Poems – Homeland Memories


I am weary of houses 

I want to be home 

Some poems are born in the margins. They emerge from the feelings of rootlessness, despair and loss. I wonder if someone can actually know the agony of being exiled from their homeland without experiencing it. Perhaps not.

I wrote six poems from the point of view of someone in exile and I don’t know if I could bring out what I actually felt while writing. The pain seeped deep inside my fragmented self making its way into the hollow of the bones and I wondered if the feeling of exile is just limited to the physical banishment of people from their own land or does it go deeper than that and if there is an emotional exile too? Is a life in margin also an exile?

Two of my poems, from the six I wrote, were recently published in Cafe Dissensus Everyday a blog of Cafe Dissensus magazine under an umbrella title ‘Homeland Memories‘. All these poems are dedicated to a friend who is away from his homeland and to everyone who is longing to go back home.

Do read and leave your views.

Here is an excerpt from one of the poems:

the place of my birth is a forgotten fragrance
a half-remembered dream whose ending is lost
but sometimes my sleepless nights are sheened
by the light of the winter moon I watched

leaning from the window of the bus I took…..”

Do click on the link above to read the rest.

 

A Surgery, Some Good News and A Short Blog Break


A very happy new year to all my friends and readers.

Sorry I have been missing since so many days. I had a surgery for retinal detachment on 1st of Jan. How did I manage that? Well, I guess I manage to do the impossible more than the mundane :p I am thankful and glad that it was timely detected and corrected by one of the finest doctors.

I began the new year with a new sight and vision. My right eye (the one which was operated upon) is healing beautifully though it still looks kind of vampirish. 😀  I am on a short blog break but will get back to regular blogging very soon.

Meanwhile , there is some good news I wish to share.

Three of my poems got published in  Silent River Film and Literary Society Magazine called Life And Legends .

Here is an excerpt from one of them:

“I am visible and not visible,
present and absent, existing
and not existing. Thoughts
merge, ideas coincide, the
universe continues to evolve.

I, in a shifting reality, lose all
control, just as a poet does,
when he disappears into the
morass of his own words.”

I thank Kalpna Singh Chitnis for this honour. Thank you Kalpna for this perfect year end gift.

 

Another good news followed the publication in the form of BlogAdda Best Posts of 2014.

 

You And Me- Gratitude was selected as one of the best posts of 2014 by BlogAdda Spicy Saturday Edition.

 

Thank you BlogAdda for this honor. This really means a lot to me.

 

I shall resume regular blogging in a few weeks so till then keep smiling and keep me in your thoughts.

Once again thank you for always being there, for the love and support.

Onward we go.

PS- please ignore the typos as my good eye is still very sympathetic to its partner. Sometimes it just gets too emotional and loses focus. 🙂

Enter The House Of Stories


I live in a house of stories. In a phantasm. Here everything is made up of words. Said and unsaid. Written and unwritten. Heard and unheard. Familiar and unfamiliar. Words that are still in the nuclei and others which are decaying and dying. Dead words and their ghosts. Orgasmic words exploding at touch of a thought. All encompassing all including words. Tainted words. winged words- magical, ethereal.  Then there are the creative trouble makers. Words that will bewitch you, cast a spell and posses you. They will become your fingers and write the stories for you. You will have no control, no power. Drugged by them your stories will rise from the belly of your mind and float out of the house while you watch in helpless trance. They will be your masterpieces. Your finest creations.

Cast a net  catch a few starry words, look for those glowing words hidden in the crevices, sniff the pain and  joy, vulnerability and  passion, death and rebirth if you have a nose for it. Allow your senses to indulge. Let the words have their way with you. Let them tickle you like a soft feather, undress you slowly down  to the wire syllable by syllable, consonant by consonant. Let them undo you one vowel at a time.Lend yourself to them. Surprise your tongue as they gently push past your teeth , rejoice in the deeper play they create inside you. Watch their sweet swell. Taste the salt on their skin. Dance to their symphony of lust. Let them feed you a story or two in bite size morsels. Be part of their stories. Always searching, always needing, always wanting. There is  a beauty in staying incomplete. Hungry.

Do not be afraid. Open yourself to the house of stories and it will sing you its  siren songs, it will string together and weave fascinating tales.  It won’t lie, It can’t. It isn’t capable of deceit.

No emotion is superfluous here, everything is an all engulfing whirlpool. Everything is larger than life. Raw, naked, stripped off of all inhibitions, everything is free of boundaries reality imposes.  The boundary between the animate and inanimate is in itself animate. Walk that line.

While you do all this always have an escape route. Don’t let the words hold you captive in the house of stories. Slip away the moment you feel the cage closing in. Escape. Heaven is real but so is hell. Sometimes the word wall will crumble like cookies and the winds will scatter them. Do not despair. Other words will take their place and those flung far and wide will take roots there and lay the foundation for some other house of stories. There is always a birth in death. Nothing actually dies.

There is also a dark world lurking in here.  A house within a house where you can cut yourself on words, bleed. Weapons- sharp, loaded. Silent cold words with sharp jagged edges. Gleaming daggers. They can ravage your heart, pierce through it, nibble on it or tear it like a carnivore, throw you off-balance and hurl you down a narrow, gaping hole. They can strip you naked and whiplash you till your skin burns crimson, black and blue but as I said do not be afraid. Let them hammer on your pain points, slump you like a deflated balloon but remember it is all a part of love-making, of self-awareness, of  becoming aware.  Be aware, let them scribble on your heart, accept, relax, surrender to them as they surrender to you. Let the house of stories take you in its warm, moist fold as you take it in yours. Stay joyously drunk on them. Enjoy the fluidity. Ride through it, plunge, rise, drown and rise again. Meet those unmet passions, unbound desires, celebrations and raptures, slaughtered dreams and rejections, the end of the rope and secret shame, discover the road map of scars, heal them , touch them with love as they throb inside your being. Let them bring you to your knees as they take you on a roller coaster ride called life. Watch the swing and swirl of words as they tangle with human emotions.

Be a relentless seeker. Seek the stories hidden in the nooks and corners of this house. Reach out to them. Reach for the void at the end, look for spaces between for it is there you will find yourself. Listen to the echos of your heart. Curl up and retreat in those empty spaces. Don’t be in a hurry to fill them for they add meaning to all that is around you. The spaces between tears and laughter, silence and words, between the pieces of yin and yang that lie in your path. Nestle in the light that seeps through the spaces of darkness and dark that quietly descends between the light. Be there in the spaces between your breaths, give yourself to the space between the rising and the setting sun, slip through the spaces between your fingers, sit quietly between your illusions and delusions.

Find stories hidden in the spaces between awake and sleep, between birth and death,  in gaps where the warmth meets the chill, where yearning meets the indifference, Don’t occupy it , just be there. Dig deep into yourself. Feel the intimacy of being with oneself in these miracle moments.

This house is ever reinventing itself. You can’t live here as a whole. You are split into a million nano particles, each as complete as the other.

You are the house. The house is you. It is a maze. It is an extension of you. Add your stories to it. Write. Create. Co create. Love its solitude and yours within it. Be in love for that is what writing is all about. Become your writing and merge into the house of stories so there is no physical self, just words. Let it be an excavation site where every moment is a mystery revealed. Where in every crack lies a spring waiting to launch forth just like your heart. Don’t box yourself in for the true blossoming can occur only when you have set yourself free of everything that restrains, restricts. Explore, take risks, question, allow yourself.

I live here, in my enchantment. 

Would you like to come in? 

Proud Moment – Short Stories in Le Zaporogue 13 and MiCROW 8


Year 2013 has started on a great note. Two short stories featured in two illustrious literary publications. It is a blessing to have friends who support, encourage and unconditionally help me learn and polish my writing constantly.

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In January my short story ‘ The Bookmark’ shared space with some fine writers, poets songwriters and photographers in Le Zaporogue 13. You can click on the link and download it for free or purchase it too.

There are some other wonderful treasures in Le Zaporogue Store. Do take a look.

Le Zaporogue 11 has some of my verses and  if you are passionate about poetry please feel free to click on the link and download this edition.

I want to thank author and friend Sebastian Doubinsky  for giving me this platform to showcase my work.

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Riding on the back of  late spring  breeze came another surprise. This time a Flash-Fiction ‘Jason‘ based on the theme ‘Luminous‘ has found place in MiCROW 8 : Luminous  . This edition of Full of Crow flash fiction supplement section includes wonderful B&W photographs and some exceptional stories. You can read online , download the pdf. file or purchase the chapbook HERE . Check out the gorgeous FULL Of Crow ,a semiannual publication of very short stories and prose.

Thank you Michael. J. Solender  for giving me this opportunity. Looking forward to co creating more miracles.

This year I was able to break many mental barriers and swallow my self doubt to a large extent. I think I am more confident, more focused and tuned to myself and writing now. I am glad to have found mentors who helped me achieve this. Onward we go, one step at a time.

 

Related links :

online and print publications

Zaporogue 11

 

Photograph credits belong to the rightful owners. 

Empty Spaces, Inky Nights and a Sound Cave


This is just a collection of thoughts triggered by a fabulous photograph of an empty walkway, a message exchange of thoughts on the beauty of sunsets and nights, an emotionally charged lash-out from someone right in the morning and a gloomy rain filled day.

Words explode in my head pushing and thumping against its walls to escape, thoughts stumble on each other like perplexed mass but I could not bring myself to write a single word. Frustrated with myself I turned to reading but the words became a blur. Crying is therapeutic and I was filled since some days. Suddenly my eyes became pools of hot liquid and from under the closed lids streams of hurt and pain and utter dejection with self began to slid down my flushed cheeks. For a long time I just let it all flow. My temples throbbed and zillions of electric currents passed through my head sending shock waves down my tired body. Then it all ceased. Sleep is a healer too.

Words still kept their distance. When the walls begin to cave in and suffocate you light streams in from some crack somewhere. I chanced upon a lovely photograph of a walkway and a simple exchange of thoughts and a some comments reminded me how I miss the empty spaces in life. How all the life, even in lonesomeness, I am filled with an inner chatter, how I need to calm my self and embrace what I love. Go where love is. I have always been fond of long empty corridors, walkways. They give me a sense of intimacy. There are stories drifting in the play of light and shadows.Shadows that add meaning to the mundane. I remember how I would lean against a pillar , a tree or against the coolness of a wall and watch the deeper play than that which words can express. I would imagine the people who must have walked there once, their conversations, silences and then those empty places would fill with colors, textures, sounds and smells and as suddenly they would appear, they would vanish. Leaving a quiet silence and I would stand at its threshold not moving a muscle listening to the silence.

As I saw the photograph I was sucked into that place, that time and for a moment nothing else existed. The conversation drifted to sunsets and nights and I remembered what beautiful sunsets I had seen during my various journeys. Each one distinctly different from another. Sometime a carnage of dreams and memories, a sun stabbed sky turning  from Merlot to scarlet to shades of crimson, purple, blue and bronze which existed only in the box of crayons from my childhood. As I grew up I usually found them spread across the sky. A few of those brilliant sunsets I still carry in my heart. The orgasmic meeting of sky and earth at the horizon. The shimmering snow-clad peaks of Himalayas. The deepening evening shadows, the cacophony of birds, the sweet fragrance of pine or flowers riding on the back of evening breeze, the timelessness and a knowledge that we have a few hours of solitude ahead of us. It is surreal experience that remains etched in the memory for ever.

The sunsets led to the nights. The rich hues of night sky, the changing patterns, the calm that slowly seeps into the hollow of your bones. Night sky holds a very special place for me. I find it more alive than the day sky. I have memories associated with the night sky from my childhood, from my growing years and those years in between when it became my constant companion. The healing dark, I called it.

I often wondered what pulls me to the night and realized that just like memory it suppresses the idle details. Night is all-inclusive. Everything is draped in one single color.  A vast expanse of oneness that takes everything in its compassionate fold. There were times I felt choked behind the walls and curtains during nights and it loomed large over me like a hungry carnivore ready to take a plunge and dig its sharp claws in my soft flesh of my heart. I longed to step out and reach for the night sky outside my prison , lay bare my body and soul to it but then slowly I realized that all the serenity and calm that the night brings is inside me. Nights became the blotting paper for my sorrows, a playground for my desires, a confidante for the untold secrets and unfulfilled dreams just as it has been a fairy kingdom with stories written in stars and imaginary shapes and figures lingering in the drifting moon and cottony clouds during my childhood.

There was something about the darkness I loved then and do now. Every perspective changes as the night deepens and then fades with the first break of morning light. Laying in bed  just before the sleep takes over is the most rewarding time. It is a time  when the human heart , alone and unperceived, is full of powerful emotions and surrenders itself completely to the darkness. When all that is concealed is revealed.

City nights are harsh, artificial, haunted by neon dreams and smog that chocks its lungs and yet there is a time when everything stops. When one is pulled by the magic of the night sky. The few hours before dawn when I usually step out for deeper communion with self and whats around me.

Nights spent lying under the stars on terrace during summers still makes me nostalgic. The first thing that we lose when we grow up is the sense of wonder. I remember nibbling on a blade of grass and just watch the night sky. A million zephyrs, a lonely and frayed moon tugging the corner of a cloud drifting aimlessly, smokey wispy clouds,  sometimes  just inky blackness  of a winter night descending on everything under it like a widow of the universe it mourns in silence.  Its deep horizons yearning and longing for all that is lost.

The wild stormy nights of rain armed with jagged spears of lightning slicing the sky in two. Rainy nights that cleanse the venom inside and outside. I have spent hours standing under the night rain letting it out flow out.

Have you ever heard someone play soulful music on a wooden flute in the stillness of the night? Ever felt the warmth of human body next to you on an endless summer night without even touching? Ever thrown your arms open to the sky as if fishing for stars? Even looked at the mist moving like a ghost in the night from behind a glass window. Ever stood in an open filed, a lonely beach, a moonlit desert, at the edge of a cliff jutting across a deep valley drinking in the night? Ever walked the smoke-filled, neon lit, city roads at night? If not then you haven’t lived to the fullest.

I have walked the meandering , winding roads in the hills with sweet intoxicating smell of wet pine filling my lungs and puddles dull of moon light creating a magical scene after a sudden mountain rain. Roads hold me captive but we will talk about them some other time.

I woke up to a rain-soaked day today. When you stir a dying fire there are chances of some spark turning into a flame. Some questions burn like embers and should be left alone. Relationships are complex tangled web of emotions. I watch an emotional outburst turn bitter  and pungent with rage right in the morning. With heavy heart and tear filled eyes I took the blows , scared that one wrong word may spin the thing into uncontrolled roller-coaster and it was the last thing I want at this point of time in my life.

Brimming with pain I tried to stop the deluge that waited to be unleashed. The best option at such times , and I have faced many of them, is to go into a sound cave.

This is something I learned over the time. To switch off, disconnect, choose some music with drums, guitars, preferably rock, heavy metal , turn up the volume, put on the headphones and go into a sound cave. My favorites in such times are Enigma, Nirvana, The Rasmus, Evanescence etc. I used to listen to soft melodies which acted like fuel to fire marooning me in deeper in sadness. Music can be a great stress reliever as well as an escape into another world which is far remote from the grim, heart wrenching reality. Wearing headphones acts like  insulation from outside world – a sound cave where nothing else exists. In times when the world seemed too much for me I learned to slip into this sound cave. For an hour or so I sedated myself with music giving myself time to emerge out of  the incident that shook me. I often play some music according to my mood and listen with headphones on. It is my way to kill loneliness , to disconnect with the unpleasant and to connect with the sounds and rhythms , to absorb the lyrics which may or may not really have any relation with my current situation and mood but it soothes my inner.

I realized that doing this cleared much of the blocks within me including the writer’s block.

The sand is slowly shifting from under my feet. Uncertainty is looming large. Am at the edge of desire. I tell my heart that everything will work out well but I know certain things are elusive, distant dreams that may never get fulfilled. Sometimes we are at a crossroad of emotions and all we can do is either push through the fear and go ahead with the flow where ever it takes or become a cynic and get caught in the web of “what if”s and “if only”s .

Last one year  has been a journey within. I discovered facets of me that I never knew existed. I found myself doing things I could never imagine doing in wildest dreams and yet I am still unable to cut that one thread that is rubbing against my soul and making it bleed.

There is also something else tugging at my heart apart from losing my new-found economic independence. Something which holds the key to my life.  Love is a many splendored thing. Right now , with my muse back, I am letting the universe take over. I have slipped the questions to the universe. I know the answers will come .

Leaving you with a song I love

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=B6qLNnxGDaA&feature=related

Photograph : Part of the collonaded walkway that surrounds the Plaza Mayor at Salamanca. Photo Credit  James Goddard  . Many thanks.

On Expressing Gratitude And Regret


I believe

“Gratitude needs to be expressed. A person may knowingly or unknowingly enrich your life by his/her thoughts /actions. However insignificant or intangible they may seem to him/her if they bring even the slightest positiveness, strength, love or happiness to the receiver then they need to be appreciated. Also I believe that such reciprocation of warmth cements the human bond (Wont give it a name like love, friendship etc) . Gratitude should also be taken graciously and seen as the love and appreciation from the receiver to the giver.

I remember sharing this on Facebook and here are two main responses to my status.

 Shail  says,

I believe in expressing gratitude and also accepting the same from others gracefully. Some stupid movies and books have popularised the philosophy of, “No sorry and thank you between friends”. Never heard such bs. Excuse me! I beg to differ. I shall aplogize and say thank you when occasion demands and expect them to be accepted gracefully. Otherwise you are no friend of mine! Well, I expect the same from you. But of course you are free to do as you like. ;)”

Another very dear blogger friend Sangeeta  added something equally profound.

I feel when we deny gratitude we start nurturing a guilt and that makes our personality seriously skewed…. as if always doing something to cover up something , to prove something or to repay( the reasons of gratitude) with useless gifts ….while gratitude in our attitude would have made it a lot simpler and peaceful for ourselves.”

I may not “unfriend” someone for not accepting gratitude and apology the way we believe it should be accepted but Yes, it would hurt me a lot. I detest when people say “no sorry no thank you between friends”. Even a dog doesn’t resist the urge to express gratitude , it wags its tail when petted.

Some people diagree and say it is inappropriate and inconsiderate to expect everyone to follow the same verbal code. I don’t think so.

Gratitude is a constructive force that expands our hearts and creates a bond between the receiver and the giver. It is the same with apology. We do all kind of things including going into an awkward silence but “sorry” seems to be the hardest word to say.

Why are we so afraid to expose ourselves to others?

Why is it so difficult to show appreciation and remorse in simplest form of words?

I feel a simple “Thank you” or” Sorry” when genuinely expressed can bridge distances, mend broken relationships , dissolve anger, heal broken hearts and much more. I feel being unable to express gratitude and remorse is a serious character flaw.

 Harriet Beecher Stowe once said, the bitterest tears shed over graves are for words left unsaid and from deeds left undone”.

I think it is a very poignant statement. Often it is too late when we realize where we went wrong with our silence at a particular time. We leave much unsaid. It is strange that members of a species renowned for their communicative gifts should leave unexpressed some of these deepest emotions.

A friend feels that sometimes a person may feel unworthy of the gratitude expressed to him/her so he/she should be the judge of the amount of worthiness.  One may feel that one hasn’t done enough to deserve such praise.

I disagree.

I feel that the receiver is the judge of that. Even the smallest of gesture is enough for a person to say ‘Thank you” because it helped her/his growth in some way.  I don’t mean that these two words should be used blindly for they will lose their worth but when occasion demands one must express them with all sincerity.

We all crave for these basic feelings.  Unfortunately those who are closest to heart are taken for granted and always denied gratitude and empathy and more more unfortunate than that is the fact that genuine offering of gratitude , appreciation or remorse is usually not taken with the same spirit.

I feel that it isn’t a very nice thing to do to oneself or the person giving a sincere compliment whatever may be the reason.  Most people think they could have done better or been better than the reality of the situation. This is what I call negative reinforcement.

Why are we so hard on ourselves?

If I get my head bitten off every time I try to say something nice to someone, how likely am I to make that attempt again?   It surely is a big downer and in any relationship these are the small pebbles on which we stumble and fall.

Do we lack this art of graceful receiving because the social ethics makes us believe that giving is important and not taking? I believe that receiving is something different from taking for it involves humility and grace.

I feel that gratitude as well as feeling of sincere apology flows out of you naturally and if it is just a cultivated thing, it usually doesn’t last very long and becomes insignificant.  Gratitude need not necessarily find expression in the form of eloquence; it could be just a, gesture, a smile, look, a touch, a teardrop, but when we are at a physical distance then words are all we have to express what we feel. I have personally experienced how much it has helped me open up from within and blossom and also how it cuts like a double edged sword when the warmth of the feeling is not reciprocated or taken matter of factly.

We take people for granted, we feel ‘entitled” and this feeling of entitlement blocks us from giving or receiving and when we aren’t receptive to gratitude whether   it receiving or giving then we may be lacking many other positive emotions.

In recent times we have stripped these two words “Thank You “and “Sorry’ of sincerity and in doing this we have forgotten the major role they play in our lives. We use them flippantly, throw around without care, and often reduce them to an easy way of getting off the hook and evading meaningful action. How many of you remember doing it at one point or another?

Many people seriously lack in gracefully accepting gratitude and apology just as much as they lack in offering them.  I believe that graciously accepting them shows that we value the other person, that there is a positive emotional state and that we keep our relationship above our ego.

So the question is why is it that we can’t take a compliment, gratitude with grace?

One of the reasons is that the recipient of gratitude reverts to a negative rebuttal to whatever nice thing is said and feels that they didn’t deserve the recognition (“Oh, I didn’t really do that much…” ‘No problem’ Ah, Don’t mention it ‘“it was nothing’ etc.  While saying these things come naturally to many, they don’t realize that they are pushing away not only the gift of gratitude but a basic form of positive energy.

It is the same with apology. The act of offering and accepting an apology is as profound and healing as that of expressing gratitude but because the offhand “sorry about that” keeps flying around, our ego prevents us from realizing its full potential.

I think the word loses its impact when we refrain from acknowledging our wrong doing (“Sorry for what I have done”) or when we throw in a self-serving conditionality (“I am sorry if you were hurt”).

Well, if the purpose of an apology is only to say, “While I don’t think I was wrong, I will apologies because you say so”, it is best not to offer one. When you say “I am sorry BUT… “ then , the message of gratitude or apology is instantly annulled and it  perfectly translates  as “forget what I just said, now here’s what I really mean.”

The worst we can do is to insult someone’s sensitivity or intelligence by such a statement. If you are grateful, be grateful. If you are sorry, be sorry.

An apology must involve acknowledging the offense adequately, expressing genuine remorse and a commitment to make changes.

“A stiff apology is a second insult,” said novelist and poet G K Chesterton.

An apology is never a compensation for the hurt caused but a way of healing.  Quick fix “Sorry” never really fixes the broken heart. Apology should sensitize us for not committing that mistake again. It should help in restoring harmony and order in the relationship and in life.

It is sad that most of us lack this beautiful gesture of gracefully receiving and expressing gratitude and apology. The inability to soften and open one’s heart in response to a genuine sentiment is really a shame and one of driving force behind many sour relationships. An opportunity lost for strengthening and deepening the bond of love between one heart to another, for reconciliation and restoration of relationship.

Although I strongly believe in constantly reminding oneself to be graciously grateful and apologize instantly when occasion demands, I also feel that expressing gratitude and apology without necessarily being grateful or remorseful is an exercise in futility.

So next time you say “Sorry” or “Thank you” be aware from within. Ask yourself what is blocking you to these emotions? Is it the stubborn pride or the guilt? It is an act of courage to apologize.

Friendships or any other relationship becomes stronger and deeper when a little grace and humility is shown.

Great Relationships are precious gifts. Be grateful.

Shadows of reality .. When things go wrong


Yesterday was a strange day. I planned it all out and ended up with a trail of incomplete tasks. It began with a forgotten mug of  morning coffee and led to burnt toasts, cold soggy breakfast, broken glass, unfinished chores, teary eyes and a broken heart.I made a simple meal that seemed unfit for human consumption and quietly tucked myself away with the laptop in the darkest corner of the bedroom.  The worse awaited me there as I opened my mail.

Sometimes one is put in a situation where you are either dammed or hanged and there is no middle way and no escape route. I stared my the hazy screen and tried to clear the mist rising in front of my eyes blurring the words I was reading.

With a sigh I closed my eyes and thought about what relationships mean. Is there any place for trust, longing , compassion, understanding, faith, caring or are these words  hollow and empty.  crucified  by the scheming minds or turned into slaves by those who never seem to go beyond the apparent . What is love ? What is lust? Passion, longing ? Why is it that a man  or a woman  gives in to desires that are illicit and murders the basic feeling of mutual admiration and love-making illusory dream castles over the graves of  what could have been a solid foundation for an everlasting bond.

Why sometimes the heart escapes and we lose all control over it and the devious mind laughs at our misery making it even more difficult to pull the reins and bring back the wandering fool. we make different choices and end up in the same way. Caught in the crossfire of my own emotions began to bleed.

There was a time I believed . Believed in the romance , in friendship, in connectivity, in words both said and unsaid  but now  it is a bit difficult to digest. People change colors to shame a chameleon at least he does it as a defense mechanism, they manipulate, twist and turn the events to their requirement, don’t shed a single tear of remorse for their doings and continue with their lives parading as victims in the eyes of the world and the world sees the drama unfold with blinkers on and nodes in endless sympathy for the wrong-doer while those truly affected silently wipe their tears and walk a lonely road only to fade away with a hot flush.  I snap my fingers till they hurt but the star-dust is gone. The show over and the magic gone.

Reality check 1.

No one can be trusted not even your own self unless you have a full control over your heart and mind which is practically impossible.

Memories however insignificant now  create a deluge where you find yourself being sucked in and you struggle and fight and go ever deeper into the darkest areas of your life. Areas which haunt you and torment you which question you for creating them in the first place.

The past stands before you like a demon with a million tentacles ready to pounce at the slightest movement.

The darkness of those vacant spaces is scary and even more scary is the lurking presence of something, someone from the past.

Past which has continued to walk beside present tiptoeing silently unheard, unseen but ever-present.

Rain torn days add fuel to the raging fire. Strange as it may seem. Water as fuel for fire. As surreal as the life itself .

I stayed in the dark for long… uncertain of the light and now the light has blinded me . My fears come true as the smoke clears and I see the amber from the cigarette butts slowing eating away into the fabric of life. I had forgotten to stub them. Now all I have is Ash.

Burnt out … at least to some extent if not completely.  The warning bells rang loud, they seemed too obvious and went unnoticed or was it that I chose to close my ears to them. Blinded by Love .. not just that.. even deaf  and when two of the vital senses collapse the third one does overtime. .. words like wild river break the banks and flood.. only to destroy.

Somewhere between the lighter shade of black and darker shade of white  I was blinded.

“L’amour fou, the irresistible force that thrusts two people together and  impossibility of their ever becoming one!”- Luis Bunuel

Can’t place where I read this but it stayed in my mind etched forever.

We question, we doubt, and most of the time are uncertain of ourselves more than the other person  and before we get our bearing right we are done.

I was a dreamer who tried to write epics with fire in the air till yesterday when the dark engulfed me and the air wiped clean all that I had so lovingly composed.

Phone rings, conversations take place and in the end each one thinks what he /she had achieved .

Be careful what you wish for , careful of what you desire badly, careful of what you give up and what you get in return because when the world begins to crumble the fall is much deeper than you anticipate . What you think is the beginning might be the end and the end just a new beginning. Who knows what’s His game plan and we are just the pawns.

Now as I watch the fading shadows around me and reflect upon what went wrong I am clueless. Somethings are best left undiscovered because the more you stir a dying fire the greater are the chances of some spark turning into a flame and that could be the last thing I want at this moment.

Life has bared and untangled all the threads I hold dear and smacked my face with those I don’t. At least the hidden is revealed , naked truth of what we refer to as ever lasting relationship.

Ramblings of a stressed out mind


Just a filler post. I wanted to take a much needed break. My mind is filled with all kind of stuff I have been gathering from the www and there is no better place than my blog to chill a little.

Freelancing for the first time took me over to Sydney and man what a place it is. Never dreamed that I would be taking virtual tour of this awesome Aussie city and it’s enchanting surroundings.

After all the research that I did, I can surely become a tourist guide and earn some dough. From scenic locales to fish markets and convict jails to swanky malls I went everywhere. So much so that I started feeling like a convict myself. Once the nature trip was over and we entered the modern city malls it was maha boring. I hate to shop and to write about it was a torture.

Well it’s not easy to earn the daily bread, is it?

Heard there was a place called Madonna’s Bra 😀 trust them Aussies for such spicy names. who wouldn’t want to go there.

Now am into wedding dresses and the all American big fat weddings.
why can’t women get married in simple denims and tees or just about anything. you send a lifetime of saving buying a bridal gown which would be shoved in the attic in a coffin like box.

The sad part is most of these Cinderella weddings end up in the court fighting over custody of kids, alimony and divorce.

what a waste.

Anyways as long as people want to read about it and I get paid , no worries.

Wish there were some hot topics to do. slurp …..Something like what my friend Ritu did 😉 hey Ritu care to share 😉

I also wanted to talk about an incident which happened near my home. A security guy died suddenly after office hours, maybe due to heart attack. He used to come daily from Rohtak in Haryana and as he lay on the bus stop none of the people came to see what had happened or inform someone. All that happened in next 1/2 an hour was – his mobile, wallet, chain, ring and other stuff taken away by people.

A girl who come to my house from a beauty salon saw all this and called the police who took the unidentified body.

It happened in most of the accident cases too. the person is left to die but his stuff is immediately taken by the crowd.

I wonder why we don’t have even the slightest of humanity left in us. It raises a big question on what kind of life we are leading as humans.

Another thing worrying me is the privacy in social networking sites. maybe it is time to do about a post on internet dating, net pals and other stuff.

Sometime back I did a post on my favorite women and it won’t be fair not to talk about the MEN 😉 hot sexy and talented..

So here it goes .. especially for all my women blogger friends.. have fun. read the next post.