happening

Sometimes my life seems to be a fast action movie, sometimes a heartbreaking tragedy, sometimes a horror show… and many times a tasteless, blank, boring unending program without any climax. Valleys are there and banal unyielding, unfertile land laden with boring rocks… but no peaks, I feel sometimes. Though I try hard, I can’t stop feeling bad. I know it’s acute, and as usual won’t last for more than few hours or days… but my heart will continue to ask, what is that I lack… skills, intelligence, luck, good luck, some magic, or some breakthrough incidence? … Or is it mere patience?
I try to console myself… but fail to digest my failures, like dark comedies, telling stories of my all efforts going into fuss. I feel pain in chest, some breathlessness, lack of hopes… the failures knock the doors of my deep seated depression and it comes out to haunt my success deprived brain. I don’t cry, as I’ve become an expert to hide my un- oozed tears behind fake smiles.

Why anyything I think doesn’t happen? Why my life doesn’t take any twist? Why some lottery, some shower of fortune, like that happens in some people’s lives transforming their lives from iron into gold… never happen in that of mine? I know, mistakes were bound to happen as I was still in learning a stage… but what if the mistakes killing my project were not made by me? And what if I know with guarantee that someone has deliberately curded my experiment?

My heart fails to find out any solution… then it weeps, asks why… why I crash always… why everywhere I fail to show my talent… is there something called talent in me? Or am I a crude uncultured jungle beast, far away from skills of being delicate? I can be delicate and I was, I know… and was far away from being careless. My heart was trapped in my research work; it could never allow silly mistakes… then why? Why should I evidence my dreams getting shattered because of someone else’s carelessness?
But I have to evidence it, to feel it, and as usual to survive it. A born loser, of winning something, I feel, I’ve no right… but I wasn’t a loser as a kid, I was… leave it… I’m not an aged worrier who survives on memories of past victories. But… but why can’t my life story be like those whose debut becomes a big success? Leave it… we should work for satisfaction not for success. But what’s the use of hard work, if it results in such heartbreak? Won’t anyone’s heart break if s/he has to tolerate abortion of their dreams in ninth month that too because of someone else’s mistake…
If I’ve to lose every time, then what’s the use of taking part in battles? Today I lost a big battle against the destiny who only had offered me a chance to show my bravery. It turned out that most important RNA samples in my dream project were denatured, calling for ‘the end’ of my project, thanks to a careless fellow who added wrong concentration of chemicals in it... I couldn’t do it as, as a project student I was deprived of the rights to handle them…. He’ll live peacefully, I know… what about me, as I’ve to go back to my working place with those heart breaking photographs of broken RNAs… or with some unplanned project summary concentrating on the less important samples which escaped his ruthlessness?

I close my eyes, and daydreams arrive of completing my beloved project… I wish I could once again start my project, with authority enough to not to allow anyone else to poke her/ his running nose and to spoil my project as it has spoiled now… spoiling my belief that if you work from the bottom of your heart, destiny gets pleased from the bottom of her heart… but my destiny seems to have no heart. Heartless, it loves to bring my each and every effort to a terrible and miserable end.

I want some magic that’ll convert my dreams into happenings… or some energy to keep me alive, and strong enough to digest these unexpected disasters, and carry the aborted dreams to the eternity up to a point of time when they will breathe alive, independent of mine. Can dead dreams breathe once again… but who says my dreams are dead? They just can’t die, even though I can die in between while working for them.
And I die many times like I died now.

With this very big failure welcoming me in the field of research with garland of pricking poisonous thorns, I still feel obsessed with the idea of being a scientist. In fact I wish I would a PhD student here, at this time… only to work tenfold for at least ten times on that lovely project of mine! The research slapped me at the entrance only of that field, and still I felt blessed, I remembered with that painful hit that even Sachin Tendulkar’s international batting career had begun with a duck… it might be my mere good luck that I failed now, like once I had failed in my final year’s final exam, and had encountered an angel leading me to the entrance of my dream field.

… But still I can’t stop my heart from craving for examining whether what I had thought was correct. Oh destiny, I don’t know you’re good or bad, ruthless or just taking exams, you’re surprising, like a puzzle…. may you be coldblooded to whatever extent, let me inform you, my work has not yet stopped… just it has been postponed, and I’ll be a part of it, no matter as a researcher or as a subject, as a human or as a rodent, while living intact… or as a dead!

a battle wid words

Words parade themselves as language of humans,
Constructions of sounds sounding mind of everyone
Ask us to salute the power they possess
They say without them we’re just beasts.
I got angry on this beasty comment
Got fussed to see the smugness of those ink droplets

I warned the words you’re not so clever,
Not honest… not helpful always…
Don’t think yourselves as kings and queens of hearts
You’re our servants, helping to translate our thoughts

The heart can beat without any word
…And eyes mutely shed tears.
Same thing happens with enchanting smiles
The mouth shuts up and breaths tell stories…

Words smiled to this rage of mine
Told me that they’re gifts to humankind
They spoke out, “we’re little angels
Don’t fight us, for we’re to help,
Wanting your heart to get expressed as a page
We crave to wipe out your pains, and to shower fountains of happiness

Sometimes we’re wet, sometimes dry
Or like a cooling breeze, spreading fragrance in the sky
You people compress us under burden of your feelings
We always want to wipe your tears
You only wash us away, with flood of your emotions

We get lost in torrents of your thoughts
The sorrow makes us moan, and extreme joy to fly
We want you to help to get mysteries of heart solved
But oh dear, what can we do, if in the conflict we too are involved?
You don’t hesitate to use us as weapons
Leaving bodies intact and bleeding souls…
We feel it’s better to hide than stabbing hearts
You do the slaughter, how can we be the murderers?”

Then I got guilty for my comments,
Like those angelic sounds I too became wordless

d game of virtues

I killed my non- violence; cut throat of my innocence, of the tiny humane kid in me who loved animals, whose mind wasn’t aware of the darkness of death, and was taking every essential step to survive… I wanted to study brain, to do a project to understand something about our understanding. I did it, trained my rat team; they loved me like what my cat does, unaware of the fact that I happened to be the to be slayer, to end their tiny trained life. Do I deserve to be called as a human?
Humans are animals, I know. And animals kill others when they need it; I don’t know whether that is this painful to them. They kill for their protection; they kill for food, to show dominance… or to win over a potential mate, to propagate their own genes… some are even cannibal, they just do it without understanding. I knew what I was doing, without their knowing, suppressing my strong desire to allow them to continue their innocent life, feeling as if I was doing a crime.

I had to know, to study… and to do it I knew there was no other option. People look at animals as sources of calorie, fats, proteins, fat soluble vitamins… is it odd if I had to look at them as sources of information, as a hidden treasure of knowledge… or a key to understand a host of brain functions. But what if they are lives, animals… mammals with neocortex like us? …But this’ the thing that makes them ideal subjects for this work. And I wanted to do it in exchange of everything of mine… on that dissection table; I sacrificed my virtues only for keeping my virtues alive.
That might be a sin, I agree… but I’m not afraid of hell’s sufferings. But it really hurts to kill someone who trusts you, no matter the trusting party happens to be a rodent.

One day or other, I hope we’ll make some machine that will study the behavior and brain activities, without causing any harm to the owner of the brain. Till then I’ve to act as a rat assassin.

My study gave me a chance to peep into the heart of rats… and it’s not different from that of cats… and that of humans. It craves to get relaxed in some safe secure arms.

saluting solitude

A lone bird, I tweet alone, shout alone… and when happy I whistle also while alone. Confined in my closed isolated room, I enjoy some lonely smiles, or weep my lonesome tears, whatever I may do, I feel, who’s there to care. While surrounded by a crowd also, alas, I continue to feel alone. I hide myself from the caring ones, least my mask shall fall like a waterfall bathing them in my tears. There’s molten lava kept under pressure in the heart of this cool thick stone. I don’t want my keens to get burnt in that. There is more sorrow in my heart than the life it has… and I feel it’s not good to share something as painful as my moaning mind.


Loneliness since centuries has been the mother of fine thoughts and great arts... where the pains stimulate creative mind. I have learned to enjoy the troubles it gives… but truly speaking at least sometimes this isolation hurts a lot.

d art of dissection

I see art in every work I do, as delicacy is the soul of art… dissecting a semisolid structure like fresh brain of an immature rat, that too to expose and separate hidden structures like the hippocampus, amygdala, and striatum requires the same inventive attitude as that of painting the moods of mind and arranging words those penetrate the mind…

set of questions

Have you ever experienced those set backs
Which teach you something, and never come back?

Have some incidence made you to cry
The effect of which transformed your life?

Have you ever felt the pleasing pains,
And tolerated losses without complaints?

Have you ever got the joy of losing,
Your everything, really for nothing?

Have you ever craved for something,
What people say is not even a trivial thing?

Have you ever become too forlorn,
To give up the things; and acting like a mad?

Have you ever bathed in showers of joy,
Which makes you to forget the boundaries of life?

Have you ever fallen in love with your dream,
Got life’s everything, yet lost your life?

It’s ecstatic to die for your dream,
Even though the dream itself is not rewarding…

my life

The doors of my mind are always closed; even any rat- tat- tat s not allowed crossing it. and my face is always covered with a thick mask of my usual public face with a cool deceiving smile, stimulating other’s minds. Outward stimuli can’t affect my inside, no matter how harsh or pleasing they are. And inside there is something violent going on, something like the wildfire, or hurricane, or a volcano… no peace at all… for me, these are not catastrophes, these are parts of my life hidden in depths of mine. When they’ll come out, I don’t know… I don’t know whether they’ll ever come out.

A person with a volcano sleeping inside, I never feel strong enough, energetic enough, having enough speed to catch the peace of achieving my aim. I crave for the strength in my dreams, but never give up; I just can’t, enslaved by the fire in my heart.

Will I get some solace, some rain, some cold, some warmth… evoking a smile coming from the depths of my mind? Whether at least at some point of my life, will I feel satisfied? Whether at least for a moment will I be able to enjoy this gift of human life?

I will, I think, when I’ll see my dreams alive, maybe fifty, hundred, thousand years from now, when there will be showers of joy, when everyone will smile, when everyone will be satisfied, when every heart will be pure, when every disease will get cured, when everyone will get what they wish to have, when everyone will wish good for others, when heaven will reside on my Earth…

Till then I’ll keep on burning my life. I’ve been a burning life since ages, and you’ll find me in burns of every heart, even after my death, attempting feebly to give them some solace hoping that it’ll help me to smile.