we after her

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We can’t belive that she left us.
She was the sweetest among us with the most beautiful smile. It hurts. It hurts like hell. But we are happy that she is not in pain anymore. We are happy that she found peace. We know somewhere up there she is happy. May be little sad for leaving us. This realisation that, she is not a phone call away hurts. She took a piece of our heart away when she left. There is a hole there now and we will never be whole. We are trying to fill that void with her memories. The happiest memories now coated in pain. She was one of the best among us. She was the best. Little stubborn sometimes. But we loved her stubborness too. We miss her.

fantasy addiction

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Each page contains volumes of emotions. Each sentence carries the key to someone else’s mind. Each chapter is a turning point. Each book is a new world. There is something so fascinating about fantasy fiction books. It enable us to travel in the multiverse. When we start reading a book we converse with the characters as a stranger. But somewhere during the journey, our self get merged with one of theirs’. When we finally close the book, we find ourselves overwhelmed with the emotions, responsibilities, dreams, burdens and memories of our character self, which may not have any resemblance with real life; Thus leaving us alone in a mental mayhem to solve yet another identity crisis.

Farseer trilogy may leave us feeling like a Witted – Skilled man in isolation; but in peace with the Farseer responsibilities. At the same time we may be quite unable to fathom the fact that, FitzChivalry is finally in peace when we are not. Or is he? Harry Potter series make you crave for Hogwarts days and then we argue with ourselves about the House, Sorting Hat might have chosen for us. Finishing Hunger Games series may result in a conflict; because we were always in love with Gale, not Peeta.

It is this crazy outcomes and unbelievable paths we travel, the unknown and new terrains, which excite, scare, and make us spellbound, that makes fantasy fictions so great and addictive. We find friends, family, dreams and clarity along the way. Sometimes, we find ourselves staring back at us. The fantasy world and the real world finds a connection that grow stronger day by day. We travel back and forth. We sleep in the real world but wake up with the characters. Sometimes secretly we start despising our real world. 

In a nutshell, there is no better way to escape reality than going to the nearby bookstore and choosing for ourselves a fantasy fiction and allowing it to imbibe us .

Driving through a sewer

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After a day’s work, everyone drive back home, with busy minds and tired eyes. On our four sides – for miles, people flow like a river. Someone will take a deviation; someone will get momentarily stuck with us; someone will chase us; someone will block us; someone will push themselves to the left extreme trying to escape from the crowd.  All driving towards different destinations, but eager to beat one another in reaching there.  We honk horns and scare the people with unsure eyes on the pedestrian cross. We step on the accelerator when yellow light tells us to slow down. Even the self proclaimed civilised persons behave like barbarians, when they are supposed to give way for an ambulance. Many will drive like a mad person and then they will shout at others, as if, others created all problems in their lives.  Driving through the city is not fun. Sometimes it is nothing lesser than torture.

The traffic behaves like the city itself. Driving brings out the real us inside. Thus the traffic we create act like the society we live in. We all rush together, obstruct each other instead of helping each other and waiting for our turns.  In the end we all get stuck in a block. River turn in to an open sewer. We could have set sails to new shores-instead, we rot, slowly…..

Internal monologues

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Internal monologues are like living organism, they grow, they shrink, they evolve, but they never die. These monologues that accompany us even in our sleep; the shape shifting, extremely moody monologues, that never let our brain relax are our enemies and the only friend who knows our inside out. Some mornings they are like a cup of coffee; warm, friendly and welcoming. But at night they may eat us alive asking unwanted, irrelevant and extremely disturbing questions. We need them to console us. But it might be them that made us cry in the first place. They are like some politicians, changing allegiance like weather. They sometimes abandon us. Sometimes, they train us to rise from the ashes and fight with the whole world. The question is can we trust them?. No we can’t. But the truth is that, they are the only ones who are available for trusting.

These contradicting realities and dimensions they create inside our minds make our brains so cooked up that, it becomes even more difficult to tune your thoughts to the correct station. That’s when we need to realise that our internal memory is full of the unwanted informations, emotions, images, vedios, memes and jokes we had downloaded for no reason. We were getting worried and trying to run faster than our thoughts for no reason. It is an alarm to slow down, refresh and clean up.

It is important to ignore internal monologues sometimes. They are just different projections of us. One of the several options we have. Don’t get caught up in their web.

Migraine Phobia

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I am sitting unsure of what to do
Waking up to the unfinished chores
Sleeping on the unwashed plates
Unable to create a routine for myself
I am sitting unsure of what to do.

People with migraine on their side –
know of the times they wanted to bang their heads.
How many times have I wished for
Picking up a hammer and smashing my head?
Or drilling a hole right through my temple?

Nobody knows why life is complicated
With responsibilities stacked all around.
One after another it gets added on to-
the things that I am yet to finish.

It is hard to explain what it feels like.
So I clutch my head and roll on the floor.
My life starts to spin around;
blocking my dreams from being born.

The days I smell of Vicks;
I fail to recognise myself.
It is always like a dragon inside
Waiting to open fire on the slightest glitch.

I press my head down on the pillow
Holding my breath to kill my brain.
But reality pulls me back again and again;
to the wheel of life -full of pain.

Finding our own meditation

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We are strange creatures. We can’t just live on food, air and shelter. We need a place for our mind to do its deeds. A space , which each of us create somewhere inside our head, and expand as we grow. This imaginary spaces of each individual are somehow interconnected that those transcended generations as information. Now we have reached a stage of looking at us, as an object made of a tangible physique and an invisible mind.

Our animal instinct had taught us how to keep the tangible component healthy but the answers to taming our mind is non existent. Yes, there are successful stories of people who did. But I am afraid to say, it works for them but not for others. They may have mastered their mind. But they don’t know a single thing about others. Each mind has its own path unseen by anyone else – how can someone else tell us how to tame her?

We glance towards our zen garden and it gives us a momentary calmness. But, it is an illusion our minds want us to believe. But it will burst like a bubble, within seconds. Because, our mind currents are too strong to be handled by a stranger’s wisdom.

Everyone can’t be Buddha. Because, no one can be someone else. It is our duty to find our own philosophy that can create the symphony to sooth our minds. Each book we read, each look we receive, each word we hear and every silence that passes through us is a lesson. But we will be cheating ourselves, if we believe in the words of the wise as the ultimate truth. It may be true for them. But not for others.

We often end up copying others in search for our peace. We simply adopt their methods, their inspirations. We wake up in the morning and create a schedule just like them. We can pretend with ourselves and others that, it is working. But it never will. Because, our mind is not shaped to fit into other’s design. Every answers to all possible questions we have is within us. We were born with an empty mind, which was floating in the emptiness. It is our senses, which filled that void with everything we came in contact with. Therefore, only we can break the code to our mind; we just forgot how. It is up to us to find our own meditation…

Finding Roots

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I closed my eyes in search of my roots. It was pitch dark. I wished I had a candle. I started digging all around my trunk. I had to find the tip of my roots. Now I wished I had taken some tools with me. The soil was hard. My nails got torn off first. Fingers started to bleed. For the first time in decades the soil became wet. But the colour of my blood dripped down away into the unknown. That unknown is where I need to go. Suddenly the earth cracked asking me to climb down. There was no time to spare. I ran down in to the womb of the earth and I crashed into something. It was made of glass. My mind lit up and now I could see. And someone was looking back at me. It was a mirror. “I need to find my roots, please move away”. Mirror gave a sarcastic smile. “Your quest is fake. Look at me. I am the core you are in search of. You need only accept it. You need only open your eyes”.

That’s when I woke up in a room flooded with light. I was blinded by my eyes. I had closed my lids and pulled the cover of darkness over everything around me, whenever I had a chance to find me. I let the society define me, muting my own voice. I was afraid of being an outcast.I let others tell me right from wrong. I allowed them to squeeze my pride. I forgot the basic rule; in order to find my roots I had to be me first.

Little piece of my childhood

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When she blooms in the night, like stars in the night sky , she used to fill the air and my heart with an alluring scent. When I was a child, my neighbour had a Jasmine plant. Her long hands had grown in every direction hugging a dwarf mango tree. Every girl in my locality was an admirer of her. Every day, dressed up like a bride, she will uncover millions of white buds. We were jealous of her beauty and we all wanted to steal at least a part of it somehow. But we could hardly convince our neighbour to let us pluck her flowers.

When I saw the picture of an indoor Jasmine plant in a pot, all i could think was about the beautiful Jasmine my neighbour had. Many nights I had waited just to watch her buds bloom, since her fresh scent was intoxicating. We used to hang around her, for the flowers she might drop. We used to groom her and bend the branches of the Mango tree for her to reach. How devastated we used to be, when many of her limbs get broken during every monsoon. But she would always come out of every trouble, and regain her elegant self quickly.

As I grew, and as she became older and older, it became so easy to forget about her. When I saw the online picture of the Jasmine plant, I tried to recollect “when did she die?”. I don’t know. May be someone did euthanasia.

How we forget about things that mattered the most to us? Broken glass bangles used to be treasured by us and now we dump them in a trash can without a second thought. Remember those days, when we used to keep the peacock feathers in our notebooks, for it to give birth? Though, we knew we are being stupid, it didn’t stop us from dreaming about beautiful colourful little feathers born out of her. Today, we plan our dreams, using calculators. Sneaking out of house, from the watchful eyes of mother just to play in the rain used to be our fun. Today, we curse our fate for leaving home without an umbrella on a rainy day. We have changed .I think, growing up is synonymical to losing touch with who we used to be. We let our little self die inside.

The little kid in us used to be happy about the little things we have. Even a torn cloth was enough to built a castle. Now we have more than enough but nothing is enough. Because we feel nothing is going as planned; missing the beauty of uncertainties. We need some reminders in our life, to keep in touch with our childhood, so that, we don’t stress out about the unwanted things we need.

So I decided to bring a small Jasmine plant home to get a piece of my childhood back.

Writer’s Block

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My brain is exhausted thinking about completing the unfinished write -ups. They keep popping up randomly, and I just can’t focus on one. So when I sat down to write, between my fingers and keyboard, words went missing. I just can’t find them. I think they took my imaginations and ran. Here I am, hitting nook and corner of my keyboard and I just can’t formulate a meaningful sentence. So, the number of drafts grew and piled up like non-degradable waste.

I opened my window and wished for something inspiring to happen. Nothing happened. How strange it is, that sometimes we have allot to say, and our mind starts to buzz with so many ideas, but we end up confused and say nothing? I think, we need to just throw all those ideas in to a dust bin, so that there is a clean space for us to think.

So I started reading all of my unfinished drafts, one by one, to decide which one has to be thrown out. It was a bad idea. My intention to declutter and my self, cannot work in harmony. Each draft gave me new ideas. They multiplied like virus. They infected my mind. When I was about to choke to death, a new realisation hit me; words are not workaholics. They don’t understand schedules and plans. They are free spirits. They will only visit, when they feel like. We need to vibe with the words. It is a genuine relationship that can’t be forced. Pretending to be someone does not attract them. It scares them away.

So I selected all my drafts, and pressed Delete. If they are strong enough, they will survive. Now I am waiting, for the words to come back to my screen.