Sep 30, 2011

Dear Daddy,

I am nothing but a reflection of you.



Sometimes miniscule.

The other times magnified.

Skewed a bit.

Smudged some times.


My presence and virtues will always be retraced to you.

My identity is in you.

Which is what I'm proud of.


Sep 27, 2011

Is this an escape?

Sneak out from
this world,
I wanna.
To Alice's

Shrink and grow
giant sized,
I wanna.
In the very
consecutive seconds.

Roam around
like her, free.
I wanna.
In the dense
forests & palaces.

Meet that
talking rabbit,
I wanna.
Cuddle and
converse for hours.

Wear those
fairy gowns,
I wanna.
In the ice cold breeze
around white trees.

Traverse areas
I wanna.
Live alone, isolated
in thoughts.

And then, break free
from that world,
I wanna.
Whenever I wished.
Pinch. Ouch.

Dreams a lot
I concoct.
All strange
and weird,
I know.

Reality is a
bit less dreamy.
Work and duties
are many. Hmm.
Is this an escape?

Is there an escape?

Sep 24, 2011

Crazy Superstitions!!

She believes in the presence of that Supreme Almighty. She has grown up that way, amongst superstitions, around miracles, believing magic exists in the stone-statues, accepting the co-existence of spirits - good and bad. When she was young, she used to regularly visit that temple, where the bad spirits were extracted from people's bodies. She had seen absolutely normal people turn wild, change voices, and act weirdly. And, she had seen how in the premises of the temple, they had healed, calmed down, and after losing chunks of energy, returned back to their hometowns. Her elders had told her, that the energy was lost for the soul was fighting the spirit. Those nights she just used to sleep cuddled to her mother. She never slept with her granny. Granpa had told her not to. Also, she never ate from her granny's platter. All this, he had instructed her one fine evening, when she was busy doing her homework on the dining table. She said, she didn't have a study table those days. And, ever since then, she never had the habit of studying on a studying table. She always preferred a dining table, if not her bed. That evening, her granny had suddenly started shouting 'Allah Allah!' in a very hoarse manly voice. Before, she had been able to figure out anything more, her father had taken her in a room and locked the door from outside. Some days later, they had gone to that temple again, but, she was left at her cousins place.

As kids, she used to talk with her cousins at her maternal grandpa's home about how bad an omen was a cat crossing her path, about how the flickering of the right eyelid was bad and the left one, a good omen. They used to tell her how true it was for them. She had ridiculed it. It was then, when she heard her mother stating instances to her sister-in-law about how she believed in it.

Her mother's father was quite a spiritual man, she told. People from across the town used to come to meet him. Her mother had told her, 'Grandpa is blessed, He can read the signals of the God. Infact, he has conversations with the almighty.'

As a teenager, she used to be amused by such talks. She had no reason to not believe that this was nothing but a figment of people's imagination and blind faith. She remembered having a few conversations and discussions with her father. He had not dismissed it altogether. She remembers, he had said, ' But, they are non-existent is not the truth either.' He had quoted a few strange instances which could not be explained otherwise.

When the financial downturns took place, some years later, her father had become a regular to vastu-shastra consultants, astrologers and tantriks. She had seen him do crazy things at home. She had overheard him one day talking to her mother,' old lady lies buried in our very house, whose spirit is cursing us.'
She had slept sleepless nights for months together, when lot of learned people had agreed to such influences existant.

They had shifted to a new home. She had enrolled into a new interesting course. She had visited that temple that spring. In front of the statue she had stood, staring direct and deep into the well carved beautiful eyes. She had stared for quite long, not batted an eyelid, and had kept on mumbling verses. She had a flash of light in front of her, and the statue had moved, the temple had disappeared, and only blue skies behind the statue had existed. Tears had flooded her eyes. She had been awestruck. She didn't talk about it to anyone. She had felt it would be laughed upon.

Few months later, she started noticing some random patterns in the things around her. A fixed pattern seemed to have taken a shape. She had noticed a relation between some involuntary eye movements and the instances that followed. A few instances later, she wrote what she was expecting to happen. Twice and thrice when it did happen, she knew it was for real. But, it was vague. She only knew the nature of it - good or bad, and knew that it would only be about her or her near and dears.

She has been doing this - noticing patterns and firming a belief that she is told about the good or bad expected next by God himself - since 2 or 3 years now. She doesn't tell it to anyone other than her mother, who believes in her intuitions. She reads them, sometimes they are true, sometimes they are not. But, most of the times, she finds out a reason to justify her intuition. She lives an alternative facet of life, where knowing a bad intuition causes her inners to split. She's left thinking and asking for more from the one, who she thinks empowers her. She has started to believe that it exists, so much so that even in day to day living her subconscious automatically deciphers the signs.

She's here with me, for she wants to get rid of this belief. Reinforcement has lend her a disturbed soul and an extinguished peace of mind.

Crazy Superstitions!!

Hoping she heals soon!

Sep 22, 2011

Understanding Love

Taking the path of Neophyte, today I have sat down to 'understanding love': The most talked, the most written and the most criticized subject ever.

Love: the emotion, most frequently named inaptly for the attractions, infatuations and innocent crushes.

Love: the new found craze of the youth, who illusion it as an essentially. Much like their illusion about cuss words sounding cool.

Love: the entity that, in its truest sense, takes birth only when you've risen enough to shed down the mask of 'being with someone';
When that someone becomes 'you', and they share 'your soul' with you;
And when that someone is no more a separate individual but a component of your individuality.
Anyways, immense literature has been created on the definitions of love. And I think, it is better to leave it to the scholars.

What I have mentioned above is, according to me, the difference between the 'new age trending fashion of being-in -love' and the 'actual romantic love'.

Leaving it here itself and getting back to the point of when an 'I Love You' is worded by me...
Love, for me, holds another essential dimension apart from the Supreme Purity in Emotion.
Of Supreme Purity in its Expression.

The dimension where love sees no borders of caste, creed, gender, whenst expressing, and is not caged in the resultant implications, consequences, interpretations.

The biggest of an errand to the tiniest act of care...all receive the deepest 'I love you'.

The bond of ages to barely a month old relation...all are told an 'I love you'

Whenever someone makes me feel blessed or loved, by their words, actions or thoughts...And, they might be a kid down the block, an old lovely lady across the lane, a long lost buddy or an enstranged relative.

For me, an 'I Love You' is not restricted to family and partner...

For me...
Love is Love.


Without grades.

Without a classification.

Since love is such simple, I believe, such should be its expression.

This emotion is meant to be pure, sans any bothers and manipulations.
And, I make it a point to not let its expression go polluted or inexistent...

More importantly, Say it, only when you feel it.
Besides, Saying it as and when you feel it. :)

Sep 20, 2011

Valuating My Assets !!

In the times of double digit inflation, 28K for 24K Gold, and soaring estate prices...
I'm rich. Super Rich.

In the times of US debts, 22% hike in Electricity rates, and raise in telecom tariffs...
I'm satisfied. Content ful.

For I have what values most.


For I have what money can't buy.


Sep 13, 2011

Ex-pression ??

Yes, I might sound silly for this very post. But don't I majority of the times do that anyways?
Ohk. Don't answer that one.

So, here I go...

There are certain things that one can't help. They are ingrained in us. Not that a therapy might always be worthless. But then, who's going looking for one!! We are good as we are. For we like being ourselves. At least for that wee bit of time, when we actually be. For that time, when we don't have to think before saying or acting. Our real time with selves. The time when we shed our clothes of social behavior, and talk to ourselves sparing the conditioned brain circuits of thinking, and not letting the worry of interpretations alter the feeling. The feeling that we basically feel, one which we would have expressed had we been a kid. And the kind of kid, who could word his/her inner within aptly.

On a second thought, that doesn't exist. For,before a kid learns about the various kinds of emotions he harbors, he's trained about taming them.
Yup, they say 'To foresee, is to be forearmed.'
Arming a kid with the weapons of societal mannerisms.
Not that it is bad.
Mannerisms and conditioning are essential for a society to be healthy. After-all, curbing the instinctive actions to the random array of thoughts, IS the crux of a civilization.

Google Images
But then, nothing in this universe is absolutely flawless. Even an atom has positive and negative particles.
In the process of civilization, the rawness of natural expression is, somewhere being subjected to such high pressures that if it goes on for few more centuries like this, then we could only be left with fossil remains. The work-culture and the stress is, already enough the heat to make the conditions more conducive for the transformation. Transformation to the soul which lives for the society and not for themselves. Whose each action would be planned so that it does not fail in the process of scrutiny and ends up building the perfect image that they want themselves to be portrayed in as.

Sometimes, all one wants is, to do a thing. Out of random, instinctive impulse. Or whatever you name it. Not thinking about whether it is right or wrong. You just wanna say/do it. Sans any cortical inhibitions.
Those, in my view, are the true emotions. Which when expressed/ given way to, can rejuvenate you; make you feel alive and kicking; make you feel like that bird in that vast sky- free; make you soak every bit of that feeling and bask for a while in its aroma.

Expression is the gift of nature. And, we shouldn't be keeping it wrapped in us. The joy in letting go our real self, for a few seconds even, is far beyond a millenium years spend in this masked life. No matter, how silly it might seem to others, the utmost satisfaction of being true and expressive is one, which no one can take away from you.

It's silly, to update a relationship on social networking sites. But, the joy of seeing his name with mine, on my profile, is another feeling altogether. One which I can't put into words.

Yes, it is kiddish. But, it is like that chocolate to me, that I wouldn't have traded even for a toy.

Not that, without it, it won't be a truth. But then, there are certain things which, when you see/remember, give you an exemplary feeling, the reasons to which nobody knows why. They just act as euphoric shots. Some might get it with drugs, the others with appreciation. I, strangely, have felt the same whenever I look at his name integrated in my profile.

This IS the first place where publicly I'm documented to be his. IT IS SPECIAL.

And, I totally love it.

It is like shouting from the top of Mt. Everest and letting the whole of the universe be a witness to the awesomest thing that ever happened to me.

Btw, ever tried that? Shouting from the peak of a mountain???
Do try it once.
I'm sure you would love it.

Sep 3, 2011

Trains, Lathi & Movies

In a ladies coach of an intercity...over the uncomfortable 3 blue planked upper seat...lay me...tired, exhausted and deep into dreams. (After a 5 hr class, I was traveling in a general class for an urgent work at hometown.) Dreaming of a wonderful, smashing, late night discotheque party...with 'Char Baj Gayi Hai' being DJed with 'DK Bose'. In the zipping zapping zooming lights, feet moved like they were on Everready 9 batteries. Red cat jumping across the buildings and trees. (No, Jitendra, if was a Jumping Star, he happened to be the 'White Cat'.)

Amidst the Jazz moves and Bollywood jhatkas, suddenly, it seemed there were Duracell rabbits out-casting me, and my feet started to hurt. Like the moment when Geet misses her train, it was being played in slow motion in my visual cortex, and with each step that Duracell took, pain in my sole rose.

And then, in a flash of a second, I emerged from my dreams to the real world, a la Harry Potter coming out of the pensieve basin, to realize that a police lathi had just hit my soles. It couldn't have been the Wanted scene, and I could no ways be treated with the 3rd degree torture. I knew I was innocent. And when I was about to shout, 'Mein nirdosh hu!', a lady's voice said, 'Get this man down.' As I sat down reflexively, the male handkerchief over my face vieled down, and my untidy hair spread hitherto over my face let go my gender-identity. The policeman's lathi was inches away from my feet for the second hit, when the women in my compartment gave loud laughs, 'Arre aa to chori hai' ( Oh! She's a girl.)

My feet, my easy jeans, the brother's t-shirt (which I always wear for train journeys), and Dad's handkerchief (which are the only kinds existing in my closet) : All were being cursed. By me, for the pain was being felt by me, not those ladies, who had complained, and later enjoyed and laughed like one does on a 'Jaspal Bhatti's Ulta Pulta' comedy jig.

In that very moment, the 'Karz' Rishi Kapoor in me woke, to remember of a similar train journey, where clothed in a similar sense was a girl traversing some coaches. Quite a few passenger's faces felt familiar. One of those known guys, told her...W.A.I.T...he was talking to me...So, I was the girl and he was telling me. Ohkay. Feeling like being in a 'Source Code', I still gave an ear to him when he said, 'Boy, I've seen a girl with a similar face.'
Before I could figure out, I was removing the CK woolen cap. I, then, had retorted back flat-on-the-face, 'I love cross-dressing in Indian railways. It might be funny to you. But, it is safer for me.'

Subtle shaking followed, and my elder sister asked, 'Does it hurt much?'

'No, I'm fine.'

Getting the thoughts back in sequence, the 'Alice' in me realized it All Was Real. It had happened to me few years back, on my college trip.
Phew! Wonderland Instances I've had. Seriously.

'More such later. Night.', I wished my mind, and slept during the remaining journey.

Tele Says, 'Don't watch too many movies. They might just start living into you.'

Added word of Warning: If you're like me, Don't you Dare watch '404: Error Not Found' It is an insane psycho-thriller.