Just a kick in my heart, when I
start with a book that affects my mind and heart, my mundane things, my
belongings and my expressions: this one is for that few minute feeling when I
am about to complete a tale in a book, in a series, in a film, in a real-life
narration.
A little girl finds her long lost parents waiting for her in a grassland. Grassland that’s vast, grassland that’s dry as gold,grassland that’s soft as cotton loaves, grassland that’s going to be her most cherished place from now on! She’d have anytime hated to come there, but then the glimpse of her parents widened her eyes, created a thrust in her scream and made her run like a kite across the field. She could see a beautiful pair walking into her, smiling mysteriously, holding a tiny bowl. The girl ran and caught the bowl, found a pink little fish sailing and swimming in her own space, passing squeaks while looking into curious eyes of the little soul outside the bowl. The girl’s heart then filled with tears, tears that marked the joy of meeting her parents, tears that flew never before, tears that told her tale of loneliness for plenty many years without them, tears that said ‘I won't roll down for anything now', and hugged her daddy’s neck like she’d leave never again!
Yes, heaven can wait, because heaven is right here in the grassland!
So when the best friends say, ‘Dunno bout others, but I love ya loads’, we are not taking homosexuality into consideration. She might even snuggle in her phone to make me feel complete and centered, but I know that the corners are shady and the corners are calling.
How a young woman reaches out to her dreams, by simply believing in what people advice. But should dreams be followed with an advice?
How a young dream turns into a screeching nightmare, and all that's left is a fear to lose. Awaited is the moment to get rid of this fear.
How the treacherous fate falls with shallow noise and harder pain, crack opens another hope, every end of the night.
So what, if the night was darker?
It rained today and I had the fleet of buzzing dragonflies filling in the loneliness of my balcony. The rains makes me cry at times. The strength and the coercion with each drop makes me go through my fury, my pain, my helplessness and my dream, as it breaks, by every end of the night.
That bordered, shadowed limbo, laughs at me within the eerie howls of hounds, as I wait for life to give it back to him!
Blood relations matter when the relatives respect the blood and protect the same from dripping off the nerves. An illusion that he or she is happy, an illusion of those who have lost it; but I know that I am humane. No point creating truth less ideals because, each time I come in contact with the real, they are bruised and wounded, while the one left and accused is the one ALONE.
Yes, my book carries this page too. She’d beg, borrow, steal, trick, and bribe LOVE, but eventually it’s all begged, borrowed, stolen, tricked, bribed, that stays away like sea waves. They’d touch you, they may also carry you but eventually they’ll throw you back to the shore. It was a massacre that shook their lives up for years and years, loosing her parents in a fraction of seconds. She howled to the sky, she tore the books that posed poems on happy lives; she unsubscribed the channels that would spoof on a family guy, she hated the sound of music, but eventually fell back. Why? EMPTINESS! She tried to make a beautiful life, took an idea from a Hindi-atypical family drama and tried weaving a row of smiles. But like I said, she could beg, borrow, steal, trick, bribe LOVE, but can’t have it forever. That’s why, the ones who give birth are called PARENTS, and the remaining formers and forwards are called Blood Relatives.
“Something inside me had dropped away, and nothing came in to fill the empty cavern. There was an abnormal lightness to my body, and sounds had a hollow echo to them.” — Haruki Murakami
A
girl, a daughter, grows in her parent’s house, with a crown of princess and a
sound of free will. She’s monitored till she’s safe, she’s loved till she
faints and she’s pampered till she sleeps. Why this treatment for a daughter?
Maybe, because they know that eventually she won’t get any of this, once she
marries up to another house. Or maybe, because she can’t stay with them
forever, so they live a jillion and quick life with her. They eat like starving
souls, what she cooks, they dive on the floor that she swept, they ogle at her
drawings, and they sleep likes babies on the sheets she weaved. Why? Are they
insane? Or we are dealing here with cogent love?
She
goes to another house, could be anyone: In-laws, Siblings, External Relatives,
life starts acting unnatural. From pamper to meal, sleep and most importantly,
love, everything becomes synthetic, rolled and covered to magnitude of
society’s claws.
What’s
the basic claw?
You
are a girl, a grilling human, who is supposed to live as per the demands and
moods of people around her. So what, if you are earning your own cents and
cooking your own meal, cook for everyone else! “It should taste exactly like I
have been eating, not a pinch of salt hither-thither, not a lump of cheese
bothered, exactly the way I desire.” These kinds of tantrums are not just
thrown by the in-laws or husbands, sometimes; it could be one of your own
pseudo blood relations. Look at an instance, where an only son of a mother gets
married and suddenly finds everything cooked by his mommy tasteless. His cribs
turn into screams in the house, his gratefulness becomes his awfulness. He
doesn’t show up on breakfast and dinner table, when his wife is not around, he
works extra hours to avoid mommy talks, and eats thanklessly, to her evergreen
love.
It’s
never the same for every woman. I am not saying that men are mean, it’s the
society. The same girl who grows to parents’ pamper, when exposed to another
girl, doesn’t deliver the same. Why not? What is so dead in them? I believe, I
took a hectic moment to decide the title of this post, whom to blame, whom to
change?
A human
life takes diversions: from birth to death they need a litmus test to measure
their insanity. They need to keep chewing that ever-lasting gum, wondering when
the bubble erupts.
When it comes to eavesdropping, eaves-hitting, eaves-ranting or eves-staring for no reason, Delhi is unbeatable! Climb a Delhi metro, and the trail is endless. Me being quite conscious about someone even passing a glance, often tend to take a corner most pillar, be it ladies coach or a common one. Since, it rained today, the ladies in the town were all frilled in funky-gaudy shades. It usually happens among the women, that they often find the next lady dressed either better or worse than hers’, the comparison, admiration and envy are just there in their minds and that I could see in almost every face in the coach. Nine stations and I was still stuck between a long-legged hottie and a fatso tummy blocking my way for some air, while I was trying my level best to breath and inhale the perfumes around and ignore the stinks of whatnots. Thank goodness for my little player playing me 'Stephanie says' - the velvet underground, and I could stay away from the all those mini burps, clenched farts and endless gossips.
But no wonder, I'd love to have these rides, they made me laugh!
It all took place in a fraction of seconds, as my eye hit a young girl dressed in the worst of a dis fashioned jeans, a not-so-wannabe tee top and kitos that were probably pulled out from a 100 buck weekend sale. She looked quite ugly to me with her pimpled-spotted cheeks and messy curls that stunk of coconut oil. I hated to look at her. Nothing attractive! Hence, I changed my back to a better sight. Pushed by another set of ladies at next station, I was compelled to peer at the young girl again. Made me realize in a bit, that she did had beautiful pair of light brown eyes, which made me a lot of sense as I carried on with her expressions. She was looking at me, and others, and a pretty chic who managed a gutsy bag and whatnot accessories. This young girl seemed to be appalled or amazed at this pretty chic, which she kept staring with constant consciousness of getting caught over her helplessness to stare at her. I sensed a creepy feeling all over my skin (like a centipede crawling on my ankle), as I realized that she did have a reason to uncontrollably stare at the pretty things around her. Her toes were backing in embarrassment and maybe family bounds, as she kept checking her own costume, her little plastic bag stuffed with a cheap umbrella and a trigonometry tuition book. I could hear her screaming down her energy in a lonely corner of a jungle with a noisy river flowing next to her. She wanted to be like them all!
