Tag Archives: reality

Her Mysterious Meshuga.

Hey folks, I hope you all are doing fine. I know I have been away for a long time, but I promise I’ll be back as soon as I can. Till then I am very pleased to share another poem of mine that has been published at Spillwords, a place where words matter. I sent them this piece a while back and was not even expecting them to revert back. However a couple of days ago I was notified that the poem is going to be published soon. And as always, I was elated to see my name in print.

I share below the link to the poem:

Her Mysterious Meshuga

Also, please be patient with me. I will be back to all my favourite writers. I, honestly, cannot wait to get lost in the magic of your words.

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A Thousand Splendid Suns.

A Thousand Splendid Suns by khaled Hosseini is about a 15 year old Miriam, married and sent to Kabul without her will. Her entire life is a struggle against patriarchy, starvation, violence and brutality and a fear that lurks constantly over her.

 

While the plot sounds truly traumatic the heroism that is portrayed despite the hindrances is startling. In spite of being subjected to so much torture and hopelessness, Mariam is defiant and doesn’t give up till the end.

 

The first time I read this, I cried the entire night. The book had just come out and I was only a part time reader, the one who picks up a book when someone would recommend me, or when I’d really be bored, or when I’d come across a book and I’d really be interested in the plot. My teacher recommended me this. She had seen me reading now and again, trying to divert myself from every other stuff going on in my life. She saw me reading and she gave me this and one other collection of short stories.

 

I came home, as lost as always and dove right in. I didn’t get up even for dinner. I didn’t care for dinner when a little girl almost as young as me was being beaten, who shed blood like water form her body, who had no hope left in her life, no love; no one. Isolation was her only friend.

 

This was fiction. Why was I crying? I think I was moved beyond repair.

 

Since then I have read this book time and again. Every time I devour the pages of this book, I cry just the same. I don’t know about others, but this book does something different to me. You might not find this to be so poignant but I did then, and I do still.

 

Then, why do I keep picking this up, again and again?

 

This book taught me that fiction could do things to you, sometimes more than reality. This book taught me that somewhere between the pages I could lose myself. This book taught me that words are powerful. This book taught me so much more and it was with this book that I fell in love with reading and eventually writing.

 

Then, why am I doing this review now? Because I read Sea Prayer! by the same author a few days back and it ignited all those long lost memories of the book. I didn’t know even tears bring nostalgia. And because I read a sea prayer I was drawn to this book too, again. It took all my might to stay away from this one, only because I have been reading four books simultaneously and all cry for my attention. And among all those I really shouldn’t have started this one. Start, I did!

 

And I forgot the rest for a while. I don’t know how my self-control has gotten so weak but it has and honestly, I don’t regret it.

 

A Thousand Splendid Suns is dear to me, despite all its hardships and tears that the protagonist and I go through side by side. And I love the book. I love The Sea Prayer, The Kite Runner, and I liked And the Mountains Echoed too, but this is exceptional. It holds a different place. I am not saying this is my ‘favorite’ book, you must know me better than this, that I truly cannot pick one favorite book from so many. I can only say it is dear to me.

 

This being posted on the National Book Lovers Day is just another cherry for me. But then again what is this kind of celebration to someone who reads and reads only to be alive?

Illusion or Authenticity!

I dreamt

I dreamt of beautiful things

I dreamt with open eyes.

All my life I was taught

To dream big

Fly high

And so with open eyes

I dreamt of open skies.

Of peace, calm

And of little love.

I have dreamt of inane faith

And believed

That everything will find its way.
Oh- I pictured everything

Of what I wanted

Of dreams that kept me haunted.

What and how and why and when

I thought of everything

That will in reality

Happen again.

The smiles

Engraved

The twinkling eyes

Unscathed

Like a novice, I was in my imagination,

Engaged!

I dreamt of everything

Didn’t leave anything.

Every tiny detail

From today, tomorrow,

And yesterday.

Oh- I sinned.

Oh- I dreamt big.

Dreams don’t come true

Now reality will

Teasingly bite on you.

But wait-

It all came true.

It all did.

What and how and why and when

Every magical kiss again

Everything the way

My open eyes had engraved.

No detail left

And love no more bereft.

Only, there was a little alteration

Everything happened

The way it was meant to be.

The way my heart wanted to see.

But for that one little thing

A tiny little fling.

The dream did come true

Just the way I had thought through

Only-

Only when it came to reality

The dream was not meant for me.

The what

The how

The why

The when

All became a living reality

Only not for me.

Someone else came in a swift

And lived my dream

Instead of me.

Was it not

My dream?

It all happened

Just the way I wanted

But I did not live it.

Jealousy and anger- My sin

I am only human after all.

For years I pined for those wings

And just as I was about

To touch them

Someone came and plucked them away.

My dream

Shattering into million little pieces

Tears brewing in my hollow eyes

But I can’t move.

The dream is all I had

Towards which I slogged

And with that gone

I am nothing but a meek fawn.

I am only a human after all

Succumbing to a painful fall

Lost in an empty desert

Where, in darkness

I howl, “It hurt.”

A Year Older, A Year Wiser #3

I am sitting at my over embellished desk staring at the picture that I so adore, sipping tea. Sipping tea has been the highlight of the day these days, well, not exactly sipping tea, but trying various teas has been. I am so bored and useless that all I look forward to a day is sipping tea. From Hibiscus to white, I am trying all of them one by one. Some I liked, some just tasted like warm water! So, todays sachet was titled blue youth! Ironical, since I am taking tiny steps away from the youth. Anyways, yeah, blue youth was good. A herbal infusion of.. oh let it be. I know no one is interested. Today, not even me!

 

So yeah, the tea is good and I am typing this laboriously, laboriously I say because I am not even the mood of typing, or to say talking. But I am bored and I want to talk too. Yeah, see how messed up this is. All day long people have been texting/calling and so far I have only wanted two of them to talk to me. Rest are just making small talks, weirding it out over awkward questions that come up when you realize that you have started talking only on birthdays, or the other half of the people are just doing it for the sake out of doing it, you know since you wish them, they wish you too, types.

 

So yeah, I am typing and talking into the oblivious and thinking too. What exactly I am thinking? I wish I could point at this. What to do with my life? Whether to pick up this damned phone that has been wringing since eternity or what to eat if my stomach grumbles. I sip that tea instead.

 

What possible good can thinking bring anyway. I have been worried all through, if I’ll pass, if a job is going to work out, if everything else is finally going to find some calm. Thinking did no good. Working towards it did no good too. Things aren’t working out. They just aren’t. 2019 was supposed to be better. At least I thought so. But thinking and pondering isn’t helpful, and yet I think. You’d think I might learn from my mistakes.

 

Learnt or not, I improved things too. I mean I don’t think ahead now, or I only think as ahead as the next minute, or at the max the next hour. I mean if I have to get a pizza then I need an hour, because the pizza guy is going to tell me when I order, that they are sorry but it is going to take more than half an hour to deliver due to the overflowing amount of money in their chains pockets.

 

But anyways, I am thinking so much that all the pending chores come to mind. I have to do this, send this, check that, get that done, deliver this, write that, read this, print that! I let a sigh pass and decide I will start with that document to be printed. But for that I will have to go to our office. I twist and scrunch my nose, the thought itself cringes me. I hate going out of my room these days, let alone, my home. Not that our office is too far away, but I abhor the idea.

 

However, I know I have to get it done. I mean at least I have to get this much done today. Rest can be figured our tomorrow. Still, I go out of my room and look at my brother. He gives me the all-knowing smile; telling me don’t even ask me to do anything now. I sigh for the millionth time today.

 

I gather all my things, keys, purse, pen drives, phone which I don’t want right now but take any way, and go out. The after rain wind slaps my face mocking me, asking how long do you think you could stay away from me. I make a face; I guess all I am best at is doing that.

 

I start my scooty. As usual it plays with me and doesn’t want to start. But I know it, and it boosts up, right at the third attempt. I give it a speed of 60 and want to rush out of the parking lot. Common sense takes better of me. I slow down.

 

My office printer isn’t working, my dad says do it outside, and while you are at it….. a list of chores come my way. I forget my things and start on that. After an hour I am done, and back at office. He asks me if I got my copy of print?

 

Huh? What print?

 

I go back and get a copy of what I wanted. There is someone standing behind me, a woman, little older than me. She tries to make conversation. I don’t want to talk to her. But she pesters. And I just can’t be rude. I have tried it. I am bad at it. “So the results are out ha?” she peers over my saved document.

 

“Yeah.”

 

“Did you clear it?”

 

She probably has already seen my marks, percentage and my percentile. Yet she is asking, I don’t want to talk, especially not about this. So I won’t repeat it here. I didn’t fail. But needless to say that I am not intelligent enough has been proved.  I wonder again. I wander again. What exactly happens to those who are mediocre? I mean the extremely intelligent people are focused right from the start and fly right after high school. The dumb are sure that they are not brilliant, and settle soon. Which leaves me with people like myself- the middle benchers, trying to fit in, sometimes so much interested in knowing, sometimes wanting to learn, sometimes wanting to make something of them, sometimes confused, sometimes focused, and sometimes just lost.

 

Now, it might be my fault that I haven’t been so focused since ever, but now what! I am another year old today and yet nowhere near where I can vouch and say that I am trying to do something. Don’t tell me I am not old. Yeah, yeah, I know I am not old. But I am not 20 and only out of school. I have been told repeatedly that I don’t look my age, while that may be so good to hear, but the reality is everyone else my age now knows what they are meant to do while I am still unsure of what and how exactly am I suppose to be doing anything.

 

I suck! I know I am so wrong in comparing myself to others, but I can’t help it. I mean there has to be something in my life, which for once, does not; cannot; must not go wrong. I mean for once it can happen right! I am not afraid of failures, I am not. Only, I am afraid that time is running out and I literally have no idea where to go from here. And as these thoughts run through my mind, I am handed over a copy of my lame future. The woman smiles at me. May be next time? Yeah, I say and run.

 

I run to my scooty and rush it. For the first time it starts at one go and I speed through. I calm down. And stop racing like the maniacs who are following me. Not again! What do these guys actually have in their minds? Do they have so much time and money to simply run around the city and follow some deranged woman!

 

I am just not in the mood to take this shit; I just am not! I speed through the busy streets and mix but they are right behind me in no time. I change lanes and rush towards the only place I know. The police station. I am not going to go there literally. But I know they are going to stop following me because they aren’t wearing the helmet, and there has to be a checking post on that lane.

 

They leave!

 

I leave!

 

I am irritated. But since I am already around the place, I think I might drive through that place. It’s a calm place. Trees, sun, after rain winds. I haven’t visited this place in a long time, a very long time. And the whiff of the place brings nostalgia. This place is good. Why did I stop coming here again? I used to visit this place so often, almost every time I came to this part of the city. What happened again?

 

Anyways, I am speeding through. I am slowing down. The roads are dead empty. There is literally no one. The sun is peeking through the trees. The flowers are thrown about. It is good. There is a little calm. The chaos inside my mind isn’t cured, but its soothed for a while.

 

There is a lump in my throat as I am steering around. But I have to go. I mean I do wish I’d stay here and keep staring at sun till I can, I wish I didn’t have things to worry about. But the sun is leaving too, and I know I have to go. So I go.

 

And as soon as I leave the trees, the city overpowers me, all those people who cross roads as if they don’t care for their lives, all those bike riders who think that riding a Royal Enfield gives them power to zigzag and trouble others, the other drivers who ride a long lost bike flaunt themselves too and get on my nerves. All the thoughts, all the problems, every little detail since the last year come racing towards me. It’s been a little difficult. I can’t say it’s too much. But I’d rather it be a little easy. Despite everything I was hoping 2019 to be a teeny bit better. So far, no luck!

 

As I ponder over my luck, my phone beeps. It buzzes. I avoid. It vibrates. I still avoid. I avoid it for full 5 minutes and then I pick up. It’s a friend. A good friend. I can’t, just can’t avoid him. But I already talked to him in the morning. Wait; did I say something in the groggy, sleepy state that I shouldn’t have said? But just the first words are a deceit. It’s his roommate. He knows me too. I mean he is the friend that you bear with because of the other friends that you hang out. We don’t talk these days. We didn’t even talk when we lived in the same city. But here he is calling me from my friends’ number, and I have picked up and stopped speaking after hello.

 

“Why didn’t you call me from your number?”

 

“Just..”

 

I know the answer. I mean the last two calls that he has made me this year was because he wanted a favor out of me. Not that I am keeping a tab. You’d see how hypocritical this sounds. But I only remember the number of calls he has made me, is because, that are the total number of calls he has made to my number in his entire life.

 

So what does he want now?

 

“Yeah, so listen, who this Hamlet was, and can you elaborate what this means?”

 

‘I am driving. Can we talk later?”

 

“Umm, actually I am going to an acting class you know, and wanted to know this before that. And you see everyone knows me there, (he is a novice anchor) it’s a matter of image now.”

 

Dead silence!

 

I really don’t want to discuss the idea of being or not being, standing in the middle of the road. In simpler words I am in no mood of helping. But I feel disgusted at myself. And so I bring myself to a halt at the corner, where a few vehicles are parked and begin the task of explaining Hamlet and his dilemma to a man, who, by the end asked me “wow you know what a protagonist is.” (I thought only people who went to acting classes were taught who a protagonist is.)

 

“What did you think I was some dumb person?” (Who cannot make anything of their lives)

 

“No, No, I didn’t mean that.” He wants to know about a Gertrude speech too. Well, Macbeth? Can you tell me about any other plays?”

 

“Look, I am not at home right now, we can talk later. Sorry. Bye.”

 

I want to go back for a last look at sun peeking through, but he has gone. The moon has started shimmering, and the after office traffic is peeking up. I go towards home.

 

As I enter home, there is some heated discussion going on. See, my results aren’t the only problem these days. It all started since 2018, and it has been all stretched through. It needs to give me a breather now. It really does. Anyways, as everyone says that we need to stick up to everything that life throws at us- like I have a choice; I stick up. Meaning, I go to my room.

 

The only thing that’s bringing me to be wiser is kept on my desk. I smile, or at least pretend to. The books are winking at me. Another set of savior, while I constantly avoid reality!

 

Now, seriously the books are making me wiser or should I start naming my birthday posts- “A year older, a year dumber!”

I’ll Be A Good Girl….

Ah! This is such a wonderful sight

Away from all heinous plight.

Amidst the bed of roses

Smelling the smell of happy doses.

 

The two girls playing

Dancing and swaying,

Happy, serene

Jovial and green.

 

I love to see them

I also want to be them,

Playing with my brothers and sister

Oh, won’t I have a brother or a sister?

 

Or, do I have someone

Already waiting for me?

A daughter or a son

Already your honeybee?

 

I will be a good girl

To you, to everyone,

Like an obedient schoolgirl

With a sweet tongue.

 

I will play and eat

Will be your only heartbeat,

I will dance and learn

And shine like a Christmas fern.

 

I want to see you

See my father,

I want to be you

Given away at age, by my father.

 

I want to live life

I want to have friends

I want to thrive

I want to go through life’s all bends.

 

But I understand

All in good time,

For now I need to be in this dreamland

Your womb being my partner in crime.

 

But it is getting dark

And I am feeling cold,

I’ll complain to grandma

Please return to our home.

 

You understand me so well

I just thought and you already did,

Walking gracefully like a belle

You succumbed to your beautiful kid.

 

But wait are you sure this is the way, mamma?

And why are you burning like a sauna?

But again who am I to judge?

3 months old, who knows not much?

 

But where is this mamma?

This is not our home.

I don’t see your comfy pajama

This is not where you roam.

 

Why are you lying in this small, rigid bed?

You need to be comfortable instead.

Who are these people in white?

Why are they shining the light so bright?

 

See, this is already hurting

You and me too.

You are twisting and squirting

They are letting the pain brew.

 

What is this?

What is happening?

What are they doing?

Why are you crying?

 

It is paining me too

Piercing me through and through,

I want to live and you are so cruel

You killed me, and my dreams accrual.

 

God!

Forbid!

Stop!

Have pity on me!

 

They are cutting me

My tiny legs and hands,

I want to flee

But the pain is killing me.

 

You killed me, mamma

How could you do this?

I am speechless

I am breathless.

 

You killed me for I was a girl

Is it so big a sin?

Then why was I called a pearl

If I was merely a skim?

 

If this world is such

Where you kill your own blood?

Then I am happy to have lived an innocent life

Without a sinful crime.

 

I have a question before I go

How does it feel to make your own kid a foe?

I know this may not be only your wish

For I have heard the constant surrounding whish.

 

But all the same I die

Without an answer for ‘why’,

I bid you adieu

And may girls never come to this life,

If everyone is like you.

****

This will be the last post for #NaPoWriMo. Somehow I ended up writing this last poem imitating the very first thing I ever wrote, like the very first time I put pen to paper, and though novice it’s always been close to my heart. I am attaching the link to the post, for I am certain I shared it in my blog at some point of time.

Were you not a girl, Mamma?

Also, my heartiest thanks for all you readers for sticking through the entire month of April, for your amazing and honest reviews, and for constantly just showering love on me and my immature poems. THANK YOU SOOOO MUCH!

 

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A Raving Reminiscence.

The lane is empty

Except for the kacchi kairi

Kacchi kairi strewn across on both sides.

“What is kacchi kairi?” he asks.

I turn to him, and give him an imploring look-

See for yourself.

“All I see is beaten, tattered, useless raw mangoes.”

I give him that look again.

I smile.

I keep walking, walking

On that lane which is delusory,

Empty, except for kacchi kairi.

The trees tower over us

The greenery overpowering us, shadowing us

From the clouds.

The faint drizzle seething into our veins

The pungent raw smell

Overwhelming my memories from which I have abstained.

The lane desolate, leaves scattered about,

Kacchi kairi’s standing orthodoxly, waiting

For my retrieval into the fond memories

Buried deep, somewhere inside.

And in a trance I was transported eons back

Playing- carefree-

Callous- teasing-

Happy!

The sweet sour memory of eating that kacchi kairi,

The soft tiniest bite

Sour juices flowing

Eyes barely opening

And yet I would take bite after

Bite.

That sweet-sour memory of kacchi kairi.

“So what’s new in that? You still eat kacchi kairi.”

“I know”, I sigh!

Its different I want to cry.

But I give him that smile.

It’s just not the same kacchi kairi!

“So what, now you want that same raw mangoes that you ate

As a child? Don’t you think that’s rather impractical?”

The rage that gnaws at me is minutely conquered

By the insanity that he thinks I live in.

I don’t answer.

I just give him that look,

And he gives me that look

When he thinks that I want to make him understand

Without the words,

And he thinks I don’t know that he does understand,

He just enjoys his taunts more

But I know

And he knows.

And we draw each other together,

Closer.

And we walk that deserted lane,

Where there is nothing

The lane is empty,

Except for the kacchi kairi.

Kacchi kairi strewn across on both sides.