In Company of Pages

The fan above has stirred up a mighty gale. At full speed, it refuses to allow things to settle down. In this summer though, it is a welcome break from the constant sweating. For the nth time, my concentration wanders. I stare out of the window blankly, my eyes searching the unseeable. Such is the tremendous force of the tome placed in front of me. I have lost track in the maze this book has spun.
If weaving magic into words is a form of art, then Mario Puzo must have been its best student. The subtle importance of every word spoken, the disguised thought that every line conveys is at its best in his writings. Such is the might of his thoughts that every line uttered makes one reflect and wonder. How does he manage to evolve such thoughts? What is his source of insight? Or is it the power of his imagination; sheer mind power?
The surrealistic ideas, so simple yet so intricate; the life in every character, so simple yet so intricate; the vision of the author, so far stretched yet so unpredictable.
All this runs through my mind as I try to concentrate on or rather decipher the thoughts of this great writer, mouthed by one of the most feared, revered and thought about character ever created. It is my fourth tryst with this book and even after three successful attempts I feel there is still a lot more hidden in it; a lot more to read; a lot more to realize. My wandering eyes start their search again. I realize I cannot concentrate; it is perhaps The Godfather’s revenge!

A Knight to Remember

As the murky white ball rose sky high, I could hear half a lakh people go quiet. The silent prayers were ringing out loud. All eyes were fixed on the white ball which still rose upwards. A deafening scream of ‘catch it’ broke the silence and more precisely broke many more hearts. As the ball came hurtling down and landed safely in a pair of hands, the collective gasp and sigh said it all. Was it the beginning of the end?

People were baying for his blood ever since the days he started plying his trade. No sustained brilliance, no youthful exuberance, no mature exertion on his part seemed suitable enough to those hawks. The very thought that the man who took Indian cricket to dizzying heights was never deemed competent enough stands silent testimony to the number of detractors he had. It perhaps sheer irony that his biggest critics were forced to eat their words when every time he led his country, the history books had to be re-written.

To harbour the hopes of a billion people- people of a nation where cricket is deemed to be a religion, is no easy task. And in spite of delivering time and again, he was very easily the target for any blip that occurred. Controversy’s favourite child, knives and scissors followed him like a shadow. But destiny had begged to differ. Every time he got dumped, the return was even more dramatic, the comeback stronger.

Yesterday’s match was perhaps his last in competitive cricket. The curtains may well be down on a very illustrious and glorified career. For the third time in succession, the Knight Riders bowed out in the league stage. But its icon Sourav Ganguly will go down in history as a Knight to remember!

A Drop to Life

The constant tirade of horns fades away. The angry cars and even angrier drivers are venting out their frustration perhaps. It is the peak of noon and here I am stuck in just another traffic jam. The sun is at its highest and was perhaps never warmer or brighter. The winds have lost steam and even a breeze is hard to come by. The activity and vigour on this congested road is in stark contrast to the surrounding. There is not a soul walking on the pavements; the shopkeepers have deemed it wise to shut shop till evening. The cacophony of drivers and commuters vindicate the otherwise uneasy peace that prevails. The sweltering heat has had its say!

Seconds turn into minutes and the very thought that these minutes might soon turn into hours makes me shudder. How long will I be able to hold up? The distant hoarding with the cut out of a famous actor drinking an otherwise despicable soft drink was never more welcome. The speakers blared out a song which was noise to my ears. Beads of sweat keep forming and trickling down. This stream of water lost is worth its weight in gold. My vision is getting blurred; dimmed with sweat in front of my eyes. My mind begins to wander. Could one shopkeeper not keep his shop open? The sweltering heat has had its say!

Nomadic Mind

Psychologists say and many agree that a human mind can make a vision last for a maximum of ten seconds! Is it really true? At times I let my mind wander – I let it wander across seas and oceans, I let it wander across hills and plains. I let it wander to the deepest of chasms and to the highest of peaks. It tears across skies, blue, blue, endless blue, knowing no bounds. It drives me across lonely stretches; it guides me in treacherous terrain. Like a mirage, it draws farther away every time I try to tame it.

It is rather tough to visualize a tamed mind. The great souls must have been blessed; blessed to have been able to capture the extent of their imagination. Or were they? I am a mere mortal and perhaps too human to be able to comprehend such heavenly judgment.

It is truly difficult to fathom what this mind actually desires. It is perhaps near impossible to reason it into a compromise.

I believe, it is in reality a driving force – the sole driving force that pushes us on. In this journey of life, it decides what to preserve and what to ignore. It is perhaps the only company which never parts- not even in times of loneliness.