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Why are we questioned upon Love?

Why are We questioned upon Love   Two scenes, two people, together, having a private moment, both at a public place, in front of thousands of people, but one of them is looked with disgust, while the other looked and utterly ignored.

One where two people are having a fight, a man and a woman are having a heated argument, the man shouting at her so loudly, while she, crying and trying to convince him by trying to hold his hands while he pushes her each time she attempts, a little love in her eyes with even more tears. She tries to convince and calm him, now with even more love and trembling voice, while he is almost on the verge of hitting her in public. Everybody sees this, some look at this and feel shameful about it, some talk about it, some comment on the man’s bad character, some about his upbringing, some comment upon how the woman must be wrong while some turn a blind-eye.

But nobody stops them and ask them both to calm down. Why nobody has the courage to go to him and ask to behave well with a woman? Why nobody goes to the woman and makes her realize that she’s being undervalued when she might mean the world to someone unlike him who humiliates her, who doesn’t value her love. Why nobody goes to the man and warns him that no situation or relation of his with the lady justifies his shouting at her like this publicly or even privately. Not even One!

Why are we questioned on loce

Other scenari, where two people are having a romantic moment, where they hold each other’s hand just like a gold medalist who would hold his medal, in a proud and tender way. They look each other in their eyes, not caring for the world, forgetting everybody, forgetting every day’s hustle. To them, the moments of being together mean the most. Love gives them the power to face everything again with courage, makes them to want to believe in their dreams, happiness again. Both share a hug and a peck on the lips.

A hug is the best way to show your love to your partner, it makes you directly connected to them, you feel their heartbeat and they feel yours. When you feel their heartbeat, the satisfaction of this being for you is a bliss, you know the person is there for you.

In a world full of Money & Struggle, a beautiful thing such as a hug is free but still so priceless. Even Science has researches in favor of the amazing benefits of Hug, it releases Happiness Chemicals.

A peck, it’s more than a gentle touch that two lips share, it’s a reflection of the love between them, it’s a warm greeting that two souls make, a meaningful kiss is more than a bodily pleasure, you can feel millions of fireflies in your head when that happens.

When two people are in love, they are so happy and satisfied in their minds, their partner’s mere presence makes them happy, they want to look after them more than they would take care of themselves, every decision is made by keeping the partner’s happiness in mind, they want to love them even more, they want to live with them, a life full of ecstasy that relieves them from the thought of being lonely.

Anyway, the partners share a kiss and a hug publicly, for people who would value love might smile at such an instance and would directly start thinking of their own beloved, but most folks can’t chuck other’s happiness quite well. People start looking this with disgust just like the fight scenario but this time, they won’t just sit in the backseat of the car, 7 on 10 would judge their characters, 8 on 10 would stare, 8 on 10 would definitely talk about the girl being shameless, 5 on 10 might call her a hoe, 2 on 10 might get aroused and stare them constantly to make them as uncomfortable as possible, lastly, the most courageous ones, 3 or 4 on 10 will be ready with their snappy words to utter in a very sharp tone, the moment they get to speak, they’ll intrude the couple’s privacy and yell at them for being so shameless or they might start giving them lecture on moral values. The problem, here is that- “Everyone’s willing to advise freely when not needed”.

So, nobody was there to help a couple fighting seriously but people intrude when they absolutely should have had not. An emotion as strong as Hatred is favored than the pristine Love. Why?

Why do people want to be nosey-parkers in the matters of love but not when two people have a fight? Why Love is perceived so low in minds of millions? Why has Love between two people to be questioned while the Hatred ignored?

Why do people think they have the right to irrupt between lovers? Why do people don’t come out to help, when they actually should? Why PDA and crime both lead to Jail? Is Love a Crime?

Ask these questions and answer to yourself and your conscience.

I don’t find people’s fault in this, the fault is in the mindset & mentality they have, the outlook they have been having, the things they have been seeing in their culture and sub-consciously an acceptance has been generated. The acceptance of the wrong as being the sole truth has made them blind, blind enough to perceive their beliefs into the truth.

However it’s not late. We can grow more. We need to first unlearn the past lessons. A clarion call for all to learn new perspectives because there’s no better time than now. The Fittest survives and to survive you must compromise, sacrifice, and understand other beings as well.

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My rendezvous with the Third Gender

TransA morning when I was struggling through some of issues in my life. I chose to put it aside for some while and chill out with my friends. Even when the time was pre-planned, I got out from home early so that I could spend some time with myself. I was commuting via Metro.

I wasn’t in my Best moods so, I did something weird. I dressed up as if it were the best day of my life. Unlike my regular day, I put on my Eyeliner, Mascara, Lipstick, wore a nice blue dress to look very jolly, and this somehow made me feel better.

It sometimes works, you know, when you are sad, you force yourself to smile ’til it eventually makes you feel better. ‘Fake until you make it’. Doesn’t this work, sometimes?

It was Ladies’ Compartment. After a few stations, I realized someone beside me was talking to someone sitting in front of me. I could see her uncomfortable expressions. So I paused the track I was listening to, to get the idea of what was happening. I felt the need to help if needed.

I found there was a Neuter sitting beside me, she was asking for the route. However, the girl didn’t know. Also, the girl was maybe a little scared too, that’s how I felt through her expressions. The neuter was complimenting  the girl in weird ways. She kept saying- “You look pretty, you better try into films, leave your studies, and When you’ll come into movies, I will be proud to see you and call myself a sister of a Movie Actor”.

shutterstock_168955373-605x400All this was quite funny because of the tone of her voice and manner in which she was speaking but also quite scary because we all have been taught by our parents, societies to be at a little distance from Hijras. The reasons that they give us are one too many ranging from- ‘They are not good people!’ or ‘They have a very different community than ours and the best bet is to stay far from them’. Obviously the kids of our age need reasoning and logic and when parents aren’t able to feed us logic, they frighten us by telling weird stories. They tell us that the Hijra Community abducts teenagers and injects them with hormones to turn them into a hijra as well. Or they would tell us how cruel, shameless they are. They would claim that the hijras would do anything for money and if not given, they insult people in the worst possible way.

All these little stories have created a bad reputation of this commune. These sharp words have subconsciously created an outlook amongst us all. The Hijras are not respected by any. It is only at the time of a birth of a baby that they are welcomed in houses to give blessings to the new born and gifted with lots of money and jewellery. The sole time when they’re welcomed.

Coming back to the incident, she, then started staring me, and saying the movie things to me too. To which I lightly replied- “I am not that good-looking to qualify as an actress and also even if I wish, my parents want me to study.”

She was exceedingly extrovert. She was indulging in small-talks with everyone in the compartment. The girls, ladies, she started to joke with everybody. She complimented everybody in the coach, speaking in a very funny manner and comical accent. She even persuaded a girl to call her husband to talk to him on phone. Can you believe that? She talked to her husband and said— “Why don’t you marry me?” She even jokingly said i love you to him. I found it extremely comical.  After talking to her husband she blessed them.

In India, the blessings of Hijras are considered very fortunate. She didn’t ask her for money, but the lady gave her a hundred which somehow made an obligation for others to pay her too. They all started giving her some money. I really couldn’t understand why, despite denying so much, she started to accept money then. This one thing kept me confused for days and I couldn’t make a heads or tails about it honestly. Anyway, the route thing I knew about.

I knew the route so I explained her. She, however, couldn’t understand so I thought to accompany till I could as I had ample time before the meet-up. I took her to the next platform, from where we had to board the train.

We were exchanging thoughts all this time, I asked her about her life, she told me stories from her childhood, how her mother didn’t want to give her up despite her being the other gender. She said, with sadness within her, “There’s nobody like a Mother. A Mother never wants to lose her child despite all the flaws that the child may have. She’ll accept them even after knowing the hardships that they’ll have to face. She said it’s the society that creates more problem than family does.” I was completely in her agreement. There was a lot of noteworthy dissatisfaction in her eyes. She encouraged me to study and told me to never let anyone, anyone demoralize and dominate me. Yes, these were her words, after not being able to study, because of the differences. She was still encouraging me to study.

She talked to me about other things, told me about the Dharma-Maa that she had. The Dharma-Maa is someone who nurtures one despite not being one’s biological mother. Hers was the head of the ‘Hijra Community’ of their region. She told me how she used to let her study when it wasn’t allowed by their community to touch books. Every day she would study in a park and then bury the books under the bulky tree. This hustle was continued for a couple of years. But she was sad as she couldn’t continue her education after 8th standard. She wanted to, but after that, even her Maa couldn’t support her Education. Can you feel this? Can you imagine how depressing it must be for this community to quit education? To be treated like lepers, outcasts?

She told me she misses her family and her home in which she was born. She said she’s very unlucky to have been born like that else she could spend her life with her family with right and dignity. She told me that not a day passes without her yearning for a family. She misses them endlessly. I could just feel her, I tried to console her a bit. I really hope that nobody suffers from this pain yet want that everybody feels this pain, only then, maybe we can all be empathetic with them who are less-fortunate.

She kept on telling me how she envies us all because we have a family to live with. People have a spouse and children. She was sad that she can never get all this. We get to hang-out with our friends and family. We get to go out anywhere with complete liberty without being eyed but if Hijras are roaming around, they are eyed and judged.

What next? We talked some more about Love. She complimented me and said – “You’re very pretty, you must have an ardent lover.” I said no promptly. Because of the conflicts in my love life, I wanted to evade this subject of LOVE. I did have a boyfriend but we had been going through some tough times and we were not able to get along lately so I decided to continue only as friends. Obviously I didn’t explain my complicated love to her. I simply said— “I do have someone who loves me but I don’t love him”. It must be mere coincidence that she cut me and said— “No, you’re lying, you love him”. I was amazed because the truth I was hiding, she understood or maybe it was a mere chance she said so. I told her about how self-sufficient I was and I needed nobody to be with me. She was almost in tears when I said that.

She expressed her desire of true love in her life,  her wants to be with someone who would accept her in the way Lord has created her and love her. She needed someone to listen to her problems, to talk about absolutely nothing, to care for her choices, someone who would be there for her, someone who would love to kiss her, someone who would fight for her, who would respect her, someone she would love to care about. I was nodding with her words & said—“Just the feeling that someone is there for you is the best feeling in the world.” We both could relate. Listening to this, we both had our eyes wet. She simply asked me to love him back if the relationship is worth it as Love is a very beautiful feeling. I nodded.

She was so distressed. Her only wish was to be amongst us, the normals, only if she were born as a man or a woman. She wished that could happen. “I’m not happy with this life of begging. Where we are not involved in any societal meets, not respected. I wish I could also study like a normal person to change the way how our community is treated,” she said. I encouraged her that she can still do it.

I was thinking of ways to console her but knowing the hardships that she has to face every day, the struggle, it was difficult for me to find words. I still tried by saying— “Don’t worry, whatever happens, happens for good, you just believe in God.” She was a bit relaxed now. The magic wasn’t in me or my words, I didn’t do much to calm her; the true magic was in just my calm listening. I’m glad that I just could listen to her and if not solve her problems, just lessen her mental burden.

Finally, her destination arrived, I dropped her, and we said our byes. She went, but her thoughts lingered on. I was constantly thinking about her and the struggles. I was wondering how the world can embrace them. What things should change, “Total Utopianism”, attainable or not. I prayed for her and the community.

I also started to think about reconciling with my beloved. I was thinking on how I should make up for the things gone wrong in our relationship, how I should fill the gaps. Well, I started my efforts, it took me a while. It was hard at first, but things turned smooth as this was what we both wanted. We settled all the differences one by one and eventually our relationship turned stronger than ever. May be the problems were important to strengthen our relationship. And the realization of its importance was equally necessary.

And about her, I’m worried. Because of her being too talkative and extrovert, I felt traces of depression in her. I would be happier if my observation turns out wrong. I hope she’s well. We all should do our bit to make them feel home whenever we see them. Just a mild smile would do, I really request people to not look this community with an evil eye. They’re just as humans as we are. They’re God’s creation as we are, only a bit different.

P.S. Next time you see one of them, Do them a Favor— JUST SMILE  (^_^)

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Distance between hearts

Two Hearts' Distance1

“She’ll always hate me, no matter what I do, There’s no mistake this love is gone”. This song is freaking the hell out of me right now. I can relate to the song after a little fight I had with him and now I have the fear of losing him.

We have fights sometimes, just like normal couples. In the arguments, I lose myself in anger and yell at him. When I’m angry, I lose my ability to think clearly and cognitively. I get infuriated when he either interrupts me or if he doesn’t listen to me or misinterpret me. It freaks the hell out of me.

In our arguments, I yell and get crazy and at the end I ask him to leave. And after he’s gone, I try to calm myself, I understand things better also with a touch of fear to lose him forever. But at least this saves further heated arguments.

Two Hearts' Distance

Today was not different to the aforementioned scenario. We had a fight because he didn’t answer to me when I was questioning him. I lost my calm and obviously asked him to leave. But after he was gone, I became a maniac. We boarded the same train to the way back home. We were in the same compartment of the train, he, at a distance from me, but still in my sight. I was just consonantly looking at him, and wanted him to look at me but he was controlling his anger too. And then he looked at me, we constantly stared each other from the distance, we let out eyes talk that time. My anger was gone. He had to deboard as it was his stop, so we said byes. I get angry at him, soon get filled with immense guilt too. My anger makes me crazy but doesn’t lessen my love for him. I’m glad he understands this. After he left, I couldn’t stop thinking about him or the fight, the distance, the love.

It got me wondering on how odd is this? How quaint this feeling of love is? I accidentally got on this conclusion- the title of this blog.

The distance between two hearts is unfathomable. Contrary to the distance between two places, which can be gauged with the help of tools, scales, anything. Two places will always have a constant distance irrespective of any factor but measuring distance between two hearts can’t just happen. You just can’t measure it. It doesn’t care for the geographical longitudes, latitudes, it’s beyond scientific calculations, beyond the horizon of eyes.

They can be on the opposite ends of the world but still close in each other’s hearts or in the same room totally strangers. Not glancing, not caring of the utter existence.

That is the beauty of Love. No distance can either separate it or can reinforce it. Love is the strangest yet the most beautiful feeling in the world.

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Woe-MEN

WOE-MEN1

Women should rather get start being called WOE-MEN.

Since they’re no less than a suffering to men  around. Why it is so, what heinous crimes have they committed, how did they do this? These are some of the million dollar questions which probably won’t be getting answered till the ends of the Universe.

Just Wondering, How do WOE-MEN hurt Men? Maybe it is their Breath that makes the air poisonous for other dogmatic Males to breathe. Or is it the cacophony they make all the time while the Men are making spaceships  which makes them go erratic. Or is it the sluggishness, their indolence which makes the aura ill. Or the weirdness, making it really hard to be around such extraterrestrials. Not only that, Woe-Men are all the time trying their ways to woo Men, who by the way are ‘realistic and unromantic’.

WOE-MEN

The insecurities of women for their bodies, hair, dresses are all ways of pretending. Even the hormones—Estrogen and Progesterone that happen to bother women and cause mood swings are all a sham.

The looks so charming, the touch so healing, the heart so warm is all a lie, that maddens the men to the core.

No wonder WOE-MEN will be a pain in the neck as long as they take ‘Women Empowerment’, ‘Gender Inequality’ for granted. These words have richer meaning to what is usually interpreted. They’ve a deeper connotation which had never been given the right weight it deserved.

All the women need to come in the front and need to walk towards the brighter side of the tunnel. The dark tunnel can’t be crossed by one or two, but all. When they accept nothing but the true Social, Legal, Educational, Political, and most of all ‘INDIVIDUAL EMPOWERMENT’. When they’ll understand how valuable, privileged they are to be born in this gender. When they respect and equally get it back, when their opinions and decisions are welcomed, admired and considered without any prejudice.

That’ll be in a true sense- “Women Empowerment.” Period.

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Ban Insecurities not Makeup!

Black

I was born Black but I didn’t know it. I was my Daddy’s cute little girl. My Daddy! He loved my hair, he used to arrange them every day, be it ponytails or braids. Tickling and games, my childhood was all about it. One word can summarize my childhood and that is Happiness.

I never saw a Mirror, never needed to. I was the prettiest and the most beautiful girl as my Daddy called me. Then I became a teenager, the time of tonnes of changes, biological, physical, mental, loads of them. The time of fragility and abysmal confusion. The people started commenting on my looks, told me that my skin was not white, not pure.

I never knew the difference between the white and black skin. The only way I could distinguish people was their acquaintance or relationship with me. There were people I know in one group and the ones I didn’t know in the other. That was it, there were no further classifications with their color, class, religion, caste as a base.

With each day, the number of comments was rising, I was becoming a mess. I got confused between the notion of Daddy and that of the society. Daddy called me the prettiest and now people were eyeing me and calling me Black. He was not there anymore, couldn’t ask him too.

black1With new and different comments, weird and awkward stares, strange insecurities were being born in me every day.

I couldn’t believe it, I didn’t want to believe that my black skin was not pretty. However, bit by bit, the strange insecurities about the skin, color, lips broke the belief. The belief of being the Daddy’s Most Beautiful Girl broke.

I got to know the difference finally. I became uncomfortable in my skin. I was ashamed of being black. They forced me to be ashamed of my black skin. Each day was a sin after the realization.

I started to put makeup, layers of it. Primer, concealer, foundation, highlighter, kohl, mascara and tone-enhancing, fairness creams and what not at night as well. I thought it would be okay. I felt good in the beginning when my kith and kin complimented me. It gave me a satisfaction, a feeling that I was accepted. I felt happy. Months and years passed. My obsession for makeup also rose. I couldn’t picture myself without makeup anymore. It became my identity, the outer one at least. I got dependent on it. It became my drug.

But one night, I was removing my makeup, I removed the Kohl first, it got smudged and smeared. Then I took the cleansing wipe, rubbed it on my lips. The bold red lips became dull, lifeless at once. I panicked a bit. I folded the wipe, started to clean my face. I could see, stroke by stroke, the two juxtaposing skin tones. I was horrified. I can’t explain the feeling, what I felt that very moment, suddenly there was a tear in my eye. I wiped it, cleansed and washed my face and went to bed. I tried to sleep but I wasn’t able to.

I was confused about this incident for many months. I was losing my sleep. There was this identity crisis in me after all of it that I was neither able to embrace my natural shade, be comfortable with it or wear it publicly nor I was able to be happy in my artificial shade, I was wearing it to work but I wasn’t feeling myself anymore.

Then to worsen it, one day, while I was checking Instagram, I saw a white women’s post. It said-“BAN MAKEUP and FAIRNESS CREAM”. I was angry, sad, happy, worried, optimistic, and pessimistic in a single moment. Can you believe it?

Angry! As why a white woman is posting it, she’s not black, she doesn’t feel us then how did she get the right to post it.

Sad! As I was already disturbed about my skin. I was worried if should this happen, what would I do without makeup? How would I see myself without these products?

Happy as at least someone thought of it, a woman thought of it despite she’s white, she cared enough for others. She wants others to feel beautiful with whatever God has gifted them with.

Worried! I was worried how will I go out, in such a dull and lifeless skin. What would others think of me if they see me like so?

Optimistic! I thought maybe if there are no products, everyone will eventually accept their natural beauty despite the differences and the diversity. After all, we all are the same, all humans, we all have eyes, ears, mouth, lips, brain, heart etc. Maybe the world will embrace the black and white alike now.

Pessimistic! What if this all was a bubble, my bubble of hope. What if this all was my imagination while the reality might be unfavorable? What if the world refuses to believe in black, denies their rights and opportunities. What if we’re all left out.

black1Yes, all these thoughts in a couple of seconds. My head was all about it, and it started to pain because it was a Brain War.

I was messed up beyond words that night. I took a pill and tried to catch some Zs. I slept with a wet pillow. The pill put me to sleep.

Luckily, I had a good dream that night. In my dream, there was a different world, an animated and a really beautiful one. I saw chocolate rivers, colorful trees. Some trees had candies hung on them. Some had cupcakes while others had star shaped fairy lights hung on them. On one side, there was this huge fall, from which strawberry shake was falling. The people’s face were teddy like, had a cherry-like nose. There were big mansions made of waffles which also had noodle shaped curtains on their glass panes. There were statues of chocolate, ice-cream filled ponds. Pasta shaped ducks and all cute little animals. Surprisingly, all the teddies looked alike. A huge bell rang in a while, at the center of the beautiful Garden. Suddenly all the teddies sat on the green grass for lunch. They held each other’s hand and made a big circle, leaving no one behind. All sat and had lunch circled by small puppies and kittens, they also joined for lunch.

The speciality of this very time was the way they all sat for the feast. Their regular meal was a feast each day. They were so happy and joyous. Each one of them started to feed others with their plate. Each one was filled up with not just food but love. The cute animals were not left alone either. What an adorable scene that was! I wish I could capture it on my phone. Suddenly played the Beep! Beep! My alarm played and woke me up.

I woke up with a smile on my face. I remembered each scene of my dream, so clearly and vividly. I was in awe of it. I was happy about it, the dream fed me some positivity, and a long lost one. I went to the park, bathed, ate my breakfast and got ready for work.

I did not wear makeup that day, it was hard but I didn’t. I tied my hair and went for work. Some colleagues questioned on why I looked so dull. To which I replied—“I look real.” Some appreciated while others chose to whisper and laugh. I won’t say it was easy. It was bold, you know, doing something, unafraid, indifferent to the consequences. I did it or maybe I didn’t. This was daddy’s pretty girl who did it.

The wicked and surprised eyes disappointed me a little at first. But the impression of the dream were enough to keep me strong enough to not be hurt by the stones pelted at me.

Instead, the second time I chose to fire back at the ones who came and commented on my skin. I chose to bomb kind words wrapped in sarcasm with a smirking smile on my face. I could see them almost dying as they couldn’t make me insecure anymore. I saw that dissatisfaction in their eyes when they saw my proud eyes. I wish I knew this cycle in my teenage. Comments if not answered turn into our own insecurities while also powering the perpetrators.

I was not looking for an acceptance anymore. I accepted myself entirely that day. Isn’t there much more to me, my life than the shade of my flesh?

Problems never last so does satisfaction. I was pondering over a cup of java that what if I had not seen that Instagram post that day? What if I had not cared for my dull lips and different shades that day? What if my daddy never called me beautiful? What if I hadn’t had that dream morning?

I could be happy in my flesh once again, the way nature made me, the way my family loved and accepted me. But what about the others? Who are as black as I yet with golden but fragile hearts? What sequence is designed by the nature to make them believe in their selves again? What if they don’t see that post or have that dream?

What ifs are tonnes but so are the what now’s. We all should be that human to at least someone that betters their life directly or indirectly. I want to inspire many by this small tale. But I’m not going to say Ban Makeup or Ban Fairness Cream.

I would go and shout out loud—“BAN THE INSECURITY”. I would teach the trick to silent the commentators. I’m going to teach the blacks to educate the racists and pity their limited thinking.

I would teach the teenagers how the color palette is incomplete and somehow blank with just white and alone without the black.

The world is also the color palette of the Lord whose colors are white, black and so many others and his arts are equally colorful. If God wasn’t partial to his color palette, who gave humans the right to criticize his art pieces?

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Follow your heart

pexels-photo-325520.jpegA decision can adversely affect your life. I’m having the side-effects truly. My physics class is happening, for my least interest.

Having tried all ways to understand physics, now I just want to raise my hand to give up. Giving up is no wrong, sometimes it’s for good, because the truth is we all are no Einstein’s or Newton’s. We can be great in arts or maybe we could definitely do something in management or a musician or an actor or a scientist or a teacher or just a clerk. It doesn’t matter what as long as we can choose to be good at it. The job matters the least; what matters most is happiness. Are you making most of it, are you enjoying your work, are you happy doing your job or regretting your job, your life?

The decision can really eff your life, no matter who made it, you or someone else. A bad decision calls for worse consequences. Sometimes, we let out loved ones take decisions, which in future creates tension between and a knot remains there. One can’t open the knot in this thread of relation, can just prevent it. I lost a relation, quite an important one. In retrospect, however, I know it was meant to be in one way or the other. Nonetheless, it could have been prevented then, if they suggested me for some things rather imposing on me and I accepting the decision by measuring it.

The decision that I had to pursue, made me emotionally numb for a while. I became very silent after it.

“Regrets comes in all shapes and sizes. Some regrets for doing the wrong thing, some regret for making the wrong choices but the biggest regrets in life are for not being able to do something, for not getting a chance to walk even few steps to the road of your passion—something that you loved doing, could do for hours without any reward, money.

I know, not everybody who follows their passion get success but the journey makes it just worth it. The journey gives you what million dollars can’t. It keeps you alive. It gives you a reason to work on every morning and a chance to thank god for blessing you with an attempt to do the thing you felt strongly for.

People should always be asked— “what you wish to do rather than what you aim to do?”. As to what I see and feel, there’s a subtle difference and strangely even the person is unable to figure that out until he’s wasted some years trying to find a satisfaction in his aim while he left his passion considering it was just a hobby.

Suppose, a person wants to sing or dance maybe, it doesn’t matter if he’s an expert or sloppy. It’s just simple—he wants to do it, he likes it. But he aims to be an engineer or say doctor.

Our aims in life are often a result of some influence but our vocations are true. So ask yourself is it my passion, can I do it for the rest of my life, if I have enough money would I just do it?

& then, Follow your heart <3

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What if those Brazen Women were never born on this Earth?

What if the Brazen Women werent bornAnd what if those Brazen women were not born on this earth? How would I smile and how would I write? How would you study and how would you live a life?

Despite the few biological weaknesses, they are the gender, whom god chose to give birth to his children, the gender—the gentle and worthy of giving life. It was the sex as equal, as important as Adam’s when lord made it. But with the rising people, equilibrium began to pathetically become a disaster.

The world was a better place to live in when the biological differences in the bodies of both the gender didn’t create any mental friction between them. But gradually negativity spurned!

The truth is that women was never the weaker sex. It was made to believe that it was the one. It was made to believe that it was the weaker sex by some brokers of the male gender, the negatives, the dominants.

Not every male thought this way but a bad idea and a rumour is always initiated by few and then spreads faster than a fire in the bush and is readily absorbed by all.

Earlier there was no problem, women were as equal as men in anything. Respect, work, money, status but with the advent of the dominates, things were changing for worse.

The gentle gender was snatched off their respect, credit, love, wages. I don’t know if they rebelled or not, but then on, gradually, situation got worse for women each day.

Earlier the privilege to be born as a women was envied by men, the gender was awaited to be born in the families and considered as a symbol of the Goddess. But then on, it became a sin to give birth to a girl, Female infanticide began.

 

Then later, female infanticide stooped due to the medical advances which bought even worse, female foeticides.

The girl who are as pure as a goddess is considered a debt and a burden and the girls who in ancient times were given liberty to choose men at their will from the group of the best bachelors called ‘swayamvara’ (Hindi word for the marriage in ancient times where the princess would choose her husband from the most suitable kings) were now married off early at the age they barely understood anything.

Before periods, a fragile feather as she is, filled with deep fears and blank about the sexual world, far from the true reality of sex and life as well.

She began to get married anyway and was just told two things – “Compromise or Die”. The woman absorbed the thought like a sponge which absorbs anything its dipped in. Woman are always like a sponge; they are taught to absorb just about anything- clean water or dirty grease. It’ll just absorb like a robot who knows to just follow the order, who just knows what to do far from the reasoning on why it should do that.

But why are we taught all this? Why aren’t we taught to be stubborn, take a stand and not lessons of calm.

Anyway she is married as fast as it could happen just like a debt, the faster you get rid of it, the better. And when she’s married, she is assumed to be as shapeless, formless as a fluid. She marries a man and takes the shapes he asks her to take. Her fate’s notebook is overwritten by her husband because he married to control her anyway. She has to be what the husband and his parents want her to be. Why can’t she be what she always was, what her parents made her till the moment, just before she took those seven rounds. Why she has to change? After Wearing that red attire, she changes as a person, becomes whatever is asked out, but, why cannot she be accepted in the way she was, originally. However changes she makes in herself, she always remains a stranger in the house she considers her home, her family.

That’s the law of the society, a woman is married, has to change, is forgotten by her family and isn’t accepted in her husband’s family. She just becomes the door between any two places. She knows both the places exactly well but knows neither too well.

And the husbands who are working hard for money have alibis that they have stress, they are tired and they never pay attention to the phase their wives always have to go, even if the attention is given, they suggest them to ignore and choose not to say anything and do the same too, they think the ignorance is the right answer.

Then the husbands also have their own way of de-stressing themselves. Beatings, BDSM, forced sex, violence or anything like so. It should just satisfy their wants, needs and ego, period.

They never realise what a woman thinks, wants, or how she feels when they beat or hurt them. Or when they are too passionate, do they even thin k it for a moment if she’s ready to have sex now, they just dig in when they think they should, when their body demands.

The women who so brainwashed in love that it’s easy for them to believe that it’s their fault than accepting that wrong is happening to them. She just closes her eyes that are capable of seeing the reality and chooses to think of the good moments.

Good moments, are their pill to forget the drama, all the domestic violence, affairs that their husbands have privately or publicly. The man who was married to take her care hurt her in the worst ways possible but she just won’t question him because he told her that he loves her few days back or took those seven marriage-rounds or ‘saat-pheras’ few years back. They choose to believe their husband who says that they are unimaginably under stress that is blinding them to hurt her and she believes him after all these wrongs.

But there were some women, who were as normal as all but sassier than each one of us as well. These women just didn’t give a shit to the obstacles in her path. These women were stones, were so stubborn, denied to be soft sponges, were full of enthusiasm, anger and determinism, an attitude that they made sure nobody could even get close to shake off.

They were the woman who believed in leading by example than following her husband or her parents or her in-laws. These were the woman who decided to carve a niche in the wall of fame that madly flaunted portraits of male leaders of the world

Rani Lakshmi Bai, Mother Teresa, Indira Ghandi, Oprah Winfrey, Michelle Obama, Florence Nightingale, George Sand, Marie Curie, or in the very past, Cleopatra, Hatshepsut, Joan of Arc. These are just the few names out of the list as deep as ocean.

Rani Lakshmi Bai, who bravely fought till her end to save her motherland. She could have lived by giving up but why would she> she chose to be the stronger version of herself. She chose wat everyone wishes deep inside.

There are plenty of names, plenty faces and also plenty those who are missed out in the list but are the true heroes too, just because they chose not to bow down and to listen to their callings by not giving up

Why can’t we all be someone who’s hidden in us, who’s battle-ready, the real battles of the world, any smallest of the problems in the whole world, someone’s who is holding a flag ready to wave it to celebrate the victory, even a small one.

Be the woman you were centuries back, a queen, who was proud to be a woman, who proudly and humbly ran the world. Not the ones the dominants made out of us, the suppressed, depressed.

Be the woman who can fight for right than who chooses to just see with eyes wide shut, listen with ears closed and speaks with a mouth closed.

Be the brazen woman like the ones who chose to be the stronger versions as to rebel against the dictators. Just imagine these brazen women weren’t born, what would be the status of woman today. Would we be getting treated like a pet, who’s called for love and shooed when the masters please?

The best part is there’s a brazen woman in each one of us, just recall and remind yourself of even a small instance where you stood upright, did something very right.

But the worst part is that brazen woman is sleeping, hibernating and waiting for that one moment when we strongly call her upon for even a minor change.

 

 

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A Writer will always be Mistaken

A Writer will always be mistakenA writer will always be mistaken.

Everyone thinks but only we choose to pen down. We write the earnest, the deepest of the thoughts with a pen which runs silver ink, the same silver that makes a mirror.

We pen down what we see with honesty, what we feel or imagine. Our feelings or imaginations are just like us, simple and true with not even the slightest intentions to misguide or mislead.

A Writer will always be mistakenWe choose to write down on vivid and diverse topics but not all are our past. We want to write something that’s someone’s something, that makes out a meaning, that brings clarity to someone.

We don’t always pen down our life. So it doesn’t matter if I write about love, I’m actually in love with someone, it maybe past or pure imagination. I want to write it so well, pouring my heart through the silver ink. And when people read it and ask if that’s happened to me.  I take it as a compliment, I feel on having written it so good that people find its true.

But not always do I like the question. The question- ‘Has it happened to me’. I want to write pure fantasies, someone else’s darkest realities, fictions without the fear of judgments, without being questioned on my physical connection with my writings.

If they want to know my connection with my work, I can tell you whole day how deeply connected, embossed it’s in my soul not because they have been my past but because I could feel it without them actually happening to me.  I feel all my work so deep just the way I’d have felt if it’d have happened to me.

But am I gifted or unfortunate? I can feel anything so well but still can’t deliver it as my pure fantasy. I mislead my readers through my work that it has happened to me without my truest intentions. A Blessing or a Curse?

The writer will always be misunderstood.

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Cloudy Sky is as optimistic as the clear sky

The dark sky and clouds are as optimistic as the clear sky.

The Silver-Line above the cloud is optimistic, but so are the black clouds. They’re as optimistic as the clear sky.

The clouds tend to dim the sunlight. However, only these clouds don’t let the sun’s light to spread in the vastness of the sky and then somewhere between the movements of clouds, rarely, you see a bright ray of light as perfect as the lord.

The ray with a sharp piercing focus, beautiful line running downstairs like an angel in white but with vividness of a thousand rainbows.

Dark Skies are as optimistic as the Grey is (1)

Then there is the dark sky that seems to be yelling spells and curses by lightening and thunderstorms but only in some time we are able to decipher the spells when it rains on earth, extracting aromas and auras and spreading it all around. Only the dark skies have the ability to rain on earth and the people. The rain that’s purer than the purest water on the mother earth.

In only the dark clouds, the thunderstorms- when lightning strikes the earth; people are silent and they enjoy nature’s play while they feel the power of it, in awe of nature.

When it rains, the purity of water dilutes all the negativity in the people and fills them with gaiety. They are always joyful when it rains.

It’s just about the perspective. The dark skies are as beautiful as the clear sky.

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Screens: Walls between Relationships

Screens -WallsRelationships today are more susceptible to damage than ever before. But this time, we don’t need a third person to intervene and damage the relationship.

People are vulnerable more than ever before. The relationships don’t need any walls, distance to get ruined today. Only the small devices in our hands are the ones which will unimaginably damage the love and soul of relationships.

Screens -Walls (2)The screens in our hands or our laps are invisible walls we all are creating around us. The earphones in our ears, deafening us to the sounds we should cherish, we should hear. The silly talks about anything or nothing are vanishing and the laughter is becoming just an emotion.
The tears and emotions are perceived as drama or attention seeking stunts, however true they maybe.

These devices are getting smarter and making people dumber, far from each other more than ever before.

Change before its too late, Change before you have many robots around but no real relationships.

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Gradually, I’ll surrender in Love

The best companionship’s are the ones where there’s no man or a woman who love each other but two partners who love each other beyond the bounds of a gender, beyond the stereotypical thoughts classifying their works and chores.

I‘ll Rebel each time…and then Surrender at once

Love is great but for a woman, it’s tough. A woman has to change herself to take love to next level and she accepts to change. But I won’t allow you to change me.

I’ll not behave as you would want me.

I’ll not see the same things as you would or might want me to see.

I’ll not be a good friend at first.

I’ll not be taking it forward, giving you signals that I’m into you even if I might be

I’ll not be the even amiable, let alone being flirtatious.

I’ll not go on dates when you’d choose, I’ll decide.

I’ll not let you decide my clothes or let you comment on the way I dress.

Nor I would let you decide the time to go to date or even plan one.

I’ll fight with you or get angry at you at your slightest mistakes.

I’ll not allow you to get close to my self-respect.

I’ll not rebellious at first to know you better, judge you well to find the person in you, the real you.

And when I do find a lovely human in you

I’ll surrender to you, for life, at once.

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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.

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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.

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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.

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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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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?

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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…

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.

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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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Isn’t Love a Universe in its own?

Do the galaxies, black holes really exist in space or are these imaginations of a hopeless lover?

Maybe the universe is just a thought, the darkness and the shine a lie. All is but a beautiful idea inspired from our living, our world is a universe in itself.

Everyone is like a planet; We all have our ‘Moons’ but just one ‘Sun’. Our life, just like the planets, revolves around that one person who is our Sun, our reason of being. The ‘Sun’ makes everything around worth it.

The gravity of a ‘Black hole’ is no way near the attraction of two lovers. Closing your eyes with them in your arm takes you to the darkest yet ‘Brightest’ galaxy. The galaxy that promises to keep one safe, far from any insecurity or vulnerability. The feeling of loving and being loved is so fulfilling, satisfying and calming.

The kind of attraction that can be seen in many juxtaposing forms. Sometimes, in the form of teenager’s first love- beautiful, rebellious, immature. The type that keeps them busy with each other all the time undistracted and unaffected by the world. Or sometimes, an Adult’s- the Labyrinth love, fussy, clandestine, complicated yet a relaxing spa to the partners indeed. The love that enlivens the chaos-struck adults worried and burdened by their everyday lives.

Isn’t Love a Universe in its own?

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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.

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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.

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In this realm, you are my Immortal Reality

While I was too busy idolizing someone else’s relationship, marking their couple-goals; You were too occupied making ours the perfect one. You were not marking them like I, but instead you were creating moments for us, setting the pace.

The Couple I idolized broke up a long ago! However, we are still together. Because of you solely. If I say, I am lucky to have you, that would be an understatement.

Happen what may, I’m just content that in this realm of ours, our small little utopia, you are my immortal reality.

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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.

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The Roses you gave were good…

The roses you gave were good but the thorns were better.
The love you made was good but the betrayal was better.
The roses and love made me feel pleasant at first,
Soon turned into ashes and dust.
The thorns gave me scars for life,
Also the Betrayal wasn’t less than a knife, but
The betrayal is million times better than the love,
Unlike a slow poison, at once, told me to shove,
The feelings you had was a lie,
But now, my eyes are completely dry,
They have shed ample tears,
But you were always unaware.
I’m proud at the thought
You left me, because I would not.
I’m sad but optimistic for myself,
Dismayed but grateful to you, because

The roses u gave were good but the thorns were better.
The love you made was good but the betrayal was better…

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I weave my thoughts & me

pexels-photo-185939You talk on phone every night,
While sharing the bed with me,
It was my right to be your 3 AM Friend,
My right to know how your day went,
My right to know how things were,
My right to know what you’ve felt.
We kiss in the morning before you leave,
I spend the day trying to weave,
My thoughts & me,

Trying to figure out what’s wrong in me,  pexels-photo-299863
I’m the one you kissed at the altar,
The one you swore to love forever.
Now I see your love disappearing fast,
It’s just a burden that you’re carrying far.
You left my heart broken down,
Treated my feelings like a clown.
You doubt my love if I confront,
& leave the room shouting loud

Are we going to stay together?
Or I’ll be alone,
Because I don’t have someone on the phone.
For me, it was just you,
You were my always & forever.
I feel so low of me, shattered & stressed
To you, how do I express?
My love for you will always be the same,
But my trust in love is falling apart.
We see each other in eyes,
You look more boldly than I,
I tried to find shame in your eyes,
I couldn’t, you’re too arrogant for that
For you, my dark circles matter more,
Because you’ve forgotten to see through my soul.
You never asked me how I got these,
Ask yourself, you’ll know it’s you & she.
I laugh at the whole thing
With a tear in my eyes,
I say I don’t care, but I do
& I don’t know, what else to do
My friends ask me about our conjugal life,
I’ve a doubt if you still consider me your wife,
I have to fake things up &
Make new stories
I don’t want them to feel sorry
I don’t even want you to feel sorry
I want you to be what you were
I still have the power to forget,
& carry on like we were.
I want to leave you the next morning every night,
But your kiss makes me feel everything is just right
I wait for you all day,
Thinking tonight will be different
& then I wait for you all night,
While you’re busy with her.
Or some nights that you come home,
You’re too stressed & irritated from work & me
Every time I smell her cologne on your clothes,
I want to question you, but I don’t
& Then every Night, I want to leave
But the next day, I weave my thoughts & me.

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This Love- Curiosity or lust?

pexels-photo-377909There have been more instances than I can ever recall when I wanted you- ‘The’ hot guy with bushy beard and brawny muscles. I would check your Facebook multiples of times a day just to know what you’re upto now.
There you are, in your tee flaunting your biceps and abs. Your lifestyle, quite different from mine, at least it seems so from the Facebook. I’m intrigued beyond limits.

You’re a frequent traveler to places- with friends or alone. Traveling is your love. You have your friends and your gym with you, a girlfriend- I don’t know. I imagined it would be me. I wanted to be it.
But why do I want it?

Am I too insecure of myself? To not understand a simple saying-“All that glitters is not gold” or too stupid or immature to be fascinated by just one facade of you- your body.
Isn’t there much more of you than your body? Beyond your complexion, blue eyes, lips, bicep, six packs; I’m sure there must be more- your nature, temper, kindness, humanity, self-esteem or good manners. 

smartphone-friends-internet-connection

Unaware of all these, I still want to be your friend, honestly,  more than that.
But why? Because I loved the way you appeared but never could I assume the way you would look at me, in my eyes. Because never have you looked at me ever even when I cross the street in front of your eyes every day. You seem to ignore my existence each time. You don’t know if I’m there or not, glancing at you or not.

However, does my love exist or not? Who’s it for? For someone I don’t know a bit about?
Is my love an arousing curiosity or plain lust or a truthful love? Even if ever I get you, would I be able to proudly say that I have loved you from quite some time?

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Then the Stranger asked me the strangest question

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An odd day it was, with the usual hustle yet a different aura. I was traveling to work when a fellow passenger,“The Stranger” asked me the strangest question.

He asked me—“What did I want from my Life?” On a quest he seemed, and seemed a little worried as well. His Sub-conscious forced him to ask the question probably. I said-“Let me think.”

The question was as odd as the journey that my brain sailed till it answered the result. Millions of visions, Billions of thoughts, but still I was more than far from words. I traversed my childhood to the very moment. Memories were many, but I was supposed to come up with conclusions and statements.

I stuck on the thought and asked myself recurrently on what exactly did I want. Each recurrence made me delve in and reach a bit towards my final answer. My thoughts were—

I wanted Self-Esteem from life so that I can live proud and see myself as someone worthy enough, to face my own self in the Mirror every day and night.

I wanted Positivity from life so that I can feel connected to my God and loved by him, to handle every day chores.

I wanted Honesty from life so that I can live satisfied and never in a fear that someone else might cheat me or a guilt that never lets me live or sleep any moment.

I wanted Novelty from life, and also passion to search for it myself, to feel high on life, to be on a Hidden quest every day.

I wanted Kindness from life to be a sympathetic and a warm-hearted soul, and as they say-“Kind People are the happiest because they forgive and forget the easiest. They never hold on to the hurtful things, always be humble and pleasant.”

I wanted Trueness and loyalty from life to have and keep the Best relationships. To keep my Kith and Kin feel loved, comforted and happy always, distance no matter what.

I wanted Courage from life to face the wrong for the weak, to speak for it, to inspire it to take the driver’s seat of their lives.

After a while—he intervened and prompted me to reply quickly as it was his station and doors of the train were open. Without a second thought, I knew what I wanted and I uttered—“I wanted a ‘Good Night Sleep’ from life”. We exchanged our last and uncanny glance, and then he left, with a queer smile on his face.

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Some Love stories are great but some, Magical

StockSnap_3SOTA2KHAIaSome love stories are great. You know, starting with friends and then, one day, finding a lover in them, but some love stories are Magic. Where two people are just so reluctant to even see other. With completely opposite habits, with so different opinions. Both have their own set of walls, barriers that hinder their love graph’s growth.

And then gradually, their love breaks the barriers one by one, creating a havoc in both minds. They realize their love for them but try hard to stop.

There’s no falling in love, in a day, a week or a month. They both take their time to settle their issues and eventually decide to express it to each other. Their love really transcends it all 🙂

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My Quest

I’m trying to find silence amidst the chaos,
I’m trying to find love in a dark place.
I’m trying to find my soul in the world,
I’m trying to be a better person
I’m trying to find an art that makes us want to think from the eye of the artist
I’m trying to find a Music that forces us to think & feel the Writers, Singers
I’m trying to find a poem that makes us want to imagine,
I’m trying to write an article that makes us want to believe again, in truthfulness and change.
I’m trying to find the strangers that have the most amazing stories, pristine and untold.
I’m trying to find the love that makes us feel good & content.
I’m trying to find the happiness that is inside us all, behind that laugh we suppress
I’m trying to find an idea that has the power to change it all
I’m trying to find the courage that has the ability to speak the right in the face of wrong
I’m trying to find truth that connects us to our God
I’m trying, I might even fail, I might even do good or nothing at all, but I don’t wish to stop my endeavors that get me close to my Success’s Door.

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Love should be permanent!

There’s gonna be Million times when I’ll be right, and millions when I’ll be wrong.

But the constant should be you, I can celebrate being right and celebrate being wrong equally proud if it’s you by my side.

If your hands are there to hold me in the times of not just my triumph but my defeat, there’s nothing more that I’m going to ask for.

Because Victory or Defeat, they’re temporary. Love should be permanent!