Monday, June 20, 2011


Today I am full of those tender emotions
Staring you with dove like beautiful eyes
You are the only object of all my adorations
Inspiring all my lovely smiles

You are the wind who picks me up & sways me around
Making me feel as soft & light as a feather
Embrace me in your warmth & let happiness surround
Let me pick these moments & gather

Don’t remember the past, don’t know whats there tomorrow
Lost in this very age of our togetherness
There is only love, love & love around, no place for sorrow
Feels great to be a subject of your fondness

And then I know there is more to come
Can see many hopes come alive
Even if life turns troublesome
I know our love will survive

Monday, June 6, 2011

The Falling Nest

When two birds meet, they make a small nest. Their home, their haven. Make love, lay eggs, hatch them, crack them, feed them, raise them till they grow and leave the nest. The two birds fly away till the next season arrives. But then what happens to the place where they created a beautiful family together? Meanwhile, wind, heat & rain destroy that emblem of love. Do the birds really care? But we humans do. We have a habit of getting attached to almost everything. Our first bag, first book, first pen, first love letter, favorite cap and old greeting cards - we almost cry if any of our prized possessions seemed to go lost. The biggest object of attachment is the houses we live in. Especially the ones built after years of handwork, misery, budgeting, compromising & sacrificing. The kind of houses middle class posses with great difficulty, when they are in their middle age.

Shayamal aunty was definitely one of them. She was married when she was seventeen. Had never seen any other man, other than her father before, before her marriage. Balram uncle, a poor middle level officer in a poor government office, an adorable husband and a good father. This is what middle class people are made of- good morals, good relations, everything good yet live in misery.

Their’s was a beautiful life. Two daughters, as beautiful as their mother. Were sent to reasonably good schools, good colleges. They grew up to become smart working women. Find their suitable partners, got married & went to different countries. Leaving the two love birds alone all again. So many years had passed so many memories, many disagreements & fights yet they grew fond of each other even more with every new year. 30yrs of togetherness & many more to come, may be. May be not.

It was their 31st marriage anniversary. As always, their plan was to watch a movie then dinner & a long drive. Movie was nice and so was the dinner. But the long drive was their last drive together. They met with an accident on the highway. Thanks to a drunk driver

Shyamal aunty was a brave heart. She took this devastating fact very gracefully & started living alone in her house, which her husband had made of her, to keep her safe & secure. Safe from the cruel world outside, secure from all the insecurities in the world. Both daughters insisted on her staying with them but she simply refused to leave the house. Was really fond of the place. Everything in there reminded her of him. She could feel him all around the place.

Fifteen years passed away. Daughters couldn’t visit her anymore. Neighbors were too busy to think about the old woman. And as a strong woman, she hardly attracted any sympathy or help. She was too happy to stay alone, left out, independent. But that house was not in a very good condition. It had grown old. The walls and the doors were swollen because of seepage. Last earthquake & the fragile state of the house had brought several cracks in the walls & the ceiling as well. But Shyamal aunty would not see those cracks from her poor eye sight. No body had an idea about the sorry state of the house & the risk which was growing on her head with every day
In one of the rainy seasons, a piece of ceiling came off. It was then that she realized the deteriorating state of her home. The home which she & her husband had created together. It was an emblem of their love. But when their love could never fade why this emblem had to?
.Though she had an option of going to her daughters & keep herself safe. But this house & her attachment to those bricks were more than her attachment to her own life. She just couldn’t leave. After every rainy season the house would grow weaker.

After one such rainy season, one earth quake hit the place. The intensity was not very high, but the house gave up all its remaining strength & came falling down on the ground. Shyamal aunty, though had a very option of stepping out of the house, she just sat there in that rocking chair which belonged to Balram uncle. Nobody in the neighborhood noticed the possibility of her death. It was only after days of daughters being unable to talk to their mother, that a complaint was lodged. When the police came with the M.C.D & the debris was removed. There she was sitting on the chair, white hair, face full of wrinkles yet beautiful. And more beautiful was her smile which could still be seen on her peaceful face

Wednesday, June 1, 2011

Dream - a mechanism which heals you from within

Last night was a horrible one. Suffered a heart break. Saw my love saying goodbye & leave with another heart. I cried like a helpless child for hours till all my tears dried. Never felt so helpless before, never felt so devastated. Never felt so lonely, rejected & broken. Never felt so unwanted.

There was nothing, absolutely nothing I could do to stop the disaster. All I could do was to endure. Unbearable it was. Deeply darkly painful. If it had been for few more minutes, my life would have been at stake. Thankfully, my morning alarm alarmed & I was wide awake.

I was grateful to my watch & grateful to God that it was a dream. Remembering my single status, I felt relieved. I felt calmer, brighter & a lot happier. Stayed cheerful the whole day but yet couldn’t forget the dream

In the evening, I picked up my dream diary & started writing this one as well. When I had finished writing, I turned some pages to read some of my old dreams

Some dreams were very beautiful; some were extremely passionate & romantic. Some were very useless & strange. And the remaining were either nightmares or extremely horrible nightmares. Some had also acted as inspiration to some of my short stories. Whereas some evoked prose. Some were so beautiful that they had to be carved into a poem.

Then I tried going deep & remember my emotions before & after these dreams. Could not remember all but the ones I remember were enough to lead me to a discovery.

All the days in which I was either ill, unhappy, extremely sad, depressed, disturbed, or hopeless, I was gifted with pleasant dreams. And I always felt a little better the next morning.

But then there were very few dark days in which I was at the height of depression. I was gifted with the most horrible dreams. But again in the morning, I felt better & thankful to the fact that it was a dream. As if someone telling me
“life can get worse, you are facing nothing. Get up and be thankful”

The days I was over excited, over joyous, happy & hopeful, I would again see nightmares. This would make me cautious & kept me emotionally balanced.

I was in a way living another life in my dreams. This life was extreme but it kept me balanced in my real life. It seems as if a hidden faculty keeps you safe, heals you& prepares you for the life ahead

When you are physically hurt, your blood cells start working extra & try to heal your wound. When you have a viral attack, body raises its temperature while fighting the virus. Similarly, we all have a mechanism present in our psyche which tends to heal our mind from within. It is perhaps the malfunctioning of this mechanism which leads to insanity

So next time when you dream, even if its your worst nightmare, remember its healing you from within.


“A man made of substance”
The one who thought of this phrase was definitely not talking about “ a man” & if he was, then I would love to differ.
Men are made of substance & so are women. We all are made of some or the other substance. And we all surely know what substance we have in there.
This substance within, is not a work of a day or two. It’s a product churned out of all the experiences we had, the lessons learnt, the messages understood, conclusions made & decisions taken.
That is what I am talking about. Now when we all know what we are made of, as we have created it ourselves, why do we dislike it? I mean the substance. If you say “no we don’t”, I would say “then why do you keep hiding your real self?”

We try so hard to imitate someone else’s style, someone else’s ideology, someone else’s statement & we never care to look what we really are.
We never care to experience & justify our own real personalities but keep imposing some alien substance on our selves. Our real substance tries to break free & come out to show its real colors. But then we chain it & store it deep down inside, lock it up & throw the keys somewhere away.

You try to be just towards everyone & everything. Please try to be a little just towards your self & break it free.