On being in-existent

When the tides of emotions rise like a tsunami and fall into cracks like an earthquake, there is nothing, no- thing to save. And when there is simply no- thing to save what shall one get by saving beings?

 The depths of the forest are so dark that stepping in for a trek seems like a foolish idea. But what do you do when you know that the only way to get going is by finding the very map which, inside the very forest, holds the answers to your future life? With weak steps you move nonetheless. The fear walks on one side and the courage on the other. In between walks a being of insurmountable potential often beating itself over the obstacles that come in its way. Perhaps it’s the easiest thing to give up on life when you know that the quicksand will gobble you up as you decide between losing and fighting. That’s what wallowing in grief makes people do: to give up on not just one’s dreams and endeavours but on one’s life. A second look makes one think “There’s a reason I came this far, with all the hurdles that came my way. If that is the case, giving up would not only be a coward act but missing out on a bright future which holds the promises of tomorrow!” But, like many other stories here’s a but too. It is of the never ending struggles, the anguish, the unspoken needs and the ever destructive masked face of anger. The cloak of this but is a long one. Every part of the body covers itself, feeling filthy and disgusted. The wonder is, amidst all this “how is it still surviving?...... How?”

And when soul(ace) is difficult: A book reaches the heart

As I walk with a gorgeous book to board another metro to work, I wonder "What do people think of this book when they go by the name? She looks so engrossed in the book, oblivious to conversations around her; it’s been a while I saw someone with a book and a title never heard of!" These thoughts of mine quickly rest in peace as the words by De Botton melt my heart like a solid mass of chocolate losing its existence with every stroke of heat. As I begin to break the cubed pieces of mine, a rich liquid begins to form, leaving an aroma of memories fused with a flux of feelings and thoughts which taste like sea salt.

How often do you find a book, a comfort where every single word resonates and strikes the chords of your heart, which once belonged to someone else. The guitar lies in the corner now, feeling useless, only to be awakened by De Botton, now and then. Waking up from slumber, the music formed by the chords is disturbing and soothing all at once. There are shrieks, soft strumming, and sometimes a senseless noise.

Off late words feel alien and familiar to me. They carry the surreal and the mundane and mould themselves in a vague form. And sometimes they are so raw and blunt, it's like a woodcutter chopping an arm of a tree, ruthlessly ,not knowing it breathes and lives, in its silent existence.

There's nothing more to say or write. "The stories we tell are always too simple. how much of mobility and inconstancy of my emotions can sentences carry"? For now, Alain De Botton heard me in my silence.

P.S: Line in italics by Alain De Botton in “Essays in Love”.

On learning not to swim but swim nonetheless

There is nothing new I shall write today or nothing old you haven't worn in yourself in a long-time. We all have been wearing the same worm out clothes for a while,perhaps what changes is not the material they are made of but the textures and colours.

When was the last time you discovered that you carried a strength you were never aware of? Or surprised your self by surpassing your own knowables!? Or exuded so much of hope and optimism in someone else's life even as your own seems to be filled with natural disasters?

A recent introspection and retrospection led me to understand the myriad webs of life which I had been oblivious to all this while. As I understood the older ones, newer ones felt neglected and stirred themselves up to seek my attention.I must they did get what they wanted.As goes for me I learnt to swim without ever learning how to! I'm in the midst of a huge ocean and I just landed on a shore few days back,catching my breath and trying my best not to drown. The spirit wanted to live and grow and the exhausted body yearned for a quiet death. In the midst of the two the spirit grew stronger trying its best to ignore the momentary voices of the body. It swam and swam and swam,flapping its arms and legs as swimming was a knowledge far from any acquaintance. Just when death was standing at the doorstep,I landed on a shore. Here I'm,this is me. A raw body with a raw soul. Im in the process of aging. The cocoon has been left far behind and wings are preparing for a flight of a lifetime.

The sand enwrapped my body like a blanket and the turtles formed a ring. The sky blue in its enamor shined bright, as the cuckoo would sing. The eyes weary and torn refused to welcome the day. The rays of the Sun blessed me at the brink of my death near the bay. The creatures of existence cared for a life not known. It's like Faith took birth in strangers of a clan the universe owned. I rose from the prayers of hope, that which the heart had wished. The heart rises with each day even as the love is missed.

If words are your calling,..then Kaafiya is your abode

For a poet words are where the world begins and then there is no end to them…….to infinity and beyond.......

When words stir

My feelings up

And tears are all that fall

With a reminiscent smile

That beckons the past

I look into the heart of

The poet who penned

Those words so mellifluous

And ask….

“ If her words give life

To a dead part of me

If her words speak

Of the unspoken and the muted me

Aren’t we the same?

Her heart, my breath,

His tears and my words,

Their voice, my lips,

Innumerable voices, One soul

WE, A UNIVERSE.....”

I said what I had to……If these words reach out to you, a spark, a glimmer, a melody, a haiku…..Come, Be part of Delhi’s most fantastic two day festival KAAFIYA…..where poets of all ages, colour and mystical hearts shall dissolve themselves in weaving a yarn of words… 10^th and 11^th October at India Habitat Centre.

Love