Sadness

You stayed with me,

No matter what.

Safe hands

Open your wings and wrap them around me.

My safe place,

Where the child can cackle with wild abandon,

And the woman, love fearlessly.

Safe. From the evil eye, word and action,

That the world is abundant with.

When the time comes, and it's your turn to feel weak,

I shall stand before you, facing the foe,

Shielding you from danger,

Never letting go.

On the turbulent sea of life,

Our boat rocks and stills, and then rocks some more.

But we have each other,

I, your warrior princess,

You, my protector.

And together, we make it, till the dark curtain of the night falls on us.

Gone

I wonder often that if I were to disappear,

One day, magically and silently,

Would they know?

After their cacophony dies down,

Would they look up, left and right,

And search the corners for me?

After finding me gone,

Would they sigh and wonder,

Reminisce and recall the sound of my voice?

My words, my eyes, my love?

And would they hope,

And keep a watchful eye out,

For my return?

Broken love

I took your heart and made it my own.

I took your sorrow and claimed it for myself. 

Your laughter, music to my ears. 

I took your home and made it my own. Our own.

When I love, I love completely. 

Is there any other way? 

Giving so much away without a thought or worldly discretion. 

And when the receiving comes, however small, there is a celebration. Smiles and a singing heart.

This is why, when the fall comes, 

The broken pieces are scattered too wide to collect.

It is soundless. The shattering of a heart so innocently handed over.

This pain is my own. So are the teary eyes still staring in disbelief at my pieces scattered on the cold floor. The ones he walked all over.

There is a home no longer. Only a house. 

Jinxing your own happiness

For once I'd like to be happy openly.

Free from the fear of fate turning tables on me.

Or being woken up from a splendid dream only to realise it was all a mirage.

To be able to admit it to myself, not only in the deep recesses of my heart, but in spoken word.

For once.

Fate waits to pull one on me every now and then.

I think she envies me.

Envies the spots of sunshine that light me up,

Finding their way through broken cracks in an overcast firmament.

When I laugh, she winces.

When I dance starry-eyed, she sets her foot out to trip me.

She does not like me, and my moment of glee.

I hold no grudges.

All I feel is sad acceptance.

And so, I must learn to hide.

Hide from the world my delight,

The throbbing of an excited heart,

The racing pulse,

The promise of rain after a century of drought.

Keep it safe, tucked away.

Invisible, even to my eye.

I wish I could flee from fate's little game.

And claim my share of laughter and promise, fearlessly.

But the game goes on.

Whether I play or not.

The “Unsettled” Life

“You have so much space in this house, why don’t you get a flatmate?”

“Wow! What will you do with so much space?”

Note the keyword here – “space.”

 

In my years of experience of living life as a single woman in a big bad city, this word beats the crap out of all other words. You like your space, I like mine. However, much to the misfortune of people like me, “space” is a luxury you are entitled to only when you are married to a man. This single act of tying two shoelaces together, trips you into a new form of existence. An existence that suddenly validates everything like sleeping in the same bed (frowningly looked down upon before marriage), sexual intercourse (but of course, how else will married couples bear children?), wild dancing and drinking alcohol in public (as long as hubby’s the bouncer for the night), wearing short dresses (on hubby’s signature of approval).

I’ll tell you what. You keep your institution of marriage, and I’ll keep my space. Deal?

It is annoying bordering on comical when people walk into my house and marvel at the number of rooms that I have ALL to myself. To tell you the truth, I don’t live in a mansion and it is not as sprawling as they make it sound. But it seems to be the size of a country to them because I am the only homo sapiens to live here. Obviously, they tend to disregard the two and a half dogs that also call this “space” home.

After repeated consternation and analysis, I may have wound up with the driving force behind this unmasked bafflement and unasked for advice. It’s simple actually.

As a single woman, how can I live a “settled life” outside marriage?

Now what do I need a drawing and dining room for? And what on earth will I do with a separate room for office work? Such a waste! I should give it all up, get a flatmate and wait for a man to marry me so I can secure all these comforts with him. The audacity that I should be living like this! Comfortable and content!

I’m sorry to disappoint you, but I already lived my ‘makeshift’, ‘college student’ life years ago. One room, single mattress on the floor, shared kitchen and bathroom, eating out, canvas shoe rack, one electric rice cooker for a kitchen. I did all of that. And as I worked my ass off and grew older – I wanted more. And I didn’t wait for a sign of approval to go get it. Or a man.

My drawing and dining room is for entertaining guests. You know, the same place where YOUR guests plonk their asses when visiting? My little study/office is my workplace and just as sacred and serious as the place where you earn YOUR living. My bedroom, well, I don’t see you entertaining guests in YOUR own so you should really know better.  

Every space, every room has its own character and vibe. I have different feelings attached to each and I cherish them all.

No, I am not rich. But it is also true that I like to live comfortable within my limited means. This space is my own and while friends are welcomed warmly with open arms and a chilled beer, I like to watch them leave and reclaim my space again. This is the place where nobody tells me what to do or how to live. It accepts me and lends me the opportunity to be the crazy madcap that I am. Or the earnest homemaker and mother – an avatar which still surprises people.

While I’m at it, let me dispel another misconception and make you open that mouth in astonishment. There are no orgies to be found here. No daily parties and intoxicated merriment. No boyfriends frequenting on shuffle play. I’m sorry to crack your illusion into useless pieces. It is a regular home with maid problems, feeding and walk times for the children, cooking, groceries, client deadlines, house repairs, gardening and the sheer delight of getting to go to bed at 10 o’ clock on a lucky night. So sorry.

On another level, I’ve always believed that your home is a visual character sketch of you. It puts on display who you are. Colours, lighting, furniture, décor, crockery, garden – they all speak something about you. So, having your own place, your own space helps celebrate that, in a million little ways.

So, I ask you, why would I not celebrate this now, in the present, and instead wait for a man to make this happen? Don’t get me wrong, I have nothing against being married. But my point still holds fast - How can he give me something that is already there? My identity. And the financial capacity to buy whatever I need.  

Why would I not live a settled life when all it takes is one person to build it? Me. And it’s a wonderful start.

Photo credits: Google

Home

These forests
They call me
They know my name
The dancing leaves whisper it
The gurgling streams mumble it
It lies in rhythmic birdsong
And in the vast hidden skies
Even the smallest organism in the forest knows it
The fragrances that rise and fall, strangely feel like home
It's as if I used to live here
It's as if I never left

The broken men

Just my luck,
To run into men after men,
Broken and scarred.

She caused the damage - irreparable, perhaps indefinite,
And here I deal with the charred remains.

Thank you.

When it comes to coping, men are little oysters.

No, not for the pearls of wisdom.
They clamp down and the only one who can open them up again, is Wonder Woman.

Just my luck that I am not Wonder Woman.

However, I do what I do.
I sit with them and watch them shiver,
I sit with them and hear the sobs they never let out,
I sit with them and wonder how they were before pain reshaped them.
All this while, I stand with them.

But they don't see me.
Emotion and attachment replaced by trepidation.
They are afraid of feeling,
Of moments of love coupled with pain,
Of feeling human again,
Of caring.

What a pity.

They are not bad people, these men,
Joined back together by Quick Fix,
In a hurry to not fall apart.
However, the pieces don't match anymore,
Leaving cracks and awkward crannies in between.

They don't function anymore.
After all, their warranty expired when the light in their hearts went out.

Where is the love?

I find myself asking this more often than ever.
We're growing older, presumably wiser.
But are we living or simply surviving one day till the next?
Is this the best we can do for ourselves?

I work hard, I dance hard, I kickbox hard;
Life runs its course, just like the creeper on my terrace,
Reaching into nooks and crannies,
Getting where it has to go.

And all this while, the mountain of love within grows vaster,
Like my own sky inside.
It feels under-utilised, as if not recognised still for what it is.
I give love to my animals - the most deserving of it.
My plants, my family, my friends.
Sometimes, moved by benevolence, even to those who wish me ill.

Most often than not,
My love is misunderstood and played by fragile egos.
But love knows no ego.
It knows no games.
It only knows to love - wholeheartedly.

Why do we place love into boxes?
Why call it "romantic love" or "sexual love" or "platonic love"?
Why this need to ascertain?
Why not simply feel the love, the joy that it brings,
And cradle that memory in your heart forever?

I look around me and I find deceit, self-absorption;
A world that is blindly in love with itself.
And nobody else.

Such a pity.
If only they could lift their eyes to recognise love,
If only they could set aside the fears that grip them,
That keep them from loving.
That keep them from receiving love.

Then they could recall with a smile,
While taking their last breath,
That they had been loved. Truly. By that one person. Called me.

PAIN!

"PAIN!

You made me a, you made me a believer, believer

(Pain, pain)

You break me down, you build me up, believer, believer

(Pain)

Oh let the bullets fly, oh let them rain

My life, my love, my drive, it came from

(Pain)

You made me a, you made me a believer, believer."

Imagine Dragons said it!

Such a coincidence that we're learning a choreography to this song at dance class this month. Bold, sassy, strong and challenging. The song. The moves. The mind.

There is a humongous cloud of pain that follows us around. Look in the corners of your heart and you will find broken pieces glued together disjointedly, some never to unite again. Open the memory box and out come pouring recollections that lull the mind into melancholy and sentiment.

Loss is hard to bear. And there have been so many. The pulling out of the dagger and severing the bonds that tied us, the "Isn't anyone trying to find me? Won't somebody come take me home?" moments. They all run in a cycle. Gain. Loss. Gain. Loss. The impermanence of it all.

You can either fight it, sulk, mope, feel sorry for yourself and eventually die in a gutter.

Or you can take the fire, place it gently into your heart and let it drive you. Let it shape you. After all, what would an earthen pot be if not for the fire?

You are rock solid. You are wild. Nobody can tame you, not even pain. It can make you believe in that inner reserve of strength that grants you super powers, making you invincible and indomitable. Nobody knows the long tunnel of darkness that you have crossed, alone. They will never understand.

However, they will try to break you down, only to hide their own weakness. And when they can't, they will gaze at you with amazement, wondering all the while what special ingredient you are made of.

As you walk away with a grin on your face and a beat in your step - that! That is the exact moment when you befriend it, make peace with it and rule once again.

Rule, thanks to your old buddy - Pain.

-->

  

Meeting Strangers in the Night

The night.

Silently walks in,

Like an intriguing stranger, whose face you never get to see.

As he sits and watches you,

The dam that held back thoughts is pulled away.

And so they flow, sometimes like a gentle pitter-patter of rain,

Other times with the ferocity of a hungry lion.

Anger, pain, sadness, words, memories, unending analyses, songs,

A jukebox, that plays all records together.

Imagine the noise,

Inside your head,

In the silence of the night.

But it is now that thoughts are lucid.

You realise realities that were invisible before.

All day, you file away moments, feelings, associations - in a folder,

And when a tired world sleeps,

The folder flings open, bursting to reveal itself,

Demanding reflection.

If only the day was just as silent and still.

You would sail through life with clarity,

About what you desire and what you don’t,

About where you stand and where you don’t,

About who you are and who you are not.

And when you awaken, the night reverberates in your bones,

Like the tingling of a secret rendezvous.

There’s a numbness, as you press the ‘play’ button of the day,

Working hard to remember the wisdom of the night,

So as to connect it to what unfolds ahead.

Nobody knows.

It is your secret, your little luxury.

You can snuggle into the vast black blanket and fall apart,

And stay that way, till you glue the pieces together in the morning.

The dark stranger will not judge you.

After all, he holds the sighs and tears of the world.

He will look at you kindly,

And touch you with sleep,

Soft, painless and healing.

Black. Illuminated forever by the moon and the perpetual stars.

This night is your friend.

He never shows you his face, but you can talk to him for hours.

He wants nothing, he takes nothing.
A true friend.

Are we really that dumb?

“Religion is the sigh of the oppressed creature, the heart of a heartless world, and the soul of soulless conditions. It is the opium of the people."

These words came from the renowned German philosopher and economist, Karl Marx. According to Wikipedia, “Marx believed that religion had certain practical functions in society that were similar to the function of opium in a sick or injured person: it reduced people's immediate suffering and provided them with pleasant illusions, but it also reduced their energy and their willingness to confront the oppressive, heartless, and soulless reality that capitalism had forced them into.” (https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Opium_of_the_people)

Since time immemorial, human beings have felt this urge to worship. We have a long history of being devotees of nature, animals, idols, mythological characters, men and women who came out of scriptures that were written by men themselves, and random people claiming to be the prophets of God.

Why this urge to believe in a force greater than us, is still a mystery. Maybe as Marx opinioned, it just made people feel better. They had something hopeful and positive to cling to – to blank out the misery and dark reality of life and existence. Religion probably gave them strength to face fears and tough situations.

But since when did we sacrifice our brains at the altar of the gods? Was that the condition they put forward to become a devotee? Why have we become an army of robots – unquestioning, blind, illogical, unscientific and plain dumb? Does the degree of our dumbness define the depth of our faith? Yes, the word ‘faith’ means absolute surrender to what you believe in, but since religion is mostly ‘man-made’, can we trust it to be 100% infallible and devoid of faults?

Why are we so engrossed in fighting for our human representatives of God (godmen and women), that we forget the basic tenets of religion? Love one another. Be kind. Spread peace. Do not hurt another being with your actions or words. Do not use violence; a lot greater can be achieved through love. Aren’t these more important than the idiots who claim to do all this, but only in words?

Yes, the people need someone to turn to. But then, let them not switch off their brains and at least place their trust in the right persons. A blatant rapist and murderer hardly cuts a fine figure to worship and trust. It’s like being in a relationship with a toxic someone who constantly cheats behind your back, physically and sexually abuses you and claims your life to be his/her own – and you saying, “But I can’t leave him/her because I love him so and I know he/she loves me too.” That’s when you know that you’ve stopped THINKING.

You want to cling on to something? Cling on to love. To peace. To non-violence. To the ‘live and let live’ mantra. These are so much better than the rubbish these false godpeople feed us. No human being deserves to be put up on a pedestal that high, that they are above the law and no longer accountable for their actions.

Let us switch on our brains. Keep them where they should be. Polish them regularly through analysis, logical reasoning and questions. Keep them running. Let us never be complacent, naïve fools – ripe for being used by the Ram Rahims who emerge from hell.

Faith is one thing, being ridiculously dumb is another.

--> Never stop thinking.