Grow Up Than Growing Old

Sitting at the veranda taking sips from my hot cup of coffee, I continued gazing at the infinite sky, the playground, the ambience to find that nothing has changed. The surroundings are still the same as years before. Soon, I was lost into watching the children play the game of seven piles; my favorite game since childhood. Mesmerized, I kept looking at the kids. I looked around the whole playground to find it full of life, enthusiasm and energy. Few young boys were playing cricket, few kids playing “kit-kit” on the side of the road, few girls playing “Shoe” and “Letter” and few kids playing the “hide and seek”.  Lost, I could have kept gazing like that for hours had I not felt immense heat in my hands.

Ouch, I screamed.

You better start holding the steel cups properly or start using other coffee mugs, warned my mother seeing my right palm go red because of the heat it was subjected to.

That’s my favorite cup mom; I used to drink milk …. Unable to complete the sentence, I stared at the coffee in it.  I never knew, I never noticed how and when the evening milk got substituted by coffee.

Unable to speak anymore, I continued staring from the veranda. The playground is the same where I used to play as a kid but I could not recollect the day when I last played there. It was perhaps years ago, before my tenth boards. The road that connects our colony to the main road is the same, perhaps a little more maintained. The birds chirped merrily the same way they used to while returning to their homes, the sun set on the same time, the trees were still there as they have been since times immemorial, nothing changed but the ingredient in my cup. 

From being at the other side of veranda playing with my friends; seeing my mother sitting and knitting sweaters, I never noticed when I sat beside mother for the first time. I never paid attention to the day when Complan and Bournvita changed to Nescafe and Bru forever. I never noticed when begging mother to let us play for some more time changed to hope to leave office early.

I turned around and looked at my mother sitting beside. I could see the little wrinkles on her face, her chapped cheeks, discolored nails and immense sore feet. 

What are evenings to you mummy, I asked.
Preparing for the dinner, she gave an honest and blunt reply.

And with this I got lost again into the world of thoughts I belong to. One day, my evenings too would be the same, “preparing for dinner”, I laughed at myself.

I noticed my grandma sitting below the idol of the Goddess Durga chanting some hymns continuously.
‘Grandma only keeps chanting hymns at evening’; I used to tell my friends at school.

Alas, how foolish I was. Today, when I looked at Grandma I found the kids playing on the playground in her face, I found myself, I found mother before I could see again the Grandma she is. 

I remembered how Grandpa used to sit on the same veranda and curse himself for not accomplishing all his dreams. He lamented not giving the best to his kids.  I remembered how Dad would sometimes sit with this feeling of emptiness on the weekend evenings. 

It was still 6 p.m. and I had the nothing to do for the evening. I opened Readers’ Digest trying hard to read, but these thoughts would not go away. You are growing old, said my heart.  No, screamed my mind. It rebuked saying I am just a fresher who started working, a bachelor who has a whole life ahead before sitting at the place of Grandma.

If you are not old, why don’t you go and play my heart whispered.
I do play badminton at the sports complex, the mind said.
But you still like the seven piles most.
It’s not my age to play that.
See, I told, you have not grown up, rather you are growing old.
And with that the evening guilt sinks in again.

At school, evenings were games; at college evenings were friends, but now at job evenings is my desk. After a long time, I was alone at home this evening.  As I tried hard concentrating on the article looking at the pictures, I saw my life flashing in front of my eyes. I remembered the good days as well as the bad ones. Times when I have rejoiced and times when I failed at relations. All that guilt of committing wrong, all that tears of being wronged; I now got scared of this evening.
What would mother and Grandma say, I said to myself trying hard to stop that urge of letting the tears flow, to stop the memories flashing by of the good and the bad times.

Cry screamed my heart, like you did when you were a kid. You weren't ashamed of what people would say that time, you would ask for what you want, cry to get over things even for toys.
Because then I was a kid, shouted the mind.
So you agree, you are not growing up rather growing old.

That moment, I had enough. I ran towards the playground and played my favorite game, the seven piles. I even got few scratches, some on my face too while I fell down, but I did not mind.

I came back and found all the things troubling me are not inside me anymore.

I hugged my old teddy bear, with which I have stopped playing long before.  When, I was a kid I wanted to grow up to buy myself a huge teddy bear. When I grew up, I forgot to buy one, because instead of growing up, I started growing old.

Today, I feel alive, perhaps after a long time, buddy. See, how different these words are, growing up and growing old.  As a grownup I played seven piles better today, but I left playing it when I was growing old.
So let all the tension go, scream your heart out, cry and shout because you are still not old enough. Someone rightly said, you will find more happiness growing into a child than growing old.

Happy is he who still loves something he loved in the nursery:  He has not been broken in two by time; he is not two men, but one, and he has saved not only his soul but his life.  ~G.K. Chesterton

The Escapade

No matter how hard her mother tried Muskaan was one of those restless kids who would never really go to sleep before they have completely used up their reservoirs of energy. Mother kept reminding her about how she would need to wake up at five in the morning for work and school; but all the wailing fell on deaf ears. Not that Muskaan was disobedient but sleep; that just wouldn’t come to her. Ignoring the requests of her mother, she continued gazing blankly at the hammock hanging in the open space of their shack.

The hammock was not like the cozy ones where rich people love spending their lazy afternoons but an epitome of their poverty. Made of ragged clothes, hanging through the support of a tree it was the closest to a real swing that Muskaan had ever ridden. Muskaan would often put her little sister, Khushi into it and use it as a cradle for her. It was their only swing, their only cradle and the only game they knew how to play. Since the day Muskaan started working, she did not ever find time to play again. Every night she would long for a day when she could ride the hammock, play with her sister and roam as carefree as she used to.  Hiding her face from her mother, she would silently weep craving to play like few of the other children at her school; until sleep would come to her.

It was a beautiful children’s park filled with all kinds of games girls and boys of her age love to play. Seesaw, merry-go-round, swing set, slide, jungle gym, chin-up bars, sandbox, spring rider, monkey bars, overhead ladder, trapeze rings, playhouses and mazes, not one but it had all. It was a perfect place to nurture the innocence of childhood and let it grow. Muskaan was too happy to be at this place. She went on to have a ride on the merry-go-round. She was about to step on the carousel when she heard her mother shouting. Startled, she opened her eyes; too disheartened to realize it was just a dream that could perhaps be never fulfilled. What a pitiful life, she would say coaxing herself to get ready to face the day bravely.

No, Muskaan is not alone rather there are several other girls bearing the same fate as her in the slum. She is no princess who wakes up every day on a luxurious bed, put on her fancy slippers or go to an English Medium School. Indeed she is a poor little girl who sleeps on a tattered woven carpet, walks barefoot and could never afford to attend an excellent school.  

No matter how hot or cold the weather is, she would get up at five in the morning, sweep their little dwelling, bathe, put on her only school uniform,  arrange her school bag and set off to work at six. Muskaan is not just a ten year old little girl but a housemaid. The rough and tough texture of her hands did not speak of a carefree childhood, but of the strength with which she carries her burdens.

She and Lakshmi, another housemaid of her age would race every day to the locality where they work. That was the only time Muskaan would really forget about all the worries poverty brings with it. They would giggle, chat, and play only to cover a distance of ten minutes in almost half an hour. During this short span of time, she would laugh like the merriest child on this earth. It wasn't the most beautiful of all, like the one a photographer would like to capture in his camera or an artist in his portrait. But it was cheerful and worth watching. Her laugh spoke volumes of her innocence while the eyes screamed about the miseries faced, pleading someone to listen to them. The best part of her day was those few minutes she would spend with Lakshmi at morning, the minutes that would refuel her energy reservoirs for the entire day ahead.

Once she reached the Jena Niwas, the home where she was a domestic servant and not just a child she would behave much more responsible than the kids of her age. She would wash her feet before entering the house else her dirty feet might soil the expensive wooden flooring; at least this was what the lady of the house has told her. She would religiously do the same work every day without asking about a thing or complaining. Firstly, she would sweep their three bedroom house and the verandah. She would always need to hurry lest the elderly grandmother of the house might get late to worship the Gods and Goddesses. Then, she would sit to clean all the stained utensils near the tap in the verandah. She would then mop the floor and water the plants in the garden. Soon, it would be time for Miss Savvy; the pampered daughter of the Jena’s to get ready for school. Though just a year younger than Muskaan, she looked and behaved with much more innocence than the kids of her age of the slum where Muskaan came from. They were not just two little girls, but faces of two different India; while one resembled the rich the other portrayed the poor.

Every morning after carrying the mundane household work Muskaan would press Savvy’s school uniform and polish her leather shoes. Unlike her she had four set of school uniforms, which would always make Muskaan feel a little jealous and sad about not being able to afford it. Hiding from the eyes of everyone, she would once in a while put on Savvy’s tie on her shirt and keep staring at the mirror, longing to go to an International School. Sometimes she would try her fancy bangles, hair pins and bands, even stealing one or two. Such was the weight on her shoulders that sometimes the child inside her would forget the subtle differences between the right and wrong. She wouldn’t even notice one missing among the dozens; she used to think while picking up one for herself without asking for anyone’s consent.

Being done with all the tasks, she would then accompany Savvy to the bus stop carrying hers as well as Savvy’s bag on her shoulders. She would then walk to her old and ramshackle school. Her school was a typical Government school with no proper classrooms. They would study under the shade of a huge banyan tree in summers and winters, while during the rainy season the classes would remain suspended. Had it not been for the mid-day meals, the school would have remained empty throughout the year, such was the quality of education. Muskaan and other girls like her would ceaselessly worry only about the tasks required to be done as a domestic help in the evening. They would discuss about the household ladies and the amount of work they are laid with. The discussions would continue all day long, till the time when they would be again required to go to work.

As soon as she reaches, Savvy would begin pleading her to play doll house along. While Muskaan eagerly wanted to, she would retreat in the beginning. Like a responsible person, she would continue washing the utensils watching Savvy play. Savvy would then request her mother to let Muskaan play with her, and then she would happily agree. She would play with her forgetting all about her liabilities. It would soon be dusk when she would get back to complete the remaining. She would wash all the utensils, knead the flour and cut the vegetables for the dinner.

After 6 o’clock, Lakshmi would come running to get Muskaan. Afraid of the dark, they would then run together to their homes. Muskaan would gift her sister Khushi, a toffee that she had stolen from Savvy’s room. Savvy always had a bunch of chocolates and toffees for her and Muskaan always believed that no one would ever notice one less than the actual count; after all Savvy ate loads of them every day without counting. Khushi would nibble at it cheerfully making Muskaan forget all her weariness. The whole family; mother, father and the two daughters would then sit and eat rice and boiled potatoes for dinner. Her father, a rickshaw puller would bring in some vegetables only if the day’s earnings had been good enough. Then, while Khushi will go to sleep, Muskaan would sit under an old lantern trying to complete her homework for the school next day.

Those were good old days, thought Muskaan lying on the hospital bed, all tied up with tubes and pipes. You can never really differentiate good from bad, or happiness from being sad. She used to complain silently to the Lord about the tough life she had, but today, she was whining to get those good old days back. When one laments the situation he is in, he forgets it can be worse; as it had happened today with Muskaan. Muskaan meaning smile; something that perhaps Muskaan would now never feel like doing, for while returning from work one evening, she had been brutally raped.

The mere mention of that unfortunate day makes her tremble with fear and pain. Lakshmi was sick so she stayed back at home, while Muskaan came to work as usual. It was more than six in the evening when she left for home. Afraid of the dark, she was running as fast as she could to reach home and lay her head in her mother’s lap; when suddenly she felt a tap on her shoulders. She saw two men from her own locality eyeing her in a strange way, so strange that she could not understand their intentions. Not even sparing her time to think for a moment, getting hold of her, they took her to a dark place behind a bush. One of the men had put handkerchief in her mouth not allowing her to scream, while the other carried her with his strong arms. While one guarded the area, looking out for any motion or people coming to alert his crime partner, the other man hurriedly undressed Muskaan. She did not know what was happening to her or why was it happening. She felt a pain, a pain as strong as she couldn’t even imagine yet she could not shout. She felt something penetrating her body leaving her to bleed. She wanted to move, to run away, yet she was unable to. The men then exchanged positions. It was now turn of the other one, to do whatever it was called that they were doing. He forced himself upon her. A well built man lying above a small girl who was yet to attain puberty; she felt too senseless to move. While the time they had moved away, she begun blacking out.

It was only after an hour she was found out amidst the bushes by some people passing by lying completely naked, bleeding profusely. The people had been kind enough to bring her to the hospital but apathetic to cover her with a piece of cloth. From the very next moment, she was no longer Muskaan, but a rape victim. The rape victim, Abhaya (one without fear), a ten year old girl was how she was identified among the masses and media. Such was the brutality she was subjected to that she could not even have solid foods since the past one month she has been lying in the government hospital. Her culprits are yet roaming free with police being unable to identify them by the only pieces of information the little girl could give in written. Khushi is no more that little girl for she has replaced her sister’s place as a domestic servant. Her schooling as seized so that she could reach home at time after work.

Abhaya as the whole country knows her; Muskaan as she used to be, kept praying for her good old days to come back; unaware of the fact that she would never be allowed to live the same life in the society. She kept praying to escape from the tubes and pipes, their beeps and displays that she could not figure out. She could hardly even sit; such was the extent of damage. Her intestines had stopped functioning and the bleeding would resume once in a week.
We have tried, as hard as we could, said the doctor to her father conveying to him about how slight chances Muskaan stood of survival.

She was weak, yet she always dreamt to escape. She remembered the hammock, she missed Lakshmi, she longed to see her little Khushi instead of the new one and gift her few toffees. Today, there was a lot of chaos around her. Lying on her bed, she started staring at the blue sky out of the small window of her room. Her desire to escape has been growing ever since she has regained consciousness. Praying for the same to the Lord, what she did not know was there isn’t an escape for her. Too young to understand the cruel world and the cruelty of the heinous crime, she did not know she would never be accepted the same way at school. Other girls would not be allowed to talk to her and no one would marry her for she has been raped. 

Unaware, she continued staring towards the sky with a desire to escape. It was a different world now. She saw beautiful fairies around dressed in a white gown, with their magic wands in hand. She looked down ecstatically to see herself standing on a cloud. It was a beautiful place, just like the children’s park of her dreams. She went towards a gigantic mirror only to find herself dressed like a fairy. All clad in a white gown, her long hairs neatly done, a magic wand in her hand just as she had read in the fairy tales. She looked down onto the planet earth, her family was weeping, bidding her adieu, and she knew the escape has come. The breathing has stopped, the heart doesn’t pumps anymore, and she feels no suffering, no pain, for she had her own escapade!

How Far Would You Go to Get Closer to Someone You Love? An Account of How Far Did I Really Go!!

This post has been written for a contest, "Go further to get closer" , http://bit.ly/1epU8Uj

From a non believer of love to its preacher, from a carefree person to a girl who would give up everything for her beloved, perhaps even him; that’s how my journey on the path of love has been. Love is definitely not a destination but a road to travel together all your life, but sometimes destiny makes you choose to walk alone, far away from your love, farther than you could ever think!!   

It was the summer of 2012 when I first saw him smiling to a crowd of more than a hundred of students gathered at the final session that year for the cultural society of our college. It was the end of the year, a time when new coordinators would be elected from the final year of Engineering as per the tradition and this time it was him. One of the most popular and talked about guy, it was Ahaan Sharma, the new coordinator. Smiling shyly he waved to the members with a courtesy that seemed too genuine and honest. Like all others in the campus, I was one of those girls who have heard about him being a play-boy and totally believed it. But only till today; till the day I haven’t seen him smile.

Perhaps that was the moment I joined the league of his fans, the moment when I saw him smile. He wasn't the most handsome of all but there was a definite charm in him, a charm so strong that it wouldn't let you forget him easily.

After that fateful day, my eyes would always begin searching for him in the campus even without my consent. I have always been a person who avoids problems rather than facing them. Since years, I had convinced myself that I really do not believe in love. I acquired a tendency to avoid anything and almost everything that comes with an immense potential of uncertainties or that possess even a slight chance of hurting me. I would always prefer to stay comfortable in my cocoon hidden from the harsh realities of the world, staying away from most of the people.

Not that I was an introvert but I was too afraid of men. During my High School days, I was smacked by a man on my chest; that was the first time when I realized being a girl impeccably means being stared at your breasts. A number of such events followed making me turn deaf and blind towards love. I would always say to myself, if they can’t respect women how do I fall in love with them. I was no fool to believe that all men are the same; obviously there are plenty of good people around but I intentionally chose to only look at the darker side. As long as it keeps me away from love and agony, I was comfortable believing in it.  

At college, I would frequently crush on some guy, mostly a senior. I would not restrain from telling all my friends about the same. Soon, when my friends would realize me standing no chance to be with the person, something that I had known from the beginning and the reason behind why I had taken his name; I would walk off with heads high to search for the next prey! It would never really hurt me, for it was just meant for fun, and I would never really try to make efforts to even get to know the people I like or admitted doing so. But this time, it was different. After a month of solacing myself with false beliefs, I finally pressed the ‘add friend’ button on Facebook.

That’s where my story began! It was just a casual conversation once a while for almost a year, the time when he was at college. As soon as he left I missed seeing him smile. I continued crushing on others, having fun with friends and chasing my passion of music and literature, but a part of me always wanted to hear more from him. That was the time when I finally decided to talk. This time I did not constrain myself and followed what the heart said. I had always avoided long chats, the ones that seem to last for hours. A few minutes of talk spread across the entire day or a short phone call is all that it takes for me to be happy. Soon, we were talking, actually chatting and that seemed enough.

I had always wanted to write. Wishing to get an inspiration to complete my half written manuscript, I wandered like a body in search of his soul. I would never really write but only dream of being a writer, such was the level of procrastination! That was the time; I decided to stay away from all social networks and write, the time when we exchanged phone numbers!

It is the lull before the storm; I was warned incessantly by my instincts. Stay away lest you fall in love, my heart screamed when we texted for the first time. But perhaps, it was too late. Afraid of nothing I chose to go with the flow, not making any efforts to protect myself from being hurt like before.

People are really different from what they are perceived to be in public, that’s what I have learnt knowing Ahaan. Trying again to write, I did not even realize when the lead character of my story began revolving around him. I was indeed portraying his shadow; a guy with a smile so powerful, pure and innocent that it could brighten up your darkest days. A guy with whom you will fall in love the moment you would read his poetry. At least that was what had happened to the girl of my story; the girl who I did not myself know was becoming more like me, or perhaps I was becoming her.

He was soon in my prayers, in my dreams, indeed in the every moment I breathed. I would miss him every second, my heart skipping a beat at the very mention of his name. The lead loved watching cartoons, having chocolates, black coffee and ice creams just like Ahaan did. He would always complain of nightmares not letting him sleep, and I would instantly find myself praying to the Lord to give him peace. Every day I would wake up with a desire to see him smile at me and to stroke my head with love. I was falling deeply, passionately and truly in this thing called love yet this time I wasn’t scared. Now it was not just a story I was writing but it was our story, my love story or shall I say my one sided love story.

Not scared to love with all my heart yet shy to say it aloud. The year 2014 came, yet I could not confess. Every day I would console myself saying, he will know perhaps in a year or two when the script would be a published novella. What I did not know then is you need to hurry up; else you might lose one forever. You need to say before someone else does!

What I did not know then, was how deeply he craved for love. He believed in love like children believe in fairy tales. Accepting the love of a girl pronouncing to be deeply in love with him, he expected her to fill all the voids in his life. I was dejected, yet happy; for nothing could give you more pleasure on this earth than seeing the one whom you love smile heartily. From a person too afraid of being hurt to a person enjoying this pain, I did not myself know how far I had travel in this journey of love.

It has been rightly said, Heavens shower you with immense happiness only when they ought to snatch something more precious. Soon, he was informed about the infidelity of his partner. The time when I was lamenting for being late, for not even giving myself a chance to speak, I needed to consolidate myself and fulfill the duties of a friend and so I did. That was the time; I got to know he came from a broken family making it more difficult for him to move on.

The cheerful smile, the smile that I cherish is lost today. Feeling defeated and betrayed by everyone Ahaan has found refuge in habits like smoking. I feel like a shaft waiting for sunlight, a lonely bird that has lost its wings, a lover just yearning to see him beam. Every now and then, I would threaten him to walk away from his life, to stop being a friend unless he quit smoking. And sadly today, is the day when I am finally doing so.

From a selfish person afraid of loving, to the one willing to give up on anything; I have risen far in love, far than the ordinary. From an impatient youth to a patient lover, willing to wait for years; from a short tempered girl to someone willing to forgive every mistake one commits; from being argumentative to a peace lover; when I first begun treading this path I had no clue how far I could walk, even alone. From fearful of confession to this write up just wanting to tell him, there are people who truly care and request to stop smoking; love really makes you travel far beyond your wildest imagination.

Today, as my heartache to see him smile again, the only consolation I have is, “Love is not about having or taking, but about how selflessly, truly and passionately you have yearned to give.” As I wait for him since time that seems to be an eternity, it does not scare me, for sometimes to get closer, you first need to get further!!

An Evergreen Playlist

“Mends Unseen Scars Igniting Contentment”, this is what music is to me.
“MUSIC”, is not a word but a plethora of emotions to every being.  Not just a form of art, but a way of life, a best friend worth cherishing forever!!  Dance numbers, love songs or melancholic tunes, no matter what mood you are in, music will always have something for you.
It is the only friend that would sing a lullaby to you late night, when you are tired tossing and turning. It is the only friend to convey exactly how you feel, when you are perhaps short of expressions. When you don’t have the words, you have the lyrics.. Such is the power of music!!
From an ocean of beautiful songs to choose from, I am hereby sharing few of the songs belonging to my all time favorite playlist with you, buddy. I am sure some of them, top your favorite playlist too.

I can surely not number them, I love them all equally. Here are some of them, with few of my favorite videos!!

Little Wings by The Corrs
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HhsacepElvA

I absolutely love that tin whistle... 

When I'm Gone by 3 Doors Down
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pFq1eT9tMJ4

Another Irish Band after The Corrs, worth loving!!

Dear Agony by Breaking Benjamin

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KGrM1sh-8pE&feature=kp

A song where lyrics says it all...

Carrie Underwood's Starts with Goodbye

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=iVulo7sPRAQ

Beautifully, depicts the truth of life.

Summer of '69
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9f06QZCVUHg&list=PL1795788262FEF2F9

This was the first English song I heard when I was a small kid.

Wake Me Up When September Ends

A legendary song

My Heart Will Go On

I haven’t found someone yet, to say he is not in love with this song.

With Or Without You by U2

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=f4VHVu8Px-0

Westlife's If I Let You Go

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7NrQei36fJk&list=PL0B7D1042CCA26E8E

Sweet Child o' Mine by Guns N’ Roses

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yIne2Et4hng&feature=share

Love concerts and acoustic versions...

Knocking On Heaven's Door by Guns N' Roses.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zt1R8LQ5-LI

I can go on and on. The list is never ending. I would better just sit and let the music play, buddy.

Let The Sun in, Buddy!!

It’s a new day, a new morning. The sun-rays shone upon him finding their way through the window. Boggled, he opens his eyes, from the weary sleep that sings to him a lullaby every night.

He will today appreciate the rays of hope I bring into life every day, whispers the sun happily to himself. He will stand by the window, enjoying the cool breeze I blow onto him, rejoices the wind. He will admire my beauty; the shade I provide to the house, says the tree laden with fruits in the garden. He will listen to me sing; mesmerized by the melody he will sing along, pronounces the bird merrily.

Eagerly, they all wait for him to reach and shower him with the gifts of hope, love and life. Alas! Opposite to what they longed for, he closes the window, draw the curtains and let the darkness settle in!!

I like it this way, I like this gloominess, he murmurs. He solaced himself like a slaughterer falsely consoling a chicken, ready to be assassinated.

A young, handsome, well built man. Yet he carries a world of wounds inside.

“The universe wonders what he has taken into stride,

An epitome of pain, a surreal mystery,

He wishes not to cure the injury”.

Is he happy or just too comfortable, in the shell he has built with his own hands? Squeezing out every drop of liveliness from within, he waters his troubled soul and the ever-growing resentment. He nurtures the pain hidden, with his own forced smile.

How are you keeping, asks life to him that day. I am okay, he replies. You are too harsh, too difficult, yet I survive. Before life could say more, he shuts his ears unwilling to listen, unwilling to let things alter.

As life sadly leaves through the door, she vows to come again. The sun continues shining, the tree lovingly present her fruits to the world, the birds chirp, the wind blows rattling the window.

The disappointment people give, the hurt, indulgence in attachments foster have scattered his zest to be happy. But one day he will appreciate the beauty around; one day, he will be him again. And the wind continues blowing, rattling the window!!!

Have I Told You, How It Feels to be With You?

 Many a times I find myself sitting beside the window, listening to the blaring horns of the cars passing by, the screeching bikes; wondering, struggling hard to find what is overshadowing my happiness. My heart engulfed in endless conflicts about all what’s, why’s and how’s; I feel lost. Hours of introspection fails to reveal the deepest secrets hidden deep within my own conscience. I twist and turn in sleep for long, feeling my own palpitation; drenching in my own perspiration, yet I fail to figure out anything. 

When no solitude, no soul-searching helps, a small talk with you over coffee does. You would strike the exact chord at the precise corner of my heart; mend the broken strings and make music out of it again, singing the lyrics I have forgotten!

After a stupid act, a display of foolishness; when I feel ashamed to show myself to the world; you stand behind and pat my back. You help me repair anything that I destroy, correct me when I am wrong, yet never let me feel the pangs of guilt. When someone would point a finger, you stand beside, pronouncing to face it together. The days when I feel exhausted, emotionally drained, completely numb, the hug you give, the way you caress my face is enough to bring me back to life.

You never fail to crack jokes on the one, who left me teary-eyed and thus, make me smile again. For numerous times, we would sit and plan pranks together like soldiers prepare for war and screw the people who befool us. My rival, my foes become the same for you for absolutely no reason.

You are the one who know how stupid, foolish and talkative I am, yet you make me feel worthy and intelligent. Even when no one else could understand, you laugh at all the jokes I crack, not letting me repent the bad sense of humor I have. You sing along, no matter how badly I mess up the melody. You dance along, no matter how imperfectly I move. You make me feel perfect with the millions of faults I possess.

The same coffee seems tasteless when drank alone. Life seems dull, monotonous when you are not around. I forget the tune; I mess up the melody, yet no one sings the words along. Weeping I stand in the crowd, yet no one could see the tears trickling down my cheeks.  Only you, it’s only you who knows it all, even before I speak it aloud. You are the one, who know me, perhaps more than myself, at times. You know who you are, yet if need be to describe you; I would call you my soul-mate, my best friend!!

A toast to our friendship, our togetherness and the purity of it!!
Dedicated to Shivee!!

 Friends Forever!!!!

The Blank Pages of the New Year

It is First January, the first day of a brand new year.  A lot of people must have partied hard last night and many others must have preferred to sit at home, sleep on time and watch the sun rise in the morning.  I totally belong to the second category.

When I was a child, I would jot down all my resolutions beautifully on a chart paper, some suggested by mother, with a hope to stick to them. I would manage somehow till March, but forget all about them, thereafter. Initially, I was ashamed to discuss it with schoolmates believing myself to be the only one who lack that will power and determination, but gradually I learned it’s a problem all around the world. I learnt a New Year is not about the resolutions, but the hope it brings with it.

As a year ends, and a new begins, we hope to live a better life. We aim not only to forgive others, but forgive ourselves; perhaps the most difficult task yet. We aim for our own betterment and New Year celebrations comfort us by presenting an empty book of three sixty five pages. We resolve to correct ourselves, but if we fail, a hope to do the same next year remains. Perhaps, that is why we rejoice at its arrival. What disturbs me is, why not celebrate each day, every week, all month, throughout the year; this way! Every day, I can resolve again. As I take each day individually, I won’t feel the pressure of abiding by a rule all year, but only one day. Fulfilling them this way, would be easy. Life would be much happier if we wish Happy New Day, all the year. Why not let a new sunrise bring upon the same ray of hope, as the year?

Of course a new blank book is waiting to be written with a new story. But if it doesn't go well today, feel free to write upon a new twist, a new tale, in the very next page, buddy. After all, life is not just one story; it’s about a million of tales stitched together by one common character “you”. 

K.K. perfectly sings, ”Apne hisab se dil ki kitab pe kuch to naya likho”( on the book of heart,write something new according to your wishes)! If not today, then tomorrow, remember you have 365 chances…