Friends forever

The thing about old friends is that they never really leave you.

No matter how angry you are at them, they’ll come back, and win your heart again in the perfect way only they know, in the way they know you like. They know you inside out, not because they are so very observant, but because they-are-old-friends.

New friends might be supportive, empathetic, understanding and cheerful. But then an old friend passes by, and instantly brightens up your mood – even if they are in a bad mood themselves – like a breath of fresh air. And both of you will smile, sometimes reluctantly, at the person who knows everything about you, not because they are good listeners, but because they-have-been-beside-you-all-this-time.

You might be angry at them for not contacting you frequently, you might be angry because they are hanging out with a new set of friends. But then they come by your house at an odd hour on an odd day – and your mom lets them in, because they’ve been friends so long that they are practically family – and you’ll shout at them for ignoring you, you’ll sulk a little, but then you’re back to normal again. They’re always welcome to the house, not because you spend a great time together, but because they-are-like-family-and-family-is-always-welcome-whether-irritating-or-not.

The new friends you have might be very close to you. You might have told them a lot about yourself. You might text them, snap them all day. But when your old friend texts you, she might bring up the day in Class 9 when you fell smack on your butt in the mud, the day both of you decided a rendezvous at the top floor of your school, the day the both of you trolled an unsuspecting classmate – incidents so small you might have missed mentioning them to your new friend, but incidents which are pure gold. And just like that, the both of you start laughing like crazy, not because the incidents are so funny, but because you-remember-every-amazing-moment-you-spent-together.

This is the thing about old friends – no matter how much you want them to go out of your life, they keep coming back in the form of pictures, texts, events, or in their very person. And if you see them and not talk with them, or at least not grin at them – your heart breaks into a million pieces. Not because you miss them, because they-are-part-of-your-very-being.

Who would want to lose old friends?

They are like living, walking, talking memories. Seeing their current short hair might remind you of the time you cut off their then long hair just for the sake of a dare. When they see you wearing your lucky bracelet, they might instantly realise that you have an important event coming up, important enough to make you bring out your lucky bracelet. And they might hug you tightly and wish you all the best, while your “new gang” looks on in disbelief. Not because a person unknown to them is hugging you, but because they-don’t-know-how-an-apparent-stranger-guessed-things-they-hadn’t-been-able-to.

Ultimately, the thing about old friends is that you always forgive them for old times’ sake. Pitiable is the friendship whose transgressions couldn’t be forgiven. They have shared part of their lives with you, and vice versa. Every word they say is a throwback, every smirk they give is with regards to an inside joke. They know you, and you grew up together. They represent the beauty of your past, they are symbolic of the best, worst and all the mediocre you suffered through.

And no matter what anyone says, in the end – everyone wants to relive their past, even for a little bit. The time when we were not who are now, but someone who was possibly more innocent.

The thing about old friends is that they never really leave you. Not because they
don’t want to, but because they-are-your-past.

And no one can leave their past, no matter how bitter or how sweet.

Caring nd careless

                           FRIEND

He is not my dad, yet he cares.
Cry I should, I search for his shoulder.
Laugh I should, I seek his company.
Troubled I am, I look for his rescue.

She is not my mom, yet she listens.
Hours of complaints and hours of growls,
Patience she gives back.
She holds me and pats me it’s all right.

He is not my brother, yet he stands aside.
Scorching sun or wailing pain, we cross it together.
Stormy sky or authentic laughter, we cherish it together.
I trust and rely not on me but him.

She is not my sister and yet stands by.
Angry she is, but anger she never keeps.
Suggestions or advices, she is there always.
Dawn or dead of night, she awaits there.

He is not my son, yet I adore him.
I feel young when I am with him.
I forget everything when he is near.
The worldly worries matter none, for with him, a kid I am.

She is not my daughter, yet I groom her.
With her, the past never matter
With her, the future is never worrying
With her, the present is never resented.

Friendship is love, yet it never questions.
It is a bond not blooded, but it never breaks.
Doubt and jealously, it never sees.
Friendship is a bliss.

😍 love...

People use the word 'love' a lot of different ways. Take me, for instance. I am often heard saying that I love my mom and dad. I am also often heard saying that I love pizza.
What am I saying when I say I love my mom and dad? I'm saying that I care about them. I'm saying that I love spending time with them and that I talk to them every chance I get. I'm saying that if they needed me, I would do every humanly possible to help them. I'm saying that I always want what's best for them.
What am I saying when I say I love pizza? Am I saying that I care deeply about pizza? Am I saying that I have a relationship with pizza? Am I saying that if pizza had a problem, I would be there for the pizza?
Of course not. When I say I love pizza, I'm just saying that I enjoy eating pizza until I don't want any more pizza. Once I'm tired of the pizza, I don't care what happens to the rest of it. I'll throw it away. I'll feed it to the dog. I'll stick it in the back of the refrigerator until it gets all green and moldy. It doesn't matter to me anymore.
These are two very different definition of the word 'love'.
It gets confusing when people start talking about love, and especially about loving you. Which way do these people love you? Do they want what is best for you, or do they just want you around because it is good for them, and they don't really care what happens to you?
Next time someone looks deeply into your eyes and says 'I love you', look very deeply right back and say, 'Would that be pizza love, or the real thing?'

Bachpn...

Maa ki kahani thi,
Pariyon ka fasana tha;

Barish mein kagaz ki naav thi,
Har mausam suhana tha.
Har khel mein saathi the,
Har rishta nibhana tha;

Gum ki zuban na hoti thi,
Na zakhmon ka paimana tha.
Rone ki wajah na thi,
Na hansne ka bahana tha;
Kyon ho gaye hum itne bade,
Isse achha to woh Bachpan ka Zamana tha…

Students...

Very few, lucky ones are given a chance to pursue their dreams and passion in a society like our's.

Well, because let's face it, we live in a country where decisions are given, not choices; where no high-school kid is asked if he actually wanted to be an "engineer" before pushing him through the gates of a JEE preparation coaching centre; where every event in your life should happen at the correct age... 18 pe selection, 23 pe job, 25 pe shaadi, 28 pe family and so on. A little bit of deviation from this life is neither acceptable by the society nor by our parents. Majority of the "ideal" kids never learn to say a "no" to their parents and accept the decisions quietly.

Some, may find happiness midway. But...what about those 'nalayaks' who were thrown under the bus but they could not get up at the correct moment, those who got crushed, crushed beneath the expectations, beneath their parents' dreams, beneath the societal pressure, beneath the burden to clear the "oh-so-smart-people-go-there" IIT examination. I give the example to IIT because I feel the exam itself has destroyed more lives than the institute has made. Those poor ones were never given a chance to think, to explore, to actually know what they wanted to do in their life. Maybe they wanted to be a wildlife photographer or a poet or an actor or anybody, anybody but what they are today. Those kids are still clueless, they still don't know where to turn the wheel of their life, all because the steering was never given to them from the childhood, because the only choice they were given was in the form of MCQs.

You look in those eyes, you can see the pain of not getting what they wanted and of not giving their parents the happiness they deserved. These will keep all of it in their heart. Only behind that perfect mask of happiness will you find the burned up soul. The soul which is still searching for a reason to live, to survive and to carry on. The hungry soul from which happiness has been sucked long back, as if a dementor kissed them.

Even after being frustrated to the deepest core and giving up on their life and on their ambitions; they will not stop existing, they will survive because they still can't hurt their parents, they still HAVE TO BE the ideal child.

Maybe they will let it all out one day; to their sibling or to a friend or to a psychiatrist; or they will just swallow that lump developing in their throat and in that smudged handwriting tell their story to a piece of paper.

Fatherhood

He is the one, the one who makes me smile.
He is the one, the one who added to my responsibility. He sits, crawls, and rolls. He smiles, cries, and likes my shoulder.
He is the one, the one I call Titan. And he waits to grow.

Tiny toes and tiny fingers, wet are they all day.
Pinkish nose and silky hair, pampered all day.
Tender skin and crunching belly, fed all day.
I adore him and tell him stories beyond his reach.

Now, he pushes, stands, and waits, waits for me to hail him.
He twists, tangles, and tries his disco.
Titan he is, and he is set to walk.
‘Walk alongside me, my Titan, walk with me.’

Titan he is, and he walks. ‘Catch Papa,’ I utter.
Tiny, yet like a swaying titan, careful, and focused, he reaches me.
‘Paaa … Paa,’ he utters.
He is the sense of my life.

Time runs fast, and so does my Titan,
From walking to running, from running to beating me! Now, I watch him run.
Titan he is, and he has grown tall and strong.

No more bedtime stories, for he speaks and teaches now.
No more walks alongside, for he has become busy. Boyhood and privacy, college and girlfriend, Titan is all grown.
No more to pet, he is free and willing to pursue.

In pursuit, he leaves; in pride, he returns.
Papa, who walked alongside, is no more.
Papa has tried, but he is weak and old.
Bedridden I am, and they say hemiplegia.

Stumbled with stroke and bedridden for months!
Electrocuted by physio and hoped recovery for months. Finally, I stand. ‘Papa, walk now towards me,’ he utters. With tears in my eyes, I walk. Like a swaying Titan, I walk.

I hold him and walk alongside.
He is my Titan; I love him forever.
Life is bless, and love is bliss.
And I love him forever.

Shadow

I don’t know if I’m cool to be with, but honestly I want to be.
I don’t say I’m reticent, but do you think you knew me?
I might be stubborn & hard headed moody and freak!
Please don’t go when I’m saying I’m okay but don’t want to speak.
You may say I’m emotional despondent, difficult to fathom with
I’m sorry, but I’m really quiet unless someone made me excited or thrilled

Some say I’m too out-going, too loud, rebellious & mad,
While others see me as timid but shrewd yet pathetic & sad
Mom believes I can bring down the house, but I can’t stand in a crowd
Dad says “You must be fiercely strong and independent to survive”
Advice you to do “this and that” and what “should & should not”
All they say will remain as opinion and what matters is your decision,
because you as a person should decide for your retention.

They set rules & expectations before asking my ambition.
Awkwardly they won’t give me a chance to choose & decide
Almost always forgot to ask what I really want.
So inside I became frail & dumb.
So as I follow them I grow weak and numb.
Eat their words and swallow my pride.

Maybe I’m really wild at times or maybe I don’t know who I really am.
I want to be in many places, make contacts and hoard memories.
I want to experience life, do things and feel my existence.
I want to be diligent but clumsy at times.
I want to be me not to be them.

# silence 🔕

Silence

They say that words are what make you, you. But I beg to differ, I’d say silences define us. Just a quantum of time that you are lost in, when you feel so ecstatic to be at peace with your thoughts. Talking, yes its important to get to know a person, but silence speaks a language of its own. Love, comfort and understanding aren’t all these observed mostly in the silent moments.

How your mother knows each and every emotion of yours without you having to speak out a word, or it maybe your best friend, your brother or your teacher. Silence transports us to a different state of mind, it gives clarity on what is important and what isn’t. You find yourself feeling happiness in the purest form, now why do I say that, well, it’s because  you didn’t need a reason to feel it. It was involuntary, not a consequence. To find comfort in silence is a best gift one can get.

It is in these moments that we have with someone or ourselves, we find the courage to face the truth as to what we are, what we can be and what do we need to do to get there. Silence is beautiful. Silence is like rain, it can wash away all the hurt, the insecurities and leave a shiny perception of life. The eyes are one of the best examples.

When words fell short to express what she felt her eyes did, as the train left the station , as she stepped out of her comfort zone, as she let go of what she once held the most dearest, as she parted with her friend, when someone complimented her, when someone went out of the way to do things for her, when they managed to keep their promises, last day of school, as she let go of his hand, if you observed closely, there was something that her eyes were trying to tell you, did you notice or ignore it like most of them?

Indeed, I’d say silences speak bigger than words.

A boy, i meet.

I once met a boy, and his eyes were one of the first things that I had noticed about him. His eyes looked like they were constantly weaving stardust into dreams, and scattering them over my eyelids in the same span of breath. They looked just like the fairy tales that I had begged myself to not believe in, anymore.

This boy had a smile, that damn near disarmed me the first time I witnessed it. Slow. Unsure. Blooming. He smiled the way a rainbow does, bending his spine to capture the small bubbles of joy life sent his way, and preserved them over his whiskey laced tongue as souvenirs of nights he wouldn't remember later.

And over the years, when I first started noticing the cracks, I forgot to look for the sunshine that he might have stored within them. Darkness was all I had looked for, and darkness was what I lost him to. Forever.

It doesn't overpower me anymore, you know. The loss. It isn't staggering, and I breathe much easier nowadays. But on days when the road leading home decides to elude itself and abandon me, I often find myself wandering back to the place that once held a boy with unsteady eyes, rumpled hair and a fragile smile. I sit there for hours sometimes, trying to read an old earmarked book and lose myself to water spots that blurred and blobbed itself into existence maybe years ago.

I don't hold myself to promises of faraway places anymore. For I have known, places that reek of peace, of hope, and sparkling sunshine, somehow seep through a crack and escape the shadows, only to become one in the end. I have also learnt to not try and build a home out of scraps that make a human, our human. They never last anyway.

And yet, I don't let go. I don't want to go home. Maybe it's his words that linger around, or maybe it's my remembrance of the way he would place his lighter over the pages so they couldn't fly in the wind, I find myself not reading the words or understanding them anymore. Instead, I hungrily absorb the shapeless blob of ink, and try to make sense of its being, immersing myself in his thoughts once again.

Soon, a nameless number is all he will become in my memory. I carry this knowledge everywhere with me, because I already am losing the details of his face, one part at a time. Shadowy fingers and crumpled sheets, maybe that's what the last stage of grief does to people? It takes away the person, and reduces them to a sum of body parts, like fallen soldiers at the mercy of life, no longer winning, no longer willing. And I know, eventually, he will find his way to my diary, maybe as a nameless entity. Maybe as "the boy". Maybe.

Someday, he will, though.

For I will write about the boy who I once met, the boy who smelled like burnt out cigarettes, shattered dreams and untold stories over countdown clocks.

I will write about how I have never met a boy who smelled more like himself, even when he was unsure of his own existence.

And on days when I will still ask myself why I don't want to head for my home, maybe I will understand then, that I don't have one, anymore.

My home town

I like this Hometown of mine,
However of eclipsed importance against the casting shadows of proximal metropolitans.
The closet in which the city encapsulates its people, the places, and the pale patch of sky remotely leering in from above the skykissing concrete, like a blue water droplet on a grey canvas.
The serpentile, congested lanes like the interlacing strings of fibre,
The streets we once frequented, lying numb and deserted under the flickering lamp lights on the serene nights at the outskirts,
and the sinister wintry wind.
As the twilight fades into the engrossing night,
Passing by the scattered bunches and circles of people by the sides of the roads,
the puffed up hollerings of rigidly opinionated people on their pet topics at tea stalls,
The monotonous lamentations of the unemployed over foiled efforts to success.

A pandemonium of people with different trades and varying shades.
The ambience. The pacifying solitude, the bliss and yet the sense of belonging the city caters to the weary souls.
Ah! I like this hometown of mine.
A dead city in its scratches.
Moments, lost childhood and 'The roads not taken'.

Young world

ONCE WHEN THE WORLD WAS STILL YOUNG...

Once, when the world was still young,
A time, when orchids were not sold.
A time, when water neither was bottled nor brawled.
A time, when land was neither claimed nor battled.
Once, a long time ago, that young world, cherished love.

Once, when the world was still young,
Flowers bloomed there all day.
Trees claimed the sky and questioned the sun.
Chirping birds, roaring beasts and echoing winds,
Sang jubilance all day.

Once, when the world was still young,
Men and women wandered there in naked skins!
Nomads, unclad of fear and shyness were they!
Lust, greed and desire were not yet learnt!
Killing and owning were not the customs then.

Once, when the world was still young,
A time, when boundaries are not known,
Love held in heart, with no crown to run,
Men and women walked down to corners;
The corners of that young and beautiful world.

The shift of time has aged this world,
Men and women, agile, they become now!
They sail, and they fly!
Yet their land is margined and narrowed.
Rivers and seas, and even the very land they claim and own!

Killing has become ritual and routine!
Nature, cease to exist; money tends to fake it!
Flowers are grown and trees are planted!
And that very love is margined by mere words.
Soon men and women will mourn, and will mourn alone.

Once, when the world was still young,
There prevailed love that conceived happiness.

A teen..

I don't know how it happened. I don't know how it came to be, but what has happened has happened and for that I cannot do a thing. I remember those times, that now seem far away, when I without a doubt, was happy and carefree, but now I spend my days yearning and helplessly trying to break down this blurred wall, which is clouding my vision, pushing me down harder than gravity can and  making me feel weak. My mind races back, picking out  and showing me glimpses of the days of my childhood times, happy moments that seem so far out of reach now. My throat swells up, and I feel a lump in my throat.
        
I used to be that nerdy kid in school who people always call "not emotional". That's right, people who study well in India are called people with no emotions. I wanted to change this perception and came to college and socialised very well. I am really happy I'm here, but at times, I showcase my emotions too much to few people, who tell me it's unnecessary. People have called me weak, fragile, artificial, and tell me that they feel indifferent when I'm being nice to them. I've been accused of expecting too much from others. All I wanted was to shrug off the 'emotionless' tag, but no one's willing to accept it. It was a sincere effort put in by me to tell I too had feelings. People say emotional people are wonderful, but the fact is no one wants you to be emotional.

Life is such an irony. The general perception of a moral quality and the perception of the same quality possessed by someone close to a person , both don't mean the same to the person with that perception.A person's character is structured on what he's gone through. Most people don't know how to understand other people by putting themselves in their shoes. If this was the case, I'd have rather been isolated. The world dwells on the negatives in you and points them out, completely ignoring the positives in you.

Well, that's how it goes. I am stuck inside my own castle, where the cold, hard walls cut off my supply of air, choking me, making me feel claustrophobic. People in this world seem to have lost the connection they have with themselves, they seem to have given in easily, to have let go. But I do not want to be that way. I want to live, be brave and experience even the darkest traumas of life with courage and to find happiness. I want to run around, my feet feeling the lush green grass, my hands playing with the air, my hair flowing in the wind, I want to feel absolute. But is it possible? I do believe it is.

Often I drift out of this world and go into one of my own, a world filled with happiness and wonder, driven by kindness and loyalty, where fear does not exist. When everyone else is sleeping, I walk out into the night, silence enveloping me, and look up. The twinkling stars and the bright moon bring my mind to rest. It is now that I realise that along with sunshine, arrive the dark clouds, which bring forth rain and sorrow and finally culminate into a beautiful sight, a bright rainbow. Coal undergoes exposure to intense pressure to transform into a diamond. Why am I saying this? Because I know plenty of people can relate to my situation very well and whoever is reading this, listen. You're in for great things, just stay in there. You'll surely see your rainbow soon. It is up to us to notice all the colourful things and bring them into our lives. After all, hardships in life are meant to make you stronger. Have a blessed day.

जाने कौन नगर ठहरेंगे

कुछ छोटे सपनों की ख़ातिर
बड़ी नींद का सौदा करने
निकल पड़े हैं पाँव अभागे
जाने कौन नगर ठहरेंगे

वही प्यास के अनगढ़ मोती
वही धूप की सुर्ख़ कहानी
वही ऑंख में घुट कर मरती
ऑंसू की ख़ुद्दार जवानी
हर मोहरे की मूक विवशता
चौसर के खाने क्या जानें
हार-जीत ये तय करती है
आज कौन-से घर ठहरेंगे

कुछ पलकों में बंद चांदनी
कुछ होठों में क़ैद तराने
मंज़िल के गुमनाम भरोसे
सपनों के लाचार बहाने
जिनकी ज़िद के आगे सूरज
मोरपंख से छाया मांगे
उनके ही दुर्गम्य इरादे
वीणा के स्वर पर ठहरेंगे

~ जाने कौन नगर ठहरेंगे /

Myself

...and sometimes sitting with long deep nights, I peek inside myself and find something so much sad, depressed and dejected. Something that feels more than an ache, hurts more than a pain and dies more than just once.

I've never found the reasons behind it but there's something that makes me upset and the worst part is you can never resolve such sadness, you can never fill up such hollowness. That's why it again comes to us, not daily but with regular updates and I'm still trying to sort out this issue even when I don't know the reasons behind it. May be Is it because "I've never been good with my grades" or because "I still didn't move on with people's departures" or because "I regret for not being enough for anyone" or because "I feel useless for not being able to fulfill anyone's expectations."

And like all other days, I'm not sure for which reason I've to mark to. There's something else that I've built and locked inside, and forget about the keys that can unlock it. 

I live and suffer through it, I feel and can never explain, I smile and never let anyone know. With every passing day, it feels a lot more every time. I'm used to it but still waiting for it to end, I sit alone, feel empty and then just let myself lose. Losing through the battles that I fight against myself, battles that never ends and you always lose a bit of yourself, after every night, after every battle.

Sometimes sitting with such long deep nights, I peek inside myself and find someone who's too hard to understand, too complex to solve and too sad to smile.  

LONG-LETTER | | 😃😃

Thank god

Reasons To Thank God

When what to talk to God, you have no clue,
Nothing is a better prayer than a silent 'thank you'.
It may consists of barely two words but means a lot,
It says so much that even a thousand of words cannot.
May you have many reasons to thank this Thanksgiving.

A poem from father's dairy

शरद चांदनी बरसी
अँजुरी भर कर पी लो

ऊँघ रहे हैं तारे
सिहरी सरसी
ओ प्रिय कुमुद ताकते
अनझिप क्षण में
तुम भी जी लो ।

सींच रही है ओस
हमारे गाने
घने कुहासे में
झिपते
चेहरे पहचाने

खम्भों पर बत्तियाँ
खड़ी हैं सीठी
ठिठक गये हैं मानों
पल-छिन
आने-जाने

उठी ललक
हिय उमगा
अनकहनी अलसानी
जगी लालसा मीठी,
खड़े रहो ढिंग
गहो हाथ
पाहुन मन-भाने,
ओ प्रिय रहो साथ
भर-भर कर अँजुरी पी लो

बरसी
शरद चांदनी
मेरा अन्त:स्पन्दन
तुम भी क्षण-क्षण जी लो!

~ चांदनी जी लो