Being alive and beyond.

 While wondering about the meaning of being alive and questioning everything around you,

      you are also making your bed every morning, breathing, going to work, putting in an extra roti and your friend’s favorite sabzi in the tiffin, wishing everyone a good morning with a gentle smile, drinking water, and reminding others to do the same, asking “are you okay?”, noticing their new pair of earrings, asking questions in class with a huge amount of courage, breathing, picking someone’s pen and handing it back to them, offering water to your teacher when she has trouble speaking because of cold, complimenting someone by “Oh! You look so beautiful”, finding peace in your children’s smile, having lunch with friends just because it makes you happy, having intense but healthy conversations,

breathing, sharing your painful stories and not judging them while they share theirs, giving a flower, smiling at sunsets, walking on roads, looking at the sky and getting amazed by its magnificence, clicking pictures of one another, sharing them and saying “I love your smile in this one”, breathing, giving a fruit to a roadside beggar, having chai with a friend who loves it as much as you do, holding on to people you care about, lending money to a friend, telling your parents about your day without telling them how much you miss them, taking firm decisions, visiting a doctor for a friend, saying painful goodbyes and accepting change, 

breathing, giving gentle hugs, moving on from a heartbreak, helping your friend to drape a saree, visiting the temple, sitting in a café alone, remembering their birthdays and taking efforts to make it special, wailing like a child late at night and getting up strongly the next morning, letting your brother know that he is doing great, breathing, asking someone, “hey, do you want me to drop you somewhere?”, expressing your love for someone, calling your best friend every day, reaching out, reading a book, taking a stand for yourself, looking in the mirror and feeling good about yourself, calling your grandparents to check up on their health, 

breathing, wearing your mom’s earrings, getting your favorite haircut, leaving toxic people behind, listening to a song just because your friend recommended it, writing stories, talking to strangers, calling your female friend just to wish her a “happy women’s day!”, thinking about novels and its characters, breathing, appreciating your sister for everything she is, allowing each other to remain silent, making your dad feel proud of you, laughing with friends till your stomach aches, dancing with them like crazy, watching the empty streets, falling in love with the moon, committing mistakes and never repeating them, 

 breathing, screaming your pains, forgiving some and ‘not’ forgiving some, surviving in an unknown city all by yourself, making coffee for your friends, making a surprise visit at home, letting your school teacher know about your success, celebrating festivals with families, getting back together with a friend after a long fight, breathing, loving something and unloving something, cooking your child’s favorite food, taking immense care of your sick friend, sending a picture to someone that says, “this reminded me of you.”, letting someone go for your own peace, watching the sunrise, talking about your dreams, leaving tiny notes for your friend and sticking them on your cupboard, 

breathing, giving a peck on your mother’s forehead, making mental health the biggest priority, appreciating your friend’s success, fighting with loved ones, apologizing, watching an old Hindi film with your dad, planning your friend’s wedding, petting a dog, breathing, speaking up against harassment, caressing a flower, pushing and motivating your friend to write, talking about uncomfortable topics with your family, being able to share biggest fears with them, accepting someone as they are, folding your roommates’ clothes, understanding the pain that your female friends go through while menstruating, 

breathing, offering your seat to someone else, praying for the well-being of your loved ones, respecting someone’s choice, appreciating every small effort that people take to make your birthday special, encouraging other artists, finding beauty in poems, being honest with someone you love, traveling, showing empathy towards someone suffering mentally, breathing, reading legends and epics, jumping with joy for your friend’s success, crying for your friend, working hard to give your children a secured life, making someone laugh, failing but never quitting, standing up for your friend, making memories and preserving them forever, 

breathing, fearing something endlessly and yet facing it bravely, helping someone survive the hard days, randomly calling your friend for no reason, texting your family members to let them know that you love them, listening when your friend wants to let out something, trying to be better every day, counting your blessings, believing in friends, breathing, going on solo-dates and loving yourself a little more every day.

So let me tell you that you are still here and doing great. And that matters the most.

 

 

 

Urja

“Okay now, I am hanging up. You take care, okay? I love you, okay? Okay?” said Urja while slowly moving towards hanging up the call, just like every day. But she again picked it up to check if there was any answer from the other side. But as always, there was none. Sighing with grief, she scratched another day on her calendar. 

“Day- 1,096th, month-37th, year-4th.” Urja reminded herself with despair. Suddenly, she turned around to look at the photograph hung on her wall and within no time, found herself wailing like a child. Her tears felt warm but painful. She felt stuck as if locked inside a dark room without any escape. She looked again at the photograph with her teary eyes and screamed, “I need you, Mumma!” 

It’s been three years since Urja had heard her mother’s voice. Her soulful, melting, delightful voice. Urja’s mother had been bedridden since she had a severe heart attack. Even after numerous treatments, medications, prayers, religious vows, spiritual healing techniques, and sleepless nights that Urja spent beside her mother, she had to face the harsh reality that her mother would never be able to make any bodily movements. She would be just a living sculpture carved with her aging marvels: each hair turning white and grim, skin getting more frilled and languid, her eyes growing weak and barren and her body becoming still and calm, at every moment. 

Since then, Urja had longed to see her mother the way she was. The soft smile that made her look more beautiful, her innocent giggles while cracking jokes, her glowing tears when she watched a movie, her loving touch when she caressed Urja’s hair to reduce her stress, her stubbornness bloomed out of genuine care when she never allowed Urja to leave the house without having some food, her incredible beauty when she brushed her hair looking in the mirror every morning, her classic elegance that streamed out of her own choices, her authenticity, her fears, her delicate and sweet fragrance, her fierceness and everything that her mother was made up of. Urja was eagerly waiting for all of this. She was eagerly waiting for her mother. 

After gathering herself up, she stood in front of the photograph. She saw her mother looking at her with extreme love while Urja, being a child, had held her mother’s hand tightly. She vividly remembered the moment when that picture was clicked. It was 20 years ago on her 10th birthday. She remembered being cranky for clicking pictures because she wanted to open her birthday presents first. Just then, she was put in her mother’s lap and saw her blinking softly. Suddenly, Urja smiled at the camera. And why not? After all, she was extremely fond of her mother since childhood. Her mother was her favorite. She was her faith and her only power.

And today, as Urja could see her grown reflection in the framed photograph, she could also see her mother’s unbelievable charm. She could feel that her heart was still pumping with hope, at every moment. She could feel the warmth of care that her mother still had for her. The beauty that still resided in every cell of her body. And somehow, she was filled with a miraculous energy. It was unmatchable. It was so much greater than the grief that she had been carrying. It was a pure form of love. Nearly, a magical love. And with this innate belief to see her mother get cured someday, she wiped her tears and smiled. 

That day, Urja got ready for work with extreme joy, after a long time. After all, her eternal faith had got a new face with a delightful gleam. “I am going to see my mother smile.” She affirmed herself with strength. As Urja rushed to work, she forgot to put on her helmet while driving the bike. And her misfortune also came across, on the same day. She met with a serious accident and was admitted to the hospital. Her condition became critical in no time. The doctors had to announce that her chances to survive were less. Her family members immediately rushed to the hospital and constantly clung to her side. The operation and treatment took place immediately but Urja showed no signs of recovery. She was placed on a ventilator and doctors constantly said, “Let’s wait.” Days passed by and yet her condition was not restored. 

But on the day, her mother was brought to the hospital, Urja regained consciousness. Her family members jumped with joy and celebrated her slight improvement with applause. “See? Her mother is the only cure. After all, she gives her the ‘urja’ (energy) to survive.” They said while brimming with happiness. 

The hails echoed in Urja’s ears while her vision captured blur images of people hugging one another. When she finally had a sense of being alive, her eyes searched for only one person. And when she saw her mother sitting still beside her, staring blankly at the wall, tears rushed down her cheeks and touched the scars and stitches on her face. She started breathing heavily and her wounds caused excruciating pain. Her body ached severely and her brain felt immensely burdened. She could not tolerate the suffering any longer. She kept looking at her mother and whispered in a broken voice, “Mumma, I..I..wa..I want to go, Mumma!” 

Just then, Urja saw that her mother’s eyes made a slight movement. She saw her mother blinking, softly. And at that moment, without any effort, Urja stopped breathing. She blew away all her pains and fears. Her body went cold and numb. She was free from every moment of sadness, every wrecked piece of her soul, and every stitched part of her own body. Her lips ceased to move. Her lifeless eyes were stuck on her mother, who was still staring blankly at the wall. Maybe their love had released her. Maybe, her soul was put in her mother’s lap and it smiled, just like in the photograph. Maybe, she was no more tolerating the grief or enslaved with hope. Maybe, her faith had been restored and her wait was finally over.  

Father.

I realised that my feet were shaking more than they were, 5 minutes ago. I clutched them tightly but my sweaty hands slipped off my pants. "How can I be so nervous?" I questioned myself again just like I did, 9 months ago. I looked around and noticed the white walls with posters of smiling babies on them, empty steel benches and my family consoling me every five minutes. And I also noticed the silence. Silence that peeked through the glass doors and through all the huge floors. I could resonate with that silence. Although there was a huge storm in my heart, I could feel its beauty. As if, it was whispering to me, "This is the most beautiful day of your life. So, just breathe." 

And as I did, I realised that from today onwards, a tiny part of me is going to breathe in the same way. A part that we are going to raise in this world. A part that we will live and die for. A part that we already love more than ourselves. "How would it feel to become a father?" I wondered. "Those tiny little hands made up of the softest skin, those almond eyes yet to discover vision, those small feet bouncing up and down, the sweetest cry that would make realise my responsibilities everytime and a smile that would become the most beautiful thing for me. 

And soon, the baby would sing my name. What would it call me? How would that sound be? Will it love me? Will I be a good father? Will I be able to do enough? I won't let anything hurt my child. I will protect it till the end, no matter what." All these thoughts kept rushing in my mind and they were terrifying. I looked at Baba. He was standing quietly with both his hands crossed backwards. I went towards him and said, "Baba, I don't feel if I can make a good father. I am not strong enough, may be." He did not change his expression even an inch but calmly said, "Vijay, I still remember the day we brought you home from the orphanage. Adopting you was not happily accepted by everyone at that time but me and your mother were the happiest people that day. But I always kept wondering if I was even ready to be a father and what if I don't turn out to be a good one. And when I took you in my arms and felt your touch, I clearly knew that you were the one thing we always craved for. And since that moment, the meaning of love changed for me. Because since then, it always began with you. You know, being a father is the most incredible thing I have ever experienced. Its magical, trust me." 

After an hour, I was called inside the delivery room and at that moment, my life changed forever. I saw a miracle taking place. I held my wife's hand while watching the immense pain that she was going through. And I realised how powerful women are. I was consoling her but I was scared like never before. It was frightening. I could not understand if all of that was worth enough the pain that she was experiencing, it it was my fault to put her through it, if I was hurting both of them. I felt weak, I felt numb. 

And then finally.....

A loud cry echoed in the entire room and filled it with a dazzling joy. A sound that made my heart sink and my eyes soak in tears.A sound that took away all my fears. I simply wanted to keep hearing it. A feeling of extreme happiness danced in every heavy breath that I took. I went closer and saw a tiny human screaming heavily. "Its..my child, my..my..child." I said as I realised that it was all worth.

As I stepped outside, my family jumped with laughter but baba was still quiet. 

Within sometime, they came out with my baby wrapped in a towel and handed it to me. I looked at it. It was so beautiful. I could feel its calm breaths, its touch and its warmth. It had its tiny chin, delicate eyelids and pink cheeks that looked just like its mother. It was a feeling I cannot describe till this day. But I remember, I looked at baba. He was now smiling with all his heart. And I too, smiled back. Because at that very moment, I had become a father.

Chhatrapati Shivaji Terminus.

December 1, 2018. 

I stepped down from the train that brought me back to my past. Or should I say, to my unburied torment. I looked around and found everything built up again, right from the unstained blocks of a neatly recreated floor to an illuminated pole beside platform no.7. 

I thought to myself, "It feels like a resurrected place, soared from the ashes." I saw the people who were incessantly rushing towards platforms, chasing their merciless survival. I felt their hearts beating heavily and their brain freezing to one single thought, "I must get on the train or else its a pay cut that I cannot afford." 

And I suddenly realised that these people, all of them, have moved on. Or may be, they haven't but cannot wait to do so. They have locked that day, that particular moment of their life which had completely wrecked and crushed everything around them, which had shaked their soul to the core. "But then, isn't it the right thing? For how long will they be scared and hold on to something, even if it was so horrific? Do they really have the time to stop and think that it was the same place where gunshots were echoed, not in the air but in innocent people's chest? Can they really keep wailing on the fact that with no fault of their own, their people were killed? Can they really keep running from the chaos? Can they stop coming to the same station, board the same train with the same creased clothes and ghar ka dabba in their office bags, because of an incident, no matter how terrible it was?" I was questioning myself, when a chaiwala beside me poked me and said, "Are dada, pehchaana mereko? Mai chotu chaiwala. Bohot time baad aaye ho? Chai loge? Vahi cutting wali?" 

And after a long moment of staring at him and a huge scar on his forehead I said, "Are chotu, kaisa hai tu? Bohot bada hogaya." 

And with this, I remembered that dreadful day. 

Office timing, trains ariving with their usual "Chug-chug", people gathering all their stamina to board them, some finding a place to sit, some playing instruments to pass their time, some looking around bewildered and this "chotu chaiwala" making his ritual of melodiously screaming to call people and give them his special chai with his special smile. 

I remembered sudden treacherous sound of gun shots coming out of nowhere. The same people hustling with fear, some hiding behind poles, some running towards different directions. Again gun shots. Some of them hitting people in their chest, legs, brain. There were screams, loud wails, police sirens, tears and chaos. A Huge chaos. I remembered people being carried to hospitals, emergency rooms. The same people who had woken up thinking that their day would be full of work but at its end, they will be able to meet their friends, their loved ones, their family. But could not. Ever. 

I remembered myself lying beside a pole on platform no. 7, with my body drowned in sweat and blood, my eyes filled with tears and an excruciating pain. It was unbearable. Both for my body and mind. I remembered severe treatments later, both physical and mental, therapies, medications and a period of ten years to recover. 

But I was brought back to awarness by chotu who patted on my back and said with his traditional smile, "Ye lo dada, aapki pasand wali chai." 

I turned towards him and stood still. Suddenly his smile vanished and his chai remained untouched. Because all he could see was two empty sleeves of my shirt hanging helplessly for not being able to hold the cup of chai. He smiled dryly while I said nothing. But I could see his eyes feeling sorry for me. 

At that moment I thought, "If chotu chaiwala and every single stranger around me can accept the reality, if they can all forgive themselves for being or for not being present on the station that day, if they can soak the pain of losing someone or some part of their life and come back again everyday with a braver heart, stronger smile and even bigger strength to hold on to their survival, then courage has a brighter face. Losing my hands that day had made me weak. But courage gave me the faith to live again. Just like it gives every single person around me, everyday. Courage does not lie in royal thrones or power of mighty kings to rule the world. It lies in a burnt shoe of a kid who has survived in a war. Because when it comes to survial, there is no option left beside having courage and stepping up.

Image Source: Pinterest 

Barf-ka-gola

 ..."I feel this marriage is failing." His words echoed like a shrill noise in my ears. 

I was standing with a melted "barf-ka-gola" in my hand, huge pile of questions in my mind and a drowned heart full of pain and fright while he walked away ragefully. At that moment, he felt like a stranger to me. A person I did not know or loved, ever. 

"Since when is our marriage, a failure? How come I never felt it? Why all of a sudden? Because of a demotion in job? Am I the reason? Because of all the fights? Did I not understand him? May be--

may be this is just his frustration. He has worked hard. And that's why he might be upset. He will be okay once he settles down." 

All of these doubtful yet defending thoughts just rushed inside me and my mind quickly found a consoling escape from reality. We all do, right?

I threw away my melted, half-eaten, compromised barf-ka-gola and went home. 

For the next few months after he had suddenly vanished, I found myself frequently crushing on the floor, screaming and wailing, again and again.I felt- destroyed. I felt- betrayed. I felt- numb. I don't remember for how long I had stopped thinking, speaking or feeling anything. 

But I do remember that there were lot of cries, shivers and nightmares. There were quiet mornings and dreadful nights. There were sombre evenings and again horrifying nights. There were self-doubts and questions. So many of them. "What if this never ends? What if he never comes back? What if he has found someone else? What if he is dead?" My life felt like a dark, unending disaster to me. There was agony and a miserable downfall, 

until that one evening- 

when I was walking home from work and stumbled upon a toy. I picked it up and gave it to the child who came running towards me, took it and went inside a stadium which appeared to be a 'Mela' (funfair). 

I don't know what came to my mind but I just headed towards it. I stepped inside to find people with cheerful eyes, smiling faces and joyous screams around me.There were vivid lights and luminous colours gazing at me through their happiness. And there in a corner, I saw a crowd laughing and celebrating their existence with a"barf ka gola". It was all red, green, yellow and orange piece of cold delight. It was surrounded by soft giggles, unsaid romances and a low-key fun. And here I was, watching all of it and thinking about the last time I had a" barf-ka-gola". I remembered it to be melted, half-eaten, crushed and soaked into pain. I remembered it to be something frightening and malignant."I feel this marriage is failing..." His words again echoed in my ears.

But this time, something gave me the strength to walk towards that "thela" and ask one for myself. Only for myself.

I soaked the juice, took a bite of the frigid red coloured ice and watched people around me, still hopping with immense bliss and merriment. And at that fine moment, something in me just changed. Something, that I felt deeply inside me after so so long. Something that was mere beautiful and satisfying. It was nothing grand. Nothing huge. Nothing Magical. Just the usual me, having a usual 'Barf-ka-gola'. It felt cold but it gave me "the sweetest relief." As if I could breathe after so long. As if the whole world has gathered to take me into its arms, to hold me tightly and to tell me that "the sky is yours now and its waiting for you!" 

I found myself in tears but with a wide smile on my face. I ate it, I screamed with extreme joy, I hugged a little child for no reason at all, I filled my eyes with all the dazzling colours and the magnificent lights, I danced with strangers, I rode the ferris and looked at the world from top, I waived the sky, I screamed again and again and again but freely! 

And in that moment, I was born again. But this time, I wanted to live. 

Life grants us two choices, I feel. 

One: A choice to live in an imaginary world where there is always an alibi or a lie that would make us feel good for the time being, 

where there is sacrifice of our respect and trust just to hide from reality and give us a temporary smile. 

And two: A choice where there is freedom, self-love, strength and yes, a painful reality. 

Where there is a heavy storm but with a rainbow afterwards. Where there is bare land but beautiful roses afterwards.

But our mind always makes the first choice. Because we feel that not accepting the reality now would eventually make things better. 

And life? Ha! It surely has better plans for us.

It grabs our hand, pulls us out of our Cinderella fairytale and tells us that we are larger than all of this. That we are made for a world where there are challenges and sufferings but here, only we are responsible for them and no one else. We are made for a world which is filled with self-love, victories and greatness of life. 

A world that belongs to us. Wholly, without any backseats. 

A world where miracles exist but we are their creators. A world where there are people who fill our souls with strength and our hearts with their magical love.

And life makes us realize all of this someday or the other. But what makes me wonder the most is that: it does not give us a grand ocassion to realise this. Sometimes just a small incident is enough to make us feel alive again, to make us feel that "sweetest relief", to make us feel lost in the harmony of love. Love that is created by us, only for ourselves. 

Afterall, its comes down to nothing but acceptance of reality.

Afterall, its comes down to nothing but that one "Barf-ka-gola".

Tokyo's Magic Door!

Money Heist: Part 1. 

Tokyo-( a member of heist and her lover- Rio, sitting on a bathroom floor in Royal Mint of Spain)

Tokyo has just got a news of her mother's death and she feels guilty. Remembering her mother, she narrates a story to Rio. 

Tokyo: "She was so pretty and I made her so upset. She only wanted to protect me. She loved me. She loved me like crazy. She wanted me to turn myself in prison, so she wouldn't see me dead on TV. When I was little, if she was there I didn't worry about anything. She just wasn't always there. My Mom worked at a luggage factory. When the money ran out of the end of the month, she'd work at night. She didn't have anyone to take care of me. So I was home alone. I was so scared. I was eight or nine. 

So my mom invented a trick. She drew a door on my bedroom wall. It was a magic door. If I was scared, I could open it and she would be right there. But she said I could only open it once. Only one time in my life if I needed her. So, when I was afraid, I always thought, I need to hold out just a little more, a little more. I never opened it."

Rio: "You're the strongest person I know and the most incredible."

....

Fear: Such a perplexed emotion. It's a shadow of our own weaknesses we want to run away from. We all have these shadows lingering around us and waiting to captivate us from the little spaces of our thoughts. But I believe fear is....incredible! It's a blend of some hidden tragedies and a symphony of some unsaid self-insecurities. It's a terrified yet an inflamed feeling of falling from the edge of a mountain with sinking heart, trembling hands and warm eyes. I believe fear is like a poetess within us who writes mind-numbing elegies to her beloved at night and crumbles them at dawn to smile pretentiously at the world again. She escapes from the world, from herself each day.

But you know what's even more splendid than our fears?

It's that "power to stand against them". Our power to deal with them strongly. Strength: Such a mighty emotion. And more incredible than fear. And that's what we call 'Tokyo's Magic Door!' We all have that door around us or within us. Sometimes, it's carved on a small tile of our bathroom wall and sometimes it stands still in a nook of our minds to be opened only once in our life. 

But that tiny door gives us the power to hold out a little longer everytime when we feel that we are going to fall off that edge. The power to close our drenched eyes, to slowly breathe hope and to calm the chaos. 

It makes us believe that if we don't run away from our fears and face them boldly today, then we might save our chance to open the door tomorrow. It makes us accept our tragedies and rejoice with those symphonies, a little longer each day. It gives us a secure feeling that our gaurdian angel exists on the other of the door to save us but..just once. And so, we need to find it and keep it safe with us. And once that magical door is found, our poetess would never scratch those elegies again but would graciously read them for the world in the memory of her beloved. And just like Tokyo, she would be the strongest person ever known. 

  - Inspired from Spanish Series- Money Heist. 

YOU and ME

You and me are unknown. We are in a loop. Wandering infinitely in a translucent horizon. We are a mystic, you and me. A mystery which is away from the fair and realistic shades of the world, carrying the dreams that we have never told anyone. We are two strangers bruised by our past, obscured from our present and unknown from our future. 

We are the uncertain fears, the unnamed desires and the unsung melodies. 

We are like an unfinished book. You know, like the fading ink on the withered yellow page which is stuck with a dried feather?

We are like the unrevealed story of that book. A story left in agonies, waiting to know its end; afraid, shaking, shattering and questioning whether it would be peaceful like ever or dreadful like...never? 

But...

but believing it to be magnificent no matter what! And still..awaiting. 

Awaiting for the mystic to unfold and finally meet each other on the last page. 

With hope, 

-Your destiny.