In the sand-clock of time,
Stop the grain of this second from falling
Stop the earth from rotating
Don’t let the wind blow that cloud away
Please let me have this instant
Just this one thread from the quilt of time
Will lock it in my treasure chest
Below the peacock feather it will be safe
Once in a while I can live it for a moment
A smiling enquiry about my well-being
And a gaze lingering for a second longer
That is all that I am left with her
Or is that all she is left without me?
Here it comes slowly and steadily
Slithering behind the curtains of happiness
Lurking in the corner
When you are basking under the warmth of satisfaction
Waiting for the center stage to vacate
Then it will start its magic
Enslave you with the skill of a hypnotist
This powerful feeling called loneliness
Makes you believe you have no one to turn to
You are alone in this world overflowing with people
Builds walls between you and your close ones
God I want to have a word with you. Are you there? Ok good. Firstly tell me, why have u sent me here? Why? Nothing here matches my expectations. Not even my parents let alone the world. They are not my kinda people. We have serious compatibility issues, which will only grow with time. How can they be my folks? There is some gigantic error here. Because they seem to think exactly the opposite of what I think. Did I get switched or something?
Just yesterday I got this eyebrow pencil using which I trying the Krishh look. Maybe it was lookin a bit different since I didn’t have a mirror in front of me but then there is something called as innovation right? My simpleton mother who obviously could not grasp my plans did not even let me complete the design on left half of my face. She just snatched the pencil. Do I snatch her lipstick when she applies a bright orange shade on a red colored dress no matter how much my heart sinks after looking at that sight?
And they do not understand the difference between Baba & Baaa Baaa. Are only these two with learning disability or this is a limitation of my species? And please convey it to them (through dreams or hallucinations whatever you please) that Cerelac is not a food item for human beings. I do not grab the bowl to eat more but to throw it away. There are many more complaints but right now I have to wake up since I am feeling a bit hungry.
I wish to write a poem,
A poem about myself,
About the abstract thoughts that revolve in my head,
About the feelings that were reflexively shown for a moment on my face,
On my piece of sky with the pen of rainbow I will write,
With the clouds then I shall punctuate it,
And read it through its reflection on the water.
My poem will be about the abstract things and absurdities,
About the sour taste you get after eating the chocolate,
About the breathlessness after staying in water for long,
About the smell of wet mud after the first rains,
About the feeling you experience when you are alone in the sky.
In it I will also include some memories,
The running race of the birds that I saw in the sky,
The twinkle in someone’s eyes after being pleasantly surprised,
The relief after waking up from a bad dream,
But my poem will not rhyme,
It will be as undisciplined, raw and untamed as me,
My poem will violate the rules of grammar,
For it is not a horse, which obeys its master,
It is a lamb, which wants to race with the wind on the meadows,
I wish to write a poem,
A poem about myself.
…Jaane Khuda, Na jaane Khuda, Yeh jo hua kya jaane Khuda..
This is a line from the title song of Kabul Express (Kabul Fiza). I don’t know what exactly the lyricist means by this line, I mean the in-depth meaning and all. The depth of my thoughts probably does not reach there. But what I got is that probably he is in a doubt whether the Almighty is oblivious to a particular incident. Quite possible right? I mean when you have such a large population to take care of (assuming life exists only on earth ) there is a tiny-miny possibility of something being overlooked by Him. Funnny thought, right? Well what happens in that case? This song in general is optimistic. So we will assume this incident is not good.
I will come to the point (enough of lengthening the article). What i mean is probably some of the bad things that happen to us might actually not be in His plan. It might be mistakes. Okay, I know this theory is crap but what is the harm in assuming? Its one pacifying answer for the million dollar question “Why me?” that people ask themselves when something really bad happens. Funny how people don’t ask this when something unexpectedly good happens. I have no such messed up matters but I know a handful of people who would like to ask this question to God.
Take for instance a mother who just lost youngest of her children of age 46. She herself has been praying to Him to call her for some time, because she thinks she has lived her life to the full. Mr. God I don’t know if this was your plan or it was your mistake but You better have a proper answer ready because she is going to ask this to You when she comes there.
I have heard troubles are His way of teaching you life’s lessons. Let’s hope this is true. On this positive note let’s start this year wishing it will be Happy and Prosperous New Year for all of us.
In the extract below, Shanti Uncle is a Dentist by profession and Aunty Henny is his wife.
. . . For days, Aunty Henny had asked Shanti Uncle to let her go. He begged her to fight on for his sake. The doctors too had prescribed a dose of morphine to help relieve her pain, but Uncle said to me, ‘That would be killing her. I cannot do it. My problem is that I am her husband but I have too much medical knowledge. I know what the morphine will do. Her speech will become slurred; she will go into a coma. I will lose her. But she is in so much pain.’
His distress was so painful to see. He halved the tablet, then he decided not to give it at all, then he said it was she who wouldn’t take it. Once he said she had kept it under her tongue and had spat it out the next day.
He kept associating the five-milligram tablet of morphine sulphate with Euthanasia. Though Dr. Murphy tried time and again to explain that it was a false connection, Uncle would not listen. He said that he had seen a television programme where a doctor, a renowned specialist, having put on a patient’s favourite music and injected her with a large dose of morphine, had held her hand until he had felt an impulse of pressure from her, expressing her thanks.
‘I don’t think that is necessarily wrong, Uncle,’ I said, ‘but this is not that.’
‘We’ll wait till the specialist comes,’ said Uncle. ‘See, she doesn’t want it. See, she’s not in pain. Are you, Henny?’ Aunty Henny shook her head, knowing that this was what he wanted to hear.
Dr Murphy said, ‘Henny, you can’t fool me.’ . . .
Kyon barasaata hai asmaan pani,
Kyon dharti sanjoti hai yeh nishaani. (Samundar aur nadiyon mein)
Kis haq se woh is kadar tut kar barasta hai,
Kya uska is dharti se koi rishta hai.
Yun toh aakash pure vishwa phaila hai,
Phir kyon sirf dharti ke upar ka hissa gila hai.
“Please come from this side Madam. Oh don’t worry that will be fixed soon. By the time you come here everything will be ready.” The builder’s assistant was trying his best to please the couple in his characteristic pleasing tone.
Shanti was washing utensils in the basin when the contractor and the couple entered the flat. She had just finished preparing the lunch for herself and her husband. The couple gave a running glance to the whole room. The husband was not happy with the room’s condition since it was very shabby. The clothes were drying on a string, two open trunks lying in a corner, utensils lying in another corner, this was obviously not the picture he had in mind. The lady did not seem to have much problem. In fact she even gave an understanding smile to Shanti. After scrutinizing the flat for a while the party went away.
A little later Shanti’s husband returned for lunch. He informed her that the had couple liked the flat and the deal had been finalized. It was then that it dawned upon her that she would be leaving this flat soon. Her stay over here was over. Again a new construction, a new house. She always wondered at this irony about how come people who build houses for others do not have a house for themselves. Not even a hut? When she shut the newly fitted door behind her back she leaned on its surface taking in the smell of paint for a long time. She run her hand on the walls to feel the smoothness of plaster. It’s true that those tenants will never know the difference between a plastered wall and a non-plastered one. They will never know how windows and doors look without frames. She does. But what difference does that make to anyone except her? She still cannot be the owner of the place although she helped create it. To own it she needs to pay the price which she cannot afford. Everything in life comes with a price tag. Sometimes you know what you are paying, sometimes you don’t know.
She then started collecting her belongings.
I am tired of all this. I just want to go away from here. I want to live a different life, atleast temporarily. I want to see the other side of human nature which is rash, not sophisticated. I don’t want to people who wish u Good Morning, Good night everyday. I don’t want people who open the door for me, around me. I wish I could switch my soul with someone. Like it happens in movies. Maybe then I will learn to appreciate what I have got in life. My family, my friends etc. But is it really that I do not appreciate these things? I do. But then why am I trying to change the things? Why do I want to go towards unhappiness when the whole world runs behind happiness? Maybe I am tired of smiling.
I want to go to a dense forest, all alone. Where I do not have a soul to help or comfort me, not even a stranger. I want to be at the mercy of those wild animals, of the nature which can turn ruthless. I promise I will not complain even if I don’t come back alive. Without any help or consolation clinging to one thread of hope maybe I will realize how precious life is. Then maybe I will learn to appreciate whatever I have. Maybe if I am not able to correct my mistakes the guilt in my last moments will be a fair punishment for me.
Or maybe I will spend an entire night in a cemetery. Actually it is not that scary. Recently I had to visit a cemetery. But of course I was not alone then. Now I want to be alone. I want to see whether the worldly sorrows and pleasures have really so much effect that even after the body which has endured suffering is gone our souls cling to those emotions? Or life is really so precious that people cannot get enough of it?
