Love Me Or Hate Me

He says he hates me.. but he also hates to see me dour and dreary. He can’t brook my watery eyes and vents in prodigal outrage. He vexes, flusters and hurts me so many times, yet he makes me ecstatic so many more times. He comprehends my mind even before it materializes on my face. He never thinks about how to make me happy, yet his little inconspicuous actions bring a smile on my face. He says he wants me to relinquish my prerogative in his life, yet he spends every infinitesimal and momentous moment with me. He says we can never be together, yet he envisages a future with me. He says he hates me, yet in his hate I discern a clandestine love.
Perhaps this love is a mere figment of my imagination. Perhaps professing hate is much simpler than professing love, for it doesn’t tag along the encumbrance of expectations. Or perhaps proclaiming hate is much more exciting and thespian than the honest expression of love.
They say love is a four-lettered illusion. But what is a stronger illusion than love? It is hate. It is a four-lettered weapon which has proved fatal time and again when abused by perfidious and mercenary our-kinds. For it is much easier to incite hate than to incite love and respect. And it is human nature to take the easier way out.
Love and hate are never independent of each other. There is hate, only where there is love. Subject who are beyond the realm of love, are also beyond hate. For subjects we know not of.. we harbor only indifference and apathy. Apathy is not synonymous with hate, it is pure oblivion. Love and hate are not black and white. They are overlapping sets of feelings and there is a whole spectrum in between.
Hate is born where love fails. Failure to bear the ponderous burden of expectations anchored to love, incites disappointment and anguish, which gives way to hate. Good examples are public figures. Their actions give rise to immense love, affection and reverence in the hearts of the masses but when the same masses are crestfallen, unfathomable hate and resent arises.           
They have asked, what is love? For me the vital question is what is hate indeed? Not because I am proficient in the ways of love. I am just as confounded and drift as anyone else. But I believe that love can find its way, while hate to me is like a missile gone astray, vulnerable and perilous.
Thus, hate in itself is a mere illusion which makes one believe that they indeed despise the subject, while it actually reflects their disappointment in their love for the subject. At other times, hate is merely a façade. A façade used by cowards to hide their vulnerability.. Cowards appalled by their own ability to love..  For some others, hate is a tool for spicing up their rather insipid and humdrum lives. Being spectator to the formidable farce of violence mustered by the deep-rooted hatred is the only form of entertainment remaining in their dreary lives. Nevertheless, the tic-tac-toe of love and hate is what is holding the universe in equilibrium.
Love me or hate me.. your records shall always remain spotless. Love me or hate me.. I behold the mystic love in your eyes.

Great Expectations

Dear Maa,
I know you must be very upset because I left. But you are not alone, you have Dada to take care of you. I am sure he will take very good care of you and Baba. I will not say sorry for leaving because I had to do this. You may think this is wrong but when you know my reasons, I am sure you will agree.
There are so many things I always wanted to tell you. But between work, Baba, the house and Dada, you never had the time. I know you love me Maa, I know you do.. and so does Baba. But how come I never see it or feel it.  Isn’t love a feeling?
Baba had told me several times that you scold me and ask me to do the things that I don’t want to because you want a better future for me. But you never told me that you loved me, like you said to Dada. So many times he had asked me to do well in my exams. But he never kissed me Goodluck, like he did to Dada. Numerous times he had explained how to kick the ball right. But he had never cheered for me, like he did for Dada.
Maybe I was never good enough for the Buck up Hug or the Goodluck Kiss.  Not maybe, I know I was not as good as Dada in all the things that Baba likes. But it is not that I do not try. I swear Maa, I had always tried my best to get good marks in Maths and to kick the ball right on the football ground. But somehow I could never get there. How I wish to get that one pat on the back from Baba. How I wished to hear those words of Baba “Don’t worry, You will do great next time”, just like he said to Dada after every football match that he lost. I guess he knew I wouldn’t.
I love to draw, and my violin teacher says I play really well too, even better than Dada. But he never had time to come to any of my recitals. How I wanted to see the happy look on his face when everyone clapped for me. But I never got a chance to see that. Maa.. I really really wanted to make Baba proud. I really really tried hard to make him proud. But Dada was always better at it.
I don’t know if Baba knows how hard I tried. But I want to believe that you know and understand my dilemma. I prayed to God everyday to help me make Baba proud. I prayed to show me a way to overcome my failures. But God never answered. Maybe he is too far away. So I decided to go closer and ask him. A friend had said that if I jumped off a tall building I would meet God. So I took his advice. It’s a long long way Maa, I do not know if I will be able to return soon. But one day for sure, I will come back with my answers. Then Baba would take me into his arms and kiss my forehead lovingly, just like in my dreams.
I hope you will wait for me.
Your loving son,

PS: I did not write a letter to Baba because I knew he would not have the time to read one. But please convey my love to him.

~ · ~

Dear Dada,
You are the best brother anyone could ever have. I will never forget how supportive and understanding you have been, how you had help me overcome every difficulty I had and how you would hide my mistakes. I just wanted to thank you and tell you that I will always love you and look up to you.
Your loving brother,

PS: Since I am going to be very close to God, I will ask him to help you win every football match you play. I know how much it means to you.

~ · ~
~ · ~

8th June 2008, Kolkata: “The Salt Lake area of Kolkata has gone into shock over the suicide of a eleven year old boy who jumped off the 14th floor of Lake View Apartment in the late afternoon of 8th June. According to the Police officials, investigation is underway. The boy was declared dead on site and the body will remain in Police custody until autopsy has been conducted. The boy was reported to be alone at home at the time of the incident. The parents and elder brother of the victim were reported to be in their respective workplace and educational institution at the time. The victim's distraught father stated that there was no apparent reason for the boy's suicide.
However, when Psychologists were asked to comment on this shocking tragedy, they were of the opinion that there must have been serious psychological pressure which compelled a 11 year old boy to take such a drastic step.”

The Come Back

“It's hard to make a comeback when you haven't been anywhere”
These words express me in my present state of mind as best as words can do. It has been a significant amount of time since I last posted something here. It does not mean that my love and zeal for pen & paper or this virtual space has declined any bit, just that other essential undertakings for the existence and subsistence of a living form, like work, had to take the priority.
Liberty from parental rule does not always mean all ‘play’ and no ‘work’. Instead at times it turns out to be ‘work’ and more ‘work’. It is like an unsaid passing of the torch of discipline from the strong bearing maternal hands to our own fragile wavering hands.  The topsy-turvy ride with a ponderous torch in one hand and feet scrambling to stay put on the quivering ground, is a constant battle to hold our forte. The doctrines of a coordinated life appear transcendental. Mind threatening, as it is, sometimes existence is threatened as well. So in my pursuit to hold my forte, I made a promise to myself (not the kind of commitment that Salman Khan makes, which he himself can’t alter). I can totally.. and mostly always I falter from the word I give to myself.
I had set my mind, I am not going to open a new word file until I hand in my thesis. This time it was an exception. A couple of times I felt that all ‘work’ and no ‘play’ has taken its stall. I severed my promises to myself and was ready to indulge myself in avocations. I opened a new word file and typed in ‘The Comeback’.. but I couldn’t bring myself to turn my thoughts into words. My mind was cluttered with p-tests, trend-lines, figures, tables and what not. The tortoise shrunk back into its shell. I exited the blank file. I thought, after all ‘play’ should always come after ‘work’.
On the 1st of this month, after 48 long hours of mind numbing struggle with the keyboard and MS-Word formatting, I handed in my thesis. Then a couple of days to gather my thoughts and banish any specks of scientific writing from my mind until a week and a half atleast (that is when I will get the comments from my supervisor) and I am back to doing what I love, sneaking time in between lab work and everyday errands.    
In the meantime, I consigned to oblivion regarding the completion of 365 days since this virtual space of expression, reflection and conception, came into existence. Special moments do not always need jubilations to mark them. Perhaps.. some other time..
Sacrifices have to be made to achieve something, in my case, a degree. Well the degree comes handy in earning bread, and more imperative and salient things. Over the past 2 months, some ideas that had been playing in my mind have been lost, some visions I had are misty, some inspirations have become rusty. Nevertheless my mind is freshly reconstructed. Some tattered ruminations still persist.. some new ideas have started taking shape.. some new concepts have started to crystallize. I have verpasst some amazing and powerful posts by fellow bloggers. Few, I managed to catch on the verge of time.
Nevertheless my motivation has been newly reconstructed. Armed with a blank mind, with this post, I dive yet again into this world of virtual bliss.