6 Oct 2015

Ryan's Diary | 6th September 2012

"Saki, I don't know what to say about the poem "Show me your feet". Who knew me better than you. I and spirituality or even religion were two opposite poles. My distaste for poetry was very clear to all our classmates, it seemed too childish and frivolous, just a random combination of words.

But there was a short poem, my first short poem I wrote after the Uttarakhand incident, which delights me every time I read it. There's no extra ordinary element of poetry in it, but it is a new experience for me every time I happen to read it. There is a strange sense of,..of...I don't know what."

Ryan seemed to avoid saying something. He then randomly flipped the pages of hand-bounded diary with cover pages made of red dyed cotton. The peculiar smell let out by the pages flipped changed Ryan's facial expressions as Saki was looking forward to listening to the poem in Ryan's deep, calm and soft voice.

Ryan's fingers seemed to have landed on the poem he was talking about. They traced the page surface as if they were moving on a gracious sculpture. Indeed what more is a poetry but a sculpture born of words to express that which cannot be measured by senses.

Poem: Inner Joy (6th September 2012, 3:14AM)

The birds and flowers,
singing & swaying

The green leaves alive
with the grace of sun

The busy man toiling
worried about the future

The Yogi is lost
in his inner joy.

Saki felt the air in the room strangely charged, alive and smelling strong like some incense stick commonly burnt in Indian temples. And this wasn't the first time she has observed this in Ryan's company. What was going to come next, that night.

I really do not know.

22 Sep 2015

The Story of Ryan | Chapter 5

"Every time I read this poem I'm left dumbfounded, Ryan. How could you come up with something as soul stirring as this when you had no connection with India, especially a spiritual or religious connection? You need to tell me more about that Uttarakhand incident, what exactly..."
Saki's breathless talk was interrupted as she was gasping for more air and Ryan signalled her to get into the taxi he had just stopped.

"What are you doing tonight?" asked Ryan as he closed the door and signalled the driver to move on.
"I'm on a leave. You already know it Ryan", replied Saki with a mischievous smile.
"Let's drink, drink deep and get intoxicated with words. Tonight I'll read you some good works which have happened."
Saki was surprised to hear this. Ryan never talked about his work, unless it was professionally required and that too formally, like the interview which got screwed up.
The sound of night traffic around them slowly diminished as the taxi sped towards Ryan's home and Saki began reading the poem Show Me Your Feet from Ryan's best seller The Song of Ecstasy. Listening to it he couldn't stop seeing her manifestation appear in front of his half closed eyes.

Show me your feet

As a mother you nourished my soul through unending grace,
Suckling on your abundant milk
Made my body able to realise your mystery

As an ignorant infant,
My feet kicked your glowing skin
Which you absorbed with an unending smile

As I grew up and the arrogance of my senses
Drew me away from you
You bought back this ignorant lamb with a glance flowing with grace


"Stop Saki, please stop..." said Ryan as he dashed out of the taxi towards his apartment covering his face with his hand.
Saki went after him as the taxi sped away. On the back seat of the taxi was the forgotten best seller, with the last two lines of the unfinished poem on the fluttering pages

"Hey Bhavani, my eternal mother
reveal to me your feet,
Which my eyes wish to wash with tears of bliss."

6 Sep 2015

Love cannot be defined

Ryan's Diary | 06th September 3:14AM

When I searched for love, and there was
none I could see
I questioned myself
could love ever set me free?

I met someone who said,
love is a game of senses
I didn't believe them a bit
but within, my faith was shaken

I know, no one will believe
that we met each other
and in a moment we knew
love cannot be defined.

Are you new to Ryan's Story?

Get to know more about Ryan in our previous posts.
Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Ryan's Diary | 23rd July

Chapter 4

28 Aug 2015

The Story of Ryan | Chapter 4

from the last chapter...
Back from 3 years, Ryan was pulled back into the present, by the plane's rough landing. Inside himself he could hear Ramaa's ektara strumming.

At the New Delhi Railway Station that morning, one ticket to Assam was booked in the name of Ryan Davis.

Time could bring Ryan back to India only after 6 more months had passed by. This time it was a jammed packed young audience in Bengaluru’s G.H College. Seeing such response didn’t really matter to Ryan but it was unbelievable at the same time.

How did his work gain so much attention when what he wrote was just his heart’s outpouring? He couldn’t imagine seeing his book “The Song of Ecstasy” amongst Top 10 Best Sellers in TOI’s listing.

In the audience was Saki, Ryan’s college friend, looking wide-eyed at Ryan.

Finding Ryan was a tough job for the publishers. Although his habits of never waiting at a place for more than 7 days, not receiving calls, refusing invitations to parties frustrated the publishers, there was another reason they could not ignore him now: people had started loving his work. And Saki mattered to them as she was the only person who knew Ryan’s whereabouts.

The interview was going good only until the last question. Ryan walked out of the stage as Saki went running towards the back stage thinking, “He’s the same Ryan. Nothing could change him in all these years.”

“Why do these interviews happen when they don’t know what to ask?” “Saki, how did he dare to say that my rebellion to leave back the norms of this world was a fashion?”

“Sshhh! Let’s get out of here first” said Saki dodging the crowd who seemed to pour out from all corners for autographs and pictures.

Ryan tried to relax in the cab as they headed towards his favourite hotel in the city, H. Swamy’s
Udipi Bhavan. His behaviour amused Saki. As he was relaxing, Ryan would suddenly get up to scribble something on the pad, sometimes just strike off the entire page and again close his eyes, resting his head on the headrest.

“How is your work going on? Still working at your dream job of a teacher?”

A startled Saki looked back hearing Ryan’s sudden questions. “Yes! I’m thinking of starting my own kindergarten school next year.”

“Wow! That’s great.” Ryan’s face beamed with more joy than Saki as if he was going to start the school. There was this one thing that could bring up Ryan from his sleep: hearing someone following his passion with unending enthusiasm.

“You haven’t changed Ryan. That wide smile...”

Ryan couldn’t ignore the look in her eyes. Her stare was broken with Ryan’s words, “So here we arrive at H. Swamy’s...”

The aroma of filter coffee and rasam wada couldn’t stop nostalgia from spilling out of Ryan’s heart
and mind.

“Our first conversation began in this place during our educational tour to India. It was me trying to impress you by telling you the meaning of your name: blossom or hope in Japanese” said Ryan with a hearty laugh.

“But it was your one look which told me to shut up and stop fooling around.”

“I think no would believe we would ever become friends, Ryan.”

“Yup” said Ryan with another sip of coffee over a bite of the rasam wada.

Saki was Ryan’s classmate from the Nightingale School of Literature. In those years when Ryan was least interested in literature, it was Saki who had brought Ryan back to the world of words. Being bought up in an orphanage in Japan, Saki never had the chance to know what it means to live with a family. And she had no aspirations of creating her own.

“But Ryan, where did the media get all these news threads from? About your personal life, your being missing from school for 6 months, your odd habit sleeping only on every 4th day. Who gave them these details?”

“It doesn’t really matter, Saki. Just that my books are selling good, they are struggling to find ways to keep people interested by trying to mystify my life.”

Saki couldn’t believe whether it was the same Ryan who walked out of an interview, furiously cursing the same media. Here’s he was, lost in the joy of rasam wada and filter coffee, with no signs of anger over his forehead.

Her eyes couldn’t believe that this was the poem she was reading in his recent best seller, The Songs of Ecstasy. Apart from the publishers, it was Saki who had every single word written by him, even the unpublished.

The 2 line poem read:
When there is lot to express, words are scarce.
So strange is the language of love which speaks through eyes
when the mind has surrendered to your beloved.

“Do you remember the old Ryan? The media isn’t totally wrong about your life being mystified. It is unbelievable Ryan. How would a rich, young, spoilt brat who pursued literature, as there was nothing else that would give him a degree without doing anything, turn into a bestselling author?” said a puzzled Saki.

Ryan, after licking that last drop of his favourite filter coffee off his lips, concluded “It was that camp in Uttarakhand which started the chains of events. Yes it’s unbelievable! May be meeting him was destined, as they say.”

“Whom?” asked Saki, as Ryan paid the bill, popped in two pinches of saunf, the Indian mouth freshner, from the counter and smiled at her mischievously.

26 Jul 2015

A Letter from Ryan | 26th July

Finally the mail arrived in Rebecca's letter box.

As Rebecca's hands opened the envelope, they became alive at the touch of moist tissue paper which had something written over it.

She could make out the last line which was blurred " Yours Beloved, Ryan".

It was the promised poem written with the eyeliner.

If I were a Woman

If I were a woman
I would loved to be cared
not handled

The pleasure that you seek in me
I would love to give more
when your eyes speak
of the promise of being together

More than your support
it is your company I long for

Never before was it so lonely to be alone
When I'm with you, that loneliness become solitude.

Rebecca couldn't stop her fingers from feeling his warmth, at least in words.

Yours Beloved,

23 Jul 2015

Ryan's Diary | 23rd July

Solitude and noise, both are within.
It's a choice you can make.
- Ryan
India, 23rd July '15

17 Jul 2015

The Story of Ryan | Chapter 3

from the last chapter...
Ryan looked outside the flight window, as his memory took him back to Parvathy Baul’s performance he had seen in Assam, India.
“I’m coming home” he said with first sip of the coffee.

The coffee cup was no longer in his hand when Ryan woke up. Welcome to India!
Whether it was the soil or the people, Ryan had some connect with India which bought him back every 3 to 4 years. Was it the spiritual seeds instilled in him through his mother's hymns? He didn't want to analyse. He felt it.

It may be because he entered this world in India, when his mother delivered at the age of 20 in Delhi. His every visit to India, was the beginning of a new relation.

Isn't it so strange that we are so eager to name each and every relation, either ours or others? And when these relations don't fit the socially accepted names, the moral police in us begins to blow whistles.

It was about 3 years ago that Ryan was in India with his girlfriend, Macy. He could never forget that visit to Assam and listening to Bauls. These folks called Bauls, are the wandering minstrels in West Bengal and Bangladesh. As a tourist, Ryan naturally ended up seeing and listening to Ramaa Baul.

The first time he listened to Ramaa, he couldn't understand what happened. His stay of 3 days extended initially to a week and finally 3 weeks. Macy was fed up of staying in Assam. "What did you like so much in Assam? Delhi's happening. I wanna go shopping and there are no malls here!!! Ah! You don't understand me at all!"

The anger would subside every time Ryan would take her for the river cruise and good food.
It was from 3 years that she was seeing Ryan. The way he would effortlessly compose pop songs and perform them on guitar was when Macy first noticed Ryan in college.

This time she had decided to propose marriage to Ryan. "It's the last day of our tour, Ryan. Can we go to the Chandubi Lake in the evening? It's really beautiful! I have heard that many migratory birds come there."

"Sure, meet me there!" he said with his peculiar smile as he left for his lone wanderings.

It was already 2 hours since she was waiting, but Ryan was nowhere. In these 3 weeks, Macy knew where to find Ryan when he wouldn't return at the hotel. Since they had heard Ramaa Baul, Ryan had only one thing on his mind all the time, her songs. But was it only her songs or ...?

Macy went to the Baul's home only to find Ryan and the Baul. There were sweat beads on Ramaa's forehead and there were tears in Ryan's eyes. Listening to the door suddenly open, both of them couldn't understand where did Macy come out of. The door banged and Macy went back as Ramaa's ektara was lying on the floor.

Next morning at the hotel, Macy was gone and Ryan woke up as his mobile beeped with a new text message: "It's over Ryan. I unnecessarily defended u, even when my frnds said tht u r a wanderer. I stood by saying tht u are a creative soul. They wer ryt tht u cannot b a lyf partner."

Beeped another text message: "Sm street fellow playng musik and u walked 2 kms after him...I admired u fr this madness. bt now I hate u. Wht was so special in tht girl? After all she was jst an ordnry singing beggar!"

"I knew wht u bth were upto when I saw u togthr alone in tht room. Wht is ur relation wth her??? I was to propose u last evening. Wht abt our relatn of 3 years? Rya... Ah! I hate talking ur name. It's over!"

Ryan's replied, "You know Macy, reading your message, I'm happy for what happened and that you didn't propose. And speaking about relations, some relations cannot be named. That evening her face was glowing and her forehead was full of sweat as..."

"...she was was lost in performing for her lord, nothing else. My eyes were moist being lost in her devotion. I didn't know when her devotion lifted me with her."

Back from 3 years, Ryan was pulled back into the present, by the plane's rough landing. Inside himself he could hear Ramaa's ektara strumming.

At the New Delhi Railway Station that morning, one ticket to Assam was booked in the name of Ryan Davis.

Image courtesy: www.aurovilleradio.org

5 Jul 2015

The Story of Ryan | Chapter 2

from the last chapter...
"There was this girl he met on the streets of Russia. A street musician she was.
What was it in those 4 strings that captivated him?

I really don’t know. "

It was the first night he had ever spent with a girl, an entire night.

“What do you want me to play”, asked Rebecca, the violinist he had met on the streets on Russia.

As a street musician she was used to a variety of responses from people: catcalls, eyes full of appreciation, hate, nasty suggestive looks and sometimes unwelcome touches when people passed by as she was lost in her strings, playing in the train station subway.

That evening when she saw Ryan, the only person standing and listening to her on a blurred background of people rushing to their homes, having no time as usual. She could never understand when someone said, “I have no time”.

Ryan was the second person she had met on the streets who listened to her play, standing for more than 2 hours in one place without his eyes winking for a moment. The first one was an orphan mesmerized by the sound.

“Anything you like”, said Ryan as he climbed into the bed she was sitting in with her violin.
“I’m talking about the violin”, she teased him touching his stubble.

As he smiled and his face glowed he slowly put aside her hand. She found this strange but loving, seeing no trace of wanting pleasure from her like many men she had met.
His eyes moved across her bedroom he could see pictures of great violinists, all over the wall. Surprisingly there were no notes or music sheets.
“I have never formally learnt music”, she said sensing his next question.

As he moved closer she gasped for breath and closed her eyes. Only to see him again slowly resting his head in her lap as the bow continued to glide slowly over the 4 strings. His eyes closed, lips drew a thin smile and his mind was lost in the waves born of the strings coming from Rebecca’s heart.
The whole night she was playing lost in her own mood forgetting the presence of a second person in the room.

The next morning, her eyes opened to see the sun rays cuddling her through the window. Ryan was nowhere. The only change noticeable from the previous night was a paper note tucked under the strings and a white rose placed on the side table.

She jumped out of the bed, ran to the bathroom, then to the kitchen and lastly near the open window hopeful of seeing him so that she could call him back…never to leave again.
She didn’t know what happened last night…nothing really happened but she felt good. It was that peculiar feeling we have in our company when we are alone but feel complete.

Her eyes became moist as the lips read his words from the note:
“It was exactly 23 years ago that my mama left us…I was only 3 then. But from my faint memory of her she was graceful like you. Friends said that she went away with a violinist from the local choir as papa would spend all money in alcohol. Whom do I am blame for making me feel lonely…mum or papa? I don’t know. Everyone has his own version of truth.


I don’t know what it is, but there is something about women, I have never understood, that draws me to them. My mother was one such woman I feel the longing to meet.

What makes men crave for seeking pleasure from women? Is it the way they are built? I don’t know. But I’m drawn to them for their quality of acceptance…the way they accept you completely with grace and love. Perhaps this is why men feel more complete in a woman’s company.

If you are thinking why I spent the night with you…it must have been obvious by now that I never came for pleasure. It was those strings in the subway that drew me to you.

There is a part of me you completed.

Will we meet again??? Who knows may be we will.

Who am I and what do I do?
I write for a living. But it’s from the past 1 year that I have not been able to pen down anything. I don’t know why, but today morning when I woke up and saw your face lit up mildly by the morning sun…I rushed for the pen and paper. Not finding it, I poured out my heart in a poem with your eyeliner on a tissue nearby.

You will receive it in post, soon.

Yours beloved, 

Ryan looked outside the flight window, as his memory took him back to Parvathy Baul’s performance he had seen in Assam, India.
“I’m coming home” he said with first sip of the coffee.

Dedicated to my first reader, my beloved
 - Heramb

21 Jun 2015

The Story of Ryan | Chapter 1

All he wanted was women… more women. No! Our first perception may not always be right.
Why would someone want women’s company without seeking pleasure?

I don’t know.

But that was the way Ryan lived every time he stayed with a women.
Stayed? Yes, it was only 7 days the woman could see him around before he vanished, forever.

Who was Ryan? Was he a psychopath or a lover?
What happened in those 7 days? What did he find in her company?

There was this girl he met on the streets of Russia. A street musician she was.
What was it in those 4 strings that captivated him?

I really don’t know.

24 May 2015

Tears are Good

Tears are good in love
They help you see your love clear
Washing away cobwebs from the mind
Teach you to love without fear.

When clouds of doubt
Cover the land of love, making things unclear
Any every breath is like a
Wandering deer.

Tears roll out
Clearing the channels of bliss
Flooding your cheeks
Where your lover plants a lovely kiss

Blessed you are
If you can from your heart
Because that life’s chance
To love again before your lover departs.

listen to Cradled in Love by P.O.T.F
picture courtesy: bcor from smashinghub.com