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?

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.

 

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.

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.

Friends Perhaps

"You're the stupidest person I've ever met" read the What-I-Think-of-You section of her slam book.
That's what he thought of her? The stupidest person whom he had ever met? Really? She read and re-read it, over a dozen times until it became absolutely clear to her that what she was reading was indeed written. She traced the movement of the pen as it had glided over the paper temporarily leaving behind permanent marks which disturbed her thoughts. Not that she had special affection in reserve for him, nothing of the sort. But then they were friends and classmates; she had expected softer and sweeter words, also considering that this was perhaps their last year of being together in the same institution.
They had begun as any two friends begin- as strangers. They were however in the same class and the intersecting set of their common interests seemed to be greater than usual. So they gradually became friends. Then good friends.
Today, on the last day before the impending examinations she had brought her slam book to treasure the few people whom she actually liked in the large fair of different types of people ranging from the simpleton to the queen of faked-ness that her class was. He was among the chosen few.
Though their conversations had decreased over the course of the previous two years she felt an underlying sense of familiarity with him. A sort of connection that didn't need a formal acknowledgment. They were friends.
Yet a lot had changed in the two years. She wasn't the strong person she was at the beginning of the two years. She had turned into something she herself couldn't realize, any attempt to make her comprehend the perceptible changes met with staunch denial from her side. He had changed too, got thinner, better at studies, had a girlfriend now and was probably more widely known.
She didn't really get along with everyone in the group, she wasn't comfortable. So she changed her company but at the same time maintained her friendship with the chosen few.
This sudden distance that was evident from his comment in the book was actually not all that sudden. Though he had always kept a level of friendship and had even consoled her during one of the emotional lows, she felt herself and him as a consequence, to be different.
Her mind began to wander. Perhaps she was imagining all of it, perhaps it hadn't even occurred! She glanced at the slam book and it was the end of these doubt. New doubt cropped up in her head-on maybe she was the only one who felt the connection and not he, maybe she had imagined the entire friendship maybe she was the only one amongst the two who thought the other to be a friend and a sensible person. Maybe the world was a lie.
She started out of the window and saw the sun dipping into the water leaving behind a palette of red and orange. It seemed to be rather rough, as if the last time the brush touched it left it bruised and wounded. She saw the birds flying together in the V- formation, wondering the basis on which the order of precedence was decided. Did friends support friends? She peered down at the fence that surrounded the garden and saw a gray cat lying there on the soft green grass as it mused about thoughts unknown to man. And some, perhaps, known.

A City and Two Sides.

I had written this piece a long time ago, in my summer vacations around an year ago when I visited my cousins in Patna. I happened to read it again and decided to post in up here.

It’s not even been a week here in Patna for me and I can already feel at home here. I agree Patna is not one of the best capitals in the country where one would like to rewind and refresh; you don’t have the benefit of great roads, cleanliness in every nook and corner, smooth driving, first class showrooms and so many more. There is a crowd at every second place, there are people talking way above the normal audible level, at some places there is not even something to call a proper road!

But then there is always a second side to the same coin! The flip-side, believe me, is indeed alluring!  You won’t see it sitting in a part of the city. It won’t come walking towards you to say "hello!"  But having said that, I would also say that goodness and beauty is subjective to every individual, I can only give you an account of how I experienced it in Patna.

Patna is the capital of Bihar. Here, you see people, irrespective of their social standing, enjoying themselves. People here are less bothered about who the president of the USA is, and more concerned if India will win every cricket match it plays. Every small shop has a TV where people flock to see cricket matches and cheer real loud even though they are thousands of miles away from the venue of the match. This is a part of the love and support that the Indian cricket team enjoys in the country.

The languages spoken here are also so diverse. Though my friends group it together saying its Bihari, but hey! That’s not the only language people speak in Bihar. You have Angika, Bajjika, Bhojpuri, Magahi and Maithili, each enchanting in itself. Each language has a different tone, a different texture and a different feel that it gives to both, the hearer and the speaker. When I think of making a generalization about the feel of the languages I can definitely say that it they are sweet, give a feel of belonging, and want you to understand them(or maybe that’s my minds playing tricks.) Bhojpuri, one of the loved Indian languages has its roots and also its maximum number of speakers, in Bihar, though not in Patna. In Patna, you get to hear almost every of the above mentioned language. The speaker speaks in his language and the listener responds in his, therefore when you go to a shop and speak to the shopkeeper in any language he will invariably respond in his mother tongue. If you, at any given point of time stand in a crowd and listen, you can hear the various languages all in the same crowd.

That’s not all. There’s a lot more than what meets the eye in Patna. I do not want to make it a boring essay by going more into details  but I can surely say that in Patna, yes, there is chaos, but under it there flows calmness and understanding.