Saturday, November 3, 2012


A Room With a Perfect View, Laussane, Switzerland, March 2012

I want to give a slice of hope to sun’s rays today. They are giving everything they have. Persistent. But, they can not kiss the earth. Not today. Not for the last few days. It must be frustrating sometimes. To give your all and keep giving still. To knock at someone’s door and receiving not even an acknowledgement in return. Perhaps that is the nature of sun’s rays. And of a giving heart. I want to tell them that it is going to be okay.

I wish I were a bubble. Carrying the scent of the earth above the dark clouds. And bursting with the first touch of the sun’s rays. A bubble filled the lightness of a heavy heart. A home for the lost dreams. A small space of colorful whites where our unspoken emotions would mingle slowly and heartily. A sphere of closeness amid the distance that separates us.

It is never just one. It takes the closeness as well as the distance to sustain Love. Sharing of the breaths as well as the space.  Passionate never ending talks as well the Silence. The Love endures hate. And Anger. And Hurt. It takes effortless effort. Perhaps that’s why sun’s rays travel such long distances everyday. Relentless. The earth still has secrets that the sun’s rays don’t know about.

Sometimes, I confuse the roaring of the clouds with the applause from the stars. But that is the nature of weather these days. It is a good confusion to have. Like the confusion we had in deciding which direction had the most beautiful view when we were standing on the top of that hill, which we always talked about climbing. Remember? Or the time when we were standing at a traffic signal and a small girl holding colorful balloons stood between us. And we were confused which color should we buy. Or buy them all. Or the confusion when we talked about which painful memories from our past we should let go first.

This is the only way. To walk as long as I can. Until I can walk no more. Or I have gathered all the dust in the world on my shoes. Then it will be time to shake and take a look at the sun’s rays which are still in transit. We would share a smile. And a glance. Knock on the door one more time. Once for sure, it will be right time. And Earth will be bathed in sun. And my voice will reach your heart. 

And the things that keep us apart keep me alive and
The things that keep me alive keep me alone.

          - This is the thing (Fink)

                                                                                                - HAUSLE BULAND

Wednesday, October 10, 2012


Paris, as seen from Eiffel Tower. July, 2010

I took a longer route back home today. Again. Extra few minutes before heading where I have to go anyway. Like a piece of thought, or a fragment of a wish, left stranded in a corner of mind. In the cold, but not in the freezer. Not in view, but not forgotten. And my mind wanders and entangles itself in a myriad of possible futures and distant memories. Wander it does. I take my time. But, yielding to that wish is my only escape. I feel it. It is the right thing to feel. And I head home. After a longer route, it is the right thing to do. The wish smiles at its own fate. So, do I.

There is a moment in the movie – We Bought A Zoo. Benjamin Mee, the character played by Matt Damon, sits on a rock and ponders for a second. A decision, he has to make. He sighs. He knows what the logical thing to do is. But, he sees his 7 year old daughter playing with the peacocks and he knows what the right thing to do is. It feels right. And, feeling is always real.

I have been in that position. It all hinges there. I have a before and I will have an after. It depends on me. Either way, I will have a story to tell. What the story will be, will be decided right now. A story of sweet musings and smiles or a tingling regret. A chance to shape my Future. Yes, Future. An always out of reach creature that follows me everywhere. And I see something. Or someone. And I know, what I have to do. If I believe in my future, the future starts believing in me too.

Every wish I have is like a promise to myself which is yet to be whispered. A wish has to swim against my fears. Every night I crush my fears below my pillows and wish for a beautiful dream. Sometimes, to reach somewhere, I have to go through a valley of nowhere. A wandering. A period of uncertainty. Of uncomfortable silences, in and around me. But, a picture of future is what I peek into through these blurred holes. Like my best painting which I haven’t painted yet. But, I see the colors in front on me. Like a horizon painted orange in a sunset that happened moments ago. Seen, but untouched. I smile at the sunset and the sunset smiles at me too. I dare to keep that un-whispered promise alive. One day at a time. 

P.S - Title taken from the song Desert Rose by Sting

Monday, September 24, 2012


From Archives, With college friends, Hogenakkal Falls, Tamil Nadu. The one who is at peace is me. :)
The cutting open of an envelope is always painful. I guess, that is how it is for people who think with their hearts. As if, I can not peek inside someone’s soul without making a tiny hole in there. Whenever, I have to, I try to do it with as less damage as possible. I like the envelopes unsealed. The letter and the words inside feel more welcoming. With open hearts. And an innocent smile.

There is a brief moment when I have the letter in my hand and when I am still to open it to see inside. That moment, where I have an idea, what lies inside. But, it is just that. An idea. Projection of my own image on the letter. Then. I make a small gap with my fingers and take out the letter cleanly. I unfold it. I am all yours.

I read every word. Slowly. Letting the words feel my presence. We grow on each other. Basking in our combined glow. I wonder, if the words smiled, when they were being written. I imagine a time in the past, not too long ago from now. When the beautiful paper which I hold now, was blank. Like a treasure box to be filled. Like a canvas waiting to be painted. Like earth waiting for the clouds to bleed. With only a wish in the heart, knowing not, where it will all lead.

I imagine you. Sitting on that wooden chair. A pen in your hand. The Blank page sitting prettily on the table. Its corner fluttering amid the mild air blowing through the window. As you try to calm the paper with a soft touch from your hands. Thinking. Waiting for the words to appear. Sometimes, playing with your hair. Making soft curls. Debating with yourself whether to use this word or that word. And then, with softest of smile on your lips, you start. The pen touches the paper and words flow. Every word smiling at its own presence. May be, they know, what they mean to you. They know, what they would mean to me.

I have a few letters with me. Acknowledged, but unanswered. Read, but not replied. I wonder, how the letters feel. Lonely and loved, at the same time. A dangerous feeling that is. I have been left alone in the end after seeing so many false starts. I guess, that is how it is for people who think with their hearts. But, for now, as I read the letter again, I appear calm to everyone. But, just so you know, Inside, I'm dancing.

P.S - The title taken from the movie of the same name starring James McAvoy of 'Atontement' Fame.

Tuesday, September 11, 2012


A lovely Autumn Morning, Zurich, Switzerland

Even the voices have stopped hearing me today. And the words feel threatened my my mere presence. I will talk in whispers. I do not want the words to smell by foul breath. I do not want the words to get wet by the sweat dropping from my eyebrow. Can you come a bit closer? Yes, better now. And please shift that lamp to a place where, the words can not see my shadow. Words have a way of being jealous of darker things.

The miles on the road count my every little step. And even the ghosts cry in horror. ‘Almost there.’ the heart whispers to the tired limbs. The Mind knows better. Heart and Mind have a tacit agreement to not fight when the eyes are still open. Heart specializes in false reason. Mind specializes in false hope. The limbs keep on summoning false strength from an already empty tank. Almost there. Almost there…

I am flattened under the pressure of my own expectations.
I am laughed at by satires.
I am discarded by my own desires.
I am extinguished by the cold fires.
I am my own murderer, which fate hires.
I am only saved by the sweet look in your eyes.
Glowing, as ever, like two pretty sapphires.
Leading me Gently to what the heart aspires.
Bringing me Closer to whom the soul admires.

Now, that you have heard the whispers, I only ask one thing from you. Share my story, by all means, but do not share my name. All troubles start there. Look for the eyes, but, let the eyes find me. Let’s not start an end, until the end starts. Do you promise? Today has been a good day. No promises have been broken. Let’s keep it that way. Shall We?

Tuesday, September 4, 2012


Golden dreams.
Yes, I see that your eyes are still red. I can say that they have been red for a while now. Please keep your head still for a few seconds. And try not to blink when I am reading your eyes. I know why they are red. What? You tried to read my eyes too! OK, but this is my time and this is my post.

So, you have seen a few of your dreams go. Yes, few of them will find their way back to you. A few others will be stubborn. They will try to escape. They will try to transform into tiny spherical drops and sneak their way out when no one is looking. They will silently float on your skin and move ever slowly. Let them be. They are only a reflection. A shadow of your dreams. Your dreams are still kept safe by that light which shines in your eyes. Every time your lips smile, your dreams get stronger.

You want to scream. I will join you. But, make sure, no one else hears it. The loudest scream is often without a sound. Much like a hardest prayer is without words. This was the prayer you saw in my eyes.

Every time life shakes me, I see a few fragments of  my fear falling off my skin. Not all goes at once. Few cling harder. But, I wait when the fate will misbehave with me the next time.  

If I look closely, everything is illuminated, even in darkness. One way or the other. Not every knock comes with a noise. Not every feelings come with a choice. I am chasing a rainbow. That is why, I am sleeping on a storm. Sometimes, even shapeless is a beautiful form.

And I move away from the mirror. Away from the red eyes.  To a world, where it does not matter, who lives and who dies. There are only honest tries. And silent cries. There are no fools and no wise. No lows and no highs. No hellos and no byes. No ecstasy and no sighs. But, sometimes, there are flowing emotions which soon dries. Soon, a whip of air will reach my lungs.  Its time for another breath. Time for me to rise. 

P.S - Title taken from the song 'Dhoop Ke Makaan' from the film 'Break Ke Baad'

Sunday, August 26, 2012


Sometimes, our significance lies in being insignificant. Our greatness lies in feeling small and vulnerable. In those times, our purest inner voice is self-doubt. And we are at peace knowing that we are at war with the world and with ourselves. We walk gently with violence in our hearts.

I am neither trying to fit in nor trying to stand out. I just am. Not moving forward. Not going back. Just staying. Sometimes, the best way to feel the wind is to stand in its path and be ready to get blown away. I feel my hair flying in the wind. I listen to the sound that the winds make when they touch my clothes. The music of friction. Both succeed, in their own ways.

Life, like a wind, comes and goes. Never stays. Not even for a moment. The wind has its price. It gives me strength and dries my tears. It reaches my heart and blows away my fears. I stand my ground and close my eyes. I imagine a white field bathed in sun rays carrying the hopes of all my dreams. Just by standing there, I get closer to them. The sands in my pockets are blessed with a divine power. I whisper my secrets to the sand and see the color of air change as the air carries the sand to faraway places. But, before leaving, the sand whispers to me,’ You have come so far that the only way is forward.’

I am looking for a color that the world has never seen. I am looking for an emotion that no one has ever felt. I am writing a song which no one has heard before. The only risk in this world is not taking a risk. The world is a dangerous place. But, only for those who want to play it safe. Even when the world loses all its mirror and shine, I know you will remember my face.

I am the wind. And the wind is me. I am the story. I am the plot. I am a long line. And I am also a dot. I am the puzzle. I am the clue. I am the sky. And I am the blue. I am the equation. I am the variable. I am the scientist. I am the theorem. I am the smile. I am the lips. I am the feeling. I am the skin. I am the loss. I am the win. The wind is coming. And, now I will begin.

P.S - Title taken from the song 'Eye of the Tiger' by Survivor.

Saturday, August 18, 2012


I know the flowers can be photographed anywhere. But, this one in particular was taken at a place called San Sebastian in Spain. Almost on the Spain-France border, this is one of the most beautiful places I have had the chance to visit. (Year 2009)

Beyond the sea of sky,
Within your eyes so deep.
I whispered one word.
Now, its yours to keep.

                                     Beyond the hills so high,
                                     A promise patiently awaits
                                     Sees your shining smile, and
                                     A river of happiness creates.

A dry bed of colorful leaves
Lie on the road to touch your feet.
Hearing your steps, soft and silent,
Breathe again on the smell so sweet.

                                     Dry sands at the bottom of the river
                                     Rise above to welcome the sun.
                                     Floating on rays, they shine once again.
                                     Million moments of bliss melt into one.

P.S - Title 'ONCE' taken from the film on the same name (IMBD LINK
         My idea of a brilliant film. Having its heart at its place.

Wednesday, August 8, 2012

I can fix that. And I will.

Because, the day is only a night away.
The rule is simple. To understand the meaning of my words, you will have to first understand my silence. Its from the silence, that my voice comes. It’s the silent pauses that gives meaning to the syllables. Silence is the instrument. The words are the music. Heart-breaking at times. Heart-pleasing at others. Is silence despair, where words are hope?

You see, Hope is like a flower. But, it is presented to us in disguise. The flower smells of despair. The flower dries. The smell dries too. But, it never dies. It waits for someone to show the faith again. You have to hold on to the dried petals long enough. Smell it again and again. Even when you can’t smell a thing. Despair, will give a way for hope to come. The colors will come back. The flower will be dewy and fresh again. In these times, holding on to my despair is my only hope. It may take some time. Lots of it. But, it is the only way out. Or, as I say, it is the only way in.

I haven’t blinked for a while. I am trying to prolong the moment. The Present. Detaching it from the shadow of its past. Saving it before it surrenders itself to the future. Blinking would mean the death of a moment. But, it also means start of another. But, when you fear your own future, you take refuge in the present. Despite knowing the futility of it. Tendency of a human mind. Trying to do the impossible. Looking for a miracle. Because, Miracles only happen to those who believe in them.

When you can’t lie and you can’t say the truth,
Let the word of silence be your guiding ray.
But, trust for once, that you will have your say.
Truth, for sure, will have its moment in the day.

Friday, August 3, 2012


Shining through..., Valley of Flowers, Uttarakhand, India
 So, this is what it feels like. When you forget the favorite line of your favorite song. When you close your eyes for an instant and realize that you have been asleep for so long. When you fall off the earth trying to catch a rainbow. When you misread a whisper. When you peel your own skin to save any scrap of soul still breathing.

The day, as dark as a moonless night.
Sun shining. A ball of blinding light.
Stuck in between, a confused conscience.
Trying its best, to wrong every right.

What I do is imagine myself in complete darkness. The light fizzles and confuses. It distorts the imagination. Hides the true colors. Reveals all the doubts. The dark placates the need to hide anything. Reveals the unseen. Evens the odds. Bridges the gap between too soon and too late. It lets the courage and fear reside in the same eyes. No one lives and no one dies.

The roads were broken at several places.
Many a souls lost their spirits here.
Another pair of foolish boot starts afresh.
Filled with courage, but mostly in fear.

The clouds have returned. These are not rain drops anymore. There are moments from the past gliding and swaying before my eyes. All shining and glowing. A few with delight. Others with tears. Precious all the same. Not one of them meet the earth. They all shine my path. Till the darkness will make them redundant.

The rays fell on me and bounced back.
And, I resembled a shining ghost.
The dead were smiling at me,
But, I was barely alive, at the most.

And, this is what it feels like. When you just want to lean for some time on a wall and it crumbles with the weight of your shoulders. The bricks, save for those at the bottom, lies scattered all around your feet. And you smile because you couldn’t even plan your ruin properly. You discover a piece of wall among them and read something what you had written ages ago. It takes an extraordinary courage to live an ordinary life. And, then you sit on your half ruin, put on your headphones, and play your favorite song and whistle as your favorite line breathes into your soul. And you believe, everything will be fine. Even if the feeling lasts as long as the song.

Like a pride of a horror painting,
Nailed alone on a brick wall.
For the last time, he stood straight.
And this time, he will not fall.

Wednesday, July 25, 2012


At Valley of Flowers
A half open door. An open blue sky.
An unfinished sentence. One last try.

An unkempt garden. Uncut patches of grass.
An unanswered prayer. Sheet of Cracking glass.

A misplaced feeling. One lonely dinner.
Many scars to show. But, still not a winner.

One drop of sorrow. Million drops of rain.
Ruined by Love. An unredeemed pain.

A skeleton of emotions. One dry dead tree.
Lost something precious. In trying to break free.

One flickering candle. A never ending night.
Bit by bit I burn. To show myself the light.

Memories of the past. Tears of today.
The same old smile. Won’t you stay?

An incomplete poem. A melody out of tune.
The moist eyes that waits to see you soon.

That insane courage to read an unread book.
I close my eyes to see your serene lovely look.

An abandoned moment. One simple wish.
Your life of joy, I will lifelong relish.

The horror of silent days. Same noisy strife.
An unfulfilled dream. One complete life.

Monday, July 2, 2012


It is ironical in many ways. You know, when you are writing so many sad and depressing stories, however, beautiful they are, may be, you are going closer to them unintentionally. It was only about time, that they would win. And now that they are finally here, I have no words to describe it. After a long journey, I have run out of words. Can’t say it’s a relief. But, that is the way, things stand as of now.

I can’t find joy in writing. That is still acceptable. The worst is, I can’t find joy in reading. And, if I am not writing and not reading, I am pretty useless. I mean, even more so, than I was before. And with currently, jobless, right now (I mean, I actually have no work.), I do not have anything delicious on my plate at the moment.

The only thing I am looking forward is my 3 weeks vacation starting next week. But, the real fun starts after the 1st week of vacation (I am at home in the first week. Guys my age would understand what I am talking about). With Ladakh plan cancelled, I have to find some place to go and things do look good and I just hope I enjoy considering the mental state I am in right now.

Anyway, I am whining and that is the reason I have to go away from this place. I can’t spill any pessimism or negativity here. There is too much of them anyway in the world, without me adding further and its best that I keep a lid on it, till it all goes away.

Its time to Reboot many things and it starts here.

I would shut up now. Listening is what I do best. Listening is what I should stick to, I guess. I only spell trouble when I speak. So, people, you all take care and thank you for the memories! Until I decide it is safe for me to return. I mean, safe for you. 

It all started here. It ends here.

But, I am just a passing cloud,
Who just dared to think aloud!
Winds of time will take me away.
I do not know if I want to stay.

Wednesday, June 27, 2012


Stretches of Greens, Unknown Place, Switzerland
I am holding the pen too tightly. I can’t loosen the grip. I have to choose my words carefully. It is not easy, you can trust me. But, I have been practicing it for a last few days. Each time I held the pen earlier, words would make a mess on the paper. As if, they were waiting on the tip of the pen. A gentle push and gravity would do the rest.

This time, I moved towards the pen rather slowly. Casually. I took the pen in my hands but did not put it on paper straight away. The pen jerked for a while. It shrieked a little too. I could see the words, almost dangling, trying to stretch their arms to feel the smoothness of the paper. But, left midway, after some time, deprived of the touch of the wood, they slowly faded and died a slow death and finally vanished into thin air. Then I slowly slipped the paper below. And then I carefully chose those pretty false words to adorn the paper.

I have to be vigilant at all times. For the words have a way of coming back from the dead. And they usually do. Making life difficult for all of us. Honest life, yes, but difficult all the same. Honest and Difficult. Ha!, Sounds so ideal. I am trying hard to suffocate that ideal in the bleak atmosphere. When that happens, all ideals will perish. No Truth. And when there is no truth, nothing can be a lie. It just is. A life of comfort in an atmosphere of deceit.

In this race against the words, I have to fail them first, before words fail me.

I will rest in my armchair. I will watch in peace, everything I stood for once, crumble to pieces.

Will I ever wonder, how did I end up like this? Perhaps. But, I am emotionally strong. Which just means, I can hide them better.

And one day, I will drop dead under the weight of a heavy heart beat, which I failed to listen a long time ago.

An empty bottle of ink will be my staggering testimony to all my beautiful wasted efforts.

I am forever blowing bubbles
Pretty bubbles in the air
They fly so high
They reach the sky
And like my dreams they fade and die 
          ( these lines from GREEN STREET HOOLIGANS)

Saturday, June 23, 2012

A Good Disturbance

View of Lake Thun, Switzerland
 It looked so far from here that it almost looked like a star. But, it wasn’t as bright or shiny. The images, though inviting, were blurry for a long time. And when it came to view, it looked like a heavy piece of stone. A piece of star perhaps. They call it a meteor, I think. My eyes followed the path of the stone as it descended towards the earth. I expected it to burn and fade away with a last spark in the air.

The stone did hit the air. But nothing burned. Because there was no stone anymore. Instead, a feather was floating. I couldn’t tell the color of the feather from down here, but the way it gently swam in thin air, I could tell, it came from a bird that lived happily and died happier. The motion of feather was like poetry in the air. If words of a poem could dance, they would dance like this. Unrestrained. Perhaps, looking for those perfect lips on which the words would happily rest forever. The gentle air took the feather in all the directions. As if two inseparable friends have decided to walk forever. The feather slowly descended. A lake of pure blue was waiting for it.

Before the feather could kiss the water, a bubble sat atop peacefully over the surface of water. Still. Their thin watery edges touched, rubbing, but not resisting each other. The bubble gently burst, as if whispering its favorite word in the ear of the lake. The air trapped inside, heavy like the stone and having the color of feather, flew away. What remained was no different than water itself. The two parts, the one from distant space, and one from eternal earth embraced each other and walked together as a single stream.  Resembling lovers of timeless beauty.

The calm surface of water was gently disturbed with a hint of a ripple. The ripple spread across the surface of water. Like a smile growing wider and wider. Soon, it touched the shore. The colorful flowers on the shore swayed softly as if nodding their approval for the union of heaven and earth. 
‘And then? What happened then?’, she asked eagerly as if the best part of story has been deliberately kept away from her.

‘And then’, he added, ‘we sat with our legs knee dip in the blue water and I took some of those flowers from the shore and gave it to you. When you smelled them, they left a scent of happiness on your body’.

She saw her image in his eyes.
She asked, ‘You know why the images were blurry?’.
‘Either I was too close to them. Or too far.’
‘Yes. Either that or you had love in your eyes. Acknowledge it and everything will become clear.

He said nothing. She saw the flowers in her lap and smiled.

Monday, June 18, 2012

A Piece of Sky

Layers of Different Colors, Chandrashila Peak, 13000 ft, Garhwal, Uttarakhand

They say I own a house. I say I own a piece of sky. Or rather different pieces of sky seen from different parts of the house. A patch here. A patch there. Though, the sky as vast as it is, tries its best to fool me in believing that the parts are the same. By making me the see the same stars over and over again. All a small part of something big. Something more generous. But, the sky fails to convince me. I do not need the generosity of the sky. I need to see the sky. The whole of it. The blue and black, the all of it.

I look at the house from inside. A piece of your memory there. A part of your laughter trapped in this room at the expense of my stupid jokes. My two constant companions - Patient walls and Your face. Now, both lost in this fast, but ultimately futile race. I have an uncanny ability to turn everything I touch into dust. Coupled with an unenviable quality to disappoint everyone I meet. A sorry wouldn’t do. It never does.

I search every corner of the house to retrieve as much of you as possible. But, there is so much of you. And, I am a mere mortal. And, I wonder, if this is all I am looking for. I wouldn’t have complained. But, for this sky which mocks at me. A view of something else would have soothed me. A view of the moon. But, the piece of sky allocated to me does not have that gift. I have looked for the moon in every hour of the night in every season. I have been desperate. For the Moon. Just as I worked to treasure everything associated with you. Even the broken things. Especially the broken things. The sky is unforgiving. And so are the walls of the empty house.

It was never going to work. That is why we needed to work on it. I sit quietly in another desolate corner which seems too vast for me. No, do not see in my eyes. I will burn. I request your face, present only inside me, to look away from me, so that I continue my story. This skin you see is a palimpsest*. I have to say it all, before this too turns into dust.  Please stay. May be, if you stay a bit longer, I will tell you my story. The whole of it. To compensate for the incomplete sky. For the absence of the moon. Just may be!

P.S - I neither own a house nor a piece of sky. Goes without saying- Another abstract fiction.

*A parchment or the like from which writing has been partially or completely erased to make room for another text.

                                                                  - HAUSLE BULAND

Wednesday, June 13, 2012

A Confession to the Rain

Night view from the room, which was my abode for almost an year. Zurich, Switzerland

The premise is simple. To put it mildly or to put it honestly? I could never decide. Not then. Not now. I can try, but it would be impossible to define what I have or what I had once in a single essence. If I can define exactly everything how or what I feel, then may be I am not feeling enough. I always liked riddles. It was about time, I turned into one myself. Even if my shadow betrays me in the dark, a fact would accompany me till the end. I miss your presence.

I could live without the sunshine all this time, but I did not want to miss the first rain since words abandoned us at the same time. You always loved the clouds. ‘They are like jewels, orange, white, grey, black adorning the infinite blue’, you said. When you left, the jewels left too. And I see them again today, after what feels like an eternity. With a few drops from your eyes, that was the last I saw of rain. Until now. I came out, because I could smell the rain in the air. There were few scraps of sin and pride hiding somewhere. In the corners, where I couldn’t reach, the pearly drops of rain would wash them away.  

And there was the breeze. Every touch of the fierce wind on my face left an image in my eyes. The breeze which blew brought with it the memories, from the other side of the horizon. Your face, as fresh as ever, not separated by distance, but by time. And the same words – My patience was my crime. When you had closed your eyes to protect it from the blazing sun, I stole a harmless kiss from them (in my mind). And when you leaned in closer to hear my whisper, you left a gentle wish on my lips.

I recreated the memories over and over again. And since, the rain has come today, may be, my penance has completed. Or is it waiting for my final act? A confession to the rain. That I meant everything I did not say. That I felt everything that I denied. That I hid everything that I should have revealed. That…

My rough hands tightly hold the promise of a dying whisper. Protecting it from everything. But today, I am opening my hands. Slowly. The fingers have grown into each other. It takes an enormous effort, but it opens. Like the petals of a lotus. And, when a butterfly escapes my palms, fluttering its wings and singing in the rain, I know, you have found happiness. The color of the wings is those of the clouds – white, grey, black and a shade of orange. I stay in the rain.  And by staying at the same place for so long, I walk farther than most.

Off suffocating nights and scorching days,
Off blinding lights and piercing rays,
In the Rain, I am alive today. But,
Yes, I have died in numerous ways.

                                         - HAUSLE BULAND

P.S - Work of Fiction. 

Thursday, May 24, 2012


A photographer trying to capture this gorgeous sunset at Tungnath (3680 m) in Garhwal, Uttarakhand. Another photographer trying to capture both! :-P

I would like to have dinner with you. Or a Lunch, perhaps? A breakfast might be a little uncomfortable for both of us, but I would agree to it, if that suits you better. May be, we would just sit on opposite sides and talk. No need of greetings and formalities. That was never needed. That will never be needed. All words will have a meaning. No words will have an outer covering. That is the thing we have always admired about each other. That is the only thing we have managed to admire about each other.

Pure Hate, like Pure Love is a rare thing to have. Anything pure, for that matter is a precious commodity now-a-days. I know you will loathe me for using the word commodity. Love is not a commodity. Why should Hate face such ignominy? I request you not to take the word seriously. But then I would contradict myself. OK, I will strike out that word. Pure Hate, like Pure Love is just precious.  Hard to Find. Harder to maintain. 

That is why I ask you to sit with me. Pure Hate needs constant nourishment. If we don’t sit together, how would we find new, fresh and genuine reasons to hate each other? With an ever increasing intensity? With Passion? We both know, we won’t hold anything back in hating each other. Just like pure Lovers. We just operate differently. We are capable of hating each other with all our hearts. We both know why. Because, we know each other completely. We understand each other like no one ever can.

Origins of Pure Love and Pure Hate are same. Only the fruits are bitter. We do not need to hide our flaws from each other. There is nothing we need to pretend when we face each other. To each other, we are as naked as one can be. The moment, we start to pretend, this relationship of Pure Hate would cease to exist. Lovers lose respect for each other. We would lose disgust for each other.  The flame may burn slowly for some more time, but it will be feeding on our conscience. And one day nothing will be left. And a burden on conscience is not good for any relationship. I know it. You know it.

Pure Love is about not needing to say too much. Pure Hate banks on saying everything on the face. Ironically, both need patient listening. In Love, we listen to signs, eyes, touches and unspoken words. In Hate, we listen to our own anger. In Love, we care. In Hate, we hurt.

I know you will not blink an eye in saying ‘I HATE YOU’ loudly and in front of the whole world. That Frankness. I wonder, if Pure Love can match this quality. No Guilt. Not asking for clemency. Not seeking one. PURE HATE. PURE LOVE. JUST REVERSE THE SIGN.

In pure love, people grow. In Pure Hate we will decay. Decaying, like growing is a sign of living.

Question is still hanging. Would you come? I will be waiting.  To Hate you. Wholeheartedly. 

Photo Credit - Who Else but me? ;-)

                                           - HAUSLE BULAND

Monday, May 14, 2012

An Albatross is Stubborn. He knows he can outlast the wind.

Plitvice National Park, Croatia

I know what I need.  A Dream.  A dream, on the lines of absurdity. A dream which  looks impossible at first thought, even at second thought. Which would need every atom of my every molecule of my every cell of my every organ to get it done. And even that might not be enough. My every breath should be scented with the thought of that dream getting fulfilled someday, somehow. A dream close to my heart, but much beyond the reach of my mind and body.

 The finish line should look so much beyond the horizon that even trying to pursue would be a foolhardy exercise. A dream, that even a thought that I would be able to touch it one day should fill every pore of  my skin with pleasure. That my heart should fill with so much satisfaction, that at that time, TIME WILL STOP. Every other sound, but the sound of my heart would be MUTE. That every smell, but of my own sweat would be odorless. Just the thought of reaching there would mean so much to me. What actually being there would feel like? UNDEFINED. UNEXPLAINAIBLE. WITHOUT WORDS.


And then I got to nurture that dream. WITH HOPE.

A hope which would seem hopeless to everyone else. A hope beyond reason. Beyond Logic. Beyond Doubt. Every little effort towards that dream should be the most sacred work of my life. That unshakeable faith in my effort that absolutely nothing can penetrate it. That hope which comes from inside and fills my surrounding with an atmosphere of heaven in which no doubt can breathe. 

A hope like ‘ANDY DUFRENSE’ has of being free from Prison in  ‘THE SHAWSHANK REDEMPTION’. What ‘ALBERT NARRACOTT’ has for meeting his horse after years of separation in ‘WAR HORSE’. What ‘EVAN TAYLOR’ has of meeting his parents in ‘AUGUST RUSH’. What ‘NANDO PARRADO’ has to survive 72 days in Andes in ‘ALIVE’.  What a dog named ‘HACHIKO’ has of seeing his master in ‘HACHIKO: A DOG'S STORY’.


Then. A FRIEND. Who, when everyone else would be laughing at the DREAM  I have and the HOPE I display,  would come in and say nothing. But that gesture would mean everything. No questions asked. Why such a dream? Why so much hope? No. That unspoken bond. Just a constant presence. A friendship beyond need, beyond words. What 'CHUCKIE'  is for 'WILL' in ‘GOODWILL HUNTING’. What ‘SAM’ is for ‘FRODO’ in ‘THE LORD OF THE RINGS'.

And to be that FRIEND for a FRIEND.

AND ONE MOMENT. A moment of complete despair and hopelessness. A moment when nothing would seem right with the world and nothing would make any sense. The lowest point of the abyss. A deepest, darkest and scariest moment when even taking one breathe would seem pointless, a burden. When feeling of dying would bring more solace than the thought of living. When Life and Death would stare into each other eyes looking for a weakness in each other. When I will close my eyes with an intention of never opening it in this world.

AND TO SURVIVE THAT MOMENT. To come out with renewed dose of hope never seen before. To once again put soul into that dream. To try once again. ONCE MORE…..

And then I will say. I HAVE LIVED A LIFE.

P.S - Title taken  from a French Film 'A VERY LONG ENGAGEMENT.'

Monday, April 23, 2012

Or So It Would Seem...

Picture Taken at Taj Mahal, Agra.

You said you would understand me. I knew you would. I was afraid of being understood. I was never the one to say Sorry. I was wary of being forgiven. I was not afraid of crying. But of drying up my lake of grief very soon. What if some greater tragedy strikes? Though it is hard to imagine a greater one than the one which has already struck, but fate surprises the most cynical of us. And in strange ways. I keep inventing them in my mind. What if I am branded heartless then? But it doesn't make any difference now. I have been called heartless before. See? You hide the truth. You die slowly. You say the truth. You die instantly.

Since, you are here, probably for the last time, why don't you play that song. Yes, that one. It’s been on pause ever since you left. You just have to play it. One button and everything will come back to life. Or so it would seem to me.

The mirror of your eyes which I never looked into. The hurt which I never noticed. The hurt which it gave me when I needed it most. Envelopes waiting to be filled. With the unwritten words on the unwritten letters which were never posted. I never used the word. I was afraid of being heard. You always knew my punishment before I have thought of the crime I was never going to commit.

Won't you do it for the last time? For my sake? Yes. I know. But, I am asking you to summon every courage that it would take. After all, its one last time. I promise when the song ends everything will be back to as it was. Or so it would seem to you. Because I will not be here. As I was not there before.

You were the medicine for all the illnesses I never caught. Colorful vases half filled with water waited for all the colorful flowers I never brought. You were ready with the healing touch to soothe me of the scars caused by running all day which I didn't do in search of you. I was not tired. I wasn’t afraid of loosing you. I was afraid of being found.

And while the song plays in the background, why don't you come along? For a stroll. I promise we  will always walk in the direction away from the song. For your sake. Because, I can not hear the song anyway.  Or so it would seem to the rest of the world.

P.S - You might want to visit Aakriti's page to read the wonderful words penned by her after reading this humble post. Here is the Link -
Happy Reading!              
                                         - HAUSLE BULAND

Friday, April 13, 2012

Little Bit

Kerala, India

Little bit of rain and a little bit of storm.
Little pinch within. Where it came from?
Little bit of thunder and a little bit of noise.
I dined with the terror in a gentle poise.

Little bit of hope. And Little bit of despair.
You never came, but I was always there.
Little bit of sun and weight of my shadow.
A lot of darkness and its ever shining glare.

Little bit of cold fire burning in my heart,
Little bit of wind blowing from my hands.
Little bit of promise, floating in the air. And,
Limping thoughts seeping from the sands.

Little bit of Love. And a Little bit of Lust.
Red cherry of Betrayal on the cake of Trust.
Over a cup of greed and a glass of freedom,
I can still remember you, but only just.

Dead pieces of soul trying to breathe in smoke.
Fluttering bits of wet paper and the words I wrote.
Little bit of shame dangling proudly from the table,
And there lies an unforgiving lump in my throat.

A bit of shine and the brightness of your face.
A bit of wine and memories of your embrace.
Little bits of attraction. Little bits of distraction.
Little bit of Denial but always full of grace.