Homes

You're sitting in the drawing room with your grandfather.

He reluctantly chews the sandwich you made for him,
 out of fresh vegetables you think he'll like.
He drinks the cup of kehwa like a victory song.


On Sunday mornings he tells you stories about his childhood
 and fragments of him that you never understand.

behind the chinar tree was his favourite hiding place he says.
You wonder does he hide within himself today.


He married his college sweetheart,
He says your mother had a smile just like her.
Both of them are fragile memories to you.
You hold yourself together.

He turns quiet too.


You once asked​ him what his favorite part of having being a lawyer was,

He replied it was saving lives
And you drown in a sad sea of irony.


When you escaped Kashmir with him,
You never knew that the most simple questions with would scour the deepest scars
which then would refuse to heal.


Today, he asked you at dinner, to take him home one last time,
to the roses and gogji in his garden
and to his Graham phone that used to play Kashmiri music all day long.


You keep quiet.

You don't have it in you to say,

"grandfather there is no home anymore. "

Life Games

Life and I, life and I we have this game, you know. 

I just have to like a guy,

turn to life, say "him".

Life will look at me, grin like a teenage boy after his first puff of cigarette
and blow the guy up in smokes. 

Smokes that are as gray as the color of the pessimism and failure combined. 

You see the first time I liked a guy

I was at school in the basket ball court trying to dribble my way past his charm. 

I convinced myself it was puppy love
and that 3 pointers are not the best if you don't know how to hold the ball and aim.
Worse if you don't know  the game. 

Three months in, I'm with the same guy learning how to shoot better 3 pointers. 

That night, life knocks on my door, "Do you like that guy?"

"Yes" I confess, sweating like I do after a pre-match warm up.

The next thing I know, 

We're in different colleges and well, in different cities. 

Never works out. 

Life suddenly grins through the ashes of all my emotions that I have hidden.

Emotions that I've had but don't want to agree to,

Emotions that I never want to speak about,

Emotions that I find in all sad songs now that I listen to them hard enough. 

Emotions that don't let me finish me my meals,

Emotions that don't let me finish this list,

Emotions that are best left as a pile of ignored ash. 

I like someone new after years. 

We stand around a pet reptile cage and talk about events I must go to. 

It makes me feel like cracking a reptile joke already.

One night, life gently slithers into my room 

Catches me texting him

And asks, "do you like him? "

I quickly do the math
And realize life can't throw him to another geographical habitat 

So I proudly say "yes". 

Life camouflages like a chameleon and leaves.
I behave like a complete idiot to this guy. 

Next thing I know, he's dating someone else. 

See that's the thing with this game, life won't always do all the work. 

Sometimes it will mess with your head, make you doubt yourself a million times.

Sometimes it will put questions in your head you never want the answers to.

Sometimes it will make you behave like an idiot
even though deep inside you want to cry and hug someone, 

hug someone, bawl like a baby drown yourself in containers of ice cream that fill your loneliness, 

loneliness that creeps on you like sudden spiders when you thought you cleaned your house, 

cleaned your house of all the memories that you now regret, 

regrets that remind you of days gone past, 

of past and present that never worked out. 

Sometimes you'll be life. And completely hate it. 

Life and I, life and I we have this game, you know. 

I just have to like a guy,

turn to life, say "him".

Life will look at me, grin like a teenage boy after his first puff of cigarette
and blow him up in smokes of impossible.

Buld a Home

At school on a Wednesday, 

our teacher taught us about buildings.

Schools, hospitals, houses. 

Bricks and mortar. 

Achievements of human toil. 

At recess, the wisest among us spoke, 

"What builds a house into a home is people. "

The ingredients to a build a home,

they told me

Was

A mother, a father and a child. 

"That's all you need, money is a bonus."

I was delighted!

Smiled from ear to ear.

I had all the ingredients!

That evening when I returned from school, 

My eyes searched for mother. 

She was in the kitchen, 

demure as a daisy,

cooking our meals. 

I ran to her, 

with my small bag torn and stitched back repeatedly, bouncing on my back, 

and whispered,

"thank you, 

thank you for building me a home."

She looked astonished, gave a sad smile and embraced me. 

The ingredients to a build a home they told me

Were

A mother, a father and a child.

So I waited. I waited for my father to return 'home'. 

Six o clock, 

seven o clock, 

eight o clock, 

nine o clock,

he still didn't return.

This was the latest I had been up, 

mom put me to bed at eight every night.

But today?

Today I was determined to throw my arms around my father, 

hug him and scream out loud "thank you for building me a home!"

At exactly 10:34 pm father arrived.  

As I rushed to open the door he staggered in,

With the smell of alcohol having devoured him whole. 

The air all around us

instantly turned as stale as the two day old roti ma was eating. 

I forgot why I was standing next to the door in the first place. 

Father fell to the floor. 

Mother rose and pulled him inside. 

He fought her and her lip began to bleed.

And then,

Suddenly, 

I didn't want to say anything anymore. 

The ingredients to a build a home,

They told me

Were, 

A mother, a father and a child.

But maybe, some houses are just houses. 

Do Not Call Them Back

Do not call them back,
After they leave,
Because if you do,
And they come back
That makes it two of you
Not in love with you.

Misery will devour you
Like the loneliness
you shall breathe in
on the bed,
sleeping together.

Do not call them back,
After they leave.
It is the fire
within you,
that keeps you going,
Not the false warmth
of their embrace.

Do not be a broken star
that could've
lighted up the sky,
But went home
to the darkness
that engulfed it instead.

Do not call them back,
After they leave.
Because,
Loving another,
Is an option
But to not love oneself
Is folly.

Random Ramblings

I've seethed into your skin, like the lullabies mother used to sing to you. Every night when you wouldn't fall asleep.
I've become that which is vital to your existence but which you cannot embrace
With your arms wide open, as you'd want to.

Every night, when you turn and twist on your bed hitting your head against the harmless pillow, I know you miss mother.
I know you miss those quiet nights
When the only sound you would hear
Was the soothing lullaby she used to sing to you.
I know you miss me.

Of Hearts

I look back and I remember how my friends once told me over a chilly morning in October at school, how I am the worst at drawing hearts. I remember them saying how the two halves never resembled each other enough to convince anyone that it was a heart. Symmetry, they said, wasn't my forte.
As I draw, erase, and re-draw the heart over n over again I realize there was only truth in their sentences. May be I did suck at drawing hearts, maybe I sucked at understanding them too. The mechanisms that make it work smooth? My body mostly doesn't like it.

Maybe I have too much of a rebellious soul, the thought of which fucks me up because I? I don't even understand half the things. I've never understood how love works. I've never even understood what constitutes love. How two people feel so deeply for each other that they not only understand each others reasons but also appreciate the quirks. Why two people voluntarily already being complete wholes themselves choose to join the commitment wagon with another person. Perhaps I'm just scared. Or perhaps I'm just mirroring what I draw- stupid unsymmetrical hearts that convince no one of their reality and existence. Perhaps love too, is not my forte.

To Exist or Live?

You and I? We share stories.
Someone else shares pieces of their heart with the only person in the world they want to be with at that moment, when there is a soft Bruno Mars song playing in the background on a cool October evening.

You and I? We feel happy at the sight of a puppy.
Someone else falls in love with every broken piece that their heart already is, on the sight of the furry canine that probably wags their tail and runs upto them with half bouncy steps.

You and I? We admire our better halves.
Someone else truly understands and appreciates the grace with which they accomplish even the simplest of tasks, like breathing.

You and I? We love how cool the weather feels.
Someone else probably gets drenched in the aroma that tells them that every little thing you're worrying about is going to be alright.

You and I? We hold hands.
Someone else realizes the vitality of that moment to his existence, how this is the one moment he'd give up anything to have again, how time is his enemy then.

You and I? We fail.
Someone else gets crushed under the heavy weight of the baggage they've been carrying all their lives in the hopes that this one success will aid them to gather enough courage to get rid of all the guilt they've been carrying for things that weren't even their mistakes in the first place.

You and I? We read
Someone else out there lives on it. He breathes in literature and chokes Everytime someone stop reading out a write up out loud.

You and I? We exist.
Someone else lives.

Of Broken Bones & Heart

I like to think that there is a formula for pain,

A formula that balances your broken bones with my broken heart.
A formula that makes it evident that sounds of silence,

Are the same as loud jarring noises on lonely nights.

One that rolls up all the soft tendrils on the edges of the garden

And makes them as comprehensible as the flowers growing within it.

It turns and twists with the sad comedy,

That comes with the undeniable truth that “pain demands to be felt”.

One that sits neatly balancing the sorrow & despair, limitless,

Within this limited world.

One that makes it easy for me to hold large lies in my small hands,

And yet fight with closed fists that cannot be broken open by the toughest machines.

I like to think that there is a formula for pain,

A formula that balances your broken bones with my broken heart.

A formula that strains into existence the reality that an injury from a wayward branch scrapping your knee

Is just as awful as the desolation that crept up in the cells of my body after my first argument with him.

A formula that equates your agony while eating pizza alone after being fired

With my heartache while having dinner with friends and family after the breakup.

I like to think that there is a formula for pain,

A formula that balances your broken bones with my broken heart.

A formula tells you & me that the maps our arteries and veins have designed on our bodies

Are the only ones we should truly follow.

One that tells you as much as it tells me 

That there are affable beings and surreal happenings,

Waiting for us on the other side of this brokenness 

That is consuming us one heartbeat at a time.

I like to think that there is a formula for pain,

A formula that balances your broken bones with my broken heart.

Of Missing You

I've missed you. Terribly. Badly. Sadly. Madly.
Let's walk under the street lights,
Talk of love, loss, life,
And also about everything nice.
Let's pour out our hearts again,
Tell me about that girl once more
And oh! your favorite teacher too!
Talk me through your last day at school and the first day you won a quiz.
Tell me.
Come with me,
Let's make up new constellations as we spent the night star gazing.
In the morning I'll take you to my favorite spot in this city, we'll click pictures there and frame them.
If hunger bothers you, don't worry there is this place that I love but don't tell people about. I'll take you there and we can devour all the food you want.
But do not forget you'll have to hear me too.
You'll have to hear me tell you about my deepest insecurities,
How every time the clouds get together my face lights up.
I'll tell you about my dream
And how snow is so amazing.
Why I think surrealism is so important and violence, not.
I'll tell you things you should know.
I've missed you. Have you?

Loyola Love

Today is the 31^st of July. 2016. That implies two things: First, today is Loyola day! And Second, I've finished school already. But I couldn’t be less excited about today. Loyola has left such a lasting impression on me, it has polished my rough edges, taught me to stand a little taller, laugh a little louder and care a lot more. I remember when I first joined school in third grade I didn’t like it, and complained to mom about how “easy” maths was in ICSE schools (I did totally regret saying that in tenth though, before the boards, you know). The school however, as it turned out was not that bad a place. Few months in and I loved it, I enjoyed coming to a place where teachers were not only teachers but friends and guides, where seniors weren’t bossy and snobbish but cool and fun (also hot).

I had two sections when I began school. What actually happened was that a Father (or who i thought was a Father) told me I belonged to one particular section so i went there not bothering to check the notice for allotted sections. When the class teacher asked about my name not being on the attendance register i said, "Father told me I was in this section". After around two weeks the class teacher of my actual allotted section realized I was in school, she came to me and said that's your section, pointing to another classroom. So I had to go. The new section was equally great, and it made me understand how comfortable i had grown to be at Loyola.

But that is not all about Loyola! Frankly, there is just so much about Loyola i couldn’t fit it in here even if i tried.  Loyola led me to discover so many things, it honed talents, built some and the best thing it never imposed conformity rules about who one should be- you do you but be kind, that's Loyola. (it is also “ In all things to love and to serve.”) Thanks to Loyola I have amazing friends, great teachers, some stupid crazy memories but many totally awesome ones too. The nuances of the mundane survival in Loyola seem like one the most magical things that happened. Few days back while talking about Loyola, my friend and I tried to figure out why we love it as much as we do; turns out that it was not that Loyola just educated us in the conventional sense(which it did) but it also taught us about things beyond the pages of a book, of things that are so necessary for surviving today which come to us as second nature because they’ve been so deeply ingrained into our personalities. It completed a huge fraction of our being. L for Loyola, L for love. Loyola is and always will be “A school with a difference!”

Words

Words are just alphabets put together to mean something or indicate a certain thing that we want to express. That’s what you are doing- you are reading the alphabets I put together as words, spaced them and followed certain rules while doing that so that they could make sense. Words thus are a paradox- they are ordinary and yet in the same moment they are magical. They are magical – they can transport you to lands where you want to be, they can make you meet men, women, kids, animals, anyone or anything you want. You can stand there, stay there, dance or do anything you want without being judged. You can possess things that are not possible by the laws of science or by the stretches of rationality. You can bathe in the moonlight and dance in the soft mellow sunshine while wearing that dress you always loved, stare at those snow capped mountains and yet, and yet, stay true to your soul. You can travel to imagination and beyond, yet not move an inch.

Remember when you were a kid and the most difficult words that came out of your mouth were that you hadn’t finished your assignment? Then that changed to confessing what you felt in actuality to that one person you thought should know? And it later changed to taking a stand for yourself, making your own decisions ? You've perhaps not spared moments for this contemplation, but that's what you've done- you have used words. You have used an instrument of magic to cruise through the mundane. You've shared extensions of your being to pass through this illusion called life using some of the most underrated faculties of speaking, writing, expressing, through words. You have done the same thing the emperor did, and the same thing the pauper did, you have used words. It's just the difference of how you used them that brought you to where you are now.

So use them wisely. Use them after thought, spare yourself moments to think about the ones you speak, read or write. Make some positive changes. You never know when your one compliment might make the difference that you've always wanted to make in your life. 

                                                                         *****

Existences

Source: @kashmirthroughmylens

I've been reading about people visiting Kashmir and Thailand

To find pieces of themselves

I've read them write about their conversations with silence, 

How the sight of their beloved changes the view of the world for them.

I've been reading about mountains that offer company to the loneliest of souls, 

And the seas that seem to stretch beyond the universe

People have found pieces of themselves traveling with strangers, 

While trading stories with them.

They've discovered that their true guide is the heart and not the map.

They've lived life, seen new places,

While I?
I stay here within the same geographical boundary I was a week ago and yet,
Yet, I feel I discover my existence in their words.

Will You Know?

On some evenings,
I wonder,
I wonder who painted the sky so blue,
Who mixed the day & night,
And decided that we should be.
Did He?
Or was it a She?
Was there ever any one?
Maybe the stars just exist,
And sun just shines
By the laws that we humans devised.
Perhaps, magic is just an excuse to excite ourselves,
And dreams of love are frail thoughts let loose.
Who knows?
Did the poets get a glimpse?
Or did the science men discover?
Of the great reality we talk so easily.
Will I ever know?
Will you?

To The Shore

I left you on the shore: To wash yourself, to let you live your life your way. I left you there because I saw no other alternative. I left you there because it was the only way for a peaceful existence. I left you, yes I did, because that’s what you wanted. We’d been trying so hard for months to fit in, to make it work for us, but it never did. We were always weirdos for the world. And it is the bitter truth that the world doesn’t want diversity if it threatens them, it only desires diversity that it can co-exist with, understand, and if required overpower. There is no place for two green skinned humans to survive here. There is no way we would be accepted for who we are. The world here works in weird ways you see - humans are divided into so many divisions of race, caste, sex, nationality and so on that it at times makes me wonder if they do really remember their true purpose, their true nature. I guess we’ll never know. It as mystic to us as we must be to them, if they knew us. But they don’t. Nor will they ever know.

You remember when we first woke up to our reality? How frightened we were? How afraid of not only ourselves but also of the world we were? I remember you said you felt “different but in a mixed way”. I’ve always wondered why you said “different in a mixed way”, it wasn’t until our argument few days ago that I realized what you truly felt. I did know but I didn’t. I hope you get it, because it is the only way I can put it in words. Your elation at discovering that we were the ones who were supposed to better life here was un-miss-able. You sang your plans to me for a long while. After that, I saw you grow sad. I didn’t comprehend. But now I know, I feel your inhibition and I’m so sorry to say that it is your inhibition which has made you leave.  To be frank, I understand the world doesn’t want to see us for who we are or get to know us, it just wants us to get into the existing groove of monotony that their lives are. So we paint ourselves. We paint ourselves every weekend from head to toe in paint, into a colour that not only covers our skin but also makes it impossible to distinguish us from other humans. I remember when once the post man saw a little of green on my palm he cursed at me and threatened to shoot me. This was when he wasn’t even aware of the reality of my green skin. We have to live a false life. We have to.

To be honest we were doing so well. Waking up every morning, getting dressed, going to work, coming back and sleeping at night. We had fit in amazingly when suddenly you began to feel different about our mutual plan of living as normal humans do. You started yelling about “not fulfilling our real purpose”, of being sucked into the luxury, of forgetting our roots, our mission here. You wanted to remove the paint, go out in the green coloured skin and do the work you were supposed to do. You wanted to be yourself and were tired of putting up a facade. But. What you don’t realize is that this is the only way we can survive. This is the only way we get to live. If we bared ourselves to the world we wouldn’t receive appreciation, admiration or anything positive that you have in mind; we will instead be ridiculed, punished, interrogated, looked at with suspicious eyes, be subjected to researches and tests. We won’t be able to live.

I’ve tried so many times to make you understand these tiny truths that people appreciate you until you threaten them. I’ve told you there is no place for being real, living without a facade here but you won’t agree. You’ve set your mind on being “The True You”. This hurts my chances of survival here and puts me in the direct purview of suspicion if anything were to happen to you. I’m going to go back and live on with the paint. It is the only way to survive. I cannot allow this. I can’t allow you to be you. That is why I’ve brought you here today, to the shore. To the place where you said you feel nice and real. I’ve brought you here so that you can feel that way always. I’ve brought you here so that you can wash off your paint. So that you can be You.

 

Two Boats

Well it’s been a long journey. And I’m not yet tired. There is still so much left to explore and discover, and even if we run out of things to explore and discover we will have a nice time basking in the memories of our journey. Although a part of me wants that this journey never end, and we travel together all the time, but another part of me knows that this will not be possible. We can’t be in the same boat when we have to travel to different destinations. So unwillingly I have to accept the inevitability of the fact that you and I will travel in different boats for quite some time now.

I know that even though our destinations are different and we both are equally unsure about our reaching them in time, we are guided by the same drive: hunger for achievement. All psychology students will tell you there are primarily four drives in a human being. I consider the drive for achievement to be the dominating one in both of us. After all, we didn’t come onto earth to live and soak in its beauty without contributing to it in whichever way possible. And when we have a chance to choose the way, why not choose the best and make it large?

At times, the way we’ll choose will make us run after it, run all through the day. There will be a point where we’ll feel like giving up on the chosen way and also, on ourselves. Ah! But that is the real test of passion, to hold onto your choice even when nothing around you seems to be making sense. To stay with your choice when the world is telling you to give up. To stay determined. There are ought to be moments when you feel down but remember your greater purpose, the reason for your drive and keep moving. There is no problem if you move slowly; the problem arises if you refuse to move. So don’t.

There will be moments of utter happiness and satisfactions too, enjoy them, but also know that they too, like moments of sorrow are temporary. Remember when Chandragupta Maurya won a battle he did not spend away all night celebrating, he rather started to plan his next move. We need to move with that focus. We need to make our names that large, so that kids centuries after us, know who we were and why we were.

Needless to say there will always be up and downs and we have to face them both with equal courage and foresight. The reason why a term for a roller coaster going only up isn’t coined is because it is highly improbable. The two have to co-exist, up and down, black and white, sweet and sour; that’s what makes our little time on earth worthy of remembering.

We both are similar and not same. I don’t expect you to take the same decisions I consider right, but I do expect you to not take a different decision just because I chose the one you wanted. We can share.

What remains at the end of the day is only how much we contribute, in our own ways, and how close did we get to our greater purpose. I hope we both always remember this and keep moving. After all, there is going to be a time when we both will be on the same boat, for the same destination, again.

This is a piece of work I wrote for my best friend an year ago and never had the wish to email it.

 

Of College, School and Smiles

Hey guys! 

Hope everyone's doing great. My life has been a huge roller coaster lately and even though I get time to post I lack the inspiration at times. Now, when my exams are hardly four days away I feel that I should write (see how weird my brain processes are?) before I get to writing anything let me clear any doubts of any human regarding if college is better than school. No. It is Not. It is so not better. 

Well of course, its more glamorous, and you feel a sense of adulthood when you tell people you're in college, but that's mostly it, no other great perks. It's rather more difficult than school in a way.

 You are just informed about the VAST syllabus, thousand assignments and hundreds of exam. You are responsible for your work.

 Remember those days back in school when the teachers used to correct our "Homework"? Well no one does it in college. Though it is a relief in one sense it is also equally a bane- no one simply cares if you have written anything or not, so when the exams come you're on your own,no one else can be blamed. smart, isn't it? It's fun too.

You have to make your own schedule of study, you HAVE to submit those assignments. No one cares when, how, or where, they just have to magically appear on the teacher's desk on the date of submission. No excuses. This can be done two ways - Either you work on a select portion everyday with a conscious plan of completing it ,or, like me stay up the entire night before the submission day and scribble whatever words related to the topic you can find and pray that your teacher doesn't rusticate you on the grounds of utterly disappointing assignments. Yeah.

Another weird thing about college is that there are no breaks. I mean, hello!? Aren't we humans supposed to eat? College is responsible for half of the malnutrition phases that I mentally imagine myself going through when I'm in the class. What is the use of not assigning breaks? Sure class sessions can be longer and stuff, but wait, if I'm hungry you think I'll be able to focus  in that extended time period ? Let me just eat please! Puh-lease!

A serious thing that troubles me about my college in specific (hope your college doesn't irritate you about this) is the lack of proper sanitation facilities. There are such few open washrooms, the ones that are open are invariably mildly stinky. Though their are more washrooms in the campus they are locked. I did think of going and complaining about it but then I decided that I should inspect all the other washrooms before I do so. So I did. And what I found wasn't pleasing. The washroom was great it had so many facilities, but it wasn't kept that way. It had been littered and dirtied. People had thrown things right on the lid of the dustbin to escape the minute effort of having to lift the lid. So yeah, good hygiene habits and sanitation facilities are very necessary.

But 

Apart from all that college is fun, you have a sense of independence and get to steer your life on your own. So have fun where ever you are whether it's in college or in school, you'll miss it when its over.Smile your way through it all :)

Sunday Morning Strangers

Sunday mornings call for a relax in the daily routine. Sunday also happens to be the day when I have intensive driving session with my instructor. so I wore my running shoes, not because I was going to run but because my instructor prefers to teach me in them.
After a lot of driving, we stopped at a road which was beautifully surrounded by tree and shrubs. After some distance it led to the main road. My instructor stopped the car on my query related to the mechanism by which the brake works. We drew to left and stopped. He drew heavily labelled diagrams  to illustrate the working which were followed by analogies that made it  much more easier for me to grasp the concept. But me, being the kinesthetic personality I am and luckily my instructor was too, we got the car. We opened the bonnet of the car, and were viewing and examining the various parts related to the brake which he had so carefully drawn.
From a distance it must have appeared that two individuals were musing how to fix the car, touching wires and several parts of the engine unable to reach a conclusive decision about how to fix the car and get going.
The road wasn't a busy one, so not many people passed us. some of the passer-bys looked at us with amazement about how could someone possibly get a car broken so early in the day, while few other just gave us sympathetic glances which were supposed to be consoling. Then, just as we finished with the mechanism of the power brake, sir tried to locate it when a motor cycle with two men drew up- probably a father-son duo and muttered some words. The younger one who was driving wore reflectors so I couldn't pinpoint whom he was talking to while the elder looked at me for an answer. I stared at them dumbfounded while sir went on explaining. getting no response, they didn't persist instead left the sight.
After shutting the bonnet, when i began to drive again the words the guy had spoken made a statement in my head which translated to should we fix it for you guys? or call help? I was happy. A random stranger, that too an Indian male (if you know what I mean) had offered to help and that too, without rubbing chauvinism in my face. Getting no answer he didn't shout or do any such thing but rather left the place, that too without swearing abut how stupid people are. pleasant surprise. :)

Dear Stranger,
Thank you for offering to fix my car (and call help if required )while I was studying the engine's parts. I couldn't piece your words together at that moment to comprehend what you exactly meant, but now that I do- here's a big thank you.

Why I Won't #PrayForParis

The devastating attacks on Paris display the mindlessness of terror and its will to just kill. Paris is hurt and heavily bruised, it needs to gather its courage and stand up stronger against terror. The French President, Francois Hollande declared a state of National Emergency in the aftermath of the attacks thus making this the most painful tragedy in the Western World after 9/11. But wait, isn't the world larger than just the Western World?
Shouldn't the Syrian Refugee Crisis be given similar importance? Those refugees are running away from the same terror that France experienced for three hours, only those three hours are 24*7 for them. They are forever uncertain of their life in their own country and have had to leave it in order to just survive. People have left with hardly any material possessions, they gave up their claims on the houses that took them years to build , the play grounds their children grew up in and on all their favorite dinner restaurants and places of worship. They suffer too, I would say more than France, although terror is terror and it is unfair to compare. But no, I will. Terrorized French nationals have a place to go to at night, however the refugees have no proper roof over their heads.
Lebanon and other countries in the Middle East have been burning since several years and yet the leaders of the world refuse to sit down and decide on a foolproof policy to bring about peace.
Beirut suffered heavy bombings two days before the Paris tragedy but not even half of the coverage given to the French attacks by the international media were given to the Beirut bombings. Middle East has been burning, and continues to do so. It is time that we address the issue and not selective victims: terror needs to be minimized if it can not be completely eradicated, countries that are affected by terror need to be shown equal solidarity irrespective of them being third world countries or members of the Big Five.
Also, as Joan Sfar a Charlie Hebdo cartoonist points out, "Pray for Paris" is a misnomer. We don't need more religion. The people who carried out the inhumanly attacks were too driven by religion (on a level of fanaticism). Religion is not the answer, faith, love and support, I feel are the answers, not only for Paris but for the entire world today.
So when you update your status on the numerous social networking sites today, remember to hash-tag them with love and support, not only for Paris but also for the entire world. :)

This Identity?

Give yourself a fictitious identity
And live it for a few days.
See the world through those eyes.

Feel the fears, the cheers, the love and the hate.
Laugh at every moment you wish to, 
And dance when ever the music demands.
Be spontaneous. Make friends, appreciate art, cry about the things that worry you.

Love like you've never loved before, 
Like you have only few days on this planet to exist,
To distribute the limitless amount of love you've been gifted with.

Be a traveler on a path you've always been a tourist on.
Make the mistakes you always wanted to.
Be afraid of nothing and live like there actually is no tomorrow.

Stay up all night. 
Talk about stardust, fairies, molecules and pizza.
Tell your deepest secrets, feel fully your inhibitions.
Realize that both you and the night are only as old as you want it to be.

Talk non-stop but enjoy also the few moments of silence when the world slows down,
And it feels like the time has frozen.
Notice the leaves, the puddles, the grass below your feet.

Meet strangers- confide in them your troubles, your dreams and aspirations.
Listen to them too- to their worries, happiness and musings.
And then go away from them, 
Like a minute of an hour that never returns.

Stay away from people,
Or stay with them,
But don't lose yourself.
Remind yourself of your importance,
Of how you are an entire universe within yourself.

Live the fictitious identity any way you wish,
Be someone you don't know,
Or someone you want to know,
Or be someone you've always known.

#Let'sTalkAbout-- Depression

I'm a Psychology student. One of my family members suffered from Depression. None of us have any feeling of guilt or embarrassment in talking about it. Depression has nothing to do with how strong one is, rather the strongest are those who admit to need of help and not they, who sit around and declare them to me mad. In India, there are social stigmas attached to several things one of which is depression. Why? I ask. When there is no stigma around having any physical disease then why is having a curable mental illness stigmatized?
Friends try to brush away the topic or at declare one to be attention-hungry and thus "Doing drama". But Depression is not drama, nor is it seeking attention, it is not anything an ill-informed prejudiced person tells you; It is-
A depressive disorder is an illness that involves the body, mood, and thoughts. It interferes with daily life, normal functioning, and causes pain for both the person with the disorder and those who care about him or her.
A depressive disorder is not the same as a passing blue mood. It is not a sign of personal weakness or a condition that can be willed or wished away. People with a depressive illness cannot merely "pull themselves together" and get better. Without treatment, symptoms can last for weeks, months, or years. Depression is a common but serious illness, and most people who experience it need treatment to get better. Appropriate treatment, however, can help most people who suffer from depression.
Depression can sometimes occur without any apparent cause, other times it may be triggered by a traumatic experience. Studies also blame certain genes for pre-disposing people to depression. 

India has the most number of depressed people in the World, it also has the highest Suicide rate in the world. As early as 2011, 36% of the nation was suffering from Depression, in 2012 over 2,50,000 individuals committed suicide. And yet, talking openly about depression is a taboo in the country. While people have no qualms in visiting a doctor when they have cold n cough, people hesitate largely to visit a psychologist when they feel they have a mental ailment as they consider it to be a fruit of their own minds and thoughts thus holding themselves responsible.
Indians, generally, do not wish to discuss the topic of depression due to the outdated orthodox belief that if someone is suffering from it he/she must be mad. Many people are apprehensive about consulting a doctor for their mind, as they are afraid of being judged not only by the society at large but also by their own family members.
This however needs to be changed. The topic of Depression needs to be de-stigmatized.
Depression is just another disease, and like any other ailment can be cured by medicines if one consults a doctor at the right time. The hush-hush discussions about depression need to be done openly without any shame. The patients needs to be convinced that it is not their fault, and that having depression does not imply that they are mad. We need to broaden our mindsets to accommodate the simple fact that mental ailments are not a cause for ostracizing people or to gossip about them. Mental ailments need to accepted like any physical ailment would be, and be treated.
A nation of 1.2 billion people deserves to talk openly about mental illnesses the way it would about any physical illness.