Saturday, 19 September 2015

The worth of a worthless man!

Yet another day full of sporadic decision making, debilitating circumstances, harrowing situations, a hand full of disparaging from detractors, a more substantial exalting from your clan, all culminating into yet another night, yet another slumber, full of contemplation, full of trains of thoughts, of a mental fiefdom that forces him to stay up, and fatigue - both mental and physical, that lulls him into a sea of impropriety. Such is a day, every day, in the life of a worthless man. 

Born a renegade, he failed to succumb to society's norms. And yet he grew up to be a part of the parade of lackeys that marches through the shackles of a moribund civilization everyday. He refused to stoop in his mental warfare, and yet he cowered when his innovative ideas were turned down in favor of the orthodoxy. He climbed a psychic ladder to intellectual nirvana everyday by building on core skills and knowledge, and he crumbled in the corporate hierarchy because of his lack of adherence. He priced his moral freedom and the right to exercise his volition of thoughts. And yet he cringed everyday when he was vituperated by many for being a heretic. He was a slowly fading tinge of authenticity in a sea of commonplace derriere. 

He went on with his life and attained wisdom to wade through a stolid world's vagaries. Bogged down with the pace with which normality lurched in everyone's life, he still managed to play by the basics, and at the same time being much more contemporary in his outlook. Wailing through the stupor of global malarkey and maleficence, he jumped on pebbles of universal sanity, only to see no such pebbles ahead of him one fine day. And he found himself on the crossroads that would decide his fate. Either he was to plunge in the sea of commotion and be purged and pruned in the eyes of the populace, or he was to reduce a part of himself to form another pebble to impel on. 

As expected, he went with the latter and the much more difficult journey. With poignancy of losing out on his tranquil self, and thereby facing public ire for his virulent contempt for the commons' code of conduct, he withered and whined every single day. His days were full of despondence as it is, but he simply let his predilection for confrontation go a bit too far. As it is, he stumbled on the set pathway with set instructions for anyone to follow, every single day! His overt creativity ruined his results, his speck of imagination nearly damaged his boss's by the book cult status, and his panache for revolutionary thinking ended up in a mail chain where multiple seniors at all levels enjoyed a potpourri of criticism full of jibe and brevity. So he plunged into the abyss of further misery because as it is he led a dismal existence! 

He moved on for a while, drastically reduced to a macabre and an ailing vagrant, still elated on thinking of himself as a trailblazer of sorts. Truth be told, he was one nonetheless. But he failed no one else but himself. Chided by most onlookers as a loser, and still praised by a few of his own types as being a mercenary, he fought through the riling gaze of every onlooker, who seemed to be reeling under happiness, sanguine with the aplomb and the assurance that he or she played it right by leading life like it was meant to be. They went a step further to thank everyone who told them not to be brazen, not to be inquisitive, not to be non compliant, not to be recalcitrant and most importantly to be submissive to almost any possible authority - both religious or moral. 

Our travailing man was now reduced to bones and sinew that held them together. He had hurled enough pebbles out of his already blanching body. Reduced to tatters billowing with every passing sliver of wind, he couldn't even move till the next pebble on the trot. Too afraid to fall in the sea of foofaraw beneath, and too skeptical about spending all that was left of his energy to jump till the next one, he was once again at the crossroads. In fact as he looked back, every day, every moment and every other decision was crossroads. He suddenly introspected on the journey of his life and saw he was always deemed worthless because of his lack of courage to work hard, while what he worked on creatively to spring some magic no one was capable of seeing. He was lampooned to be a man without a purpose, while putting colors over the canvas of life seemed to be larger than any purpose to him. And last but not the least, he was accused of being indignant to his fellows because he never helped anyone. While in reality, he was always busy in helping them in ways that transcended the meager human senses. 

He suddenly saw life for what it was; an endeavor to live purely for the sake of living it. While he resented the fact that he always came across as a no show - a man culpable of neglect and mental debauchery. He suddenly saw his life was meant to be like that. He suddenly saw that his struggle against the everyday chores he so badly deplored was not struggle after all. It was in fact the only destiny meant for him. And so be it with this one last struggle of his life. To jump or not to jump was not the question anymore. But even the next pebble didn't seem lucrative enough to him anymore. He was no longer circumspect. He in fact found himself to be at the visible cusp of the giant planet, as if he could gander through the glistening universe in one single go if he finally took the leap. All through that final speck of emotion, through that last shred of energy, he finally took off, through the eerie ether, through the much more congested human mental imbroglio, and finally with the escape velocity of the most hallowed prayer made to the most supreme force, he evaded the human tragedy once and for all. And as he did that, he saw his worth for the last, and definitely, the only time. And boy was it worthy at the end! 

Wednesday, 16 September 2015

The pliant preachers.

There has always been, and will forever be, a very deeply rooted and etched belief in my mind, which should probably never wither. It's worthwhile to note this maybe the only belief I might hold on till the very end. It is a belief that in all its essence embodies all that I've seen and I've witnessed. Faces throughout the day, make up my day. Bumping into the headlights of panoply of these faces, I've seen that there is much more to life than meets the eye. We all have a deeply hidden, deeply engendered alter ego of sorts. It's pretty similar to what appears on the outside and even to ourselves. And yet there lies a tremendous doppleganger, who may be the exact opposite of what we want everyone to perceive ourselves to be. Because if you went on to say what you really felt, you'd find your neck on the guillotine the very next moment. And yet the inner being stays there, waiting for its turn, either to see it finally arrive, or to see itself expunged at the end of one's time. Such, dear readers, is the life of a pliant preacher. 

Revolutions are always marked by feelings distinct to what was extant prior to the revolutions. Rebellions spring out of sustained momentum, and yet if successful, they may usurp all that once assumed institutional providence. Such is the power of the deep inveterate conscience inside you. You may or may not believe, but while you expose your external self to be twisted and turned, your inner self is so staunch and so stubborn, even the most revered idol of your mind shall not be able to change your position on it. You spend your whole life haranguing and contempting many a thing. You might actually consider it an obligation to markedly express yourself and expatiate your opinion on many issues. But irrespective of whether you are an introvert or an extrovert, a bonhomie or an aloof laconic lost in soliloquy, you silently store a vermin of humongous proportions inside you. And then you simply wait for the scuttling elements to wane away. 

Consider this. How is it possible for radicalism to pervade so early in what is otherwise a set sophisticated society? By the late 1930's, only a minuscule percentage of Nazis were of the ardent type, the type that shall go an and spread deluge and mayhem at the whims of their Fuhrer. And yet by the time Hitler's reign was at its prime, either by conation or by compulsion, most of the people acceded. In fact many records aver that many from the bourgeoisie, actually enjoyed the sight of brutal torture and tribulation meted out to the prisoners. So, how did the conscience of a progressive sect of people suddenly contort so much that they suddenly found the deleterious to be delectable? Moreover, coincidentally people did this while knowing their genocidal extravaganza was soon going to make them face the whole world's wrath. Well, it was the beast hidden beneath them, deep enough for anyone to notice when they acted sane, and yet powerful enough to let all hell break loose when it finally manifested. 

We all are no different today. Consider all the cultural establishments or national and international legal bodies that enforce all laws to curb all possible maladies. We still have just about as much collective dismay and acrimony as we had then. We still have rendered vengeance in the minds of otherwise innocuous beings, ready to turn it into a devastating reality at the drop of a hat. People want to do many things, and with multiple authorities, principles and the collective social obligation, their real self remains timorous. In essence, we are mammals with the core mammalian instinct still being the same. You can't win a war without defeating someone else. And maybe a wrestler feels the same way after pinning his opponent down, as a Gladiator felt centuries ago when he would splay his enemy and bifurcate him into two parts, bathing in a shower of rubicund hot blood, like none else. We're all animals and we're all beasts. We're suave chivalrous males, with a subversive intent lying somewhere within, with our wrath impending upon someone or something. And then there are resplendent petite females, who on their day, might bring their own unflinching vendetta to the table and might knock out many an Empire on their own. 

We are preachers of the law of the land, and of what is considered acceptable. There are norms, tacit and writ, guiding us in becoming a replete society. But in reality, we find much more comfort and tranquil in individualism and nihilism. We are fanatics, waiting for the doors to perdition, and that's why it is so easy to proselytize us into action. Wave based politics, massive revolutions and complete turnarounds are always welcome as being agents of change. But we soon find the hidden truth, seeing the artifice hidden in the spiel of our master manipulators. But we remain happy because we have another shot at revolution, which once again fades in the tyranny of another demagogue. But we enjoy as long as we think we are the change. We want something to go more eagerly than we want something new to replace it. We take more pride in someone's relegation, than we take in someone's anointment. We're lovers of destruction and detriment from inside, and yet we adulate and eulogize progress from the outside. We are the pliant preachers, acting at the behest of what the society terms as good, till the day there's nothing good left to follow, silently waiting in our own mental abode, and looking forward to acquiescing to the internal master -  the animal reeling under all the sweetness outside! 

Wednesday, 9 September 2015

Does your life breed on inactivity?

Before you come up with any extreme conclusions on the title, let me set the things in some broad perspective, and as the post progresses, you'd see what I'm talking about. If you are a regular, ordinary, banal 9 to 5 worker, most of this shall apply in your case, just like I suddenly realized it did in mine. I was initially baffled to know what I've been caught up in, and then it struck like a tempest long impending to come strike me and winnow me away from the useful ones. The ones who really do what gets things ticking. In in the scheme of this world's cogs and sprockets, I failed to see my place. Because while my position would be marked good enough by society's standards, my life has been breeding on inactivity! 

Try and spot your place in your own little microcosm. You have a boss, who has a boss, who has a boss, and the boss at the apex chooses a number, which trickles down through an umpteen number of intermediate levels, and finally boils down to one crude number your boss passes on to you for you to achieve, which shall ensure your boss's number is also achieved and attained. Every single day, week and month, coy and restive as you could be, you blench, cower and cringe, you toil day and night, and you finally manage to hit the bull's eye and get that number on board. Your boss is absolutely ecstatic, and in turn it enraptures you because you feel satisfied. And at the end of the day, you pat your back for a job well done. You were told to do something and you did it. And you also got paid like hell for it. What else does one need? You feel like you finally secured a place in the natural order of things, and you keep doing the same things, time and again, in the same cycle. Numbers keep changing, your responsibilities keep protruding, and you stay happy in your own closet. Isn't that what you were always taught to do, after all? 

Now, consider the exact opposite situation of you going contumacious and puerile. You vow against conformance on a plethora of issues. You feel the stench of apathy in the system, you spot the corruption, you disapprove the ways of your seniors, and hell you're even ready to argue with the very core adages your company swears by. In all essence, you're a tenebruous renegade! You may not flout any rules, but you are critical of almost everything because you believe you possess the rectitude. You may still go on and get those numbers, but you set a few things afire and you cause the trembling that can shatter even the deepest foundations. You're seen as a harridan by most and as cunning by a few. Your bosses shall elevate you to a rather satanic status and all the time someone or the other pops up a conversation around you. Some on your valor, some on your imbecility and others on your ingenuity. So what do you envisage out of a situation like this?

Well, irrespective of whether you managed to achieve your targets or not, you resulted in much more activity, courtesy of your jibe at the system. It also does not matter if and when your objective's ends met or not, but at least for once, you spurred some motion into a set of fragile and almost immovable entities. While the system in the former situation shall seem as a perfect machine to its purveyors and benefactors, it is a rusting, frail, obnoxious and seriously outdated and out of purpose system. Induce a change and it'll collapse because of the whole burden of parts that will have to be set in motion for them to be in sync. When you shooed compliance to set principles, you tested such a system. If the system is formidable and durable enough, it'll hold on and even possibly send some response. But as it is in most of the cases, it'll shun you out as an apostate. So while you're gone, everyone will breathe free, only to witness some other recalcitrant some few years later, who'd again be shunned out, till one day the system shall give in to its long incumbent collapse. 

In reality, most of us work in systems that are pretty weak and prone to severe damages. In fact any system that has remained static for very long, is susceptible to complete obliteration. And as we work in such systems, believing in our own merry aplomb, with our own eulogies for the same, and with our seniors aggrandizing it and asking us to do the same, we are breeding on inactivity. The kind of inactivity manifested and visible in the form of our actions doing nothing more than allowing us to achieve some number, as opposed to what may actually be the need of the hour.! All this time we see our actions resulting in something substantial, with us being too demure to even question the very purpose of our actions. So we see success in our own spheres. Whereas in reality, maybe that action just proved detrimental for a well placed, well positioned system, negating someone Else's efforts. So while we may never really know what we'd do on our own would be right or not, at least it'll result in some action at the end, and maybe by finding the right way someday, we can finally lead a life that results in something small but prolific, brazen but sharp, insubstantial but marked, and put an end to our lives that breed on inactivity. numtarget

Tuesday, 8 September 2015

June 6, 1944: The Longest Day

There was a time when most of Europe was devastated by the tyranny of the fuhrer Adolf Hitler and a large scale attack was pretty much impending on the most supreme kingdom of England. Such an attack would've meant the secession of the whole of British umpire under Germany's suzerainty, and would have vested in Hitler the kind of power and hegemony no other fascist would've wielded ever. The world was on a brink of a total collapse and free world's purveyors were facing the biggest trauma ever. The world's most supreme reigning powers had all witnessed the wrath with Russia fighting a battle on the east, with Britain all set to be the next incursion battlefield, and France being in absolute tatters with the German possession having decimated all the glory and the glitter which the royal arcade was concomitant with. However, as free world waged a war and a massive fight back, Italy was freed from the despotism of Axis powers, and the Allied powers now had one major challenge before they could even dream of vanquishing Adolf Hitler's lofty quest to let pure Aryan supremacy reign over the whole world. And that was capturing Normandy.

Off the coast of Normandy in France, laid the beaches Juno, Omaha, Utah, Sword and Gold. Erstwhile, Normandy was adorned with the serenity and the mellow tranquility of a seashore adorned with mottled beach houses and swirling hedgerows. But post Nazi conquest of France, Normandy, one of the most strategic defenses for the Nazi empire, was now lined and mired with obstacles across sea line which included wires and poles and fences all topped up with deadly mines. And on the inland lay Hitler's most histrionic and queer of all dreams - The Atlantic Wall. The wall was purported to run across the entire coastline of France to secure it from the incumbent Allied attack. All across the coastline, there were machine gun pillboxes, panzer armory divisions, artillery batteries and antiaircraft guns. One of the most phlegmatic and unwavering of defenses to be ever piled up, the Nazi coastal defenses seemed almost impregnable and indomitable. And yet, if the free world had to prevail, it had to be breached because without Normandy, there was no other viable way to France and without the extrication of France, there was no chance the Fuhrer could wither.

On 6th of June 1944, at 0000 hours in British daylight saving time, the world was to witness the biggest attack to have ever been mounted. 2 years of meticulous planning and astute stewardship of multiple Allied generals, including Dwight D Eisenhower, who would later become the US President, alongwith a strong network of French underground intelligence agents who piled perusal, finally had to culminate in this day, everyone designated which as D-Day. It really was the day that would either extirpate the Nazi supremacy, or would strengthen the same. The world never found itself on such substantial and profound crossroads. The lives of almost every being on the planet was at stake. It was either the Allied forces which were to reclaim the free world from the jaws of Machiavellian hypocrisy, or the world was going to recede further into the abyss of filth and scum and dereliction and doom. It all depended on how the Allied forces were going to invade Normandy and seize control of the 5 beach sectors that were to set the pathway for the Allied forces to match into France and take a big blunt jibe at Hitler's crown. Hence it all came down to the actions and valor of men on that one day, that one long day which really was the longest day of their lives.  

 Precisely with the dawn of the day, D-Day, operation overlord went into action in a rather berserk and bizarre fashion. This was pretty much expected. The invasion of Normandy was largely divided into three phases. Around 6 hours of paratroop landings from British and American airborne divisions were to place more than 10k Allied soldiers on the ground in the dead of the night. This phase included planes, towing massive gliders into the then German airspace and then gliders sending down men through parachutes or some glider divisions crashing onto the ground and on strategic locations like connecting bridges seized by enemies. With a windy night, parachutes careened away and paratroopers fell miles away from their targets. Many of them came under heavy German fire and died, and many still made their ways to meet other reconnoiters. These men had to knock out some gun batteries, destroy or capture bridges and set radio beacons for more men to land or for Allied bombings to take place. Many men got killed but those who survived accomplished most of their objectives and that too in a startlingly time-bound fashion with minute by minute precision. Such was their valor and might that their mere landing instilled many of those French natives to already start celebrating liberation. 

Shortly after these Allied men deployments was the turn of Allied bombers. The Germans had a stupefying network of anti aircraft gun, panzer divisions and their own formidable air force Luftwaffe. However, as luck would have it, this indomitable German airborne supremacy proved rudderless as most of their aircraft were sent to other zones despite their being ostensible apprehensions about Normandy being the coast where invasion would take place from. But as is the case with various totalitarian dictatorships, complacency reeks unnerving desolation and wreaks havoc when something Brobdingnagian transpires. Hitler's OKW, OB West, and various other battalion and regimental headquarters got so muddled in a never ending labyrinth of information that regarding the ineludible invasion, some remained overconfident, some too mawkish and others completely apathetic and Hitler was an absolute mess because he seemed to believe in all points of view. And as luck would have it, the army general who was to lead the frontier from Normandy, and who was a veteran and could have literally annihilated the Allied offense, went home for a leave precisely a day before. It seemed as if fate in itself gnarled out of its agony and gave it away. And the Allied bombings all over German posts and establishments produced such a concoction of colors in the night sky that no fireworks could ever match upto it. 

In the morning at 6'o Clock, designated as the H-hour, the seaborne assault of the Allied armada had to begin. Massive larger than live destroyer boats, controlling vessels, destroyer vessels, submarines, troop loading floatillas and even amphibious tanks were present. Around 5000 odd ships made their way and at a far off distance from the peephole of a periscope a German commander saw the biggest and grandest sight of his life and could utter only one word 'Beautiful'. First there were small fleets that carried demolition engineer brigades which had to dive underwater with cutters to rip off the obstacles that the Germans had set up. Then, one after the other, like a staccato of progressive tune beats, playing towards the coast of Normandy. 

As the final frontier arrived, men on both sides witnessed the kind of morbid demolition they'd never witnessed before. Mines exploding and eviscerating the landing troops, Allied artillery bombing German defenses, and fusillade of grenades and handgranates topped amid a slew and slurry of projectiles from rattling and shriveling turrets, all over the place. It seemed as the Normandy esplanade lit early in the morning, and bereaving so many on both sides, with the light of the departed's spirits merging full throttle in the light of the day, making it seem much more veritable. While Utah and Sworf beaches were conquered and captured with not that titanic a struggle, the Germans at Omaha were so savage and such ogres that they unleashed hell on earth with their counter fire on Allied invasion fleet. Ships were blown off, adding more flotsam to the never ending sea of wreckage, tanks blown apart, gnawing men reeling under tremendous pain, and a handful of men, furtively and surreptitiously progressing towards the final German beeline defense on the coast, defiling everything that came their way, in a gamble with life to have a little more of it before they'd be vanquished themselves. 

If Normandy was to be lost or if any of the initial progress was to be squandered or if any of the captured coastal boundaries had to be abjured, it would have marked the defeat of the biggest show of strength the free world could mount. For about 2 years ports of England, and more specifically that of Plymouth, was flocked with ships of all sizes and descriptions. Gigantic forces of the free world came together and were able to pile up their most impressive attack to ruthlessly quash the temerity and the egregious German supremacy. However, if the valiant attempt was to be obliterated, that meant further accentuation of German hegemony, which would've meant a much more repugnant tyranny. Hence on that one fine day, against the backdrop of a tranquil Normandy coast, these men came together with the grit and determination that simply couldn't have faltered. The very fate and future of the whole world had come down to be tightly clinched in the palms of these handful of men. And it was their actions which would turn the tables in history, the failure of which would've meant eventual purging of almost everyone who didn't seem fit in Hitler's eyes. 

Amid clashes after clashes, clamor and din, explosions and gunfire marked the 23 hours during which countless men had to die, with melancholy and gloom of the moribund surrounding the coast, which no one but only the leprechaun Fuhrer would've enjoyed. But with time, out of these men, including both veterans and hirelings, top notch commanders and to be presidents to greenhorns, some men soared and surged beyond the cacophony and the discombobulating ravaging fire and demolition. These men seemed to have surrendered to fate with a rather perplexing alacrity and an aplomb of a pyromaniac. Many of them knew they'd not live to see the light that was to follow, many of them were adduced the odds in front of, but yet these men marched and those 23 hours at Normandy and its contours, witnessed the petrichor of these men's blood, perfectly blended with the timeless sands, like etching their own place in history, their own coveted place in the human timeline and in those 23 hours that marked the reversal of fortunes for all of you who are still alive. for if those handful of men didn't succeed that day, you might be sitting over a mine today that was just about to explode.