Quote

Feelings post College

4It’s nothing new what I’m feeling for myself and my friends.
College is ending and we’re just marking these days, can’t cross them on the calendar, because they have been the best days of our lives. We’re all on the verge of making our careers, shaping our lives, yet full of confusion and dilemmas.

I’m determined and worried at the same time, for me and my friends. At one end, there’s certainty that says- we’ll all do well and at the other, a commotion. The commotion to know how the stability should come. It’s all gibberish I know, but that’s exactly how I feel and that’s the peak of clarity my thoughts currently have.

3

Jobs, Business, Success, Failure, Entrepreneurship, what had been just simple English terms just a while ago when we were laughing in our classes, are going to be a reality, our reality just in a month.

I panic at the fact that we aren’t going to meet every day. We’ll have to plan a week or a month before, just to see each other for a day.

We all would just gossip about anything, literally anything, baseless conversations on phones for hours. Now in a blink, it’s ending.

I wished to stop the time, in the moment of happiness when I just woke you from an amazing dream when we are meeting in the way and heading for the college together. While waiting for one of us, we all are chilling, creating new happy moments together.

But it was too late to try, because the following moment I was awake, frightened and surprised. What I was so vividly enjoying in the last moment was just a beautiful dream and I was horrified too because in the dream, we all called it the last day. I rebelled in my dream too. But the fact remains a fact, an unchallenged and an unchangeable one, indeed.

Each day is creating a new anxiety in me, there are fears unknown, feelings unexpressed. I don’t know what I should say or do—I just can pray for a great career simply for all of us.

Quote

If We were not taught anything, Wouldn’t We just Love?

a (1)

Have you seen a baby, he just knows to love his parents, play with them! Have you seen him hurting anybody consciously? Many of you might say he cries and hurts people’s ears but that’s the only way he can use to notify his parents if he’s hungry or needs some caressing.

As he grows older, he learns anything and everything from his surroundings, his parents. How to behave, talk, speak, walk, eat and love. Yes, Love too. People are made this way, they learn by observing and act the same way.

a (2)

We just learn anything which we see. Most of us are too naïve to actually check and filter things out before learning them. We are too amateur to know what’s right or what’s wrong. Before we learn that, we often fall for the wrong as it’s common and easy.

The kids learn the way their parents walk or talk, how they earn money, how they behave with people outside their family and circle. Our parents are the first examples we have, the first perspective of life that we get.

And then the kids are put in school to emboss the fixed ideas under the skin, the ideas that make the world just a limitation. The Discipline that just is beyond bounds and sometimes leave no open space to breathe. ‘School’ teaches the same ancient stories of prince or princesses or a poor history which is filled with the most important battles. Battles, why should a child know about them?

When the baby’s brain is the most fertile, why is he not taught of the inspiring stories which make him want to be like the heroes who made the world a better place.

Why is he not given a room full of billions of books, paints, music, mic, laptop; Why is he not given a choice to be anything in the damn world? Why is he not given a chance to be just anything? Why is he not given a chance to showcase what he knows from his life? Why is he made to think that there’s a lot more in this world to learn and living here is tough, when he can just be taught to live the life with morality and humility? Why is he not given an opportunity to make mistakes?

Why are we taught so many things when they can come naturally to us? Did we learn to love our parents from anywhere, or to laugh, to breathe, to cry, when it came naturally to us, why are we taught in masses so many same odd ideas that are just not relevant today. The same syllabus fed to each human as if they’re all same makes them an average. For those, whose intellect is not meant for this but for art or anything that the syllabus doesn’t include, he’s made to feel as if he’s abnormal.

Identically for love, a baby who can love his parents naturally, can’t he love his partner naturally too? But as the baby grows, he sees the bad side of the coin of love, he learns about adultery, cheating, selfishness in love and gets perplexed and messed up of the true idea. So what was originally in his heart gets foggy as he grows up.

The truth is within us already but to get to it, we follow a cycle, we have made it a tough job. First, God sends the truth within us, then we have to forget that, then we are taught life-lessons from people around or school and then spending half our life we realize it’s not right so we unlearn it all, and finally, we learn the truth. The thing is- its very simple.

So, why do we make it tough, why do we get taught various things just to find out they’re not right.

Why can’t we just live our life the way we wish, rather than following a template made by others.

Quote

We don’t cry for we’ve problems but…

We dont Cry becausePeople don’t cry because they have problems, or when they are not able to find the solutions but when they don’t have just an ear that lacks any filter of bias, pre-judgments, past-experiences.

We’re so vulnerable today that we just can’t express our feelings clearly to ourselves, let alone others. We are always confused, baffled below the earth’s clear sky.

We’re so lonely today that we just prefer to spend two hours in front of a screen today that opens the windows to the world but first, slyly, shuts the doors of our life—shuts for even our closest relationships in life than going out of this virtual life’s door to explore the reality.

We dont Cry because 2The screen that delivers the news and knowledge of the world in a few seconds fails to understand the feelings. So, the vulnerable soul that seeks knowledge unknowingly abandons the heart. In seek of knowledge, humans banish their confidants, their soul-buddies, their better-halves.

And when problems hit us, where do we go to seek a kind advice, the apt solution? Can a screen transform the generic advice to the one that’s perfectly apt for us, pertaining to our personal, emotional or maybe economic circumstances?

The screen that arouses the curiosity fails to find and give the peace the ’24×7′ working human-mind deserves. It takes it the outer world but fails to let the human learn of the inner universe it possesses. It plays the sounds of the world, but distant the body from the music and rhythm of the soul.

What we had in the past is what we need today more than ever! The social company, the gatherings, of the family and friends, eating dinner on a phone-proof table where we are just conscious of the ‘now’, ‘each-other’, not worried about anything or even if worried, we would have our kith and kin to share them with.

Quote

What’s her Identity?

I don’t believe in truth anymore; I believe everything is relative.  Nothing is absolute and perfect as the ‘change’ itself.

My next words are not an article, essay or a letter but a set of questions. I spend my day enjoying the moments but my nights are mostly spent sleepless. I’m nothing but an entangled human.

I’m confused between myself and my nature, my behavior and my identity. Yes, they’re all very different but they’ve put me in an abysmal confusion.

I’m at a point where I can decide what to eat, cook, buy, where to go, whom to befriend, what to say, all the things a normal person does. But the thing I can’t make heads or tails about is my own-self.

I’m someone’s Daughter—
Obedient, stubborn, innocent, lovable

I’m someone’s Sister—
Younger, naive, responsible

I’m someone’s Wife—
Compassionate, selfless, devoted

I’m someone’s Mother—
Affectionate, forgiving, teacher

I’m someone’s Friend—
Understanding, humorous, trustworthy

I’m someone’s relative, someone’s employee, someone’s colleague—
Agreeable, professional, cordial.

But all these are just the roles that I play each day. I behave well with all, kith and kin, acquaintances and even strangers. That’s my nature and my behavior. But sometimes I want to shout out loud, make my points, express my desires but the etiquette gets in the way of my nature all the time. My nature is to flow; the etiquette is the hindrance.

And then after the role-playing each day, I’m the one who’s perplexed each night. “What’s my true identity”—This question never leaves my mind.

But What’s my true identity? Is it when I’m happy or when I’m sad, is it when I’m angry or when I’m mad, is it when I’m in love with my family or agitated by them, running for some solo time just to be calm. Is it when I’m with my husband making love to him, or with my children, is it when I’m spending time with my mother, fighting with my siblings, or chatting with my colleagues? Is it what I show or what I hide? Is it a Book no one cares to read but all love to display?

Who am I? Is it my identity or my nature or just a name of a relationship I am tied in?

Is my Identity connected with my body or a bare truth of my soul?

Quote

Choices a women gets!

pexels-photo-210585You were right when you said Women has all the liberty today.  She is given every opportunity, as good as a man, given importance as much as a man would get for the similar task. You were right when you said that Women can now decide for herself, her life. She is given Choices now.

Examining the choices, I found there were a lot of options given to her: “I agree; You’re right; My Husband shall take my decision; My Family knows my Answer; I can’t answer; I am not able to answer;” were some of the common options available to her.

Career, Clothes, Spouse, Kids; She’s asked not to worry when the matter is about taking decisions. She can do all the chores capably but at the matters of mind, she’s still weak as per the norms. Somehow, even today, it’s the man who thinks he’s the capable gender.

When would the day come when each woman can decide without weighing her responsibilities at one hand, consequences of her decisions at the other. When she is not eyed when she makes a quirky choice for herself. When it’s very natural and common that she takes her own decision and not judged upon the details.

Men, I think are going to play a vital role in this movement. It’s just a matter of a changed perspective. What if we do not see men as perpetrators but barristers of today’s women?

Quote

My life is just like my diary…

GoSolo (2)My life is just like my diary. Few pages, filled completely, the others blank.

All the pages have their own rhymes to recite, own tempo, own highs and lows.

Some pages have a horror story written on them, however, I don’t regret to have penned them down because I was both, the writer and the protagonist.

While some pages have a story- The “What if Story”? These are the pages I couldn’t fill up well but I wish I could.

Then some pages are the doodles- the ones I made in leisure, whose meanings I don’t know or the relevance of those to the person I was, that moment of my life.

“My life is just like my diary”- Some pages filled, some blank but it’s a beautiful diary and I’m glad it’s my diary.

Quote

My Heart is Beach…

GoSolo (4)

My heart is Beach; your footsteps are all I have. The pretty shells, oysters, conchs that come to shores once in a while and then go back to ocean with the next wipe,  are our memories together. Memories that we made, spending moments every day.
There’s a thing about memories, they’re neither good nor bad. They’re just dependent on time and situation. Sometimes, how the worst of times with your partners can be later cherished if you’re still together. Contradictory to even the best moments that would later mean nothing or sting you.

Just like these shells, they aren’t neither bad nor good, our being far is to blame.

GoSolo (6)Just like rivers meet, our hearts diffused to create this beautiful ocean. This ocean’s depth was my love for you. Like a magic trick, in just a blink, your heart left me.

But we were one ocean, weren’t we? Now what should this depth hold-  just profound thoughts.

The eyes that saw you every time, that fixed the shape of you in every shadow, in every crowd. These waves are my eyes, the rising and settling waves, which weep more often than not these days. Each tear, each wave whispers something in my ears- ‘You’re gone, for better or for worse, but you’re definitely gone.’

These waves secretly wipe our names on the sand that we wrote together, the lyrics of the songs that we hummed together, and take the shells of our memories that we played with together from the shore.

I’m not happy, I’m not sad, I’m numb, just one of those I don’t care moods. These waves are taking the weights of my heart, the shells from this sand. At least, my waves won’t harm me, they’re loyal, and I know this.

Quote

We’re all eggs full of hope!

We are all a little egg. An egg full of hope, life, confidence, courage, the one that witnesses the abysmal power inside that thin white shell. An egg that is bound to give life in one form or the other. An egg that holds the soul of its originator, God’s.

An egg’s destiny is a result of one of the two actions. Somebody either takes the egg and for their use, they break the shell, hitting it with a spoon or smashing it on the surface, the thin shell, in its infancy that holds a spirited life inside shows only a little resistance. The problem is the external force somehow always exceeds the intrinsic resistance. The egg breaks, the life is gone. But now it feeds the other life, keeping its essence and meaning.

Or the otherwise would be, the egg would be left to its own destiny. The life is inside the shell, it derives the energy to develop its body parts from the yolk.

Gradually from eyes to the heart to wings, it doesn’t happen in a day, the life takes its time and becomes a chick. The final examination of the chick is to break the egg from the inside. Nobody teaches him to do so in the shell, it is on its own. The chick puts all its power trying to explode, the power that made it into a chick is the power that shall give him a life in the world. With its small teeth, it fractures the shell, trying to make a crack. It finally makes it, cracks the egg and makes space and comes out. Tired but happy to have made it on its own.

Aren’t we all such eggs? We either would do something that is imposed on us or do what our inclinations choose. The first option is for the people who either fail to recognize their inner calls, or are in no position to take their life-decisions, whose life is a mortgage and the mortgagees are his blood relatives.

The other ones, who crack the egg gradually. The rebels- people choose to call them lucky. Rebellious or Lucky, it doesn’t matter, they do make it on their own in the end. Nobody cares what it takes to crack the shell which is equivalent to challenges in everyday life- patience, diligence, persistence, perseverance. People call them lucky blatantly. The Appreciators are rare, the Critics are all. The Chick finally survives the world with the magic of life in it.

Omelette or Life? You be your own Sailor because it’s your ship.

Quote

Bangles- symbol of love or colorful handcuffs?

Bangles, colorful, tinted, with the magical tinkling sounds they produce. Who doesn’t love bangles? I know, almost we all do. How beautifully they adorn hands of a woman. They are more than just an ornament in our culture. It’s a married woman’s pride, worn in her husband’s name. Husbands love the sounds, don’t they?

How romantic is the sight of a husband buying colorful bangles for his wife and adorning her hands by slipping the hues into her hands. Bangles are a sign of the love they share, the bond, the relationship they have nurtured.

Everything is transient, so are human lives. What if the wife loses her husband? She becomes a widow. Only a spouse knows how it feels to lose someone they’ve been living with for years, how it must feel to lose their addiction, their part of life, their habit all at once. The Happy-Drug that was there for them every day ever since their matrimony, to listen to them, to help them in chores, to make love to them is forever gone. Every relationship is different but the degree of attachment is the same. They were attached to each other in everything. They couldn’t imagine their lives without the other and now one is alone. Only the Memories last. The loss is irreparable, unacceptable. The sympathetic family is there to try to condole her, shaken, they try their best to help her.

Losing someone physically is one thing, forgetting altogether is another!

The bangles that were the sign of her love, now a memory of her love are suddenly a bug in everyone else’s eye. The woman who’s too lost to even accept the damage is forced by the society to follow the norms made, norms that are too far from normalcy, totally inhumane, driven by blind believes, still existing without a hint of logic. The woman who hasn’t yet shed a tear in the grief, who is numb both physically and mentally. Rather than being given condolences and consoling, everybody eyes her colorful saree and the hues in her hands, and without a second thought, break her bangles by forcefully grabbing her both hands and hit them together. BAM! *Bangles break*

It’s done to the woman who is still unconscious of what is happening around. Some broken pieces even pierce her hand and it bleeds. But few drops of blood can’t draw her attention to herself, when all her mind is focused on the want to just see her husband back.

Why did they do it? Could breaking her bangles make her forget her half-soul? Could it in anyway calm her? No, so why should they do it.

What if the woman doesn’t want to remove her colorful sarees and the bangles? And why should she want so at the first place? The sarees and the bangles are the last symbol of their memories. Yes, these little things have in them, the part of their love’s soul, the things that were with them when they’re making memories in their lives, when they’re living together. The adorable red sarees that her husband gifted her and absolutely loved, and couldn’t keep her eyes off when she would wear them, the bangles in her hand, the tinkling of which always made him a little more in love with her than the last moment. How can she abandon them when they’ve in them her husband’s soul?

Also, she has been wearing them since their marriage, it has somehow become her identity. She wants to wear them. But after losing her spouse, everybody has their own thing to tell her, to shut her up, to impose something on her. They don’t allow her to wear anything colorful, and all her ornaments are snatched. The idea of love and relationship is not anywhere near to the concept that society is trying to indicate.

So only a married woman has the right to dress up, adorn beautiful sarees, bangles, and ornaments. Why can’t a widow still wear them if she wants to?

As per the societal norms, it seems that ‘bangles’ are carefully added to the concept of marriage. They’re not symbol of love as they call it. It’s an identity mark, a carefully placed barrier for a woman, a constant reminder to her and all around. These are nothing but colorful handcuffs that helps her being identified as either a sold or an unsold property.

So are these bangles, a symbol of love or colorful handcuffs?

The bangles that she wore thinking symbol of her love were just for his name’s sake, not their love. Because had they been a symbol of love for the society, no one would force her to remove them after losing the spouse.

Quote

My Inspiration to write!

My inspiration to write was that women in metro coach, who was pondering too much. And, that guy who smiled at me in the hallway. Also, the boyfriend who kissed not just my lips but my soul. The girl who wanted to find her goals. The transgender who was already a wanderer searching through her bits and pieces trying to find her hint of success. The old lady determined to create a company. Also, the Men, the proud misogynists, who pushed me to write for my gender. Especially, The Men who made me an un-Feministic Girl i.e. not just in favour of my gender but strongly against the biased women-haters. The Stereotypes that expected women to keep her eyes at the ground in front of her husband. The stranger who saw through my eyes. The stranger who asked my reason of existence in my commute to work one day.

My inspiration was in the love that defined happiness for me and in the love that wreck me. It was in the solitude when I was alone, locked up with books. It was in that book which inspired me to stand up for right and never settle. It was in the disappointments and the satisfactions. It was in the 10 kilometres trek to that beautiful hill that made me want to believe in god all over again. It was in the clarity of thoughts and in the conundrum alike.

It was in my want to love and be loved alike. It was in the birthday gift that I never got. It was in the friend that left me for no reason without caring to tell me. It was in the stubborn lover who could not accept the fact that I was leaving. It was in the crowd which made me wonder we all have a vivacious life.

Although, I’m stopping here but my list of inspiration does not end here. It has more subtleties than I can ever possibly talk of. These inspirations have forced me to write something so meaningful that impacts someone else’s life in a beautiful way. Something that fires their courage again to hit the wrong in its face, to take their life’s steering-wheel in their own hands. I want to write something powerful that urges someone to speak for them.