Posted in Musings

Worth it.

On some days when you want to simply peek at the far corner of the road, you should simply do it even when you know that it is a dead end and that it has nothing but thorns, thistles and bulrushes and nothing of high towering trees and low-lying flowers that can mellow your heart. I say, you should walk down there and do justice to your heart’s desire to peek. Just go, stand there and return if you want. If not, you can just stand there and decide whenever you want to walk back.

On some days it is simply okay to travel down far, not knowing the destination, not knowing your way back and the darkness that will hover in very soon. It is okay to keep hoping, laugh a little louder, bask in the sun a while longer and yet know in your heart that a mighty lash of rain awaits you that would leave you rolling into the oceans afar off and drowning in a very short while. It is okay to pick flowers as you go, kick at the stones, look at the skies sloshed with colour and sprout hopes in your heart that the far end is not a dead end after all. You can believe that the distance holds astounding things for you that will make your smile last a lifetime and that the far end is full of alyssum ground covers that blankets the dreams of your life. You can go on to believe that the person by your side is a mist that will drift above your life forever, for a lifetime maybe. You can believe all that you want and you can walk on and on. Because I believe that some places/some seasons/some people are worth breaking your heart for despite the reality that drapes it in vivid, bright colours.

Posted in Prose

The last piece.

For Adarsh

I am that last little piece in the jigsaw puzzle that finally makes sense.
If it weren’t for me the picture you behold would definitely be a picture but would you live up to see or make sense of the whole even if your imagination has given me away, pulling you away to a side to show you the complete picturesque without me being fitted into my place? I am that last piece that makes sense and over the years I have been told to fit in, curve myself, lean forward, submit a little, stoop very low and let the rest of the pieces take control over my sides so we could fit rather well in unison and stay put for a long time, at least for a while. For the longest time in my entire life I was submissive, let the picture oppress me, to stay, to make sense and be the final one that brought the “Whoa” in people. Didn’t I like all that attention when people picked me to fit me in? Didn’t I possibly enjoy those moments when I and only I could finally make sense? Didn’t I enjoy the privileges I was offered, the fact that looking at me for the first time I didn’t make sense as to where exactly I could be placed but only could when finally everyone were placed, smoothed and settled in? Didn’t I come to relish that ultimate moment when I was scrambled for and fitted in with all pride and dignity? I did. I did a million times. It’s been so long, 22 years to be precise and I am bored, I wanted spice, some aroma, some mystery, something different. I wanted to be that piece that went missing under the table, that caused all the trouble, that was the sole reason the puzzle was left incomplete and the piece that had broken sides so as to be replaced, changed and maybe even thrown away so I could somehow see the backyard, lie in the pile of junk that went to the junkyard to be recycled, smashed and transformed to something else- maybe a flat piece of plastic or just a stupid piece so I could lie there in the yard and watch the world go by. If I had bad sides, too obstinate to fit in with the rest, the picture on my face faded and insipid I would be the change won’t I? I would probably be the reason why “they” thought it was high time for a change of jigsaw puzzle and tried a hand at scrabble or chess or simply gone to get a life outside of jigsaws, puzzles and pieces.
I was told to fit in but what if I pushed myself to the edge of the table to fall down and roll under the table to lie there dusty and unpicked for a long time I would be the resistance that brought change won’t I? I could give jigsaw some time alone, I could be the reason why jigsaw had to be locked again in little Joe’s cupboard for a long time, maybe for another 22 years. Maybe I could lie beneath here, swept out very soon into the backyard and be gone for good and for Resistance and Change. Just a little Resistance and Change from my rather boring fitting-into-the-jigsaw-puzzle life. And to simply be gone to get a better life. Something a little better.

Posted in Pictures

Colours in the skies

Some evenings feel like forevers, the nostalgia of something from the past lingering on the clouds and the colour of happiness clinging onto the face of the skies though deep inside my head hangs down a pale, placid and insipid screen of cloth that now projects nothing but Nothing. Just nothing. Those colours in different shades of pink, blue and orange sloshed across the skies in no style and perfect way remind me of my empty life that was once splashed about with colours vivid, that hardly made sense but made it messier like never before. These colours did not go with each other. Wasn’t blue a little too calm for a fiery bright orange or wasn’t pink soft and simple to be set against blue and orange with clouds too big and soaring birds going home? Life had a different way with me too when it decided upon chaos mingled with tiny bits of love, hate with masses of confusion and black standing out against white backgrounds. The colours fading away now, blue now turning dark blue and pink and orange giving way to darkness, like when the painter decides to go darker at the corners and come clean of anything light and mild, it’s a new world now and so be the milieu in my life. Chaos did give way to peace, love did give way to hate and a lot of other things changed because the painter simply decided to change the whole picture taking it away by it’s eisel.

Dusk creeping in now.
In the evenings I sit watching the skies, realizations dawn on me, wounds that healed open up and some tears do flow down and sometimes hopes are put out. I have no choice but isn’t there something mesmerizing in the colours on the skies, the fading away and darkened shades of some colours that really get you thinking and somehow gets you into adding some colour in your rather skeletonized life that so desparately needs some stuffing,colour, a little magic and a gentle touch of love.
Posted in Debut Book

A Little Spark for Living- Debut Book

On September 25 Notion Press, India published my debut book “A Little Spark for Living” and I cannot possibly contain the joy and gratefulness filling in my heart. Since I am a first time author, the book is only available in the Indian market. You can order my book from the Amazon store, it would mean a lot! https://www.amazon.in/dp/1636332560

As much as I am glad I could finally reach a milestone, my heart fills with gratitude towards God for the hardships He has led me through and the wonderful people He let stay in my life. As I look back, I remember my days in undergrads when my mind had a personal cloud of negativity and a little too much of neuroticism hanging over my head. I was a terrible person fearing for the worst at simple things like “What if I don’t do well in the University exams?”. At such a time I told a friend that I would someday get over pessimism and write a book on Positivity and Life and my friends laughed at me (no offence because I gave them reasons to).

I wouldn’t say I have come a long way but in my own neurotic ways I have been devastated, lonely, depressed, hopeless, most times stupid and very often degrading myself. But every time I lost a friend to selfishness and heartbreak, loved ones to misunderstanding, families to sickness and unfortunate incidents, I learnt a new lesson and again I wouldn’t say these lessons were Herculean but in my day, in my ways they did revive me, add a little sense into my head and help me walk forward though at many times I have walked forward aimlessly and broken in mind and soul.
In school, in every slam book, in every class, to every teacher I said my ambition was to someday become a Professor in Literature and an Author and yeah I have come to reach one milestone and I am glad I did. I did it but everytime I know I did it I know there have been hands that pushed me forward to see the good, the potentials, the strength and the calibre that lay soft behind my vulnerable self.
I am ever grateful to my parents and my brother Justin for the motivation and the positivity they emitted through the whole process. I thank my father who took time out of his schedule to edit the book as to present it in the best way possible, my mother and my beloved brother for constantly motivating me and believing the fact that I could do the impossible if I set my mind to it. I have to be grateful to all my friends for being there when I trampled down on myself. My friend Meera for sticking close for 11 years, Shalom for reviving and praying for me for the past 8 years, Pranav for being a wonderful friend and brother in Alva’s when things started shaking all around me, Nikhil for teasing away all my troubles and tensions by simply writing them out in our rather inactive Instagram page, Souparnika for being the most wonderful friend who believed I could do anything and Adarsh for ever so patiently listening to all my relationship crisis for the past three months and talking to me just to keep my head off sensitive topics and people who could possibly ruin my peace and ruminate a little less about my past. Thank you for believing I could get out of whatever mess I had landed in.
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I love you all.

Posted in Musings

C-Y-N-I-C-A-L

He/She/They/You/I

Become “Cynical” at some point of time, out of the blue sometimes.
Losing faith in the people around, the gradual erosion of trust and hope and the constant wearing of intimacy and love is the result, the aftermath of your new season of Being Cynical.
You are at fault, are you? Or is it just life’s messed up games of playing the fool with you, little knowing that it was sucking out every ounce of trust and hope you had in the Human Race.
Are you really at fault or would you cast the blame on Life?
He/She/They/You/I
We have become “Cynical” at one point.
Are you right now or was it just a phase that passed out too quickly you hardly had time to noitce?
Or is it that you call yourself a lovable, dependable, amiable, fanciful, merciful Human whose past is dotted with mosses and weeds in places, Oh God I cannot say where and where not?
You have not been “Cynical”, have you? Or is it that you were when you never bothered to look up your symptoms in the mental health book and probably then look up the word itself in the dictionary by your bedside?
He/She/They/You/I
We have become “Cynicals”. Admit it.
Days when you lost faith in people, the kind heart within you dying and the love going out from your systems. Remember that day when the soft corner within you suddenly turned hard, refusing to go back to being tender. We have become Cynicals at some point and some of us still are. Some of us still living in the trauma that hit us a while ago and settled down since then to believe that love isn’t love and trusting , believing and having faith is all but Vanity.
You have become “Cynical” as much as I have.