Nostalgia...

Being in a field that requires a lot of travelling, you come across a lot of things passing you by. The scenes you see from a moving bus, the pastures and fields from a moving train, flashing by, the people doing different things, children playing, cattle mooing; The various faces of India, whether urban or rural, nothing goes unnoticed if you're travelling. Especially if you're a budding photographer (or at least that's what I think of myself), and you have an eye for these kind of things, something or the other is bound to be catchy sometime. Well except if you're sleeping in the bus, which is what I often end up doing although I would love to enjoy the sceneries.

Just the other day, I was on a bus journey and my eyes spotted these colourful flags on small straws. Nothing like the one in the picture, that's just there 'cause.. well, what's a post without a picture? Anyway so these flags, they were much more awesome (I may be biased here). They were plain‐coloured and of shiny glittery paper and as a child, glitter was totally my thing! I loved anything blingy and bright. And these were the epitome of my desires as a child. It had in it everything I ever wanted.

Seeing them fluttering so carelessly in the breeze in front of that dingy shop somehow awakened something inside me. Something that had been long‐forgotten.. Sudden waves of nostalgia washed me over and over until I realised how blissful childhood really was. Sometimes just a simple flag or a colourful pin‐wheel were enough to make the day, but now the grown‐ups that we are, nothing is sufficient. Nothing is ever enough to satisfy our never‐ending wants (wants, not needs) and we are all carried away with the materialism in this world. No matter what it may be, we never get enough. Enough love, or care, or clothing, or things to fill our houses and shelves with.. what went wrong?

We are never happy with the relationships we are in, or the amount of money we make, the appreciation we get, or the families we are born into. When children are born they are the biggest source of happiness for anyone around them: little bundles of joy. As we grow older the innocence fades, and that complicates things. The more knowledge we seem to gain, the lesser we seem to know to put it to use.

Maybe its time we stopped complaining and whining and find peace and happiness with whatever we have. We were all born with perfect minds, humble, modest and full of enthusiasm. I feel that sometimes all the world really needs is a little more childishness and a little less maturity, and everything will fall into place. 

As I put pen to paper..

The moment the pen is put to paper, why do I feel so at peace with myself? Like a huge burden is off my chest and I feel nothing but lighter and happier inside when I pour my heart out in the form of my black ink on the white paper sheets, with every word I write?

I travel through these pages.. these blank pages just waiting to be filled with words, sentences, paragraphs and punctuations.. They take me everywhere and anywhere I want to go. Just me, myself and my thoughts. Escaping away from the gravity of this word that pulls us down toward everything materialistic, dragging us to the painful reality, the sad realisations of what life really is.. that when it comes down to it, it is either happiness or sadness. And one cannot exist without the other.

Why would one want to be in a world where we are in fact not the ones who make our own choices, but they are made for us,  just an unbearable set of heavy loads that we are asked to carry all of a sudden, at any moment, and mostly when it's least expected.

Hence, I take my weapon in hand, the one mightier than a sword, and I am afloat. Rising above everything as soon as it is in hand.

It takes me through time and space, through worlds and spaceless spaces, through timeless memories, through faded nostalgic moments.. It fills my heart with indescribable emotions, unbinding me from my inhibitions and I feel as elated as a deer running through an endless field of fresh green grass. The grass blades tickle my feet and the dew sends pleasing tingles down my spine.




I am free.

War and Love

I ran through the fields;

Tried escaping the wrath.

My fear knew no bounds,

As I treaded this warpath.

Blood soaked the ground;

Boiling beneath the sun,

Cries echoed around me

But nowhere to run.

The smells choking me

To the insides of my lungs,

I see my hands bloody;

Feel the dryness of my tongue.

I rushed to the alley
Where you said you’d wait.
Praying for an end
To this city’s cruel fate.

A war without victory

A war without virtues

No matter what happens

Mankind will lose.

At last, your silhouette
Appeared in the haze.
You waved, reached for me
Through smoke and blaze.

I stumbled toward you,
Never once did I see
That this moment would end
In a final farewell to me.

The explosion struck.
I crashed to the ground.
Your face - a frozen gasp -
Fading into sound.

Before the lights go out

I whisper in your ear

"You are my everything,

I've loved you for years".

And as I looked at you
One last, fleeting time,
I memorized your face,
Each detail, each line.

I held your hand tight
As my senses withdrew -
No matter what happens,
Life must continue.

Invisible Cities : Italo Calvino - Zenobia

My feelings as I read the book Invisible Cities by Italo Calvino.
Thin Cities - Zenobia

Excerpt from the book:

"Now I shall tell of the city of Zenobia, which is wonderful in this fashion: although set on dry terrain it stands on high pilings, and the houses are of bamboo and zinc, with many platforms and balconies placed on stilts at various heights, crossing one another, linked by ladders and hanging side-walks  surmounted by cone-roofed belvederes, barrels storing water, weather vanes, jutting pulleys, and fish poles, and cranes.
No one remembers what need or command or desire drove Zenobia's founders to give their city this form, and so there is no telling whether it was satisfied by the city as we see it today, which has perhaps grown through successive superimpositions from the first, now undecipherable plan. But what is certain is that if you ask an inhabitant of Zenobia to describe his vision of a happy life, it is always a city like Zenobia that he imagines, with its pilings and its suspended stairways, a Zenobia perhaps quite different, a-flutter with banners and ribbons, but always derived by combining elements of that first model.This said, it is pointless trying to decide whether Zenobia is to be classified among happy cities or among the unhappy. It makes no sense to divide cities into these two species, but rather into another two: those that through the years and the changes continue to give their form to desires, and those in which desires either erase the city or are erased by it."

I arrive in Zenobia and I'm filled with awe and wonderment at the undecipherable plan with its crazy array of buildings on high pilings and stilts.

I look up at them, suddenly feeling very tiny, as they tower around me. They are interlinked by criss-crossing stairs  platforms and balconies.Although the inhabitants are happy and content to live amongst these chaos, I feel somewhat claustrophobic. I wish there would be some more openness to the city. Something more for the happy citizens.

One of the streets comprised of a typical building which is repeated in different manners along one particular street. I memorize its appearance and it lays etched in my mind..

I keep on walking, I see people celebrating, people fighting, people singing and dancing. I long to be a part of it all, and yet I find myself lost in the narrow, crooked streets of the darker side of this city that is otherwise teeming with energy. I encounter those who live hidden here, ones who have loved and lost, ones who have no friends, people with illnesses and sorrows and either have no one to share them with, or choose not to. I feel even the last drops of joy from inside of me vaporize, as I'm consumed entirely by this perpetual sadness.

I wish to lend a hand to those who suffer, but alas! my hands are tied up with the guilt of my actions and I've nothing to offer. I wish to be the shoulder to cry on, for those who need it, but alas! my shoulders are burdened with my grievances. I wish to be a friend to the ones that are lonely, but I myself am not a good enough friend. I swirl in my whirlpool of depressing thoughts, every one of them gnawing at my insides, punishing myself, causing myself pain. I want to scream out loud, but I have no voice. I want to call out to the gods of this city, but even they can't hear me from this corner of the world.

Just like this city, I live on.. I add on more burdens than I can bear, more sorrows than I can share. And yet I am happy with what I am, and what I have. Always content, always glad. With my burdens, pleasures, sorrows and celebrations. Through the years, my desires giving form to my changes...

Overcoming...

I want to write again
And yet I hesitate..
I don't know why
But I can only hope,
That by following where
My thoughts take me,
I'll reach somewhere unknown
Somewhere extraordinary.

Something holds back
From inside of me
Something invisible,
Only to be felt..
Like thin strings,
They pull at my thoughts;
Hold them back in,
Not letting them spill.

I try to break free,
I try to move on
To some place new
Some where unknown
Wherever my imagination takes me,
Where my faded memories lie..
Places from books,
And places from poems
Places I grew in,
And places dreamt of..

As I severed the last of the bondage
I ran out into the gloom..
Far out I ran,
Without looking back,
Gasping for air
That I'd been so deprived of
Breathing in with the utmost greed
I took it all in, without second thought.

The lights and the shadows,
They played on my eyes..
And I danced to the tunes
Of their silent music
I was overjoyed, ecstatic and elated!
At my self-righteous freedom,
Which I had, for so long awaited.

I closed my eyes to thank my God,
And I realised..
The darkness was no more.
Not even with my eyes shut,
Not even at night.

As the day ends..

I sit here, between dawn and dusk
My least favourite
Time of the day..
All these things around me
Painful reminders of
The bygone joyous days

I pick them up one by one
Each one washing me over
With waves of emotions one after the other..
Illuminated by the orange rays of the sun
They glow ominously
Staring at me

Yes, I know what they're telling me
How badly they want to tear me apart
Just like the wind as it grows chillier
Hissing angrily in my ear
I feel like they too are angry
"Why would you come, if only to depart?"

I put each one away
Try to get my packing done
Just like my memories
Tucked away in the corners of my mind
And even then I only wonder..
"When will I see you again?"

What Love Leaves Behind

At some point in life, all of us wonder what true love feels like.

Whether it exists. Whether it’s real.

And whether we’ll be lucky enough to find someone to share it with.

You imagine what it would be like. You dream with wide eyes and an open heart, building castles out of unrealistic expectations and painting pictures with beautiful, impossible colors.

Then one day, someone walks into your life -

And something about them feels familiar. Like they stepped out of your daydreams.

They smile, and your heart tugs. They see the goodness in you even when you don’t.

They like you for who you are.

They stand by you, even when you’re not at your best.

They accept you, flaws and all, and gently nudge you toward who you could be.

And just like that, you begin to love them.

Slowly. Quietly. Steadily.

You don’t even realize it at first. But one day, the truth hits you like a speeding train -

You’re in love.

And the world, somehow, feels lighter. Colors seem brighter.

Even ordinary things hold a quiet magic.

You’re no longer walking through life alone - you’re dreaming together, building a future in tandem.

It feels like forever.

You share your secrets, your hopes, your silly thoughts at midnight.

They become your home - your safest place to land.

And then, time passes.

Love, once a whirlwind, settles into a rhythm. Into comfort. Into routine.

You begin to have disagreements.

Small ones at first, then larger ones.

Differences surface, and sometimes they sting.

But you’re best friends, and after every storm, the sun returns.

You fall in love a little deeper after every reconciliation.

Love matures with the struggles.

You think: This is what it means to grow together.

But then one day, something shifts.

The differences that once seemed beautiful become unbearable to one of you.

The cracks widen.

And the foundation you built so carefully begins to shake.

That’s when you start to wonder…

Why are we so drawn to the very things that can shatter us?

Why does the rose, so exquisite, so fragrant - hide thorns sharper than we imagined, and yet we reach for it anyway, ignoring the daisies that would never make us bleed?

Why is it that everything that allures us comes at a cost?

The cost of aching silence. Of sleepless nights.

Of pain that feels like it’s folding your chest inwards,

pressing against your ribs until you forget how to breathe.

Why do love and pain live in the same house?

Two sides of the same coin - one comforting, one cutting.

Why must every heartbeat that once echoed with joy

begin to echo with questions?

And in those moments of silence - after the fights, after the tears - you look up and ask the questions no one can truly answer.

Why doesn’t love come with guarantees?

Why does God make the most beautiful choices the hardest ones to live with?

Maybe it’s because love was never meant to be easy.

It was never about perfection or certainty.

It was always about vulnerability.

About choosing someone again and again, even when it hurts.

Even when the answers don’t come.

And maybe, even if it ends, even if your paths diverge -

Love still leaves behind something.

A memory. A lesson.

Proof that you dared to feel deeply.

Proof that you lived.