May it Be..

May it be the shadows call,

Will fly away,

May it be a journey of,

To light the day,

When the night is overcome,

You may rise to find the sun……….

Morni ye…..Utuli….ye…

Believe that you will find your way……

The Acoustic Guitar strums in my ears. Lovely happy notes..And then I imagine Gerard Butler singing:

I just want to see you,

When you are all alone,

I just want to,

Catch you if I can,

I just want to be there,

When the morning light explodes….

I can’t escape……

I love you till the endJ

Sigh…. Enya, thank you for singing the way you do. I admire the echo effect you create. It creates a bright peaceful aura around me.

And Gerard…Ah! I loved you in P.S.I love you.

There are times when we cage ourselves in work. I do so, more often than not. So, I’ll sit in the same room the whole day, then hold my head for getting so heavy as readings of Hysteria and Depressive Patients call me to enter their gates, the one where Freud, McWilliams chant their experience with their patients.

Am I worthy of being a therapist? Well, I do hope.

Will I be able to complete my dissertation with flying colours? Umm..Should be able to!

Why the hell do I procrastinate? :x

As my skin began to fold encompassing anxiety in its pores, my head ached. Mind all disturbed, as I thought and wondered how the hell I will traverse the moments which lie in front of me. And here was my friend telling me that some of my classmates had already begun to decide the sari they would be wearing on farewell! I smirked, thinking “Completing my last sem to the best of my ability would be enough for me!”

It’s been a while since I danced. Perhaps activities like baking and dancing have come to fill only my happy moments! This is not to say I’m sad at the moment. But a wish to be reticent surely enwraps me!

The future lies in front of me calling me to burn the midnight’s oil! I so miss my board days; when I was imbued in my Macro and Micro Economics questions. When I would ‘sit and study’ (it has almost become a joke now!) in my lamp’s light on my study table!

Thank you Enya, once again!

May it be an evening star,

Shien star upon you,

May it be when darkness falls,

Your heart will be true,

You walk a lonely road,

Oh! how far you are from home…….

Believe and you will find your way……

Picture Clicked by me: Locale: Diu

PS: My url is now same as before. i.e. aakritimalik.blogspot.com. Pls make the required changes on ur dashboard. Thanks to you. 

From You to Me, and from Me to you...

As I tried delving in the depths of her trauma, she almost gave me another blow, perhaps like what life had given to her just as she would attempt getting used to one. She told me that “true exile was a condition of terminal loss”. I looked at her with eyes filled with shock and pain. Speechless as was I, her eyes still moist, I tried my best to gather myself. I came forward in my chair and held her hands in mine. As I did that, we both looked into each other’s eyes, almost as if our arms enwrapped the other in a warm solace. The silence at that moment was of utmost value. Almost bitter- sweet, it conveyed to me how brave a lady she had emerged. When one comes across people who have lived through the most jolting of life events, a myriad of affects are felt. Other than feeling grateful for our own life, we feel naïve at the same time for not having seen in life what they have. One also wonders then the capacity a human has to ‘search meaning in life’. As I listened through Naila’s words, I felt near yet distant at the same time. She brought me near to my own moments of surface happiness; for I wondered in such moments how much despair did I carry within. In such moments I often found myself receding from smiles and laughter, questioning how real they were. The distance between us came naturally so, owing to the events she had seen in contrast to mine. This distance perhaps could have been bridged in a case where the events I had lived had as much intensity as those experienced by her. Yet to call an event a trauma is a difficult task, for each has its own effect and affect. With respect to Naila, perhaps my own so called ‘traumatic events’ fell short of the definition ‘traumatic’. But listening to her made me feel that we all have some or the other kind of empty spaces in us which when in sync with others get filled in their own mysterious ways. These spaces do not get filled up, never to remain empty again; rather they come closer to that of the other. Perhaps in subtle moments of feeling connected with the pained other; it is one’s own empty space that unites with the empty space of the other.

Through her narrative, I recalled an interaction with a friend of mine. It was my first one- to- one interaction with her. That day, unlike from what I had expected, she ended up sharing personal memoirs of her life, and I, much to my surprise, remained a listener. This friend, for the first time in many years, showed me my capacity to listen and with-hold all that she had to share. I also recollected my very intense and overwhelming interaction with one of the patient’s family member during my field work. That day instinctively I felt as if I was meant to be there and listen her pour her heart out. I hardly spoke few words, that too of reassurance as I ended my talk with her. But I clearly remember feeling full till brim sans any space left for extra input. This moment of recalling my moments of strength felt as if Naila unconsciously communicated to me that I was not as weak as I thought. With a blur in my eyes, and the past alive in her eyes, we exchanged a short smile, letting each other know we had come a long way and had a long way to go.

Naila shared experiences which had never been imagined by me. Maybe in times of grave adversity do we know who we really are and can strive to be. Often when one thinks of being in no man’s land, the image of that small patch between two countries, belonging to neither of them comes to mind. Here was Naila who experienced being there for she neither had French culture as inherent, and the one which she did inherit ( i.e. the Lebanese culture) was too distant from her {when she said “ But it meant, and I did not see it then, to be ‘between’ cultures and into none”}.

I have often thought of identity as being something that leads a person in life. But when the environment from the very beginning has been an unstable one, finding even a single anchor to hold onto seems essentially significant to help that person define who one is. Naila tells me that she had begun to build her identity as an exile. For her ‘home’ began and ended with her family and people who were humane amidst the madness that the others lived out in her country. It was then she brought the ironies. She said it was the stability and safety she felt in her home that allowed her to lead an interesting nomadic life and prevented her to stick to one place or for that matter think of a future. Thinking of her being a nomad brought her ‘solitary journey’ from one country to another into perspective, as I contrasted it to travelling for the sake of exploring something new. Here was Neila in search of her identity, if not roots, as she led a life of a refugee. As for her future, I wondered, then, what was future without any dreams and if she had stopped dreaming at that age. At the same time I thought about the beauty of ironies. As much as ironies always felt musical to me, they also felt too deep and distant. For me, the more difficult an irony was to comprehend, the more painful and musical it was to ears. It was in this instance, that she sang these words “My future lay somewhere behind me in an idealized past.” As she finished her music, I found myself looking at her beautiful face with awe, for words with such depth come out only after having lived something intense. With these words, she almost changed the direction of time and her life. It was in her past she saw her future, one that could be idealized; and because she considered it as ‘her right to refuse to belong’ it felt as if the past memories were all that she had to treasure and live from.

URL ISSUES: V.imp

Hola.....everyone....

As suggested by some of my bloggy friends, it seems this blog had lost it's life for a while...I'm living...but it's time to be ALIVE.!!! But well when life kicks you on the butt so hard that you can't get up, it takes time....right??

Anyway, so here's giving u a notice...

I'm reverting back to my old url i.e. aakritimalik.blogspot.com.  in another 2 days. Please, so make the required changes if you so love Yarn of ~ words..More so...I need all that love of yours. Buckets full of it to pick me up:)
To all my new bloggy friends...I hope I'm not askign much from you...jsut a url change on ur dashboard to have you here:)
Happy Weekend!

The fire...that burns

 As the unconscious stirs itself, opening the many channels to seek itself out in conscious, a whirlwind gets created in the process. It creates a havoc ravaging the steady trees, the used to be living life, the routines get uprooted, and amidst the tornado, the anger seethes into the self and other's being. The open pours of the unconscious get burnt by this acid called anger!
How does the fire extinguishes  itself, for if left alone, it will burn till it lasts. Someone throw water on her, gallons maybe needed. The fire is hot, can burn you up easily, might even eat.
And if you ask the cause of this fire, there are many. Perhaps then, its best to leave the fire by itself; when no being wishes to come near it, it' ll soon learn that hotness is not the only thing to be, for being involves living with others, listening to them; knowing, that she is not the ONLY one to live.
This fire is lonely. Has a lot in her. Some do understand her, for it was through them that she emerged. others, well can't say much about her. She has never spread herself too much to let others know about her. A quiet seething fire. That's her!
The giver of that fire said "You may not have anyone besides you, for the hotness you carry can burn anyone into ashes". That moment, she quietened down, knowing the words she heard were bitter truth of her life.
This beauty of fire was enrapturing. She could enamour anyone. Her charm, poise, love, warmth all exuded her vitality. She was a loyal one, giving, caring, helping. For those whose life felt like cold barren desert, she brought that life, for her flame was enough to rekindle their lost spirit.
But, in the path of life, she was amidst a crowd, yet lonely. Where was her being? Who had she become? Never ever had she been so hot. The rage, the fury began to eat her up now. It was irksome. She had often thought of giving up on life. Death perhaps could be more peaceful;  knowing that she was no more a pain to others brought with it an assurance that their lives would be more smooth. But then in this world of elements, she was not the only one. Like in the people world, here too existed relationships, just the forms varied. She had spent years trying to be patient, but to no avail. The world was changing and no one was ready to accept her for her hotness, no matter she was 'a fire'.
All fires are not hot, filled with rage and fury. This one was at unrest. Talking perhaps was no substitute, could be, but she unaware. There are matters in life in which we are our own saviours. Same went for her. She had began to hate herself for the fire she had become. All the elements had values. Her's were getting eroded and worn off. It was time to help. Her 'self' weeped and cried for the knowing hurt she had caused to others. The burns invisible, yet there. She saw them.

She was a young fire, one who had never ventured out much. Wanting to do, but the invisible chains stopped her. Tired of being what she had been, wanting to give up all that ruined what she was. If being a fire was a curse, then it was better to be silent. To absorb the bitterness, to take all that she had given in return. Yes... It was time...

This book called life….

This book called life….

Over years, gone and yet to come,

What I was and what I’ve become,

I wonder where the humour disappeared,

Jokes get cracked, I laugh,  andI step out,

A  ‘me’ from outside,

Deceptively happy,

One to smile, one to live and love,

Inside a tornado, a boiler, burns up,

Ready to smear one with cold burnt ashes,

Questions bother, lacerate this being,

Even screaming topped with tears,

Sighs and quietens,

For the doing seems all unnecessary.

At times one wonders,

If all could be absorbed, without

A word spoken or exchanged,

These words, tragic, yet sweet,

Come and go, smoothening the pain,

Not that the moments are blissful,

In some ways, they seem in- sane,

Yet when you question your existence,

The path you walk, all seemingly in vain.

PS: a bloggy friend wanted a happy post.. Perhaps this is all I can barely speak.

PPS: Sorry to all the beautiful Vanilla people eagerly waiting for me to post, or even to drop by at their gorgeous blogs, but some things are inexplicable. Hope you understand. Thank u.

Nothing's lost!:)

You make me Happy Calvin and Hobbes <3:*

No words

There comes a time, now and then,

When words fall short, times hell bent,

Silence, comforting, but ill at ease,

I swim in the deep, yes, in the deep.

On being a ‘Man’

On being a ‘Man’

NOTE: This post is being written in a completely conscious state, and gladly so. Also to mention that it is not at all out of sympathies for the men folk, but out of understanding, if not from practical experience, then a theoretical one!;)

Enough has been written about women. The way they are, they way they fuss, they way they cry, blah blah blah. The same goes for men species, who come along with their own set of stereotypes! But amidst the two poles, I would like to talk about a fusion that co-exists. Nope, I’m not aiming for another “Men are from Mars and Women are from Venus”, but I’ll just be emphasising on some important facts!

While I completely agree with Carl Jung who said that there is a masculine element in every woman called animus and a feminine element in every man, called anima, there’s more to that.

It just occurred to me, after reading a fab piece written by Michael S. Kimmel titled “Masculinity as Homophobia: Fear, Shame and Silence in the construction of Gender Identity” , what boys perhaps feel when it comes to becoming a “man”.

I think it’s time that women realise and so does the society that as much as some  feminist discourses talk about wanting to be in par with men, they forget an underlying aspect, which is: Men among themselves are not at par with each other! Why? Because of the power quotient!

An Ode to Love

An Ode to Love……..

A dewdrop, a mist,

A tinkle of bell,

Those Tulips of Spring.

 

Playful eyes, and musical giggles,

The birds that fly,

Those dreams on wings.

Silence brimmed with affect,

Angry, empty and full,

Let the smiles fly,

To bring one from you within.

Oh! cupid, darling,

The darts you throw,

That stuck there for a lifetime,

Come strike some more,

For those waiting,

For a dose of love so divine!

;)

©Aakriti

PS: A piece of music here:)

Urdu

I love Urdu from the deepest of my heart. It's not language, it's music weaved in words that touches one's soul. It carries with it the power to touch you even though you do not understand some words. Sometimes listening to something or feeling touches you so much that not knowing the meaning of a word makes no difference. I'll share something I wrote, which perhaps is not at all close to Urdu, but knowing that it comes from the heart, it feels good:) Following my words is a poem I share by Ghalib:) Those of you who cannot understand Urdu, apologies for not being able to translate it! I myself am a novice. :)

Hum jeeye hain sada apke ke liye,

Par shayad fursat nahi kabhi mili,

Apko ae dil-ae- bahar…..

Yeh thandi pawan mehsoos kari,

Badalon ko dekha, khushi jhalki,

Apko Socha, par na jana kabhi…….

Yeh zindagi ki haseen si gali,

Ek gali mein galiyan kahin,

Kaeenn dekhi, Kaeen suni,

Yeh daud mein khushi thami,

Na mile tum humein kahin…….

Ik din baarish ki boonde padi,

Meethi si ek muskaan jhalki,

Kaha humnein bhi badalon se yahi,

Jayein barsaayein aap par kuch hasi…..

©©Aakriti

this is the one by Ghalib :

Har khushi Hai Logon Ke Daman Mein...

Har khushi Hai Logon Ke Daman Mein,
Par Ek Hansi Ke Liye Waqt Nahi.

Din Raat Daudti Duniya Mein,
Zindagi Ke Liye Hi Waqt Nahi.

Maa Ki Loree Ka Ehsaas To Hai,
Par Maa Ko Maa Kehne Ka Waqt Nahi.

Saare Rishton Ko To Hum Maar Chuke,
Ab Unhe Dafnane Ka Bhi Waqt Nahi.

Saare Naam Mobile Mein Hain,
Par Dosti Ke Lye Waqt Nahi.

Gairon Ki Kya Baat Karen,
Jab Apno Ke Liye Hi Waqt Nahi.

Aankhon Me Hai Neend Badee,
Par Sone Ka Waqt Nahi.

Dil Hai Ghamon Se Bhara Hua,
Par Rone Ka Bhi Waqt Nahi.

Paison ki Daud Me Aise Daude,
Ki Thakne ka Bhi Waqt Nahi.

Paraye Ehsason Ki Kya Kadr Karein,
Jab Apane Sapno Ke Liye Hi Waqt Nahi.

Tu Hi Bata E Zindagi,Iss Zindagi Ka Kya Hoga,
Ki Har Pal Marne Walon Ko,Jeene Ke Liye Bhi Waqt Nahi.

Wishing you a lovely Happy February!:)

Splendid Saturday: I desire..

Another Haiku up at Haiku Heights....prompt "desire";)

I desire…..

Will you believe if

I say I had you in mind

Since I know not when

A subtle sweet thought

Which at times brought tears

Eyes still long for you

Melodies

Yellows......This week's prompt at HaikuHeights   was given none other than me!!!:):) It's

Music

Sans words sans voice, you

Pump this heart of mine; how do you

Flow this way my dear

Happy February!!

Hola!!!

Yeah...it always happens with me. Just when I say no, I make a comeback:P 

Alright….there is something February does to you. Here’s my list:

·       No matter how much couchi coo is happening around, the romantic movies make you melt like a dripping chocolate on that brownie.

·       No matter how much you hate these very movies for being so perfect, you still say “aww”, still cry on sweet gestures, still dream of that adorable, to fall for guy, one who is  somewhere as you watch that lovely movie.

·       Yes it’s the season of the pinks, the reds, and the hearts, and the wannabes that come along too, but there is no denying that this season brings hope as much as it brings a lil sadness too ( for those who don’t still have that one):P

·       The piano, the violin, the symphony somehow sounds more musical. More than ever.

·       At times you just wish that your life could turn into that of the dazzling protagonist in the arms of that guy. Just for once?? No harm right??;)

·       The cheesiness gets too much, and I’ m well aware of the fact that its getting dollops of cheesy here too, but I don’t care. This life is to live and to love, and yeah love love love….

I won’t touch the but just yet…..coz at times it’s good to be merry and not bring the butts of buts;)!!

And before you end...I have a lovely piece to share. Listen to this:) Tell me if it makes you fall in love;)??

Happy February!!~ As the newspaper says : The month of love:P

Psychoanalysis and Sexuality

Psychoanalysis and Sexuality

We all grow up chronologically, and then we have spiritual growth too, but here I wish to talk about Sexual growth.

It’s been a while since I began my affair with Psychoanalysis. And hell, it’s been a tumultuous ride; one with its own highs and with its troubling and anxious lows.

Lay people often understand Freud’s theory as pervert or psychoanalytical therapy as being all that about the couch, and the therapist merrily sleeping at the back of the therapist. Yeah. There are plenty of jokes everywhere.

I’m not too far in my psychic sexual growth. But yes, I’ve reached a step ahead where I can say that Freud, being a genius he was, had his strong reasons to investigate, ponder, investigate again and then write his findings which formulated into a number of his theories.

I mock at people in my heart when I see them making jokes on Freud by calling him a ‘Fraud’. Oh! No I’m not defending him, for I need to know him well to do that, and not that he is a personal favourite. But one thing I cannot negate is his courage and confidence in putting forth his views. Freud’s theories have been boldly been critiqued by many feminists writers as they found him to be too sexist in his approach.

One of the instances I would like to share is Freud giving the concept of women undergoing ‘Penis Envy’ in their early stages of childhood, especially in the Phallic Stage of Development. So while he gave Oedipus Complex for boys, he termed it as Electra complex for girls. So for girls he said, that they get attracted to their fathers ( between the age of 3- 6 years) because they hate their mothers for having taken an ‘imaginary’ sexual organ ( that which is males’) from them. According to Freud, little girls would hold their mother responsible for castrating their sexual organ as she herself didn’t possess it. This would make the girl child get attracted to her father as he possessed the sexual organ, hence the girl would be said to be undergoing Penis Envy. In this process he said, the girl would begin to emulate her mother so as to get closer to her father.

I can go on and on, but I wish to stop. I wonder how many of you find this all absurd, weird, crap, shitty? I felt something like this too. But over a period of 4 years, I’ve at least grown to understand that it’s a lot more than just this surface understanding. Many have spent years understanding Freud’s theories and have written n number of books. My idea, is to find something for myself, that which I can relate to.

In fact, it’s quite interesting, and even joked around among psychoanalysts and those studying psychoanalysis, that this field offers open intellectual conversations from everything you have on earth about sexuality; from clitoris, to vagina to semen to the fusion of two individuals. And the beauty of psychoanalysis is that it comes very close to literature.

As much as Freud was known for his psychoanalytic therapy he was and is still appreciated for his work having a literary excellence. Literature students do read at least some work of his in their courses.

My personal favourite is Adam Philips, who combines poetry beautifully with psychoanalysis.

It’s not that we are perverts; we all have that innate curiosity to know about human sexuality. Don’t we very nicely say “explore yourself”? Then how can one possibly forget that one’s body too is one’s own to explore?

We who study psychoanalysis have a knack to beautify sexuality: something I have to come to grasp and internalize. Call it Freud’s projection that he ended up putting his own wishes/ fantasies and desires into his theory or what, but this is one field where we do not laugh, giggle, chuckle or make embarrassing faces like teens do. We understand sexuality coz it needs to be understood. Yes, at times it gets pretty much annoying, but never too vulgar not to talk about!

At the same time, my tryst with this discipline perhaps goes a long way, for I intend to understand if at all sexuality is the crux of many matters?

My teacher recently told me that when Freud wrote Psychoanalysis in German he meant Psychoanalysis to be: study of the soul. But, as meanings often get lost in translation, in American English it became a primary emphasis to nothing but analysing the mind.

It’s a long way to go……..