Dear Mumbai

Scared and scarred with the recent upheavals, I know you still run busy and hectic with life.

You have been the final destination of my cloudy dreams, and I have always chased those little butterflies right into your heart. Some I caught and some I lost.
I have fought battles. Some I lost and some I won.
I found love in you, and I lost them here too.
I got my heart broken in front of you, and I mended it with my own hands living with you.
I became a woman in your womb. And I learnt to love myself.
You taught me to question and search for the answers.
You taught me never to give up hope even in the bleakest of times.
You have made me angry, frustrated, and build with in me a sea of volatile strength, which grows each time with each loss.
Never had I experienced the pinch of life and stumbled on way.
But I did that walking on your streets.
You pushed me and bullied me around and you made me stronger than most,
You have shown me the stars and held my feet to the ground.
You have shown me the glamour and stopped me from joining them.
You taught me never to cling to the brightest of the lights, because they will fade sooner than I know.
You have taught me so much and I can’t put words to all that.
You have tried and tested me and made a warrior out of me.
I grew to from a naïve kid to a rebel to a thinker.
I grew from a masochist to a lover of life, from a cynic to a hopeful.
I learnt to take chances and I learnt to live more.
I survived you and I survived in you.
I lost, I learnt, and I grew.

Now as I sit here today, I know I will be bidding you farewell with in a decade of days.
I know, I will not be missed very much, and that is a part of your charm.
You can live without any one, but no one can live without you.
I know I will visit you in the years to come only to witness passive memories, because I will dwell on them when I leave you.
I will witness changed souls and distanced relationships. And somewhere regret the changes.

But I will not regret the times spent together, and the joys you have brought me in all these years.
And I will not regret the tears I cried, because every pain has very much made me what I’m today.
You made me what I am today- A woman, a thinker, a rebel.

Thanks for making me fall in love with me and for everything else left unsaid.

Lots of love and God bless!!

Goodbye!

Ipsa

The blood bath in the city not so long ago, has left all of us scarred and desolate. Yes, we saw all the crying souls. Our hearts feel torn. We feel the lump in our throats and the anger in our blood.

So many questions, posed to our “leaders”. Slack and inept, incapable and slow- our leaders.
But why blame them- WE elected them.

I don’t want to blame anyone, anywhere- no blame-games, no unnecessary criticism, and no expectations from our so-called “leaders”.

I blame myself alone, for electing such nincompoops and spineless characters as our policy-makers.
I blame myself, for only lighting a candle and taking a peach-march at the immense loss of lives.
I blame myself for breaking rules in this country.
I blame myself for bribing the traffic cops, the peons, the “babus” in the govt. and the rest.
I blame myself for not paying my fine, when I’m caught at the signal, breaking rules.
I blame myself for evading taxes, and hoarding money
I blame myself for lying.
I blame myself for forgetting my role in making this country what it has become.
I blame myself for not contributing to the country as much as I can.

Our leaders will be only as good as we are, so I blame myself.
Do you?

I’ve been writing quite a bit. I think you notice that there’s always a new article or poem up on the blog, nowadays. I know they seem depressing and melancholy- completely wretched- The overwhelming feeling of emptiness.

But that is the only time I can put pen on paper and actually feel the writing.
I’m a hapless writer of happy thoughts, unless it is sarcasm which in way can be looked upon as a comic relief.

Now you see there have been quite many writers who write happy. It’s the flimsy feeling of “glad” which doesn’t seem to go deeper than a smile. It doesn’t strike a chord inside, not at least with me.

Happiness doesn’t have many varieties to it, again if you pay close attention. The range isn’t too vast. It is sadness which runs so deep that it is difficult to fathom its bottom, ever. It can reach scales which can’t be replicated by happiness. If you’ve seen an ice-berg, the tip is vast, but it is only one-tenth of what lies below. The tip is happiness, and what lies below is sadness.

I’ve made it away of life. Something feels missing and wrong, if sadness doesn’t find its way into my day everyday. It doesn’t become an inspiring day.

Ok there! People- don’t look at me like a masochist, I’m not that. I love my life and I don’t hurt it. That’s why I have to write everyday.

It works like taking out the daily poison from the system. It is the cleansing the emotional system. It keeps the circulation of thoughts proper, and those hyper nerves get a garbage bag to store the tension. You can’t expect clean waters when you’re cleaning that dirty laundry. Similarly, writing (at least mine) can’t be hopeful and happy, if I’ve been taking out the negativity. It is like brushing your teeth every morning and like taking a bath. It has to be done at least once everyday.

Too insane, is it? But I can’t help that. You see, it is an insane world. To survive it and survive it everyday, thoughts need to be worded. There already too much fitted into that brain and heart. Let’s not choke it further with thoughts.
Take them out, give them words. It works like therapy. Psychologists aren’t mad when they ask you to write everyday, if you get thoughts- good, bad, ugly- whatever. It is a healthy habit.

So don’t get so worked up. It’s happy world still !!!

Looks like another day

The rain doesn’t pour
The noise doesn’t ring
The waves are quiet as ever
Looks like it’s another day for me

The glistening sweat on my tanned skin
The trampled, dusty roads to tread
More so, without songs in my heart
So it looks like another day for me

Sleep dims burdened eyes
Waiting endlessly for hope’s kind eye
Hungry heart, songless day
And it’s just another day for me

I look around for inspiration,
For days which uplift my soul
A door which would creak open
Another day for me.

Baarish

Baarish ki boondon men , sapnen dhul se gaye hain
mujhse nikal ke, hakikat men ghul se gaye hain
fizaa ko bulaa laao, vo bhi taras ke baahaar ban jaayegi
par baarish ki boondon kaa kyaa, aansooon si barsee jaayegi

main sapnaa nahin, hakikat nahin, unke beech ki raah tay karti hoon.
gilaa bas yahi hai, aapke saath nahin, kisi aur ke saath chalti hoon.
mohabbat ke raste par mod kaee aaye, aur maqaam bhi
doharaaye gaye ghamo ke kisse, aur dil kaee toote bhi.
thokar bhi lagi, par jane kaise kabhi aas tooti nahin
raah kuch lambi hai shaayad, manzil kaa pataa nahin
aaj bhi vahi baarish se bheegti raah tay karatii hoon
gilaa bas yahi hai, aapke saath nahin kisi aur ke saath chalti hoon

They Say, these are strange times

I must warn you before you proceed, that I do not believe in feel-good factors. I can’t write in feel-goodness state-of-mind. This is not about hope, love and happy-endings. This isn’t about the how the world is so beautiful. You have fairytale books for that. Read on…

These are strange times. These are the days of full hands and empty hearts. We’ve succeeded in changing dimensions and definitions of life. With success defined my money and failure by emotions. These are the days of overworked worried heads, and nights of drunken fights. Yes, we live in strange times.
As we hope for hope in others, ironically, we still thrive in the hopelessness within. Existing is as easy as breathing gets difficult. Smoke and dust, treachery and lust fill our lungs like once fresh air did.
We, slaves of the very machines we made, have success spoon-fed to us. And we feel we’ve earned that so-called success.
The concept of wanting more from life, always translates into money. The hunger of success and ambition for that one-buck-more feeds on our lives like termites. Eating away life day-by-day, leaving our souls hollow and weak. We crack so easily nowadays, don’t we?
We’ve long existence now, but shortened life. Like moments have been taken away by the very nature giving us birth. One day going different is an event. Life’s squeezed out of our days. And we exist, and exist some more. But we don’t live anymore.
The rustle of notes replaced the rustle of leaves so damn easily. The pitter-patter of rains, drowned out by the bling of the clinking coins.
The essence of our whole lives can be compressed with in a single day. We’ve photocopied our days. No day is different than the other even when we can make every moment more alive the previous. Why don’t we? Coz we live in strange times now.
It is the last age. Before everything falls apart. The words in books have lost in the repentance of the dead and cynicism. We have nothing to give. And seems we feel there is nothing to learn. Why not squeeze more out of life? Why? Well- Coz these are strange times, aren’t they?

Bliss is a lost concept. Completeness and satisfaction are seen as signs of the weak. Contented hearts are shunned and blamed of a lack of purpose.
We see the dark in everything bright and happy. Sadness is beauty. And love is pain. Anything beautiful is equally hurtful.
Well, did someone say ironic? It is a cynical world, and this is an article for these times.

Past goes into Yellow books

Your past- The years which have gone by... Literally flew by… the years when you felt life was a land of fairies and goodies… and your dreams carved with sugar and toffees… the years when you dreamt of the idyllic land of good and the incurable romanticism of eternal love… and the forever-and-ever love story of you and your Prince Charming…

The year when you were 14 and life was a bed of roses… and now it is a lost dream… Your Past. Life was simple then. It was basic- no questions asked, no complicated emotions felt… You were all set to live your life by the current widely prevalent societal guidelines… You were scared to call a spade, a spade… It was just a big spoon to you…

You don’t know when you started calling it a spade… you don’t know when you changed.

As a kid, you used to think that when you grow up, you will fall in love with that one man… that knight-in-shining-armor… and live happily ever after… live that fairytale of Cinderella…

It is like a lost dream now… all that you felt then has undergone a phoenix-like transition… and you have vanished… Correction- Reborn… your dreams differ… it’s like having a dream of a dream…

Now you are all grown-up, ok- fair enough- 24 isn't old-… and strangely you’re not in love as you had dreamt you will be… and you’re satisfied… now you don’t know if you can share those coming 50 years with another man, fondly known the "Prince Charming"… all that you had thought of, 10 years back seems like a dream of another person… not yours… and you don’t know how on God's green, (red blue- all coloured) earth YOU could have had a dream like that!!!

When you look into the mirror, the person you see is content… and you like that individual… and you want to see the same person whenever you look into the mirror, for the rest of your life… there is no man to share that space in your reflection.

So where do we go from here? Where do we head towards? 'Coz you're still a woman; you're still expected to get married and have about 2 healthy babies, and look after your house and husband (notice how Prince Charming transforms into Husband post wedding bells go cling-clang)

Where does this end? and For heaven's sake, Where did this start? I can't ask "why me!", as it isn't that unfortunate really.

Past gone into the yellow books... those old fairytales books, which Ma read out to you at your bed side. They've gone yellow with age.

And so have the dreams.