0.0001 Billion Reasons Why

Social media is utter madness!
It is a treacherous and deceitful world of lies and pretence. One can easily feel trapped amidst the likes, views and shares.

The Who, What and Why questions of the world have been feeling lonely lately. It's perhaps worth addressing them from time to time. To what end, you might ask. Well, even if it doesn't meet a specific end, it would surely keep an inquisitive mind alive.
Remember the Renaissance? Oh wait, did you prefer the Dark Age?!

Back to social media.
It has been an immense boon to us. Specially in times like these when we are confined within the four walls of our home, our state, our country...depending on those colourful graphs and numbers that the COVID tracking sites put up and refresh every minute.
It has become so easy to connect with our loved ones. Everyone is literally on everyone's fingertips.
It is a fact...all sorts of long distance relationships... friendship, family, love... none of them could have been sustained under these circumstances through the Postal Service alone.
However, there is always a flip side!

It annoys me how everything is packed and locked in a box these days. Yeah, I mean the phone and the computer.
If I have to connect with someone I open the box and speak. If I want to hear back from someone, I open the box ten times an hour to check if they have bothered to respond back.
It is annoying how FaceTime now stands for videos calls and not people actually "face"-ing each other for real and spending quality "time". Okay, COVID ruined it bigtime but anyway, were we still not having real conversations when we met face to face. All that mattered was taking Insta worth selfies or creating new posts for the feed.
We had lost the human connect long before COVID. Let's face it!

To be honest, I had made my peace with it. Okay, people now are all about FOMO and YOLO...and that is so evident all over their social accounts. It is kind of ironic how you can have fear of missing out when you are in reality missing out on the whole Human Experience!

Another thing that bugs me like crazy is the desperate need to seek validation. It confounds me.
The need for approval has forever eluded me. Perhaps, I am odd. Perhaps, others need a better perspective. Who's to say!
Wait, don't go yet... hear me out.

I get it! Fame is akin to massive acceptance...the acknowledgement of one's achievements and an overwhelming validation of one's talents.
Somehow I find it extremely disturbing.

On a not so unrelated note, I am often asked why I don't pursue photography actively anymore. I shrug off the query with a nonchalant "Huh"...
Two reasons:
1. I wanted to spend more time experiencing and quenching my thirst for the Human Experience...that is way more important to me than capturing the experience. FOMO YOLO and all that!
2. At that point of time (pre 2015 days), almost everyone who had sufficient funds at their disposal, took up a DSLR and called themselves a photographer. It was a major turn off for me, honestly.
I didn't feel the need or the urge to seek mass approval. The quality of photographs being churned out on social media by these "photographers" was super diluted now, so was the audience's expectations. I didn't feel like playing the game anymore.
I do have a couple of friends who are exceptional photographers and I have been fortunate enough to have done some quality photography in their company (2011-2015 days) and I still follow their work and share mine with them. Come on, I have this in my genes. How can I not be friends with the camera!
For those who don't know, my maternal great great grandfather was a pioneer in the field of photography and videography in India. My eldest maternal uncle has taken up the reins now.
Read more about my grandfather (one of the founders of the Hungry Generation) and my family history on the web: My Awesome Ancestors

Evidently, I never quit photography. I just don't put them out on social media anymore, at least not with the purpose of getting one million likes. A photograph is a moment frozen in time. It is a beautiful memory. A photograph taken by me is my memory, created by me and the Universe, captured through my lenses, my visual compositions...precious to me. Not for public consumption. Even if it was posted online, it is only because I wanted to share the memory, not because I am looking for public validation or approval for my talents.

The desperate need to seek approval is sickening. Am sure, as we speak, some analytical mind somewhere is already working on some research in the field of mental health studies along these lines.
A whole bunch of us have lived our lives solely and completely in the pursuit of approval and acceptance. Is it not suffocating? I find it exceedingly disturbing.

We have been programmed to seek appreciation and approval. Behavioral psychology, anyone?
It is a random competition where the talented is fighting neck to neck with the mediocre by the sheer power of numbers.
Some of us go to such lengths to attain approval that failure leads to self destructive behaviour. The fear of negative outcome pushes us even further down the hole till we spiral out of control.
There isn't always a Wonderland down the Rabbit Hole. 

I won't lie, I try but I just cannot align myself to this behaviour. I find it pointlessly painful and I love my mental peace and a good night's sleep!

In a world where dinchak performers are hated and viewed a zillion time and artists are rumoured to have bought views, I am too ordinary to even try! 
What is 1 Lakh anyway, just 0.0001 Billions... so those many reasons why!

Edge of Existence

Trust is fragile, as is the knowledge of Truth.

Silence is overbearing, and the burden of wisdom causes a deafening roar. 

Broken and scattered, Fate, lay forgotten, on the floor.

Dried Tears and their easily traceable paths, haunt the empty halls of the Mind.

Screams of Pain, echo through the Emptiness...

The shrill piercing cry of Darkness is reflected by the vacant Moon.

The Stream of life flows unrelentingly, still...

The stillness of Time suffocates existence.

A single silver thread of light floating through the night... 

A lone spark between two finite ends...

A white dwarf, shining on the edge of cosmic existence...

A gold straw, spun by magic...

A Life at its end...

What Hope is there left?

Is there a better world?

It is but a downward slope,
This inability of the human heart to care.
Language has become mere words, meaningless, futile.
Thoughts lay bare.

Blasphemy, the desire to seek the Truth.
Accept and surrender, never grow.

Keys on the board move faster than the lips.
Colours hide the myriad hues of the soul.

The cacophony of the bazar,
The chaos in the streets,
All die down.
The spirit of Life sleeps.

Could there be a way back from here, no.
Is this a better world, not sure.

Pebbles and Pearls

She had never been good with conversations.
She could, though, use her words eloquently on paper.

She seemed happy, like a rainbow in full hue.
Vibrant as a field of flowers, her hair blew in the summer breeze. Like a pair of swans in a dark blue lake after sunset, her eyes glistened.
Her lips carried words that would never be heard, for silence was her escape.

She had memories as frail as feathers. She flew with them through the starless skies. She gathered them and wove a dream-catcher for sleepless nights. She blew them away when they became too worn out and hard to bear.

She stringed together pebbles and pearls. She wove seashells in between to keep them company. She was her soulmate. She was her own hero.

She dreamt of a white horse with a flowing white mane... A field of green grass and a horizonless meadow ahead.

She had wanted everything everyone wants but regular things were not meant for her. She was not extraordinary. She was simple. She was different and there was no one else like her.

She could be with no one and no one could ever be with her.

Misfits and Greatness

That fine line between who you are and where you want to fit it...
It’s those few steps and a decision that almost always takes you up on a roller coaster only to throw you back beside the line you had thought was a part of your history now.
So, who are you? Where do you want to fit in?

Do you want to fit in?

What’s wrong in being a misfit? ...one may very well ask.
A very legit question. Almost as important as all those questions that deal with existential crisis.
So, coming back to the question, do we have to fit in?

The world is witness to the greatness of misfits. College drop outs turning out to be the greatest minds in the world. Some published papers and discussed theories while some built empires and became millionaires.
This brings us to the question, is greatness inborn or inculcated?
This is interesting. I hold the opinion that one must have the potential within, to begin with.  Thereafter, the desire to achieve greatness sort of pushes one ahead and helps them develop these latent talents further.

So, are then some men and women genetically engineered for greatness while others are meant to live average lives?
Maybe, yes.

The desire to achieve greater goals can be a motivating factor which can pull an average person up from mediocrity. However, for such men and women, the desire has to be overwhelming and their risk taking capabilities should be higher than the other group of individuals who we discussed about above.

So, no... there is no need to fit in. There is no need to seek validation or approval of others. All one needs to do is identify his or own capabilities and limitations. Then he or she needs to visualise where they want to be with all their talents at their disposal.
If you are unwilling to risk it, there is very little chance that you will do anything great, to any degree, in your life.

Here we are, back at that fine line between who you are and where do you want to fit in.
Do you still want to fit in?

Afraid to go Home

Man is a social animal, they say.
So are women, pretty much by default.

And yet, we need therapy sessions and we fight nightmares. We are afraid to talk to the people closest to us and choose a stranger with a degree in psychology over people who were actually supposed to know us.
We run away from familiar faces in our dreams. We keep running till our slumber breaks our fall.

Our individual sense of independence has killed our social skills.
Nipped it in the bud, altogether!

We would rather climb a hill with a stranger than take a walk with a friend.

We crib and we write poetry.
We sing and we write prose.

We laugh aloud in nightclubs. Unfamiliar sweaty bodies brush against us as we dance the night away, intoxicated by the unfamiliarity of it all, silencing the screaming voices of the society in our head with the loud music all around.
We laugh aloud all night. Lost in a world where there is no trust, no faith, no dependence.

140 words are enough at times. A check in is sufficient to let your presence be known.

But somewhere inside the magical realm of the surreal, a world lies that’s so pure. The blinding magic of love and the deafening roar of joy...the boundless mirth that life could give us... entwined into a pattern of its own.

We are souls lost to this world.

We think we are smart, because we have learnt to let go.
And now, we are afraid to go home.

Erosion

Yeah, I had it all.
In bits and pieces.
All of you and all of me.
I found us, like sands on a beach.
Swept in by the sea and the winds.

I remember the last time someone sent me flowers.
A bunch of red roses on a Saturday morning.
The flowers wilted... I scattered them around my heart.
In bits and pieces.

I found a yellow rose between the pages of my diary...
The one I used to write in before I took up writing on social platforms.
The rose brought back memories of you, of us...
In bits and pieces.

I followed a page on Insta last week.
That of this insanely adorable Labrador pup.
Reminded me of your promise to get me one of my own.
Broken promises lay now, in bits and pieces.

I met You on a summer evening in April.
I met You, at midnight, in the parking lot, in October.
I met You at a beautiful monsoon twilight in July.
I met You again in April around the same time.

I met You, in bits and pieces.
Each time a different You.
Each time a part of You.

Bits and pieces of You, I picked up and made a whole.
Bits and pieces of myself, I gathered up and stored.
Bits and pieces, are all that’s left of me and You.
In bits and pieces lay our story untold.

I see You in my dreams.
The bits and pieces seem to come together.
I look in wonderment at the most amazing whole You make.
I nurse the hole in my soul.
The waves crash against the rocky shore...
Bits and pieces of me, they erode.

Your dreams keep me alive.
In these fragments of broken forevers,
I shall grow old.

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.