Of all the Wise Men and Fear

"Are you a wise man, papa?"
The words always seemed hollow to his ears. Months had gone by since he had last heard those words. Oh, what he'd give to hear those words again, to see the tiny head that belonged to that voice and those innocent eyes that seemed to align the stars in the universe. Oh, what he'd truly, truly do just to see his little boy again.

The small room got him extremely restless, but he had accepted his fate. He deserved this. His doing was his undoing and now he had to suffer the consequences. But memory is a strange thing. It didn't work the way he thought it would. He could rewind that terrible, terrible day second by second, memory didn't fail him then. But his little boy and the joyous youth he carried in the air around him every time he entered a room, seem but a fading distant memory.

But every time they met, the youthful wonder was slowly replaced by a burning fire. A fire that soon engulfed every bridge between them. His son's eyes seem to pinch his skin as they seemed to say, "Look at the arm that cradled me burn, watch it burn papa." His boy is almost been the most gentle human being has ever known. His son's gentleness was his greatest armour.

He always thought sorrow bought him love. He remembered the day he met her, a moonless night as they sat drinking under the stars instead, not a single worry in the world. Oh, the hopes and dreams they had, almost as if you could make physical manifestations of their dreams and hang them in the air that night. He knew he should be worried, fear the love that comes in sorrow, especially since she bought him out of a deep dark place, he knew he would drown in if she hadn't come by. He brought sorrow to everyone he loved, but love always came to him in sorrow. That night was dark and silent with no moon in sight, but she was the moon he needed and she gave him the biggest star of his life, his son, with eyes so kind, he wished to shield those eyes from everyone in the world.

His eyes became teary as memory started to fail him as the sound of the ocean became stronger than that of his son's. The cell walls shook with the anticipation of a great storm. He knew better than to fight it. He sent a silent prayer for his sins and wished and hoped nothing but all the happiness in the world to his son. The waves roared in anger, the anger of a gentle man. He smiled at his window as the waves crashed dangerously close to the gates. He felt the anger deep in his bones and shook with fear as he accepted his fate.

There are three things all wise men fear - the sea in storm, a night with no moon and the anger of a gentle man. 

"Are you a wise man, papa?"
"One day I will be just that. For you my love, I'd be the wisest of them all."



- fin

Here's a little something I wrote after one the quotes written by Patrick Rothfuss in the Kingskiller Chronicles. "There are three things all wise men fear - the sea in storm, a night with no moon and the anger of a gentle man."
To anyone who's into fantasy, these books are a great read. 

Mind your heart

Dear Heart,
We've known each other for what, twenty years now? Wow, man she really is growing up fast. You and I have been in love with the same person for so long. Now for some, that would make you my competition. But I've never seen you like that. You're more of an equal I wish I got along better. For most parts, I want to be like you.

Now we may have never gotten along with anything. Why are you so goddamn different in everything? It's almost like all the logical and plausible explanations never make any sense to you. You stick to your guts, not thinking about the repercussions, while my warnings are taken for granted. Are you really that different from my every core setting or do you do it to get a kick from it? It never fails to surprise me, how two people who are so dissimilar, could be in love with the same person.

Opposites attract. Now that's a stereotype that didn't make sense for me, but you always believed in it. How can you be attracted to someone who is on a different page every time you read the same book. It's like two parallel lines that never meet. Where is our common ground? Maybe our common ground is the person we love. It's ironic, we spend all our times working countless to make her life better, but we end up confusing her to no ends. We give her sleepless nights and anxiety as she tries to make sense of our polarizing decisions. Little did she know, it's our genetic composition is to be the exact opposite of each other. You're a wild flame I keep trying to tame as you laugh precariously at my silly attempts.

Poets, authors and philosophers have spent their entire lives trying to make sense of us, yet nobody seems to explain our hot and cold relationship. I wish we saw more eye to eye because you see the world in colours that aren't in my palette. I calculate every outcome as you frivolously throw your hands to the wind, flying in any direction. Your lack of planning and research is worrisome sometimes, yet she seems to listen to you than my planned outcomes.  I envy that. I wish I could be more like you and maybe, just maybe she'd like to listen to me too?

They say the heart wants what it wants. But what about me? Why can't I get what I want? I control almost every other function of her body. All the muscles in her body sway to my every word, but not you. You're the main muscle that beats continuously to keep her alive. You and I are both aware that without your continuous work time, I don't exist. But without me, she doesn't exist as she does now.

I think deep down if it weren't for your compassion and kindness, our girl would never be who she is now. I teach the science and you teach the arts. I'm theory and you're philosophy. Who knew body parts also had favourite subjects? We're working tirelessly for the same university. The University of keeping our girl healthy and happy. My students are all the motor muscles while you teach the blood cells and those notorious hormones to be in check with the syllabus. The syllabus of her.

I know my syllabus of her becomes less vast than yours as our little girl becomes older, but your work never stops. I don't think I'll ever get a chance to thank you for that.

I love you with all the love I'm allowed to give by you.

So thank you, heart, thank you for everything.
With all my (figurative) heart,
Your partner in crime, Brain.  

Credits: theawkwardyenti

Keep in mind

2017.
This was the year to mental health. I dedicate this year as the year I learnt about the importance of a happy mind, than good grades or monetary achievements. Actually, any achievements deem invalid without a healthy mind.
2017 crept on too fast and left even faster. Personally and through family and friends, I've seen the effects and affects of an unhappy mind. Even the newspapers and TV channels were full of events and deaths caused due to a unhappy mind. Even then, the stigma around this issue hasn't been lifted. Why?

Is it really that impossible to grasp that the conscious mind is a part of the body? Just like the nose, your legs, the stomach, the mind too needs a little self care. Maybe the symptoms of the mind aren't physical manifestations or even remotely tangible, but that's what makes it even more dangerous. It creeps on without a sound and kills you little by little. Mental health should honestly be the top priority of every human being on earth right now. The kind of fast paced stress induced lives we like to label as the 21st century living is a cry of help for mental health institutions to be the most important type of governance the people need. The mind is the sole reason you make sense of this world and create meaning to your existence and yet we don't seem to take care of it.

Some days, everything gets so overwhelming yet you feel underwhelmed. You are unable to explain this hole in yourself that your emotions either switch off or go on a total overdrive. You don't ask for help because you don't know what's wrong. You can't explain it as you beat yourself up when you see the utter helplessness in the friends and family you've confined in. So you cut off. I mean it seems only logical right? You're the only person in the world who has spent maximum time with your own brain. Your mental health is something only you would know since for starters you are the only person who has spent time with it. Your identity is a result of your mind. Everything as you know is a result of the perception your mind gives you. So cutting off and only focusing on your mind, alone seems logical, right?
But logic doesn't always work. Yes science and facts are always right and logic has worked all these centuries to in mathematics and reasoning, but even science has its limits. So many things work but only in theory. It's actual manifestation in reality is another story. The same with logic, in the logical sense of practical steps, it seems only logical to cut off everyone and deal with it yourself. But it's not the reality of the solution to your problem. Just like you need a doctor to fix a fever, you need professional help. It's just as logical too.

Many times we confide in our friends and family about our issues but a general observation of my almost 21 years of existence has told me the everyone in this current world can do with some therapy. Everything is ever changing as we all try to cope with the changes while simultaneously handling all the pressures and expectations. I mean, we're all overwhelmed humans trying to survive and make sense of this confusing world by underwhelming our emotions and mental health.

So to all my friends who have confined in me and vice versa, we're all just headless chickens who gives each other a sense of comfort, but the real step into the right direction is asking for help. Talking always helps and we need to support each other. But there's only so much we can offer before it takes a toll on either of us. So what can we do? Ask for help. Real, professional help. Life's unfair and bad things happen to good people, bad people win, wars are fought for no reason and there's a whole load of unpleasantness happening. Can you imagine how hard it would be to look at the better side of things if your mind itself isn't happy enough? The world is a shit-storm as is, let's not make it things worse with an unhappy mind. Let's work to make your mind a happy place to be.

Bad days are going to happen irrelevant. Things will go wrong and you will lose. But with a battle going inside your head, it will get even harder to fight to find solutions to your problems in your life. All your energy is spent in treating the wounds your unhappy mind creates, you become tired before even actually living, and that my dear friends, is the biggest tragedy of them all.

So let's work on our mental health. "Mental health before everything" is our new motto. Nothing comes before keeping our mental capabilities contend. Let's collectively work on removing the stigma and making not happy people, but happy minds.

So here's to 2017, the year I dedicate to mental health and making all future coming years to keeping my mind happy. The year I dedicate not only to my mind but also my friend's and family's mental health as the utmost priority.

So my dear readers, don't forget to water yourselves. Just like you water flower regularly to watch them bloom, I hope you water yourself. Water yourself with loads of self care, kindness and love. Just keep breathing and taking time for yourself, learn to breathe and let go of anything holding you back from taking care of your mind.
Remember, mental health before everything. Go make your mind happy for that's all that really matters.
Here's to working to a better mental health worldwide, 2017, here's to you.

(if anyone out there needs a friendly ear to vent out to or just someone to talk you, I'm here. Always here to make the mind a happy place.)

From the Sea and the piano

The wind kissed her cheeks as she felt the wisps of her hair tickling her face. She smiled contently at the peace and quiet and a wave of nostalgia hit her, as the water crashed against the rocks. The sun lit up the sky in the warm hues of red and pink as the periwinkle waters struggled to keep its cool hues against the burning sky. She missed this. The peace, the quiet, the tranquility of her mother's house. She wondered to herself as to why she ever left this place. A place she once called her home.

She laughed at her vivid images of her mother's house, where her fiery youthful self, thought of it to be one of the most monotonous and mundane places for her colourful thoughts. The ache of mindless misguided excitement and childish wonder about the world and its mystical workings occupied her mind most days then. In retrospect, most of her youth seemed spent on things she didn't need. Have you ever spent so much time thinking about all the things you would like to do if you were a certain age? But kept passing that age and ended up just wasting all those years and time thriving on the hope that this all would amount to something some day? Yeah. That. She felt that.

Her mother hadn't changed a single thing. Not the vase with a chipped corner, or the Iranian rug that adorned the floor. "It matches your hair. Your fiery red hair, as you two light up my every morning when the sun enters our house, it is your hair and that rug, that light up this house. My dear, it's you. You're the fire to my life." 

Her mind flooded with the memories of days gone, as her present crawled itself into a corner of her mind. 'Reality is an illusion, and what you and I make of it, counts for what is real and what is not.' These words echoed in her brain.  Maybe she was a dreamer, taking after all her grandmother, a poetess. "Maybe what a writer does, doesn't account for much in the world of technology or science or business. But having the capability to pen down your vivid vast imaginations and dreams into a physical manifestation is a skill too. We are physical manifestations in a 3-D world where we have a conscious mind telling us about the lines between reality and fiction. But we writers can blur these lines and give the world a sneak peak of the eternal infinite possibilities of the world, only if you dream my love, dream." Her grandmother was truly a force of fire. 

Maybe this is why their little quintessential house, adorned itself right next to the sea, as the water tried to tame the flames of the personalities inside the house. 

The skies turned darker, as the redness of her hair, reflected the remnants of the light left in the sky, making her face almost glow eerily. To an outsider, she looked like a fading memory, a memory of the time spent in the walls of the house. She remembered how she looked, all pent up and scared, misguided with stubbornness. She remembered how lost and lonely she felt, but she had made up her mind. She wanted to go away from here and never come back. She wanted to find her own path, away from the house she once called home...

The audience then got to their feet and deafening clapping echoed the opera house and her finger played the song's last key.

She smiled to herself as the roaring sound of the audience's applause brought her back to her present reality. Smiling politely at the audience as her fingers left the comfort of the piano. 

She really seemed to forget the time and place when she played the piano. For her, the music and keys she played each told her a story, a memory of years gone. Maybe she couldn't paint pictures with words, like granny could, but with music? She really could create some real masterpieces. 

"This one's called From the Sea and the piano. I just wrote it a week back and hoped you all enjoyed it" she spoke into the mike, as she got a standing ovation from everyone in the room. 

It's true after all. Nobody knew her like the piano, back in her mothers home. The place where she started this eternal love affair. 

Time

Her mind seemed to be scattered. The dark gloomy clouds loomed over her head as she tried to hold her self together. There was this almost unsettling chill in the air as she wrapped her arms around herself tighter. The misty roads and wetness of the rains irritated her as her shoes were all wet from the puddles. Her nose was cold as ice as she rubbed her palm on it, in hopes to warm her nose.
A car brushed passes her narrowly as it splashed water all over her clothes, making it wet. "Icing on the cake, this is just what I needed." she thought to herself. She had accepted her fate that the day would just be a big snooze fest as she tried to be positive about it.

She spent 10 minutes trying to hail a cab as she balanced her umbrella, her bag, and her books. It was a feat on its own that she hadn't drenched them all. Finally, an elderly gentleman stopped his taxi and accepted to take her to her destination. Time was running short as the train had already been delayed thanks to the rains and more time was wasted trying to hail a cab. It seemed the more she tried to hold on to time, the faster time slipped between the tightly held confines of her fingers. Her patience seemed to run thin as a scowl made itself known on her face. She was so concentrated on how late she was running, that she almost missed out what the taxi driver was telling her.

"I'm sorry, did you say something?", she asked.
He simply smiled with his kind old eyes and said, "Looks like someone is having a rough day. Are you okay ma'am?"
Normally she would be mortified with the straightforwardness of his question since he was a stranger, but she thought better of it and to hell with it. His kind eyes looked genuinely curious about her.
"I'm running a bit late and these rains have soaked my clothes and books. I'm cold and my patience is running thin. I think you could say my life is a mess as I try to play catch up with my old friend time, who refuses to let me come near him." she vented out to him. She didn't realize she was talking fast. She quickly muttered apologies to him. "I'm an art student, we tend to talk fast and in circles. Sorry for that." She flushed red in embarrassment as the old man's eyes twinkled with laughter from the rear view mirror.
"Oh my dear child, I know not about the arts or its ways as I haven't studied enough. But I do know a bit about time as he's been quite a dear friend of mine for 68 years and counting. I still now and then play catch up with him you know? He's quite the slippery eel." he said.
She smiled as she asked, "Can you bestow some tricks to this young fellow rookie about him? I really need to make him my friend. I keep forgetting about him and he always has a price for me to pay. I'm getting quite sick of it. Though it isn't totally his fault. I'm quite lazy too you know." she shrugged and said.

Suddenly her eyes welled up. It's like the dam of emotions that she kept closed for so long suddenly opened their gates. She didn't expect such an overwhelming sea of emotions to vanquish her body as she sat quietly for a minute, trying to hold herself together.
The taxi driver took notice of the shift in the atmosphere and remained quiet, averting his gaze back to the road.

This was the most random mood swing that had ever happened to her. But the rain piercing against the hood of the car's roof just made it worse. The darkness of the sky, the rumbling roars of the thunder, the noisy traffic just added on to it. She was confused as to what made her so overtly emotional that she couldn't control her mood, as she felt a wet trail of tears on her cheeks. She quickly wiped them off but her frustration grew more and more by the second. How could she crumble down so easily when nothing terrible had even happened to her? What was the meaning of this? She prided herself to be a practical level headed person who didn't display her emotions in plain sight. So what was happening now?

Her mood just got darker and darker, as she tried to keep the wet trails at bay. The old man didn't ask or comment further and for that, she was grateful. As they neared her destination, his kind eyes looked at her as he said, "Child,  if you ever are running too late, just remember to walk a block ahead to the signal there. I promise you, all and every taxi will accept to take you to your destination as the taxis at that signal have to go your way. It's not much, but it will definitely not waste your time and you will reach faster. Time can be quite cruel that way, he's a bit hard to deal with. But don't give up on him just yet, once you have him on your side, he's quite the trustworthy and valuable friend to have. I really do hope you go easy on him and on yourself."
She quietly handed over the fare and just as she turned her back to him, she muttered a sincere word of thanks. His wise old eyes gave her one last glance as he took off again.

She was still processing the sudden shift in her mood as she tried to pin point as to what may have caused it. As she entered college, she read a quote on one of the bulletin boards saying. "Time heals all wounds." The old man's last words came ringing to her mind as she felt some of the weight being lifted from her shoulders.
Maybe, it's time to stop holding on to time so tight, and for once, let him knock at your door and offer you his services. Maybe it was time to let go and loosen the reigns a little and let time do his job.

I know it's been a while, I apologize. But I hope this article finds you in good health. It's been tough to write something worth publishing here. I promise I'll be back soon and better.
Until then
xxx

To everyone and anyone who misses someone

If you were here, in front of me, with all arms and legs and skin, I would show you the dark grey cloudy skies and ponder about its dark beauty. I would talk about my day and spice it up to sound more entertaining for you. I would finally take those walks you keen nagging me about, as long as you were next to me. I would watch your eyes as they gave me all the attention in the world, as you smiled at my every silly tale. The clouds roared in protest as the rains threatened to fall on our heads, but as long as you were there, I didn't think it would matter to either of us. We would watch the waves running back to sea, as the sea pushed it more and more towards the sand. You would probably come up with an anecdote about how even the waves know better than to try and touch humanity, as people sunbathed on the sand. Only you could do that, turn something into something so beautiful, yet intriguing. Your anecdotes and analogies about the world and the way it functions are some things I've always admired about you. The conversations we would have, or the things we would ponder about, are things only you and I ever pondered about. Conversations went beyond the limited bounds of just being conversations. Debates were what it ought to be, rational, unemotional and patiently hearing all sides and making sincere efforts to listen to the opposite side. We didn't need small talk or ice breakers, conversations just flowed through. Even the silences we shared seem appealing to me right now.

I guess I just miss your presence, the true essence of your very being, your familiarity, your physical manifestation to almost everything about you. I wonder if you were here, what would be going on in that brain of yours. What would we be talking about? What exactly would we be doing? What worldly knowledge would you impart as I try not to zone out? If I could go back, I would devote all attention to you.
But such is not life.  If life is what we make of it, as you always say; then I wish to make life alongside you and go back and give you everything and more. But life is funny that way, and you don't get to pick and unpick the moments you can live in nor the people in it. I guess I miss your voice, your laughter, the light in your eyes, now which live in a memory. Who knew I would memorize all these tiny details about you, and live in it every time my heart tugged to see you once again.  My mind is a memory map, where I trace back all the places and things we've done together. It's hard to put it into emotions, but I guess the world would call it as longing?

Here's to everyone and anyone who misses someone, here's to you. It's hard to talk about a feeling that you experience every time you try to live one of your memories. It's not even remotely tangible and you can't explain why you miss them sometimes. Missing is sometimes taken as an emotion that springs up every time someone's absence is felt. An absence of their presence or familiarity in our lives. But I like to think, true longing, true missing is an emotion that happens in kind of a revelation of sorts. When you realize how much you would miss that person, even if they were in front of you. That is when the heart truly longs and misses someone. So my advice? Go ahead, miss them. But don't drown yourself in the missing if you don't know how to swim and find yourself some dry land.

So here's my small, seemingly insignificant blurb for anyone and everyone who misses somebody. You go right ahead and miss them, but remember tomorrow is a new day and life must move on. Such is this life, living in memories in a temporary relief, but the reality is still your present and you have to face it irrelevant.  There's no escaping that. I hope you find solace in this written piece whenever the longing gets overwhelming.

- much love xx

- fin -

To be or not to be

"I can't seem to write, sleep or do anything properly. My mind seems to be more scattered than usual as I sip on my coffee, with the warm air tickling my face. My head hurts trying to come up with things to write, things that actually meet my expectations."
She wrote these lines on a whim, just as she deleted them too. Her writer's block was just getting worse and her aimless and tedious life wasn't helping either. She seemed to be in a loop, where she just couldn't write something up. The train was full as the clock slowly approached 6:00 PM. Rush hour was dangerously bulldozing into the platforms, as her heart ached for the wrong things in life. Nothing she did seemed to make her forget. The more she tried to move on, the more she got stuck in that one loop.

Now when she finally had her life together, she felt a void. A void that something is going to come and take her world by a storm. 
Was it the fact that she was alone? Or was she just truly lonely?
She always liked to delude her mind into thinking it's her loneliness which made her alone. But being alone is not a consequence of being lonely. Being alone is a state of solitude where one confines into their deepest most blurred parts of their life, trying to acknowledge its existence and make way for its entrance, embalming it into one's roots. Isn't this where the world individualism comes from? That one defining moment, where you chose to let your confinement and inner self-worth to form something tangible and acceptable?  Acceptable, not only to other people, but also yourself.
She seemed to be questioning everything these days. Especially the kinda questions, she couldn't seek answers to without opening portals of anxiety and self-doubt. Maybe this is what growing up was all about. Accepting all the loopholes and portals that at first terrify the living crap out of you, but as you learn to swim in its vastness, you also learn to accept your inner demons and befriend them.
How did she want to be loved? What kind of person does she want to love? What kind of person would she want to be? How will the world remember her?
All these questions churned inside her heart, her core, her very soul, trying to get something out. Just like you churn butter, her soul was trying to churn out a map of existence. An existence where she wouldn't be so lost. But her mother always told her, "The process of churning takes time and efforts. You churn in continuous motions, steadily with firm hands. Sometimes your hands will want to give up and stop. But that's when you see the milk curdling, the foam of the milk, the thickened milk sticking on the ladle, and that my love, is when you know you need to continue, even if your arms might just fall off in pain. That is life."
She initially had never understood that analogy. But sometimes she wondered how her mother, for a person who hadn't stepped out of their tiny hut, knew so much about life.
She always thought that some earth shattering experience would turn her life around and suddenly everything would make sense. But in that anticipation, maybe she missed it already. Undervalued the moments she has had. Has she already lived the one moment, that one defining instance of her life? But missed it in anticipation for the significance that very moment?
Was it the moment her nose fit just right in the nape of his neck? Or the moment her parents held her together when she lost her pet dog or even the fact that her brother stayed up with her the whole night watching cartoons because she had a nightmare?
The more she thought about it, the more she realized the things she understated, waiting for things to happen, just as they were actually happening in front of her eyes. Her life was an intangible art where her feelings were the paint and her experiences the empty canvas.
Maybe that's why science doesn't like arts. Art is not tangible. There's no clear boundaries and limits to it. Similarly, arts yearns for the factual, calculated paths and ultimatums that science offers. She always thought that arts and sciences were the greatest lovers of all time, but for the balance of this fragile mankind, these two love each other just enough to be the co-exist side by side, and not together.
To be or not to be?

In the end, it's this chaos and rumble and that always made sense as her fingers slide over the notebook, etching letters and numbers across the page. Maybe she has finally won some time against her writer's bloc.

-fin

Inbetweens

I was his first friend. I was a figment of his brain's imagination. A figment, so perfect that we almost never fought. He always came running to me with the worldly frustrations of a child, when his ice cream fell over or when mom yelled at him. Nothing he ever did frustrated me. I was a living shadow, where only he could see me and hear me. I always had the right things to say, which was a sight of envy for him. Since he always seemed to say the wrong things to people. What he never understood was that I knew his heart. More than he knew his own, I had seen and lived in his heart in ways he never could imagine. Don't you know, I always had the upperhand.

I remember the countless conversations he and I would enact amongst ourselves. Confrontation was never our forte, but it never stopped us from talking ourselves into it. Maybe everyone always coloured you as this little perfect boy, little did they know your chaotic thoughts that ran through your mind everyday. I always knew he were much ahead of his years, a little old soul. He never seemed to defy authority because he was never one for the pointless little fires. He and I both know, he doesn't own matchsticks. He's more of a flamethrower.
Maybe he's too social to be a wallflower and yet enough of a wallflower to ever be social. Just like me, he like to exist in moments of inbetweens when his heart wanted to exist and live in all moments. His wit and charm is an acquired taste, a taste worth acquiring, just as I am. He knows he's my only friend and loved one and I'm weary to be fading away so fast. But such is this world we live in and my time has come. Change is the only constant while for most parts of our early life we were each others constant.
I know as I watch you grow old, my existence is supposed to fade as you find people are exist in real time. But just thought I'd leave some advice for his world. Let me voice my thoughts instead, for old times sake.

It's been a pleasure knowing him and thank you for creating me. He were the best friend I could ever ask for. I hope when he thinks of me, it'll be nice thoughts.
To the girl who will have his heart, treat him well. He's been waiting all his life for you and know that they don't make boys like him anymore.
To his family, who for the most times questioned my existence and yet let him be, thank you. Know that his kid loves you more than he lets on.
To the rest of the world, be kind to him.

To him, take care of yourself. Thank you for letting me exist through you and let that wild imaginative creative mind of yours run free. It was because of this trait, I exist and boy am I glad I do.


- You first friend,
Mr Murf.

PS
Context: Here is a letter an imaginary friend of a boy is writing one last time for the boy's growing old and so is his memory of his imaginary friend, Mr Murf fading away. 
I read it as a writing prompt as thought of it as the most peculiar and yet nicest story to write on. Here is what was written; "Your a kid's imginary friend. He's growing up and you're fading away."
So I hope you liked it.
Until next time reader xx

Parts of me

Nothing of me is original. I am the combined efforts of everyone I've ever known. My arms and face and body are the only things the world hasn't changed. But the person I am today is a combined workforce of all the people whose lives have touched me. So I ask again, am I really an individual? In a world of millions or even billions. Is anyone an individual? With the multiple galaxies and parallel worlds, with so many somebodies and nobodies, is there an individual? There can be only so many numbers in an infinite. Even though the very essence of it is never-ending nature, there's got to be an end. I mean there's a start for an infinity but not an end? Every action has an opposite and equal reaction. Isn't it? So if there's a start there's got to be an end. So I ponder as to what extend will an infinite number of possibilities will cease to exist even with their special eternal function. 

Is everything I stand for a combined effort of the universe to make me an algorithm of logic and reasoning? I am a numbered individual with parts of many other individuals. Does that make sense? Or is this another effort of the world's social conditioning to confuse till everything turns lopsided. My heads hurts thinking about all these possibilities and conspiracies and efforts taken in my world to come together with the other worlds of the worlds. Do I make sense?

Do I really make sense.
You are too the combined efforts of me as I am of you. I've left little pieces of me in you and you in me. Maybe that's where the concept of treasure maps and hunts are founded. We leave little by little in people and places we never knew we did, as we search through our whole lives trying to be whole. The person who is whole, is someone we call as saviour as he has achieved what we spend our whole lives searching. Is that what God and faith is? A faith we can't question and a god on whose names wars have been fought. Then is there really a point in being whole?

Life is so strange sometimes. It's almost been programmed to be a shit storm and the beauty of the human way is to find beauty in moments that aren't so shitty in a colossal of a shit storm. Maybe that's why it's called a beautiful life.

Now on that note,  slightly dark and somewhat positive, I wish you all a happy new year my dear readers. I started writing this post without a basic plot and let my fingers run wild. So welcome to the chaotic world of the inner workings of a person who likes to write. :))

Fin.

Nineteen

Dear 19-year olds,
So I know for some of you, the world's your oyster. You've got it all figured out. Everything seems to be going okay. For some of you, you're just taking it slow. One day at a time, while others bulldoze into your future, working round the clock, just the way people bulldoze into the platforms during rush hour. Some roam around aimlessly, trying to find their purpose of life. I guess whatever the age, we're always trying to find some purpose in life.

You're trying to establish yourself to an identity which should be fully functionally by the time you're 21, so that you can be an "adult". You try to build politically, socially and culturally apt ideologies to follow through when you will be an fully functional "adult". You're at that at that blurred line between adult and teenager, where everything you do, affects how you're seen as a teenager and haunt you as an adult, but never as an individual at present. Everything that seemed unaffected to you a year ago, you suddenly need to have opinions on. You're at that precarious stage of either totally wasting your last teen year, or living it outrightly. Either way, it's your last year of being a teenager. I suppose, being twenty isn't as different from being 19. Twenty isn't spelled twenteen and that's all there is to that.

19. That means you're mostly in college, juggling a social life with academics. That is something you'll be juggling either way in the years to come too, but at 19, it's the starting point. There's more pressure to keep a buzzing social life so that you don't feel you wasted your youth or "teen" years. There's a ticking clock, reminding you of being a "teenager" and all the amicable stupidity that comes along with it. The relationships in our lives seem to be more complex whether it's family or of the opposite sex. But that's unavoidable and continuous in the years to come, but relationships just get messier as mentality gaps get wider.

You start to see the world with a little less flowers and more dirt. You start to call out the bullshit in all the things you believed in a few years ago and pick bones with people who don't. You rather voice your opinion and bullshit facts, than agree you're wrong. We listen less and hear more. The overload of information thanks to the internet, is also an overload of anxiety of how truly revolting people can be. Wars are being fought, millions are dying and here I am wondering where can I get wasted with friends at night. It's a walking paradox, where we do truly care about issues but at the same time indulge in frivolous whims with the overload of information along with constraints of being social. Information where we truly don't know what to do with or act upon. Not to mention some people do act upon these causes, while we applaud in awe.

Some seem to have everything sorted out while others are in a chaotic rumble to figuring where the hell do they want to do? We yearn for freedom from our family. To be light from family constraints and to venture out on our own. We seek freedom but still depend on family to create our belief systems. Confusion is that one itch in your body, that never seems to leave.

You also start to come in terms with the fact that life will never go how you want and people you never thought you'd part with, you part. Your friend circle starts decreasing as your bond with the ones you have start increasing. You become ignorant of issues surrounding you, while our generation gets isolated and more lonely. Depression is a term you don't want to say, but personally understand in more one than one. To be indifferent and yet feel, to live and not exist, to be independent and yet dependent. To borrow a phrase: The unbearable lightness of being. To be or not to be.

Personally, 18-20 years is that age gap in which we try to form our identity for the age of being a fully functionally "adult" by 21. 19's an age of self-exploration, which can be polarising, but in this time and age? Name one issue that isn't polarising. That being said, personally I try to hold middle-ground to avoid heartache. My mother always said, "Everything in excess is bad" and she couldn't have been more right.

So in all, I'm just another 19 year old, stumbling around for some foundation to hold onto and get past to be an "adult".  19 is that stepping stone, where you can still be called a teen and pave your way to become older as you start to also see the world in a darker shade of grey than before. It's a lonely road as you part with being a teen and start being adulting.

Maybe you believe in nothing. Maybe you believe everything, but that depends totally on how you have self actualised as a person to be what you identify with.
So my dear fellow 19 year olds,
Live. Be happy. Question. Seek answers. Self-actualise. Explore. Create.
Most of all, be kind to each other. Support each other. Only you and I know what it's like being 19 and let's not make it harder than it already is. The world's crappy enough as it is.


PS: I swear I'm not this preachy in real life. Had a major writer's block and this is what I churned up. Hope you like it.
Until next time readers!
XXXX

An ode of love

Do you see what you do to me? Making me crumble and doubt myself every time I try to do something on my own, or all the times my feet feel asleep only to be woken by the feeling of pricks and needles jabbing into them as my hands searched for you over the books. My head feels like it's going to explode every time we meet but also longed to keep meeting again. And again. I like to hide underneath your beautiful looks and your spoken words to keep myself from drowning. Why are you so cruel and yet so strikingly radiant  that I seem to only focus when it comes to you?

People have spent their entire lives, dedicating themselves to you, and when I'm with you, I feel that I can somehow, conquer the world alone? I look into the world, trying to search for you. I spend all my time trying to figure you out. Time, a place where all broken souls come to heal, but I spend all my time looking and loving you. Why is it that I feel most comfortable under your shadow? Am I under some kind of a spell? Or a trance where I only see you? I don't even know your real name, your story, your background or even if you like me back. All I know is that you make me think in ways I never could and express myself in more ways than one. When you're not here, my head churns into a mix of all the places you could possibly be and where I could find you. The world till now, has shipped us in more way than one, but that's just what the world does, it creats an allusion of what can be falsehood. I know I am definitely not one of your first partners and won't be the last. But when I do see you with other people, it makes my heart sink. How is it you never glowed so radiantly when you were with me, or spoke such beautiful poetry when you held my hand. But at the same time, I wonder in amazement of all the people you inspire to write.

You were the reason for all my favourite people to express themselves in pages and make you their muse. Only you could help people to think and express their passions and stories in ways the rest of the world never could. You cause some of the greatest pleasures and displeasures to people who know you and have loved you. You're a walking juxtaposition, one nobody can get rid off, or not love.

I never knew you when I was born, or remotely thought of you until you creeped onto me on the pages of stories long written but never forgotten. You met me in the novels I read and in the poems you helped people write. But most importantly, we kind of fell into each other's arms the moment I couldn't speak and you needed to speak.

So my love, here's to you. A walking contradiction of the devil himself but also one of my greatest loves and faith. Thank you for existing and thank you for finding me. Thank you writing.

This one's to you

Love

Manasi

PS: If you didn't understand who's the person I'm addressing this to, read between the lines or re-read. I like to be very subtle in these things and hope you get what this is all about. 

Thank you readers, until next time! 

 

Sunny Days

Her father had a way with worlds. Even in the lowest of times, when the bombs flooded her home with blood and human parts of loved ones, he would simply just wash it off and move on. He'd always turned and look back at her, point towards the big ball of fire in the great heavens above, laugh and say, "That's where they are. Look up! It's so shiny there, look child, look!" She'd smile as his laughter melted into hers. She never quite understood why people were leaving Syria, and going to the big ball. But nevertheless she wanted to go there too, but her father didn't like it there she guessed. Maybe that's why he never took her there. Her mother and sisters had already left for the big ball, so couldn't she?

Even when they crossed the big blue ocean, he never stopped talking about the great big ball. It always hurt when she looked at it. But she never did stop dreaming about it. Even when their tiny boat was almost swallowed by the chaos of the ocean; not even then. She imaged the big ball as her fairy tales described it, with all the girls in their shimmery long gowns, all the boys in their best clad clothes, as the big ball swayed in happiness in the presence of all her loved ones. Every night, she prayed for the mornings, even though the big ball burned her skin most days.
Her father never stopped telling stories of all the pretty balls taking place up there. He never stopped. 

As they neared land, she knew her father was half the size he was back in Syria. When they hugged, her hands never felt so empty and worried her father was leaving. Leaving to get ready for the big ball. She asked him if he was going to take her there, to which, her father just smiled and said, ''No. I have to prepare the people in the big ball for you. The people of this land won't be able to withstand the shine of the big ball if you came child, for that I might leave you here, alone. I'm so sorry!''. She didn't know what her father was saying sorry for,  but felt saddened of the thought of her father leaving, but also happy he was going to her favourite place.

Her father didn't last more than 3 days at the refugee camp. But in those 3 days, he had already informed her of the colour of the ball gown he was going to prepare, her shoes, jewellery, everything. She told him all of her heart's desires and how she had pictured the ball in her head to be, as he promised he would make it all come true.

On the night that he died, she remembered the next morning being the hottest and most sunniest day ever. Almost the whole of mankind on earth wailed and cried about the warmth, but she didn't. "My father's in that big ball up there and almost my whole country is up there celebrating him. He's the most beautiful man they'll ever see and that's why they are celebrating him. Isn't that just wonderful?" she'd tell everybody, as she laughed and closed her eyes to breathe in the magic of the sun and all the people in it, celebrating her father. 

And what a sunny, sunny day that was.

Side note: I'm trying my hand at short stories. Let me know if you think this is any good in the comments below.
This one's for all the refugees in the world. I'm sorry that this is happening and hope you find this in good health. I hope you find your sun in this darkness.
Sending love, hugs, warmth and sunning days to you,
Love
Keen Blogger.

With all my heart

I guess, I never really thought of the superhero she thought me to be. I was just a part of her, working non-stop, daily to keep her alive and did my best to keep her safe. She never wanted anything from me, apart from the fact that I never stopped giving her the strength and will to live. I never stopped trying to prove my worth and I guess.... she knew that too. But everyone knew, that without me? She'd never have made it this far.

I'm not saying that she didn't return the gesture. She did. She never once complained when she had to cook taste-less health meals because of my poor condition or the money she spent on my medications. I guess she blamed herself for my condition and was frightened that I would leave her. Little did she know, there is nothing in the world that'll ever make me stop loving her and caring for her. I have been through everything with her, right from an infant to the 70 year old graceful woman she is today. Although, I never stopped working, never stopped fulfilling my duties towards her, never stopped loving her, she still blamed herself. Didn’t she know? God had programmed me for her. A slightly neurotic workaholic who'd never stop beating my body for her every whim. I was the reason of her existence and she to mine. Ours was a love affair for the movies, and yet I don't think she ever knew of my love.

I still remember the days she tried to keep herself happy even though I knew she wasn't. To all the boys and friends and loved ones who broke her heart, I've never met you, but I sure know the importance of your being in her life as you left me to pick up the pieces. But I guess the heart wants what it wants. I remember the happy days when she lifted her child for the first time or the day she graduated. I even remember the sad days when her father died or when her dog Bozo passed away. I guess I remember everything as I was there in every step of the way.

But I don’t think she ever knew about our little romance because I never was one for the camera. I did what I had to, to keep ourselves afloat and never complained. But I never gave up on her. I'm glad out of everyone in the world, we chose each other. I hope she can forgive me for when I’m finally getting too tired. I know her body is failing as old age catches up to her and I may not as strong to support her, but I hope she had a nice life just as I did, beating for her.

 -Love always
Your Heart.

 

Note: Since it was World Health Day on April 7^th, here’s my twist on it and hope we can start looking after our bodies and be healthier, for as long as we live. In this case, the heart. This is how I think the heart if it could speak, would speak about the uncanny romance it has with each of us. That or I have a wild imagination.

Side note: How many of you thought this as a story of the heart and his preceding human being? Be unabashedly truthful and let me know if I can write such stories without giving away the suspense and be too mainstream, losing the plot twist.

Also if I should try to write such things more often? Let me know in the comments.

With love from the bottom of my heart. (Literally and figuratively in this case)
Thank you for reading.

Until next time.

XXXX

 

Breaking the Silence

 So recently Barhka Dutt, a journalist and author, recently opened up about being a child sexual abuse survivor in her new book 'This Unique Land- Stories from India's Fault Lines.'

 And as expected, our highly esteemed and sensitive Indian masses, especially men won standing position in their all rounded compassionate comment and behavior towards her story. One man wrote at that way a women can earn sympathy in the public eye is by making up false allegations of being a sexual abuse survivor while others told her to shut it and stop fabricating stories to get attention. Or even one very detailed comment about how the abuser must've been abused by Barkha and not the other way around as even his street dog won't look at her. I mean let’s not drag animals, who have more class, sympathy and brains than this crass young man, into the picture.

Can everyone please... just take a moment of silence and look at these internet trolls and absolute insensitive masses who live in our country?

Here is a woman journalist, who personally speaking, I too am not a fan of her but sympathy is what makes us humans, and a little sympathy can go a long way. She's got her fair share of mistakes and black clouds that have marred her for some, but does that give the right to anyone, and I mean anyone, to laugh and joke about a weighty issue as her being sexually abused as a little girl? THIS. This is exactly why we as an India society are still backwards when it comes to talking about issues of mental health and child abuse as we have been taught from the start to respect elders and how elder can never do wrong, be wrong and are our superheroes.

Imagine an uncle or an aunt, who you know is immediate family and see her/him on a regular bases when it comes to a family event, as you are almost forced to greet them with a smile and touch their feet, worshipping them, and always giving them their due respect as expected from societal norms.

Even though, the last time you met, you hated the way they touched your tender body but you kept quiet as you being a child thought it was your cousin Riya or Rahul also went through. This is normal. Maybe I am a little abnormal as he's/she's family. We're bounded by blood, and this person cannot and will not hurt me. I mean, blood is thicker than water, right?

But maybe, over a game of hide-n-seek you chat and realize that your cousins don't go through what you went through. You think to yourself, maybe I'm his/her favorite and should feel special. You try and you try, but you just can't let go that vile feeling and you hide the disgust of being touched. You will try to tell your mother or father, who will shun you for even thinking that your uncle-ji/ aunty-ji would even do such a thing. I mean which human is ready to accept that they are related to a monster?

Years and years pass by, your brain must've crammed this to the back and you move on in life but suddenly you read something, see something or let a boy/ girl touch you and you feel like you're chest is a coil which suddenly breaks and all you're left with is anxiety and flashbacks of the past you never truly escaped.

When you finally have the courage to share it as an adult, people hate on you and ask questions as to why you never spoke up before. Just like we're taught, we can't speak when not asked. But when we finally are asked, it's too late? There must be some loophole you could use to voice your opinions without getting hate, but there never is.

Here's some statistics for you:

Of the children interviewed by a 2007 survey conducted by Humans Rights Watch, more than half (53 percent) said that they had been subjected to one or more forms of sexual abuse. Over 20 percent of those interviewed said they were subjected to severe forms of abuse, defined in the report as “sexual assault, making the child fondle private parts, making the child exhibit private body parts and being photographed in the nude.” Of those who said they were sexually abused, 57 percent were boys.

The survey also found that very few cases are ever reported. The vast majority of victims (72 percent) said that they did not report the matter to anyone and only 3 percent of them or their families told the police. In most cases the perpetrator was known to the child. The 2007 government survey found that among abused children, only 25 percent had told anyone, and only in 3 percent of the cases had the police been informed. As in many other countries, deep-rooted cultural norms discouraged open discussion of sex and make it hard for a child to complain about older relative or a person in authority.

Now, do you understand how vital this topic is? By making jokes and trolls on the internet on a woman who finally got the courage to speak out, you are actively propagating in shaming victims of child abuse and bullying them to keep their silence. It's time we talked about the big suffocating and disturbing elephant in the room. It's time we broke the silence.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

  

 

 

 

India Untouched

So as most of you know, the Indian Constitution has abolished laws regarding untouchability to keep in terms with the constitution which states equal opportunities to be given to all irrespective of creed, cast, religion, sex, etc.
But sadly, in reality, the pictures isn't black and white.
Just as my exams were approaching, I was asked to watch a documentary for the Dalit Movement in India. The documentary's name is "India Untouched" and can be seen on YouTube.

First things first, I would like to implore everyone reading this to take out some time and watch his documentary. Let's get out of our urbanised shells and realise, India is a country based, formed, enshrined and ingrained about the caste system.
Now you and I living in our apartment in cities and town, reading this on our phones and tablets may not feel that our country, our very dear motherland and its citizens do not practise ''untouchability".
Oh come on, that is an archaic vile concept which nobody practices in society, but my dear fellow urban Indian, drive a 100 kilo-meters away from your homes and you'll realise that India is just the way it was when the British left. There is no change.

As I sat watching this documentary, I was beyond ashamed and helpless of belonging to this nation, of calling its citizens fellow humans with the aim to develop our country. But sadly, this bubble was popped. I was stripped off my rainbow and urban developed glasses and handled out a vision I couldn't wrap my head around.

I would like to formally apologise  to ever complain about the reservation system and how it effects the general masses, if the Dalits or the supposed lower casts have to live a life of slavery under the pretence of religion based on the caste system. I'm sorry for ever thinking the Dalits had it easy in case of never studying as much as me and getting seats in educational institutes. I'm sorry I ever though Indians could see past caste and religion. I'm sorry for thinking we have traits of being decent human beings.
I'm sorry for ever thinking casteism had been curbed and things were finally looking better. I'm sorry I never understood the reasons behind the Dalit movement and the Naxalite movement. For straight away figuring the Naxals were just bullying the government more to give them more reservation. (No, I don't in any way support or propagate naxalism, but more like understand where all this hate against the state is coming from) . I'm sorry I've been blinded by the urban media and the society and its propaganda, to think everything was okay and India was getting better. That India was actually developing socially and the stigma against caste was slowing rising.

Little kids from the age of 4 being taught that if they touched a Harijan they would be polluted. Their innocent smiles speaks of a gentle touch but their vile words coming from their mouths strained of the archaic caste system is a sight to see. The feelings that arise can't be described as reality that suddenly tastes bitter in my mouth.

 Dalits in parts of Bihar, Andhra Pradesh, Kerala, Punjab and a few more, cannot walk on the grounds of the upper caste with slippers, they cannot enter houses, they can't take milk or water without touching the vessel to avoid "polluting" the upper caste. The list is never ending and it just gets worse. To top it off- when asked why they practise Untouchability? -one unanimous answer. We don't know why, but our elders have taught us so, so we listen.

Even the way the scholarly pandits of Varanasi speak about how the caste system came into existence. God created the world and the people who live in it by first and the top- making the Brahmin's (priest) from his body, his head. The Kshatriyas (rulers and warriors) from the arms, the Vaishyas (artist and merchants) from the thighs of God's body and the lowest Shudras (labour  class) from his feet.
As biologically speaking, the feet is the lowest part of the body, hence the Shudras or the Dalits are considered the lowest caste and so are untouchables for the upper castes.
Hence it is written in the Vedas and so every Hindus' must follow it. God is the supreme and what he says is written in the books and so we must follow the books said one religious head.
Even Muslim and Christian converts are not spare. Religion may change, but caste is almost engraved in the soul and Dalits are time and again reminded of their place, on the ground. Literally and figuratively.

The sheer ignorance on part of us and the silent acceptance of the Dalits into a more than a decade long history of slavery is something that sends chills down my spine.

The horrific stories of employment given to the Dalits is spell bounding.  From doing the dirtiest jobs of cleaning bathrooms, to picking up death bodies from train accidents, to cleaning up after a delivery of a child from throwing away the placenta to cleaning up the residue blood on the child, everything is done by them. The lowest of the lowest or the dirtiest jobs which nobody wants to do, is ruled by the Dalits.
Isn't it funny how we call the garbage cleaning woman as "kachrawali" meaning (waste producer) when in actuality she cleans up your crap and you're the one that creates it. Maybe its time we call ourselves kachrawalas, since we even treat our fellow humans as crap. We're the ones that produce all that waste and dirt, but they are the ones who clean it, feel the brunt of cleaning it while facing systematic oppression  from the upper caste.

Dalit in literal translation means broken people. It is heartbreaking to see that your own countrymen follow the absurdities of caste and treat their fellow beings worse than dogs. Even dogs are allowed to eat, drink, enter the houses of the upper caste, but god forbid a Dalit touches you.

Dalits aren't broken by choice, but broken by us. The supposed upper caste who run over them blindly, just because of a few words attached to our name, which is of more importance than the self respect and dignity of another human being.

If this is the world we continue to live in, I refuse to sometimes to associate myself as a human anymore. Even the jungle has more class than us. 

It's a horrible world we live in friends, a truly misguided by religion, absurd from the start of it, which I am to now almost forced to call as home.

Dear India, is this really the 21st century you want to live? 

Until next time readers.

Here is the link on YouTube. The documentary is divided in 10 parts. 

 https://m.youtube.com/playlist?list=PL42E6CDA90AC45951

Maybe

Maybe its just not meant to be.

Maybe it was just a bad day.

Maybe its not you.

Maybe its god finally having enough of your tantrums.

Maybe this world is a conspiracy.

Maybe you're not enough.

Maybe you're thin.

Maybe you're ugly 

Maybe its meant to be

Maybe it is a good day.

Maybe it is you.

Maybe its god having a ball with you're life choices.

Maybe this world is a decent place.

Maybe you're enough.

Maybe you're fat

Maybe you're beautiful. 

Maybe you respect traditions.

Maybe you just don't give a shit.

Maybe you believe in a God.

Maybe you don't.

Maybe you believe in religion.

Maybe you believe in science. 

Maybe you have future plans.

Maybe you can't plan at all.

Maybe you talk back to elders.

Maybe you are just plain rude.

Maybe you are nice.

Maybe you like a boy.

Maybe you like a girl.

Maybe you like both.

Maybe you need love.

Maybe you want love.

Maybe, your maybe is not enough.

Maybe, your maybe is good enough.

Maybe, your maybe is a guarantee.

Maybe, your maybe is a lie.

Maybe, your maybe is a turning point.

Maybe, your maybe is a steep fall.

Maybe, I really should stop caring about the world's maybe's.

Maybe, just maybe, it is what it is.

A loophole. A maybe 

An Unlikely Diwali

I noticed him, sitting on his bed, lazing around while my mother ran around the house, yelling at the maid to dust properly as she herself cleaned and washed out the curtains and bedsheets. November had begun and so did the cold, but with Diwali just around the corner and the yearly house cleaning had begun. I could see him clearly annoyed at the fact like his house was being topped over and being scubbed nice and shiny. Just like me, he didn't like change. Maybe he'll miss the smell of the old house, as mother saw to it that house smelled of new paint and turpentine. A makeover to wash over the old. He stuck his little nose out in annoyance as I laughed in amusement.

Even though he didn't fit under the normal companions-to-have in society, little did he know that he meant the world to me. He didn't talk much and couldn't understand my language, but our eyes did all the talking. His brain might have lacked the normal intelligence of a normal human, but he was in every way smarter than any other person I'd ever known. His beady little eyes looked up as he caught starring at me as I quickly looked away and pretending like he wasn't there. He and I were on a time out. He had, after all, spilt a whole carton of milk on my favourite sweatshirt that very morning. I couldn't give him the satisfaction of knowing I was staring at him, let alone thinking of him. He always got out of tricky situations but this time I didn't want to give in. I couldn't almost feel his mischievous eyes on me, as I imagined him laughing his heart out.  I couldn't stay mad at him for long, even if I tried and he knew that; so before he could approach me, I quickly walked out and locked myself in my bedroom as he yelled my name. I'm sorry, but you mess with my favourite sweatshirt, you get the silent treatment.

Somehow I managed to nod off to sleep.

Not knowing how, or for how long, I found myself waking up to the noise of firecrackers and rockets as people all around me we're celebrating the festival of Diwali. I sat quietly and stared out of my window to the multicoloured and glittery skyline as the smog got heavier and the burnt smell hung in the air. I knew mom would soon come up demanding I dress up and come to the pooja so I decided to get ready. 

When I suddenly heard him scream in pain. I ran downstairs and took him in my arms as I hugged him and whispered soothing words in his ears. Nothing seemed to work. My mom then quickly shut all the windows and doors in hopes of making our house a little more soundproof but alas, nothing worked. I brushed his soft brown hair as I tried to put on the TV to his favourite channel but he just yelled lounder and hid under the bed. Little did I know that my little furry friend was going to be this scared of crackers. The sound of his cries made my heart bleed as I sat helplessly trying to soothe things for my little furry companion as the sounds of the firecrackers just got louder as his cries got softer and he whimpered in pain. Maybe the festival of light isn't really a festival for him at all. "Hey there buddy, I'm right here. Right here with you." I whispered as his terrified eyes looked at me in question,"But my ears hurt. Do something." 

Atleast I can lessen the sounds for my dog, but what about his other furry friends on the street? Who will look after them I wondered.  

PS- so as you know Diwali is just around the corner and you may be tempted to go and spend thousands of rupees on buying firecrackers. Not only is it harmful for the air, but it's physically and emotionally painful for all animals. Not only dogs, but birds, cats etc. So it's my humble request that you have an eco friendly Diwali and say no to crackers. I don't have a dog, but I wish I could have. This little short story could not cover even half of what dogs go through, but please I urge you to think about them and hope you have a safe and happy Diwali & a happy new year. 

Hope you enjoyed this. 

Until next time readers 

xxxx 

Secularism: an ancient terminology.

Secularism: According to the internet, "One manifestation of secularism is asserting the right to be free from religious rule and teachings, or, in a state declared to be neutral on matters of belief, from the imposition by government of religion or religious practices upon its people." 

I'm sure most of you have heard about the recent events happening in our so called 'secular' and democratic country, where a man was lynched to death due to the suspicion of the fact that he might have cooked beef in his house in UP.

Wait, hold on a minute, WHAT? I'm sorry but when did we get the authority and the right to publicly lynch a person to death due to something he has done inside the confines of his own house? Unless he's cooking meth or raping a minor or cannibalism is in the picture or any other such humanly unaccepted behavior; nobody, and I mean nobody has the right to kill someone. Can someone also tell me as to why there was an official check by the police force to see if he had beef or not, before they could arrested the mob that lynched the man more important than just throwing the culprits into jail? I'll eat beef, pork, chicken, octopus, lizard too if that’s my fancy within the premises of my house, but what I cook and eat is my business and my business only. Not my religion, not the government, not the police, not my neighbors, not anyone. What I chose to cook and eat is none of the outside world's business? Understand that please.

Do people understand that a Muslim man eating beef inside his house, does not in any way related remotely to the fact that he is demeaning a Hindu's religious sentiments? Dear Hindu extremists, the world does not revolve around you or your religion. Sincerely, the rest of the world.

 If a man wants to eat beef, he wants to eat beef. It's that simple. Stop hiding behind your religion curtain and giving us Indians sad excuses for such kind of barbaric actions.

India for centuries is known for its secular society with its various culturally diverse groups all living together without any extreme incidents like this? Even our ancestors are better read in this topic than the present society.

I mean, all that talk about development and digital India and we can't stand someone eating beef inside their own house? *slow clap*

The Maharashtra beef ban is one of the stupidest ban's our government could have ever come up with, and seeing the recent attacks regarding this issue; seems likes the rest of India wants to catch up to it too. If you really gave a shit about our sacred cows, maybe try to get them off our roads and stop them from eating garbage. Cows in India die more from road accidents and consumption of plastic from garbage cans than anything. If they're so sacred to you, then please see that you spend money on the cows and their hygiene and give them grazing fields to feed on, give them the respect you think they deserve when you argue how lynching a man for eating beef is justifiable. Can you do that?

I think we all know the answer to that question.

So before you go spewing rubbish and giving us speeches as to how you did that to protect our Hindu religion, remember you're in a secular country. A country where a Hindu can eat pork in the same room as a Muslim can eat beef. If you're going to ban beef in Hindu majority states, then please ban pork in Muslim majority places too. If you're going to ban sale of chicken for a few days to protect the sentiments of the Jain community, then please by all means ban the sale of liquor and pork during the month of Ramzaan for the Muslim community.

If you still don't get the meaning of secularism, dear government, please go back to history books where India and Pakistan were one and we lived with the Muslim eating beef community just as they lived with our pork eating Hindu community. What a person's eating preferences are, is something not to be even thought of or let alone debated on. But I'm ashamed of being in a country where what I eat can be the very reason I can be killed. Just where is my country heading too?

So here's my take on this debate.

Dear government and so called "Hindu-religion-protectors", first things first, bans do not work in this country. Instead you promote the cause of the ban to a level even Salmaan Khan's films don't reach.

Second, anything and everything a man of the religious minority does, is not related to Hinduism, especially if he's a Muslim. I mean even the Arabian country's allow a man to have pork inside the confines of his house. Saudi Arabia countries are better off than us in terms of such tolerance. Let that sink in.

Third, you call this society we live in as a secular society. Learn the meaning then, or just don't call yourselves secular. If there was a secular India, it's sure gone away now. There's nothing secular about our nation presently, so stop being foolish and trying to sell us out delusion. Nobody is buying it.

Sincerely a-18-year-old-girl-whose's-scared-for-the-future-for-her-country.

Until next time readers

xxxx