To Belong.

I walk and stare at this growing abstraction in my life.
I've never stopped and seen..
always overlooked, and this day, it comes right at me.
Faltering and crashing
Like the waves of an ugly beach.
Littered and shallow,
Death be his foe, and I his friend.
I've never walked this beach before,
And the place seems new.
The routes all wrong,
And the wind turns around.
Stagnation and sorrow are my only friends,
Playing the Devil's advocate,
Right in my head.
If only I knew, how to just run,
Walk through the soft sands of what was once
A land of mine
A place I belonged to
Wherein love and lust
Intertwined as two
Where happiness was permanent
And sorrow at bay
Where the lonely boats smiled
Leaving pain astray
Where the shallowness of life
Was replaced by the depths of passion
Where the single human eye
Found her reflection
Where she saw all his dreams
And they lived a life together
Where they knew even if the stream
Fell down to a river
And the river to the waterfall edge
They stood hand in hand
Heads held up
And faith in their heart.
They knew that one leap
Made all the difference
In death the bitterness of life
Never mattered on infliction
It was the strength of the supreme
The valor of love
That pulled two souls out together
Out of convulsed rapids, forever. 

Mind Babble.

I give way too much support to people who need it. I flower them with advice and great words quoted from films, songs and authors, just to make my long motivational messages a little more happy and hopeful. I throw words like they’re confetti, all pretty and colourful, but an eventual absolute waste. What is the point? No, really?
I've done so much to help people, and in actual instances it has worked…but what about myself? I wish I could implement all that I said? I wish I could stop over rationalizing whatever I thought. I wish, just wish that someday, I’d genuinely feel what I wrote.

Maybe failure does this to people. It gives them the right ideas of bouncing back, but still lets them just stay as mental scenarios played by the con artists in their head. When does one realize enough is enough? Where does he find that inspiration that kept him going, until life threw a few blows right at his face? When? What? How? Why?
All we can do is ask…and maybe wait.

At times, we really do end up questioning our self-worth. We do question our life decisions, our choices, our lifestyles, our thinking, everything. All that we stood for seems just so hollow and meaningless suddenly. The scarlet of courage and bravery is washed out by the greys of doubt and sadness. An eventual black too, sometimes.

This feeling is so detrimental, because everyone expects you to bounce back, come back to life, and all that mumbo-jumbo bullshit. 

Thrown by phrases like, you have no choice, make the best of it, it is what it is, maybe something good will arise out of it…you probably start to believe that feeling not so great is wrong. You have this whole mental pressure of being the post-Cancer Tour de France winner-version of Lance Armstrong. People don’t want to see you fail, feel miserable, struggle and then emerge. All they want is the final step. Victory.

Well, I’d pretty much say a large FUCK YOU to that, on normal circumstances…but being where I am, right or wrong aren't as simple as black and white. In fact, it’s more like a PMS’y woman trying to give directions.  

(Yeah, I just sort of said that.)

Guess it really is what it is. Maybe we just hang in there, not give up and exist for as long as the epiphany strikes. Life has never abandoned anyone on the chance front. Maybe yours will come, mine too.

Until then, you stick around.

Of Inspiration.

I looked for inspiration in all corners, hoping something would strike the melancholic chords within. The desperation for just a blur of words became a growing obsession, much detrimental than I supposed. And one random morning, when the seeker in me decided to give up, did inspiration flood in. Little did I realize it came from my own work. The former glory that defined me, put me back in that fire. I felt it right in the pit of my belly. I knew it was back for good. Stronger and more powerful. The words just flowed and flowed. It felt like an endless river of thoughts just waiting to be heard.

They spoke of undying love and passion. Of dreams unconquered. Of hopes so strong. Of lives so beautiful. Of relations so perfect. It was the golden epiphany I always hoped for. The fear of losing it also went away, just as if a wisp of wind had taken away all my troubles. My world was whole again. The empty ink bottle and blotting paper lay no more silent. Those ugly noises left. I felt renewed, rejuvenated...and just so complete.

Uncensored.

Just save me from the anguish
The lies and woes 
Of a new world.
Take me to a place I'd know
As my own.
Take me somewhere 
Where the happy winds
Overwhelm my soul's desires. 
Let me be free and loved
Away from the betrayal of those
Who said they mattered before.
I'm a naked soul
Stripped bare off my life's doings
Lessons not needed, learned
While pain still traps my chest.
Tears for fears seem untold
None who'd ever understand..
For comfort and love is my want
Not just a sentence of incompetence. 
Shivering in absolute rawness
Fatigue now upon my eyes
A deep slumber, an uncalled escapade
To the one's who's arms keep me warm.
Thresholds crossed beyond explanation
Zombies come and go
I stay like a lingering shadow
Hoping for my day to glow.
Lost drives and strength
A want to just cocoon
No intoxication. No skin. No touch.
Just a place.. a little too much?

Chimes.

Innocence looked up in awe as she twirled her dainty fingers around the delicate strings of a bronze wind chime. She loved the tingly sound of the wind blowing through the thin woven metal strips wrought in detailed patterns. The sound reminded her of her mother's laugh-so simple and pure.

-----------

Mama was away on a vacation, they told me. They said she needed to be away from me. I never understood why. Who would comb my hair then? They said aaji would do it, but only mama knew how to tie my blue ribbon in a perfect bow.

"Your mama is sick, Laila", they'd keep saying.

I always knew mama was a little easily upset, but aren't most adults? She used to change her voice sometimes, and sometimes, I never knew who she was. She forgot me too, but I still loved her. Maybe mama also forgot things, just like I forgot my ABC in kindergarten. They still kept saying she was ill.
Late at nights she used to say she were going to bed, but I saw her shadows in the kitchen light, looking for something frantically or just crying in sheer sorrow. I never knew why she was so sad.
When I would go up to her, she would beat me up and tell me I was a bad child,  but I still got her flowers hoping she would love me the next day.

That's when they took her away.
She cried and screamed. She broke all my dolls and toys. Her eyes were so angry and red, that daddy and the doctor had to tie her down to a bed with tight ropes. I saw her face as it convulsed in grim torture. "I love you, mama", I whispered softly, hoping she would remember me before they took her away.

I never cried, because I never knew. Only a gloomy darkness of grey towered me, and often I'd wake up feeling a pair of eyes on me. But soon they died too, just like a part of me-when mama was buried. 

-----------

Now, the beautiful butterflies still hang on the wind chime, rusted and fading. As each part of them falls, her mother's grip fades.
Her eyes moisten.
Her heart fills.
But, she smiles.  

Pristine White.

There was ambiguity in her reflection

The clear waters seem to bluff-

They hid a tale amidst soft waves,

The sort told in the epoch of caves.

Clad in soft, pristine white

Silky black hair falling on her face;

Her expression seemed calm and knowing

A life of love and happiness showing.

The Stuff of Dreams

Everyday I wake up feeling like the past 8 months of my life were just a dream, nightmare or whatever you'd like to call it.. and in reality I'm still sitting on my study table preparing for my 12th board exams and clearly having fallen into a deep slumber of vivid dreams.

Funny, isn't it?

What if all we're living is just a premonition of what's going to happen?
What if everything we are right now is just a sign for us to take the right decisions once we wake up?
Maybe that can explain the stagnation in our lives. Explain why sometimes we feel we try to hard, but reach no end.
Isn't that the stuff of dreams?

You feel like you're running a great marathon to reach the pot of gold at the rainbow's end.. but actually that idea of gold is just a reflected mirage. You still keep running.. directionless now.

And when you suddenly stop in fatigue, and fall flat on the ground with a large thud; you then snap out like a camera flash, and figure how the blueprint to your future is simply in negatives.
You wake up, wipe the drool off your face, and either go develop the negatives or maybe just throw them in the bin.

As you like it!

Renewed.

I haven't been writing much. In fact, I haven't been writing at all; except those moments wherein I've tried to squeeze out all my creativity to only land up with something demeaning and dark. Guess it was indeed a long drawn phase of unnecessary withdrawal..but now, it's time to take complete charge of myself, and my life. What I always stood for and believed in, has been completely washed away in the past 8 months. My life has changed in such a large manner, that I can never really identify with who I am. While I still watch myself slowly float out of this indecisiveness, a few things about me are clearly for the keeps. :)

PS: I've completely changed my blog style. I want my blog and my writing to reflect on who I am, not on only the negative aspect of instances in my life. There's a lot I'm taking out of life around me, but sadly not giving it the sort of importance it deserves.

You've got to embrace the change.
Stand up for yourself.
Fight the system.
Love a lot.
Live crazily.
Feel happy.
And above all, never ever in the process, lose your true identity. :)

Two.

Two. 

We're two. 

In a world of fear. 

She loves being cared. 

And I, I love my tomb of silence. 

I stay and muse on the ghosts around. 

She's an undefined part - one I'll never get.

I'm just her harlot. Her slave. Her faithful minion.

She doesn't know where she'll get. What she'll become.

But me. I know. I know it all. I'm there at the back. Forgotten. 

When the clocks strike, and the moon disappears. She'll turn to me. 

And I, I'll silently whisper words of resurrection. For, we're one. Always. 

Lies.

Soft mellow eyes. Hurtful truths.
Why would you want them to be,
An epoch in your memory?
Wrathfully sewn and carefully silenced.
Illusioned to love.
Illusioned to lust.
An underlying ghost of past shadows.
Nothing concrete.
Nothing strong.
Just a string of indelible words.
Shattered minds of a thousand lives,
Cracked reflections of broken mirrors.
Yet they defy who you are,
A mystery to the mind's soul.
As simple as black or white,
Dark moonlit river of lies. 

The Experiment.

There's only one way in which you'd ever comprehend the feeling of the wooden dust underneath your feet, the harsh warmth of the spotlight on your head, and the crystal blackness filled with ghastly yet curious eyes staring right at you. And you, you stand there taking in all you have to deliver your last bit of being a person re-created by ghost writers who make a new you by just stringing in words. That's when you gather up all you have, look straight in their eyes and speak. An extension of words revised by you numerous times flows out of your mouth, but this time, it's different. It's not you. An outburst of applause and a curtain call snap your trance, but that feeling you just experienced is bliss..pure exhilaration.

I spent a large part of my school days standing on stage, either acting or debating. Back then, never did I get the chance to know what it felt like to run my own production. To host my own shows. To do ALL the backstage work. Or to just stand up on a pedestal and motivate my team before it's final show.
And now, finally, after coming to Symbiosis, I did find a like minded friend along with whom I founded our college's first theatrical production house. We both had excellent parallel ideas on innovative theatre and are finally putting up our first show in March, 2013. We decided to call ourselves "The Experiment."

Our first logo designed by a friend, Harsha Biyani.