Kartikey Sehgal

On moods and desires of men. And their idea of romance.

What remains, of days gone by? Remnants of nights – broken in pieces. Of rains that lash on to the nonchalant mind.

There is no fire. No motivation. All of it is just desire. Desire. Called variously as fire, motivation, quest, courage. If desire be the root of all that is creative, then I have seen desire. It burns like fire, and motivates you towards a quest.

Why are places important. They assume their place, thus:
Places are recipients of moments when the heart is aflutter with desire. And desire is that that is symbolic of man – all that flows within him – countless years of evolution.

The heart connects man to his past.

And when desire becomes man – places assume importance. And that is the romance of places.

What remains, of days gone by…

Sitting among walls, modern ruins of emptiness. Only well decorated. Homes.
They have their place, these homes, when filled with a man.
And man has his place, this mortal, when filled with desire.

And he chases desire. Chases that moment, when he was man. A man in spite of the world around him. A man in realisation of his self.

He leaps into the vault of memories. The sounds and lights of the places that hosted the desire. That desire.

The details of colour and people irk him. How does man retrace desire. His moments of glory?
And so he chases – on foot.

A soldier in rain. The umbrella his shield.

And water, that drips from faces and buildings – from places – forms puddles around his feet.
Water that is the culmination of an infinite memories.

He stamps that water, our soldier, conscious of the need for desire, while others’ desires melt around him.

Alas, that place holds no such meaning now. It ignited once, when he felt the creator inside him. It is now a memory. A memory. And that is the romance of places.

The original desires of man – are all memories. And while others dwell in the past, the creator dwells in the memory of desire, that is, the memory of an allegory, of beauty.

And then the night begets a dream.
Man awakens and forgets the dream.
The lure of defeat tempts him.
Another desire. An other desire.

Kartikey Sehgal

Some years back, I thought of four friends and if their close friendship will last.
It may, I thought. But don’t trust the eye that does not imagine the valley of flowers.
Many things don’t last. And the exceptions are etched in glass.

There was a boy in college. He spoke of his four friends, “this too will not last”.

Many years later and after a myriad of tribulations, he phoned one friend. “It did not last”.

He was at once a mixture of pain and memory, that is, if they are not the same. It would not last, I knew it. But it did not prevent the little pain.

In an alternative timeline, this boy became a popular actor. A superstar. He learned accidentally of his four friends. “It did not last”, he said to himself, in a moment he whisked away from the constancy of his hurried life. His superstardom did not prevent the memory. He had the best of women, associations and luxuries. Yet he thought of the alternative space, where he knew his friends and they knew one another. “The allure of the other life”, he said to himself, after which he signed autographs.

The promises of friendships fade. Humanness take over unbridled imaginations. He knew it then, this boy. But it does not prevent the pain. Knowledge fades, eventually, in the face of the unknown human nature. What we can predict is fatality of promises, of imaginations.

Pain is the passing of time.

This boy became a priest, in another time-space. He learned of his friends, he opened his eyes. He smiled and spoke of human fickleness. But the knowledge of human nature does not prevent their follies. The priest will die, there will be another set of friends, and they too will move apart. And another priest will speak of human nature.

The priest thought of the trees, of fruits, the world and the honest and happy labourer who greeted him. Life is good, he thought. Why dwell on the old.

He walked on. “Even distraction is a form of pain”, as he laughed out loud.

Kartikey Sehgal

We come on earth to live and yet we prepare for a living.

We like to claim love and lust and longing while we live but what runs parallel is murder, bombs and destruction. Does the end justify the means. Is a nuclear catastrophe important so that the survivors do not make weapons again.
Japan suffered a nuclear catastrophe and is least likely to use nuclear force today. They make the best robots and cars. Is this evolution. Survival of the fittest. On the evolution scale is Japan superior to all.

What is youth. Youth is a memory. Can you be young with the memory of youth. You will be old when you remember the young days. Can youth be reclaimed after experience. Can you relive the youth if you are made younger, given hard bones, hair, teeth and muscles. Or do you only do what you didn’t when you were younger before.

Science can give knowledge to people. Knowledge is power; but not at the cost of life. Life was given to you. And your biggest accomplishment would be life. If knowledge alone is absolute power, scientists would not die. However, a scientist will die and so will a beggar. So would you kill for science.

Without your discovery of truth, the truth will prevail. We were apes; we lost the tail without our effort. Evolution will take care of humans. Evolution is time. 
Then, it is not prudent to kill a life to discover truth.

What is better. kill a life for a better but unforeseeable future. Or live with her. Perhaps live without her and live in her memory. Another page to your memory-book. 
When you are old and dying, you regret not the unaccomplished work or the lost love, but cherish the life and the impending death.  
    
Francis Ford Coppola writes and directs Youth Without Youth.

A Note:
Perhaps what we call ‘the truth’ or ‘mystery of life’ lies in the simple, and we are afraid of the simple. We build the complex around us so it is difficult to reach the simple.