Cause, Pen

A Letter to Myself

The upper side of the china mug was little chipped off. A little crack, but significant enough to make you anxious and little bit sad. You’ll rotate it slowly, trying not to spill the coffee inside, and with keen eyes, following the faint lines of the imperfection.

Choose.

Choose.

Folded corners of your diary can be fixed easily but the lines won’t go. Though you can tear the page off, but you know that the harm is already done. In a remote corner of your memory, there is a deliberately abandoned grave of these memories. Sometimes you pass by this place accidentally and bring some grief and misery back with you.

‘I am done bleeding. I can start all over. A new day, a new man.’

Sweet lies, I call them. I often take them in the morning with some coffee. But at night, they don’t work that good. You can share it with people and sharing helps. Unless they don’t want to listen, usually which is the case. Everyone is wounded and they all want to show it. Everybody bleeds in their own little domain.

“There is not one person in this world that is not cripplingly sad about something. You remember that before you open your mouth.” (unknown)

Like a tree, with names engraved on its bark, I wish to stand still and be stoic. Hundreds of birds have built their nests on it. In the fall, I never saw it crying about its abandonment. Never it yelled at kids for breaking its branches or throwing rocks at it for fruits.

In this letter to myself, I wish to propose an idea which I must hold near, forever. If I will keep ranting, yelling, crying and blaming, I will be like an ever-empty bowl with a hole underneath. So, rather keep it all inside and be content. This world has already got enough misery to share some more.

You can spend a lot of time, scanning the crack in the cup and will end up with a cold cup of coffee. Or you can just sip it up while it’s still hot and start a great morning.

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Cause, Pen

A Lie Between The Fingers

Midst of this commotion for survival we sometimes lose track of our very reason of existence. The fact that we are altogether a unique being with an unmatched set of abilities, which sometimes take time to blossom, slips through the assembly line of our mechanical thoughts. Our thoughts, our perception of our self and the limits of our abilities are surprisingly controlled by people around us. A line can serve as a compliment or it can ruin your whole day. How dramatically and invisibly these words initiate this whole thinking process inside your head and decide your state of emotion.

People don’t think too much about what they are thinking. But they unconsciously know that it makes them blue. This little fella inside our head can’t be tamed so easily. It took years to reach the state of thoughtlessness for Buddha. But what if we can’t tame it? We can always make it high. So many chemicals messing up with our mind just to make it stop thinking the usual stuff. The most common and ancient of these lies is smoking.

I call it a lie. A lie we tell our self to back up other lies. We lie because we can’t take the harsh truth of the reality. It’s not harsh always. Every good moment isn’t a lie. Their momentary existence doesn’t conclude that happiness is a lie. But not accepting the truth is a lie. Why do we smoke? What are the reasons we give to convince our self for smoking? Why do we accept those reasons? Why do we know subconsciously that even if we try to quit it, we’ll readily give in if a strong urge takes its toll? We become the puppet of that mad driver which we let in our brain to drive recklessly through the bumpy road of reality.

Sometimes, when I see people smoking around me, people who we care about, that gesture of relief spreading over their forehead, I wish I just shoot them.  If you are so fed up of life, why don’t I just do you a favor and set you free from the misery. But they are scared of death. How ironical!

“That light between your palms

which you are trying to shield

from this soothing and fresh wind

 which embraces the barley fields

That lie between your fingers

 and that shadow behind you which lingers
   its grip tightens as you gasped,
   view going blur and all senses relaxed.”
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Cause, Pen

We Indians

I’m not one of those self-proclaimed critic who sits idly by and reads out the morning newspaper with a serious grim and reflection of disappointment with every headline showing the ugly side of my country. I don’t have any powerful opinions of my own to save this country. All I have is this power of perception of events which are taking place and present a simplified structure out of the pulpy mixture.

When we talk about major problems in India, we end up with a never-ending list. Population, cultural diversity, corruption, illiteracy and the list goes on. But these problems are on the surface. These problems are not at the root. For me, the center of this sphere of problems is ignorance. This ignorance is at every level of our system and our life. Ignorance of voters when they know that the candidates aren’t eligible. Ignorance of a doctor when he prescribes a whole list of expensive antibiotics even if a single table of PCM would have done the job. If you are a good observer you’ll know that I am right when I say ,”We Indians wait for the worse to happen before taking the ultimate steps.”

This thing goes for the common citizens as well. Our youth, the zealous and outrageous one, gets baffled only when something steps on its tail. The Upper class people do everything to make a show, to increase their size and the size of their shadow. This shadow covers the people who get influenced by their size and stature. Low class families are so caught up in pulling together the ends for basic needs of food, shelter and education. We were taught this fact in science that “We can be as fast as our slowest part.” I guess, this doesn’t work with the graphs showing economic boom in India.

Then comes the Middle class. It acts like the middle part of the weighing machine. The part, which actually supposed to be exactly in the middle of both weighing pans. But here, one pan contains few people with great power and wealth and other one is overflowing with people who are suffering the most. This middle class consists of people who can see the scenario more clearly. Even though in every person of this class lives an upper class aspirant but few of them have managed to tear themselves away from this dazzling race. These people are activists, philosophers, writers and environmentalists may be. Apparently, this class holds the key for a better tomorrow. It can pull them up and push them down.

Finally, people in India are of two types. People who want to change the policies which affects them and people who want it to be changed for general reasons. Former one shuts down as soon as their purpose is fulfilled. But as we know, problems are part of a system and we shall never ever stop evolving. I believe someday India will become a good place to live. Someday when the front page of a newspaper will make me smile. Less pollution, restored wildlife and vegetation. Yes, I am a believer but more than that I’m a doer. I am an Indian.

You may say I’m a dreamer, but I’m not the only one.     – John Lennon

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Cause, Pen

Diwali : Fest of Lights, Noise and Terror

Glare took the sight away

Glare took my sight away

O shine, Fake shine.
Don’t fool the senses of mine.
Those Sparkles you threw up in the sky
spread the smoke, hope with a hidden sly
we say these lights will shine our future,
will spread goodwill and signify the fall of evil
but all I can see is a blurred and dazzled scenes
dogs running restless as i tried to keep my sight keen

We did a show, we did a pomp
and if you know, we did it with a romp
As I slowly disappeared in the smoke carrying some despair
A big blow tore my soul and the blame is on me too, to be shared

Cheer for Oblivion

Cheer for Oblivion

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