What connects?

A lot many times I have held a gift in my hands; touched it, felt it and possibly drowned myself in the memories that surround it. The person behind the gift took the chair of prominence in my minds eye and I have let my thoughts deepen the relationship between.

I often find it misleading to think that materials are useless; it’s the thought that counts and matters. I feel it’s the journey into thoughts that is led by the materials that matters the most.

It is often heard that thoughts become things but it is rarely heard that things when gifted or bought or sold, connect and build stories. Sometimes powerful stories of love, of friendship and of trust. At times earning all your love and respect and at times channeling all the negative emotions and forcing them out of you.

Either way, the art of gifting or buying or selling, things; paves the way into connecting individuals onto a journey where they share each other’s stories, become part of it, learn and at times unlearn but grow through it all, for sure.

Mother or no?

It’s natural. To have a child. To reproduce. Humans making humans. There isn’t anything abnormal in this. Institutions such as marriage, relationship status’s, emotions such as love and all others walk in, surround and play their respective roles in making another human but it’s all so very natural. It is even said that birthing, the process itself take you deeper into your essence than any that you have ever been exposed to.

What is this intense and obsessive need associated with making another human? Perhaps it’s a wrong question to ask. Maybe it’s not need, it’s a desire. The strength of this desire might vary from human to human, circumstances to circumstances, bedroom to bedroom but the honesty that governs this desire never dies.

The questioning of capabilities, the doubts on status’s and the breaking of rule books often leads one to ask one fundamental question – do you want to feel what it means to be a mother at all?

The set of responsibilities, the changing paradigms of self, the fine threads of bonds that you seldom took notice of, everything perhaps changes meanings and hands once you become a mother. Hence, even more crucial than the desire is to know what you feel from your core?

Time and again people have expressed sadness over not being able to be parents, expressed great determination and passion for choosing not to have a child; probably each one of them is right and holds a validity in their own space and time. The bigger question that goes unmasked is this, isn’t it the feeling that runs all these desires that we put on the front and choose not to answer?

When you do get fo the space of answering a question as blunt as this, why don’t you feel like having a child? Or why do you feel like having a child? The answers would themselves find their anchors in your life. Perhaps then you wouldn’t want to even talk about this because healing from the brokenness that’s within, is hard to hold and to pretend.

Defying the natural laws, compromises and adjustments, we all more or less know what they mean. What we need to go back to is to feel what it makes us feel. To be a mother doesn’t necessarily equate to being related to someone in blood; to be a mother perhaps means to be responsible to who you are in your feelings when the odds are low.

Opinions. Judgements. 

If I am made to sit and judge a beauty pageant, chances of me ruining it are sky high. Even though I am sure I’ll be great with the numbers but my biases will be so strong and untrained that I am bound to misjudge everything. But imagine; if I did take up the offer to be a judge because someone else feels that I am fit for the job, and if I let that someone’s feelings become my mantra, and sit on that chair, I, for sure, will be guided by my vanity and pride.

How many times does this really happen .. That you are commenting, judging and giving random opinions on things that you rarely know anything about?! A LOT. Just because we all, more or less, have an access to a space where we can project anything and everything, doesn’t necessarily mean that we must.

I do agree that all of us are stories and we have all the rights to live our stories and even to share them. But do we really have the rights and are trained enough to comment on every story?! Life, isn’t really a film. Films are etched out of life, for sure and thus everyone having an opinion on them (as in films) is justified. Whereas, on life, itself?! How just is that?! 

Biases never leave us. We can never ever measure them either. We can simulate them. Which means we keep running through loads of possible permutations and combinations of the same model; we all do that inevitably. We run our mini life sustaining models day in and out with just few tweaks here and there .. As a result, what we stand for today, changes tomorrow and then what we believe in today, gets either strengthened in time or we move away.. However, at no given point, do we hold the key to the acute and precise understanding of life, itself. We live it, through it, and in it. 

Given this, we do have cohorts. Cohorts that are knowledgeable, that are intellectual, that think and articulate thoughts well, that question to understand; not to judge. We all hold the rights to these cohorts. We belong to one of these many cohorts based on our experiences, education and exposure in life. Although, not every cohort experience is self enriching but then it’s best to have your knowledge and skills tested by the people who understand your work. The opinion of your cohort on you then becomes your lead into life. You rely on them for your growth, you rely on them for your understanding. And it’s they, whose opinions and judgements should matter. 

These public votes on selecting singers, dancers, models and what not, is utterly ridiculous because half the population doesn’t even know what makes a singer singer. Just because I feel like staring at this beautiful face, I am going to keep voting for the face to stay .. reads ridiculous, I am sure and it’s perhaps what happens constantly. Just because that is a friend, I am going to do this as a favour .. Just because of this and that .. And with loads of just because’s .. We all end up in this space where scratching backs, licking asses .. feels alright. 

I do know that money is important and mimicking set avenues for making money isn’t wrong. But then mimicking them shouldn’t take you away from the basic knowledge that you are mimicking it with probably a different model .. You haven’t created the model. If you did create the model, then you wouldn’t be judging or holding an opinion on it because it’s the use and abuse that generates opinions not the creation per se.  

Oh well ❤️ 

The urge.

I have often read people saying how honest they are, how truthful they are and how non materialistic they are and how they are not a part of this largely ungrateful and manipulative world. I have wondered, having read them, that how do they survive?

The constant urge that they have to shout from the rooftops and from their respective balcony’s, to emphasise on how much different they are as opposed to the world that they breathe in, appals me many a times.

If you feel you are different, then chances are that you are probably right in feeling the way you feel but the urge to shout it out, to let the world know, then just becomes a lot baseless and pointless. Simply because, you probably are feeling different given the conditions of the world that you are a part of. So who do you shout out and put your thoughts out to?

Let’s assume that you do want to let the world know that you are really different; first thought is why? Why should the world care? And lastly, even if the world did care, what is it that you are trying to achieve by letting it know that you are different than everyone else that are in it?

Am I then saying that urges need to be controlled? Perhaps not. I am potentially saying that even if there’s an urge, the responsible act should be to find out the why behind the urge rather than unleashing it out in the open for you never know, in a world of bots and humans, if bots win, you might just have yourself classified into a category that you wouldn’t have thought of with all your life.

To the world that’s moving so fast..

.. I have something to say that might be a bit harsh

I want to say that ‘power’ is a made up word; blinds the eyes of a blood seeking sword

I want to tell you that humans were and are bundles of will

To say I am right and he is wrong is then just a cheap, transient thrill

I can thrive at your loss and survive at the fittest game

While loosing the essence of the self it can and never will be the same

We started off stark naked, we would leave the same way

To then build empires with portraits, let me ask, is it worth the materialistic gain?

If I were to build and if I were to rescue

Couldn’t I have done a better job by just letting you be you?

I trust the heart that beats and pumps the blood

Mine is red, I know yours is too

If I am, then are you, and many a times, I am because of you

My redness hasn’t decreased in time, I am sure yours too has followed the same gene pool and blood line

So why do I have to prove or disprove my being to you? I exist and so do you.

Since when has power backed by money come to decide that I lead and you follow?

I don’t deny that I did collect a bit more than I could swallow

The rest I spent on building bridges, buying materials and making weapons,

For, I wanted to protect my self from my own breed of men

Why do I need protection? Did I ever ask?

If I were to let you love me and love you back, would we still break our faith and trust?

While I did this, you did that,

Who am I to judge your perceived notion of fact?

What I was born with, you too were,

All we ever had was an entire universe

The sun’s never changed it’s course for you or me,

It’s always been further out and never in our vicinity

We drew it close because we had the same needs

The desires overtook and it became a fallacy!

When do I or you then blame the sun for our miseries?

I have my share of the daily bread, work on keeping me alive

Why would I judge you for you too can have an identical stride

I can and so can you,

So then, where is the manmade power holding us through?

I don’t want to lead you and neither do I want to follow

I want to be me and I want you to be you.

My life. From min to Max.

I walked in to the tea room in a green tee and a torn pair of jeans, a guy dressed in a business suit got up and greeted me. 

He had a book in his hand, Roots by Alex Haley.

Surprised and happy, I blurted out loudly – You read Haley?! 

He lowered his eyes and neatly placed the book on the table, looked up at me and said – I don’t read at all, sadly. 

I was just trying to find out why you like and talk about this book so blatantly 

I didn’t really know what to say because no one dared or even cared to ask me to reason, up until that point in life.

Perplexed, settled in! 

We sat down and he ordered tea 

Not one or two but 10 cups of different teas

I thought he’s mad but he had heard from his mother that I was a blue blood tea addict 

Keeping up with my pace and fondness for tea 

Max drank 7 cups hesitantly 

I was a bit shocked at his tea drinking spell 

I knew he would feel very unwell 

But I guess what I didn’t understand then 

Was that he drank to just be with me; this saga continued ever since! 

As it was time to go home, he got up and hugged me 

And as I was about to leave 

He asked if he could come along! 

I said he could but he was too formally dressed 

He looked at himself and then me and said 

I don’t have torn jeans, I could tear them if you want 

I laughed and said yeah why not, if you are that desperate to be with me 

That’s how we go ahead, cutting jeans irrespective of your desires

I was going to meet my friend Emma and I took Max along 

I got them introduced and left 

When I got back the next day, I realised he was seduced 

I couldn’t stop laughing because I knew he was insane 

All I wanted to know if he had any plans in his heart and mind to be vain 

His seductions stories, well, let’s not go there, but just for the record, I know them all 

Hang on! Let me confess, they weren’t happy at all. 

Max’s seduction was high on emotions that ran deep in another human’s mind 

He worked with empathy and left very little onto the divine 

He knew that if he left Emma, she would commit suicide

Probably it would have been alright then because that’s exactly how their life unfolded in time. 

From a business suit to a torn jeans,

I even got him into eating greens 

His mother and my friend, Meera, would always thank me 

For turning her son into a human that she had failed at miserably 

Max taught me how to drive a limousine 

And when I had my first accident he paid my hospital bills smilingly 

Everyone has a best man at their wedding

For him, I had to dress up in a suit and speak at his 

He even taught me how to play football 

He was the one, let me confess, who broke my knee because he kicked me hard 

It might sound disgusting if I say 

Max used to wet my tees every other day 

I wish his tears never dried away 

I wish I understood at that time his inherent need to hug me and cry at random sways 

Life moved on and so did we

We ended up having 6 individuals between us, you see 

Not because he was unfaithful or disrespecting towards my friend, Emma 

But because he was loving and caring beyond earthly means 

Kiya and Buno are amazing souls, I am sure you all can see 

They have been Max’s lifeline through his darkest days, I am sure all of you would agree 

Our little rendezvous still occurred at regular intervals and at odd hours 

At times people have seen me sleeping me in his office while he was stuck being self sour

Rumours have done the rounds that me and him were having a thing!

Of course we were right from the day we exchanged rings 

Max and I bought out first diamond together 

The truth is, he bought his and I paid for mine, irrespective of the hour 

We have never helped each other financially and neither have we paid each other’s bills 

We have rather held each other close, tightly beyond gods will 

Did I know that Max was unwell and did he know that I was too? 

Yes. We did. 

I have been with Max to his doctors and he has been with me to mine. 

We did hide the facts through time.

Not because we didn’t want anyone to know but because 

Max didn’t want anyone to stress out of their mind

We have carefully piled each of our books, one on top of other 

Because only we know how attachment works in this world 

Beyond time, space, relations and hour 

Now that Max is gone, I am all on my own 

I have no friend and no longer do I know what it feels like to be owned. 

If Max is listening, which I hope he is from somewhere up in the clouds, 

He should smile rather than cry at my skills to keep our life story lyrical and just about intact. 

To the rest of you who have seen us and been with us through years

I would like to reassure you that I am around 

Like I have always been to cover up for Max’s long lost skills. 

But tomorrow, when I leave this very ground 

I want you to remember us, if you at all care, as friends who never breathed a word of mistrust. 

This is, perhaps the only thing that made us so unique than everyone else we ever knew

We learnt trust and practiced it on each other as days grew.

As I step out of this room today, I want you to know in your hearts 

Max and I loved each of you more than we have ever ever expressed 

And of course, trust, that’s what I leave you with, as a part of Max’s human legacy 

Your trust in him was as important to him as much as his own breath through his weak spleen. 

As I come to the end of my allotted time to bore you, 

I am going to leave you with one line that Max said to me from his death bed ..

‘I have lived my life, I didn’t just exist. I owe it to you and to everyone else’ 

The unrealistic expectation of a run.

It’s actually pretty simple. It’s just simply running. You will have your own pace and your own rhythm. Don’t have to see or follow what others are doing, just go with your own self and get it done. 
After a series of long and short conversations, when I actually got down to run, I couldn’t run. I wish I could call it a runner’s block similar to a writer’s block. A crucial examination of my own body led me to believe that I probably have bad legs and horrible knees but then I am not a trained medic to conclude on this so confidently. Could it be that I was just looking for a bodily excuse to make myself believe that I can’t run at all?! Not could it be, it actually was. I was looking for a bodily excuse to not run at all. 

My expectations from my own self on running had exceeded every single parameter that I have ever held close to when it came to sports. Even squashing the 5k under 45 minutes was when I realised I could actually do everything that I set my heart to. But then after all these months, getting my heart and mind in that one space was a struggle in itself. More than the body that I could literally push to run, it was me telling my own self on how I can’t run. 

The knowledge surrounding running didn’t come handy today and neither did all these weeks of training with pros made me feel any better. What I missed most was my own heart believing that I could run. Even though my mind could structure a thousand positive thoughts, I let that doubt creep in, a little belief that perhaps I am not good enough to do this. And no matter what levels and depths of positive self talk I indulged in, the result was pretty clear. I didn’t get it because I didn’t have my heart in it. 

So while expectations might just act as a function of the mind and the thoughts, to me it seems it’s a convoluted function of the heart. While the thoughts and theory might point you towards the sky, if your heart isn’t in it, everything’ll be as good as your first try.