Dying Swan: A Fictional Monologue

BATH, ENGLAND, UK: After observing a snowcapped Christmas the city is preparing for the New Year’s Eve. Festive modes have touched almost all the inhabitants of the city. December comes with convivial atmosphere in Western hemisphere of the earth. And Bath isn't the exception—it’s a very lovable small city located in southwest part of England. Panoramic hilly terrain, Georgian architecture and Roman establishments all around have given Bath a very idyllic and historical image. The city attracts tourists throughout the year; needless to mention, December brings extra décor in festivities. This city is also popular among students thanks to the University of Bath which is a top-notch, continuously thriving British university. Along with city’s alluring appeal, University of Bath’s pedagogic name and fame have brought Anan in Bath last year. Anan Azmee, an Indian Muslim originally from Hyderabad, is a second-year Economics student at University of Bath. Coming here in UK for studying Economics in a top-tier university is one of the best things ever happened in Anan’s life. First time in life he is out of home, far away from home, staying in university dormitory with a considerable sense of independence for last one and half year. Anan gives all the credits to his dad for selfless monetary support and facilitating him to pursue higher education dream. After graduation Anan’s only goal is to secure a full-funded PhD admission at London School of Economics (LSE) and subsequently to work for any of World Bank’s sister concerns. Probably this achievement will somewhat offset the financial burden Anan has imposed on his dad as he failed to secure any scholarship in undergraduate studies. Life is all about balancing and counter-balancing acts—that is how Anan thinks about life philosophy. He is a natural introvert and likes to proclaim himself as a sapiosexual. However, after coming here in Britain there is a seismic transformation happened in his personality. Now he is very much ambivert in nature—new city, new country, new people and circumstances made a trickledown effect in Anan’s prior distant personality. Nevertheless, month long vacation has temporarily made Anan unaccompanied; all of his flat mates (one Greek, one Dutch, two Chinese, one Saudi Arabian) already left for home to celebrate Christmas and New Year vacation with their friends and family. Even his compatriots cum affluent friends (Rahul from Bengaluru and Vijay from Mumbai) went home to spend vacation as well. Over the year Anan tried hard to cope with the Western way of celebrations—clubbing, partying, drinking—but he barely could fit in. Interestingly, he didn’t quit participating in any of these high-voltage activities as he finds some sort of inexplicable pleasure in watching and pandering other people’s enjoyment. Probably that’s how his ambivert being comes into practice. By the way, it’s still an hour left for Big Ben’s mighty hands to permit Britons officially kicking off frenzy revelry. Anan has already taken his dinner—menu is simple but sumptuous in taste. He has decided to spend New Year’s Eve in dorm-room, all alone, in his very own way. As academic pressure is escalating, nowadays free time has become very rare for him. He wants to kindle wax vigil as part of his solitary celebration—he has bought those waxes from nearby TESCO along with some Swedish ciders at a lucrative discounted price. That’s it, all preparation is done. Now it’s waiting time. Finding nothing important to do, Anan brings out an old diary kept underneath of a large stake of his Economics books. During college days in Hyderabad this diary was his chronicle—always kept record of all notable events. After coming in Britain he rarely opens it. Probably it’s the time to touch it a bit. Dairy and archaic writings have a robust capability to evoke old memories and indulge someone in dolorous nostalgia. As Anan is flipping through the dairy, an interesting writing titled “Dying Swan: A Fictional Monologue” glues his eyes. After glossing over date of the writing, he starts to read: 


Can you hear me? Here I'm calling you loudly. Will you ever know—the rain reminds me of you, the lonely bus ride reminds me of you, the grave twilight reminds me of you, the sea side sunset reminds me of you, Scorpions' Lonely Nights reminds me of you, Kenny G’s saxophone instrumental reminds me of you, the early morning stroll reminds me of you, the midnight terrace walk reminds me of you, my long distant look towards unknown horizon reminds me of you, the Friday afternoon reminds me of you? You will never listen the silent calling of my heart, will you? I can see only your halo during my loneliness. You are the sole inconspicuous character of my writings; you will never know!

Can you recall the day on which we promised to see the shooting stars together? Many lonely nights passed till date, but that intoxicated moment didn’t come even for a little while. It sneaked out perpetually. The promise itself faded away over time. What a convoluted twist of fate! Still the stars twinkle in midnight sky, but a dark melancholy always disrupts that spatial beauty deliberately. Do you know why—because, to me, you are now a Dying Swan, who rarely enjoys nature’s picturesque pristine. Life is a cryptic device which is encrypted with mystic codes. Today it gives the year-long cherished dream a come-true look but tomorrow it snatches away something truly needed in life, and screws the happy momentum abruptly.  

Wise man said it well: when we are starving, we frankly say we are hungry, even in public we don’t hesitate to do so; we say, we are sleepy, when we are thoroughly jaded; but thing goes quite ironically in case of love—even if love becomes a crying need in life, somehow we cannot say, 'We need some more love’. Why can't we say it? It's just as basic a need after all. Yes, I couldn’t say it when I supposed to beseech it to make life a bit more comfortable, a bit more stress free. Why I couldn’t say that when I needed it badly? Maybe it requires an elaborative explanation to answer this question, but more than that it is important to realize how much ready the feeble heart is to revive once again and narrate with glib reminiscence about some hostile pasts.

It was a sheer conundrum between an ardent feeling and a foreseeable fear. And at the end fear triumphed over passion. I couldn’t dare to listen the true calling of my heart. The fort of emotion collapsed like a sandy dune. A tiny fear to face the reality has changed every algorithm of life. I muffled my fervent calling mercilessly and propelled it towards a painful journey. Love is being strangled prematurely. Languor is now governing the melancholic realm adorned with dreadful emptiness and horrendous loneliness. Soliloquy conversation with pain resistant heart is the only doable medium I have to exchange meaningless views. I can see the shadow of my Dying Swan everywhere. She stalks me all the way around, and I can envision it through the stealth lens of my heart. I try to talk to her, but she hardly feels any interest to talk to a craven lad who didn’t learn how to take a little but life changing risk.

Extinguished flame and the evergreen scar

My Dying Swan is indifferent with her ephemeral world where a dark shadow is the only means, if any, to realize her existence. She plays with dark and light, and gibes at her follower thinking of him as a poor fellow. Life is full of joy if some IFs are there for us, at the same, if some NOTs are not there to complicate things around. But this is what life is, wise man argues on cunningly—he knows past, present and future, yet restraints to intervene in someone's personal life, and always let the grief-stricken person learn from his/her own life. According to him, it's the most pragmatic approach to know different dimensions (pleasant or unpleasant) of life. However, it’s a tough lesson to acquire and make the life’s footsteps precise and highly immaculate. My sorcerer Dying swan jeers with anger to see all these funny acts. In a usual lonely evening, all on a sudden, she could sense an attention-seeking presence of a strange shadow. She said, "Who are you?". The shadow shrugged and replied, "It’s ME, whom you have seen long before! I have abandoned the material world and came back for expiation. Will you be bit more lenient and let me stay with you forever". 


By

George Atlantic as Anan Azmee
Originally Written: 31-12-2013 @11:55am

Somewhere Deep Inside

PEMBROKESHIRE, WALES, UK: Sam Waldo Snyder is here in Tenby South Beach with his friends for weekend outing. Immediate after reaching in the beach, everybody is scattered, roaming around here and there. As usual couples are having special time. Sam is a self-declared amateur writer; writing feeds his unquenchable thirst for expressing observation on human sentiment, love and life. After searching for a while he discovers a descent place, bit away from others, to pass some silent times in writing his blue notebook. Sometimes he enjoys solitude in crowd. It is mid-summer. That is why may be the ocean is extra blue, so is the sky. Sunbathing, sailing, beach games keep beach-goers busy everywhere in the long unbroken beach. Yet, Sam is staring with firm gaze at the far horizon where sky kisses the ocean. West wind from mammoth Atlantic is mildly touching his face. He is wondering and pondering about the gift of nature. Suddenly a grave sadness sweeps over his heart and reminds him of Mariana, a Portuguese born Brazilian PR professional. Sam is now 26. By this age everybody goes through some sort of girlfriend experience. Sam first met Mariana in São Paulo, where he went to conduct a group project on emerging economies during his b-school days. Coincidentally, Mariana used to study English literature in Swansea University here in Wales; but she recently went back home after completion of her degree. Student life was full of fun for Sam and Mariana. Notwithstanding, their three-year long relationship is on the verge of unpleasant breakup because of infrequent communication in recent times thanks to respective career pursuits and geographical distance. The serenity of the beach loses its aesthetics momentarily, and Sam indulges into deep reflective thoughts. All on a sudden gentle breeze from Atlantic gets bit stronger in beach town Tenby as Sam starts to soliloquize and write: 

Somewhere deep inside something is uninterruptedly gnawing the heart. Pain wants to outburst. But there is no suitable word or just medium to convey the melancholic message of pain-ridden heart. A dejected look with a pale complexion on visage sometimes reflects the agony of tender heart, eyes start to glow tearfully, but most of its mournful state left unexpressed. The requiem of heart creates a deadly tune; heart itself hams that threnody as long as it wants for no good reason. Cloud of sadness eclipses the ambiance easing xenophobic heart to make a vain attempt to hide in the crowd of fleeting ecstasy. And that hide-and-seek goes on everlastingly.

Somewhere deep inside something is beating the heart and pronouncing a name repeatedly. The name which is long known, once frequently called, fades away with late night stars as dawn is peeking to start a new day. Like inner waves of raged ocean that name creates an intriguing feeling and echoes like a raving sound. Missing you not, Nymph! I can forget everything but you, and I seriously mean it. Your cologne imparting with summer breeze reaches to me miraculously; a mesmerizing inebriation entangles me with a firm embrace. My heart starts to chant:

Late night moon lost its halo,

Your mystic presence said me hello!

Didn’t see you for very long,

-Keep me searching in your swan song?

Restive heart crazy for you,

-Let it go to find me on morning dew.

Fog withered over time,

Trails of your footsteps created lethal vine.

Where were you? My heart screamed loudly,

Your wizardry hypnotized me perpetually.

Feeble heart fainted for you,

You hardly cared for though.

Somewhere deep inside I can visualize a place which is no less than a haven on earth. The picturesque features of the place fascinate me profoundly. It is a place where one can see how a rampant river meets the sea, and amalgamates with marine heart forever. There, ships’ coming back peregrination to the shore creates a fleet; from long distant, it seems like a large regatta. Glittering lights of the ships form a pleasingly fantabulous display as the sun bids farewell for the day. The eon of life-mystery continues. The tryst of river and sea makes multi-pronged waves on coastal surroundings. The wind from far horizon blows away my mind and leaves behind some unmatched complex equations of life. The pristine blue of sea creates a harrowing solitude. The lonely heart feels a solemn calling—very atypically undefined in nature. A makeshift mosque and dusk time prayer preparation of devotees add a rare atmosphere on the well-built, coastal belt embankment where I am enjoying wholeheartedly the spectacular beauty of nature that I cherish all the time. Floyd's Wish You Were Here becomes the twilight anthem of this poignant but massively gratifying moment. Nowadays, unsettled accounts of life are bothering too much; cost-benefit analysis takes a big leap on priority roster. Demand of time, hmm!

   

    By

George Atlantic as Sam Waldo Snyder

[Disclaimer: The content of this writing is completely imaginary. There is no resemblance of real life incidents.] 

DIFFICULT TO COME BY!

Sometimes melancholy resembles dormant love; sometimes silence resembles sneaky desire of infinite expression; sometimes distance resembles inner plea of everlasting proximity; sometimes firm gaze resembles secret lust to feel the vibe; sometimes eye-soaked tears resemble rigid aspiration to forbid dol forever; sometimes anger resembles uncalled for manner of caring & adoring (I do care for you); sometimes confidentiality resembles unbound zeal to open up; sometimes innocence resembles heinous insight; sometimes garrulity resembles deep inclination to hide from the world; sometimes deliberate negligence resembles an earnest request—please leave me alone, I will be there when you need me most.

At a certain point of time in life, yesterday, today and tomorrow all become akin to one another. It happens unobtrusively, and takes time to elicit this unpleasant stumble of life. When bad run starts in life, it sprints forward demolishing everything it gets on its way. Thing becomes difficult to express the true state of mind—what we express and what we truly feel engender an asymmetric aspect of behavior. This inexplicable condition triggers an emotional crisis and secretes dolorous stream that rolls down from oculus incessantly. A permanent poignancy engulfs the lonely heart forever. The petrified world we have created barely has enough time to tolerate an amorous intrusion, let rather give it a chance to germinate. Even a little respect to someone’s uneven but sacred feelings becomes a rarified demeanor thanks to the vacuous psyche we foster within us. Yes, this is the world I know; this is the world where we reside.

Modern relationships are very much based on strict terms and conditions, and work out well as long as reciprocal interest persists. Any misappropriation means end of many things. Amor Eterno (Eternal Love) turns out to be an outdated rite followed by people in old days. Intensity of love is not enough to trump the animosity we hatch inside. Sadly, this parched earth is gradually losing all the affection of nature and gets direly suffocating that a mere survival befalls as an inviable option. Empathy—the great human trait ever—becomes difficult to come by. This pacy and compelling world has no time to give an empathetic look towards others. The everyday practice of individualism miscarriages the embryo of “Emotional Intelligence” at the very rudimentary stage. Somebody’s ear-deafening cry doesn’t reach to us. We all have become discretional deaf, and behave eccentrically to hide from our surroundings. What a disgraceful act to bury human instinct un/knowingly! If the world is ever pretty, it’s because the common emotion we share, the core impulse we cultivate within us, and of course, the word ‘humanity’ we care. Are all these precious virtues becoming obsolete? Do they sound like archaic jargons?

What if we see the world with a compassionate look today and make it a bit more beautiful than it was yesterday—is it too much as a desire?  One of the common traits of human being is to repent for the things that they have lost forever. Likewise, we all miss the people who have become past in our life. However, an added bit of love, a mind-set to go extra miles to keep commitment and promise, a sense of sincerity, and a fervor to fathom the dormant love & beauty can make huge difference end of the day. Complexities of life will entangle the journey. That is what life is. Why not celebrate all these un/pleasant diversities of life? And if possible, we should strive cordially to make positive contribution in other people’s life because elysian pleasure of selfless acts is embedded there! So, it's better to replete the life with beautiful stories, isn't it. There may not be enough fulfillment and accomplishments in life, but happiness derives from trying something worthy for others will replace all remorselessness momentously. Is it too difficult to come by? May be Yes! May be No! Let's hope for the best one more time.

By

Md Azzajur Rahman

(Originally written on 15-11-2014, during Cardiff days) 

Core of Empty Feelings Unleashed

Life is eventful. It propels us to experience many occurrences which give us short glimpse of jittering scintillation. All these events of life utopia create some feelings. Interestingly, sometimes these feelings are barely discernible and so convoluted that they are very easy to experience but quite cumbersome to explain in a life time.There are two categories of feelings which can easily be pinpointed in two flag ends of a continuum: Happy Feelings and Sad Feelings. The modifiers of these two categories are blatant self-explanatory to comprehend their inner essence.

There is something beyond these two categories. And this category is known as Empty Feelings, which squeeze the heart silently but mercilessly over and over again. They are very much inconspicuous and acutely biting in nature. Myriad of words are apparently inadequate for human being to express how they feel at the time they experience Empty Feelings, or what type of devastating maelstrom sweeps over their tender hearts during that time. It’s an Inside Job which unleashes azure grievances and create melancholic complexion on visage. Very few people in our walk of life can fathom the true connotation of that physiognomy. That is why it is probably the most complex and dolorous part of the tale.

Now, what is the origin of Empty Feelings? We may take the life lightly and let it go in its own way without any destination or any specific future plan. Problem is, at the end of the day, we will get what we truly deserve. Life will take the due retaliation for any sort of misjudgment we do with it, and pay us back the exact reward we are qualified for. Every tiny effort of life will be paid off no matter how longer it takes. Similarly, every unscrupulous act of life will repay in kind no matter whether we are ready to accept it or not. All these cognitive and pedantic issues reason that every step of life should be precise and well chosen. However, to err is human—which is why Empty Feelings get the very opportunity to play their cryptic roles in our problem-prone life. Because of our very nature, even if very few of us try to learn from previous mistakes, somehow someway life pushes all of us to step forward. This knotty aspect of life creates a huge gap between our current state and future expectation. In life graph no gap remains blank, some terrible objects fill that up and create endless misery. The orchestrator of this interminable predicament is known as Empty Feelings.

Tough bite of reclusiveness (Photo Courtesy: BBC Online)

Life is too short to be miserable.We shouldn’t be ambushed by Unlimited Desire which is another fuzzy notion of Empty Feelings. Life should be focused towards some precisely defined goals, and we should relentlessly try to attain those goals by orbiting through our won trajectory not by following others. Counterproductive comparison and omnipresent rat race should be shunned at any cost to keep our innate human features not being tainted by somebody else. End of the day, our very own styles will prevail over others and give ourselves a distinctive self identity in the success-starved competitive world. Holding this belief will settle down all calculations. Needless to say, it's definitely a mammoth task to accomplish. We should stick with our own tracks by overcoming all impediments. Charismatic technology guru Steve Jobs said it well, KEEP LOOKING, DON’T SETTLE until or unless you see the halo of the object that you ardently cherish. And of course, don't forget to enjoy the success thriving journey to get rid of all stresses and miseries which often entangle our life.This is how we have to forbid Empty Feelings perpetually.


By
George Atlantic
Completed on 09 June, 2013 @01:22 AM

Somewhere Always

We meet so many people in the long walk of our life. Some people come, some people go. We welcome new arrivals and bid farewell to the old faces. This is the simple yet so complicated cycle we go through. However, very few people can create impact and leave a long lasting impression within us. Those who can are the people whom we remember forever. They are the people who have become the reason why we flip through the reminiscent book that we compile through our memory bank over the years. The cover of that book is blue which radiates inconspicuous sadness. Still, we do open the book and subconsciously seek momentary happiness disguised in bland sadness. This convoluted blow of mind continues until the memories laid down by those impactful people begin to fade away and extinguish forever. Irony is, the more we open the memory bank by going through the book in blue cover page, the more those people and their impact embed in our heart and mentally enfeeble us to become emotionally stronger. 

Some people happily like to carry the burden of blue memories even if knowing the unpleasant consequences they incur. Because those people know, sometimes life and events put them in a situation when memories, bleak or beautiful, become the only bridge to connect with those who have gone past or no longer in touch in the perennial timeline of long life. Memory is not just about memory— it becomes shadow of the people with whom we create distance intentionally or unintentionally, by choice or by chance, hatefully or forgetfully. Yet again, impact is the reason why some people dominate in our memory bank and others don’t. Similarly, impact is the very reason why we remember some people for long time although we have spent very few moments with them, and forget those even after sharing so many life events for several years.      

Tribute to Eternal Love & Selfless Generosity 

Time changes the stories of life. New stories eclipse the old ones. Characters in the stories also change. However, some characters have the innate power to last long. The people who play those characters keep recurring in our minds without generating any reciprocity in return. Mutuality of remembering someone"I will recall you and you will recall me in response" doesn’t occur by deliberate effort. It’s a spontaneous matter far beyond any willful control. Here, single-screen emotional reflection edges over duality and makes any sort of psychic telepathy totally impertinent. That is why in life ocean fraught with memories we indulge all alone, we swim all alone, we afloat all alone. Is it a sad part of life? No, intrinsically, this is what we call life. Our choice, decision and purpose define our respective life, so do our emotion, affection and love define whose memory we will carry, whose memory we will discard and obviously, whose induced pain and bestowed pleasure we will agreeably bear for endless period of time.    

Apart from happy feeling rendered by kaleidoscope of beautiful memories, sometimes some memories engender only pain and self-indicted agony. A sentimental breaking point full of emotional misery tears the heart apart and triggers a remorseful realization: why did I meet this person? I wish I had not met him/her. Not everyone comes as blessings in life. Some people come to tantalize the heart and desert it by leaving behind an elusive affection. Desiccated heart trapped by illusion somewhere in an alien territory always inanely wishes some miracle to happen. But miracle barely happens in life, does it? 

By
George Atlantic