A Word against War

You do not need big guns to kill flesh and blood,

You need them only to kill dreams.

I stumbled upon an article about the brutalities in Libya yesterday. As for what I felt, I don’t really have words for that. I do not know who is in the right or who is in the wrong. Perhaps both. Perhaps none. The world where good and bad had definite demarcations has long been lost. What I do however understand, is that it simply isn’t fair. 

http://www.bbc.co.uk/news/world-africa-14705519

photo courtesy:http://erin-doesnt-know.tumblr.com/post/3357951126/skysignal-photograph-by-alan-sailer-an

What do you see

What do you see when you see a person?

Do you see the lined face? Or how the eyes crinkle with a smile?

Do you see beautiful eyes? Or the tears let fall at night?

Do you see the smile? Or how it brightens others’ lives?

Do you see the upheld head? Or the battles fought to keep it that way?

Do you see the faded jeans? Or the memories of a romance long over?

Do you see the awkward shoulders? Or the workload of ten people?

Do you see chapped hands? Or how quickly they are extended to others?

Do you see the upraised fist? Or the feisty spirit?

Do you see the ready laughter? Or the warmth that comes of it?

Do you see that the nice shoes? Or the steps taken willingly for others?

Do you see the composed air? Or the personal demons defeated?

Do you see the rolling gait? Or the ease with which it adjusts to yours?

Do you see the folded hands? Or the prayers whispered in solitude?

What do you see when you see a person?

Do you see a person? Or do you see their stories?



feel free to leave a comment, what do you see?
photo courtesy:http://wootpix.blogspot.com/2011/01/eye-photo-manipulation.html

IF

Rudyard Kipling

If you can keep your head when all about you 
Are losing theirs and blaming it on you; 
If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you, 
But make allowance for their doubting too; 
If you can wait and not be tired by waiting, 
Or, being lied about, don't deal in lies, 
Or, being hated, don't give way to hating, 
And yet don't look too good, nor talk too wise;


If you can dream - and not make dreams your master; 
If you can think - and not make thoughts your aim; 
If you can meet with triumph and disaster 
And treat those two imposters just the same; 
If you can bear to hear the truth you've spoken 
Twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools, 
Or watch the things you gave your life to broken, 
And stoop and build 'em up with wornout tools;


If you can make one heap of all your winnings 
And risk it on one turn of pitch-and-toss, 
And lose, and start again at your beginnings 
And never breath a word about your loss; 
If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew 
To serve your turn long after they are gone, 
And so hold on when there is nothing in you 
Except the Will which says to them: "Hold on";


If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue, 
Or walk with kings - nor lose the common touch; 
If neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you; 
If all men count with you, but none too much; 
If you can fill the unforgiving minute 
With sixty seconds' worth of distance run - 
Yours is the Earth and everything that's in it, 
And - which is more - you'll be a Man my son! 

A personal favourite. For the days when things just go wrong. When all I want is to break down and let go, and I can't because to give up was never an option. 

Purple Clouds

I look out of my window and see the dawn breaking behind the purple clouds over the distant hills and I realize that this pen of mine will not run for ever. There is so much I have yet to say, so much I have yet to put to words, and so little time.

A lifetime seems too small to write and say all that I need to. There are questions I have to ask, answers that I need to give, stories that I need to share.

There are a hundred little things that I want to show you. Dragonflies dancing in the rain, the rainbow across the valley, seagulls  flying across the early evening moon. And the purple clouds over the distant hills.

There is so much I want to write about. Love, friendship, good times, smiles. You.

There are things I hope to share with you. John Denver songs, heartbreaks, coffee on a rainy afternoon, laughter. And the purple clouds over the hills.

There is so much I want to tell you. The secrets of this world, and of the worlds beyond that.  That a wise man summed up life in three words, “It goes on”.
That the world works in ways you and I know nothing of. That it is better that way.
That some people come into your lives, and you are never, never the same again. That everybody has a story, if only we are willing to listen.
That the world is not always kind to dreamers. That all dogs do go to heaven.
That you can die a thousand times over, but you live only once.

There are so many answers I need to find. Why do bad things happen to good people?  Why are somethings best left unsaid? Why does the world follow straight lines and twisted logic? Why is it, that sometimes, you can give all and more, and still lose?

There is so much I want to do with you. Jump puddles, pillow fight, taste the rain. Stargaze, cry, ride into the sunset.

There is so much I want to leave in your care, when I am not there tomorrow.
The laughter of children. The faith in people, no matter what. The love for freedom.
The strength to do good. The first spring leaves.
The belief that all of us, no matter how small, can make the world a better place. The power to say truthfully, “I’m happy”.
The world, ‘cause “With all its sham, drudgery and broken dreams; it is still a beautiful world”.
My words, for all that I may never have time to share with you. And the purple clouds over the distant hills.

[photo courtesy:feed231.photobucket.com]

Dead . Calm .

It’s not that I have never been in doubt before. I have doubted myself, I have doubted the people around me, I have doubted God. I have doubted the world, and its people, and their actions. I have doubted the purpose of existence. I have doubted everything until all seemed to curl up like the dot beneath the question mark. I have lived with doubt long enough to lose my dread of it. Doubt doesn’t scare me anymore. At least not much, anyway.

Anger doesn’t scare me either. I have been so angry that I could have killed those around me. . I have been angry enough to get into fights.  I have felt angry enough to destroy the world. Or perhaps destroy myself. But I know my anger doesn’t last long. One flash, and then gone. I can forgive my enemies, even if I don’t forget them. I am not afraid of anger.

I haven’t been much scared in the time I have been around. I have taken on things with a juvenile audacity, and sometimes naivety. Que Sera Sera have always tided me through.

But I am scared now. Not because of doubt, or anger or sadness or any of those things. But rather of the lack of the aforesaid. I am almost not angry anymore. I accept more than I doubt. And most of all, I am afraid that I am not crazy any more. I am not mad at the world or at myself.

They said this would be the best. That when you stop bothering, you will be safe. But that is not me. To be safe, to be calm. That is not me. I want to cry, to rage about. I want to question. I want to go down fighting. Good or bad, I still want to care. I want to dream. I want to tear down the walls that enclose. I want to break the lines that conform.  

I can take the punishment of seeing my dreams being broken, a hundred times over. I can take the challenge of starting over, every single time. I can take the ridicule of my peers and admonishment of my elders. I can take the burden of fighting a lost war to stand up for what I believe in. But I cannot take this darkness. I cannot take this tiredness, this hopelessness, that threatens to overwhelm me. I cannot take this calm.

Because as long as I am angry, or doubtful, or cynical, or hurting, I know I will make it through. And right now, I am scared. That I might not.

photo source:http://journeyintogod.wordpress.com/2011/01/21/breaking-addictions-the-word-comes-first/

Bitter Homecoming

Homecomings aren’t always as rosy as the movies paint them to be. “The greatest journeys are those that bring us home”, went the tagline of a movie I had seen a few years back. True, I know of homecomings that totally justify it. But then again, I also know of the other kind of homecomings.

I left my home of 14 years in defiance of the wishes of almost every person I know and love. I went to a college 3000kms away. Single child of my parents, it was tough to leave. My best friends all decided to make their futures in the city where we had grown up together. In a class of 150, I was one of the five or six people who decided to fly the nest. But I had my reasons, and I stuck to my guns. Even though it meant tearing myself apart.

But I still come back twice a year. Comeback to everything that had sent me away in the first place. It’s almost funny, in a twisted, sadistic kind of a way. 

Here’s the thing. I like coming back. And I hate coming back.

I will be honest.
There are lots of good things. I have always been a well-loved person. And I am still welcomed back with open arms, by friends and family alike. It feels good to know that I am missed at least by a few people. Truth be told, I miss my people too, specially the kids. Who doesn’t? 
And I love the city. For better or for worse, it is an indelible part of me. Anyone who has been to Calcutta for a single day will agree that for all its drawbacks, it still is a very different metro. And I am fiercely proud to be a part of it. Maybe it’s a different story that I find it claustrophobic. The people, the ideas, the buildings, the apathy. It all makes me retch mentally.

I don’t think I ever got it right. The entire “man is a social animal” thing. While I was never a disappointment to my parents, I haven’t exactly been the dutiful daughter too. I have taken a lot of shit from a lot of people. I have messed up things with my friends countless times. I was a lousy girlfriend. I haven’t been of mortal use to anyone till now. I never really ‘belonged’. When I left, my 17 year old naivety convinced me that a new place would mean a fresh start, new people and perhaps I would go better this time. Now when I come back, my 19 year old experience tells me that people don’t change, only the faces and names do. And the new start is an Utopian dream that only a lucky few achieve.

For me, to come home is to be reminded of all that I have failed at, of all that I love and cannot have, of broken dreams and disillusionment, of that torturous feeling of being torn between love and hate.

I learnt long back a harsh truth of the world. That wishes don’t come true, and no matter how many shooting stars you whisper upon, you are wasting your breath. Perhaps all I need now is someone who can tell me otherwise. Because I need to make a wish. I need to wish that one day, I can call a place home, in the bestest sense of the term, without anything of past and future to haunt me. I want to be free. I want to belong. I want to come home.


photo courtesy:http://bearlyrambling.blogspot.com/2011/06/norma-macdonald.html

A Few Good Men

"To be called a daughter...that's the biggest honour a girl ever
receives, even if it is from a stranger."

My father.A coach. Two or three uncles. A professor in one city. One more in another. A neighbour. The list is not endless, but it is impressive, at least in my eyes.

They understand me for who I am. Understand that while I am ‘officially’ nineteen, I am also thirty-five, and at time even five. Understand that I need a semblance of order in chaos. That I need periodic confirmation that my beloved ideas and ideals,do hold true.

It is from them that I learnt that respect is not demanded, it is commanded. That men can be gods, and even the gods are not infallible. That we do not stop dreaming even if the dreams do not come true. That honesty, integrity and honour may go out of fashion, but will never go out of favour among people who really understand the world.

I learnt that that there is greatness in the everyday work, beauty in the plainest face, wisdom in the strangest of places and a story behind every person. I learnt that everything happens for a reason, even though we may not understand it right away. That the world works in ways you and I know nothing of.

I learnt to have faith. In me, and in those around me.

I learnt to listen, because I got listened to.
I learnt to see people for what they are, not what they have.
I learnt to value opinions, because mine were valued.
I learnt to stop complaining, because I saw greater burdens cheerfully carried.
I learnt to believe in miracles, because I saw them refuse to acknowledge life any other way.

I learnt that success can have many forms. That a quiet “well-done” can mean more than all the marks in the world. That the good opinion of honest people is as satisfyingly earned as the shiniest of medals.  That laying up blessings instead of money is a rewarding investment.

I learnt that no matter what the world tries to convince otherwise, at the end of the day the only person answerable for me, is me.

It didn’t matter where they were from. It didn’t matter that they were busy, or it was simply not their job. It didn’t matter that I haven’t been able to give them anything in return, except perhaps reverence.

If kindness could kill, I would have been long dead by now, many times over. Each of them was inexplicably kind, each in his own style. Not because they had to, not because they needed to. But simply because they could. That’s one more thing that I learnt.

And most importantly, I learnt that no matter how full the world is of jackals and jackasses, there still will be a few good men. To know, revere and work under some of them, has been a delight and an honour. To be their “little girl” is a privilege. So to all those who prove that the race of father-figures is not dead, thank you, and wish you a very happy Fathers’ Day.

Dedicated to all those father figures who have made me who I am today, and who will always be there for me, no matter what road I walk on.