Its all within us

Let the blue around you not diminish your smile

Whoever said: Yesterday is history, Tomorrow is mystery, Today is a gift, therefore it is called present- must love surprises. But don’t we all live a bit of us in yesterday, a lot of us in tomorrow, thereby giving less credit to today- our ‘present’. We go through the motions of our day sometimes feeling life is a heavy weight- when bogged down by past, sometimes chirping happily- in anticipation of tomorrow, but rarely living in the moment. That is the zen way of living and one may argue that only the most evolved among us may have that competence of living, truly, in the moment. I ask what is wrong in living in the past or in anticipation of future, if it keeps us happy and, more importantly, hopeful? And I also ask this with a caveat: Does man have the potency of first, distinguishing what makes him happy and sad and second, choosing to keep only positive and happy (past or future) memories within while living in the present?

Memory is a dark place. I lay claim to this but with utmost care to say not ‘good’, not ‘bad’, but ‘dark’. For example, in your head, go down the memory lane, your happiest best moments that you can recall right now. Your birthdays? Your going to college? Landing a job? First pay check? They may be any or none of these. Now, relive them. Do you remember living those moments in their pure form, when only that moment was the title of your living? Most probably, you’d say yes. Now come closer and remember the last time you were happy. At a friend’s party, at your office when a colleague was extra nice to you, when you ate something fantastically delicious. Repeat the exercise. Relive that moment. NOW do you also relive that moment with only the header? Mostly, no. Whichever your latest happy memory, you’re most likely to attach a string of other thoughts to it. Like- a friend’s party. You will also recall how one friend was being obnoxious of you, how your dress wasn’t the right size, how your feet hurt in those heels, how bad the hangover was the next day etc. etc. Now, do a temporal exercise and put this moment in a box. Reopen it in a month or two. When you do, you are most likely to have forgotten all the bad stuff. So, what mostly remains... is that you had a happy memory of a friend’s party. Similarly, this works for bad memories. Sad news is, today, we tend to experience... nay... record... bad memories more than good ones. We see more red than green. We read more about accidents and deaths than awards and achievements. So, what are we feeding ourselves?

In the long-run, we are piling lots and lots of bad memories, removing the peripheral good stuff and heading into the next day with the cumulative burden of the past. Is that healthy? Hell, no! It does not even make sense.

Next time when you have some moments to spare, try this. Go for a walk and start smiling. If going out for walk is not feasible, sit back, close your eyes, and just smile. Let it be an effort if it is at the beginning. Science has proven that a smile, even if artificially induced, is a stress-buster. I swear we can all use that most importantly because it doesn’t have side-effects, with-drawl symptoms or malignant addictive capacity. So, once you start smiling, your bad memories will be washed over by happy ones and you will be surprised to realize by the time you have completed a round or opened your eyes, the artificial smile becomes a natural one. That is how powerful and beautiful this small thing is. It is a lot more potent than we give it credit for.

Whoever said: A smile costs nothing but gives much... was a wise being.

Surviving the inevitable

This is called degeneration of mind. The feeling is accentuated by the simple act of reading and re-reading the blog that I all over again fell in love with. Its my pride. And yet, its degenerating. And I am letting it go to rot.

There are a zillion things which revel to me daily, every waking moment, and sometimes sleeping too. Yet I sleep on them, kill them. Then there are days like today when I lament why did I lose all those precious moments to trivial stuff when I could be writing away to glory.

Years ago, and for a very long time, I would sulk over finding my passion. I’d ask myself this question “what would I want to do during the last minute of my life, when the last breath is anxious to leave me.” And I had no answer to that. Or worse, I would think “I would want to spend that last breath in the arms of my love.” Bullshit.

No one cares if I die. The family is obliged to care and be sad, but just enough. Besides those few, there is no one on this planet who would wish I were not dead... I were not dying, if somehow they could bring back life to me.

 

                                                   Surviving... and how! Its the ink and tea chronicles!

But today, I know I want to die reading. I want to die writing. Writing not about death, but- ironically- about life. That despite everything, it was a good run.

Enough about dying. I want to live. And I want to talk about living.

Why do we live? And the answer cannot be because we are born, and once that minor detail is taken care of, you have no option but to keep at it. That’s too transactional. And, if not anything else, I am not a person of transactions.

Why do we see life as a third person? When we are its creator. Life is because we are. We are life. Then why separate it from our being?

This and many disparate thoughts have been, not troubling, but poking me for sometime now. I am reminded of college exam time when everything would suddenly start appearing pointless, when I would be on the verge of giving it all up, seeking meaning in life, wanting only the bigger picture without realizing that a picture, however small or big, is created with a zillion single strokes. Why would I then want to do away with the strokes and still want my bigger picture? Silly me.

Today, I am 25. And I am no different than when I was 20. Happily, my heart hasn’t stopped beating. Sadly, my brains have diminished as my heart has grown. Today, I seek everything and see everything in the bigger picture frame, often by-passing the smaller details. I wouldn’t care less if I lost all money, or lost my job, or lost a person. It will make me sad for insanely unhuman amount of time and then I’d be back to living once again. Again, bullshit.

The mind is just too cluttered to write something meaningful. I fear I’d do injustice to the rest five hundred million thoughts if I write about one particular. So where do I begin?

No where, says the mind. Its deceitful I tell you. Whoever said that heart makes you do irrational thing was probably thinking from their ass. Mind manipulates. Mind calculates. Mind searches for logic and reasoning. While heart innocently believes. Heart accepts. Heart forgives.

So what is so wrong in following your heart when you don’t like what your brain makes you do?

People on this planet sure do use their brains all the time. I ask... why? To get some more recognition? Or power? Or money? Or sex? Or status? Only a hollow being would want to be on a perennial want for more. They are the ones who manipulate earth. World war happens because of people like them. The bad news, u ask me? ALL men (I use it generically, referring to people from all genders) use their brains. That’s what they do best. And that’s how they do worst.

This thought is now giving me a head-ache. I don’t usually have head-aches. I told you, I use heart. Heart doesn’t give you head-aches. It gives you heart-burns. I am awesome at sustaining and surviving heart-burns. But not head-aches. I go crazy when I get one. I don’t usually have head-aches.
Right, I already wrote that.
 

Beginning of an End...

So how do I feel at the end of (over) 3 months?
Brain is too complicated to answer that.
Heart is too excited to answer that.

So i turn to the place with memory galore- the Photographs...
And then, its not just past (over) 3 months, but years that pleasantly roll by me. And I realise that a hearty laugh, a twinkle in the eye, a 'posey' pose is not a work of art, infact far from it.
But today, when I look at these photos- in almost disbelief at actually having once lived them- I realise I treasure them more than the most precious work of art.

After a fruitful hour of photo-gaping, I realise life has, more or less, been a serendipitous ride. It has been kind to me. It has been an accomplice in all the adventures.
And now, as I am about to embark upon another adventure, I only have one wish... that life be as it has unchangingly been... full of wonderful co-incidences!

So, at the end of (over) 3 months:
I feel blessed to have such a happy life full with amazing people.
I feel hopeful that the trend of happiness continues
And...
I feel grateful for the invention called camera to have made the brain and heart work lesser.

Here is hoping for a tomorrow full of Sunlight, Health and Happiness.

In a perennial pursuit...

It happened 3 years ago. In a small and absolutely beautiful village called Ratnagiri in Maharashtra.

We were visiting the house of India’s freedom fighter Bal Gangadhar Tilak- the ‘Bal’ of the famous ‘Lal Bal Pal’ trio- which was being renovated for public exhibition.

As I moved about the place, I had a feeling of redolence but couldn’t put my finger on it. Taking the confused feel with me, I moved on.

Cut to present.

I went to my grandparents’ home for a week, thanks to a completed degree and delayed date of joining on the job.

It is then that the old feel came back to me.

The air was the same.

As weird as it may sound, I could make an absolute connect.

The ceiling fan-the kind which one wouldn’t normally find in today’s time- has a huge box for a regulator that sticks out the wall. It has now become smooth and edge-less from being in use for many decades.

My grandfather’s desk is decorated impeccably with his glasses, medicine, some documents, a diary and a pen arranged in exactly the same manner at any time of day since last 18 years when he retired.

There is an old radio set- decorated by a hand-woven and beautifully embroidered patch of cloth- whose print has come off with all the years of use.

The beds, or the ‘khaat’, I’m sure are a rare possession in any delhi household today. But they are being proudly used and by personal experience I admit, they are better than any bed!

The various calendars - with images of Hindu Gods and Goddesses covering almost the entire area on it - irrespective of their years, adorn the walls of the entire house.

These and many other things are not only reminiscent of my childhood but also drive home an important conclusion.

Never let any experience die in you. Always keep the feelings as well as the feel alive. Always.

You never know... what connects where and when.

This home is an integral part of me, as that ‘house’ will be too from now on.

You don’t necessarily have to play a major part in somebody’s life to make them an integral part of yours.

Sometimes, it’s the feeling of being connected- like with my grandparents’ home.

Other times it’s the FEEL of being connected- like with Late Bal Gangadhar Tilak’s house.

A message...

At first I thought I was still dreaming and it was again a nightmare. But when the alarm did not stop, I forced my brain to think why I had set the alarm for 5:45 am. I fought with myself, coming up with any unreasonable excuses my sleepyhead could concoct, still knowing what was committed had to be done.

It took all my will power for me to step out of the bed on the chilly winter floor. After fighting another urge to hop back in the blanket, I started putting on layers and layers of all the clothes in my wardrobe.

Slinging the camera, I stepped out of my room, cursing the camera-the cause of my discomfort today.

Ok… So I was headed to the playground to shoot the early-morning cricket match- a game I’ve always hated.

The ground is 10 mins away, if you walk leisurely on a sweet Sunday afternoon.

But ask me and I still feel it took me 30 minutes and my entire breath to reach there. But once there, I was glad I made it, although a bit late.

Out popped the camera and as I was about to click the first shot, horror struck me.

There was no battery in the camera.

I still remember the feeling. It was worst than plugging-in your cellphone for charging and forgetting to switch it on.

I had still not recovered from the run, yet I started running back towards my room to fetch what was left behind- the SOUL of my camera.

This happened almost a year back.

And now, for this New Year, I have a message.

Never leave your SOUL behind. If you do, you’ll be out there in the cold, running, out of breath to get it back.

You just cannot do without it.

Also, Keep your loved ones close. Never hold a grudge for anyone. Have lots of sunshine… for you never know when the Earth will die.

Keep smiling! J

Potpourri of my MBA

Sometimes, we are the prisoners, other times, the leaders or workers cutting envelopes… Zimbardo must be so happy in his grave right now.

I've lived for 22-23 years and NOT analysed myself as much as I've done these past 15 months.
What does it anyway lead to? I'm sure this self-introspective MBA paradigm runs across the country and all first class MBA colleges churn out hundreds- if not thousands- of top-notch managers year after year.

How differently would they, probably, act had they not been, say told that they are ENTJ (sorry my non-MBA friends…if I sound French) and THAT is why they behave as they behave.

Again, as I write this, the only thing that my mind is processing right now is an experimental design using an experiment an control group.
How I wish I could, sometimes, un-MBA my mind and see how different my life could be.

so… which mask is your MBA making you wear?

I am not against these self-introspective tests and this kind of MBA paradigm. I love it, infact. Attributing your behaviour to a theory proposed by a gentleman in some other era donning a wavy-white wig like a lady's can be the easiest to get away with your unfavourable idiosyncrasies.

But somewhere, I feel this education, where on one hand, exposes a world of worldly theories and enlightening self-concepts to us, on the other hand blinds us from the existence and operationally of a world which awaits us right outside our B-School boundaries.

So… Do we have the education to un-MBA our minds??

Backing it up...

Life becomes pretty devastating when you, hoping against all hopes to have your data secured, get to know that one wrong download cost you all your work till date and that you were naïve enough not to believe in inventions called “hard disks” then.

In short, I, permanently and irrevocably, lost all my data.

And by “data”, I mean the photographs that I took immense pains to first click, then transfer and compile neatly into albums. 

It still hurts. Thinking of all those faces in the pictures, suddenly I miss my “data” even more.

One good thing I did, though, was upload a select few on FB (FYI, for tagging a zillion faces, FB has barred me from any further tagging).

So this one day I was sulking over my devastated sans-pics life, staring at my cruel laptop’s heartless default desktop background. When I realized I could stand the background no more, I downloaded one of my uploaded pics on FB and set it as my wallpaper.

("THE" wallpaper)

Before I could breathe a sigh of relief seeing the beauty, a revelation occurred.

The faces in the pic seemed happier, including mine, than we actually were at that time, if I remember the moment correctly.

Doesn't it so happen, while you are in that moment, u do not realize how happy it is until it passes. After 6 months, when one fine day you sit defeated and helpless and suddenly set this pic as your laptop’s wallpaper, you say to yourself “You lucky girl! What more do you want from life? Aren’t you lucky enough that you are one of the faces in this happy pic?”

I, once more, understood the importance of these three people in my life.

This one pic is enough for me to forget lamenting over the rest 100000000 lost.

I love you guys more than you can ever come to think.

Once a mother, always a teacher.

Things change. In almost 20 years, things definitely change.

My mother has taught me, one way or the other, throughout my educational life. While in school, she helped me develop interest in mathematics (the subject I still love) and accountancy (without any success).

She would sit both of us, I and my little brother, down and start our daily lessons. We used to be pretty little things then; timid and meek in front of our “seldom-strict-mummy”.

Its been 19 years now that she taught me my first math counting, first English alphabet and hindi alphabet in varna-mala.

As I sit in my room trying to make sense of an HBR article on “Talent Management” now, while inadvertently ending up listening to whats going on in the living room outside, I cant be more nostalgic.

Now instead of us 2, she has 5 kids to teach. Kids as small as a 4-year-old to a 14-year-old.

Our domestic helps must be happy souls now, seeing their children tutored.

And unlike the rich brats (a true generalisation), they are very eager to learn.

Only a deprived knows the feeling of getting.

(My mother with the kids... unawares)

I hear my mother, I hear the same voice I can now recognize from any corner instructing- Shruti, aaj maths aur hindi karna hai. Rahul, Eleven aur seven ki spelling yaad karke sunao. Shivani, ye ghar se karke lana hai.

Listening it over the phone is a different thing than seeing it with my own eyes. Still, when she told me, a month back that she’ll be teaching our helps’ kids, I was inspired.

I reflect back and realize that one thing she has accomplished in her entire life till now is being a Superlative. My mother is a Super-Mummy.

So… things don’t really change in 19 years, do they??

The first 13th.

It so happened when I was at my doc's for the usual refill of my never-ending dosages, while i was home for winter break.
When after consulting with the doc and on being assured that everything was as it had been the last time I saw him- for good or otherwise- I headed to the hospital's apothecary to mix me the medicine as the prescription said.

As the guileless guy on the other side of the counter took my prescription- which has now developed into a mini-diary of sorts- humbly nodding at the seemingly illegible words, as if those words could talk to him, he read out my name like a teacher who wouldn't probably even raise his head on making-out who did a proxy, and turned and opened an almirah which more resembled the mysterious almirah from Narnia, and I saw in it a number of bottles; symmetrical in size and shape, some half-filled, others half-empty, dressed up in different undecipherable codes and what once would have been bright and fresh colored chits.

It was then that this thought cropped up in my mind. Like those small bottles had the huge capacity to be an elixir or poison, concocted accordingly; even the humans are same. We get along with the right mix, and t is an elixir. We meet the wrong ones, and we are doomed, only we never realize and usually cant tell good from bad, sticking to our decisions more adamantly as we progress on our life's graph.

So on this new year, i suddenly have a wish to make.
We must have done a zillion mistakes last year, we are only human. This new year, lets not repeat any of those. Lets make a zillion NEW mistakes.
Lets fall in love again, feel the thrill once more.

Lets be 16 again and this time.... forever.
Happy New Year to all my Loved ones...

Rhythm Divine

Writing a post from the hostel of an IIM was only a dream for me. I had got into an IIM precisely 5 months back but still writing a post could not happen. Largely because I had started believing that my mind and heart had stopped reading between the lines.

Now, blessed with a broken foot and a week-long-complete-bedrest, I have what seems like an entire lifetime to myself. And surprisingly, my judgment of myself was wrong. I can still read between the lines.

Our college is a good 25 mins away from our hostel. And that day, as always we were in a rush to make it to the college bus, only to see that the last bus to leave was more than full. So we got the college van instead. It was one of those rare days for me when I travelled in van, having missed all the buses. And I had hardly interacted with many of the people with whom I was commuting.

As we started, first thing was to turn the music on. “Beete lamhe…” was the song that played. Expecting some local songs, we were happily surprised to find regular “our” songs playing and what ensued was a magical trance. Many of us sang along, while some chose to hum and the rest stared out the window.

It was then that I realized something. All of us came from different parts of the country, and so belonged to different cultures, had different childhood (and some adult too) experiences, motivations and yet aspired to achieve a common goal.

The music, on the outside, was the same to everyone. But to each one of us, it meant an entirely different world. However, the underlying emotion was same- love, belonging, passion.

I assumed, knowing whatever little I knew of them, that while one of them thought of their CAT scores and getting a better college, another one might probably be thinking of her ailing pet back home and how she won’t be able to see it anymore. While one thought of a handsome summer placement and the life ahead of him, another one relived the song thinking of his love.

And what was I thinking? I was only too mesmerized and occupied with this thought to think of anything else.

It is amazing how one simple thing as music means so differently to different people. And because of this, it stops being simple.

All that Matters

All the time, we call life “queer”. Actually, its us who make life and so, WE are queer.
Just the other day, yet another incident (actually a couple of them) opened my eyes to a new kind of queerness of life.

To give a quick background, the home that I lived in for the first 13 years of my existence is in the vicinity of the grad college that I would attend much later. also, from my home, across the road, was the kindergarten school I went to.
I happened to visit my college to collect some documents from a friend who once used to be my closest. Everybody thought we were going out because we were so inseparable.
I can not recognize this friend now. After trying to get through on phone for 15 mins, I got to hear a simple “ok”. Still I wasn’t perturbed. Everybody has a bad day. The final blow came when he, on seeing me, handed over the things and without even looking straight at me once, let his “”new BFFs”” do the talking. I felt so suffocated that I left without any more ceremonies.

On my way back I stopped at a store very near to my old house. From across the road, I saw an old lady (really old), carrying 2 kids’ bags on her shoulders with 2 children holding each hand of hers. Even today she looked just the same. The last time I saw her, probably 15 years back, was on her grand-daughter’s wedding. The sight brought back so many fond memories and I invariably drifted back to when I was a small girl, in KG. She, my “maasi” (mother-like) would fetch me from home, walk me to school, feed me the lunch and got me back home. Sometimes when I was tired or sleepy from the day’s activities, she would carry me in her arms. And here she was today, walking yet another KG kid. As she crossed the road and came to my side, I walked towards her, apprehensive whether she’d recognize me (at her age, I know I wouldn’t be able to). But I only needed to remind her my name and the house I lived in and she knew me. I really had difficulty talking with choked throat and her voice broke me down.

In that instant, I wanted everything best to happen to her. I wanted to do something for her.
She asked me about my family and bhaai. I was so happy that she remembered them.

And when the children beside her started wailing, I knew it was time to go.
She blessed me with all the success and happiness in the world.

And I… I took home a very big lesson.

In Bits and "Peace"s

I stood there, facing the horizon.
The waves... large and small, came in a fixed pattern.

A pattern that God has set, a perfect paradigm.
The grandeur of Yan, the silent and never-ending depth of Yin.

I felt i was a part of this paradigm. I, in a way, felt complete.
Here was a thing of beauty, truly a Joy forever, that'd never deplete.

Nature, sure, has its own way of teaching mankind a lesson.
We've "progressed" from apes to humans to giants, the callousness just doesn't seem to lessen.

BUT

Miles and ages away, I stood there. Facing the horizon.
I was at peace with myself. My soul had sought satisfaction.

...

22 seconds

This post was born on a traffic signal.

It was a family wedding and as I, along with my family, left our expensive new home, sat in the expensive new car, all of us clad in expensive new clothes, I fought the urge to throw away my heels and run barefoot back home, tears streaming down my cheeks.

Next moment I saw myself staring out the window at something, anything that could momentarily cheer me up. But even the billboards and hoardings and signboards refused to oblige and we continued the seemingly endless journey in morbid silence. Such had been the scene at home for God-knows-whatth time and was likely to continue for God-knows-how-long.

Then came the traffic signal… and a smile crept to my lips.

We were at the very crossing where stood our ex-home, as the traffic light showed red. Everything here was still the same and yet so different.

My eyes remained open as I played the scene when I first learnt to drive a scooter and had a wounded knee and a broken scooter. The scar remains.

I played the scene when in summers we’d dip mangoes in buckets of water to cool them off and in our dirtiest best clothes, ate those crouched on the bathroom floor.

Now we are served neatly diced pieces of mangoes, to be eaten with forks.

I saw the drawing room where the 4 of us sat laughing and chatting over the precious serving of butterscotch ice-cream.

The thing remains untouched for days now.

I also saw my mother getting our sweaters and woolens some sun before putting them in a huge silver trunk, along with naphthalene balls wrapped in thin cloth tied together with thread.
And as she did all this, I saw us kids fighting to slip our thin hands from the gaps and sliding the latch as we rushed to her after school, dressed in carelessly worn ties and hair.
The exam time.
How on the day of our last exam having been allowed to watch tv till 9 seemed like the best thing about the exams getting over.

All this played right in front of my eyes as I saw that the traffic light, like in those days, still turned green for only 22 seconds.

Life in transit...

As I think of this title, I muse to myself- But isn’t life ALWAYS in transition, seemingly so still… yet always moving forth.

Anyway, this phase of my life is called the “Chewing Gum” phase.

Turning 20, basically getting out of the teenage, was a dream. I’d thought grown-up life would be different. Whether good or bad, I hadn’t given a thought. Just a different life was what intrigued me the most.

But as I consciously stepped out of it, nothing was different. I was the same height, weight (well almost) and complexion. Then I realized your life is yours. If it is beautiful, be happy that it is yours. If it isn’t, well… understand that exchanging from or borrowing others’ isn’t an option.
My life is far from being NOT beautiful.

The best part, and paradoxically the worst, about it is that I am a student… still. Yeah its not very unique to a 21 yr. old but when I see my peers in their jobs, I feel I, somehow, am still connected to where we all come from. I have, in my heart of hearts, not been able to move out of teenage yet.

I say the “worst” because somewhere, i also want to dress up in formals as a routine and i also want to tell my mom what my boss at the office is upto, and what did i do with my pay. But i know this life cant hold me for long.

Though I’ve graduated, my heart still belongs to the unseen and unknown corridors and classrooms of the future college that I’d go to. Presently, and for a long time, doing a job seems such a distant thing. As if I’ve to be a different person altogether to be one of the many hands of the 9 to 5, 5-days-a-week clock.

For now, I am happy sticking to where I think I belong the best.

:-)

I see you.

I live on the 9th floor of the building, the top most floor.
And fortunately or unfortunately, our building shares one of its boundary walls with one of the most famous multiplexes in the metro.

The first time I went for the movies there shortly after we’d shifted, I was so thrilled to find that my room’s door that opens into the balcony was clearly visible from the lobby just outside the screen.

So. It was one of those days when u feel wasted without getting drunk, you feel lazy and are not guilty for that feeling.
It was one of those days for me. I stood in the balcony staring at a distant point in horizon without looking at anything specific when suddenly my eyes retreated to a point closer to where I stood.
When my gaze shifted an inch beyond my feet, I saw a couple coming out of the multiplex making their way toward the parking area.

On weekends, traffic flows in the otherwise secluded lane-cum-parking lot like a swarm of bees. And when you see it from 9 floors above, you’ll know I’m talking in literal sense.

So, as they covered some 200 mtrs., a thought hit me.
They didn’t know someone could see them. I could. Not that I carried any malicious intentions (God no!), but it was an interesting feeling of observing someone when you know they aren’t observing or staring at you back.

There also are times when I see a bunch of guys, in school uniforms worn rather fashionably, at 10 in the morning. And in my heart, I say “If no one else, I see you.”

How many times have you walked down a lane, earphones plugged in, and mind in anticipation of a tomorrow or engrossed in a yesterday?

Whenever you have, rather…whenever you will, just remember someone will always be observing you while saying- I SEE YOU.

Elixir

"Hope is a Good thing, maybe the best of things." someone had said (and i am not referring to respected Stephen King here)and HOW!!

This one is not about a certain "he" or "she", but about things that make a bigger difference - HOPE & FAITH.

So what if u fall, there is always a next time to stand tall with a stronger spine...and shine.
So what if you fear the consequences, its the journey that decides where are you headed.
To hear is one thing, to listen to and ponder upon it is altogether another.

There is never a wrong or a right decision. You have to take a leap of faith and then... its only you and YOUR decision because he who tries may fail, but he who doesn't has already.

It was amazing how brilliantly and effortlessly had he talked her into seeing the light at the end of the tunnel. And while at it, MAKING her believe that there does exist light at the end of the tunnel.

"Are you afraid of working hard?" was the question that got her off the hook.
She could'v easily dodged it, or replied defensively with "Ofcourse not...d'uh"
but the truth "Yes, I am afraid to work hard" would always resound in her. And she knew better.

He might not have provided her with a solution, the destination. But, he sure converted the maze into a single straight road at one end of which, stood she and the other end had her destination.
This was more than she could'v asked for... ever.

Now her belief " I am just not good enough" was clearly replaced with his "You aren't as bad as you think."

If anything... this was a miracle. Nothing less.

EXPLANATION...

U owe me an explanation.
Actually, tonnes of explanations.

The 7-year –itch has already started surfacing between us when its
only been 4 years now. And with time, you’re only getting worse.
I wish I had the capability of hearing your mind out loud. When I try
and talk, u never even show any sign of paying attention.
Damn! You don’t even fake it.

I wish I could throw a vase at you, like I did the other day, only to
miss you by an inch. That day, you really shouldn’t have commented on
my newly-done hair-color. Because the vase was your mother’s and you
had a hard time giving all the explanations to her later.
See! Like I said. You r always landing yourself in giving explanations!

Anniversaries went right by us, rather-me, you never cared to wake up
from your sweet slumber.

You remember my first birthday that we celebrated together? Ofcourse u
held a private screening of my favorite Nicolas Sparks movie. You also
gifted me a tissue box wrapped in fancy red. I know how you detest
alkl the romantic stuff on tabloid, but that was the best present
ever. Whatching my fav movie, wrapped in your arms while u wiped off
the tears down my cheeks from the gifted tissues.

And you remember the adventure trip we took 2 years ago? You went on
to climb an extra mile because u saw a spring at the top and I was
thirsty. I kept shouting at the top of my voice- I have it in my
bottle! Don’t go! That’s a dangerous terrain!

I wish you had heard me then.

You never reached that spring. And you never came back, to me, too.
You’ve broken the promise of being with me forever…of loving me forever.

Now if you could just get up from the piece of land where u’ve been
resting forever...

Because…u owe me an explanation.

आशाएं २०११

THE SUN shone brightly, the day was beautiful.
The rainbow was its usual 7 colors, but somehow, the feeling wasn’t full.

It was then, that we set out to dream and conquer,
A bunch of guys and girls, with just a vision and an empty bunker.

People came along, the dream got bigger.
The vision found its way to a beautiful picture.

The picture which we all are trying to paint the color of humanity and empathy.
Seeing them smile and live atleast a day of their lives the way they deserve, shall be our victory

Tomorrow
The sun will shine brightly; the day will be beautiful,
The rainbow will be its usual 7 colors and we’ll be happy to have made a small part of the world cheerful.

The Baggage and The Morrow

It is the time of the day when you want to come home to a person who takes the baggage off your shoulders. The baggage of tiredness, exhaustion, drowsiness, dejection and sometines...hopelessness.

No matter how you manage to keep yourselves occupied throughout the day- sometimes may be to avoid the thought of being lonely to strike and other times just to tire yourself to the extent that at the end of the day you crash on your bed, already half-asleep, to sleep the night away...dreamlessly.

But for some, even being on their toes doesnt help.
They have had a long day. True. They are in dire need of a good human sleep. Again True. But when they recline to their space, another world-one of their own-opens up to them. Their own clock starts ticking.

They find all the inertia accumulated throughout the day has evaporated. They feel charged up...to dream with eyes open, to plan love (ironically), to wish and to hope.

This space, their "Eat, Pray, Love" zone takes them away from the hassles of real life and strained relationships, into a world that they want to build.

And the real life sleep that follows is sweet, full of optimism.

The body is put to rest while the heart and mind, together, say- TOMORROW IS ANOTHER DAY...

Life and Fevicol...

Hi all...
Just another day when i had decided to get a bit organised, I started out with cleaning the dust off my desk. I made separate room for literally everything, including a tube of fevicol whose cap had run loose.
So... it took me a good couple of hours to set things right but I felt immense pride and sense of worth after I was done.

At bedtime, when i had this urge to see the beautiful town that I had resurrected in the afternoon, I pulled out the drawers one-by-one. I didn't know this would take the next 60 minutes of my already sleep-deprived soul.

For a couple of seconds, i could not realize what was wrong with the third drawer and its contents.

Then it struck me that the fevicol tube had tilted and the cap had goner for a stroll, alone. And the city was, obviously, painted white.

I was more vexed than sorry. My favorite candies had drowned in the white, I had an urge to throw the entire drawer out the window at once.
But i decided against it and carried the drawer to the4 bathroom.

As i lifted every single thing out of the box, i realized the situation was stickier than i had assumed.

And it was then that this post was conceived. As I was running water over the washables, like the 3 inkpots and color boxes, and had dumped the rest, like some papers and *ouch* the candies, I realized there were patterns and cuts on them that I had never noticed, not before now when they were filled with fevicol and I was made to take it out of them.

I realized how similar life is. There always is a tacit part in relations that we keep closest to our hearts. We might never realize it. But, when the relations are drowned in the fevicol of problems, do we see all those areas that we thought never existed before.

Only... here I could wash them clean and put them back in their place.

While relations are more like the unwashables that I had dumped...thoughtlessly.