Winter Solstice

Don't talk to me girl
When you do so
You remind me of good things
That ought not to come
Like strawberries in rum.

Coz when we talk
We talk of being together
With conflicts in conscience
Dare not we see each other
And stay with the difference we nurture.

Altogether difference pays the tax
Of our being polite
Of some sort of acceptance
There's all in all difference
Don't you see that again

Our vengeance has surpassed the surreal
And consumed our fruitless endeavour
And me too is however
Far from my zeal to conquer

Let's not say the good things again
Be like that when we used to be sane
For they don't matter today
We'll happen without yesterday.

What is it like to be paranoid

Paranoia, a well known classical word descending from the greek synonym of madness. I met a professor turned philosopher recently, according to him this world is a relative case of paranoia, everyone seems to be living on a linear scale of madness, the magnitude is the only thing that matters. I have never tried any kind of hallucinogen in my life, but my explorations over that part of the world is intent. I am in love with such people who keep themselves addicted to drugs, I have learnt from them that nothing is wrong in their world untill the state of illusion is over.Yet I being thoughtful about life(I am addicted to it) I find interest in their philosophy that they intend to exhibit. My love thus getting irrational day by day. My family had a visitor last month, my close relative she is, and her family had taken this for granted that we are going to take care of her forever and ever. I found some tremendous similarity with Indir thakurani of Pather Panchali, a helpless, hopeless and worthless widowed mother, knowing that her children are not willing to take her responsibility, as all the assets are handed over much before, turned into a painful existence. I am exploring the mind of the mother and getting to see the world around in her eyes. Its painful indeed, if  I see from the point of a stranger, she is thriving for a straw, that will drag her mortal existence properly, she believed that straw to be her children and with that hope she nurtured them with all her love(irrational feelings) and this turned out to be different, the children grew up into rational beings who intended to serve those who served them. It doesnt matter who nurtured them or who loved them, it matters who serves them. Film Dhobi Ghat gave me a jerk through its story, it was a film for critics, not for entertainment, even I being solely focussed in the amount of entertainment obtainable from it failed to connect with it. Its the same melancholia portrayed over a city, its nothing extraordinary, rather the most ordinary way of life, portrayed like a reality show, and we are watching it with drowsy eyes, with a series of headaches and time checks, a multitude of assignments and projects in our mind. We are a part of what is portrayed, so we can't view it, even I am no exception to it. The old woman who remained numb to everything was the bird eye view of the film. When I'll be getting paranoid, releasing neurohormones then I can passively view life, like what the film intended to show. I can't say that active viewpoint is superior to passive viewpoint,or viceversa. Both are having the same justification of existence and as a matter of fact both coexist. I'd rather follow the diplomatic idea of the professor, everything depends on the magnitude.