or anything else which had it's inspiration or original idea from something else. It is fine because in such a case, we have the presence of a standard with which we could compare the work under criticism. But, how or more importantly why do you have to criticise something original? There is more than one reason for me to ask this question. I am pretty sure you will understand the relevance of the question through this article.

An individual writes something from his mind. I am a person who forcefully stopped reading any book, four years ago. Many of my friends felt that as a weird and foolish move. But, I had my reasons. I felt that the more you read something, you start beginning to have favourite works and authors and in all probability, your works will get influenced by that writer. I am a person who likes to maintain a writing style of my own. A style which is unique and fresh and not compared to anyone elses'. This is my personal view point and subject to argument. On a lighter note, when I wrote " subject to argument", I suddenly remembered something. We live in a society where people argue or make comment, simply because they don't want to be left out. I feel that strange and funny!!! Anyway, not to deviate from the main topic, original writing is beyond negative criticism I think Criticism is fine...but negative criticism on an original work is not good.

I think I can explain my point more clearly with a practical approach. A small kid draws something or scribbles down something. He or she brings it to you for your comment. What do you do? Do you analyze it from all angles and study the logic and perfection behind that creation? I don' t think you will ever do that. You simply stroke the head of the budding artist and speak words of encouragement. I know that you will argue that you did that so as not to hurt the young mind. But, still you appreciated the work, no matter how simple and vague it was. The originality and the creative effort taken by the kid made you appreciate him or her. Now, why does the attitude change with grown up artists? I guess the situation remains the same...only the age changes. Still you like to say something more on the negative front than on the positive side. I feel it has got more to do with the failure to understand the mindset of the writer.

When a normal man reads Shakespeare's work, he may find it as absurd and rubbish. It is simply because of his inability to decipher the inner meaning and the literary prowess in Shakespeare's works. Similarly, history would prove that almost all inventors were mocked at, during the initial phases of their inventions. It is only time that has brought the importance of their inventions into the limelight. So, I am forced to believe most people today, simply do not have the mindset to appreciate any creative work. There could be two reasons for that. One could be because they do not have the intellectual development to understand the essence of the work or because of the fact that they are jealous of the creator's capabilities. Creative work, whether it be literary or any other work, can only be appreciated, simply because it cannot be compared to anything else, as it is original!!!

Gotta say something, so criticise

Need to show others, you are wise

Among others, you have to rise

But think, isn't it good to be just nice?

Love & Peace,

AK

Write away...

Why do I write???

An interesting question!!! On the outset, it seems strange and outright absurd. But, when I think about it from a mental plane different from normal human beings, I feel that there is more than a single reason or circumstance for writing anything. By now, you must be having a vague idea about the complex and out of the normal world thoughts that pop up inside this weird head of mine. So, please don't expect this to be a normal study about the various aspects that leads to a written document. This is more of a writer's perspective than of a researcher's perspective.

Let's lay down the various circumstances in a methodical manner

1) Writing under compulsion

This is a strange way to write something. I see writing as a form of expression of one's thoughts. Anything written out of compulsion is devoid of life and imagination. It remains a stale piece of literary work. One good example of writing under compulsion could be the study aid we call homework. I feel that 80% of students see homework as a burden than as a method to improve their academic prowess. The moment a student feels that way, the basic purpose of enhancing the knowledge of students by giving the homework, is lost. He or She will be doing the homework as a way to escape being flogged by the teacher. I think the term "Homework" itself is inappropriate. Home is a place where we reach each day evening to relax, after the hard day's toiling. As per the dictionary, work is a physical or mental effort or activity directed toward the production or accomplishment of something. So, when you think about doing work at home, that itself brings in an element of mental stress. So, I guess the mere thought of homework or compelled writing is stressful and unnecessary.

2) Writing out of necessity

Writing out of necessity is less stressful. This kind of writing is more objective oriented. There is a definite goal associated with this writing genre. One very good example is an examination. An examination is not a compulsive routine. The candidate has the choice to attend it or flunk it. But, there is a definite purpose to writing an exam. Generally, there will be a definite achievement that materialise as the result of an examination. It could be a recognition or promotion. The chances of someone flunking an examination are very less, as it provides him with a recognition which will help him in his academic or professional career. However, this kind of writing lacks the creative element in it. An examination can be successfully tackled by studying the prescribed books and the proper application of the knowledge you have acquired from those books. It has got more to do with intellectual prowess than with the creative imagination.

3) Writing as a way of expression

Writing can be a form of expression too. It could substitute your tongue and the writing medium could be your friend. This is the form of writing we associate to great poets and thinkers and writers. No literary genius writes because he was forced to write or he had to write. It is more or less a natural process, wherein the thoughts get transformed into letters on paper. Again, it is not necessary that the writing has to be logical or perfect. The moment you compare a writer's work with another writer's work, the very essence of originality is lost. I will be writing more about that aspect in another post. So, each writer is unique and comparing his work to any other person's work is not right. You never compare one flower to another, because each one is beautiful in it's own aspect. I feel writing skill is a gift to any human being. I don't claim to be a great writer, but I know I can communicate my thoughts better with a pen than with my tongue. I guess that is what marks a writer from a normal man. Learn to acknowledge a writer even if you cannot respect or appreciate him.

My thoughts, my dreams, I do write

Morning to noon, till late night

I am not sure whether it is all right

But, it fills my heart with light!!!

Love & Peace

AK

A love story

Love is a wonderful feeling. Having been bogged down by a lot of negative incidents in my life, I grew up as a person craving for love. This poem was a lyrical representation of a fantasy, where I became the one who was left stranded in this vast ocean of complex emotions. Love for me was simply Lost Over Valiant Efforts!!!



A LOVE STORY

Here, I tell a story
Which shines with its glory
A story true to the last word
A story which is not absurd
I once loved a young girl
Who, to me, was as precious as a pearl
I thought about her morning and afternoon
I spent sleepless nights looking at the moon
Yet I did not have the courage to tell her
Of the love I had for her
I waited for her patiently, each day
And she passed me like an electric ray
Sending shocks of ecstasy through my heart
She walked away gracefully like a hart
Finally I got my chance
When she went for a dance
I found her alone in a seat
And my heart missed a beat
Though filled with tension of the moment
I waited tirelessly for a vent
To tell her my mind
Towards which she might be kind
To understand me
And to know my agony
I finally poured out
My feelings, standing stout
On which she looked surprised
And I myself relieved
That I had finally told her my situation
Without any sort of hesitation
There began our love story
About which, I now worry
For friends, I am telling this story with a sigh
That I finally bid her good-bye
She left me standing love-sick
Seeing which I was dumb-struck
Friends, here I tell a story
Which shines with its glory
A story true to the last word
A story which is not absurd
A young girl, I once loved

By whom, I was finally ditched.

Who Am I???

Who am I?A day in 1981,I peeped out into this green planet,my home,earth,after having spent ten months in my mother’s womb.Am I a baby kangaroo that she had been carrying me around in a pouch?After my birth,there was an endless flow of visitors to see me.Am I the Kohinoor diamond that I am displayed for all to see?All those who came to see me,either pinched me or did something else,just to see me cry.Am I a newly launched product in the market that they are testing to see whether it is working or not?Whenever I used to cry,my mother used to give me milk,to keep me quiet.Am I an old machine that is given oil when it creaks?As I joined school,I was made to carry a huge and heavy bag on my poor back,with lots of books.Am I a domesticated donkey,that they expect me to carry the entire load without complaining even once?In school,the “know-all” teacher used to shoot an array of questions at me.Am I a supercomputer,that she expects and answer to every question she asks?When I failed to answer the questions,she gave impositions by the order of 1000’s.Am I a photocopying machine that she expects me to make endless copies of the same thing without tiring?

Throughout my school days,I have been tossed about by my friends,seniors and teachers.Am I the ball in a pinball game that I am being tossed about without any real reason?Even when I returned from school,my mom used to yell at me to do my homework.Am I a mechanical clock that is expected to run the whole day?With passing years and adequate supply of food,I grew up.Am I a plant that grows heavenwards on getting the required nutrition?Then,I joined college and fell in love with a girl who controlled my senses.Am I a remote controlled toy that she decided what I should do and what I should not?I finally married that girl,simply because marriage is a very important aspect of Indian culture.Am I one side,say ‘heads’ of a coin,that it needs the ‘tails’ side to complete it’s form?I got a job and the boss made it a point to vent his frustrations on me everyday,by calling me all sorts of names.Am I a wastepaper basket that he was throwing anything that he felt like into it?Even when I returned home,my wife used to give me a long list of things to buy.Am I a genie who came out of the lamp that I could satisfy any wish of her’s?I had kids and I started growing old with changing hair colour and skin texture.Am I a green leaf that changes colour and becomes brittle as years passby?Once I got old,I was ridiculed and abused by many,including my family.Am I the aged watchdog,which is abused,once it has lost the ability to guard the house?Finally,when I died,I was put in a coffin and buried six feet under the ground.Am I a rotten piece of food material,that is covered up and buried to avoid the foul smell?Even when I continued my journey into the nether world,the question still remained.Who was I really?Was I a human being only?

Well,life in it’s entire span,is nothing but a journey into finding out the answer to the question,”Who am I?”.Once that answer is found,there is nothing left to find,because then you will have joined an elite group of stalwarts like Buddha.Yes,knowing who you are is what is called getting enlightenment.It is the ultimate purpose of a person’s birth.Life is not a destination,but a journey.You reach that destination,when you get the answer to that one question,”Who am I?”