The she waits for....

I ran as hard as I could, zipping by small lanes and little shops, where I usually stop for a chat, but not today. Today is special. Father said that I won’t have to go to school after today; the only thing he has ever said in my favour. I don’t understand why I went there in the first place when all I wanted was to be like mother, cook at home and take care of kids. That’s the only thing I wanted to do because I am exactly like her. Not like father. Not even a little bit. He beats mum every night. I hear her cry from the thin walls of her room. Why doesn’t my brother seem to care? Perhaps he is like father. or perhaps he will beat me one day. Today is special for another worthwhile reason. I will get married today. I am ecstatic. Mother is crying, but I don’t understand why. I look so pretty like a bride, the henna in my hand and a read veil on my head just gave me frightful sums of joy. Mother should be happy for me, shouldn’t she? I asked her how I look, but all she was worried about was that I will leave her and go. That was the first time it hit me, marriage doesn’t only mean “no more school”, but also means that I will go away from home; from mother. Just as I start to panic, father walked in and gave me a stare, told me to keep quiet. He seemed cross, reminded me that I was a big girl now – twelve years old and I was crying like a baby. I need to get married and take care of an entire house, just like mother. I was born to do that. That somehow calms me down. That was enough for me. I will be doing what she does. Perhaps I could visit her every day? My new home won’t be too far of course. I was excited again. Now I wanted to see who the boy was. I hoped against all hope that he should not turn out to be like father, or even brother. Actually I just had a tingling confidence that he won’t be. I was happy, probably for the last time. But how could I know it then? I am not sure if I would have done anything differently if I knew. I don’t think I would have been allowed to even if I did, even if I wanted to. Zaheer, my husband, was much older; probably father’s age. Apparently he was the best suitor, as he paid the most money. He didn’t love me, beat me and raped me every night. I was only allowed to go home to my mother only once a month. Sometimes she would see marks on my face and ask what happened. I would lie that I fell down, but she knew better than that. I got pregnant with my first child by the time I was 14, he seemed pleased with me. He stopped hitting me after getting drunk, used to sleep right after coming home. He even got me new bangles. I thought life was finally taking a turn for the good, but God had other plans. Soon after the happy news I had a miscarriage. It wasn’t my fault. I don’t even know how it happened and why. I lost a lot of blood and fainted; when I woke up he was next to me. I wanted to hug him and cry. But he beat me. I begged him, he won’t hear of it. I told him I didn’t do anything wrong but... I wasn’t allowed to go home for the next two months, I was sad but I never complained. I always wondered why was I born a girl, or if I was a boy had I done the same? I am not sure anymore, maybe that’s how they are. I was pregnant again and after 9 months I gave birth to a baby girl. I was confident that Zaheer would be happy. But he wanted a boy; I did understand why so I didn’t complain. I hoped it was a boy too. I didn’t want her to suffer but “that was the way it was,” as my dad said. “Girls are born for this; they have no say in the matter”. They can’t help it! I wish I could... After two other girls, one day Zaheer came home with another 12 year old girl. He said she is his wife. I was devastated. I was 25 now, I did not understand why. I couldn’t ask, because I was a girl and hence am not allowed to question my husband’s decisions. “He is not wrong” I said to myself, I was at fault somewhere. I was a wife, I should have been jealous of my husband’s new wife, but all I could feel was pity, I felt bad for the innocent girl and wanted to help her out in some way. But I was just a girl, I wish I could help...

Trespassing Sunlight

She tossed and turned in her bed, wrestling with discomfort. She had been having these nightmares for a long time… as long as she could remember. The bed that she was tied down to had the softest mattress, like it was made of clouds. She never got to see anything around her because of the dim lighting in the enclosed room. The suspense killed her. She felt deaf, not able to register the sound that was her screaming from the deepest of her gut. She felt cold air slice through her hair when she heard something steely behind her. A door opened. There was nothing she could do or say, time slowed down and a few arms appeared on each side of her. She craned her neck to see the arms were attached to two women, whom she had never seen before. Their faces were stiff as stone, and hands grabbed her, hurting her wrists. Then she felt a prick, or was it a stab? The pain was too much to bear. Pain gradually started to spread; one prick became ten, and then a hundred, then a thousand. A thousand pricks – she was drenched in her own sweat as her eyelids felt heavier and heavier. She saw a faint image of the women again. They were smiling now. She knew she was dying. She woke up with a start. “Late again” she mumbled, distraught, as she got out of bed and got ready for work. As every day, from the day since she could possibly recall, her life was too monotonous. Like clockwork. Every morning led to her rush to the bathroom, then the kitchen and then off to work. She cursed herself for never getting up to the alarm, and had to hatefully thank those stupid heart-sinking nightmares The process was so steady now that she lost track of the unanimous times she spent as a child when she savoured a cold shower in warm mornings, or the delicious sandwiches her mother used to make her before she left for school. She clearly remembered the smiley faces her mother used to make on those sandwiches with ketchup. She found those smiley faces every morning in her kitchen on her sandwiches even today. She gobbled it up knowing breakfast will only slow her down as she walked out of her apartment. The commute was rather a blur. She was only setting down her cup on her table when she heard his voice behind her cubicle’s pale walls. He was the only reason she came to work. He was tall and dark and simply… dreamy. Normal people wouldn’t find him too attractive, but Meera was smitten by everything about him. “Late again,” he said and winked at her. She blushed. She knew he was married, but she knew he loved her as much as she loved him, or even more. Everything about him was so perfect; she thought to herself. She felt lucky to have him. She had given him every possible subtle hint about her feelings for him, but his response never went any deeper in emotion than a flirtatious comment. Her friends had told her to move on, but she was convinced that he was just shy. She was madly in love with him. She worked till late like most days, usually waiting to leave when he leaves. After a hectic day she offered him to go for a nice dinner to refresh their mood. He enjoyed her company also. This time she got really lucky, he invited her for dinner at a restaurant. They talked for hours together. Time faded away into the distance and visions of him telling her about his dog and the town where he grew up became a kaleidoscope of his faces in her eyes. She knew she was in love. Madly. He reached out his hand and held hers across the table. He smiled. He confessed. She knew so was he. The alarm rang. She was thoroughly disturbed, despite her long cheery memory of a previously beautiful day. She threw the alarm clock on the ground and it broke, but her sleep was disturbed. She popped in some more sleeping pills and felt the need to complete her dream, but to no avail. She wanted to hold his hand again. She wanted to kiss him again. Just like last night. But ever since she walked in her office today, he looked distracted and wouldn’t even tell what was wrong. She snatched an opportunity to talk in front of the water cooler. He talked about his wife, which made Meera angry. She didn’t know why he talked about her so much when he didn’t love her. Ajit told Meera how thankful he was to have a friend like her. She walked slowly back in a trance to her table. Since when did she get demoted? A friend? She thought she was more as she sat there digging her nails in her knuckles. After office she asked for some time alone with him and he obliged hesitantly. They went to a park nearby. The sun seemed, setting in front of them above tall, scaly trees. She told him that she loved him, and he felt the same for her. She reminded him about last night. She fought and tried to convince him. He had no idea what she was saying. And this time no kaleidoscope weaved into her vision. He tried to explain but she was throwing things at him. The situation went out of control and he left her there crying. She then got up and ran. Took a bus home. The commute was a blur. She reached home and made a mess of it. She kept hurting herself, pulling her hair and crying till she fell off her bed. She woke up with a start, but she sat there without moving a limb. She thought she needed rest, she thought she slept as she had a lot to drink last evening. She reached for the bottle at her bed side, not even caring to open her eyes. The bottle of whiskey tumbled and spilled over her carpet, but she ignored that. She knew nothing can calm her except the pills. It was because of them she could survive him being so rude, she was angry and in pain, not knowing she survived a whole week after their fight in the park. Her mother was in the other room, crying and explaining matters to her husband; she came rushing from their hometown as soon as Meera’s friends started to get worried about her. Meanwhile, Meera’s hands searched for the medicine when her mother appeared, crying and screaming. She knew she wanted to go back to sleep and didn’t really care why mom makes a big fuss about the pills – they were Magic. She popped in some more before her mother could stop her. She lay limp while her mother called the doctor. Her head spun from the smell of phenol which occupied the room. She rubbed her eyes in an attempt to see clearly. She was certain she was dreaming. The paint on the unfamiliar walls was dull and scrapped from most corners. A tall dark man appeared and with a smile he asked me if she was doing fine. Her first reaction was to ask in anxiety about what was happening to her? She sensed weakness, and felt as though cold air seeped into her skull. She grabbed the doctor’s arms and begged for some pills, then screamed, cried, and struggled when denied. She jumped out of bed but felt no life in her own limbs to keep her steady, and fell with a thud on the cold marble floor. Her fingers trembled as she tried to gather all her strength to crawl towards the door, crawl away from this nightmare. The stranger in the room tried to help her get up but she pushed his hands away with a yell. The doctor pressed a button on the wall, which was soon followed by more strangers coming up. The room started to shrink as more arms tried to grab on her, this time succeeding, and putting her back on her bed. But this time she could not jump right off, as if her limbs were chopped off. She glanced around herself incessantly in panic, only to realise that her arms and legs were there, but strapped. Then she felt a prick, or was it a stab? The pain was too much to bear. Pain gradually started to spread; one prick became ten, and then a hundred, then a thousand. A thousand pricks – she was drenched in her own sweat as her eyelids felt heavier and heavier. She saw a faint image of the strange man again. He was not smiling now. She knew she was dying. The room was quite again. Her shouts still echoed in her mind, which became sweet mumbles in the room with unfamiliar walls. No one said a word but they all knew she would never be cured again. She felt her lids to grow heavier by each breath, and then slowly opened her eyes again. She realised she was in the park again. Ajit was approaching her. Was he smiling? She turned her face away and crossed her arms with a fuss, although she knew moments later she would melt in his arms once he wooed her back. She stared straight at the sun, which set majestically over full-blossom trees, or was it rising? She preferred to see it rising. A new beginning. She fought the thoughts of more strangers and more unfamiliar and rude arms that were just around the corner somewhere in her world. She knew they will come back. But she would give everything to cherish what she had now, and she did. She was just mesmerised, by choice, to be a part of this broken dawn.

BROKEN RATTLES

Shh!! “Don’t make a noise. Let it come and we will catch it as soon as it comes near. If it runs towards you, you catch it, ok? Then we will play with it.” The squirrel went right through the middle and they both banged into each other. There was a huge gust of wind that blew into their faces. Laughing hysterically, they got up. The dust cleared and you could see two small boys so different yet so similar in their own ways. One of them was wearing a pair of lose pajamas, a long kurta on his young torso, while the other wore small shorts and a tee shirt. They both dusted the mud off their clothes as they got up giggling. They were best friends. They were even born the same day. They used to play together all day long. Krishna was from India and Mohammad was from Pakistan. They grew up seeing deaths due to bombing from both sides of the border. They had seen it so much that if for a month if they don’t hear the voices of weapons they felt uncomfortable. Different places or faiths didn’t matter to them. They had been there for each other forever, and will be they knew it. There were no schools left so their parents decided to teach them about the holy books in their own homes. The boys were still inseparable; they used to read about the Geeta in the morning and about the Quran in the evening. Like Muslims both of them used to commit their time to the Namaz five times a day and also pray to lord Ram and Krishna twice a day, in morning and evening. Whatever little time was left during the day they used to spend playing and climbing trees, if one got ill, the other one used to take care of him like a brother. They used to celebrate both Diwali and Eid together. Their parents were not best of friends; nonetheless they used to love both the kids. They used to play with ice when it used to snow and with sand when it was hot. Nothing could stop their free souls. One normal day, both of them got free from the morning prayers and a nice heavy breakfast. They went out to play in the sun and found an unusual ball to play with as they threw it to each other. They heard a loud noise, it was not from too far away, as the dust cleared they realized both their homes were burnt down and soon there were fire from both sides and soldiers managed to save both the kids, realizing they were from the two countries. Mohammad was taken by the Pakistani army and Krishna by the Indian. They grew up within both armies but never forgot each other. Now they were both successful army personnel’s fighting for their own country. They had till now learnt to hate the other country and had abuse them, killed many soldiers and had treated the bodies with disrespect. Today they stand in front of each other in the same place where they used to play together, now with guns facing each other. They both pictured of getting shot by the soldier in front, and die for their country. As they would die they would fall… even as their lives flashed past their eyes, they could only think of their childhood friend and wished long life for the friend they didn’t meet in a long time. As they die they wish they had a chance to meet their old friend once at least when they grew up. But no time was left. They came back to reality as a grenade blew up next to them… the two soldiers looked straight into each other’s eyes and aimed for each other’s hearts…

lip-stick story

Cursing his fate, he laid still on the slightly wet grass. It was the only time he was not judged. The dimly lit sky was calm and helped him fulfill all his inhibitions that were not acceptable to the world and will never be. He stood up scanned the place satisfactorily. Then opened his small bag pack took out a dupatta and the long hair wig which he stole from his mothers dresser. He tied the dupatta around his thin legs like a saree and placed the wig properly on his head. The night was beautiful; he hummed his favorite tune and started to sway. His long locks swayed with the wind, while he ran his hands every once in a while on his hair to make sure it doesn’t fall off. The people who knew him wouldn’t be shocked by this; it was just that no one actually knew him. Nobody understood what he felt and why.
Life was very confusing for Ranjan till the day he was told by his father that he was born a hermaphrodite. His father was a sarpanch of the village, everyone respected him. His pride would have suffered, so both his parents decided to have an operation and Ranjan would grow like a man. However, as he grew up, his female inside him wanted to be free. He once wore his mom’s necklace to the village mela, like his other girl-friends, and when he returned he was hit by a belt by his father while his mother cursed her fate to give birth to such a ‘thing’. He enjoyed sitting and gossiping more than playing with the boys. Everyone made fun of him. Girls dint want a guy around when they were talking, and he was very bad at cricket so the boys used to call her a girl. He used to stay at home and stare out of the window most of the time. At night, the only time he was not monitored, he used to sneak out of the house and put makeup like his mother sometimes wear her night gown and dance like a girl.
Ranjan was not allowed to attend the community school as he once borrowed a skirt from his female friends to try on and see how he looks. The news reached his father who freaked out and hit Ranjan with a stick between his legs to remind him he was no more a woman after the operation. Ranjan had a lot of questions to ask from everyone, but he knew all he would get is scolding and curses, but no answers. As he was grew further up, his chest started to take shape. On seeing this, his mother used to tie a big cloth around his chest, so tight that it used to hurt him. He used to cry in pain and begged her to loosen it a little, at least when he is in the house. But she was scared the maid might tell people around about their little secret. He was hitting puberty and his parents were scared that they wouldn’t be able to hide it for a long time.
It was a normal morning and Ranjan got up late. He felt sick and his stomach was aching badly. He went to take a bath and his mom tied the cloth around him as routine. He couldn’t eat much for breakfast, to which his parents thought he was just being difficult. They told him that they have done a favor on him to let them live with them. He knew his parents did not love him; they were just fulfilling a social obligation by keeping him with them. Ranjan felt tired and lied down for an afternoon nap hoping the pain would go away. It did indeed, but he never got up.
It was later diagnosed that the kid started his menstrual flow but the blood could not come out as the opening wasn’t there anymore due to the operation he had as a kid. The blood accumulated inside and the kid died due to complications. His funeral was quick in the morning. There was no crying in the house. By Nightfall, Ranjan’s parents started to discuss of having a new baby. They decided to adopt this time, avoiding the risk.

Flowers on a wreath

The sun was beaming right thought the cracks in the window. Mr. Sharma tried to open his eyes, but he was too tired to get up. He closed them again tight, pulled the sheets to his face and slept off again. His sleep was disturbed once again by the chitter-chatter of people and the banging of utensils. Irritated, he got up. It was an everyday story. Charu, their care-taker, just didn’t seem to understand that they need a lot of rest at their age. Nonetheless, she was a lovely girl and did everything to keep them all very happy. Mr. Sharma was looking forward to the day as it was special; it was their new home-mate’s birthday. She had been here for a month, but she had gotten along with everyone so well that they felt she had been there forever. The thought of her bought a smile to Sharmaji’s (as she calls him) wrinkled face. He leaned forward and with weary hands picked up his glasses and carefully put them on.
He got up to do his morning ritual, tea with friends and listening to the morning news. The news was very important today as they would know who won the India v/s Australia match last night. They couldn’t watch it till the end mainly because of their health. India lost again, sighed Sharma ji, Gupta ji also looked disappointed which he showed by slurping his tea even harder. They were then joined by the ladies who had been in the kitchen helping Mrs. Mishra who insisted at making dinner for everyone for her birthday. All other ladies wanted to help her but she persisted to make it with least help from them. The ladies chit-chatted for a while about the family soap they were watching these days and the men joined in. It was one thing that everyone in Anand Nivas did together; they watched the show from 7-8 after dinner every week from Monday to Friday. It helped to keep them occupied and there were no fights over channels at least for that one hour.
Mr. Sharma got up to go to the kitchen to keep his cup, as he picked up his stick to walk. He was a not a very short man but due to age his back had bent a little. Though he was old and weary, he was fitter than most men in the house. He was also the most respected one in the house and the one who maintained the entire budget. Whatever money that the children sent to their parents was kept with Sharmaji, and used to buy all the household groceries and medicines. Some of them have been there for a long time, the oldest was Anand-bhai, who was attaining his 90s and was bed ridden most of the time. People there used to cry and miss their homes, but Mr. Sharma had never cried. He was certain that he had done all he could for his son, who in turn returned back his gratitude by keeping him away from his new bungalow and sent him money to show how he misses his father. His son came to visit him once, but Mr. Sharma refused to meet him, and he never came back. But he was always empathetic towards others when they were upset.
Mrs. Mishra was in the kitchen cooking paneer and dal for everyone. She was a good cook and was taking care of the amount of oil and masala she puts so everyone can eat it. She was a short woman with orange brown hair, due to regular use of mehendi. She had milky white skin and big brown eyes. Everyone in the home thought that she would have been very pretty in her childhood, which when someone told her she blushed. Her wrinkled skin turning a little pink was still a treat to the eyes. She was sad today as it was the first time she was spending her birthday away from her house, the house that her husband made with his mediocre salary and hard work. She did not show her sadness to anyone fearing they might feel bad as well. She also missed her deceased husband today, but she was used to living without him by now, as it had been 18 years after his death. She wrote a diary entry every day, ever since she came in the welcoming refuge of Sharmaji’s “Ajar-Ghar”; they were basically daily letters addressed to Late Mr. Mishra. Sharmaji walked into the kitchen while she was still lost in thought, and he asks in an authoritative tone, “what is for dinner?” Mrs. Mishra smiled and in a polite tone says, “Find out yourself in the evening.”
The arrangement of cake, balloons and the gift was done by Sharmaji himself, everyone kept teasing him, and later tried to help him, but he wouldn’t listen. He knew she liked black-forest cake, he had asked her that a long time back. He remembered. He also remembered the face of her speechless son when he was asked the same question. However, he was most proud of the gift he had arranged for her: a shawl. He knew she would look nice in it. She came in the room in the evening while all old people were ready to surprise her. They chanted the birthday song to a surprised and wet-faced old lady smiling from ear-to-ear. She cut the cake and loved the shawl. She wore it the entire night. The food she cooked was amazing, everyone liked it. It reminded Sharmaji of his wife’s cooking. After the dinner, most of them went back to their rooms, but the rest sat there and chatted. Sharmaji and Mrs. Mishra went out and sat in the garden outside, while Sharmaji switched on his favorite tape recorder which had old Hindi songs. Both of them sat there talking and singing along with Rafi and Lata.
It was the first time in her ‘life’ that someone planned a surprise for her, ever since Mr. Mishra passed away… the word ‘life’ took a new meaning there for her… a meaning unknown to any human outside the little world in that house. I just can’t wait to write tonight’s letter, thought Mrs. Mishra as she smoothed her hands over the embroidered borders of her new shawl.

just another day

It was a bright sunny day. She wiped the sweat off her face. Just another Sunday… she switched on the TV to see the morning news. The same old stories… She thought to herself, to hear about rapes, murders and even scams right in the morning… made her sick. She moved on to a soap-channel… the same old series which she once liked, but today something made her feel cranky. She switched off, completely disgusted with it, and went to check on the kids… they were fast asleep. She didn’t want to wake them up early as it was the only holiday they had.
Life was very monotonous. The same old routine had followed through the past 20 years of her married life. She had done everything, tried to talk… She even consulted a doctor. She read books and magazines to find ways to spice up the dull marriage. They did not talk at all anymore except for about the kids. She had thought of leaving him but then she stayed for the kids, scared that it might have a bad impact on them when they were young, but now she thought of it as a hustle. He was now more like a roommate than a husband. She started doubting even her love for him, maybe it was not there. Maybe now she is just used to him. She had started to fantasize about other men, and wished her life was like her friend’s. All of them seemed to be happy.
He used to spend a lot of time abroad or on tours, she almost felt as if she lived alone with her kids. Surprisingly she doesn’t even miss him and his presence in the house sometimes irritates her. She had started enjoying the independence too much. He was on an official trip overseas even now and was expected to come anytime this week. He told her the date but she had not bothered to remember.
Something felt odd, as she checked the gas knob thrice since morning. Still feeling uneasy she went in her room and lied down, tried to go back to sleep again, pushing her thoughts away, but sleep wouldn’t come. She took out her drawing board, stuck a paper, threw some colours on the board from the palette and started making random things. She smiled to herself as a thought came to her mind, “Ajeet doesn’t even know that I started painting again.” Earlier she would be upset, even thought that he might be dating someone else. Now she just didn’t care. She just got upset when the kids asked her about their father missing all the college functions. She was mad at him because of the kids, she wanted him to atleast take care of them but he kept running from that also. To her he wasn’t a good husband; neither was he a good father.
She was irritated now.She thought over the years she had become tougher and wiser, but she knew at the bottom of the well of her heart was just a pool of frustration, anger and depression. The only people who made her feel wanted were her kids. She tried talking to her mother, it didn’t help. “You are over reacting” she said. Even her office friends seemed to misunderstand her. Soon she gave up; she had even stopped discussing her life with anyone. There was no use anyway.
She went back to the kitchen and started preparing breakfast.She wanted to make her kids feel satisfied… make them feel special. She made their favourite sandwich and knew they would be happy to eat them. The phone rang; she picked up still dreaming about the expressions of her kids. Before she could say anything, the caller said, in a shivering tone. “Your husband has had an accident, he is serious…” but she could not hear more as the phone slipped down from her hand. A tear trickled down on her cheek; she did love him after all. The doorbell rang. It was Ajeet. The phone call was not for her. He was alive, and suddenly she was so happy to see his face. She hugged him tight as he entered, she did not have the heart to tell him about the call. She slowly said “I love you”… he heard and said “ok”.
She was back in the well of her heart… irritated again by his reply.He could have said “me too” Grr… Angry and hollow, she went to the kitchen to make tea for him,thinking she will leave him as soon as the kids settle down.

Of dreams and damages

I was a normal village girl when I first came to town. The tall buildings, big cars and the street-light hues caught my attention, like I was some five-year old. Unlike my place, there were way too many people here. And not only the number but the fashion of people baffled me; I wondered for a long while initially whether girls wore jeans and pants instead of suits forgetfully, or wear shorter skirts exposing long ‘baits’ for perverted eyes. The place was reeling like a movie every day, enhancing the image I had in mind when I was in the bus on my way here. And best of all, I felt like a fairy-tale girl, lost in a big city, who was sure that dreams do come true. How could I not believe that? Coming here was a dream that I had seen with my eyes closed so many times, it had me convinced that I was prepared for the challenges I might have to face.

I joined work at a call centre. I had passed my 12th class with 95%, and was the pride of my village when I left to be the biggest star from my hometown. Being the only girl in my village who knew English well, my parents were extremely proud of me. Not only was I most that certain my good communication skills in such a foreign language would be the most useful talent I could yield, but I was most fascinated to do a job that applied my said skills. I also got admission in a B.A. (P) course in a college under the University of Delhi. My heart swelled up when I got my first paycheck and earned my college fees myself. I called up everyone back home to share the news, even promised to send some money back if I managed my expenses well. I took up a place on rent with two other girls – Laila and Nisha. We all were in the same course, for which I was a bit glad that I might get help with my studies. We had our differences, but they were nice to me and fairly shared the household chores.

As classes started I got busy with work and college, and the only time I saw my flat mates was on weekends. Every Saturday I made it a point to revise my course material for the previous week and catch up with the assignments. I was a happy and content life. One weekend I was reading my notes when I heard Laila call out to me. She and Nisha were all dressed up in shiny, skimpy clothing. They were going to a club in the night and wanted me to join in. I had never seen a club, wasn’t even sure what it meant. I agreed but wasn’t sure what to wear, so Nisha gave me one of her dresses. It was a knee-length dress; I was very uncomfortable when both Laila and Nisha comforted me. They taught me how to drink vodka shots with a lemon to ‘ease off the hardness’ when you drink it. I didn’t understand what it meant until I tried. I enjoyed it still, because I trusted my friends and it made them happy. The club was nice, everyone was dressed up. There were a lot of couples making out, and I bet they had no clue how uncomfortable they made me feel. Somehow I felt at ease, as people were only interested in themselves. Everyone was drinking, smoking and dancing to the tunes of recent Bollywood tracks. I am not a very good dancer but I had a lot fun. I never saw how time flew by but the party ended late in the night.

This became the new routine for every weekend. We started to keep in touch with the people we used to meet in clubs – no fun without them. And before I could blink, my friend-circle broadened. My life was going so fast that it was difficult to keep a track of time. Happy in the change, I had started to drink all kinds of liquor, even smoking weed. I hardly realized that I had made 5 boyfriends and made out with a zillion random people. Life wasn’t bad at all. My friends supported me in whatever I did. Soon exams came and I was struggling through the books which I hadn’t seen in the entire year. I was not able to understand a bit also as I wasn’t familiar with the lectures. I skipped most of them as I had to meet friends, go for shopping or plan for parties. I failed two of my modules, but my friends consoled me saying it is fine – such great friends I have. I attended many lectures stoned or drunk – it was fun.

Now, I am in an asylum, they say I am crazy, all I need is some cocaine, but they say no to that – can’t they understand? Or was I lost? They don’t even let me meet my mother. I want to tell her that I am sorry for not being around when baba died. I will surely tell her that I don’t like this place when I meet her. I want to go back to the village… with all the green trees, and the smell of muddy soil, and freshly cut crops… and help her with the cooking. They don’t love me here anymore. They don’t even give me good food; just medicines. I am scared they might kill me one day. I am not mad; maybe am becoming now, now that they give me shocks. When I try to run and dance they tie me to the bed and sometimes put me to sleep. I struggle really hard but they don’t let me go. The nurse yesterday told me she would let me go but she wanted something in return. She touched me everywhere. At first I didn’t get it but then she started pushing her body on me. Her rough hands were hurting me but I couldn’t stop her. I was sure today that she would bring ma along with her. But she came today also, alone. She hurt me; put something in me from behind. I bled but it felt worth it, because maybe… I get to see my mother tomorrow.

life-file folder-ed

All these years of my life, I have assumed that one day I will get my perfect fit – the one who will come and sweep me off my feet. I was always living fine expecting “an arranged setting” of marriage, believed like many other Indian girls that marriage changes everything. Parents will choose the perfect guy and he will sweep me off from my feet over a few cups of coffee. Love will happen, followed by a perfect married life.

But in this chase of finding the right person, whom I am very sure everyone finds someday, we keep meeting a lot of wrong people. Your first day in office, you are nervous and then the scariest part comes – your introduction to the team, the people you will be working with every day. You are overwhelmed but you chose your words wisely; ‘Hope they like me… what if they think I am stupid… Shit I didn’t brush up Excel, Power-point… they might ask me something… what if I don’t know?’ A mind full of questions and there, you hear a faint ‘Hey’, you hush it away with the other thoughts in you head. “I said hello.” ‘Oh my god, someone actually said that! Embarrassing… Why am I so lost all the time? Bad day! Why God… why me?’ I turned behind and replied softly still staring at the floor, not even sure if my voice reached his ears. I raised my eyes to see if he was angry. He was a mediocre looking boy of around my age, not very tall, would be around few inches taller than me. He wore a nice blue shirt but it was shabbily tucked in, sleeves folded, a normal physique but a warm friendly smile on his face, which was a relief. He told me his name was L. L started a friendly conversation, and with that a sense of calmness dawned over me. Did he do it intentionally; did he know that I was nervous? Whatever, I am just glad he is in my team.’ Friends told me I should be careful. These people appear to be pleasant, but they end up being rude when it comes to work. Still, I shooed away such voices in my head and started to stare at my computer screen. Poof! I received a request from him on my chat window to join him for lunch in the canteen, along with his other friends at 12. It was my first day. The thought of meeting new people was scary, but I calmed down told myself that they were his friends. As the clock stuck noon, I went down, all excited now. I met a few more people, some from my team, and others from different departments. They seemed welcoming; we laughed while we finished our lunch and then went out for an ice-cream. Soon I was able to join them in the jokes they cracked. My life painted itself perfect on the very first day – an amazing job, a good set of friends, a friendly team; people would die to be in my place.

Getting up early was a problem for the first few days, but soon I got used to it. Everyone treated me nicely, once or twice I got scolded by my mentor but that was fine. I enjoyed my job. Soon it will be the end of the month. I had a long list of things I wanted to buy with m first salary. Life was dreamy. My talks with L increased every day. When the office-time of 9 to 5 wasn’t enough, we kicked-off with the exchange of messages on the way back. This was not all. We started to meet often to grab a quick bite before a movie on weekends. Soon we became a pair of good friends, or had already become one long back. I had other friends in office, but he was becoming the one person that I could trust with everything. He was the one to comfort me when I was low, and was there for me when I wanted to dance on happy news.

Before long, I was asked to go to US for a project. I did not know how long it would take; it could take a year, or maybe longer. On the day before I was leaving, L disclosed that he liked me. I was confused, and I never felt that way for him ever, not even close. But the fear of losing a good friend scared me more than anything. I didn’t want to hurt him. I tried to explain and tried to go back being what we were. I went to the States and the conversations continued. But the new life wasn't as much fun. I was away from everything I loved, work was not going well, and I started having frequent fights with my close friends, even L. No one seemed to understand. 'If I don’t like him why do I expect so much from him? Why should he be here with me? Bloody hell, I don’t care whatever he has to be. Argh! I am so confused about my feelings. Maybe I don’t care. I am just in this ‘phase’… but he does like me. Maybe this time he is busy. Next time he will be there.'

Moreover, there were a lot of chances. But fights grew, and so did the distances. Everyone seemed to be wrong. 'Or maybe I became rude and arrogant'. It was my fault, but no one was there to sit with me to tell me that the phase will pass soon. I went back home after a year and soon he did something that broke me. I could not trust him any more. He had become aloof. Maybe I was too late to like him back, and maybe he found someone else in this time. Maybe they just say that “love happens for good” and never mean it. Maybe it is just all pain and no happiness. Now, what do I take from this? Did he never like me? Did he lie to me? All blank questions ricocheted with empty answers.

I just fail to understand, how can anyone so different from the guy of your dreams, whom you think is not the right guy for sure, get so close to hurt you. And the pain is worse than that, given by the closest friend. Now I changed my work place, not scared of meeting a shrewd boss or a horrible team, but terrified to meet that smiling face.

bed-bite story

Like a normal Delhi girl I grew up watching Karan Johar movies and believed that one day my prince charming will come my way, and I will have a perfect job. The end simply had to be perfect of my not-so-perfect life. Till now, thankfully, I have had amazing friends. They have supported me in all my decisions.

Like a normal 22 year old, I have had a failed relationship, a zillion crushes, even stayed up all night for a message from some little infatuation which just lasted for days. I have had five or six best friends till now, from which some have hurt me while some are still in touch, and have stood by me in my ups and downs. Most of my friends think that I don’t live in the real world which is bad. People are selfish and not everybody is good. As soon as I finished my Masters, I looked forward to fin my perfect job, and then soon I would meet my guy at some coffee shop, we fall in love and get married. I would meet my friends like I do now even after marriage, and life would be perfect. But this dream of a perfect story came soon crashed, the market was bad and there were no jobs available. Still you get an interview offer, you dress up nicely. The interview went amazing. You talked about your dreams and made the interviewer laugh at times. There was no way they could reject me. I waited for the call very confidently and then after two weeks they regretfully informed me, that they selected someone else. I kept my calm but soon gave up.

At family functions, all Uncles are asking about where you career is going while I was trying to flow with the flow. Aunties are bothered about my marriage
and soon I hear ‘Rishtaas’ pouring in.

The idiot isn’t messaging back, and I waited for a long while; but he is just not interested. “Maybe he just said he liked me coz he didn’t have anyone at that moment, and now maybe, he likes someone else. Why am I bothered? I told him that I don’t like him, but he is still supposed to give me importance. Maybe he found someone else. Arrgghhh, I am so stupid. Maybe it’s all my fault. Yes it’s me. How am I supposed to
understand that he loves me when he doesn’t even have time to message?”

Things are different with your friends now. I tried to make them understand that I have some problems. Instead of supporting me and ‘being there’, they are telling me that I have lived my life all wrong. “You will lose everyone like this, you have to show more attitude,” she said. I didn’t think so, but even a slight disagreement leads to a big ego clash and I am left crying while she states all my past mistakes one by one on your face.

You have a contact-list of 550 people in this world, and you are lonely. Not one person could I call. My two-three best buddies just left me with my own problems, as they think that ‘some kind of ego’ has come into me. I question everything in my life and all of a sudden there is no one to put the blame on.

Unscrambled eggs

It was two in the afternoon. I could hear the noises outside. People were crying; they were upset. I wasn’t upset… just scared. I knew things would change and hoped for good. That night I locked myself up so that no one can see me. As it is, I am not very good around people, I haven’t had a decent conversation with someone in three years. The following morning was the ceremony at the church. I wore an ill-fitted black dress that belonged to my mother. When I reached the church they asked me to say a few words about her, I stood up and felt a lump in my throat. I didn’t know her. I never liked her. She never was there for me; she saw what dad did to me, yet never interfered. “I will miss her.” I lied. I just knew what they wanted to hear. There was a big lunch at home; I hadn’t eaten properly in years. I picked up a big slice of cake and started eating in one corner. People gave me and my dad sympathising looks. I looked at my dad and knew he was upset, whatever he did with me for all these years… but he loved her. The day he found she had cancer and she wouldn’t live, he held me and cried all night. It was right after that it all started. Three years back, still as clear as yesterday. My mom came into my room and explained to me that from now on my dad will love me a little more. I had not understood then as I was just thirteen. She held me and cried and kept giving me pills so I don’t get pregnant. I don’t blame her entirely, he would beat both of us and she feared he would kill me if I don’t let him have sex with me.
I loved him and assumed that he loved me and did all that because he loved me more. I had always known that I was adopted, but even as a kid he used to take me to play and help me with my homework. While mom was always out with her work or friends, she never was home for my birthdays. I never took her side when dad and she used to fight, not even when I knew dad was wrong. I always thought dad should have left her,
till she got very ill. I felt bad for her. I used to help her during the day, and in the night dad used to come drunk and would beat her up. Then he used to come in my room and have sex with me. He used to hit me as blood excited him more. I felt so guilty that I stopped talking to anyone in school. My grades were affected and everyone assumed it was because my mother is ill. He was a respected man and no
one would ever think of him doing such things about him. After everyone had left, I went to take a shower and changed into something casual. I could hear him talk to someone on phone and my head was swirling, so I lied down on the bed that once felt safe, but was not anymore. I slept off. After an hour I got up with a start. I saw him coming in. I was scared. I pretended to sleep but that didn’t help, he knew I was up. He told me that from that day on I would be staying in his room. For a minute, I thought he was a changed person and would apologise, but I was not
prepared to take his wife’s position. I knew I couldn’t say no, or else he would beat me.
He used to tell me that I had no one except him, no one in this world loved me and sex is the only thing I am good at. I was scared and knew with mom not around he would have his way with me whenever he wanted.I was scared but I submitted to him. That night after I dinner I went to his room. He came following me and pushed me to the bed he removed his clothes and pulled my night-gown up. I tried to block my thoughts, otherwise I would feel sick and that would excite him more. He used to get excited if I was sick, or even when I had periods. I felt him go deep in me. He applied so much force that I thought I would die. After he was done, he lied there on me while I could feel his heavy breath on my face. He got up and kissed me on my cheeks, he always did that when I was good.I love it when he does that, it assures me that he still loves me.
I tried to sleep but couldn’t. I knew things would not be the same; I would never be the same. My dad has always liked collecting whiskies and wines. The oldest one he had was a 38 years-old bottle of whiskey. I opened the bottle and drank it. It burnt my throat. It started to itch but the pain I felt inside me was far more. I drank and drank and puked all over, I lighted up a cigarette for myself, but not with the intention to smoke. I put it on my arm. It pained so much that I thought I would die. Nothing could soothe my pain today. I went for a shower to clean myself. Nevertheless, I felt dirty. the soap wasn’t able to clean me. I ran back to the kitchen shelf, I was still wet. I picked up a knife and took it to my room. Pushing the drapes to the sides of the window and seeing the stars made me feel safe. I sat there teary eyed as I felt the sharp knife slice into my skin. I cut myself till I was drowsy and soon I peacefully slept off on my bed which was once the safest place in the whole world.

Happy endings are just stories that haven't finished yet

The alarm rang, she knew she had to get up and get ready for office else she would be late for her meeting. Working on a presentation for her boss kept her up till 2 after mid night, she felt weak and tired. The lack of sleep and the fear of presentation had made her twist and turn all night. She tried getting up but her back hurt. With tired weary hands she picked up her phone from the side of the bed there were three new messages. The first one was from her boss to remind her not to be late to work. The second one from some random phone company message,” they have nothing else to do than spam my phone.” The third message made her blush and smile, ”hey, good morning,I know you must be tired and sleeping peacefully by now, all I want to say is nothing in the world, I'd rather want than to be with you right now. I love you more than anything Nishtha.” With a smile on her face, forgetting all the tension she got up and started her morning errands. She got ready and thought she would have to leave without her breakfast but to her surprise her roommate hadalready made a sandwich for her. It was a hot day, but she didn’t care. She picked up her car keys and walked towards the parking lot. There was a skip in her walk and all she did was think about him and smile. Till then she had read the message thrice, the day started well as she thought to herself, ”I hope the presentation goes well too.” The traffic bothered her a little but soon she reached office and the clock kept ticking. All her work was appreciated, the presentation went well. The phone rang around lunch, she knew who it was. “hello, my boss loved my work, my presentation went well. I am so so happy. Ye ye ye and (short pause and with a giggle) I love you.” He smiled gently as if he understood exactly what she meant and hoped she was there next to him, wanted to hold her tight, kiss her on her forehead and tell her that he was proud of her, he just didn’t know how to explain it to her. It was a really busy day she thought to herself as she cursed the government for such bad infrastructure and poor traffic sense of people. The radio blaring out loud in her car with the radio jockey going on and on with his stupid jokes irritated her even more, as she scrolled through the channels she came across Rod Stewart’s ‘have I told you lately that I love you’. She couldn’t stop but think of him, she tried calling him but he was in a meeting and kept cutting. She trusted him more than ever and she knew he was the one. It all started when they met for the first time and their friend teased her that they are perfect for each other, the jokes grew and they never realized when they started liking each other so much. They were not in a relationship, not even in the same town but they felt connected. She always thought it was just one sided liking till one day he mailed her ,” I can’t help but think how beautiful you'd be looking right now, sleeping with your both fists clasped together and your head cutely over it . A serene expression on your face dreaming of everything in the world. Knees folded under the sheet; can’t help it but imagine the dim moonlight falling on your face making it look like something; something from a poet's dream. I just want to be with you.... I want to be the shoulder you put your head on to and I want to rub my cheek lightly against yours and say slowly ....dream all you can, I am there to shoulder them” she repeated the lines to herself.

She knew he loved her more than she did, but he was too scared to admit as she had once told him that she was scared of relationships.

Months passed in the same way and their loved grew deeper and stronger. But the busy schedule kept them from talking to each other for long. She kept calling he kept telling her about his zillion meetings he had to attend and projects and things became weird. They had more fights than ever, his aloof reactions bothered her. She was scared for them and one day he stopped picking up or even replying to her messages. She called so many times and his phone was off, she knew something was wrong. His facebook said everything; he was in a relationship with someone. Nishtha cried and cried and could not understand any of it. “How could he do that to her and why” was all she could think of. She called for a month but no one picked.

After a long time she receives a mail from him,” Nishtha, I love you but I can’t be with you because this girl is crazy and she will die if I don’t be with her.” Tears rolled down her cheeks as she read the mail. She couldn’t get it, “if he loves me, he should be with me. What about me, what about my dying inside every day, hoping that one day you will come back. What about my going through the long mails u sent me, the messages…. “ she loved him too much and she was wrong she was alone, he didn’t love her, he just liked her and now he is gone and would never come back. She didn’t know if he was right or wrong, all she knew was that she was left alone. That night once again she cried herself to sleep again...

Life is like a coin. You can spend it any way you wish, but you only spend it once

The heat is on, it is getting to me. The heat is fatal. Now to think about, last few days have been rather complicated. When there is too much on the plate, you never know where to start and with what, too much to do and just not knowing where to start and with what and when you do start there is that continued feel of all the other that needs to be done. So it all ends up in a fix.

A few days back, a girl came to me crying and opened up her past for me. A very strong willed girl I must say. She and her very good friend were out on a drive, things were fine they were talking, having some beers and discussing life. They stopped at a couple of places had food at a restaurant things were fine. In the evening before dropping her, the guy came close to her kissed her on. It was nice, both felt something very strong. After some days they met and this continued and they got a little more intimate. The guy fell in love with the girl. While the girl still liked him as a friend. Even after thinking a lot the girl wasn’t able to think of him as someone more than a friend. Thinking she would hurt the guy more, she started ignoring him and the guy started thinking that the girl used him. She tried to tell him, make him understand but he wouldn’t listen. I don’t blame him, he loved her. The girl tried to go back to the good friends they were, but things were not the same. Slowly they parted ways. The guy moved on with his life. But the girl still sits there thinking that maybe she used him. She cried and cried, I couldn’t stop thinking about it later. The guy moved on, and so should she I told her. I told her it was past, it was long back.

She was looking for someone to understand her, someone to tell her that she is not a bad person. I hope she felt better after she went home. The question just stayed in my head, how people keep blaming themselves for things happened way in the past and cling to the bad memories more than the good ones.

Maybe after that day even I am thinking too much about the mistakes I did in the past, maybe I m blaming myself unnecessarily. To think about it now, were they really mistakes? No one tries to fail or mess things up on purpose. Each one of us wakes up in the morning, walks out in the world and does the best we can. Understand it is important to take responsibility of your mistakes, but it doesn’t mean you let your past grip you.

I want to ask you all; do u think she is wrong? Do you think she should spend all her life crying about a mistake she did? Do you think we should seize our mistakes and keep feeling guilty it happened?

A bit of fragrance clings to the hand that gives flowers.

Hey this blog is dedicated to my dearest friend divya, coz she is the one waiting for my blog for so long :D. Anyways, this time I will talk about something even I am not too sure of. These are just my views on it, they are quite random and some can even be wrong. It is something that I have learnt from books and long discussions.

Today I am discussing the something I am. Some call it God some call it a chemical reaction or maybe you can call it A or something else. The unknown cannot be taught, it has to be learned. And even when you have learned it, it remains unknown, that’s the beauty of it. God never becomes knowledge, but on a contrary the more you know the more mysterious it becomes. As you come near the centre all certainty is lost, all clinging disappeared. So sometimes we confuse it with that there is no God. But when we actually reach the centre, the seeker within us is lost, the knower has disappeared. When there is no knower how can we reduce the unknown to knowledge?

Saints throughout centuries have asserted that God is ever copious and there is no limit to his grace. While man may get wary of asking, he never gets tired of giving. His treasures are unlimited and there is nothing man desires and cannot get. All men are made alike. They have the same origin. The maker is also one. They are a drop of the same ocean and have the same ultimate end. He is real, eternal. He is everlasting; everything in the universe and universe itself is false. He alone is true.

We sometimes feel that we are being tested. I say it’s a part of ignorance. You can test something that you are not sure of. If God tests you that means he doesn’t know you. But it is not the case. He knows your past, present, future, your strengths and weaknesses. He alone gives you strength. We only test ourselves, because we do not have confidence. We always see God as a fatherly figure watching us somewhere from above. We demand like a child, but when we see God as a child we have no demands. God is the every core of our existence. God clings to you like a baby to his mother until you die. Love it like a mother; take care of it as you do for your kids. Love makes every object come to life. We see the children talking to the moon; they say that the moon smiles to them. As if it expresses its emotions to them. A mere mouse, Mickey mouse, is seen like a living human being but as we grow up some of us start to consider even a living mouse as an object. See the God into everything, even the mouse.

Now, you may ask that why aggressiveness is there or anger in the world if God is watchman to every one? But you may have noticed that they become aggressive when they see u r weak. Everything here belongs to God, just relax and be prepared to go down. If you go down on the floor, you cannot be bought further down. Have faith in him as you are not alone. Don’t surrender as it is what the meek do. Surrender is not an act it’s a state and we can never recreate a state. Jealousy and anger are not the traits of God as he is the only one, the sole creator. He has no one to compete with, no one to look up for. Have the ability to see God in the person sitting next to you. The food we eat is God and the stomach ache we get is also God. Everyone and everything within us and outside, every existent thing is God.

Missing you....

Did it have to be this way?

I saw you the other day

I noticed things that I dint before

it seems I have walked through a different door.

I watched your lips move as I fell into

into a daze, into confuse

did you have any clue?

it must be a path I had to choose

These feelings I must share

each day I feel deeper

that you are the keeper

you are the one I must care

Your wings sore upon me

you should light upon thee

joy that I feel

so before you I kneel

I ask "will you hold my hand and never let go"

the answer I will never know

If you tell me I will forget

but if you show me I will know

to this I owe you a debt

hopefully you wont say no

frog in a well shaft seeing the sky

A blank page has been staring at me for some hours now.

Right now I am tempted to keep away from a lot of things and tempted to get involved in many. It would all seem very exciting and adventurous, but prudence rules and we keep away. The exuberance of youth at times gets one very close to succumbing to temptation. But as you mature it takes on a different shape. Responsibility and understanding keeps one conscious of the fact that this would not be the right thing to do. There are elders to answer to, seniors to respect. What would they say in such circumstances? We need to not just look after ourselves but indeed to look after what they need and feel. As youth we can accomplish everything, precisely because it accepts no past, obeys no future and fears no present.Selfishly at times we do not consider our responsibility, our compulsion to keep the elders involved. We ignore them and ignore many other aspects, eventually to lament later why we did not.

Exposure to the ‘complex’ world is suddenly destroying its almost utopian existence in the years gone by. My appearance may be in keeping with the temperament that a new object that infuses in me, but what does it do for those that fail to accept it and have succumbed. There are many that have given up, resigned from life, abstract, still and allowing it to take over. I would imagine they too live a life. A life they chose according to their standards. But everyone need not follow that. Life does allow one to take off on a tangent. Sometimes it brings a tangential difference. As they say respect is love in plain clothes. Musicians are artists no different from painters and poets. They document our culture, make us think, provoke us and introduce us to new ideas. And the good ones are philosophers.

Strange is it not, that this emotion should manifest itself into such strong feeling. There are times in the daily routine of our lives when we build many thoughts. Discuss and assess them. Write and rewrite them. Correct them for errors and mistakes, readjust them, Para-phrase them again and again, convinced that this is what is final and complete to go out to the rest of the world. These are but personal musings which occupy our mind and our time for a sizeable number of minutes, perhaps hours and then disappear. They were constructs of an idle mind, harmless, inconsequential and bearing nothing more than an incoherent moment in the complex structure of our brain. We need to keep our mind far away from all these vicious thoughts or they run like a Trojan horse on all out thoughts.

On a joyride called her moodswings...(a friend wrote this for me)

Switching in and out of the alpine green and the arctic freeze is something most people can only dream of . and havin experienced both at the same time on
numerous occasions courtesy her, i can be proud of it . she sways in and out of different moods , can be evil or an angel , can be naughty or coy , can be
the closest person or someone who you harldy ever knew . i remember seeing her for the first time , full of shimmer n dat exuberant sparkle in her eyes that
some how gripped my attention . she could make you feel wanted like a peice of her heart , like air she can't breathe without , seal your heart with her
kisses and on other days she would just run away as if you were stalking her . her bruises and hurt have never healed , they somehow keep coming back to her
, switching places , company , fighting her own self she some how cant get over it .
She could sound like an imbecile juvenile , or perhaps on other days shock you with her sense of maturity and worldly knowledge . perfectly affable during
day time and perhaps a curse during the night . what amuses me and grips me towards her in this world full of pretty faces and diverse mind sets is her knack
of going las vegas and tibet @ da same time ( oh yes shes got a spiritual side as well ). she would do anything to bring about joy to a sad face and at times
even a room full of dead people won't bother her . shes your eternal damsel in distress , u believe somehow you can be her prince charming to the rescue but
lo !! she would somehow find her own way back on her feet somehow .

Her cute fantasies of dwelling in a world full of candies and chocloates would make you want to hug her ( if she lets you that is) , and at other times
perhps she would want to walk on the beach with you barefeet . every time i think of her i remember a rather famous poem by emily dickingson which goes like

:

Hope
Hope is the thing with feathers
That perches in the soul,
And sings the tune--without the words,
And never stops at all,

And sweetest in the gale is heard;
And sore must be the storm
That could abash the little bird
That kept so many warm.

I've heard it in the chillest land,
And on the strangest sea;
Yet, never, in extremity,
It asked a crumb of me.

You gasp a gush of breath and wonder how often can she surprise you (warning : her wrath could swipe you off too) . But all you would ever yearn for is to feel her around you and stay happily in love with all that she does...

THE UNBALANCED EQUATION OF LIFE CAN ONLY BE SOLVED BY INTRODUCING THE VARIABLE OF CHANGE

The only thing consistent about the world is its inconsistency. We are all undiscovered geniuses or ignorant fools. Change is the only constant thing that has ever been. It forms the basis of our lives and is inevitable. He who rejects change is the architect of decay. Some changes we welcome with arms wide open and some of them cause tears to stream down our eyes. While we are kids, we play with everyone. Every hand offered to us is genuine and is given to play, no one to envy or to idolize. A little further a telling change awaits; we leave the safe haven of our house and enter school. The first day we are upset, we cry while entering the new place as we unwillingly let go of our mom’s hand all we want to do is to cling to her and never let go. In another one hour we acclimatize and don’t even want to leave that place as every one in the vicinity is called a friend. That’s the day when we realized that home is not the only place to be. And the people you can talk to do not always have to be so big. The first change which we accept with haste and that which turns out to be great. Leaving play school is always difficult but we kind of adjust to it as we want to grow up in a jiffy. The first step in school makes us feel big, tells us that this is the place I will spend 14 years in. Gladly we tell everyone we know, call up all the relatives and tell them that we go to a much bigger school with more students than earlier. Studying is fun, learning is interesting and every person in the class ones again is called a friend except those who eat our lunch when we bring something real tasty and gulp down tang from our bottles. The days we realize everyone is not good, some people just can’t bring their own kurkure and just have to pounce on your pack whenever you open it.

We are all geared up and our car is in full speed when we realize the road also has speed breakers called exams. And the pressure goes on increasing. Parents start scolding and you join the race where everyone wants to win. Friends become competitors, who gets more becomes the saga. Here is the introduction of jealousy and I won’t tell her how much I have covered coz she always tells me she knows nothing but still manages to get a better score than me. Emotions hold us up at all points. The way we perceive them and take decisions make us who we are today. Now we come across changes in people some of them which we can see and some internally. Our body changes, we grow inside as we fight changes outside. But things alter for the worse spontaneously, if they be not altered for the better designedly. Now we desire more as our needs grow from emotional to social to sexual. We want to keep pace with the growing trends and new knowledge. We grow everyday and with a blink of an eye the school ends and we are all out in the world where there are more people, more to learn and more dreams to be fulfilled. The wheel of change moves on, and those who were down go up and those who were up go down. The innocence we had kept with us goes away slowly and gradually. We look behind and all we see is people who were ones our best buddies, without whom you couldn’t even imagine your life, busy in their own lives. Competition is cut throat and here as Darwin said it is not the strongest of the species that survive, or the most intelligent, but the one most responsive to change. So here we are after a lot of fight we enter college, make new friends just to find that they aren’t really your friends they were the ones who spoke behind your back. You get attracted to the opposite sex and the experimental self in you wants to explore more. We term this as love without even knowing what we want. But the difference between a rut and a grave is their dimensions. The person you thought you loved wasn’t the right person either. Your friend change again, they are more understanding than the earlier group and you change your opinion which you had about them before and a new bonding is formed. The man who never alters his opinion is like standing water, and breeds reptiles of the mind. College ends, three years learning which more than the 14 years spend in school was. Good and bad experiences, people everything has made you wiser. But somehow you feel unhappy about the life you live now. Change has caused this conflict between mind and heart. Before you can even think of solving this conflict you have more entrances, or interviews. And the story goes on……………

We all are reluctant to allow changes in life. Everyone wants a stable and a smooth running life without a lot of ups and downs (a few are ok though). Life in its own journey, presupposes its own change and movement, and one tries to arrest them at one's eternal peril. Even if we don’t like to change but this cycle of life never ends, which also keeps me from thinking that maybe life without change be mind-numbing. The truth is that the only human institution which rejects progress is the cemetery. (Oh no the parliament too: P)

the abode of the mind- beyond worldly desires

Saints have blessed this world in every age. Whatever be their country or religion, their message has always been one: to discover God and to seek release from the karmic - cycle of births and deaths. They did not teach with an intent to lay the foundations of new religions, creeds and sects. Creeds and sects breed fervourous passions and fanatical loyalties which invariably lead to quarrels and conflicts, while the essence of the teaching of all saints is love and harmony among the people of the world. While a saint is alive, we listen to his words. But we do not pay heed to them. As soon as he leaves the world, we turn; we turn to rites and rituals and thus completely forget the purpose of his tenets. We begin ones to manipulate his lofty teachings and the truth of his experiences into sects that serve our own ulterior motives, thereby sowing the seeds of discord and disharmony. We do this for selfish reasons and justify them in the name of national honor or prestige of traditional religion. What greater injustice could we do to these great saviours than to misinterpret and narrow down their teachings and freeze them into sects that are based on partial or incorrect versions of their teachings?

All saints tell us that nothing that we see in this world has come into being on itself. Their must be some creator. This creator is the one lord; we remember him with love and devotion by means of a thousands names. He is the supreme object of our search and our spiritual yearning. An electric bulb, however luminescent it may be, can’t light up the room if it is covered with over a dozen layers of thick black cloth. In spite of its light, the room it is in will be in utter darkness. But as we begin to remove the covers, the room will grow brighter and on removal of the last layer it will become brightly lit. The same way our soul begins to leave the company of the mind and to shed its covers, it begins to know itself. That is why it is said that self- realization is essential before god-realization. All our efforts, all our strengths and all techniques we use are directed towards subjugating the mind and withdrawing it to its source at the top of the spiritual region. Every religion has the same aim and lays an equal emphasis on subduing the mind. We try a thousand ways to control the mind. We turn for help to the recital of holy books, to penances, to worship and bathing in the holy rivers, reading scriptures and religious books, giving charity and burning sacred fires. We even leave our homes and go into solitude of forests; we sometimes hide ourselves in mountain caves. Through discipline we try to detach our mind from the desire inducing objects of the world, but because our thoughts do not become attached to something superior, something beyond, our mind reacts and rebounds and comes back into the world with as much strength and cunning as ever. To control our mind with force is like putting a viper in a basket. As long as the basket remains tightly closed, we remain safe from the venom of the viper; but the moment it escapes, it will again bite. Merely putting a viper in the basket cannot free you from fear. There still lays a danger to risk our lives. If instead we catch hold of the viper and remove the poisonous fangs, it will become harmless. Controlling the mind by strict discipline is like covering a live charcoal with ashes; apparently the fire is dead, but when a gust of wind blows, the ashes are scattered and the fire comes alive ones more. In the same way, when the storms of passions arise, the mind goes out of control and runs into impetuous actions with reinforced vigor. Forcible control of the mind may be liked by the police, so as long as the criminal is in the custody we are safe from his misdeeds. But as soon as he gets released, he gets back to his wicked ways. On the other hand if we manage to reform the criminal through persuasion and thereby make him a good human being, we would be set free from his evil deeds forever.

We generally say that the mind is fond of variety. It tries to constantly change when we see or eat the same thing. If we look back at our lives, we find that in our childhood we dearly loved our parents then come siblings, then friends and the cycle went on n still is . So unless the mind gets something higher than worldly love, it will never be ready under any circumstances to give up the pleasures of the world. There is only one way to subdue the mind and that is to give the sweet enchanting taste of the name of god. The sweetness and the magnetic pull of word will remove all its attachments.

FAITH RESTORED

The morning hour , as the day begins, seldom indicates what lies in store for the rest of it. The peace and solace of those early hours is almost synonymous with the gentle warmth of the rising sun. That deep orange hue from the brightest element in the earth’s hemisphere, so pleasantly visible as it emerges from behind a hill or stack of high rises, then gradually, as it progresses forward, begins to burn out its size and shape and countenance, now unable to be seen through a naked eye. There is a bearing with life’s day almost, within this act. Pleasant and peaceful as it starts, and then gradually as the day progresses and all its complications overtake us, everything around us becomes unbearable. We meet people and a lot of them get you thinking on many aspects of what we observe and perceive like our existence and issues we face as a part of the society. A lot of instances connect us to each other, the history and the knowledge of the past. This leads to the understanding of complex circumstances. We leave the things we love for fear all the time, and blame it on circumstrances.
I keep wondering how we fear doing good deeds, as good is not easily acceptable and makes us feel embarrassed at times. So we stick to following the crowd and doing what every one does and involves no fun. Being a leader is a lonely job, taking a road that is less travelled. Taking responsibility of the world that loves to blame. A complex and a tiresome job, I must say. But I still suggest you to explore more opportunities for the people who look up to you, who take you as their role models. Being a leader isn’t about being right always but it surely is about making a wise decision. The tree that moves some people to tears of joy is just a green thing standing on others way. Some people define their limits and are too afraid to push them forward. But leaders are wise people and they feel defining a limit for one is undermining ones capabilities. Newspapers either tell us how our politicians are taking advantage of the money we earn or people killing their relatives and loved ones for money, I ask you is that all that is left? We do nothing about it just sit leisurely in the comfortable confines of our home and feel bad about the fact for two hours and then continue with our busy lives. We are so used to all these things that we feel it is very normal. I don’t remember the last time I read a newspaper that didn’t report gore and bloodshed.
Scrolling further down the pages of the newspaper I was amused looking at the obituary section. We all keep cribbing and crying our whole life for small things; despite of this I am yet to find an obituary that says he died peacefully in his sleep surrounded by his accountant and lawyer. They all have the same message and they all have their families mourning besides them. The irony is that when they were living this beautiful chapter called life relatives and friends didnt realize their worth, they only realize it after they are no more to experience the beauty of relationships. This is the era where all we talk about is competition and minds at work; we do not have time to dine at our favorite restaurant or watch a movie, which ones we never missed. We have forgotten when we really laughed our lungs out and danced in the rain with street kids. These things embarrass us now; we feel that laughing out loud is cheap (though we never miss out a chance to say lol while chatting with a friend online). Tell me my friends when was the last time you giggled at a joke, the last time you smelled a flower, the last time you fought that your friend did not call (this was once the most important thing in life) ? God is a comedian playing to an audience too afraid to laugh.
As the Chinese say : the best time to plant a tree was twenty years ago and the second best time is today. So let’s plant our trees today and enjoy what we have lost in our busy lives. So if you take time out of your busy schedule and want to relax and talk to a friend you can find me in café coffee day, as you smell the aroma of coffee and hear people talk, look around and you will find me at a distant corner, reading a book and sipping my coffee with a slice of simle… :)

a drop of tear to share and a slice of smile to serve

I was sitting and relaxing on the couch after a tiring day. Had an interview and call letter in my hand which did not make me happy coz people kept telling me that the institute is not good. I was tired of people, tired of my parents shouting, tired of every random person asking what I wanted to do in life. Sometimes I feel that I am the only person everyone is worried about. Suddenly everyone wanted to assure that I have a good career. With a bad headache and a bad cough, this was the last thing I wanted to think about. And bam I have something new to think about. And this time again a weird thing, which bought a smile to my face and lighted up my mood yet again. It was how small things make you smile more often than big things do. The things we never notice, the things we feel is not even worth a thought and still how they are the most important things in life.

I was happy now for the fact that I wore the formals first time in my life, I was glad to have cleared the first interview I ever appeared for. Thinking so much about the career made me forget these small achievements. One day there was an a very learned old man, who has accomplished everything in life, once said to me that after a long and tired life he is finally into the breezes. I liked it when he said this, but thinking of it now I can’t think of any good reason not to be in the breezes when you are enjoying and exploring life. Life is very short and so is the world but the world is far wider to explore fully. It has a lot to give if you are just ready to take. At the end a billionaire gets buried next to street sweeper. I have nothing against working hard and earning money but think we will all end up as dust so let’s have some fun. . Too many amongst us are afraid to be ourselves, so we give up our dreams to follow the crowd. Some of us are too afraid of ourselves so we give up our dreams to follow the crowd. The biggest regret on our death beds is that we were not reflective enough. Friends all I am saying is just follow your heart and don’t think about what others say. Trust me that all the people who are successful today were laughed at, now they revert it back. Someone once said nothing fails more than success. Very true say if you go to your favorite restaurant and order your favorite dish and when you ask for ketchup the waiter says that he is busy and u can go pick it up yourself. How will you feel? The restaurant is fully stuffed with people but if they don’t have just a min for there customer’s happiness is their success worth it?

I just read about a boy who couldn’t walk as he was born without eyes, and we worry about the traffic jam being bad. Let us all do a little exercise and jott down all the things we want to do till we die, I am sure you would have even started to think about two or three only after reading this. But what happens is most of us give up so easily just because our fears are stronger than our faith. And if reach what we desire we forget the people who have helped us in this path. On this one of you will say I have them on facebook, or I ping them saying hi every 10days. Not your fault, the paradox of this world is that we get more connected electronically and not emotionally. I am sure if I tell you that you have only 30mins left, all of you will grab your phone and call the people who matter to you., some will even call the people who ones were the part of there life. So why wait for that time, why not grab a phone right away and buzz people. Thank everyone who has helped you, and also the people who will help you in future. Be happy with what you have and do that perfectly.