IMPRISONED

''What is this life if full of care, we have no time to stand and stare...''

I am staring into the vast, limitless blue expanse stretched above me as I leave my humble, little 'masterpiece' to dry and get ready. Ironic in some ways. And symbolic of how art can effortlessly transduce your survival into existence and elevate it to the state of 'feeling alive'.

Art is an indulgence. Art is liberating ; in a way only an assemblage of colours can be. Art is the place where all the imperfections of the universe metamorphose into an 'indestructible' uniqueness. That's the undying essence of art. It is unmodulated. It is raw. Yet, it is a glowing fountain of inspiration because it teaches you to pursue, not to possess. When you pursue, the thought of making mistakes never overwhelms you because the higher awareness makes you a part of the process called 'improvisation'.

Last evening, it was a heart-warming affair to see a flock of eight-year olds enthusiastically taking part in a drawing competition. There was passion. There was freedom. And there was fearlessness. They were unaware of the fact that in the stark wilderness of real life, art is equated with money. People bid for it. People pay for it. And for some inexplicable reasons, in most of the households, art is tied down and imprisoned in attic rooms and under the mattresses, only to be eaten away by the mites in due course of time.
All this because art is overpowering. It challenges. It questions. It answers. It conveys the imperceptible and the unfathomable. Unfortunately, the insecurities dwelling in our minds are enormous. The question that lingers on is - Where is LIBERATION?

THE 'P' FACTOR

Writing is a 'life line'. For some, it is a kind of drug. It's narcotic. And there are always some withdrawal symptoms if your pen becomes silent all of a sudden. It is painful for a writer to realise that her armoury might be at the risk of exhaustion.

I never knew how inextricably this PAIN lay tangled up with PEACE until I decided to refill my pen with the monsoon ink in the middle of the night.

Yes, writing is eagerness. Writing is passion. Writing is imagery. Writing is poetry. Writing is impatience. Writing is an urge. Writing is rage. Writing is fire. Writing is desire. Writing makes sure your ECG doesn't end up becoming a straight line so soon because if you can't hear your heartbeat aloud, then you're probably not living enough. But life is a juxtaposition of opposites. And if there's pain in shunning your desires, there's PEACE in 'not writing'. An unparalleled kind of peace. As if your entire universe stands silent in meditation. No turbulence in the stream... no ripples in the ocean... no ruffling of leaves... no crackling of thunder... This new-found tranquillity revealed itself to me like a blessing in disguise. Not because I had become any less of a writer. But because it dawned upon me that writing doesn't always do justice to life's little details. Some things are better left unexpressed... some words better left unsaid. There are some moments dyed in 'indigo' colour - that is invisible to the naked eye. And those moments need not be seen through a glass filter. 'Need not.' 'And should not.' It's an irony of sorts : While a soul seeks SOLACE in writing... it discovers PEACE in 'not writing'. A very subtle difference between the two! An interplay of oxymoronic schemes of life.

Interestingly enough, I ended up 'writing' because 'what can't be cured, has got to be endured!'

Like a house on fire...

Dedications don't come easy. I particularly immortalise my chosen few in black and white just because they paint my life colourfully with shades that my own colour palette lies oblivious to.

23rd May, 2013
Hatia Station
Hatia
Ranchi

She fondly reminds me the date because there she was... pacing up and down the platform in the company of her siblings and her mom. Her goddess-like fair complexion and rich auburn ponytail sat such a misfit among the stinking crowd that the keen observer in me was compelled to turn around and take another look. Her inexplicable aura resonated so perfectly with mine that I instantly knew she deserved to be trapped in one of my future blogposts!

My blunts and schoolgirl-like demeanour might have prompted her to ask which class I studied in... while my mind felt like travelling through the various foramen of human skull and trying to instruct the Broca's area not to take offence and mess up with the speech! Offence - because she herself sported a baby-faced look, complete with chubby cheeks and attractively high cheekbones!

Not for a second did it feel like we'd never known each other. There was a connection that transcended my own understanding of trust and friendship. Some people just know you... along unfathomable lines. I knew she did. Amidst the unsettling noise of the magazine hawkers and the chaiwallahs, we stayed unperturbed, engulfed by the fact that how much we knew about each other and how much we mirrored each other without uttering a word! There was life in our conversation... something that had the intensity of touching every realm of existence with an unforgettable and indelible impact. And we got along like a house on fire... burning bright even under the scorching roof of the sleeper class!

There are people who you want to keep locked up in the closet of your heart forever. She became one. Though we never got a chance to meet again, I knew we were friends for life - separated by time and distance, tied by an unspoken string of credence.

mY aLiBi...

Drops of yore
trickle and seep.
A decade and a seven
hums
damp and deep.
When misty canopy
slept in leap,
a sunshine arose,
then yawned and peeped.

Fearless lashes
batted and heaved.
Dollops of love
with a pinch of peeve.
Years rolled by...
Baby shoes untied.
Lilac boots
now pronounce your stride.
Hair askew
then sat in wedge.
Jet black in hue,
now blunt in edge.
Finger that held yours in mine,
now wags at mum
when red in mime.
My lazy noons -
languid and sore,
dipped in dimples -
your tales galore.
Candid tattle,
unbridled smile,
laughters in rattle,
now away, a mile.
An angel in garb -
your pranks and winks -
I miss them all
in whole and chinks.

At the break of dawn,
I raise a toast
served with bliss
and crisp of roast.
At the break of dawn,
I chant a psalm
to shield you safe
in gale and harm.
Priceless a sis
my days alight.
This day I wish
aglow so bright!

Seriously, Dil se... ;)

It's pretty late. My books kept me hooked up tonight. Medicine is a poison. And you don't have an anti-dote. In the blanket of silence, you slowly succumb to its toxicity... and you don't know if you can ever fall in love with it... but what you do know is that once you are in, you're virtually trapped! Anyways, bade bade shehron mei aisi chhoti chhoti baatein hoti rehti hain! ;) And that's how life changes its course... what is important is to keep walking...

 

Those dimples are liberating! When you're exhausted...no matter what, you definitely fall for them over and over again... His wit is infectious... his humour exudes vibrance... his eloquence is sexy... his sad eyes are enchanting! An ardent fan who resides in my heart insists me on dedicating a post to him... for no good reason. Maybe because quite a lot of girls like me still carry with them the songs from his movies wherever they go... they still love to gorge on DDLJ whenever they can steal a chance - one would trade anything in exchange for that 'magical' guitar ... chak dhoom dhoom from Dil Toh Pagal Hai still has the old world charm that can make them break into jigs... they still go gaga over the bouncy haircut from Kabhi Khushi Kabhi Gham, the leather jacket from Veer-Zara and the adorable, irresistible Aman from Kal Ho Na Ho... Yeah! Believe it or not, we stay smitten! Even after those two long decades! Guys call it outrageousness... we call it addiction! :p

 

A big salute to the journey of longevity from a few pennies to an unthinkable 'stardom'... to a professional who is almost married to his work... to a man who knows and shows how to be a 'man'... and to an actor, who despite all the oddities of life, makes you believe in love, again and again... Dil Se ;) ;) ;)

The GIRL in BLUNTS...

I used to meet this girl everyday. She was awe-inspiring. But that was ages ago. We do not see each other anymore. She was the girl in blunts...

The girl who was placid outside... but turbulent inside. The girl who was reticent in conversations but articulate in actions... whose countenance wore a shroud of shyness but whose mind galloped a thousand miles a moment... The girl who would hardly see you in the eyes... but her eyes were the mirror of her soul. The girl who did mess up with a few people but never apologised because she didn't believe in shallow apologies and the hypocrisy of forgiveness. She was meticulous... she was a brave-heart... she hardly gave up on things... she was innocent! She would seldom pay heed to compliments and criticism... because those were outside her territory of interest. She was one girl who didn't mind being labelled 'arrogant'... feigning niceness was certainly not her way. But she was a really cool person... who left me one day, on the pretext that her non-existence would be the key to my survival.

That key opened the door to the breeze that kissed my tresses... and the locks brushed past across my face... My laughter would ring with merriment. They didn't need to peep into my eyes because I had my glasses perfectly in place... and all my nightmarish fears swept aside beneath the carpet of my smile. My mind would constantly be at work... but would choose to go places in tandem with my heart, which more often than not, ended up complicating the scenarios. I would readily apologize... accepting mistakes gracefully became the golden rule for a peaceful co-existence. I was vulnerable... driven to ecstacy and gloom... stirred by the ripples of praises and flak... People would drop by saying I am a nice girl. Somewhere down the line, I became two-faced... one of which was pretty. And that's how I became human.

I'd look forward to meeting that girl some day again. She was awe-inspiring. But that was ages ago. We do not see each other anymore. She was the girl in blunts...

On 'being judgemental'...

Alfred Lord Tennyson had once remarked,
''Once in a golden hour,
  I cast to earth a seed,
And up there grew a flower
That others called a weed.''

While this is a free-flowing satire on how the world is judgemental about you, it won't be less than apt if you say that people hasten to judge in order not to be judged themselves. The contexts in which I'm writing this down are infinite. However, it all boils down to just one thing - if for once, we all stop being catty and judgemental about the happenings in life and the people we bump into everyday, the existence could give out different vibes altogether. The better ones, that is.

The grim fact is that we all indulge into it... every second of our lives... The media pronounces it... the social network echoes it... and we enjoy it. Who doesn't have a hearty laugh in the afternoon after going through those Alia Bhatt trolls, that are so 'in' these days? Or the Sarthak Agrawal memes, which are currently the flavour of the season, thanks to his whopping 99.6%? But spare a second thought and you won't find it amusing, I tell you. Alia Bhatt isn't around in the industry to show off her general knowledge. Sarthak Agrawal is just a regular kid who delivered what others couldn't, despite the hardwork and intelligence... may be because the lad stayed afloat a bit longer when others had already given in! And if we have forgotten to draw the line between 'entertainment' and 'mockery' or 'constructive criticism' and 'being judgemental', then I must say, without fail, that we are being really nasty in our approach. Why we end up sizing others up stems, more often than not, from our own insecurities and shortcomings in life and sprouts from ''The grapes are sour'' tendency.

I remember Rahul Dravid telling one of his interviewers, ''You must know where you're coming from if you want to know where you are going.'',  thus underlining the role of personal and family history in every individual's life. Talking about Dravid, it is gratifying to know he hung up his boots before the era of trolls set in! Champions like him certainly do not deserve the dumb treatment we, the audience, dish out these days. Coming back to where I'd left, before we resort to passing judgments even about those in our vicinity, let us respect that there could be a lot of history engraved on the other side of the wall. What the world sees is just a blandly painted collection of bricks. And even before anyone could peep and look over the other side of the wall, the person realises that the massive crowd is already busy scribbling sh*t over this side! And while it does make the targeted one's life quite a bit of a struggle, it also distances our 'what we are looking at' from 'what we should be looking at'. Being judgemental seeps deep down into our mechanism of operation. To find ourselves in better spirits, we need to take a walk down the street of idealism because that is a kind of blueprint for our actions, which seldom do we bother to adhere to. People might say it doesn't work. But idealism, though a mirage, is a projection of our higher self which constantly tugs at us... nudges and whispers to us whenever the caravan isn't in the right gear!

Winding up in the context that I had begun with,
''Let us read, and let us dance; these two amusements will never do any harm to the world.''
                         - Voltaire.