Chapter 1~ Moments

Chapter 1.

 Moments

It had been years since he had penned down a poem or for that matter even a prose.

As he sat down near the Central Lake with his college satchel lying on the bench, he looked at the stars above, and then quietly shifted his jet black eyes onto the lake, that which got lost in the beauty of the twilight, yet he could hear the ripples soothe his ears, for water was something that always comforted him.

All of a sudden his mind started forming a necklace of words, so gorgeous that it truly meant to be worn by his ladylove. It startled him for a few minutes, for in all these years, words had never come to his mind like melodies which come to a musician. It took him few moments to understand that it was actually his mind that was weaving this yarn of words. And so he accepted.

Like a swoosh of the wand, he took his satchel and ran back with all his might to his hostel bedroom. In that moment, it was as if the time had stopped, there were no onlookers, just he and his thoughts and the sparkly night.

He hurriedly opened his room, threw his bag on the bed, and quickly opened his laptop. And then began the polishing of the necklace his words had already made. He wrote them, simply effortlessly. It was a ‘moment’ in itself. There was this magic in that night, in that moon, and that silent lake that had imbued him completely, to the extent that it had become difficult for him to identify which was his ‘real’ self.

Words after words he created something, that which was spectacular in its own respect. It was not a frenzy, but more of a moment of enlightenment~ that which was ignited by the flame of love.

Next Day (Morning).

As he walked towards the lake, the sun seemed brighter, the sky more bluer, and the grass more greener, and he wondered if he had ever felt this way before. He held his feelings close to himself, like a keepsake to be cherished, for he knew they would mature in time. It wasn’t easy to describe his feelings in this moment. It was a beautiful chaos. He recalled reading Tom Barrett ‘s quote :

“Chaos in the world brings uneasiness, but it also allows the opportunity for creativity and growth”.

And this brought a sweet smile on his already bright face. Just then he felt a fragile hand on his shoulder, as if someone wanted to talk to him. But he was so engrossed in the world of his thoughts which now seemed to have a world of their own. “A world inside a world? He thought, “That would be an experience to live in.”

“ Halooooo?? You listening? I’ve been calling out your name since a few minutes, did you just switch of your ears, or even your mind?” ringed a melodious voice in his ears.

“Oh! Sorry, what did you just say?”

“Great! Now you can hear me, but still can’t hear me!?”

“ Umm..sorry! Shall we move?”

“Yeah, what are you waiting for? I might get late for my class, you anyways seem so lost today. Do you think your mind will be able to take in all that calculus you keep learning about?”

She had a point. He looked at her amazed. How did she know what had happened to him. He didn’t even make a mention about the previous night, nor did he express his feelings of today’s morning to her. This kind of perplexed him.

She waved her hand full of bright funky bangles in front of his face.

“Why don’t you just sit there near the Lake and get lost the entire day?”

“I’d rather get lost with you” he replied.

 And even before he realized what he uttered he turned back and ran far away, leaving her even more bewildered about his ‘lost-ness’. 

PS: To share with my Vanilla people...as I started writing this, I saw a potential in it to become a book...if all goes well and my fantasies as well as imaginations blossom itno beautiful flowers, who knows it might become a book..do leave ur valuable thoughts in here:) I'll be more than glad to receive them. Doesn't matter if they are  critical even:)

A letter to Leonardo

Dear Leonard

Tell me something, do you love me? Or rather do you somehow plan every time I randomly pick a movie from my hard disk, to pop and show your best in that movie and again?

Well, if that is what you plan to do every time then you got to tell me why you do this to me? You not only leave me impressed, but you bloody make me  appreciate you more with every act that I see of yours. Ah! Well sure, we could fix a date, where I could talk about your work, and we could discuss about mine;)…how about that?

First you make me fall in love with you in Titanic, and that was when I was still a kid, perhaps seven or 8 years old. And by far that is the most romantic movie I have ever seen, with oodles of sensuality,passion and fun that being in love could involve.

Then you daze me out, in the maze of your dream within a dream, to the extent that I come out of the theatre with questions only I couldn’t answer, and yeah here is where my bewilderment finds place.

Then again, you perhaps from somewhere find out that I’ll act in a movie that’ll kick the brains out of her . And one fine night, when I decide to watch the movie with my brother, you again pop up only to give me Goosebumps in ‘The Shutter Island’. Ah! Great, that night was indeed creepy I tell you, not being able to figure out whether you were the one who was insane or the people of that island drove you insane. What a befitting movie for me to watch and analyse.  

                                        

And then today, I pick up a movie my bro suggests, only to see your oh! so deep blue eyes and clean shaven face, with a young dashing man performing an art of a conman in the movie ‘Catch me if you can’ ; pretty impressive indeed.

Sigh, I’m head over heels in love with you.  One of the finest actors of all time, and your choice of perfect movies just bowls me over.

Sure you are a stunner. Your charm, your grace, and I can go on.

                                             

I’ll not call myself a fan of yours, coz I know not you as a person,

I’m not one of those who’ll scream and shout when I see you somewhere,

I watch you on my screen; I admire you from all my heart,

I know you are clueless about this girl who respects you as an actor,

But yes, if this is love, I do love you, and my love is not a clichéd one my dear,

Coz you are the one…and the ONLY one.

Love and deepest regard

Aakriti

Psychedelisia

Psychedelisia

This caco-phony,

This clutter around,

I go into my cocoon,

With my moving surrounds,

Me and my music, is all that I live,

For moments filled with eternal bliss,

And then this head aches,

Of withdrawal symptoms too loud,

I need my drug, the clock shouts out,

My body too fragile, can collapse at you,

Don’t come near me,

I need my flashily dark sleep sans you,

The peace so restful, I have no clue,

What happened in my dream?

Waking, bizarre, dreaming, a blankitude,

The worn out eyes open blankly,

Not willing to live,

Nor give ‘life’ it’s due,

So the fan moves mercilessly,

Coz it can’t stop, Can you?

And in this moment,

I wish I had a lover,

Who would kill this life,

In a grayish black red of tones,

Liberation, emancipation, freedom,

From this life’s cocoon….

As I rise from my shack,

A tranquil one to be,

I step the “other world”

Entering the same monotony,

And the hammer hits my head,

People talk too much,

Me and my psychedelisia,

Yes! I’m a living dead…..

My kind of Rain..

My kind of Rain;)

Yup…here I go…again..

1.      I was watching this video which Twisha shared on FB of Tim Mc Graw and was just thinking how absolutely out of the world it is to get touched by the singer who inspires you, who you idolize and whom you completely love, when you go to his/ her concert. Sigh….I’m an art fan, but have no one to accompany me either to IHC for photo exhibitions, or art work or for concerts..:/..

2.      For the last bit to get fulfilled I would not mind having that ‘one special artistic guy’ who accompanies me at such places and enjoys as well..

3.      Life is beautiful and I say it time and again. Coz it keeps reminding me now and then, with it’s share of surprises J

4.      I got an assignment due for Monday for which I was shit scared till yesterday, but somehow now I DAMN care:D…Something just changed …Dunno what.

5.      I annoyed my best friend by cancelling my presence at her birthday party which she was celebrating today at a kinda big scale, because of this assignment. Yes..I know I am a Jerk…she cancelled the whole party coz many people were not turning up and not just coz of me! And well she  didn’t talk to me last night, even as I frantically called and msgd her, but to no avail. Phew. I’m glad now that she is enjoying with her BF.:)

PS: I’m not that bad a friend, I wanted to surprise her by going to her place today with her janam diwas gift, but glad I asked before going coz she was anyway not home.

6.      Sometimes if nothing else, or no person in real, the love songs just make me fall in love  and that kinda makes me feel goodJ

7.      I just need a reason to FALL IN LOVE;)

Song for today: She’s my kind of rain by Tim Mc Graw

Have a fab weekend:)

Love

Aakriti

Golden Days

The words you see woven in this post got illuminated right after seeing the following picture. My gratitude to Twisha for clicking this picture. Feel the picture and live the words:)

Golden Days

This picture has been clicked by  Twisha

These by lanes tell me,

A story of golden days,

These by lanes speak to me,

A life that was mine in those days,

These by lanes are silent,

And screams aloud every day,

Be quiet and walk this street,

Get soaked in the memory lane.

Some died; some lived, some born through this lane,

The splitter spatter, the sunshine all fell upon this by lane

And now as I see it, I reflect the good old days,

When things and people simple, had their charm in their sweet ways.

The boys would run after kites,

And the girls would peek through windows,

With their shy smiles on their lips,

That would shine through their eyes,

And the sky would be gorgeous crimson,

Alive in the far horizon,

When birds would fly back home,

As would weep an old widow...

No space to walk in this alive by lane,

Colourful like dozens of bangles,

Wear them one by one, coz glass, you know is brittle,

So walk this memory lane,

As I gather the pages of my book,

Feel the whiff of old days, flowing like a cheerful brook...

My Deep Blue Sea

Has it ever happened to you that you got so tired of yourself?

That all you wanted to do was not hide, but DIE.

Die for your ‘self’ as you got worn out by the constant cacophony,

That the mind carried within itself.

Moments when all you wanted to do was hide in that deep dark sea,

Where there are no shades of blue or green, just non colourable darkness,

And then just when you were about to enter the cocoon,

The commotion outside forced you to adopt and adapt to the social demands.

And in these moments, you feel like dying in that sorrow,

Fading like a mist, not to be seen,

Like you existed only for few seconds,

And then the absence followed your ‘lived’ presence.

Yes I felt like dying that way….

Few moments back,

But the sea got turbulent,

And it kicked me up to the shore,

And here again…..I’m back to feeing the commotion… quiet yet noisy …everlasting.

The Hungry Beast

The Hungry Beast

With charming gestures,

A façade of their own,

He’ll talk you through,

With a dream of his own,

The smoke, the whiff,

The narrow bylanes of his,

Where bosoms are paid,

For being juicy and crisp,

Where the bottles are smashed,

For their passion alone,

The night that awakens,

In dream and in real,

Flashy, blunt outfits,

Coitus so surreal,

Where the hunger of one,

Kills the life of the Other,

The greed that lurks,

In the satyriatic weird,

Audacity, his clothes,

Desperation, he wears,

A sight of a lady, on bed he cheers.

For a beastlike him,

 Satiation no goal,

No air, no water,

It’s the drug he adores.

Every second of the day,

 It’s the bait he awaits,

To trap, to cook, to eat as she matures,

Others in the pond,

Get mad at his sound,

For the love he promised,

Is lacerated into torn clothes..

In a street so wet, gawdy and dark,

A wet dog walks, with,

A sense of ‘being lost’,

No one his own,

No one to own,

On the doors of his heaven,

His life slowly departs.

The Candles of Bliss

The Candles of Bliss

 When I see floating candles in an Urli or a pond with petals of roses, a glamorous, yet peaceful magnificence surrounds me.

The charm, the simplicity, and the illuminating light says and speaks for itself as it overpowers and at the same time becomes ‘one’ with the darkness that resides in the dark black night, of the sky or in your life.

Isn't it surprising that over the years we have come to appreciate the output more than what made it?

The same goes for Candles as well. The paraffin wax, or the Gel wax look plain enough, and in fact it takes an effort to stay besides the flame with all that smoke around you, only to ‘gift a shape’ to the banal looking wax. And that’s when a dash of colour and a mould do their magic, with some tricks that make one of the most beautiful things in the world~ Candles.

I know how to make candles and I learnt it. When I was in school, a friend of mine gifted me a gel wax candle on my birthday. It was red colored in a glass with sparkle on it.

And well, when I learnt the art, I gifted to my friends as well on their birthdays.   

these are the candles I made during my classes

A bouquet of flowers I made from wax. Requires a lot of effort!:P

The splendidness of candles is ethereal. Right from the time it takes the shape, to when they are decorated and gifted and when they are lighted, all they spread is that ‘light of bliss and beauty’ all around. 

I love looking at candles. But when I see them in all their splendour, I just don’t feel like lighting them, for I feel as if the ‘life’ in the candle will die. Thus, there have been times when I felt like buying them, but ended up just ‘taking in’ their charm for the fear that lighting them would only end up making me feel sad.

Isn’t it ironical that the very wax that gives us a breather of life and vitality ends up losing itself in the process? It’s an expression of selflessness to me. How one ignites and burns oneself so much, only to let the ‘light of love and peace’ spread afar to enlighten those who are in the dark!

My handmade floating candle with Marigold Flowers:)

                             

And I’ll end with these lines:

“Spread your charm and splendour in being your true self, that’s perhaps the best ‘gift’ you give as well as receive.”~ Aakriti

I know my God!

                            I know my God!

the picture has been taken from here

In my growing years, every night before sleeping my dad used to tell me to pray and sleep. We would together say ‘Om Namah Shivaya’. As toddlers we would pray before eating our lunches, thanking God for giving us food to eat.

I remember going to the temple with my dadima and kneeling before every deity like a devout seeker. At that time perhaps performing the acts of kneeling, pulling the kurta of my dad or tugging him to raise me high up to ring the bell was more of having fun than knowing the essence of what it all meant.

And today, when I go to a temple or a Gurudwara, a different sense of God and what he means to me embraces me in its invisible cloak. I kinda feel sad that the temple near my place doesn’t invite me as does the one near my nani’s place. It’s because, apparently, the pundits here are more of cheaters, than ones who would enjoy worshipping God.

I don’t really believe that reading religious scriptures or singing bhajans or for that matter going to temple everyday can bring one closer to God.

I just finished reading an article in The Speaking Tree’ which said that every individual has their own way of reaching God, thus there is no one right path, so to speak of.

But at the same time I do not deny the power which bhajans, religious scriptures have, coz there have been times when they have given me the kind of refuge and peace I was looking for, and perhaps that is what is ‘magical’.

Yes, I have come to know God, in my very ‘own’ ways and knowing that it is a construction that we humans have created for our own selves so as to protect ourselves from the constant fears that preoccupy us amongst other reasons, I would still say that I believe in Him.

I’m also glad that he has been there every time. And my bond with him is mightier than these words….

I call him in my teary eyed days,

I thank him in my subtle ways,

I ask him to bless my friends and those who were,

And I share with him, in my language sans words.

I get no answers, nor any hugs,

But a sleep that follows, is magical enough,

For it eases my pain, and drains my fears,

For the next morning, with bright sun and clouds so clear.

Criticize Me!

Every time my brother says something to me about my writing, it pinches me. Yes. Real hard. Sure, you guys are very kind who always keep appreciating me, and he is the only one after a friend of mine whom I no longer have, who would criticise my style of writing ‘on my face’.

And then it would irk me, for I would always tell him time and again that ‘All you do is simply dislike my stuff’.  

He says he has tried reading my work, but never really liked it, and never ‘really appreciated’ as well. On a positive note, his critique is an appreciation for me. My dad tells me that only a best friend will point you your mistakes, not because they love to, but because they want you to grow.

My brother Aman, writes like a writer. He is far ahead from me when it comes to reading and writing. And though it’s been years since I have been writing, still his writing would any day beat mine.

Is writing about competing? No

Am I jealous of him? No, because I love reading what he writes.

Every time he says “I have written something, would you like to read?” And I excitingly read it thinking at least he is sharing something with me, even if it’s his sci- fi thoughts;)

I have shared with all of you earlier as well, how glad I feel everytime he talks to me, but just that he doesn't talks much.:/

My best friend and her brother are close, and she tells me that he shares quite a lot of stuff with her, and so does her first cousin brother. Maybe growing up with boys, makes you feel like a boy ‘yourself’ coz over the years, either you are treated like one, or you ‘become’ like one, in some or the other ways.

But well, in my case, it’s just a pair of brother and sister.

I still do not know about my style of writing. And unlike him, I do not share my stuff with him, unless he happens to know ‘like always’ what I’m writing about or posting on my blog, even though when he is not following me. I do not share, because he finds my writing too emotional.

And the way he pin points, makes me only very furious which makes me annoyed.

I would want you all to visit his blog. And get a taste of his writing. I’m waiting for the day when he writes a book. Few days back, he shared with an awe inspiring idea of a story he wishes to write. And that has great potential to get published, precisely because I have never come across something like that.

Kudos to my brother! Yes I’m proud of him… But I wonder if I’m proud of myself…today?:/