C( Qu)oated*

Be glad that you don’t have instant manifestation. This buffer of time is really your friend. It’s your opportunity to observe and to ponder and to visualize, and to remember. It’s your opportunity to take an Emotional Journey that might be different from what you’re actually observing.~ Abraham

Before it could even start, I had a lump in my throat; an imagined one. You know how memories haunt you, as you lived your life trying to escape the moments which were only running towards you, following you like ghosts of the past, the past you never know would turn out on you, only till the time you were in present, for real.

Experiencing a vacuum is a phase which many of us have lived and those who have not may wait for. Life being itself has its ways of helping you experience myriads of emotions, only if you stay connected to them (myriad: how I love this word). Of course, vacuum has no air. It makes you feel breathless.  You live, only to question. You live, with anguish that burns through your skin. You live, with your heart that wanders to a place you’ve never been to. You live and that my dear friends, is the sole problem! Why? Cause it’s not really a happy place to be in. Yet it’s a place you ought to be in, in that very moment.

Having been in that vacuum before, the memories rushed through the mind, like blood rushes through the veins, in that fight-or-flight mode. “What if it happens again?”, “This time I shall definitely get crazy!” Work being the most important part of our lives makes its presence felt so vividly that you invariably get dependent on it, not just for income but for time’s sake too. And there stands the time laughing at you, as you walk past it hurriedly for the bus to catch, the metro to ride, or the breakfast gulped in few bites, only to see you walk back with fatigue in your bones and years added to your soul. For the lives that love their work and consider it a blessing, I offer my smiles to you, for those who complain, I offer my hand to you, come along, feel the vacuum, if you must, for it answers those questions you always ran away from. READ, beckon your soul’s voice and you shall be freed!

Not having any work after you have spent your two years of existence, slogging, writhing in pain, fatigue, exhaustion, can be difficult. Work has a powerful way of taking your life away from you even as you live each day to work! It’s a mystical charm that cloaks itself on your life hiding away the true facts, until you see them in your dreams or feel them as a ‘déjà vu’ or daydreams as you nonchalantly swift through your daily chores.

This time, the vacuum beckons me on and off. The grace of words calms me down. Both their words, are soaked in, one who holds the wand of mighty thoughts and the other where death does the talking. There is one more writer who needs to be allowed to enter the doors. His time shall soon come. When will yours?

* read as coated and quoted at once!

Thank you Leo, for the lovely prompt:) Link up at a prompt each day to get your words flowing.

Simple is as simple gets....

My blogger friend Leo is back with daily prompts and I'm more than delighted to tag along there, as I terribly missed the Haiku Heights initiative by him. So here are my two poems on the prompt 'simple' :) Let's get the juices flowing.....at A prompt each day

To say that falling love

Is as simple as it can be

Is fooling around

With that caged heart of yours

To say that words written

Are like a feather gliding through silk

Is partial truth

For words often lose their speech

To say that friends last forever

Like the big massive trees

Is a false hope

For trees too wither and die

To say that happiness should be strived

Like the fireflies dancing at night

Is like living in a bubble

For emotions are fluxes

Simple is not as simple gets

Simple loves to become complex

Simple for them, is not simple for you

Simple, a joke, around many and a few

Simple, the smile, radiant in the light

Simple, her wrinkles, which through her skin, slide

Simple, his eyes, small and deep

Simple, his actions, thoughtful and sweet

Simple, the mom’s cooking, for her

Simple, not, but best her food for us

Simple, the care of father for the kids

Simple and loved the blanket in the cold mist

Simple is not simple as simple gets

Simple knows how to be unique

Simple a daily dose

A breeze comforting and at ease

The walls that saw me grow

I'm a great admirer of life and its ways. If there is one thing that has continued to surprise me, it has to be life. It's malleable, ductile, strong yet fragile. In fact, it's only times and situations which bestow upon us its strengths and weaknesses.

Staying in a hostel for two years of my life was a blessing in disguise. It was extremely hard to continue, sometimes, as there were days when I felt that ending my life in those four walls would lead to people's life continuing the same way; perhaps nobody would know that I was no more, unless they would find me dead, only at the pretext of having some work to do with me.

There are times when nobody, no body can help and the walls of your little room stand there, strengthened by all the tears you drained, the shouts you never screamed and the worst fears you ever imagined. The walls become your container and start reflecting the very things you would have run away from, in the presence of your beloved family.  The nights begin to re define themselves as a day survived and the days call forth for a new beginning and a new struggle.

Have you ever been in a situation where for months together you carried on, not for your pitiful self, but for the dear ones who continued to have faith in you, even as you had given up on yourself?

The struggle of collapsing into pieces and collecting those pieces repeatedly isn't easy. Perhaps it's nothing less than a test of your capacities. A diamond doesn't shine till it has withered itself in all the darkness, a tunnel only defines itself to the end which people seek towards the light, a night, my dear friends, becomes graceful because of the stars.

Having stayed in a place where people were too busy to spare time for themselves, the walls taught me to be on my own. They told me not to fear eating alone; more so, they taught me to love my own company and dine with it, whenever I had the luxury of time, so I did. I remember an occasion very vividly, I was looking pretty with my tee tucked inside the pallazos I wore and was off for lunch until a friend met on the way and asked if I was going to a date? Well, yes I was, with my self!

There were days when I felt the need of a company but brushed that feeling aside and went ahead by myself. Today when I look back, those moments have taught me to rely on nobody, not because they are not reliable but because they lack time, but myself. It's true when people say that those who stood beside you in times of adversity are your real friends.

Relationships have never been just about the softness, for its the sharp edges, the coarseness, the brittle parts that are chiselled to form something beautiful. The tears question the doubts just as a little child questions the adult life.  The body aches with illness as there's no time to get sick. The distance sighs at its length, as it's too far to come closer. The friendship takes a new meaning as the circle begins to shrink. The home becomes an abode of everything blissful we denied when we had it. The self becomes a soul, so rich with emotions and experiences, it's like a life within a life.

As I left my hostel room, a friend urged me to have a last look of the room and the hostel. I replied I didn't want to as I had stayed there long enough to not know about it. Truth was: the walls had made an impression on me which was etched in my memory. That room of mine cemented my life in a way that leads me to write about my experience today. It saw me dance, sing, cook, draw, write poetry, all in my self’s company. That room was life experiencing itself, at the end of a tiring day!

One of my drawings among the many. Drawing, a love I found in those times:) 

That one scene which disturbed me in Tanu weds Manu Returns as a Clinical Psychologist

Time and again we have seen the portrayal of ‘mentally disturbed characters’ in our Indian film industry. Every time, without fail (barring a few exceptions) the directors fail to recognise the mental disorder incorrectly ( making nothing or everything a depression or a Bipolar Disorder or Schizophrenia). Furthermore, what disgusts me is that for every disorder the only cure ( more often than not) they find is electro convulsive therapy  (ECT; what lay people call as “shock therapy”). It is scenes like these that create the fear of approaching mental health professionals among the public.

I ask “How can a guy ( Manu) who is normally expressing his opinions and emotions against his wife receive ECT just like that? How? ” Some people may argue that the movie was a comic one and this too might be a part of making the script funny. I, however, refute to this suggestion. Showing comedy and stating facts are two different things. It is scenes like these, which are lightly showcased and are passed around as “facts” for the public which continues to be unaware about mental disorders and more so the treatment for the same. ECT is a treatment, often used as a last resort when pharmacotherapy (i.e. medicines) or psychotherapy (i.e. counselling meant for mental disorders) fails to help the distressed patient. As a treatment, it is never ever given without consent. This is much contrary to how the movies show the person being dragged to a room and given shock, not as a treatment but as a punishment. Secondly, ECT is a mild shock, not something brutal and inhumane as shown by our esteemed directors!

In a country like ours, where there are innumerable myths which continue to prevail with respect to mental illness, it is our media which aggrandizes the myths by multiple proportions, thus further adding to the stigma and taboo of seeking help from a mental health professional.

 What further disturbs me is how loosely the disorders are labelled onto a character portrayed by an actor. I opine that if a director does wishes to show a mental disorder in a movie, s/he researches well about it and then portray it in the best interest of the public. It’s sad that while our directors have an expertise in copying scripts blindly from the West, they lack on polishing their professional skills when it comes to depicting an individual with a mental illness.

Media is that one source which reaches the masses with the most impact. It is only when the scenes depicted in the movie show the “real facts” will people start accepting mental illness, the importance of mental health and role of mental health professionals in helping them.

So,

Dear Directors, please stop meddling with clinical jargon and molding into anything that suits your interest. Think of the millions out there whom your dialogues and characters are making a lasting impact and choose a well researched path than your ‘lay’ knowledge, as nothing is more detrimental than that.

Sincerely,

One of the concerned Mental Health Professionals of India

Why Harry Potter struck me then and now

 As I finish reading the Prisoner of Azkaban a second time, I reminisce those days when I was an 11 year old and the world of Harry Potter came into life with the words of J.K.Rowling. I had never been an avid reader, however with time, my academic reading helped me catch up on some fiction too. It’s still a haze if I read The Philosopher’s stone first or watched the movie. Nonetheless, what I clearly remember is watching the first part with my whole school batch. Ah! Those days when the whole batch jumped into the buses excitedly, only to enter a world of magic which would leave you enthralled, excited and not to miss, lovestruck by a boy who was of our age!

Any picture of Daniel Radcliffe in the newspaper and I would jump as if he was all that made a difference in my life. I fondly remember how my brother waited eagerly for the Half Blood Prince and the Deathly Hallows. He had read much beyond I had. Being a slow reader, I stopped reading the series somewhere in the middle of The Goblet of Fire (It was borrowed by my brother’s friend and could no longer stay with me beyond a few weeks).

Having read the three parts in a Firebolt speed, I cannot wait to finish the series. Looking back, I wonder how fortunate our epoch was to be brought to life with Harry, Ron and Hermoine and seeing them grow and mature into handsome and graceful adults.

Of course research has found its own share of facts such as :children who read The Harry Potter series were found to be more empathic than others; however there are certain conditions under which a research is undertaken. I have my own doubts pertaining to the findings. Yet, I have absolutely no reservations to state that J.K.Rowling is one of the most phenomenal authors I have come across. Of course, Tolkien has created another fascinating world, which I have not found too captivating till now. As a reader I imagine millions of children and adults getting thrilled by the words of Rowling, only to be frozen in an awestruck manner so as to read what lay ahead. Indeed, words have the power to create a world so real that every ordinary person would love to immerse themselves in it.

What Harry Potter has in it which others don’t? I wonder if I’m in a position to write elaborately on this question. Yet, my own experience tells me that ideas alone are nothing but a bundle of bricks. It’s the words, the exclamations; the dialogues weaved by Rowling that made the world of magic come alive in every reader’s mind. To add that, the first movie befittingly brought the Harry Potter of the book on to the screen in the most precise manner one can imagine. As I read the book I had the scenes swimming and fading right in front of my eyes.

Moreover, this world offers a hope to us all that goodness is what matters and shall show itself when the time comes. The emotions of Harry, Ron, Hermoine and Malfoy, a bully who perhaps every child can relate to makes the series identifiable. Then, there are those pearls of wisdom offered by Dumbledore which truly stand the test of time. They offer food for thought, a pause to ponder, as one reads and bring a smile filled with solace. Here again, I’m sure the readers can identify with that one kindred soul amongst the teachers on whom they could rely  and be assured that their secrets  would be safe.

                        

Since I’m about to start my fourth book, there are elements I’m waiting to unfold, themes which shall add more meaning as the plot thickens. Whatever might be, I know one thing for sure. Harry Potter is a gift every Parent would love to offer to their kids and so shall I.