Wisdom told the mind to stay put; wanderlust asked it to keep wandering. And wondering.
Curiosity asked it to keep itself open; knowledge asked it to trap what all it came across as useful.
Meditation asked it to embrace tranquility; creativity commanded it to be in a perpetual state of chaos.
Anger asked it to destroy itself; divinity prayed for its preservation.
And the body asked for it life-long companionship.
People stop mattering to you. They aren’t the first thing you think of on waking up in the morning. Those places often visited together stop reminding you of them.
You stop fearing venturing out on streets on which you had long never-ending journeys with them. Even the sight of that ice cream seller whom you accosted on a frosty night fails to conjure up images of them in your mind.
That favorite drink you always ordered doesn’t taste like them. That favorite song you would sing together doesn’t sound like their laughter anymore. You stop getting drawn to people who have a faint resemblance with them. Nothing matters anymore. And it doesn’t come across as a sense of accomplishment. It doesn’t strike you as liberation or attainment of nirvana. It’s just indifference.
To be weightless and to fly away to a faraway place, I will have to lose matter – myself – probably shed it down bit by bit like moulting skin, or get consumed by fire so that my ashes are blown away by the wind.
Let’s feel grateful – to nourishment, to our body which holds us together, to our positive thoughts that keep us going, to our family members who see us through our thick and thin – rotten and bliss, and to our lovely friends who tell us that it is ok to experience failures and lows in life.
Let’s thank our own selves – for being the biggest support in life, for enduring what we could not even imagine we had the power to face, for finding joys in the tiniest of positives, for building and living on hope, for being there for people who needed us.
Let’s get humbled by nature – for its fortitude in the form of lofty mountains, fury in the form of calamities of land and water, beauty which cannot be completely described by words, and an indomitable spirit which we should always strive for.
This post is for all those experiencing moments of despair and self-doubts. It’s banal to say good will happen soon. But this is just a small way to change our attitude towards all the negativity and see the countless positives happening around us, and also the fact that we are much more stronger than we think.
Love and light!
Reap what you sow,
the saying goes.
A ray of sorrow,
the barren fallows.
A slate of frost
she wishes to adorn.
With words long lost
both happy and forlorn.
A longing for light
dyed in bright yellow.
Tiny birds in flight
eyed by the little fellow.
She misses them all
the birds and the summers
Winter after fall,
silenced laughter of brothers.
The frost her canvas,
and a pen of reed.
Lies her written lament of Christmas,
like a treasure chest buried.
Her memories sown,
what shall they reap?
A tree of the past,
and fallen leaves of memories in a heap.
A new way of life catching up on some of us is renouncing our boring, prosaic, uncool, worldly duties (such as a 9-to-5 job, having kids, visiting our parents etc. etc.) You are considered low on the cool quotient if you don’t deny some of the tiny little things that if enjoyed can actually make a world of a difference to your insipid, lackluster and totally directionless life. Things like the smile or gurgling laughter of a two year old toddler (no! not for the new age yuppie – kids are uncool totally!), wrinkled hands feeling your cheeks (naa! not for me! I hardly talk to my maa; paying a visit to her is totally out of question), or the soft embrace of your partner (Pete’s sake – are you nuts? Do you really know what that means? I prefer my dog to a living human! A mummified corpse works for me too!)
We live in an age when it’s uncool to commit, out of fashion to fall in love and outdated to value people.
Solipsism defines the new us – it’s all about me and no one else! I don’t care for friends, family, lovers, exes, strangers, etc etc. We prefer camping in the Amazon all alone surrounded by piranhas (yeah I am a solo rider of the storm; I eat solo, poop solo, ride my bike solo; I hate pillion riders and if ever have one I swear I will mow them down) to enjoying tandoori chicken with now long forgotten friends in a quaint hill station (my body breaks up in hives in a place with population exceeding 20; I will dissolve like acid in water If I breathe the same air being breathed in by 40 more people when on a self-discovery trip; you said a trip to Manali? Are you nuts? It’s so obsolete!).
We are alone but not lonely! We got trees, hills, sheep, boulders, trout, and an air of absolute independence for company!
When was the last time you actually laughed out loud? Any memories of a joke which made you laugh so much that you cried?
Any recollection of when you contorted your face by brandishing your teeth in grimace? Or the last time you appreciated someone by actually applauding them? Or showed your contempt by sticking your tongue out?
Did you ever wish your eyes turned in to hearts in a display of affection, love or raw lust? Or the devil’s horns grew up on your head to finally unravel the darker side of you? How about throwing your throbbing heart at a long lost friend now found or a plan you thought was divine?
Remove the word “actually” and you will know how inherent a part of our life the virtual manifestation of these emotions are. Emojis, smileys, emoticons, or ideograms – call them anything and let’s give that to them – are all-pervasive and indispensable. A virtual conversation no matter how grave and real would be insipid and boring, and lack punch and traction without these majorly yellow-coloured cute little things.
Emoji addiction is fantastic. There is this tribe of people (including myself) which cannot type a single sentence or end a conversation promptly without sending an army of at least twenty puny emojis.
And they have taken the world by storm. Like the ISIS they are going to be all over – running down our shoulders, into our bowls of soup – screaming “I am happy”, “I am sad”, “I am horny”, “I am constipated”, “I am delirious”, “I am a Buddha boy”, “I am a Buddha girl”, “I am Zen”, and every possible emotion your heart can experience. (Trust me – constipation and other matters related to your digestive system can take you on an emotional spiral and trouble your heart.)
Let me test if WordPress allows emojis here :P :) :D
(Yeah it does! :P)
My favourite pastime is aimlessly wandering about – on hazy clouds of thought, sandy beaches of fear, verdant jungles of happiness, dark caves of fantasy, and lofty mountains of ambition. In a quiet corner of my dusty mind, I crave for solitude. The kind of quiet disrupted by the jingling laughter of a kid; the kind of quiet interrupted by a trickling sound of a brook in a hill; or the kind of quiet shooed away by an old hand on my shoulders. An old hand on the shoulder is very reassuring. An old hand on the shoulder gives me comfort and makes me think I can lead a life like a kid – nonchalant, with no worries and burdens, like a free bird.
Talking of shoulders – they are a symbol of resilience – pulled back, upright, strong, never stooping under the burden of the world. And yet these do succumb to the harsh reality of this world. The more acquainted we get with this harsh reality as we age, the weaker our shoulders grow. Yet their spirit doesn’t flag. It’s marvelous – the indomitable spirit of these weak shoulders, which first gave me a bird’s eye view of my tiny little world.
I miss my grandparents. I miss their weak, tiny little bony shoulders.
always in wait
Ready to be devoured
“only me”, she vowed
Surrounded by sharks,
with ancient wounds and marks
Glisten in the sun,
never come undone
They gnaw at the bait
life is never a waste
Their next catch is the horizon
That’s where they are headed
the bait long forgotten
My boyfriend’s quirk,
no laughter, only a smirk.
Always a bottle of rum,
and some wine in delirium.
Eyes on chicks,
tongue that clicks.
Craves for more,
calls life a whore.
Wishes for death,
when out of breath.
Got a large hole,
in the middle of his soul.
Will deny and refute,
and pick lies over truth.
That’s my quirky lover,
like sunshine in summer.