Monday, March 28, 2011

. . .

Iss mod se jate hai 
Kuch sust kadam raste 
Kuch tez kadam raahein…

This beautiful song kind of haunts me. The feeling glides all over me, softly piercing my heart. Still the song continues in a loop. And with every beat my heart churns some more. All I can feel is a pain. A pain whose story has got no beginning or any end. And I cry a tearless bucket.

I am standing at a threshold and few steps ahead awaits a phase of life from where in I have to grow up big time sharing responsibilities hand in hand or sometime all alone.

May be it was time to get mature long time back and I could not extract this out of life at the right time. Do you ever feel like stranded on a cross road? Because of the choices I have made in life or the way I have executed them, I feel estranged.

For some weird reasons I feel as if with every step I take, I end up in a crossroad. Every next step is a battle for I don’t know to where I belong. The biggest challenge that life has thrown at me that continues to remain unresolved is what I want to be and do in life. I am moving regardless of any aim. I feel Aimless-Directionless-Useless. No matter what I do, I can hear a voice backfiring at me. I know I am not happy by the way I am leading my life. The worst feeling is when you know you are wasting your life and in my case I am doing it every day. You need to have an aim in life and I confess I don’t have any. No disappointment can be bigger than this. There is always a burning chaos in me. My life is perplexed and undisciplined. I am not in peace with myself.

Sometimes I really wonder; would my absence ever affect the life of the people I know. How long will they miss me? Is time really the greatest healer? Does life really moves on? Honestly I don’t want any one of my loved ones to move past over me. It’s kind of a healing touch you know to believe that I hold a precious place in their life and no one can take over my place. But how long? I know one day people would learn to live without me. My absence won’t matter except for a time or two. But I am selfish and I want you to miss me. I am a kind of person who tortures herself and everyone around with many things hypothetical. I can really go cruel with this habit of mine. And I know I ain’t going anywhere. Does that make you hate me?

Have I been a little serious in my life in the past, I might not have been feeling this much miserable now. I feel so miserable to realize that how unkindly I have trampled the high hopes and all the dreams that my parents had/have on me. What worst is that I know I was meant for something greater, grander and something meaningful. I know I am being harsh on me but then sooner or later I have to accept this truth.

Patthar ki haveli ko 
sheeshe ke gharoundo mein 
Tinko ke nasheman tak 
Iss mod se jate hain...

While contemplating the past, present and future of my life, I just realized how in different ways we all have gone. Though we started our journey from many of the same points. Some are successful. Some are not. But what’s the definition of success? There was a time in life when we chose different roads with the promise of keeping in touch forever. I don’t miss my school or college friends. I am not even in touch with them. But then why I am thinking of them now? Surely I don’t want my life to be like theirs, no matter how happy they are in there own way. But then so very naturally I compare myself which leads me to the path of self loathing. Sometime coz I stand no where and sometimes coz I have fallen so low that I am comparing my good self.

It’s not everyday that I acknowledge these few painful truths about myself. I don’t have the courage always to face them. Knowingly I ignore them, avoid them. But still they eat me up. Somewhere inside they are turning me hollow.

I find myself in the verge of frustration, even mild depression often. The frequency of their occurrence has reduced for sure but still…I dint have anyone before I had you with whom I can share. Not because people would not understand me. I feel incapable of expressing. It’s only with you I can bare myself. But you know baby, I can’t express myself properly. Even the matters that raise huge turmoil in me, falls flat when I try to let them out. They appear so run of the mill. May be they actually are in reality. Will there ever come a time when I would express myself freely?

I am seeking peace and I know it will come the day I will start doing something that gives meaning to my life. A purpose to my otherwise estranged life. I need to tread on the right path. The way towards happiness where a sense of achievement awaits me. If not anyone else, I want me to be proud of myself. Can you help me to unleash the path which would take me to where I belong to? Where I could live without the cover of pretence… unadulterated… raw and naked to what I am?

I have found my anchor in you. I know, one of the paths lead to you. Life is not that bad. Coz the path that leads to you is the same one where you walk with me hand in hand. May we never have to tread off.

Ye Soch Ke Baithhi Hu Ik Raah To Woh Hogi

Tum Tak Jo Pahonchti Hai Is Mod Se Jaati Hai

P.S: I know i will realize it a li'l latter what all i have written here. may i never have to regret a single thing expressed here, so what it was done in a hit of a moment. baby if you happen to read it now, don't call me as i don't want to break down in to tear.

Monday, March 14, 2011

Wishes are not horses.

Some nights all I have got is your outline. I trace your eyes, your cheeks but my fingers refuse to move past your lips. Have I ever told you how much my fingers love to glide through your hair? How I feel like pushing those layers over your forehead aside? And then to kiss on your empty forehead?

The touch of those silken textures feels like a much-loved dream.

If only photographs could reciprocate.

Friday, March 11, 2011

Memoirs of Another Kind.

At the temple, there is a poem called "Loss" carved into the stone. It has three words, but the poet has scratched them out. You cannot read Loss, only feel it.


The heart dies, a slow death,
shedding each hope like leaves...

... until one day there are none.
No hopes. Nothing remains.

She paints her face to hide her face.
Her eyes like deep water.

It is not for Geisha to want.
It is not for Geisha to feel.

Geisha is an artist
of the floating world.

She dances. She sings. She entertains you,whatever you want.
The rest is shadows. The rest is secret.


You cannot say to the sun “more sun,”
or to the rain “less rain.”

To a man Geisha can only be half a wife.

We are the wives of nightfall.
And yet to learn of kindness…

… after so much unkindness. To understand that
a little girl with more courage than she knew,
would find that her prayers were answered.

Can that not be called happiness?

After all, these are not the memoirs
of an empress, nor of a queen…

… these are memoirs of another kind.

~Memoirs of a Geisha~

Wednesday, March 9, 2011

A Day in the Life of India.

Even the doctors come next to God but one thing that’s equivalent to almighty is Food. And it is worshiped since time immemorial. Like many others I was taught never to touch Food, Money and Books/pens/pencils ever with feet because they deserve the highest levels of respect. Money and knowledge in turn helps to satiate one’s need for food. Animals other than humans have different strategies for arranging food. Bottomline: Food is God.

I still get my share of scolding whenever I tend to waste even a single grain of food. I am trained in such a way that not a single grain of rice falls off my plate. Incase there is any, I collect and keep them in the bird-feed. While in restaurants I never over-order but if there ever arises a situation that I am unable to finish it all, I never shy away from asking the staffs to pack the left-over food. Most of the times it is a chapatti or two and I believe rather than throwing them up why not to give it to someone needy.

Just few days back my father was so overwhelmed by a man’s action on street that he never fails to tell it to us whenever possible. I can clearly see the element of pride in his eyes. The pride of witnessing something/someone to which/whom he has relentlessly given his biggest chunk of respect. It might be nothing great, not even notice-worthy to many but to him it was which he passed on to me too.

One ordinary morning it was. The day was taking its pace slowly. In the hustle-n-bustle of everyday work how many times do we notice the beauty around? I do but the frequency graph has surely taken a sinking path and it’s high time I revive myself up. Coming back to the topic, on that morning while my father was all set to leave for work, he saw that Man. So much mediocre he was in looks and appearance that he had blended himself perfectly with the ordinariness of the stuffs around. Men walk fast taking long steps. Every once in a while we women have to run to catch hold of them. And once we do we never fail to ask them with an irritated tone to walk slowly. He was walking with no different gait. My dad was all set to ride away when he saw him at halt. He saw him picking up a piece of roti lying in the middle of the road. Laden with dust and dirt. Stepped over by countless humans and animals. He touched the chapatti to his forehead with utmost respect and kissed it with indelible love. He moved back towards the entrance of my house where lies a slate of kota stone over which there is a clay saucer. He kept the chapatti on it and after paying one last homage went ahead towards his journey. Li’l knowing how he has changed that ordinary day of my dad’s to something extra-ordinarily momentous.