The Blight of Independent Thought

She whispered in her 6 years old daughter’s ear the secret to having an eternal life...
The key to the realms of kings and queens and dreams, she passed on to the little girl and taught her to strive.
She taught her daughter to be fierce and bold. She told her stories of princesses locked in towers of gold.
She told her not to be like them...she taught her to play the survival game.
She taught her to be the Queen... no, she taught her to be the King! The ruler who is just and kind. She wanted her daughter to be the benevolent bride who rules with her consort by her side.

She taught her to count the stars and to conspire against them. She taught her to fly into the infinite blue of the sky and to dive into the depths of the vast oceans where reaches no light. She taught her that happiness was in her own heart and that she should love with her entire being. The examples she set were high, or so the girl thought.

She gave a little girl big dreams. Dreams that she saw with open eyes. Dreams she dreamt to live up to. Dreams that defined her life.

It was years later when she was rebuked by her mother for having independent thought, she realised that the curse was gifted to her by her own mother. And, a battle within her was being fought.
The battle against words whispered long ago in her ear... words she never forgot... words she held dear.

She was not supposed to reach for the stars nor rule hearts or be fierce.
She was taught, yes... and she became...
She was true to her dreams all the same.
But she broke into pieces when she heard her mother say... words that in her ears echo to this very day...
She was told that she was a blight to her mother’s name.
If anything at all, if she would cease to be, to her mother, it would be all the same.

She was gifted the curse of independent thought.

Paradox

Are we doomed spirits lashing against the stormy winds in the ocean?

Or are we gypsies making our way through time?

Are we a paradox of fate or are we the destiny of all that is alive?

Are you and me meant to be silent forever? 

Are we meant to watch the skies set into dusk and then transform into dawn every day...

And still never speak a word...

Are we doomed souls fighting the winds on the battlefield shores?

Are we gypsies with tales untold?

Are we the paradox of life and death?

Are we who we are, who are we meant to be?

You and me.

Goodbye

They who left...

They had their reasons 

and I was not one.

They who left...

Had better dreams and a hope of a better life 

Without me.

They who left...

They all did well.

Their success made me happy.

They who left...

They don’t know how I am 

Or what I feel.

They who left...

Will never know how much of them they left behind in me...

I lived and I lived with a bit of each of them in me. 

They left.
It’s time for me to leave. Goodbye.

The Open Love Letter

To

He who never came,

I don’t know if you can hear me. 

Perhaps am not loud enough, or clear.

I am still waiting...not too far, quite near.

Every knock on the door

Sends my heart beating

A crazy rhythm of its own...

I dream of the peace that your arms would bring

And the love that in your eyes I shall see.

With you, my love, I will finally be free.

Have you met me yet? 

Are you around?

Or did something happen to you...

Maybe you don’t want to be found.

Are you hurt and scared to love again?

From all emotions, do you refrain?

Maybe you have met me and not found me worthy.

Maybe...just maybe... you simply never came.

Your side of the bed will be empty forever...

I will puff a pillow each night for you.

I will come back to an empty house,

Light up those yellow lights you love so much, I know 

And I would call it home. 

I will make space for you on the bean bag beside me 

And talk about the random things that no one gets but us.

The silence is deafening.

The thought of you not being there 

Is not a future I can live in.

I can’t breath. 

The vast emptiness pulls me into an abyss... and I am scared. 

I am scared to let go of the thought of you.

I hope you are well. 

I hope you are happy wherever you are.

Maybe you have already found Love and it’s not me.

Or maybe... just maybe... you are waiting still.

Maybe you light up the yellow lights and talk about all the random things no one understands but us.

Maybe you too make space for me. 

Maybe I am home to you.

You tell me your dreams and your fears.

Maybe you are looking forward to the day we meet

And that day you will be, in the truest possible way, complete.

Do you fear not meeting me?

Do you wonder if I am there?

Have you given up already...

I don’t want to know, I wouldn’t dare.

Maybe you are gone already.

That, I would perhaps never know.

As fortune would have it,

Maybe we are never to meet, but

I was destined to be forever yours.

Come, find me.
Please.

From

She who kept waiting.

The Funeral March

The Funeral March played on...
I walked silently with the crowd.
It was a bright sunny day.
The winter wind battled with the pristine shroud.

The aisle was long.
The way to the altar was longer still.
Twice I was to be given away.
Twice had I been turned away further still.

They marched through the meadows...
They marched through the hills...
They marched through the shadows...
They marched through barren lands and streams.

The funeral march played on...
I walked silently with the crowd.

There were flowers and they burned incense...
The stink of death and sorrow filled the air.
I was stale and I had wilted...
The wind blew through my unkempt hair.

Was it me they were mourning or was I mourning my dreams?
The crowd was filled with faces that I had never seen.
Their touch was cold... or maybe it just wasn’t as warm as I had been.
Was this the loss of me or was this my loss... I was lost, I could not feel.

Was it me they were mourning or was I mourning my dreams?

The funeral march played on...
I walked silently with the crowd.

— written on a winter afternoon with an overcast sky

Warmth and high

Plastic cups lay strewn around. Drinks spilt on the progressively fading carpet had started to dry up on their own. The stink of ashes on the make-shift trays made the air stale. Left over pizza lay unattended on the coffee table in the living room. There was silence all around as the fairy lights blinking their way into dawn.

She sat curled up on her balcony...her blanket tightly wrapped around her.
The city, from her 10th floor apartment, looked so beautiful as it came alive.
The cool breeze made her shiver ever so slightly.
It felt cold...inside and out.
As the high of the previous night gradually left her...she knew that warmth would perhaps never be hers. She tightened the grip on her blanket, her sole companion.

Clockwork

To be able to reach out. To want to know.
Somewhere lost in the crowd.
Alone and scared.
Looking for a way to make it seem worth the while.
Lacking in conviction...yet pushing ahead.

I blame the heads bobbing up and down in the crowded station.
I blame the trains that are never on time.
I blame the alarm clock for not ringing loud enough.
I blame the system.
At the end of the day, I take the fall.

Like clockwork I move. We move.
Each movement accurate. The data sheet smiles.
My name, my identity, my being...it's been compromised.
I know my fate. Stations. Heads. Trains. Clocks.
Mornings will be the same.
Nights will be the same.
Afternoons will be the same.
I will break apart and be put together all the same.

Hammer the clock. Jump the line. Let the alarm ring louder than ever.
Run off.

Peace eludes still.
We are used to our clockwork moves.
We are prisoners within.

Who we are

Everything that we are not and everything that we shall ever be...all of it...the entire story is written by the people we meet.

However much we may believe that we create our own lives...it has to be acknowledged that a lot of who we are is courtesy the people we have met.

Some of us have siblings. We grow up with them. Sharing, laughing, fighting and loving each other. Some of us grow up alone. The alone kids have a whole universe within themselves.

I remember my life defining moment. It was when my roommate at college told me that she had got two coffee mugs...one for herself and one for whoever her roommate was going to be.
And yes, it's been 10 years since then...we are still sharing, laughing, fighting and loving each other!

The people we date...and the reason we break up with them... These, kind of, change the person that we were before we met them or broke up with them. Some good and some bad...their influences, their choices, their likes and dislikes...they leave an imprint on us.

The colleagues we make and the work we do...they help us understand what we can never be good at. That in turn helps us figure out who we actually are.

We have values and ideals of our own. The foundation, perhaps, remains same but our values and principles evolve over time. We realise how we really want our life to be and that's what moulds our way of life.

Life is ever changing. We may long of things we have lost but somehow nothing is ever lost. The people you have met and lost have left an imprint on you. We carry all the interactions and relationships inside us...as experiences. They help us grow.

We may be the architect of our own fortune but it's mostly our choices to be with the people we want to be with that defines the way our life turns out to be.

Pretty fascinating...I feel!

That which was not to be found

She was looking for that which was not to be found.
Every place she went, she carried questions around.
She weaved dreams out of magic...sheer art.
And slowly again, she would pull them apart.

The world was a colourful void to her.
She filled it with love and joy and fear.
Her thoughts ran in incoherent trains.
Messy like puddles of water in torrential rains.

Normadic was her soul.
In her hands, the reigns of Life.
Glorious in all her beauty...
In ebbs and flows, she escaped time.

She was easy to love...
But hard to hold.
She slipped by like the sands in the hourglass.
Yet in an embrace, she made you whole.

She was Contradictions given life...
A world of hues and stains alike.

Searching forever for her home in the wood...
She was our mysterious Little Red Riding Hood.

Carpe Diem?!

So what do you do when you want to break free and do something new that takes your mind off your troubles and pain...something that manages to set you off along the right path again?

Different people have different coping mechanisms.

Women are known to get a make-over... hair, nails and all of it. A new wardrobe definitely helps them to win the war against all odds.

I generally seek refuge in music and books. Mostly, I just write. That's how this blog came into existence.

I used to a very timid child. Introvert in the very sense of the word. I was a good girl, who obeyed all rules and was filled with shame and guilt when, even by the slightest mistake, some of those rules were broken. I was quiet. I had trouble opening up to people. I didn't want anyone to know me lest they judge me for who I am.

That was eons ago. I do not care about such things anymore. Life has changed me. I am no longer that self conscious shy child. I am no longer an introvert. I talk now. I don't just talk, I express my opinion and views. I am confident and sure of what I am doing. I am, in ways, fearless.

No matter how sturdy an armour we put on, there are moments when we get weak. There are moments when we long for the things we can never get...dreams that we know will never see the light of the day...longings...wishful ones.
I believe, I am the only one responsible for my happiness. I believe, that I am the only one responsible for everything that happens in my life. It makes me feel stronger sharper and definitely not taller (Horlics reference for those who can connect the dots)!
There are things I long for...and I know that reality is far from those things.

I write. When I feel sad about all the things that I am missing out on, I write. Right now I am under this huge #FOMO phase. Hence, this post.

This has been a year of changes...and the way things are going next year will be even more dynamic.
To be honest, I like dynamic. I prefer a hectic life compared to a peaceful one. It leaves me with less time to get into the wishful longings phase.

Sometimes, I wonder if I should stop running. Maybe I pick a hectic life because I am running away from the things that make me sad. Is it just FOMO or am I being an escapist?

Carpe diem... shall I never be able to seize the day?
  

The Promiscuous Lady

And that promiscuous Lady...
The one who just walked by.

Her red bag and heels...
The smoke swirling around her lips...
Her perfume, she left it lingering still
Her presence, with it she seemed to fill.
The hair, disarrayed...but that's style
Her smile, a killer, coy, sly.

You may want to touch her,
Intangible, yes, her mystery was.
You may want to know how her thoughts flow,
Like a whirlwind, how they come and go.
You may want to untangle the knots in her hair,
Her aura lay there, her story, to be quite fair.

The tactfully smudged kohl,
And all the colours of Her...
Enticing, intriguing...
A glimpse, perhaps, into her deep soul.
Her face, her painted nails, her hair...
She is my mountain Gypsy girl, my lady fair.

Coarse not soft, her hands were...
An impulse, a recoil, and moments passed
Till Breath returned to me.
My heart beat a thousand beats till she finally set me free.

Her smell lingered, she was long gone.
Her coy smile, she left behind.
She is the promiscuous Lady.
The one who just walked by.