Healing Showers of Pain

Thundershowers at almost midnight in a warm sultry Kolkata....! Tupur tapur on the window sill... multiple tiny rivulets flow along the glass panes making for a pretty picture...  I look through the glass to see a distorted world... The cynic in me laughs and says, "As if it ain't distorted enough yet..."

The distant streetlamps are a pretty blur behind the curtains of shimmering falling water. The streets a field of skittling raindrops, as they hop, skip and jump and finally settle in the lap of a comforting puddle...  The puddle itself trembling with the tremors of quietening every single raindrop it absorbs... Absorbing into itself its every turmoil, its every fear, its every shiver...

The distant sound of thunder like a drum roll... Calling out to solitary souls to rejoice in the storm... To let it wash away the pain, the hurt, the anger, the pessimism... To let it take over the barren and fill it with something of splendour... If only I could let it... For pain seems to have made its home now... Unrelenting, unmoving, uncaring...

Sigh!! How I still only crave for what I cannot have...

 ~~o~o~o~~

The past catches up

Overshadowing my now

Blinding the paved route ahead

I twist and turn

I fiddle with its stronghold

I try to break free

I writhe, wanting to escape

I am pushed forwards

By the same past

That catches up with me

And cruelly taunts me

My Blessings in Disguise

Along the shore of life, I stop, turn and look
The footprints of memories - some fresh, some fading,
Some undesirable ones washed away by the waves of time,
The precious ones protected by pretty gilded rocks.
I retrace my last few steps, walking past these timestamps
They come alive; the hues of cheer and bonhomie all intact

The fulfilling friendships, the contented loves and the happy romances
The artsy stuff that brought me joy, the talks about movies, the books,
The unimaginably pretty women who made them good (don’t ask!)
Those booze nights with that special girlfriend and roomie,
Laughing with her over the hush-hush girl stuff
And hugging each other in the middle of the street just because…

The jokes in the balcony, the unbridled laughter and the wisps of cigarette smoke,
The late night chats, the heart to heart with a new friend.
Friends old and new pulling my leg, having me believe a distant light a spaceship
The noisiness that made us all feel at home,
Repeated invites for dinner which I regretfully refused
Meaningless banter in retrospect feels like the most meaningful times I spent.

The walks along the streets of cities that made me
The lone times that left me to play with my fancy
The random e-mails reminiscing an old joke, or making a new one
The visits to the quadrangle that gave me a second family
Fighting over movie show times, over what food to eat
Over where to go, over why a dream won’t ever be real.

Talking to the phantom who brought along stories of his own
He’d ask me to stay, but I’d unwillingly have to go back to my reality.
Sharing the last bit of absinthe conspiratorially with a long-lost partner in crime
Playing with dainty raindrop beads on the balcony railing
While singing out aloud a tune that friends loved to hear me sing
Among thoughts that made sense, thoughts that didn’t,
There were premonitions and scary omens
Pushed back into unheeded corners of my head as soon as they came.

Warmth in my heart on seeing my friends find love and companionship
The bittersweet bye-byes after every time we met, the hugs, the tears
And the promises to meet very soon again
The 4 am phone calls to make sure I was okay every time my heart broke
The other 4am calls to just tell me that they care, they are there
Still others that told me they were just missing me
And the indescribably cherished times we all shared.

Places, people, episodes, quotes, laughter, hugs and the random fight
All vividly painted in a collage of honest illusions that happened
As I close my eyes, they replay one by one, bringing back
A treasure trove of laughter, smiles and sometimes, uncontrollable guffaws
I hold them close, those bits of my life trying to fix something broken inside
Their warmth comforts my tired and drained core
The incompleteness forgotten, they lull me into a peaceful slumber

Life's Deceptions

Little drops of sadness, draining the mirth out of a forlorn heart;
Small meaningless sounds betray the sentiments wanting to tear apart.
Those few tender moments of covert contentment and long sighs
Spent in gently tracing the lines of something running deep inside.
It touches through the skin, the flesh and the claret flow of life,
Seeping into an unknown cold corner to light a gentle and inspiring glow
Warming and bathing in a mild glaze memories that were born.
With every touch a spark, every breath a sigh, every word a caress,
Melting the stony faithless skeptic into a breathing believer of happy existence.
Tricks to deceive gullible souls looking for the chance of finding love,
Played by a sick sadistic force treating itself on cries of loss, fear and barrenness-
There wins fate's machination over a humble spirit looking for nothing but company.
Left behind is only a carcass of a hopeful hazy illusion of what could have been.

Crossroads

I am at the Crossroads again
One dream lined route pulls me towards it with promises galore
My fate seems to be pushing me towards the bleaker, darker, lonelier path
'Twixt the pull and the push, I stagger, swagger, lose sight of where to go

My eyes play tricks on me, deceiving me with nightmares
Groping about on slimy loveless labyrinthine walls in pitch blackness,
My eyes play tricks on me, treating me to delightful fancies
Holding hands and staring blissfully at the clouds in our outspoken silences

My heart, still beeking in the sunshine of Utopian amour
Skipping a beat now, and pulsating then with wild tribal rhythms
I shake myself out of the reverie, sigh, and try to choose from what's before me
Oh the pull and the push! you are the cause of all this misery

As this air of hopelessness hangs low
I only wish for a tide of my fulfilled wish to wash over
My spirit wants to fight the unfairness of it
But all I can do now is succumb and wait for destiny to take a call.

Sinfully Yours.

In the very ordinary human life I have lived for my 28 years, I have felt, said and done a lot of things considered radical and not-so-ordinary for the people around me. I wouldn’t say all of these people matter. But some of them do, and very rightfully so, whether by me giving them that status in my life, or by virtue of my birth.

I do not call my life ordinary because it has been uneventful. It has been extremely eventful, more so, in the recent past – to the extent of providing a plot for a thrilling and super-racy bestseller. I call my life ordinary because like most other human beings, I have played with and been played by the seven deadly sins, as they’re very famously or infamously known.

I don’t know if this makes me a lesser mortal. I am certain that what follows is not a confession to help me go to heaven. I am also dead sure that this is not to tell anyone about my clandestine affairs with these vices and the pleasures these have given to me. Factors beyond my control have taken charge of the way I should live my life, and in retrospect, I want to know how these relationships have shaped me and the way I conduct myself.

I was always easily angered. I learnt to control it as I grew up and began realizing that it affects my close ones more than it does me. Over episodes of exercising control in the worst of situations and learning to use breathing techniques and humour to sidestep getting my mind passionately entwined with WRATH’s twisted and sadistic form, I can safely say, I have moved on. There are recalls, and they’re not pretty. But WRATH is like a drug, injecting itself into my system sometimes, to haunt me, to make me do things I don’t want to do, and to make love to my destructive alter ego, making it blossom like a parasitic thornbush… poisoning me, making me bleed inside. The sting of the pricks hurting for long after it is gone.

GREED for success in whatever I do. The ethicality of the means and the ends both matter to me. And in this case, my sense of ethicality is quite dictated by general world views of what’s right and what’s not. Cheating during exams, bribing, sabotaging of another’s efforts are just a few no-no’s for a self-respecting a person to accept anything she doesn’t deserve. GREED for more… Knowledge, love, money, respect and all the good things in life. But all of it earned, not snatched or demanded. GREED drives me. Call it ambitiousness, call it madness or call it a personality flaw, GREED drives all of us. I think my longest and most fruitful affair has been with GREED, bringing out the best in me, driving me to get ahead.

It’s close cousin, ENVY lies dormant in me, waking up shaken and agitated only when I am worried about losing what’s dear to me. Invidiousness has never been a problem for me, for coveting what rightfully belongs to another is not something that comes to me easily, or even with effort. It would only lead to discontentment and unhappiness. I’d much rather earn what I deserve. For if I have that ability, I deserve better and I know I will own it someday.

As much as I have tried to love SLOTH, it has never managed to make me feel as loved in its lazy hold, often leaving me alone and lonely on dark nights, while it has gone on to seduce the world around me, into peaceful slumber. Its touch has left me fitfully aware of my sometime over imaginative, sometimes intuitive sub conscious. SLOTH and I share a love-hate bond, with each trying to smugly outdo the other, playfully running away from each other, while yearning for each other.

My best friend through thick and thin, my closest aide at all times, food for comfort, food for joy, food to feel at my best, food to sustain me, food to thrill me, to tell me about places I haven’t set foot on, food to heal… I love GLUTTONY. Looked down upon by my gender, laughed at by most as a weakness, food is my route out of any problem, and into a whirl of some satisfying emotion. And I do not hesitate in admitting so. The tastes, the flavours and the aromas play wickedly with my senses and entice me into living in pleasurable sin forever.

So what do I say about LUST? A word that scares the conformists away, makes the traditionalists cringe and has lately become the standard one word definition of immorality. I LUST– for life, one without rules that tie me down. I LUST – for love, pure and pristine. I LUST - for a lover who will love with for who I am. I LUST – for knowledge of all that eludes me. I LUST – for peace, of my mind and in my world. I LUST – for comfort in the truth that my life is for me to live. My self-indulgence may be sacrilege but I revel in it. Living with LUST is heady. It’s intoxicating and it is addictive. For now, no matter how much I try to go back into the problem free days of abstinence, LUST pulls me back into today, with more push than ever, to strive for a life free of conventions.

In loving and hating all these alter egos, I definitely have not forgotten my love for myself. VANITY has kept me sane. VANITY has let me decide how to treat my other six aberrant dimensions. To have me look good in front of others, but definitely not to deceive; to know that I am right, although not by putting someone else down; and to keeping outdoing myself, only to keep myself ranking highest and the best in my own eyes is my VANITY taking charge of my life. And how it has dictated my life’s decisions! My silences, my speeches, my actions have all been slaves to my VANITY. The only times it has lost is when I have forgiven the wrongs done unto me by the loves of my lives. But now, like a deeply bound, but wounded soul sister, it has reasserted itself, speaking for itself and protecting our honour, whenever I begin to stumble to forgive all those who have hurt it. Ours is a respectful and respectable liaison, bordering on blind reverence. My deepest relationship yet.

The seven sins and my interactions with them define me and they have created my identity. The varying degrees of our interplay with them form our characters, making each one of us different from the other. Had we all been the truly “pious” sorts, we’d all have been mirror images, rendering the world predictable and lacklustre. Dharma, religion and spirituality should lead the way, but allow for pragmatic means of drawing inferences. I am again not claiming to be an authority on the subject; far from it. This is just my supposition in a world where I am the lord of me.

I grew up being told I am free
I grew up being told I have to choose for myself
I grew up being told I am responsible
No wonder I grew up with misunderstandings, and being misunderstood

Day in and day out, as I make my life’s choices
I struggle to understand what is more desirable
To do what I would like to be seen doing
Or that that I would like to see myself do

My coterie defines me, is my identity, I am told
Oh my life has become such a reprehensible charade
As I shamelessly flit in and out of roles I am born into
As I shamefully admit to myself my dual existence

An uncanny paradox is my story
For among the numerous characters inside me
And the various people outside I aim to keep pleasing
A loneliness still engulfs me, closing in on me more by the moment

I panic, I splatter and sputter, coming up for air
Only to be pushed beneath that overpowering surface of artifice
By the doppelgangers who have gradually taken over my life
Sucking up to everything I hold dear

I cling to that fundamental part of me; the tenacity clawing into my flesh
Tearing the sinew and bruising my heart and mind, body and soul
The frightened two-faced visage retreats into its once naïve, vivacious shell
To lie forever in bloody filth… scarred by its self-inflicted deceptions

And Then She Said, "Bye Bye"

Is it a bruise I see? Or just an evil shadow cast on her face? She smiles as I wish to touch her to know what that dark aura is about. I reach out, touch her pale alabaster face. It feels cold and she flinches not. I poke and prod, but all she does is sneer unfeelingly and all I do is feel smooth indifference

She seems familiar though, some one I used to know... But the eyes had love in them. The lips had curved in warmth then. The hands had always reached out to help sincerely. The heartfelt words and tender embraces had healed numerous broken hearts, mended minds maimed by misunderstandings, warded away despair and soothed pained bosoms.

She no longer seems the same. I try to find her, but she is lost in the maze of betrayal. Her thoughts made sense only to her. Her life made sense only to her. To confirm and to believe she wanted, only to her ideals. But her ideals were not meant for the people who made her world. She searched for that soul who would know her, love her and be hers for who she was. All she found were illusions of understanding and of love. Her heart broken and trampled upon innumerable times, what defines her now is cynicism, sarcasm and satire.

She is now the hardened by the expectations that others use to define her, yet she wants to be vulnerable. She defines herself with her rigid beliefs that she would willingly soften for a little understanding and respect for who she is. She wishes for dreams to come true in a world that seems too practical and set in logical equations for "Give and take" doesn't really define her relationships.

Just as it strikes me who I am looking at, the stony facade drops just that little bit and I catch a glimpse of sadness. But before I can ask her to stay, she hurriedly leaves and I lose sight of my soul, buried deep under expectations, conventions and societal norms. All that remains is the pale, unflinching, unfeeling, sneering cold visage.

Seduced by the Rains

As the gusts of winds, smelling of moist deccan soil fill my senses, and the pitter-patter of rain hits my face with loving stings, I see my hand outstretched to hold that elusive beauty, but see the raindrops trickle down my palm and fall off my fingertips. The sensuous chill make the goose bumps on my arm tingle that wee bit more. The songs of Shaan and Mohit Chauhan make my heart skip those couple of beats. But just then the low growling thunder sounds like it is imitating and laughingly mocking my heart that is drumming with the beats of the rain. The feel of the soft carpet of gulmohar petals on the balcony floor created by the messy and impish wind takes my breath away.

The whole experience is playing havoc with every pore of my being. I feel that smile gradually pulling the corners of my lips wider. I feel the tickle as the drops of water teasingly and very slowly move along the length of my arm. I feel the warmth of an unbelievably loving emotion inside me despite the coolness of the rain and the wanton breeze. I feel thankful for being able to be part of this spectacle when nature decides to be at its playful best. I feel elated, for absolutely no reason. I feel somewhat wild for standing in the rain with open arms, facing the sky, and my eyes closed. It’s about soaking in the experience with reckless abandon. The heart takes over reason and logic and the world seems a better place cleansed of all evils!

But Now I Cry, I Wonder Why?

It happened suddenly, and then it happened over time;
That extraordinary magic was beginning to wind.
Hopeful eyes spoke volumes of the softness of the heart
And our smiles shyly touched the other’s mind

It was meant to be, I beamed when I thought
Nights of sleep were in a happy frenzy lost
The sky was azure; I was in love I was sure
But now I cry, I wonder why?

Staring at the dazzling moon on cloudless nights
Filled my heart with a resplendent faith.
In my secret world I saw us enclosed in togetherness
There was nothing there that could shatter my soul

Life will be good, I told myself
I fought all fears, overcame all dreads
The nights’ silver clouds were a perfect home
But now I cry, I wonder why?


The playful raindrops drew me pictures of sparkling verve
Drenched in ecstasy my steps were bolder, assured, in love,
The ardour was tingly and lingered on for long after
Little moments made life my worthwhile

My smiles grew wider, full of conviction
The feelings out of their shell
Exploding with joyous sensitivity, thrill, delight
But now I cry, I wonder why?

I was hoping for a beginning, but then it ended.
My confidence faltered as I lost it all
It cost my heart many tiny furtive tears
The warmth of love was now unfeeling bitter despair

Sincerity I said mattered most.
It did but not without trust
Shadows blocked every happy thing
I did cry. No wonder why.

Precious vivid memories in black and white
Safely tucked away into that private chapter of my life
With no regret I try to walk on alone
My tears are dry. I cannot cry.

The Devil Wears My Skin

I just finished reading The Devil Wears Prada, a well-known chick lit made even more famous because of the well received movie that goes by the same name. For those who came in late, the “devil” in the book’s title alludes to one of the main characters, Miranda Priestly, again inspired by Editor-in-Chief of Vogue magazine, Anna Wintour. What had made me like the movie was Meryl Streep as Miranda, and while her rendition of the character lent it layers and dimensions as compared to the solely evil description in the book. In fact, I was so taken by her performance that every act, gesture, the raising of the eyebrow and dialogue that Miranda had in the book had me picture Meryl doing it, with her unreadable face, trademark white hair and classy timeless attire – all in place.

I kept turning page after page to see Andy slaving away to Miranda’s unreasonable demands, only because I wanted to know how she calls the whole thing off. The happiest place in the book for me was when Andy publicly tells her boss to “F*** off” and walks away. I have been thinking ever since of all the times I have heard friends talk about giving in to what their bosses demand, however incredulous. I also thought about the times I had to keep quiet and quietly do what I was told to do. There have been times like them, even though my boss was a great friend and guide when it came to our personal interactions, but in the professional arena, things weren’t so great.

We pass out of college with big dreams and aspirations, and two weeks into a promised job or internship, we might as well check the soles of our shoes to see how badly we’ve managed to stomp over our own big ideas. Agreed that we have to do the “picking up the tricks of the trade” bit first, but we are dismissed in a manner that crushes all sense of self-pride and puts us on the lowest rung on the ladder of our morale.

How many times have we bowed over to accommodate requests that take over our personal lives, our personal time and space? How many of us can boast of not having to spend extra hours after work, trying to meet deadlines that our managers set very unrealistically or just to please his boss? How many times have we heard disparaging comments that are hurtful and demeaning, but kept mum to avoid a bad performance rating or losing the job? Honestly, just when did we start believing that our jobs are more important than our self respect? The very thing for which we get into a job – a earn money and gain respect in the society (as if that is the only yardstick by which one’s respectability quotient can be measured!)

It is not that all bosses and organisational leaders are the same. There are many who command that respect by virtue of being good human being who understand human needs and limitations and their need to be loved and respected. But when I was told by my boss that she saw a lot of her in me, I decided I needed a different perspective in live – simply to grow in another direction. I did not want to be as hated as she was. I’d want people to mean if they ever complimented me and I’d want people to give me feedback without the fear of being gotten back at during annual promotions.

We crib and crib and crib. And just today what I known all this while, has put itself into words for me to write down here: we often do not take decisions based on what will make us happy. We take the easy way out. We choose the easier way to make money by not risking our own capital, skills, talents… We choose to live the banal existence that pushes us to endure new heights of humiliation every day… We to choose to let others subjectively objectify our skills and abilities and grade us based on what work is given to us, and not what we would like to do….

So basically, aren’t we letting the devil take over?

Mother's Day

Neil looked at his watch again. He was almost late for the lunch meeting with his client. It was a Sunday, and his client lived in the other corner of the city, but who cared about these miniscule details any more? It was all about keeping clients happy so that they feed money to the corporation you work for to grow larger and pay you more so that you could slog more without complaining.

A short distance away, Neil saw a billboard wishing all mothers in the city a happy mothers’ day. Neil cursed himself for forgetting it and decided that since he couldn’t be sure of meeting her today, he would send her some flowers. He stopped at a flower shop to place an order for a bouquet of lilies to be sent to his mother who lived in the town two hundred miles away.

As he got out of his car he noticed a young girl sitting on the pavement sobbing. Neil asked her what was wrong and she replied, "I wanted to buy a red rose for my mother. But I only have seventy-five cents, and a rose costs two dollars. Neil, ready to do anything to assuage his heart of guilt over not meeting his mother on this special day, smiled and said, "Come in with me. I'll buy you a rose."

He bought the little girl her rose and ordered flowers for his own mother. As they were leaving, he offered the girl a ride home. She said, "Yes, please! You can take me to my mother." She directed him along a beautiful road lined by green trees and white picket fences beyond which lay hundreds of graves with marble tombstones. They reached the gate of the cemetery. She promptly got out of the car, ran into the cemetery and tenderly placed the rose on a freshly dug grave, so as to not hurt her mother.

Neil looked on with surprise. He felt ashamed for prioritizing his job over his mother, the woman who had made him what he was today. He stroked the girl’s head, turned back and returned to the flower shop. He canceled his order, picked up a bouquet and drove the two hundred miles to his mother’s house to tell her how much he loved her.

Autopsy of a broken heart

One day I killed a heart and invited my love specialist friends to perform a post-mortem. I stood over the heart, which was kept on a plate, smiling with mirth and euphoric over my victory. I ripped it open with a knife and all of us bent over it to know – what all a lover's heart contains? All of us had wished that someone dies for us but I was the first to make a heart die for me. What a prized possession it was! Believe me, the joy of having a lover to trample over his feelings, to kill emotionally – inch by inch and to know someone is completely at your disposal, is unparalleled. Call it the vanity of the beloved or whatever but it gives such a high to kill a heart.

I killed that particular heart easily. I kept my eyes open to see, who's the most vulnerable and reliable of the lot and went for the kill. When I saw her coming under my spell, I started ignoring her. It perplexed her and she started pursuing me with all her might. One moment I smiled at her, the other moment I smiled at her rival. I took all favours from her as my right, made her run errands for me, mocked her inability to fulfil my wishes, threw tantrums when it was beyond her means to fulfill those dainty desires. When I saw her completely in my power, I knew it was the time to murder her. I did nothing much, just smiled sweetly and bid 'adieu', stating that I am seeing someone else. That finished her and that's how her heart landed on the plate for a post-mortem. Well, the dissection began. The heart was of a peculiar quality, it was as soft as a new-born babe. I did not dare touch it again with knife. As we stooped to examine the contents, we were too stunned to speak. It was so rich – full of beautiful memories. Like a video-clipping it showed memories of yore. There were so many moments I had seen, but not lived.

It showed the day I first met her, shy and sweet with fluttering lashes. It showed her anger and retort, when others called me a flirt. It showed me her loving care, when I caught cold and sneezed. It showed me, her anticipation of my wants and his attempts to fulfil it beforehand. I saw her preserving those ugly gifts I tossed at her from time-to-time in the name of love. I saw her holding on to my hanky and crying at the time when I had called her names and quarrelled for the first time. I saw her, waiting endlessly for me on chilling nights, when I had chosen to ignore her and hang out with other friends. I saw her, insecure, silent, pathetic, completely at my disposal – a victim of my love game. I saw her gazing at my face for a smile, for approval, for love and what she got was selfish affection. I saw her wincing, her confidence failing, whenever I angrily called her a failure, a stupid loser. The heart showed me her gradual ruin when I shunned her – her lost faith in herself and went into depression. she faltered in studies and became an all-round failure, but one thing revived her even on her deathbed – my name. She would whisper my name in her dreams, sigh and wait for me always.

The day I said I would never come back to her – she died but with smile on her lips and with the hope that I will come back. Something like a tear fell from my eyes on remembering that hollow-eyed familiar face as the heart played another masterpiece - a sweet-sad love symphony. There was also a little love note for me, which said, "Kill me but my love for you will never die." The note was tear-stained. There were other masterpieces also but I could not bear to see them, as my heart was dying. Agitated and guilty, I brutally cut her heart into pieces. But what oozed out was love, love and more love. My friends deserted me on seeing me frenzied and called me a love-maniac. I was left alone with nothing but a dead heart for company. The heart that died painfully was mine; her heart revived and lived, sustained by my tears and memories. I lost all.

Love, Lost? ...or Found?

Why did you promise me the world?
When all you could give me were a few charming dreams
Some which were fated to see light of the day,
Whilst others that were doomed to drown in the oceans with the setting sun...

Why is it that the heart desires all or nothing?
A deceitful predicament that shall shatter my being in any case
You can't have it all, so the pain comes in much later (and stronger)
Or, you have nothing, and you live with regrets...

Why the guilt if you smile in times of pain?
Why is the world sometimes bleak despite the shiny sun
And the twinkling stars that have never lost their luminiscence?
A soft sigh to break your heart,
Or a smarting quote to make your heart writhe in miserable torture...

The one that loves you most, hurts you most.
But why feel the hurt if you love?
Questions galore and answers none,
A riddle called life destined to run
Through rain, wind, snow and sun -
You find your soul and the race is won.

The Truth Can Kill You

Ever wondered why it is so difficult to handle the truth?

Why is it so important for me to live up to expectaions and yet have none? I am human too, and in expectations from myself and the people I choose, I find it perfectly humane to be able to do so.... give and take, the basis of all relationships, professional... and PERSONAL. Why is love called unconditional, when it is not?

It kills me bit by bit every single time I have to face the truth that nothing is mine to stake a claim on - no material object, no intangible feeling, no relationship. And yet, I make the same mistake over and over... of wanting to hear what I want to hear, or of wanting people to accept me as I am, and for them to do what would be considered as "understanding me".

I have often said, "I am the way I am, and it is up to the other person to accept me or not". Too bad, I so want certain people to accept me, and I am wiling to go to lengths to mould myself in any which manner possible to gain weightage in the eyes of my near and dear ones. And guess what, intentionaly, or unintentinally, I am rejected. I go and dwell in self depreciation and a feeling of utter dejection till I am on the verge of losing the very last ounce of my sanity.

Right now, I am under the influence of one such heartfelt loss. It makes me think of all those beautiful yesterdays full of unspoken promises, dreams of a perfect and happy world, and a satisfied soul juxtaposed with a sense of a hauntingly sonorous and echoing emptiness, my hands trying desperately to grab and hold on to the virtuality of the past, but groping about failingly to only find real emptiness and a complete sense of loss.

I am lost. So lost... My expectations had laid a part of the foundations of the years to come, but I keep forgetting, fairytales don't come true. They are just dreams. There are no "...happily ever afters". And when the foundations are imaginary, what do I build my future on???

Spoken arrows, Dying butterflies

I don't know where I picked up this trait from? The one that pushes people I love far away from me and the sincerest and truest apologies that I have to offer afterwards hold no meaning. The hurt is done. An arrow once shot can never be brought back. This particular trait of mine makes me go through bouts of depression, because I know I have caused tremendous pain to a loved one for no fault of his / hers. Everytime, I decide it has to stop at any cost, and all I come up with, are more such knives slicing hearts savagely. Makes me feel no less than a psychopathic cannibal.

I have this strange urge to have the final say in everything - insane argument, sane debate, fun interaction, lazy friendly banter, leg-pulling, professional discussion. I have this weird need to be "heard". I am loud, brash and extremely hurtful when I have to prove a point. And trust me, the problem has lately been growing to a level that makes it extremely uncomfortable for me. And I firmly believe it has something to do with a strange sense of insecurity. Not the type that makes me doubt anything or anyone, but the sort that has me fearing the loss of something extremely valuable to me. Something that'll break my heart into a zillion pieces if I don't keep it close enough to me and just let it go away.

I have heard of setting butterflies free and knowing they are meant to be yours if they come back to you. I have done that a few times before, and at the most important juncture in my life, the prettiest and and the most dazzling butterfly came back into my life, filling it with the most vibrant colours and swirling the shades of positivity, imagination, hope and cheer into fervent action. It is the most special feeling I ever felt. But right now, I am scared of losing that beautiful palette to anything else. It's my dream painted across the horizon. It's the most special thing I ever had. It's close enough for you to touch, you think, but you're always too far away. And only I see its significance for me. Maybe you'll see it someday too, but just not exactly the way I see it for me. It's something only I possess. It's mine and I'm guarding it with all my life.

The guarding aspect of it is what stifling the poor butterfly. The same one that filled my mundane life with those bright hues. I am guarding it way too closely, curbing its movement and killing its spontaenity and its ability to fly around me to surround me with all the strength in the world. I am killing it in trying to save it. I am killing myself.

All I am trying to teach my scared, timid heart is, give space, and let your happiness grow. Open up and make the world your cosy nest, just like that special butterfly in your life is telling you to. It'll have to come back to you if your arms are the world. Just wait patiently. Sometimes, it takes more than ten years to get what you've desired all your life for.

Woman

Have you known her ever?
She, who is of clean mind
And pure heart.
She, who when loved
Loves back in her entirety.
But when challenged
She, personifies the determination
To fight, to exist, to prove herself.
She, whose instinctive nature
Is to nurture
To pass into new hands
The myths, legends, tales, rites
Of aeons ago.
And to show the vision
Of a new and brighter tomorrow.
Of an earth that is free of vices,
Of demons and devils
That strangle freedom
She, who breathes and believes
In the vast treasures of her powers
The power to believe, trust and have faith
In herself and others
In the darkest, lowest hours of life.
The power to face the challenge everyday
To prove herself in a world
Which is lost to her.
A world which breeds and is bred by
Those seeking to rule over the other human.
The power to love, when pained
The power to willingly lose,
Yet not be trapped
By the greed of worthless material gain.
She, is the epitome of patience, passion and persistence.
She, is the one who sees the world
With a new sight everyday.
She spreads lights and colours
As bright as the blossoms in May.
To care, to love, to nurture, to cherish,
She, steps into this world.
Seek and search to find her.
She, is the Woman

What I have learnt the hard way

Not a crime if you want to be different.

Not abnormal if you do what your heart tells you to do.

More to life than talking about things of common sense in a manner which sounds like I have nothing better to do than memorise a thesaurus.

Simplicity – the key to a fun life, loving the simple things in life.

Life is not all about power point presentations, business suits and graphs and statistics. It is neither all about movies, friends and adventure trips. Balance… so easy to talk about and so hard to find. Not claiming that I have found it, but yes, understood its importance.

Experimentation. Crucial to find smarter ways of doing things. Managing a group without a leader. I was a member of a group selling “unconventional” NGO products and still made a considerable profit.

Authority. Not to be scared of. But to be treated with responsibility and respect.

Can be friends with anyone, irrespective of similarities and differences. May not be friends but still can have mutual respect for each other. Need not be rivals to be on different sides of an argument.

Nothing more satisfying than a warm hug from a friend in times of joy or moments of extreme sadness.

Nothing more calming than a patient listener during phases of exasperation and frustration. Giving advices to friends is easy, but one in trouble really appreciates is a listener, not someone who plays agony aunt by jumping to conclusions and giving ready made solutions.

Nothing more exhilarating than being genuinely happy in a friend’s achievement.

Do not take your talents for granted. Absorb from people and situations. Small things that you pick up always help. You may never be able to put these learnings on paper, but that’s ok. There will be times when people will disagree with you, but that’s ok. The fun is not in getting people to agree with you, but in gathering more perspectives and broadening your horizon of thoughts, even though you may not agree.

There is no reason to justify all your actions. There is no real way of labeling something moral or immoral, ethical or unethical, good or bad. It’s all just so subjective.

Actions do speak louder than words. But words can be more scathing than an act of hatred.
To be able to listen without being judgmental is a rare quality. To be able to develop this quality, one has to be a part of groups; not only for academic purposes, but also personally.

Classroom sessions are not the only times when you learn. You learn every moment. But what each one learns is so different from what all the others do.

I am one of those who often thinks India has no future as long as its corrupt people live by their own rules. But at the same time, I can’t help but feel proud as an Indian. Like in life I have my bouts of joys and sorrows, my feelings for my mother land oscillate between disappointment and unadulterated benevolence. What happened to the murderer of Jessica Lall is what should have happened about a year back, but as they say, better late than never.

The power of public opinion and protest is not to be questioned. Just observing how the media and we, the people got together to demand for the justice that Jessica deserved, highlighted a new angle of the psyche of the ordinary Indian. It reminds me of a song…”Hum logon ko samajh sako to samjho dilbar jaani, Jitna bhi tum samjhoge utni hogi hairaani..”

We may be backward. Lies, bribes, hypocrisy and filthy social habits may have put us on the world map as a “Developing nation”, but, at the same time, Jessica’s murder case has reaffirmed our place as the world’s largest democracy. The sad part is that Jessica is no more to see it happen.

But, do we need such costly examples to check the authenticity of our Constitution?

Being Me.

22nd day in my first job. Wonderful so far. People are great and supportive. I seem to have the right work/life balance (but, too soon to make such statements…right?) Except for one small problem…

I am a member of a networking site, where a few of my company people have formed a community of sorts. Since I received an invitation to join in, I did. This community also has some people who have left the company for some time now; reasons for which – I do not know.

It all started with nice welcome messages and introduction. Then the ex-employees began sending me vague messages about the company being not a very good place to be in. About the company doesn’t pay too well compared to most other upcoming firms (read-IT/ ITES/ BPO/ Consulting Houses. Our company doesn’t even remotely compete with such organizations!). I got the feeling that he wanted to reaffirm his ill-faith about the company by listening to me say something on similar lines. I could shut him up then, but I know he will try it with others too.

I don’t know why people try to be “guardian angels” for others. They try to come forward, without being asked to, and want to sway our perceptions towards a certain side, one where they would like to create a strong hold for themselves, be leaders of a group that’s anti-something. That, for many, seems to fulfill their power motive. Leaders of thought, however meaningless and unimportant – any day more powerful than leaders in physical force.

I only asked him to let me have the time to form my own opinion about the company. I did not want to be influenced by what others faced here. Experiences shape our perceptions, but I feel, it also happens the other way round. Our existing perceptions also shape our experiences. If I base my perception of my work place on what my “well-wishers” have to say, my experience will not be good, for I shall start seeing everything in a poor light. All attempts of the company to make me feel welcome would be seen as fattening the goat before devouring it.

I am not saying that these “well-wishers” were trying to turn me anti-my company. Maybe they are trying to help me. But, no thanks! I’ll ask for help when I need it. The least I can do to remain myself, is to have my own experiences and judgments backing my decisions and opinions, for life. And there lies the need to be objective.

I try to feel love in everything I do. When I wake up every morning, I feel love for all the people I know (unless I am in a really crappy mood 'cos of something bad that happened the previous day, and don't know who to blame; rare though). I take every new day as it comes. I believe, loving others has a lot to do with being able to love oneself. Loving oneself doesn't mean being a narcissist (standing in front of the mirror and admiring self). It's being in sync with who I am, being aware of myself, my qualities, talents, my abilities and being perfectly happy with them. Once, I love myself, I can love others. Once I love others, the world is a more beautiful place to live in.

For all those who are wary of love, I might as well say one thing. Giving up on love and giving up on life is not what one should do to live a life free from heartbreaks. Making one's existence vegetable like is not the right thing to do. Life has a lot more to offer than a couple of broken relationships. Wallowing in self-pity is just not done. Introspection is important, but giving up is not. It is one life. Rather than living an eternity being wary of love, one should feel it, experience it and love being in love.