It is time, and yet the thought of telling myself to keep moving seems redundant, worn out. Still, it has to be so, and so it is. I take off the winding path and into the grove of trees opposite the last of the tents, slowly lowering my head under the overhanging branches, weaving my way through the overgrown shrubs and wild grass. The smell of wildly breeding motia and tulsi overwhelms my senses, telling me that I have arrived in my sanctum at last. Through the walls of this dense shrubbery I make my way to the small clearing in the centre, covered from all sides, a world in its own. Even the sounds from outside find it difficult to pierce through the trees, those who stand like my guardians, forever silent, forever firm. Even the wind is not allowed to stir here, it is my heaven, I lie on its bosom, and the calm is its magic.
But someone has once been here, as I see, perhaps a very long time ago, and that too, not frequently. Perhaps just once, for I see a slashed tree trunk around the middle of the clearing, a lone martyr. Whatever it may be, this willing victim does offer me a place to sit, to rest my soul when it need be, and for this kindness I am grateful to a deaf giver. I look up above, to the bright blue sky, like a portal opened up through the wall of my defenses, yet it does not alarm me. None have come to pass through, and neither do I expect any change.
I spend half of my day in this temple, worshiping that which may only be described as silence and peace, and I preach to those who cannot listen, nor feel my agony. Then again, yes, why and how should I expect these plants to understand me, when those of my kind cannot sense anything at all, any of that which is true, from my eyes, from my face? I shrug the thought from my mind, and return to the ritual of caressing the trees, putting my ears to their trunks, feeling their coarse bark on my hands and my cheeks, letting myself fall in their open arms. I watch the sun set, the birds fly above me. I am free, I am liberated, I lie bare, an open book, for here, I am what I am, however feeble and pathetic that may be. And then comes the time when I must return, to be tended to, for a woman must live, if she despises suicide, and a woman like me lives with the forced aid of medicines. How many rivers must a woman walk, to be understood, to be felt, to be cherished? Now is the time to return to my house, to take my daily medicines, and to feign myself still in my place of pilgrimage, my Mecca.
Tuesday, October 7, 2008
Saturday, September 13, 2008
Untitled, as yet
Note: This is just a start for a story, more is yet to come, this piece is posted early upon request from a reader, please do judge and comment upon it. :)
P.S: written in a hurry, hope it's not too bad
Sitting in the desolate corner of my luxurious room, I take a short, uninterested glimpse at the trinkets that surround me. Things which would have amazed others for hours on end, seem of no importance or significance to me. Life has taken its toll upon my being, webs of wrinkles surround my once smooth face, the glow of happiness decayed into pallor of stagnancy. It seems as if there is nothing more to life other than objective existence, survival, which has lately become my sole explanation for living. Perhaps it is just an instinct, that with which everyone is born; it is intrinsic and there is nothing that can be done about it. I despise suicide, else I would have done it as many times as would be needed to erase my marks from this world, yet I feel it is a coward’s getaway, and fate say, so be it.
Jeweled furniture, expensive wardrobe, yet what all this be worth to me, when at this age I be forsaken by all who live upon someone else’s payroll? I get up feebly, as swift as my strength may endure, and take my leave, towards the only refuge that I have now. Solitude, as I understand now, is a friend who can console you in the worst of times with the best of patience, and so I drag myself out, through the lawn pruned with finesse, out the gate of my prestigious bungalow, and onto the road. My house sits at the outskirts of Delhi, a perfect place for one to spend the last few years of her life, away from the nauseating speed of time in the city.
My feet crunch slowly on the gravel as I limp towards the nearby grove of bargad trees, my gait no longer graceful, my steps no longer quiet. And as always, halfway through, I glance back, yet again, to look at the faint marks of my passing in the dirt, already fading away under the dust blowing around with the wind. I stare at it intently for a while, I laugh at myself, and I think, what are ye, O futile creature, exist, yet be, scattered musings of thine own, and here I be, only a rich forsaken woman, treasuring that which I can think, for the feel has already gone away, o’er the wind, perhaps to a land not known to man himself.
And yet it is time to turn and trudge onwards upon my path; I slowly make my way through the little boys sitting upon the roadside playing marbles in the mud and betting their tops on it. It somehow amuses me to see how these little innocent children risk almost all they own to have a little more, another wooden top, or a chakrum or, perhaps if they are lucky, a machhar, the thin, swift kite which dives elegantly through high winds. I move unhurriedly through the little patch of road which leads me to my refuge, silently nod at the women in sarhis, cradling there babies in their arms, as I walk by their jhuggis beside the road. I look at the bent structures of their tents, with no apparent luxury but one that I yearn for, laughter, that which echoes out into the light of the day, bright, and sunny. They revere me as an elder, and as a woman of status, when ironically I ache to be young again and live life of a simple girl. What I need is what they have, and what they need is what I have become, yet this dilemma of not being able to live with or without it, is what we so happily call life. I have everything that can dazzle my eyes, and yet, nothing that can warm my heart.
The men sweat and drag themselves in the city for the whole day, for life has to go on. If there is nothing nearby for one to live upon, he must reach out to provide for his family, and yet, thinking this thought, I feel hollow. Where is my family? Who do I live for? Questions that have pinched at my heart every single day, for the last fifteen years, since my mother died soon after my father. I was the only child in the family, and somehow, we never seemed to have any relatives. And perhaps stranger still, I never felt the need or want to get married; perhaps it was just meant to be so. I feel grateful for fate, another escape from the realities of my life; whatever didn’t fit, fate was to blame for it.
And so, here I am, a shabby, yet decorated figure, treading upon the dust that has been here for centuries, seen many like me come and go, waiting for me to fall apart into it, and be a part of it, like history, which is always there, a watchful eye, the keeper of time.
P.S: written in a hurry, hope it's not too bad
Sitting in the desolate corner of my luxurious room, I take a short, uninterested glimpse at the trinkets that surround me. Things which would have amazed others for hours on end, seem of no importance or significance to me. Life has taken its toll upon my being, webs of wrinkles surround my once smooth face, the glow of happiness decayed into pallor of stagnancy. It seems as if there is nothing more to life other than objective existence, survival, which has lately become my sole explanation for living. Perhaps it is just an instinct, that with which everyone is born; it is intrinsic and there is nothing that can be done about it. I despise suicide, else I would have done it as many times as would be needed to erase my marks from this world, yet I feel it is a coward’s getaway, and fate say, so be it.
Jeweled furniture, expensive wardrobe, yet what all this be worth to me, when at this age I be forsaken by all who live upon someone else’s payroll? I get up feebly, as swift as my strength may endure, and take my leave, towards the only refuge that I have now. Solitude, as I understand now, is a friend who can console you in the worst of times with the best of patience, and so I drag myself out, through the lawn pruned with finesse, out the gate of my prestigious bungalow, and onto the road. My house sits at the outskirts of Delhi, a perfect place for one to spend the last few years of her life, away from the nauseating speed of time in the city.
My feet crunch slowly on the gravel as I limp towards the nearby grove of bargad trees, my gait no longer graceful, my steps no longer quiet. And as always, halfway through, I glance back, yet again, to look at the faint marks of my passing in the dirt, already fading away under the dust blowing around with the wind. I stare at it intently for a while, I laugh at myself, and I think, what are ye, O futile creature, exist, yet be, scattered musings of thine own, and here I be, only a rich forsaken woman, treasuring that which I can think, for the feel has already gone away, o’er the wind, perhaps to a land not known to man himself.
And yet it is time to turn and trudge onwards upon my path; I slowly make my way through the little boys sitting upon the roadside playing marbles in the mud and betting their tops on it. It somehow amuses me to see how these little innocent children risk almost all they own to have a little more, another wooden top, or a chakrum or, perhaps if they are lucky, a machhar, the thin, swift kite which dives elegantly through high winds. I move unhurriedly through the little patch of road which leads me to my refuge, silently nod at the women in sarhis, cradling there babies in their arms, as I walk by their jhuggis beside the road. I look at the bent structures of their tents, with no apparent luxury but one that I yearn for, laughter, that which echoes out into the light of the day, bright, and sunny. They revere me as an elder, and as a woman of status, when ironically I ache to be young again and live life of a simple girl. What I need is what they have, and what they need is what I have become, yet this dilemma of not being able to live with or without it, is what we so happily call life. I have everything that can dazzle my eyes, and yet, nothing that can warm my heart.
The men sweat and drag themselves in the city for the whole day, for life has to go on. If there is nothing nearby for one to live upon, he must reach out to provide for his family, and yet, thinking this thought, I feel hollow. Where is my family? Who do I live for? Questions that have pinched at my heart every single day, for the last fifteen years, since my mother died soon after my father. I was the only child in the family, and somehow, we never seemed to have any relatives. And perhaps stranger still, I never felt the need or want to get married; perhaps it was just meant to be so. I feel grateful for fate, another escape from the realities of my life; whatever didn’t fit, fate was to blame for it.
And so, here I am, a shabby, yet decorated figure, treading upon the dust that has been here for centuries, seen many like me come and go, waiting for me to fall apart into it, and be a part of it, like history, which is always there, a watchful eye, the keeper of time.
Friday, September 5, 2008
Night
When there's night and there's nothing to do,
I get up from my sleep and i think of you,
In my silence and in my sorrow,
Alight a fire, of love that is true,
My eyes burn with tears i cannot shed,
My soul crippled from the ache so deep,
When silence speaks around the world,
In my heart, you, i will keep,
I claw my way through this emptiness,
This void where you should be,
So tell me, love, with hollow in me,
Broken i am, can you see?
My eyes now dry, the screams quiet,
For i let the agony flow,
Let it reach through my whole being,
Let it take me where it'll go,
My arms so empty, my soul shattered,
This o'erwhelming hurt tear through me,
I beg you, love, come take my life,
I beg you, set me free
I get up from my sleep and i think of you,
In my silence and in my sorrow,
Alight a fire, of love that is true,
My eyes burn with tears i cannot shed,
My soul crippled from the ache so deep,
When silence speaks around the world,
In my heart, you, i will keep,
I claw my way through this emptiness,
This void where you should be,
So tell me, love, with hollow in me,
Broken i am, can you see?
My eyes now dry, the screams quiet,
For i let the agony flow,
Let it reach through my whole being,
Let it take me where it'll go,
My arms so empty, my soul shattered,
This o'erwhelming hurt tear through me,
I beg you, love, come take my life,
I beg you, set me free
Tuesday, August 12, 2008
Fading Away...
I sit in the silence of my own crowded self,
And listen to the symphony of my heart,
Hear it sing its own sad tale,
Love, it says, it's time to depart,
Come listen to me, listen to my soul,
Among the beautiful notes, and carrying highs,
I wish you could listen, just that much close,
For then, you'll hear, my lone heart's sighs,
But that is the beauty, and it shall hide hence,
Shrouded within the flowers, I take refuge, mine,
Come, here I lie, open, bare,
Among the glittering dew drops, my tears shine,
But there has been time, when I have lived,
Floating in your arms, dying in your embrace,
Such delightfully surprising, this magical rebirth,
And mesmerizing love, on your face,
Remember I still do, thy sigh, thy smile,
My love, nothing of you can I forget,
This wind speaks of you, sky rain your name,
I yearn to live again, the day we met,
It feels so hard, it's time to go,
And perhaps never again, shall I see you,
But I have faith, may not others know,
'tis you, who feels, that, which is true
And listen to the symphony of my heart,
Hear it sing its own sad tale,
Love, it says, it's time to depart,
Come listen to me, listen to my soul,
Among the beautiful notes, and carrying highs,
I wish you could listen, just that much close,
For then, you'll hear, my lone heart's sighs,
But that is the beauty, and it shall hide hence,
Shrouded within the flowers, I take refuge, mine,
Come, here I lie, open, bare,
Among the glittering dew drops, my tears shine,
But there has been time, when I have lived,
Floating in your arms, dying in your embrace,
Such delightfully surprising, this magical rebirth,
And mesmerizing love, on your face,
Remember I still do, thy sigh, thy smile,
My love, nothing of you can I forget,
This wind speaks of you, sky rain your name,
I yearn to live again, the day we met,
It feels so hard, it's time to go,
And perhaps never again, shall I see you,
But I have faith, may not others know,
'tis you, who feels, that, which is true
Come...
Jeer at me, yes, tread on my self,
For I am just an age-old toy, on a dusty shelf,
For how long shall ye marre my face, like so?
There is no more, just the toss before the throw,
I close my ears, try to shut you away,
And yet again I succumb, again my feet sway,
How deeper can I go, beyond this abyss?
Someone once joked, there is a bliss...
Come trample me hard, come please yourself,
I am no human, a meager fairy elf,
So try it now, come break me in two,
For you won't ever know, that I love you...
For I am just an age-old toy, on a dusty shelf,
For how long shall ye marre my face, like so?
There is no more, just the toss before the throw,
I close my ears, try to shut you away,
And yet again I succumb, again my feet sway,
How deeper can I go, beyond this abyss?
Someone once joked, there is a bliss...
Come trample me hard, come please yourself,
I am no human, a meager fairy elf,
So try it now, come break me in two,
For you won't ever know, that I love you...
Waiting for One
Ecstasy and joy, happiness around,
Smiles and laughter, is what, me, surround,
Yet something's amiss, I can feel it in me,
In all this love, why don't I feel free?
And then I realize, where lay the cause,
For a second, the hurt made me pause,
I step out of my house, to breathe the fresh air,
To shake it off, escape from despair,
And I hear you saying, why are you so blue?
Why not be happy, so many are waiting for you,
And I laugh silently, your belief so strong,
You know, I love it, when you always get it wrong,
So many waiting for me, and yet I so blue,
Dint you understand, I was waiting just for one, and that is you
Smiles and laughter, is what, me, surround,
Yet something's amiss, I can feel it in me,
In all this love, why don't I feel free?
And then I realize, where lay the cause,
For a second, the hurt made me pause,
I step out of my house, to breathe the fresh air,
To shake it off, escape from despair,
And I hear you saying, why are you so blue?
Why not be happy, so many are waiting for you,
And I laugh silently, your belief so strong,
You know, I love it, when you always get it wrong,
So many waiting for me, and yet I so blue,
Dint you understand, I was waiting just for one, and that is you
Sunday, August 3, 2008
To be with You
The warm sun, and the swift breeze, remind me of you
I cannot think back, to a time, when we used to be two,
But what should I do now, for I no longer have you,
Death took thee from me, there was nothing I could do,
Long and hard for thee, have I cried,
Always failed to get you back, whenever I tried,
For heaven would not, give you back to me,
And you and me apart, I cannot bear to see,
So here I come, love, to the plunge, and through,
For all I need, is to be with you
P.S: This poem was written back around 2001, and I have kept it the way it was originally written. Just felt nice coming across something like this in an old diary of mine, thought I'd share it with others. And yeah, I was still a kid at that time, so keep the criticisms a bit light, go easy on me :)
I cannot think back, to a time, when we used to be two,
But what should I do now, for I no longer have you,
Death took thee from me, there was nothing I could do,
Long and hard for thee, have I cried,
Always failed to get you back, whenever I tried,
For heaven would not, give you back to me,
And you and me apart, I cannot bear to see,
So here I come, love, to the plunge, and through,
For all I need, is to be with you
P.S: This poem was written back around 2001, and I have kept it the way it was originally written. Just felt nice coming across something like this in an old diary of mine, thought I'd share it with others. And yeah, I was still a kid at that time, so keep the criticisms a bit light, go easy on me :)
Sunday, July 13, 2008
Jub koi Bulaye (Urdu)
jub koi bulayay tum ko yoon
k pal bhar main ik yaad uthay
tum keh dena koi paas nahi
kya jeenay ki bhi aas nahi?
jub pattay khiltay barish main
jub behti nadyaa sawan main
ik aas uthay ik yaas uthay
tum keh dena kuch paas nahi
par jub akeli khirki main
tum chaand ko dekha karti thi
tub main bhi bus deewana sa
najanay kyun khil parta tha
chahay chaand sai duur sahi
ik aas tou hai, koi paas tou hai
sahil ki bheegi rait pay jub
main nangay paon chalta tha
tub yaad ki andhi pal pal bhar
bus ati thi, tarpati thi
par soch kay main phir say yoon
lub apnay khud see leta tha
k jub kahiin tum mil jao
tou tum ko bus yeh keh doon ga
jub koi bulayay tum ko yoon
k pal bhar main ik yaad uthay
tum keh dena koi paas nahi
kya jeenay ki bhi aas nahi?
Note: It's my first attempt, so please go easy on me :)
Sleeping Life
In the arms of a sleeping life,
My fortune, my love awaits,
Yet bound to the chains of this futile world,
Staring at me, closed gates,
Like a mercenary, ruthless, cold,
This time takes its toll,
Wonder how much more blood life needs,
Already filled is the bowl,
Yet faith there is, my love will endure,
And i will come to her,
Her prints on me, her touch, her feel,
I will not ever let blur,
And i will spin her beautifully,
Into a symphony so pure,
Together we will, dance in the air,
Forever, and much more...
Table for Two
One day, i will steal you,
For time little as it be,
And then we could have our own little world,
Together, and be free,
We'll laugh, we'll dance, we'll talk and prance,
We'll joke and we will play,
For, love, together, this time,
Is our very own precious day,
And when you'll be calm, serene, beautiful,
I will cook for you,
In shimmering silver twilight,
Will set a table for two...
Little Angel
He felt himself being dragged down from the weight inside; he shuddered as his knees gave way and he buckled into a kneel. His ever-glorious wings lay lifeless around him like tattered rags, a victim of the plague coursing through him. The air around him grew cold and the weight only seemed to build up slowly. Life ebbed away from his glowing locks as they began to turn dark and foul.
“What damnation is this, Lord? What do You wish to teach me? I only asked for the knowledge of man and his life… and what is this curse, Lord?”
No answer to his plea, no light from above as the weight continued to breed inside, and the pain throbbed palpably in his chest. It seemed to stem from his heart and shoot into the very tip of his limbs, decaying, eating at him. His eyes turned dull as colors withered in front of his gaze. The hurt had started to creep up his shoulders and to the back of his head; he felt his skull being crushed under immense pressure as he hid his face in his palms and whispered,
“Oh Lord, oh Lord what is this wisdom that You give? What hell is this You wish me live, Lord? Have mercy upon me…”
No answer. Not a sign from Him in all this… this madness… this torment…
He felt the pain marring his face, and then, his eyes were burning. His heart felt heavy as a cold dead stone… and slowly two shreds of his torn soul, two drops, two glittering pearls fell from his scorched eyes, then slowly the pain began to abate.
“What is this, Lord? What is this? I call out to You, for the sake of Thy love for me, reveal to me what this is…”
A low rumble, tremor across the ground beneath his feet, and then descend the divine voice from the heavens.
“You, ask for the knowledge of man and his life, do you not, little angel?”
“Yes, yes I did… but what is this curse that has left my soul trembling and scarred?”
“This, child, is a test that We give to those We put in flesh… this, little one, is sorrow… and tears…”
A note to the readers: please take it as a piece of writing, not as something sacrilegious. Neither was it meant to portray anyone's belief nor is it trying to change the same. Read on, enjoy, and stay firm on what you believe.
Think
Think…
Little playthings of dust and clay, soul breathed within, tiny animated figures in God's own world... One may wonder if we are here for a reason or just to cater every whim of He who created us... But then again, is it not what our own crooked laws chant? The creator and created, bound in a contract, forever time that may come? One to be the puppeteer, other the stringed ragdoll?
Are we here for a reason? Has God actually written a destiny for us? To fulfill a certain unknown task? Or are we merely the figment of his divine imagination? Or is it such, that he lives through us? Giving each of us a part of Him? Is it so that all the souls combined together are God himself in all glory? And above all... Does he walk among us? Disguised in a more humane, perceptible form?
Or is he the wind that blows through my hair? The rain that falls on dry earth? Or the dust that gives birth to new life? Is God this whole universe and we little shreds of him? Is he the sound of a baby's laugh as she stares in amazement at the world around? Or is he colours of the rainbow after the shower? Is he the peace I feel while I sleep? Or is he the joy that I feel when I lay eyes on my son?
Last night I sat in front of a lone tree in a garden, and watched it standing isolated yet firm in all the emptiness around it; and I wondered, is God like that? The night breeze rustled its leaves, and then again it came to me, are we like the leaves on the tree, and God being who we hold on to? Different leaves, on separate branches, coming together as the wind pushes them close for a moment, introducing them to the touch, the feel; and some drift apart later, others stay, on branches folded close by the gust of a passing by whisper of unspoken words...
And then, where does it lead us to? Is the whole world a delusion? Created by my own mind? Am I God, looking at the world through the eyes of a human? Or is it all just fake? The touch I feel, the air I breathe, sound I hear? Is it just an illusion? What if I am just a sigh in the air, unheard? In my own world? Where everything is just a pretence...? Rash as it may sound, could it be that even God is my imagination, my own creation? To justify things that I imagine and yet not comprehend? Is fate not just another justification for things we do not understand? Like why a woman is blamed for bringing misfortune upon a man who cannot even treat himself with respect, let alone others? Why is it that we be unfair to those who cannot stand up for themselves against a whole crowd or society, and then name it a norm?
Fate is such a simple way, an illusion, to turn away from the loss one suffers in life; to blame the misfortunes and injustice inflicted upon people, yet it coming from those not unlike we ourselves. Why is it that the mistakes and cruelty of man be blamed upon fate, an entity that cannot justify itself? Or perhaps that is exactly the reason fate is conjured, to cater the misgivings of man weak against temptation?
Is God love? That which tugs me forward by my heart? Why do we not understand love, and if we do, why does it spring up in the most unexpected of places and times? Why does a man love a woman strange to her? And to an extent as to forget who he is? Why do people break the boundaries, the norms, to reach out to someone? Is it time that we reconsider our own laws? Or does this happen because God makes a soul, puts it into two bodies and them pushes them apart on earth, to watch how they slowly crawl towards each other? Wouldn't that make God unfair, cruel? But then again, is there anyone who can question His divine will and power? His greatness and affection?
Note: Once again, just a piece of writing, questions that do come to the mind at times, and even so, it helps to think about things, makes you clearer about what you want, what you need, and what you believe. Comments and suggestions are most welcome.
What is it That You Do?
What is it that you do?
How deep do you touch?
I feel naked around you...
Does it show so much?
Make me breathe,
Come take me whole,
Breathe into me,
Into my soul...
Your fingers weave magic,
Your kiss so light,
Every time I wish,
In your arms, die I might,
God there is, believe I do now,
Love flows from your lips to mine,
The only doubt that I have now,
Whoever said man is not divine?
You make me believe I can fly,
Woman, you kiss away my pain,
I know you'll stand by me forever,
In scorching sunlight, in the cool rain...
Could not see, how I could say,
I came, I felt, and now I belong,
Once I thought I’d shatter into pieces,
Now your warmth just makes me strong,
On it goes,
Like words untold,
Surprisingly beautiful,
Let life unfold...
I know not now, how to thank god,
Kneel in front of you, and say what?
Was I just lucky, or destiny take hold?
Or with virtue, this fortune begot?
Feeble I am, man weak as is,
Wish to you, I say this,
Come into my arms, when you feel scared,
Come into my arms, when you feel amiss,
Should you feel sad,
Or just me that you miss,
Come into my arms, my soul, my heart,
Come into my arms, it's our very own bliss...
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