Beginning my purposeful journey

In the absence of my heart, I'm nothing. The heart that beats and pumps my nerves to grow my mind into what its supposed to be. I don't underestimate the power of the mind at all, it's as powerful as powerful gets. It's the engine that churns out my dreams in it's form and shape. Yet the heart is where the intent of innovation resides. The place where the first spark, the first spurt of happiness, of drive appears. Listening to the heart is like eating warm home cooked meals, it's a source of comfort and nostalgia. The mind, on the other hand, has taken me into places of adventure , of unimaginable grasslands of hopes and certainities. It's visualised my life in flesh and blood and seen me fulfilling the prophecy of the heart.

As I embark on this new journey, I hope that I don't struggle to start, to listen to my heart and guide my mind to make me become what I want to. To fulfill me, I need to be my guiding light. To inspire people to fulfill their potential by fulfilling my potential.

Her

It’s been a long time Ive spoken to you.

You with the gap in between your teeth and hair messed up open

How have you been, my love?

Why do you look so weary, your bright shining eyes not anymore?

Have the regular ups and downs been difficult, and still counting?

I hear you, I understand.

Come, let me hug you with the warmest snug hug I can give

I see your pain, behind your hesitant laugh

I feel your tears, behind the comfort u give them

I hear your rantings, behind your ways of making them smile

But why don’t you see, beautiful, you are my favourite

Your soul is blameless, light and white

The way you love, a child is shy

The way you care, a mother’s peer

Why don’t you see, love, what I see in you

You are like Sweet wine, well rounded rolling on the tongue

These scars have wrapped you like satin

Why do you quiver, why is your breath short

You are brave, my daffodil, in field of weathered grass

And you will be His favorite, keep Outshining. 

Will It matter

Does it matter that you've done your best
But never received your due
Does it matter that they smile, while you are miserable
Frantically hanging onto a single thread of hope and justice
Does it matter at all, what they say
Since not a word is spoken from his heart to mine.

How many times can you cry a cry
And still feel burdened deep within
The smiles and their baggages, will haunt you in your realities
Let them go they scream,  crying out to save my soul

Its a constant push n pull
The age old story of that love of mine
Tempting, pushing me over the edge
But staying out and walled
Keeping me close and keeping me away.
A dagger close to his heart, pierced with my helplessness

Let go. Let go. Let go, he says.
Early sun saw my bare hands revel.

Melancholic epiphany

Suddenly you will know
When in the middle of your tracks
The grass isn't smoother
The tiny stones have multiplied
The Moss is shining brighter
That you are slipping

You will breathe a breath
Amongst the thousands
And know suddenly
That the sun has changed it's course
That you are walking alone

In a moment of routine you will realise
That it wasn't meant to happen,
That heartbeat wasn't yours,
The spirit spoke, whispered, go away
And you let go, of the largest dream u were burdened with.

And suddenly you will know. In the middle of a Saturday night.

You are the good one.

Are you the one they insulted
Despite you wanting to do the right thing
Did they badger you with their heartless words
Despite ur big bold beautiful heart
Trust me,  you are the good one.

Did they say you betrayed them
Because you said no,
Because you won't take it lying down
Did they mock and question you
Despite you baring your vulnerabilities
Trust me, you are the good one.

Did they choose words and words only
Despite you needing more action
Did they walk with prideful smiles
Despite your heartache and sorrow.
Trust me,  you are the good one.

Because the good ones mostly grapple
With pained and sorrowful hearts
They are the ones who are wronged
And brutally slammed with harshness.
But also their hearts are pure. And they are also meek.
The ones who think a thousand times over
The ones who give you a hand
The ones who don't deter from who they are,
Always standing for who they are,
Those r the good ones.
And trust me, my dear, only the good ones last.

Ugly

Adulthood is Ugly.

Its staring at me, and suddenly showing me the different colors of fear, insecurity, betrayal,there are more tears, the ones that make your heart hollow.

Its ugly, because friends reveal their dark side.

their ability to choose themselves so much, that your heart is wrecked by their lifeless words

Its ugly because people you've loved only hear you, they don't listen

their inability to feel the meaning of the words that you've carefully chosen

Its ugly because they tell you your dreams are impractical and difficult

their lack of belief in you, even when you are struggling to breathe and walk the tight rope all by yourself

its an ugly adulthood because childhood was as scary, but trusting

There was no fear, even in the absence of insecurity,childhood laughs and adulthood cowers.

Its ugly because it makes me hunch, a few inches inside my self, as a child had me taking longer strides, quickly into the wind

Its ugly, this adulthood, or maybe its the ugliness around me, people with their beautiful smiles and bodies, perfect shapes and voices, ones that steal and devour at my soul, my smile, my strides, the sprint in my walk, the spark in my eyes. 

One line poetry

You are a cumulative effect of all your thoughts, dreams, actions, observations, feelings and still so much more.

Singular and Plural

One life.
One breath.
One look.
One journey.
One book.
One man.
One woman.
One cup of tea.

That song.
That letter.
That fight.
That touch.
That lipstick.
That taunt.
That play.

These days.
These words.
These dreams.
These nightmares.
These stories.
These goodbyes.

I AM MY FAVOURITE

To all the women who have men who appreciate/gawk at the perfect body of another woman, exclaiming how 'hot' she looks or how 'beautiful' keep reminding yourself just one thing.

That woman he gawks at, doesn't work with the insecurities and flaws of the man you are with. She isn't his strength, you are. That woman is a figment of imagination for your man, an escape from the realities of life,  which make him happy for a temporary time. Only You have the strength and the power to embrace his shortcomings,  his failings and provide him peace and calm on a tiring day. You are beautiful. More than a human eye can see. With all your curves and your flab,  with all the body hair,  with all the pock marks on your face and the imperfect jaw line. You are so much more than those girls who will not stand by your man. Live with your chin up and Wear the curves of your lips with an 'I love you' for yourself.

The Writing Project_Insecurity

She had a crazy Saturday night. Saturdays have always been the busiest,  she thought. The era of Saturday night parties after a long tiring day at work to immerse oneself in drunken stupor was long gone. Mostly they liked intimacy, the most tiring form of shape,  going shapeless and thoughtless for a brief 11 minutes,  without much effort, while they lay there placid, exhausted and pleasure heaving, made her wonder if they worked harder than her. After all,  all she had to do was spend hours in the bathroom, touching up the crevices of the pock marks on her face and match her busy corset with the right lipstick colour. She hardly had much to do to her hair, like her mothers, never used to have a bad day. The next step was to look around the bar and scout for,  what she called, 'The Unaware Disillusioned  man',  the one drowning himself into expensive scotches and quite involved in faithfully complaining about something or someone. This kinda man is easy to identify,  he's either in large male groups or utterly alone. The alone ones are saner than the former. But both wear the same look of helpless drudgery and tired gaze. She was delighted when she did find that man,  hefty stash with little effort, these drunken ones couldn't go that long.
Just when she tapped his shoulder from the side,  and looked into his eyes to ask her well rehearsed question, she recognised that familiar face.
Mr Harington, she remembered clearly, the man I sat with on the sidewalk for four hours that night. His beard was thinner and his dark bagged under the eyelids,  heavier than the last time.
"hello, I certainly didnt expect to see you tonight"
"hi, yes,  I didn't either. How are you? "
" I'm well, thank you. You look pretty as ever. You've changed jobs I see"
"Yes,  better pay and fewer long hours. I'm glad to see you again, umm, do u want to get a drink at the bar, it's quiet over there "

She hoped he would stay just like the other night. She had memorised his every word of his story,  since the time they met. She didn't feel like a prostitute, but a nurse who mends the broken pieces of a patient's heart and in the process falls into a deep intertwining state of composure with the ailing soul. He told her of his failed marriage and how she left him withered, after everything he did for her. He had told her of his dreams and the longing of a soul mate he felt, on nights like these, instead of a pavement and a listening ear that accompanies it. She ached for him to tell her everything,  as though just listening to all he has to say will heal his deepest misery. She wasn't allowed to,  but then she wasn't the master of her emotions anyway. She was falling in love,  with a man she met for four hours that night. He changed everything. Everytime she lay down, every night,  she would think of this man,  in the presence of another. His smell, his beard,  his fingertips.

"No, thats alright. I'm expecting to see my wife tonight, she will be picking me up in half an hour"
"Oh,  right,  okay then. You have a good night. It was nice to meet you"

She turned around swiftly and swallowed the lump in her throat. All those images of her with him,  now were replaced by another woman,  the woman he loved. And as her shoes felt heavier with every step, she for once,  understood the insecurity every woman felt with her. It was her turn now.

This is the sixth part of the Writing Project in collaboration with kapil,  we started a few weeks back. We choose a word every week and write our take on it.  This week the word is 'Insecurity'.

For Kapils take on insecurity, check http://parchedforrain.blogspot.com/2015/12/writing-project-6.html

The Writing Project - Burn

I left,

I left teary-eyed,

I left teary-eyed and hollow,

I left teary-eyed, hollow and broken,

Just like the last three times, when they trampled on my heart

I know,

I know you,

I know you are different,

I know the different you and that your kindest heart,

Did not mean to break me up, but build lovingly

I loved,

I loved you,

I loved you like a snow flake,

I loved you like a snow flake rushing to meet the mountain,

Like the stars in a child’s eyes, and the aisle waiting for the to-be-weds

I wish,

I wish for you,

I wish for you to have the moon,

I wish that you will wish for me, even when you’re there,

But you won’t and then I’ll wish I dint wish for you anymore

I burn,

I burn with pain, the feeble kind,

I burn to not destroy, and not to build,

I burn because I’m ought to burn,

I burn in the misery that every lover burns,

Like the way the phoenix burns, like the way it burns before it rises again.


This is the fifth part of the Writing Project in collaboration with Kapil,  we started a few weeks back. We choose a word every week and write our take on it.  This week the word is 'Burn'. For Kapil's work click on the link here http://kapilankar.blogspot.com/2015/12/burn.html

Saying Goodbye

Saying goodbye 
To someone you love 
Is like reading the final page 
Of an amazing book. 

As the last chapter ends
You begin to notice 
Just how beautiful 
And perfect
The plot always was.  

You appreciate the joy 
And even the pain 
As you read and thumb
Through every page. 

Finally understanding 
The moral of the story, 
You realize you've reached
The end of this journey. 

Although the last sentence  
Is the most difficult to read
Another great book awaits 
Once you turn the final page. 

Eventually you may stumble 
Upon yet another great find.
Or maybe you'll return 
To the book you left behind.

Haiku : Gravity

You are my gravity
Beautiful, I feel grounded
Anchored or Chained.

Those simple things I wish

How I wish you knew the words of the song I wish you would sing for me
The highs and the lows are a little difficult,  I understand,
But they aren't quite,  it's just your mind.
All I need is for u to pour your heart in the verses,
And give them the meaning they deserve to have to have a life.

How I wish you sang them un-melodiously at first,
But loud and clear,  breaking squealing squeaking
Yet confident and warm
All I need is for you to put my heart before your shame, your usual-ness

How I wish you sang to me sometimes,  when I haven't even asked you yet
And surprise me with the chords you have chased,  practised nights in a row
And sang a song only for me,  not for the audience,  Your intimate ones.

How I wish you brought be flowers before your performance,
Those imperfect red roses,  and your best shoes worn out,
And you sang,  like you have never sung before,
A song for the cuckoo's soul, alone and free.

The Writing Project_Reluctance

How you touch my heart,
With a reluctance, of selfish charm,
And leave me to wither.

This is the fourth part of the Writing Project in collaboration with kapil,  we started a few weeks back. We choose a word every week and write our take on it.  This week the word is 'Reluctance'. I've tried writing a Haiku poem,  a Japanese poetry style of 5-7-5 syllables here.

The Writing Project_Gap

Between you and me.
The coloumn of air,  as you pull me close to you,
the waist and your embrace, isn't close enough.

As you hold my fingers,
That grasp and yet the not-so-firm grasp,
Your fingertips and mine, aren't close enough.

Your words when they meet mine,
Tell me a story in pieces, some simple, some convoluted,
Though they aren't yet close enough.

Yet when u hold me close,  I can hear it
That heartbeat,  those fingers at my skin
And there is a gap no more.

Yet when your fingers touch mine, I can feel it,
Those thoughts of genuine caress, as you kiss me,
And  there is a gap no more.

Yet between you and me,  those unsaid words remain,
Even after we have talked for eternity,
You know my heart as I know yours,
And there is a gap no more. 

This is the third part of The Writing Project with Kapil Pilankar, wherein we choose words and write our take on it. The word this time was 'Gap'. It was quite challenging to write this one, done my part here. For Kapil's look at the Gap, please click on the link below
http://kapilankar.blogspot.in/2015/11/gap.html?m=1

The Writing Project_Earrings

Was it your voice that first struck me with nostalgia

And made me quiver at the thought of ever having lost you?

Or Was it your words, of wisdom, of ramblings with no consequence

those which made me think; stayed part of everyday memory?

Was it your effort, that unsaid, but necessary piece of thoughtful action

that which made me want to bless the blessing-giver?

Or was it your screaming, your screeching, un-nerving noise

that which made me want to hate you, while I failed at it every single time?

I think it was your sari, your smell enveloped in the skin of the fabric

That smell that was you-er than you would even know

I think it was your hair, the coconut oil drenched, pulled with rigor

That rigor which perfected everything around you, perfected me,

I think it was your earring, you were there, so close, even when you were far,

That closeness, only announced by its light tinkling, a threat, a relief.

I think it was all these, as much as it was you

I think it was you , as much as it was these,

I think it was the earrings, the only ones that stay with me now. 

I think it was you Ma, announcing a little threat, a little relief.



This is the second part of The Writing Project with Kapil Pilankar, wherein we choose words and write our take on it. For Kapil's look at Earrings, the second word in our writing journey please click on the link below
http://kapilankar.blogspot.com/2015/10/earrings.html

The Writing Project_ pencils.

She scurried amongst her sheets strewn across the damp dusty floor, and looked around in despair. The bundle of unkempt newspapers, was a determined lot, touching the ceiling which worried her. The room was getting darker and she hardly had the strength to move the curtains aside.

As she pushed back her hair behind one ear, she remembered his fingers. The way his large fingers grazed on her long beautiful strands and slowly tucked them back, almost an excuse to feel her skin, edge of her ear and the nape of her neck. That tenderness.

She blinked hard, and resumed her search. The Post Office closes at lunch time, and the walk in the afternoon sun is going to be a long one, but she must go, either way. Maybe those drawers in her closet might have it. The brass box probably. There it was, the red and black, brightly striped pencil.

Her lips curved into a smile and as she walked towards the window pane, she remembered his laugh.  The way his eyes sparkled and he yelled ,”I’ll be back in a minute!”. She was amused and surprised at his spontaneity, almost drowning out others in the restaurant, those with their stares. He came back running and grabbing the paper napkin at the table, pulled out this pack of pencils, and began writing on it. That excitement.

It was time now.  The bravery of putting down words which limit the extent of how she feels, had to be done. Desperately searching for one word, one phrase which would encompass the plethora & depth of emotions had to be thought of. A tear drop arrived as it always does, every time, she fought.

And almost like the way the rivers converge into the oceans, her letter ended with the same words he said at the restaurant. That lovely memory, those lovely pencils, and his laugh.

“Someday if I don't return from the war, erase these words from my letter, and dare to begin a new life with my love.”

This is the first part of the Writing Project with Kapil Pilankar, wherein we choose words and write our take on it. For Kapil's look at Pencils, the first word in our writing journey please click on the link below

http://kapilankar.blogspot.com/2015/10/pencils.html

Fools and flowers.

Today I thought about flowers.

I could possibly be old school. But flowers make me happy. Becos they are simple and so beautiful.

It reminds me of a time when I used to pick up a flower to cheer myself up. And I walked up to a florist and looked all around for that perfect one. Every flower was very beautiful,  each one unique and different from the others. And it used to be difficult to make that choice. I would stand there trying to find the one that catches my eye and makes me stare at it a few seconds longer than the others.

Sometimes I wouldn't find the one I needed at his store. And I would walk away not quite happy. But that disappointment wasn't half as bad as it was how happy I felt when I found the perfect one.

And that's just what I thought about flowers. :)

Not settling for Less is not Unsettling for More.

To my dearest well wishers & aunties who think know what's best for me,

Marriage is very easy. It will effectively take me three meetings,  One to know if the guy can talk in an articulate fashion with little mistakes in grammar,  Two,  to figure out if the family is not known to have a bad history or rumour floating around, hopefully no divorces or the mother isn't a trouble maker,  and Third, the guy is fairly decently dressed, well behaved and shows consistency of behaviour. Background checks and paycheck information is a prelude to the meeting anyway.  And the deal is done. It's simple.

All I have to do then is pump up my excitement for the great wedding day.  I cannot even hide the excitement typing this,  but imagine shopping for that perfect white dress,  you've dreamt of since you were just a kid.  The crazy attention you will be receiving,  the parents going all gaga over you and the string of bachelorrette parties you will struggle to manage your calendar with.

And just like that the wedding day will be over.  The marriage has begun and life has suddenly become,  well,  plain again.
Suddenly settling for the sake of that exciting wedding day seems like a distant dream,  achieved,  realised and plainly pushed into a mental oblivion. The work has now begun. And the dream is now over.

Then there will be days.  Days of wanting to be understood and days when explaining is important.  Two different human beings under one roof is a lot of work and the effort to compromise and find a midpoint is anything but easy. Prayer will form the backbone of a relationship but devotees need to work on their own little forgivings and their own path to each other's hearts.  The motivation to do that isn't external but something that springs from the heart. That emotion is nothing but love and it suffices to have that in good measure for the joy of marriage to last beyond the day of obligated ritual.

It's easy to feel happy about settling,  becos that's how human beings are wired. We rationalise our every decision and portray and begin to feel waves of happiness as well. But the struggle has never been between finding a good relationship versus a bad one. It's never been about finding a good person to marry versus a not-so-good man.  The struggle and rarity of it,  is finding who is best for you versus who is good for you. Not many persevere. Many rationalise. But a few,  very few wait. To find the right one, not just a good one. Because ultimately,  it's love that pulls us through the really tough times. It's true love that helps us overcome a rainy day,  a difficult disease, a worrisome financial crisis.  Because there aren't many,  who will hug you with warmth and stay by your side when you are anything but perfect. Because there aren't many who light up your life,  make u feel just happy when they are around. Because there aren't many who give you that warm happy feeling in your heart when u think about them. And there,  in your heart you will be thankful each day for that person you chose.

And that's why you should never settle.