Dear Zindagi!

How is life?

That is the most frequently asked question. And perhaps the most thoughtlessly answered, too.

I snooze the alarm, wake up with a start, get ready in hurry burry, work like a robot, and check the phone almost every 5 minutes during all the awake hours. That’s life. Is it?

I have taken life for granted, to a great extent.

I stepped back, switched off my phone, and looked at life. And realised, this is the greatest gift I have ever gotten, rest all has just followed.

Dear Life,

Hope you are doing well. I am good too.

I am sorry. Now and then, I have belittled you. I have cursed you, swore on you, and gave up on with the slightest of trouble. But you stayed calm. You did not leave me, held on to me like a patient father hugging his child who is mad at him for not getting his favourite chocolate. How does the kid realise that too much chocolate is not good for him!

What are you made of, you have always loved me back with a greater intensity!

I often wonder, what is life? A story? Pictures? Memories? Experiences?

Or is it relationships? Or ambitions? Is it a journey? Or is it the destination?

For me, you are my constant companion, who becomes what I need.

When I was dejected after flunking those final semester exams, I almost decided to give up. But you were there, sitting by me, with your steady warm hand wrapped around my shoulder, listening to my sobs and silence. I wanted to leave you, but you did not leave me. And see, today where I stand. Nobody even cares about that scorecard. You were a friend then. The best friend one could ever ask for.

When I am elated, I forget to thank you. I scold you, I curse you, I push you away, but you are always patient like my mom. She always knew that I had to swallow that bitter medicine, if I were to get well. You too would put me to tests, being aware that I would hate you for that.

You are the best teacher. They taught me so much in all those books. But do I remember them unless you reiterate them for me? No. You have your own ways to teach, and the most effective ones. Sometimes hard, but you got be tough with stubborn kids, don’t you!

You bring along different people in the course. Some stay, some leave. Those who stay, make living beautiful. Those who leave, leave me wiser. And that’s what you are, you beauty!

Only if I could express all that I want to.

Dear Life, thank you,

For the friends who stood by me

For the foes who helped find me

For the victories that give me confidence

For the failures that make me strong

For the dream that keeps me going

For the uphill that test my strengths

For the stars that brighten my sky

For the sun that fills my days

For the smiles that make me smile

For the faith that gives me light

For the love that makes me lucky

For the defeats that give me experience

For the hatred that teaches me love

For the new day that gives me hope

You leave no choice for me, all I can do is love you, live you.

P.S: “I am writing a letter to life for the #DearZindagi activity at BlogAdda“

Please watch the teaser here: Dear Zindagi

Love and Laughter

1^st February, 2011, one week into our first meeting.

“Do you think we are falling in love?” I asked, my heart pounding.

Silence from the other side. I could hear his accelerated breath over the phone.

After a few moments that seemed like eternity, “I think, yes”, he spoke.

And we confessed. Februaries never remained the same thereafter.

It was love in the air, the festival of love was approaching. And the first one for both of us.

As new love birds, that mushy feeling occupied our minds all the time. We were preparing for the Valentine’s Day more religiously than we would have ever studied for our JEE entrances.

We have celebrated 6 valentines together till now, but the first one remains the special, and each time we remember that, we laugh our hearts out.

Being a methodical person, I had prepared a project plan.

Gifts every hour. Card. Candies. The special dress that I would wear. A beauty parlour session the previous day.

I was quite sure he also had his plans to make me feel special. Our excitement knew no bounds.

14^th February, 6 am. My doorbell rang. I anyway hadn’t slept, thanks to the excitement.

I looked at myself in the mirror, smiled and ran to the door. I looked from the peep hole, expecting him standing outside with roses in hand, but my face dropped like a deflated balloon when I saw the milkman.

I kept checking my phone, as if looking at it would make it ring. I wonder if this feeling has a name: the one which makes you smile to yourself, makes your heart gallop like a horse, tickles your stomach.

I was ready by 7 a.m. When the doorbell rang again, it was him.

“Happy Valentine’s day”, he said as I opened the door, presenting a bunch of red roses.

“Same to you”, I blushed.

“Can we go for a ride now?”

“Now?”

“Mmm…yes. I have a surprise.”

My joy was uncontrollable. I nodded a big yes.

I sat with him on his bike for the first time. He asked me to put my hand on his shoulder, lest I should fall. That butterflies-in-the-stomach feeling is perhaps the most delicate and beautiful feeling in the world.

“Where are we going?”

“That is a surprise.”

He pressed his hand against mine and I saw him smiling in the rear view mirror.

As he turned the bike, I suddenly felt a jerk and fell off the bike near a heap of garbage and saw him fall on the other side. An autowallah had rammed into us.

He rose up from the ground, dusting himself off and while I was expecting him to come towards me and pull me up, he walked past me and went straight towards the auto driver and gave him a tight slap. And the public that is ever ready to vent their frustration out on any damn road fight, gathered to do the rest of the fighting.

I felt so stupid to get up on my own. Even the crowd ignored me. All that valentine fever was gone. I felt a lump on my head, while he was twisting his wrist. He gave me a hand, and I jerked it away!

“What kind of a man are you! I am lying here on the ground you have to show your stunts first!” and tears started rolling down my cheeks.

“Sorry, that fellow would have run away…I am sorry…are you alright? Did you get hurt?”

I scratched my head, it was hurting.

“Are you okay? You hurt your wrist, is it?”

“Seems so, its paining bad”.

While the bike stood on the sidewalk, we both walked to my place again to evaluate our wounds. There were a few minor scratches on our elbows. My valentine red dress was brown with mud now.

We cleaned ourselves up, and by now we both has swellings.

No more date. No more surprise. We decided to head to the doctor’s clinic.

The elderly doctor looked at both of us squarely.  We felt like we were sitting in the police station, as criminals. Valentine’s Day, girl and a boy on the bike. What does one expect?

“What happened, how did you fall?”

“The auto came from the wrong side of the road”, he said.

“I see.” the doctor said, perhaps trying to suppress a crooked smile.

“I have a shooting pain here…” I said pointing to the lump, “and he is not able to move his wrist.”

We both were nervous. As if our families were sitting on the opposite side of the table, asking us “what do you think you are doing behind our backs?”

Looking at our pale faces, probably the doctor had a sudden surge of pity and he gave us a “aww-you-kids” smile.

He looked at me and asked “Do you remember this guy well?”

I was startled. “Yes”, I said blankly.

He then looked at him and asked, “Can you still hold her hand for the dance tonight?”

And we both breathed a sigh of relief. He said “Yes.” And smiled.

The doctor gave us some medicines and asked us not to worry.

 We walked out of the clinic, perhaps both thinking the same. The surprises, the date, the flowers. No more.

The painkillers put us to sleep as soon as we popped them.

The next morning I woke up to his SMS that said, “That was the most different Valentine one could ever celebrate.” And I smiled.

Till date, the memories of that Valentine are the funniest and the sweetest.

This post is a part of #LoveAndLaughter activity at BlogAdda in association with Caratlane.

Love is better when you laugh together: caratlane

To Bond, with Love

It was my dream to see Mr.Ruskin Bond in person. I had written this poem as a present for him. I did give it to him, hoping he would read it some day. May he live long and healthy!

I keep a Bond book by my pillow every night

It brings pretty dreams, it makes me feel light

The garden, the pool, the banyan, and the deodar

My mouth waters for the chaat in the bazaar

The stories of Dehra and Landour

Always take me on a virtual tour

Lal Tibba, Pari Tibba, clock tower, the old church

To the places where Rusty roamed so much…

Whenever I feel sad, low, and melancholy

I pick up a Bond book and read slowly

The “cheer up tonic” takes away the gloom

Brings a smile – like your flower pot in full bloom…

Nature is prettier through your eyes

You paintings of words simply mesmerize

Even a python looks cute and lovely

Touch of moss and grass seems heavenly

Amidst all complexes, Bond books are a respite

In Ruskin’s world, all is soothing and bright

Simple is pretty and small is beautiful

Ruskin can make anything look wonderful!

To see the world that I have seen through your stories

I have come from far, leaving behind all worries

Seeing you in person is a dream come true

One wish remains, is to be like you!

From so many of your fans, I am just one

I relate to your works, like I do to none,

Lady Bond- I call myself in secret, and smile

Be a writer like you, and make life worthwhile

Here I wish you from the core of my heart,

Health and happiness, and all that you want

You live forever, and may you never rest the quill,

Love and regards, to the Writer from the Hills.

Home is where the heart is..

When I come back to an empty house, I miss home.

When I reach home after a long day, I wish the lights were already on.
I wish someone opened the door for me, I hate to open it with the keys..

If I reach late, I look for a Dad who would say " What took you so long dear..?"
I miss the smell of fresh food filling the rooms, the whistles of the pressure cooker.
I hate cooking just for myself, mostly instant noodles, or oats. 

When I come back to an empty house, I miss home.

A sister who does not stop chattering about her day in college.
A brother who fights for the TV remote.
When I am tired, I look for Mum, to caresses my hair.

The cold room with empty walls makes me feel lonely.
When I come back to an empty house, I miss home.

I miss the home which is warm with love and care.
The home, where I enter and I am completely myself. 
Leaving behind the world of competition, pursuits and chases.
Shut the door behind to fear and commotion.

When I come back to an empty house, I miss home.

I miss being called by my pet name. 
Sometimes, I wish to be taken care of. 
Like a small kid.
Tired of being independent, and alone.
Going back to my house everyday, I miss going home.

The dreadful dilemma.

Children grow up with their parents.
And parents grow old without their children.

A lonely mother.
She is left with just stories and memories.
of her children.
who stay far away, in some metro city, or in a foreign land.

She happily tells all her relatives,
that her son lives in America, works in a Big company.
Owns a flat, a car, and what not.

She happily says that her children live a life of abundance.

But, at night, when she eats alone, with no one but the TV talking to her, she longs for her son.
When she struggles to change the settings of the Air Conditioner,
she wishes her daughter was around.

She misses them. She wants them to be with her.
She was all along when her children were growing up.
But, now, she is alone, when she is growing old.

She has a smart phone in her hand, with her son's picture on it.
She longs to hug him. But she can only touch the touch screen of the iphone her son sent her from the US.

When she needs a hand to climb up the stairs, she sheds a silent tear,
She does not cook a lavish spread, just few loafs of bread.
For whom shall she cook, she thinks.
But she tells the next door aunty very happily that her son's visa has been renewed.
And the daughter in law also has gotten a job there.

And within her, her heart sinks that her children might never come home,
except for a week in a year.
And may be, she will have to eat her food with the TV, till the last day of her life.

But she says nothing.


P.S : No intentions to hurt anyone, or judge one's choices in life. Purely personal thoughts.

Share the Load. We do.

We share our life with each other. We share passwords. We share the ice cream, so, do we share the household work. And that’s what keeps us all the more close and attached. Sharing the domestic responsibilities is perhaps one of the best ways to tell your partner that, whatever life has to offer, we are together- to enjoy it, to bear it, and to live it.

We make walking in the departmental store to buy groceries, as romantic as sitting on the beach, hand in hand, watching the sunset.

He knows what flavor of Rasna I like, and I make sure I do not forget to get those orange candies he loves. While I select the best shaving gel for him, he picks up the best shampoo according to my hair type. Buying groceries for the month cannot be a mundane affair if the partners consider this otherwise boring activity, a way to show how much they care about each other’s like and dislike.

When the maid does not show up, it is fun to divide the cleaning up tasks. I scrub the utensils, and he washes them. Because he says that my nails are too delicate to bear the harsh dish wash soap. And I know, he likes playing with soap bubbles, so scrubbing the dishes is kinda play for him, so I let him do that. And the playful splashing of water and bubbles on each other is all that makes dish washing so much fun and enjoyable.

While I wash the clothes in the washing machine, he dries them on the clothesline. Because that requires more physical strength, according to him. He is Man of the house, he says J So, he chooses to do the difficult jobs himself.

Cooking is not just a routine business. He is fond of eating, as well as cooking. And I know the fact well that the way to a man’s heart goes through his stomach. So, if I surprise him with his favorite dinner on a Friday evening, when he is late from work, he is ready with my favorite breakfast on the Sunday morning. So, there are culinary surprises for each other at least a couple of times in a week. We add the most important ingredient to all the food we cook- Love. And that makes everything just yummy.

And how can I forget that if he is at home, and we need chopped onions, he never lets me do it. He would do it himself, always. He says, he cannot see me in tears.

I never felt that since I am the woman, so it is just my duty to manage the household.

Maintaining the wardrobe is one task we both despise. So, we take turns. If we need a plumber, I call and get things done. He hates calling people. But when it comes to paying the bills, it is his department. So, I hardly worry about the savings and the spending.

I make the bed at night, he folds the bed sheets in the morning. And I being the obsessed one to decorate the house with stuff, he just plays the role of a critic. Yes, take this, this is good. Not this one, not that great. Even that is fun.

We make house a home - out of love.

Love is not just telling each other the three words. I see deep love in my husband’s eyes, when he makes me coffee in the morning. We respect each other’s role in making life easy and comfortable for one another.

As many of my friends dread that being  a mother will only squeeze out energy and time out of life, and it would be more trouble than joy. But, I am quite sure, that the bundle of joy in our life, will bring in more love, and togetherness. Because, we share every responsibility equally. It's not only me who will have to change diapers or rock the cradle all night. 

Marriage is a lovely journey. And each moment, each activity, when done together, can be joyful. Imagining the wife does all the household chores, and the husband does his part of the duties, would make life so boring. Sharing the load makes each other feel cared for. It unites the two. It strengthens the bond. Makes both the partners feel equal. Feel respectful for each other. And, in fact, the load does not seem a load at all. All of it becomes memories worth cherishing.

P.S; I am writing for the #ShareTheLoad activity at BlogAdda.com in association with Ariel.

My Dil ki Deal!

A mother-in-law can be a great friend. Doing something for her can be so gratifying, I realised only after I did it for the first time.

A few months after my wedding, she came to stay with us for a few months. There were multiple layers of formalities and hesitation between me and her. She was quite affectionate and loving and we had a cordial relation, but still, there was an invisible wall between us, thin though. We were not very expressive with each other. Something was there, unwanted, which had to be removed.

From all that I had come to know of her from my husband, she had had a very sacrificing life, drudging for the family, side-lining her wishes and desires. And as any woman would have, she had a secret wish to wear a diamond. But given the financial constraints and responsibilities, she could never have one. Decades of struggle and penury had killed her dreams. Her life revolved around her children and their wellbeing.

At times, she would say that all her friends have so much abundance, I could never have anything. But never did she look sad. She seemed eternally content. Looking at her, I would always feel that mothers are indeed divine beings.

I started working after a month of my wedding. I decided I will give her a present from my first salary. A surprise. A diamond!

My salary arrived. I had never been to a jewelry store. Let alone buy a diamond.

My husband and I gathered all information we could and fixed a date and went to the store. We both felt like little kids walking into an adult-goods store.

We finally selected a pair of earrings. A bit higher than our budget. And made the purchase.

Maa was away on a trip and there was still a week left for her to return. I was way too excited to surprise her.

I would keep imagining the situation all the time. …”I will place the gift in her cupboard with a note, before I go to office, and then let her find out for herself….. “No, I will give it to her myself, and see her expressions when she opens it…” I was waiting for her. And was praying that she likes it.

We went to the railway station to pick her up.  We reached home and by no means could I hold the excitement.

I asked her to close her eyes. Confused, she did. I stood before her with the gift box in my hand.

My heart was beating fast. Waiting to see her reaction.

She opened her eyes, and was amused! She took the present, but kept on asking what was inside. I asked her to open it. She did, and perhaps my eyes said something that she understood. She was overwhelmed with emotions.

I said, “Maa, these are the first diamonds of your life. Many more to come”.

She looked at the diamonds, and I saw tiny little diamonds at the corner of her eyes. May be, the memories of the good old days, when my late father-in-law would have promised her diamonds, came fresh.
She hugged me tight and said, “I had always longed for a daughter, and I have got one now. I have the most precious jewel now, which is you. More than these diamonds, the feelings and thoughts you have for me, is just priceless.  No one has ever made me feel so special.  I wish your father-in-law was amongst us today, he would have been so proud of you.”

And I saw us shedding a few drops of love and joy from our eyes. And that was the moment we ceased being a mom-in-law and daughter-in-law pair. We were just mom and daughter.

And also, that same moment, that invisible wall of hesitation and formality just disappeared.

Now, I share almost everything with her, and she does the same. This was my dil ki deal. And what followed was indeed magical.

I am participating in the #DilKiDealOnSnapdealactivity at BlogAdda in association with SnapDeal

Compartments of the Mind

Compartments of mind.

Too many thoughts colliding in the small mind, they are all over the place.

Sit calm.

Categorize the thoughts and shut them in the different compartments,
labelled Ambitions, Commitments, Feelings, Responsibilities, and Dreams.

Close all the compartments.
Relish the neatness.

Open the compartments one at a time and, close once done.

No crowding or overcrowding. No collisions.

Wish the thoughts were so obedient and the mind so able.

Life would have been so simple.

Whit of light.

When life brings you to a day when you are clueless about what to do. In fact there is almost nothing that you can do...

Complete surrender is complete faith. Or does faithlessness lead to surrender?

Surrender is when you just let go of every thought and cling to the positive that you wish to happen or get. Or surrender is hopefulness that the almighty will, and definitely will grant what you want.

Or surrender is just being. No hope. No despair. Just be. Neutral. It this state possible? Damn!

Complete faith then? What is that?

Is it believing that the divinity is with you and you will get what you want? Or is it the feeling that whatever is going to happen is for good. But that is surrender isn't it?

Surrender or Faith. Whatever. It is the only whit of light when you are in a sea of darkness, deafening and blinding darkness. The only whit of light. 

Hold on.

Your dream, that you had nurtured all your life, that you had cradled in your arms in your dreams, the dream that was always there to bring you back to life, to bring back that light of hope, the zeal to try again..
the dream..your dream...
How does it feel when you see this dream going away..leaving you..fading away in the dusk..the shine dimming away...the dream going out of reach...going out of your sight..obscuring away in the horizon..
As if the force of life tears out of your body and moves away slowly..leaving you behind, your hands stretched out...leaving you with no energy to call out..or run to it and not let it go..
whether it is possible to not let your dream leave you, to not give up, to fight , to think and act...that is all there at a later stage..whether you have the choice to bring the circumstances in your hands...okay, that all is there...i do not mean to lecture on that...

But the very feeling that what you have always looked forward to..what you have always wanted to achieve..your destination which has also been your way till now..has developed cracks, which are mendable or not, you do not know at that moment, your dream absorbs all the light in the world leaving you behind engulfed in darkness..a feeling of vacuum inside..weightlessness..you feel non-existent.
all you can see and comprehend is..the road ahead is going away from you..leaving you stuck in an island of despair...
And you stand there, Lifeless. Motionless. Emotionless.
But what still remains is, the seed of faith.
Faith in some thing. Faith in  some one. And The seed grows one fine day.

Surprise Yourself

Related post: What is my calling?

What is my calling? This is what someone told me.

Definitely, no one is going to come in your dreams and tell you, "This is what you are made for."

Just sitting and waiting for the calling, it would never happen that way. You got to set out and try newer things that come your way or otherwise.

You got to do things to find out what is your calling.

Every single opportunity that gives a faint feeling of “it might be…”, grab it. Find it out for yourself if it is.

No straight line takes you there? Then go the other way round; reverse gear approach. Put the answer options in the question to find out the correct option, rather than solving the question to find the answer.

You might think that its life, you do not have just a limited number of options. So you got to be patient and do some thinking.

The only headache could be, you might not have a limited number of options. And you might always have this doubt in mind that "Is it my real calling?"

It is then that you got to trust your instinct. And not give up.

How would you know that finally you got it? Will anything magical happen?

Go and do it first. Expect surprises.

If the random hunt does not take you any closer to your calling, at least it would lower the number of choices you have; it would reduce the level of confusion in your head.

Envy the people who have found their life’s passion. Convert the envy to energy.

Why do they know what is it for them, and you don’t?

Enough of self-help reading, enough of soul searching, set out and do something.

Believe in karma. Come out of the cocoon. 

Go, do it. Surprise yourself!

Foolish me

I sat under the sky, with a pen and paper,to write a poem.

I stared at the white paper, 

scratching my head, waiting for the words to pop up from its inside.

Nope.

Then stared at the paper, harder this time.

Nope.

I positioned my hand to write, hoping the pen would pour out something.

Nope.

Tickled my memory to surface something I could write about.

Ran through past and future, trying to imagine and paint.

Nope.

I felt tired and lay down, looking at the blue sky above.

Let’s take a break, I told myself.

Blank, looked at the sky above, stretched till infinity, soaked in serenity.

The vibrance filling me gradually.

I felt, am I looking through a magnifying glass?

I saw a million cheerful faces smiling at me from above,

The radiance lighting up my face, the vastness overwhelming me..

Suddenly I felt, how small I am.

I felt my heart expanding in me.

I stretched out my arms and hugged the sky.

I felt happy, so happy, realising, its true when they say,” to be happy, you don’t need a reason”.

I smiled back to those million faces.

And watched the faces turn into stars, as the blue transformed to amber, grey …black.

Getting mesmerised by the bejewelled beauty of the unending cosmos.

I lay there, smiling, oblivious of self and surrounding, listening to the silent melody.

That’s what they call bliss!

How could I not see something so amazing that was always there above me…I just had to look up!

And I always looked inside, to get inspired, foolishly thinking, creativity can be cultivated in a head.

I did not write a poem, but learnt how to nurture creativity.

I am afraid. So?

The fear that I live with, is my companion.

I say it aloud that I hate the fear. But I share an intimacy with it.

It acknowledges me, it accepts me.

I camouflage, I live with it in a strange comfort but I say to the world that I want to get rid of it. That’s the dishonest me. Hypocrite me.

I am me. I don’t bother if you think I am timid. I pretend that I bother. But I don’t.

You see me afraid and sympathize.

Thanks, but that is okay. It is okay to be afraid, I feel so.

I don’t want to die trying to be perfect, I would be happier to die a happy me.

I find it easier to live with the fears, than trying to part with them.

All they ask for is a small corner in my heart. Until I don’t knock their doors, they stay there put.

After all, I am afraid of some things, not everything.

Small is beautiful.

Sometimes, the light of a sweet smile, can lighten the darkness that is pitch black.

A soothing touch on my shoulder fills me with the lost life and strength, when I am tired and dying.

Not pep talks and lectures, just a heartfelt "You can" can bring me back on my foot, when I am giving up.

Sometimes I just need that much, and I am fine.

Burdens seeming eternally painful, just evaporate by the warmth of a caring "Don't worry". 

When the cosmos seems conspiring against me, when I am struggling for a support in a whirlwind of worries, a genuine "I am there" calms down the storms inside, readying me to fight the ones outside.

Sometimes, in fact always, it is just small gestures of humanity, which can design the course of a journey…
The length of pauses, the amount of despair, the extent of disheartenment, the duration of distress, can be insignificant and momentary or can just throw you off the track of life.

It is an individual’s fight, of course. But the almighty has his ways to cheer his fighters in the arena.

Lest you should fall..

The greatest favor I could do myself is help myself  be myself.
All the while I try being someone better than myself, I torment myself.
When I want to say no, but it should be a yes by the goodness standards,
and I say yes, I make a cut on my skin, that does not hurt that much then,
but each yes that follows the first yes, deepens the cut, making it bleed harder and harder..
and paining me, the pain that I myself inflicted on my being.
And the veil of goodness in which I place myself, the veil that is like a soundproof solid wall,
that does not let my screams of pain reach any ear, that filters all the discomfort I am going through because of the yes I said, and makes me look a  healthy and happy face, which looks real but is fake.
And I regret saying that first yes.

just be yourself. say no when you feel you want to say no. don't try to be someone you are not.
you are not doing any good to yourself all the while.
you are just letting yourself fall off a precipice, a precipice, where no hand can reach to pull you back. and perhaps, the fall will not have an end ever. An endless, painful fall.

Irony!

I miss giving random misses to mundane routines.

Sitting within closed walls longing to wet my feet with the waves..

I wait for unhurried mornings, sunshine bathing my body.

For leisurely afternoons I spend with my favorite book.

I miss days when I am not controlled by a watch. 

I miss to reminisce. Smiling to myself. Meeting myself. 

In the maddening run, I miss myself behind.

Until I feel empty and hollow. 

And I look behind, and see myself starved.

This whole business of missing, 

I do it for a living, but I miss living while doing it.

Create a story..will see.

I often get tempted to give up.

“Enough of it, accept that you are ordinary, you are no genius.

Stop thinking of failure as the stepping stone to success, you are not Steve Jobs.”

Waiting for a miracle. That’s stupid, stop being a fatalist.

Get real.”

There comes a day, when dreams and ambitions seem a burden.

Or the inability to fulfil them, lack of direction, or low of commitment?

Whatever, it feels heavy.

I scream out loud to myself, “Stop being hard on yourself. Everyone is not born to create stories. You are not born to create a story.

Get dissolved in the crowd, yes.”

But the moment I decide to empty my heart of my desires, I feel a vacuum.

When I try to empty my eyes of my dreams, I see nothing.

And then, I realise, at least I am born to dream. I am born to try.

Create a story… will see.                 

I have a dream

I have a dream in my eyes. That makes me feel proud of myself.

I do not have a blueprint ready on my table. But I have a dream, and that says I am not ordinary.

I dare to dream.

I may not have a blueprint ready on my table. But I have a dream.

You say, dreaming is not enough. I agree.

But, is it not something that few do?

I am not complacent, I am not weak. I am not submissive to life.

And, is dreaming not the start?

No route can bypass the start. Can it?

I don’t let my dream die a silent, unnoticed death, unlike many others who dream, but abandon it.

Dream is hope. Dream is faith. Dream is the seed.

I may not have a blueprint ready on my table, but I have a dream in my eyes.

Work hard, find a way and chase the dream. Yeah, I will do that.

Do not dismiss my dream. I am proud of myself, I have a dream.

Most importantly, I dream, I don’t day dream.

I say I don't care,
but I do, I just don't share.

A part of my heart aches, always..
which is where you lived, it was your place..

The memories of all those years..
wet my cheeks with tears..

I had never thought we would be apart,
that love has no end, it can only have a start..

Why did you let me go, or whatever..
couldn't you hold my hand, for a little longer..

I still pine for you, I haven't turned into a stone..
Had you said just once more, I would not have gone.

My friend, I miss you.
I don't know if you do..

I am my Hero.

My soul does not let me fall.
So what if I stop for a while,

So what if I lie down for sometime..

When I get up and run again, I run with a greater speed.

My resolve does not die.
 I survive the storms,

of despair and darkness.

I prefer dying trying, than dying before I die.

May be I will not win before the End,
may be I will..

but, if not at the peak, my journey will end on the way uphill.