Trapping the ideas

Ideas are volatile. They pop in mind anytime, anywhere, and diffuse fast into the mind. You can’t just find them again. I am trying to trap those ideas.

I like to write those ideas that come into my mind. But the ideas usually come when I am in bed, or studying something, or maybe out. When I get a chance to type down those ideas, the idea is no more.

Let me tell you what I do to prevent such frustration. I just note down the idea on anything instantly. Like when I am in bed at night, I just get to the cell phone, and forward the idea using SMS to Yahoo SMS backup. Nice idea! Don’t you think? When at my study table, I take a notepad, and jot down the idea. Yeah, that hampers the study a bit, but that’s worth it. When I am in train, going to my friend’s place, I just take the ticket out my wallet, and jot the idea down there. When I am in school, listening to the lectures, I just write the idea at the back page of my notebook, despite the scolding I get for not concentrating on the lecture. Nice ideas come to me when I am sitting in a grove near my school during break; I take my notebook with me. Even an idea is coming to me as I am writing this blog. Do you want to know what I am going to do now? I am about to press the short cut key to take a note…

Ah, that’s it…

If I come across more ideas to trap ideas, I will inform you.

Dream…

I was standing in the middle of nowhere. The farthest thing I could see was a few mountains. A bus was coming from far away. I waved my hands. It stopped. Somebody told me to come in. I got inside. Took a seat. I put my backpack on the small bunk. Then relaxed. Then I looked to my side, and…

It was she. She is here, sitting beside me. For years I hadn’t seen her, talked with her. Her memories got buried into my mind, but now here she is. I asked myself “What should I do?”. Many doubts were reverberating inside my mind. “Will she be able to recognize me after all these years?”, “Is this girl is really she?”. I had to call her, but what if she was some other woman. My heart started pounding. My shirt got drenched with sweat.

Suddenly her bag fell from her hand. I leaped to the opportunity, “here you are madam”, and she looked at me with great astonishment.

“You?”, she laughed.

As I was going to give her the bag I felt sleepy. I heard her sweet happy voice. My eyes were getting tired. I could still feel her voice fading. I realised that it was only a dream, being subconscious I tried to sleep again, to see her again, but the broken line of dream didn’t join. I lost her, again.

Last night…my thoughts…

Last night I was lying sleepless. I was in subconscious mode. I was conscious about the things I thought; it ranged from the first day in school, the fear of being out of parents’ vicinity, to the last day’s experienced at school, which involved some exciting classes. I was recollecting the creations I shared with my friends when I was a child. I used some junks to make my own toys. I used to write paragraphs, about anything that came into my mind. Most of those were about space. I liked the term “space” very much back then. I was amazed by the intricate beauty the space possessed. I also liked to play cricket, it was much fun back then, with all of my friends playing together. I drew a lot, anything, from village scenes to crashed aircraft.

I noticed that, with my age going up, I am leaving behind a few things which I thought I would never leave. Like writing paragraphs, I now write scarcely.

I  recollected a cartoon which I used to watch, “Dragon Ball Z”. It was an action cartoon, with all those big guys fighting a lot. Now, when I try to watch those, it doesn’t attract me a bit. I used to watch television. Now, I don’t even sit before the TV set for a minute.

All these recollections I made last night, made me think of one thing, am I leaving my childhood behind.

Density of peace

Sometimes you become aware of the thing you are thinking about. You sometimes sit in darkness, for you believe that the darkness will bring peace to you. You go to the river bank and sit alone, to be taken over by solitude. You go out in night, you look at the sky, and see Jupiter, looking at you with his singles Cycloptic brilliant eye. You become alert of your surroundings, you notice that some people is noticing you. You think yourself special; special in your thoughts. You watch the lights of the street cars, blinding you temporarily. You feel the density of peace.

The inside…

Ripping through the memories my mind is running wild across the whole inside. The thrill of this motion is rippling throughout the mental walls of my inner intelligence. The shock-wave is causing interference to the emission of ripples of my matrix of memory. My mind is ignoring those. The nuance of a happy recollection suddenly stopped my mind. My mind is weeping. In the farthest corner there lies the crystal of emotion. It is broken. The pieces are glowing faintly. The past brilliance is gone. My mind is still crying. The trauma broke down the crystal. My mind tried to defend the crystal of emotion, but failed.

Phoenix Down

“This is squad leader Phoenix, do you read?… I repeat, do you read?” said the pilot excitedly.

“This is control tower Omega, we read you, squad leader, what’s your position?”

“22 degree 223 miles. My squad got intercepted. I am the only one flying”

“Return to base, squad leader”

“Negative, AA shooting on the way, not enough fuel to detour.”

“Did your squad escorted our bombers successfully?”

“Negative, all went down, sir”

“Try to return to your base immediately!”

“Roger that”

The pilot thought it to be an easy mission, they had to escort two bombers to target. Such catastrophy was out of expectation. His squad consisted three more F-16s, they all fell victim to the sudden interception.

Suddenly, out of nowhere two Migs came into the radar. “What the hell!”, he rolled his fighter and switched his mind to combat mode. He engaged in a dog fight. The Migs forked him. He was alone, unaided. He felt his heart thumping. He thought about the moment when he left home for the last time, his mother’s eyes full of pride. He made a maneuver, got behind a Mig, and pressed the trigger. 34 mm side cannon roared. He made his shot, the Mig was smoking, but what about the other. Where was it? It was out of his vicinity. He was hailed as the most skilled pilot at his base, but then he was alone, as if his fate was testing his skills. He was searching the sky for a spot of the other Mig, he felt much tensed. Flying through the dimensions, he felt the weight of his fear.

He is still searching the sky. His has a little fuel left, suddenly, radar warns him. A Surface to Air Missile is approaching. “Whoa!”, he makes a roll and increases the throttle. Racing through the air, he feels his heart afraid again. The missile is chasing, and closing in. His feels the force acting upon him, it is breaking into his body. He takes a turn, the G force almost tears him apart. He is still holding on. The fuel gauge is showing alert. What should he do? Suddenly, the time stops. He feels the force halting. He realises the missile is close enough to explode. It explodes. The afterburner is on fire. He is going down. His total life is flashing before his eyes. He is on the edge of life and death.

He makes a belly landing in the forest. Fortunately, his plane does not totally disintegrates. He lands behind enemy lines. He takes up the radio, “Phoenix down, I repeat, Phoenix Down”.

The meeting…

He was tired. He placed himself on the old chair. Drowsy, he fell asleep. The shrill sound of Cicadas didn’t disturb him.

It was the bright light that awoke him up. Still sleepy, he couldn’t realise what was going on. The light was breaking inside his hut, illuminating the room. He went to the corner to pick up his rifle, and to his utter surprise, his rifle was not there. He searched the room fanatically, as it was his last beloved possession. It was a M1903 Springfield rifle with a mounted telescope. The rifle was a memento of his service as a soldier. He was getting afraid of the strange white illumination. He peeked outside. It seemed like a modified Petromax, glowing brightly. And beside it sat a child, and in the child’s hand, his Springfield glistened. “How the hell did he get my rifle?”, he was awed. Further looking of the scene revealed some more details. There was a boy sitting a bit afar, whose eyes seemed like a a creation of a skilled craftsman. “Hey, who are you people?” he shouted. His old bassy voice failed to capture attention of the two. He got outside, walking to the boy, he noticed a robin laying dead nearby.

“Who are you?”

The boy looked up, stared at him. Something was not normal with this boy.

“Who are you?”, this time a bit louder.

“Do you use that to make death?”

“What? Huh, that’s not a that, that’s a gun, a rifle”, he said proudly.
“Is your job is to make death?”

“Answer my question! Who are you?”

“I am a boy and he is a boy too.”

“I know you are a boy! What made you come here?”

He looked at the child. “Hey!” he screamed, his rifle was disintegrated, with every parts laying around.

“How did he do that?”, he asked the boy.

“Ask him”, the boy smiled.

Astonished, he couldn’t figure out what to do. He felt helpless. Here, if he screamed for help, no one would come. He lived on the edge of the forest.

“I can’t understand, where are you from.”

The child pointed his finger out to the sky. And he saw there was a bird, glowing faintly, flying in a circles.

“What bird is that!?”

“A Phoenix.” replied the boy, “She is my friend, she takes us where ever we want to go.”

The boy said again, “Do you make death?”

He replied, “I was a soldier, I had to kill enemy soldiers.”

“Oh! so you kill.”

“Yes, to stay alive.”

“You cause grief.”

“I have never considered about that before.”

“You do.”

“Maybe.”

“Don’t you feel sorry for those you killed?”

“No.”

“Then why are you living alone.”

“I like to be alone.”

“You are ill.”

“Yes, since you came.”

The boy said “You are ill because you lied to you own conscience.”

“Who the hell are you to say that?”

“A boy.”

“Shut up!”

“Why should I?”

He was still worried about the origin of these two creatures.

“Where are you from?”

The boy was searching something in his ragged pocket. He took out a stone, a blue stone. He handed it to him.

“It is a gift from the Phoenix, take it.”

Just as he took the stone, he felt so much heavy that he could barely stand. He fell to the ground. He looked at the boy, who was up at approaching for the Petromax, he took it up. The child stood up. He fell asleep.

He came out of his dream. It was morning. “Oh God, that was only a dream” he thought. He got out for a wash, then he saw the robin, lying dead, the gunshot was clearly visible. Then he noticed the blue stone, the gift from the Phoenix. “I caused much grief with my gun”, he thought. He ran inside the hut for his gun, it was in the corner. He took it, carried it and threw it into the stream.

He was not ill anymore. He packed up, took the gift of the Phoenix. He went to the station, caught a train. He was on his way for a new home, the home of his enemies.

Rainin’ on the street

 

It’s been rainin’ relentlessly for a few days. It’s night. The rain made the street empty. The silent street lights are lighting up the street a bit, reflections can be seen. Raindrops are making the reflections disturbed. The gloom of the street lights are spreading throughout the street. The curve of the street is finding it’s way into another direction more perfectly than before. The street is happy to be empty.

The thickets on the side are comforting the street. The old empty house is a lifelong chat partner of the street.

The street is sad no more. The rain is washing away the dirts, the spots. The street no longer wants to fight with the Mango tree beside it, which was disturbing the street with it’s roots all these years. The street wants to befriend the tree.

“I always like to walk in rain…”

“I always like to walk in rain as no one can see me crying”

I don’t know who quoted it; I like this one very much.

A walk in rain is a delightful experience. When I am sad, when the question of my existence bothers me, when I recall my failures, I go out in the rain, to feel the joy of sorrow, the music of rain. I walk in the rain, feeling the cold on the flooded road, the touch of the falling drops, the thrill of thunder. My vision gets blurred, my cheeks wet. I walk in wet clothes through the empty streets. I look to the sky to see the drop falling on my eyes. I see the birds huddling together to stay warm. I see the frog leaping from one side of the street to another. I see the water of the nearby pond rippling and I see the lotuses dancing. The rain is washes away my tears and I become aware of the fact that no one sees me crying.

It won’t be like this…

When I was a secondary student, I continuously thought that when I would be in higher secondary, I will be able to toy with the syllabus, because the higher secondary syllabus would be all science and I was all in science(I was really bad in civics and geography). I was wrong. Now I read in higher secondary class and instead of me toying with the syllabus, the syllabus is toying with me. Nowadays, it is really difficult for me keep top notch perfection in all the disciplines. It makes me laugh when I think about the past when I thought that the higher secondary would be easier for me.

I believe now, that the all the things we think we can do effortlessly doesn’t always end up just like we want it. We can only say, “There won’t be any problem” after some experience.