I finished Paul’s book “When breath becomes air” an hour before mid-night not knowing that the next few hours to dawn would be a struggle in itself for me. I couldn’t but remain awake as Paul’s struggle, Lucy’s love and the decision to have Cady in their lives revolved in my thoughts.

How would you react to the terminal illness which would definitely change the course of life itself making it shorter every moment?

As you watch life slip away faster than it does for the ones around you, knowing that time is the only factor that constricts your capabilities from making a difference, frequently feeling your absence in the lives of your beloved ones, feeling helpless; would you surrender?

Paul paces himself against time and circumstances to create meaning for the life he created with Lucy. He convinces life to surrender, triggers another life so lovely and beautiful - Cady.

He writes – “Words have a longevity I do not.” before his message for his new born daughter, Cady – “When you come to one of the many moments in life where you must give an account of yourself, provide a ledger of what you have been, and done, and meant to the world, do not, I pray, discount that you filled a dying man’s days with a sated joy, a joy unknown to me in all my prior years, a joy that does not hunger for more and more but rests, satisfied. In this time, right now, that is an enormous thing.”.

More than his note, this book, I discovered, is a memoir of Paul’s journey intertwined between the deep uncertainties and certainties created from an unending desire to create a meaning of life.

"Time is- just is what it is" - Paul.

Pondered upon a paragraph from John William Draper's "History of the intellectual development of Europe" and was impressed by the way he has described the journey of mind and its thoughts over a passage of ones life.

"Some have asserted that human affairs are altogether determined by the voluntary action of men, some that the Providence of God directs us in every step, some that all events are fixed by Destiny. It is for us to ascertain how far each of these affirmations is true.

The life of individual man is of a mixed nature. In part he submits to the free-will impulses of himself and others, in part he is under the inexorable dominion of law. He insensibly changes his estimate of the relative power of each of these influences as he passes through successive stages. In the confidence of youth he imagines that very much is under his control, in the disappointment of old age very little. As time wears on, and the delusions of early imagination vanish away, he learns to correct his sanguine views, and prescribes a narrower boundary for the things he expects to obtain.

The realities of life undeceive him at last, and there steals over the evening of his days an unwelcome conviction of the vanity of human hopes. The things he has secured are not the things he expected. He sees that a Supreme Power has been using him for unknown ends, that he was brought into the world without his own knowledge and is departing from it against his own will.

Whoever has made the physical and intellectual history of individual man his study will be prepared to admit in what a surprising manner it foreshadows social history. The equilibrium and movement of humanity are altogether physiological phenomena. Yet not without hesitation may such an opinion be frankly avowed, since it is offensive to the pride, and to many of the prejudices and interests of our age. An author who has been disposed to devote many years to the labor of illustrating this topic has need of the earnest support of all who prize the truth; and, considering the extent and profundity of his subject, his work, at the best, must be very imperfect, requiring all the forbearance and even the generosity of criticism."

What could be a more appropriate introduction to photography than the words of Karl L - “What i like about photographs is that they capture a moment that’s gone forever, impossible to reproduce.”

The idea of freezing moments and capturing those intense honest expressions have fascinated me since I had my first camera. Forkics(), is a photo collection (check forkics) I intend to create along my pursuit to capture my perspectives from the lens. See, share, like and comment what you think. Together we can evolve!

Intriguing and revealing it is as you watch your ideas change. On how your perspectives change from what you had once to what it is now for the same thing. In my case my ideas of the pot and the potter. The change which happened overtime.

Two years since I have written anything to fill any space on this blog. It isn’t that I had no time nor had I fallen short of the life’s occurrences and stories but what made me silent was the times I watched this pot which once scented, had begun to stink and was son the verge of losing its own fragrance over time.

There was this pot thrown into the gutter as it hid itself with shit; the shit, leaving very little space for the positive rays to reach its body. There wasn’t shit all over when the pot was new. Perhaps it was covered with shit slowly over six years before it was finally dumped; made to believe that’s its destiny is to stink and that its origins contributed significantly to its strong bond with the gutter. The pot was silenced overtime with irrational arguments which rarely led into any constructive conversations. The pot started believing that all that was happening was meant to be and perhaps it had no right of its own, constrained by origins, to remain in shit and that any fragrance it thought it had was perhaps false. This was until, one day, one little potter discovered, pulled and tossed the pot so high, the pot could do nothing but realize its own potential and use it to mesmerize its surroundings once again the way he did years ago.

That evening.

As my potter approached me in one of the premium spots  in the financial hub of the nation, I sat watching her energy and the freedom in her smile. Sometimes you can be completely fooled by your impressions of a person. In my case, it happened so. I thought she was free and she had a very supportive environment to be so joyful. She had no problems with life, I thought! Little did I know that this professional conversation, and the lady behind what I saw, would have a story so large that it would to pull me out of shit and question me to rethink on what I am. I never knew that my thoughts of being in the most disastrous phase of my life would disappear and become so insignificant.

For me the issue was the questions on my origins, rationale of the so called socially upward class and the intriguing laws of religions which somehow failed to fit each other in the same system. I realize it today; perhaps it was not just me but people around as well shared the same feeling. The movie PK made it more apparent when Aamir tries to discover God and the same laws in different religions work very differently for the same God! The question does remain, how does one deal with it? Perhaps most of the population succumbs to the illogical laws for they are too feeble to secure their position of being just. And the story, no matter how illogical; of our nation, tied hard in the web of religion and ethics would continue to create unjust circumstances which will go untreated and unnoticed. The hypocrisy shall prevail for in some way its fundamental to our survival as a nation; for it helps us convince our acts of being right while being untrue.

Nevertheless, as she spoke and I knew more, I discovered how this lady, alone, from the highest religious sect,  defied the questions which had trapped me for long. Her journey of moving from one of the orthodox mind-sets to her free world wasn’t all easy, but was strong enough to question the basis of my assumptions. A child turned into a parent defying childhood due to the demanding circumstances, the child who grew up to beat the orthodox views of marriage religion and caste; the child who turned into the inspiring blonde, who not only took care of her ageing parents but also travelled that extra mile with least support to make an impression in her professional circle. The struggle of this child who once had several servants to take care of her had none at one point. The journey which she started  when she was 15 asked me strong questions. The questions which needed to be answered.

I could no longer but drive away from and start cleaning the shit most of which; the result of forced beliefs had covered me. She asked, how good is a car which stays in the garage? Car is meant for the road and the accelerator for speed. The road is to take risk. Drive and drive as fast as you can. From 3000 kms (in 6months)  in my new car to over 20000 kms on the fastest lanes of this city within a span of 5 months was what I drove. From the hills to the expressways. It’s not the numbers that talk but what I learnt. Once, scared of speed and the traffic of this city, I was able to go beyond 170! And then it just continued. Pushed up in the air on the scariest roller coaster rides in Imagica, with her beside, on my birthday; I took another birth I guess. As my limbs kissed the air and my mind was terrified with the fall; I felt my own self. She embraced my very own people, otherwise from whom I had distanced away in pursuit of the pot, the two people who created me. The mango groove in my garden whose shade I hated had become much dearer by the time she was half way in her story.

All I can say as I think of what happened; I came home to myself. I stopped wandering. Although I am still on the 12th floor writing again, there’s a difference. There’s snow outside.

I am this pot far away from where I was born, where my customers spare no time in looking at me in awe and that’s what is not me but what she has created, my potter, over a year now.  My potter with 3 of her beliefs; a. human being is beyond caste/creed/religion b. you are a reflection of your upbringing, stop questioning them c. I am a Rig Vedic myself and I know my pot. She took over me on her birthday and pushed me on a journey as the definitions changed; I became the pot myself instead of running behind another pot. Where devotion is not demanded but it sprouts from within; I wander no long to live for those unfortunate but wonder on my abilities to create awe in my surroundings, for I startle a few beings; defying questions once raised. Stinking no more. Constantly awed by my potters energy wondering how much she has and where does she get it from; and as days pass by realizing the difference one right person can make. One wrong person can perhaps push you into that black hole from where there’s no return and you start feeling that its night; and dark is the only truth. The right one on the contrary, would take you close to the sun, where you will burn and start emitting light and be amazed and say “well, it’s interesting, I didn’t know I had some light within until you held me;”

My ideas of the potter who created a wrong pot that convinced me to run into the darkness, have not changed. But what has become of me as I became the pot of my potter; has made me to believe that the outcome – the pot; is a feat of the potter and the potters selfless strong determination gives rise to what the pot can become; whether weak or strong; right or wrong. For now, I not only see but experience what my potter has made of me; a force so strong to uncover the dark shit covering me. Who knows, the stranger who ran relentlessly behind a pot with a hole, would itself become one of the most sought after pots in the times to come. It’s the potter that makes all difference. And as always, I get a little lucky every time, this time, on my longest journey with my potter who is determined to be beside.

Two years from now I was in this place with a bag on my back facing the sunset as its right before me now. The only difference was the bag pack (now I don’t carry one) and perhaps the thoughts I had then and now. I do not know what to call it, transformation or evolution. Times when the blogs started small and grew so large and frequent and this day, I find only one thing to write of many. Off the many thoughts that fail to attract me. The one that remains parallel to me.

What?
Nothing.
What?

Sometimes we find ourselves caught in questions without any well-defined answers for perhaps the answers don’t exist or the answers are so large to be described. An excerpt of a real conversation I overheard. An expression so well expressed without words.

I have been away for a while on over a few months wading through various forms of waves my lifetime had. Some so large to drown me for a little longer time than usual in deep silence. And some just enough to let my head above the surface allowing me to breathe the fresh air. Nevertheless I find myself to have managed to juggle over these turbulent waves surviving to watch the still sea. No wonder on interesting waves that lie ahead of me.

The point is neither the waves nor the times. Neither the turbulence.  But to that realization which calms within. I am awed and constantly amazed by what I see.  Beyond the naked skin and the half covered bosom, the man's picture of a woman, there lies a tender strong soul less described in human terms. The former description I guess is the one the artists paint and the poets write about but for the latter I find no description. Well, I am no less of a man who isn’t attracted by the curves and the skin, but somehow these fail to capture me for long. For me that which attracts beyond the skin drags my thoughts longer than I could imagine, perhaps engulfs all of me into its very existence. The element.

A tower of confusion, which itself is a creation of the circumstances germinating from the deep urge of the being to see things in harmony. An urge of being in a point where everything around her is in  harmony, harmony being the state of happiness. Crushed between the expectations of the loved ones and her own little wishes, she sits and waits. Perhaps waits for something I wouldn’t know but guess... A moment of peace and happiness where everyone related to is perhaps satisfied and happy on the actions... I do not know.

As I pass by the potters ally, I see a striking similarity. She being the pot, the potter has created over years with a lot of care, has to look at the interests of the potter. Perhaps being sold to the customer the potter desires. She waits in the sun praying and perhaps waiting for the customer that her heart seeks.  Dare she choose a customer which isn’t as profitable for the potter? Yet she gathers the courage to nod back and forth denying every little instance, resisting beyond circumstances, battling each day with time, her needs and that of the obligations she has for the potter, her creator. The customer her heart seeks, watches her juggle it all from a distance knows everything yet. She wipes her tears, smiles through the pain because she knows even though she is breaking inside, he is watching.

What more do I write and what more can I say but see the pot dry up in the sun as my chin dries with her. The fear of the bonding being damped in due course, the truth being hidden the web of rationality, apprehensions that suppress life. Life, like a log that floats in water giving up its decisions to the current of the stream, has become the way perhaps. Nevertheless, she puts a smile on her face, acts like everything is fine. When in reality, the world is on her shoulder and her life is slipping through the cracks of her fingers as one could describe. I like the wanderer gazing at the setting sun, seeing nothing but the horizon as far as wide. Hoping for a shower of rain for the summer has been so long...

What?
Nothing.
What?
No one does like this…
Silence.
What?
Nothing...

The rectangular block of cloth with stuffed cotton blocks the view... what remains is but the conversation and the glimpse of the eyes looking into me... the slipping seconds that makes the sand hour glass of our life.

What answer do I give you dear for your question "what?" I guess my answer remains "nothing" that I can perhaps say even if there’s an answer that lingers deep within. I continue to remain awed by the tiny strong soul that knocks me to silence. The picture which is remarkably beautiful than the ones I have seen in those galleries. Perhaps making an effort to collect the times so that they surpass the missed moments nullifying the existence of the missed ones… 

What? 

Nothing!!!