Everything,Everywhere

 A known friend of mine once asked me if I knew what was the most important thing to do in life. 

I couldn’t answer his immediate query and I think no one can; in one speck of time. 

And then he just turned his back upon me saying nothing. 

I realised there was something suspicious, so I followed him. 

It wasn’t much of a night where he sat on a bench in a park where his back could fit perfectly and starting looking around the wild evening after a little often day.

As far I could see, he was just sitting and mumbling nothing in his mouth as a common stressed out individual would do. 

I had accompanied him to this location before but this time I had a little question in my mind, Why? 
The day faded black and I decided to come back home… 

I knew nothing what to be done. As of now, he might have reached his place, but what will he do even he’s back. If mind is a puzzle, Who have the solution of kind? 

Days came by, like God has given endless breath tokeep doing what we want to and to keep going where we want to. 

He was normal for days to come. Like nothing ever has ever happened, but I must say, he did changed a bit but for the better! 

I don’t know what really did happened, or what was about to happen, the story is still in no one’s hands.

 I can’t say this is the best story I can convey but I say it’s about Everything, Everywhere. And I believe that too, only if we can sense it suspicious, it is suspicious. 

I couldn’t question him, nor he would answer. No one sees him, he thought. So, let him believe this fiction.

 But let not him wait for something he’s to get in times, no one gets what they wait for. 

I, in my silence, tried answering his query. 
‘You’ are the answer.

 A little more simplified, ‘EVERYTHING, EVERYWHERE’. 

Cyclewala (The Cyclist)- V

“There’s a river that keeps on flowing. There’s a sun that keeps on staring and there’s a life that keeps on going.” 


The Cyclist kept on cycling his life for days to come. Shutting himself away from the world, and dancing on the flute of his own. The world seemed a mere unknown journey because he was much fortunate that destiny had become his ultimate teacher. He had all he needed for a story to run successful; the character, a reliable mate, a conflict and a solution. He never realised what else he wanted. Never but his mind throttled to recognise the unknown, together as a whole world was yet unknown. He was paddling his own, scenting his own and targeting his own. 

But was this feasible? What if it make him secluded? What if it concludes him a disguised? 

When everything seems successful, someone has to take steps to cut off the leisure. The train has come, but someone has to choose and step up. The winds from the windows has to be answered. The course of life has to continue. 

He knew that well. He kept staring the same shine that reflected back from the bell on his bicycle from the crisp clear sun. It smelled just the right when he looked around and sensed a fresh marigold garden towards his left. He could imagine his life at the zenith of beauty and perfection. 

The moment gets old the next moment we look back, and the newer gets older too when touched and felt. He warned his eyes to be careful for they had seen enough of disgrace and misfortune that the other side of the story maybe different and he has to calm down to the psalm of life could turn ugly one day. He never heard the words he taught to the people, his expression of his body seemed indispensible. To the other lives who glared in darkness, his thirst was never quenched neither with darkness or with enlightenment. But his dare to choose what no one else does brought him satisfaction. 

Where I am suppose to go now, he thought. Theirs nothing bad in shying away from opportunities but what’s next? What if I keep on silent for long that this world forgets if I ever exist? What if I fail to match my face with those of my need? 

Days and months went by and he now kept on staring the darkest corner of the darkest room of his house. He tried wondering the real sense of world existent in silent life. Where no one sets to call you, none bothers to disturb and those silent hours be numb for times to come. Passing the time when time is no brother of space, he watched the warm sun shifting place, from days to nights, morning to evenings, months and the next big quarrel. 

He remember everything he once was, once in his own flute and everything seemed a quibble. Those no rhythm mornings, and cracky evenings and nights with no sweet dreams, he wondered if he once lived a life or a question. The answer which no one has to answer because the question is incorrect. He was never supposed to answer that question, we all don’t have to. But what was actually a question that had to be found, then had to be answered perfectly? Was he an eligible candidate? What if he isn’t, then who actually are? What if he shy away from this change? What if he doesn’t bothers? 

Life is always desparate to answer itself, the method of it seems unfair to those who regret change. Better regret yourself if you! But realising this question, left him dumbstruck. He eyes were no more pleasing to the beauties because he was now a commoner trying find the meaning of life, the unsung song written on the pages of destiny by the almighty. Instead, he shelled the deeper out of himself and wondered if others do? 

Life has no answer, he thought, but why is that a question then? Its illogical to get into the queue where there’s no one. It’s impossible to perpetuate emotions through invisibility. But if illogical is what makes an illogical question answer the real question, why not make logic a no sense illogical question? 

The drama has no end. He still keep waiting staring the darkest corner of the darkest room. And he waited until… 

I’m the answer, he thought. I don’t know where I came from, where I have to go and that doesn’t mean that I’m illogical. And neither is life. For it is a justified question put to me, to be answered by me. The bounds and adversities of life has no end, and that doesn’t means that that I’ve to keep me silent amd let the morons take the charge. Yes, this world has answered me bad, atleast I learnt what’s good. Towards the better end if I lead, let’s celebrate the fun at its best! And till it ends, make sure you breath and then leave ASAP! 

What was his Cyclist journey was now the journey of his life. He didn’t wanted to come back but he had to. A new journey has to begin when one ends….

  • THE END

Cyclewala (The Cyclist)- IV

When the whole world seemed burning down into angry ashes, he swept into the ocean of his favorite books shutting the doors and windows leading his way to the endless night. The manuscripts are pure enlightenment, he alleged if the whole world could be one, for once? 

***

The morning alarm rang. He cleared his eyes and gazed around the new sun coming up with fresh winter breeze fluttering the collar of his shirt from the left. It was a good time for mountaineering, he muttered while stepping down the ladder to reach for his bicycle. “You know what, I always wanted to take you the hills. It’d be fascinating, don’t you think?”. The bicycle didn’t responded. The cyclist giggled, and got in his cyclist aura and pushed forth the paddle. 

The mountains were a little of 15 kms away and a straight link leading was the only link leading. He claimed himself to be the most consistent cyclist ever. He only knew of the people with chubby voices that lingers on like noises in most minds. 

So, he was leaving the construction investments of the cities behind and welcoming the vibrant colours the trees were taking from the sunlight. He was gleaming there too, proceeding towards his destiny fueled by his determination. The roads were clean, people were clean and the morning had much to offer than a cleaner motive instead for people who owe themselves their plight which they tend to forget in the evenings and ponder to skip the times which they for everytime can prosper. 

Meeku, his age old friend lives down the foothills of the mountain world. He thought he could pay a visit once he returns back but subdued this idea and decided to meet him ongoing. He called through the Bluetooth headset he got from an online store in mid September and pinched his phone number. 

 Cyclist: “Hello! This is me! Where are you?” 

Meeku: ” Well Hello there! I’m at home. Where are you?” 

Cyclist: ” Just passing by. Thought I would meet you! 

Meeku: ” Why, yes, of course! Come come, I’ll make some tea for us. ” 

Cyclist: ” No! No! No! No tea. I’m on my bicycle. I’ll just meet and go! 
Meeku: ” Oh! You first come, then we’ll see!”. 


***

Meeku had an infinite sense of the Cyclist. He knew if he was coming upto him, it may have a rigid reason or no reason at all. Within a quarter of an hour, he was able to hear the doorbell.

Meeku: “Where you been chased by a hare all through the starry night?”

Cyclist:” Indeed! I’ve been followed by witches too!”

Meeku: ” Yea! That for sure! So, I must ask, what brings you here?!” 

Cyclist:” Do I need a reason, you think? Just wanted to see you and blah!” 

Meeku:” Your eyes speak truth but your mouth can’t. I sense something fishy…” 

Cyclist:” Not exactly. But yea, there’s something I want to ask you… Very important… Very secret… And you must listen carefully!” 

Meeku: ” Why yes! A secret for life buddy! Just tell me, I’ll be your locker…” 

Cyclist: ” You know me right? Tell me yes or no!” 

Meeku:” Of course I do! You know, mine-yours friends, relatives, everyone knows that we are closest of friends… Friends for life buddy!” 

Cyclist: ” That is alright! But…” 

Meeku:” But what?”

Cyclist: ” But what if I change? Change right now…?” 

Meeku: ” Like change for what? I didn’t catch you…” 

Cyclist:” Just a change buddy… Like the weather that changes from rain to Sunshine… Humid to cool… That way…” 

Meeku:” That depends….” 

Cyclist: ” On what?” 

Meeku:” Look I know you from very long time. I know you. So, I must answer without any room for confusion…” 
Cyclist:” I’m listening.” 

Meeku:” You don’t always see what’s been accomplished, I think that’s your weaker point. It’s good for some folks but for you… Nop!” 

Cyclist:” Hey! You didn’t understood.. you are just…” 

Meeku :”Don’t you interrupt while I speak and let me speak today, I want to… Believe it or not… But everyone in this miserable world is living a life. They change every moment, every second or their life.. so do you and so do me. It’s just that you overthinking things…” 
Cyclist: ” Yea but this time it’s simple an idea. What if I yell on you right now without any reason, will you make a decision if I had gone mad or something?” 

Meeku: ” Anyone will get offended with what bad one has to say to the other! But I will first search something in myself if you give me surity paper that you aren’t mad! Which you already are! Hahaha!” 

Cyclist:” Well, this brings some logic… So, you particularly saying that one has a reason to introspect in himself if the another one is in one belief not insane and in another not joking…” 

Meeku: ” Exactly!” 

Cyclist:” What if I changed my life, yelled on it and wants an introspection from its side?” 

Meeku:”First of all, do you think you and your life are two different things? It isn’t I tell you, and everyone knows it…” 

Cyclist:” Yea if everyone knows they and their life is one, why don’t they get up and chase what they dream for? Why are they living? What are they doing? What am I doing right now? ” 

Meeku: ” Why are you so worried about them?!! You take care of yourself, the world will take of itself!” 

Cyclist: ” I’m the world buddy! I’m a part of it. The world rises that’s why I rise. And so do you! You do something because the world wants you to so something in that time. You surely not into striking the stones business, are you?” 

Meeku:” I think you are in a misconception… You, you know what you are? The world… Right? You are the world… You take care of yourself, the world takes care of itself.. simple! You wait… You fail… You achieve, the world achieves… This is how things work!” 

Cyclist:” That’s bookish! I won’t prefer learning that way!” 

Meeku:” What if I say you rise, then the world rises? You open your eyes, see the world, hear what’s around, sense the time, and breath and let yourself immense in that period, so deeply, so purely everyday, every night! You see, everything’s so simple but divine. Its just life…” 

Cyclist:” It’s been offered to everybody around the world. It’s for everybody you see around… What just makes up the difference? 

Meeku: ” That’s awful an argument… What difference exactly ha?! Go home you are drunk!” 

Cyclist:” Yea, that’s much of a wrapper in the thunderstorm kind of thing. I guess, you are sensible this time!” 
Meeku: “I’m. Like always!” 

Cyclist:” I’ve got what I need. I got to leave now. The sun is glaring higher!” 

Meeku:” I can’t stop you, even the wind can’t. It helps apparently to shape you… To be you… Just go!” 




***



He paddled right through the alley of Meeku’s house to resume the journey he was into. It’s better to have a talk like this sometimes, he thought. 

To be continued…

  




Cyclewala (The Cyclist)- III

Dear Diary, 

Life is lonely here. Even if you will stay, the tides will rub you off. It’s like a gypsy soul is better these days. Nothing to care about, nothing to veil and nothing to look back. I broke every way I once made, never did I tried to cycle back there, but they still. They are cruel, harsh, amateur, and path bitten. Just when the phone rings, they jump and rush towards that shrill metallic sound of the call unknowing whose that is, what could it mean? After awhile, all they hear is a prank call. What is such kind of life, my dear. 

I knew nothing before I was born and taking birth am I, daily. I know nothing what’s going to happen tomorrow. Nobody tells me. I can’t interpret the language of the world. I am all in myself and that just breaks me apart. For how long can I separate the fine lines of emotions with them, their’s an indefinite soul, not mine. Not mine is the chance, this world has to got take and breath free, for I did, and now I suffer. Far beyond when I was cycling in the crawling people, they stared at me, kept their belief on me and lent me water when I had paddled enough. All they wanted was me reaching my milestone. And see, now they ride with me thinking they ride fast! Smiling, innocent faces emerging out of doors which they once feared… 

With this I feel open to tell you the definition of everything. Now, please listen to me; as I say you will believe me. “See, when you start from a zero paddle, and you reach a thousandth one, you realise that what you are doing is correct. A time when you reach at a point when you realise that it’s the time to return back home, you think you have done a little something. Now, you are coming back. You have to come back. Its half way home and a sudden blink of eye makes you realise what’s there back at home. Nothing. It’s the same point where I started. The displacement shall be zero. Nobody will get a slightest idea that I have accomplished something. Is it that important to publicize? No, but what’s the vacuum I’m feeling inside. I’m not tired at all. My bicycle is fit and fine but my mission is accomplished. I have lived my dream. People would prefer getting propelled by engines, showing off and feeling extremely comfortable. But I did nothing of sort. I ride because that’s the way it is. They will have to suffer someway later. But I know they won’t. They will die before they even suffer. Enough with the people, enough with me; what’s all this for? WHY DID I RODE? WHAT WAS CRUCIAL TO BE ACCOMPLISHED? WILL IT BE REMEMBERABLE IN COMING TIMES? Of course, not! I think it’s easy to be an artist and equally easy to be for a long time. By long time, it could be a second, a day, month, year or whole lifetime. I know nothing. Nothing at all.” Everything has an answer. This probably is the question for the answer I am looking out for. Think, my dear, if everything would have been so correct, why would anyone strive for better? “Everything is you. You are everything.”, My life answered me, my dear and I know you agree with me. 

This am I telling you because I feel you very close to me. I fear people, but I dare them to stand even anywhere close to me. They miss the guts! But how’s it provable? Is there a need? There is a dense forest of memories and past, the result of which I talk with you and feel open to converse like that. All I know that I haven’t reach back home yet, I’m still in a tussle. And when I reach, I know I’ll have a reason to think big and do big. But my dear, when will I come back home? And what if I don’t start? What if I fail to buck up? What if I don’t be consistent enough? I guess, there shall be answers then, if the time now has some answers. The answer is to be come back home and complete the pending journey. So, paddle hard, and come back home. Someone’s waiting for you. Someone wants you to reach what you dream back again and again for dreams pending to be dreamt. Atleast. 

Far way when the world seemed dying, there was hope. They say,” Losing all hope is freedom.” I say, I don’t need freedom. 

See ya next time!

To be continued

Cyclewala (The Cyclist)-II

“Two days off the shore and the world forgets you are the sailor!”. 

Mysticism never ends neither did his stamina. His paddling seemed consistent as the falling evening. His was much of a lad when it comes to imagination and through the wide array of grey clouds, he could leave his eyes wondering for a better bright tomorrow. People had enough of walks, he thought, while he could see them sweating a brow leaving towards their homes in ample distances. But he was creating his own distance, his own story, his own journey and enjoying every speck of moment. 

“There’s nothing better than stroking your mind while you stutter to break the bones. Because you don’t need to!”, his mighty thought knew no bound. All of his days has he spent in exploring the unknown, leading to places he’s never been to and living a dream of his native city. 

The streetlight struck yellow shadow on the purlieu wall. It was time to get back home. 

People seemed overwhelmed with the chaos in the evening. Smiling, sweating faces were abuntant and people from all walks of life shared their presence at the coincidental townhall. His being was one of them and he had a sanguine disposition for reaching home before the supper. It was a festival of some sort tomorrow but the celebration were already evidential terming it only as a silence before the storm. The thunderstorm is to come tomorrow. 

The only lead was to ride the wheels on the alternate route. It was thin and shanty, smelly and rocky. But he was ready for it. So, he glanced towards his right, waiting for the chain of vehicles to tumble and space out like a hypersonic shuttle. 

While the ultimate night had lend him an ultimate cycling, he couldn’t just but smile and thank for everything he had thought and came true. Little dreams,he talks about, are meant to be lived and admired. Bigger dreams are a fable, which fictional characters seems to live, and those who don’t believe, don’t realise the story behind everything. To the unconscious and ignoring minds, his heart could only wish farewell from his life but he was worried if all leave, what will he do? What will he have to offer to the squeezing emotional connection with squeezing morale of life? Nothing but true affection…

While he was wailing on such thoughts, he saw a spooky rock in the midst of the street. He couldn’t brake. The next moment he saw himself lying on the ample rocks on the street with his bicycle chain sounding an awkward rib. What he had done? How could this happen? Did that little rock had so much of strength to put him off his track? Why didn’t the rock got disposed but his belief did? 

He had fallen towards his left. The handle of the bicycle seemed a little worn out. He had a bit of injury on his arm. He got up shrinking the dust on his clothes to none. He started paddling waiting to get back home this time at the earliest. 

All of the ride he was forced to revisit in his mind. He was fine all the time imagining people, admiring their beauty, escaping the challenges, blaming the chaotic diaspora during the festivities, and cycling all the way by himself in a rather recreational mind setup. All did this happened, when he lamented what did he had, and or what he was about to get, he thought. 

And with the chaos of thoughts, he got back home. And no one cared. 

To be continued…

Cyclewala ( The Cyclist ) – I

What’s up for me?” 

 This brings the biggest confusion in ones life. And with the onus of leading this conversation, he decided to paddle and talk throughout the corners of the city he once embraced.

It wasn’t much of a dusk when the sun seemed weighing down and all he conversed with himself was nothing. He probably found the city exploration much tempting than having a boring exchange of blames with himself. He grasped a sight of girls shimmering with emeralds on their neck, kneeling on the temples doors praying to God for everything they had, escapingly shuttering their eyes to excuse themselves for a while and expectably getting themselves showered with more love, more beauty and more happiness.  

” Go home, you! “, he grasped to himself sensing greed in the hearts of those ladies. And then he sought himself a question which made him think his sight even once. ” What’s up for me? If these Yankees have immense greed, what’s up with me? I too have greed and maybe that’s how life is. Many people would long for having a bicycle like mine’s or maybe good health. It is not bad at all! “. 

He had immense observative capability and more of it, he had the chance to interpret his observance in the course of life. Many a times he would just explore the city he thrived in, coming back home being the same man he was when he first paddled. Cycling was an exercise, not a psychological therapy, he coined. But this time he giggled as he was challenged by life to interpret her meaning. 

“Many a times we wander searching for things that don’t exist. We paddle because we want to reach somewhere. That somewhere is sometimes nowhere. But that is not a problem. The problem is when a dive into nothing, feel depressed and in the quest of accumulating nothingness, we lose everything we had. The trust is broken, the chain is broken and the lust of reaching somewhere breaks just as the bicycle goes straight into a gutter. In the course of finding a new life and openly declaring war with ourselves, we lead to dead end…”, an excessively loud horn intrupped his paddling and he banked to the favourable side of the road. 

” Phew, that was close!”, he had the glance of a large 18-tier truck chasing the bicycle’s carrier as he was riding right in the middle of road. 

The wobble in his mind was teasinlgy uncommon to him. He never much cared if he was to lose something or to hope for better, or to feel disgraced or expect from nothing he seemed to have. He was far away from his time for people of his age were on their early professions. He was but searching for something else..

To be continued…

A Moral Recollection

It’s not easy but wise to revisit a memoire. Whilst staring at what did really happened, apart from bringing mystical goosebumps, one could hardly refrain from a little known fact that it was you behind but ahead of everything. 

Explore with the me, how I lead a little stage of my life and how I see it fading forcibly in breeze of a new time that’s on the way! 

Things began with an oblivion, while lifting my brown eyes before a summertime sunrise and having a beautiful fear of what’s coming up next. I had to move to a place I have never been to, in addition to the fact that I have to be there for few years to come. I got to learn my predecessors might have learnt, so fulfilling the promise of leading was lurking on my head. 

With a little of something I believe I had, I reached where every face was a painting coming out of dark colors in a brighter place. In a room full of people already leading a conversation, I asked the designated leader to let me in. The voices were a first to me ear and I admit for someone like me, it was a gift. For more of summer days coming up, I borrowed from the new people the essence of living a life, in a better way I must say. The ones that had the capacity to hold the thoughts I possess, went on to be my friends. Those who don’t, disagreed to be my competitors! So, living up and down and still waging neutral proved to be rather enjoyable. Where heading into newer horizons is a blessing, I seem to shower into blessings with every mornings coming! Because I remember in the crescent memory, how I let myself explore the real me and how I come to see this world so wild and free.

Everything I once had was forgotten, but for a little while until I knew that was all a dream. 

A dream is something that knows no begin and no end just as life is it to us. That was life, a breathing hope at all times. Even a bad hope, for god’s sake! I can’t say how it was meant to be a dream, I just made it a dream and I fail to make one after years that happened to come. I’m into something I believed was closer to fiction, and it seems to be closing down without a clear sense of what to happen next, without a full stop

I swirled around the world and informed no one what I’m onto. That seems to be a mistake the economists call business. When into the real world trade of emotions, one can hardly emit positivity before the world seem ending. It’s not what we strive for, not what we dream and atleast not what we deserve. When hope is a damage to the society, positivity an evil and being human, a disgrace. 

Why I term it as a Moral Recollection is what that makes me feel the real steal. It’s what you make you out of you and still keep of longing that you were never you what you really wanted to be. What this ‘real you’ was I think I shall never be able to understand. But I do possess the decency to oppose the authority of destiny. It is on its own reasons to peel off the me out of myself, the little possession I share along with being decent.