What is written but not said.

This poem will have no direction,

Like my life.

there is a direction, but it is too bedeviled with pain,

Pain others carry well,

Or don’t. How would I know.

what I do know is pain shared is easier to carry

Like the sack of potatoes that I switched,

from one hurting hand to another.

but now it’s too hard to hold

all of this,

Days when something small but cruel hits you facefront,

Your brain,

It flees.

Perhaps recoiling to somewhere sadder,
Quietly brooding the hurt away.

with no one to call it back.

to say you don’t give a shit and to actually not give a shit

Are two different battles.

I choose to live in the ephemeral joy of not caring for 10 minutes.

For 10 minutes my heart is painless.

Sometimes, you vow you’d love yourself regardless,

And sometimes you almost do

Then the world happens.

And suddenly you don’t like mirrors.

I don’t like to be quiet.

But it now seems like the best (only?) resort.

because now,

while I jumble between a hundred

full grown adults,

I’m unable to carry conversations,

I feel the insincerity,

it’s leaking through their eyes.

always in the eyes.

what have we become.

Life has now become a,

Constant battle between trying to love yourself,

trying to love the world

and trying to love someone else.

Love always,

Your blogger.

Other Side of A Tunnel

Somewhere in the ruins of this blog I once wrote how I read Anne Frank’s last letter often. I felt myself turned inside out by a 15 year old girl. To have your insides bared and autopsied can be frightening.

Anne called a part of her, the part she chose for others to see as a ‘frolicsome little goat.’ Who jokes around and indulges in frivolous merrymaking, who is flippant and spontaneous and can be found shrugging away hurt like a fly from milk.

She also spoke of the other part, a part she keeps hidden away from scathing eyes of the world. I revisit that letter often.

I am so complex a bundle of contradictions, so many a personalities strewn together I don’t even know how or why anybody would understand me. How can I be shallow and deep together. Sometimes, even for days if I’m lucky, I find myself grappling on the surface, trying to keep my head above water, other days I’m already crashed on the ocean bed. It’s almost a home now.

I am a Pandora’s Box. Nothing within me is delightful. Except that my covers glint with remarkable sheen, but the box houses nothing within. I’m the wrong side of a tunnel; you walk from brightness to enter the dark. A few steps and you run towards the brightness again. I don’t blame you. Who wouldn’t.

I’m a cracked porcelain jar. Ceramic smooth like fresh wax, hollow and dusty from within. I also tumble and shatter to smithereens quite easily.

Two extremes, two mammoth, thick chunks of opposites have their roots boring through me, mingling to form a tree that bears no fruit.

Love always

Your blogger.

Cup of Thoughts- II

Lately, my tiny circle of friends (actually, triangle of friends since there’s only 3 of us) have been pondering over this crazy concept called ‘seeing the world from a third perspective’, in our very unpolished, non-fancy definition. The foundation of this idea was laid when the three of us, one morning at 2 am shared our mutual fear and panic over what is happening in our milieu.

Literally everybody is being thrown in the same pit of social, academic, professional, personal, filial pressure and nobody seems to be doing anything about it. Millennial life has been reduced to apps. Right swipe for love, coupon codes for cheap junk food, educational gurus spewing with academic wisdom, cabs relocating you from one door to another. These concepts, initially built as ‘services’ now dictate our lives.

There is also a meditational app emulating ‘sounds of nature’; chirping of birds, rustling of trees, bubbling of waterfalls, to help people ‘calm down’ from their daily dose of subways and cabs.

How can anybody not see how terribly messed up is that?

There are people running to therapy from unendurable despair and stress, suicide rates continue scaling new heights, every possible nuance of humanity is beaten and whisked into a social media stunt, homeless are freezing in the cold while extravagance continues to flourish online. Celebrity weddings and all the glitter and glam circling it continues stripping the whole occasion of its true essence- everything reeks of pretence.

I feel like it has all been upscaled and taken on such massive levels, that performing those same tasks for ordinary folks (who cannot financially or socially match those levels) has become a source of crippling anxiety. The enormity of it scares them. One heartbreaking result of all this is that it is silencing middle class, no showbiz people into forced reticence.

So what seeing the world from a third perspective means is being painfully aware of all the above. To witness a civilization in shambles by mass consumerism, a world constantly deprioritizing values and putting pomp and show on a pedestal. To always feel like a spectator and a misfit. To not be able to relate to any recent ‘fad’ rounding the internet. To sort of stand in the middle of a giant mob, where everyone is rushing to some vague, momentary purpose, a state of total disorder and haste, where you are the only quiet, still, sinking entity around.

This idea, if sat and brooded over carefully, will make your soul turn inwards. It will make the voice in your head louder and unfortunately, your heart heavier.

What do you think?

 

Love always,

Your blogger.

 

Note: If you wish to read Cup of Thoughts- I, click here. 

Listen to this beautiful track by Luke Sital Singh here:

Yet so far

In the math of two numbers
My life vacillates
11:10
So close to being lucky
So close to being loved
So close to being chosen
So close to 11:11
Almost
But never quite there.

I see the shore every time
From the boat
In which I paddle alone
Grappling, sweating
I reach out
Almost
I almost reach the shore
But I don’t make it.
Just like the numbers
11:10

I’m running
I see the finish line
I see the ribbon fluttering in the wind
I see it between my labored breaths
It’s right there
Only if I could just stretch my hand and grab it
But I don’t. I can’t.
Almost.

In a sea of numbers
I’ll always be 11:10
Almost reaching what my heart desires
But just missing it
Almost
But never quite there.

One was a Book Thief. The Other Stole the Sky.

If you read the title and you know where it is from then you’re awesome and you have my love.

If you’re going to read one blog post today, I request you all let this tiny post be the one. There’s a reason for this, you’ll discover later in the post and believe you me it’s worth it. This post is BOTH for the readers/non-readers.

For the rest unfortunate people, before I begin this post, one thing you should know.

You’re all going to die.

Brutal, I know but hey these are not my words. These are “death’s” words as said in this incredible piece of fiction that sweeps me away no matter how many times I read it called The Book Thief by Markus Zusak. 

Why I love this book?

It’s not just a piece of young-adult fiction comprising of a boy and girl-one terminally ill and the other weeping over the tragedy of his expected demise like it is the case with the current series of books that are sweeping the bookshelves these days. Yes, I mean it. I won’t name the books but if you’re aware you might be knowing it yourself.

I understand the inexorable need for strong emotions and stories that leave you in a puddle of tears, but it’s one thing writing about deep, profound emotions and it’s another thing playing with them to win people’s hearts. I feel like these authors are using people’s soft spots for gaining best-sellers.  Anyway, I’m not here to talk about that.

But this book, these rectangular pieces of paper studded with magical words narrating an extraordinary story is an astounding piece of literature. I’m not here to give a book review, I’m just here to tell you all the few things I learnt from this book and why you must read this post further.

Our protagonist Liesel Meminger is a nine year old girl who is forced to live with her foster parents as she was a communist and her mother was taken away by the Germans. Set in Germany in 1939 before and during the escalation of the World War II the story vividly portrays Liesel’s journey in her new foster home in Molching with her foster parents.

Her young, yet short-lived so called German boyfriend ‘Rudy Steiner’ and her deep, and beautiful friendship with the Jew that her parents hide in their basement, one character that apart from others, I fell deeply in love with,  Max Vandenburg. Max teaches Liesel the real meaning of friendship, how small sacrifices can sometimes save lives.

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It’s not a fairy-tale, it is a deeply moving story of bravery and valor when situations demand it. Of friendship which is the greatest gift of all, about first crushes and how we never get over them-but most important of all, how we must treasure all that we have-before the inevitable death hits us all.

The interesting thing about this book is, the entire story is narrated by death itself. Death claims that it never met someone as interesting and as intriguing as Liesel when he first saw her while fetching her brother’s soul (the brother dies on the way to Molching) and decides to narrate Liesel’s story from the book she writes in the end about her life at Molching.

Death has very interesting perceptions about humans:-

“I’m always finding humans at their best and worst. I see their ugliness and their beauty and I wonder how the same thing can be both”

“While 10,000 souls hid their head in fear and trembled, one Jew thanked the Gods for the stars that blessed his eyes.”

Trust me these two quotes said by death are just an iota of the brilliance of this novel.

Things Liesel and I have in common and the virtues I believe every woman needs to imbibe:

  1. Bravery
  2. Curiosity
  3. Knowing the importance friendship
  4. Reading
  5. Never giving up on your dreams.
  6. Ambition

And many more.

In the entire book Liesel steals books at different occasions, yet our hearts do not turn hostile due to thievery but pity and admire the poor soul for her exorbitant urge to learn. In the beginning, she couldn’t write her name, towards the end she writes her own book. That’s what determination is.

Liesel will always be on top of the list when it comes to my favorite fiction characters. She’s the girl I could relate myself to in every aspect. I saw in her my deep love for reading and friendship and family and my intense desire to write a book someday. 🙂

Note: To my friends who aren’t avid readers, there’s a movie adaptation of the book which is not equally but almost as good as the book. One movie you should watch. In case you need further motivation to watch, here’s the trailer of the movie:

Watch it and if you’re a mature and an enlightened soul, you’ll have one of the best 135 minutes of your life.

“If your eyes could speak, what would they say?”

Goodness gracious I love this book.

Rudy: “You’re stealing books, why?”

Liesel: “When life robs you, sometimes you have to rob it back.” 🙂

“WORDS ARE LIFE LIESEL, ALL THOSE PAGES .. THEY’RE FOR YOU TO FILL.

-MAX VANDENBURG.”

You can imagine how powerful this book/movie is that I’m desperately pleading you all to read/watch it.

And yes, another small request, my friend Akash has recently resumed his blogging. He was dormant before but now has stepped back in. If you all could spare a minute and visit his blog.

Thanks.

Have a great day you all. ❤