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

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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.

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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.

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My Modesty is my Pride!

My modesty is my Pride. I am not a modest I choose to be one. I choose to be proud at me in silence than exaggerating or publicizing myself in front of everybody.

My silence is my dignity, my pride. Because I’d be judged if I speak, I’d be judged if I don’t.

So I’d let my silence be the reason of your judgment and your judgments be the reason of my silence and an insight of you to me.

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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.

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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?

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Some Fantasies are better than Reality!

parisI’m a sky-watcher, a  cloud-gazer. I gaze at the stars, the moon wondering how it’d be like to be there, live there.

I’m also the one who’d get very happy at the sight of an Eagle or an airplane in the vast sky. I would wonder how they fly so flawlessly. I’d wonder who’d be there in the Airplane, what they’d be doing? All the irrelevant questions maybe.

Well, I’m also the one who knows that in the world of data and knowledge, finding anything is a matter of minutes or rather seconds. But some things, I don’t want to know. I just want my imagination to wander off to think of what may be than to know what is.

Because, it’s intriguing until I don’t know it, I’m afraid it might lose its sense, its meaning to me, begin to stop giving me the highs that it produces in me now.

I think, Some Fantasies are just better than the Reality.

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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.

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A Book is just a stupid set of lines…

GoSolo (1)A Book is just a stupid set of lines. Nobody can really understand anything.

People read and make a meaning out of it to their understanding or the extent that suits them.

A book is a part of someone else’s life that they’ve left for others as they’ve already lived it. They either want to share that part with you or throw it away far from them like an amputated arm.

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Only with the writer’s state of mind, their circumstances can we understand the true meaning of his lines, by not just reading a language but living the emotions. But is that even possible? To have that state of mind to read between the lines. The metaphors, the words can all be a lie, a deceiving trickery by the author or may have a deeper meaning than we can ever imagine or grasp.

But we all love to read, to at least grasp the macro idea of it while trying and looking for something meaningful relevant to us in some way.

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My Heart is Beach…

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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.

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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.

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Who’s a Bitch?

Who’s a Bitch?
Any women who has the liberty to take a decision,
Who can speak out for herself,
Who is opinionated,
Who can take a stand,
Who has the right to be with someone while hoping to find her Mr. Compatible Life partner,
Who has goals & gives them priority over others,
Who has a broad-mind & likewise broad-minded friends irrespective of their sex or their sexual orientation or color.
Who has her Me-Time, who does not let anybody take that from her.
It’s her power, she’s the queen of that world in those moments.

Be the #Bitch.