"The Feather under the hat" #6

1 Aug 2012

I have had gruesome clashes and have often been caught up in classic chapters of drama in few of my friendly relationships. But in course of time, there's this special thing that I've come to believe about them.

"Parting is always bitter, but the memories remain sweet.

      .... That's why we always remember good things in the end, and the bad ones are forgotten soon"

"The Feather under the hat" #5

31 July 2012

In search of the fictional best, I tend to turn my face away from what's really been bestowed upon me. The present reality could be the one that I dreamt of earlier in the past sometime, which eventually came to be true, but now has lost its charm because of the naturally evergrowing human desire.

"Often lost in the dreams, I have failed to see the beauty of the living dream called Reality"

"The Feather under the hat" #4

30 July 2012

Being at the wrong side of my own face, often makes me feel that I might be better than the ones who fall in my view. Seldom correct, I find myself constantly judging people on various relevant/irrelevant grounds and certain preconceived ideas.

Having said that, to suddenly act enlightened and radically emerge out of the triviality of life and focus on the higher purpose, is bull crap. So I thought it may be useful to repeat sometimes in my mind, that what really defines one's character is the higher purpose one wants to realize, and the level of perseverance one is putting in.

"Best not to pass a judgment, collect make-believe laurels and act like a clear winner, because there's no race."

"The Feather under the hat" #3

29 July 2012

I remember telling someone a long time ago, that instead of analysing whys and the whats, I just try to look at the problem "from the moon". (What? I just visualised my Geography book in the second grade, where there's a picture of the planet Earth from a distance. I feel like a Neil Armstrong!)


When the problem is 'well-distanced' in the mind, not only it appears too small to be identified, the larger view allows to look at the little bigger pleasures, the huge awaiting responsibilities, and personally, I also take that chance to peep in around and compare it with all my friends and family  (the little jealous freak that you are!) , enemies (I'm sure you have some lovers there!), people I know, people from the past, on the streets, at the crossing (yeah right, who else did you miss? Stray animals may be!). 


The exercise eventually makes me feel better about the present situation (height of sadism!) and I move on. This is exactly what my feather has to say today.


"Moving forward has always been easier for me,
   
         ... Its the looking back that hurts"


(Didn't we already know you were coming down to this, all the way? How predictable and stereotyped!)


"I heard you" :)

"The Feather under the hat" #2

28 July 2012

"Your past is one of the imperfect stories I'd written for you.

          ...If you didn't like it, write yourself in future and end it differently"

"The Feather under the hat" #1

The new addition. A meticulous day-wise separation of the never ending, yet inspiring thoughts (inspiring for atleast one person in the world, no guesses), produced everyday in abundance, strictly for leisure reading.

27 July 2012:

"Making up my mind, has been a waste of time.

       ...With each disappointment, I realise, I should have gone ahead with the very first thought"


Any similarity to already published work/works is purely coincidental. Any words/sentences causing hurt to any individual are completely unintended.

"Metaphorical"

You got me the bat and the ball, to play what has been my favorite game. I'd always fight with you to bat first, because I knew that you weren't interested in the game anyway. You liked my company. I would bat, you would hit the wicket before I complete the run and then... I would bat again.

That day when the ball hit the tubewell and went inside, the usual me created such a nuisance. It was my ball, and it was so important to me. You tried consoling, but does that ever work on me? I pushed the blame on you for having lost my ball, and you started feeling guilty too. It was a pleasure to see you working around making me happy, that's what you always did.

You gave in and jumped to get my ball back to me. The well was deep, the ball had disappeared in the darkness. I had promised I would hold the rope and pull you outside when you find it. You did find it soon enough and then you were climbing up as I held the rope. It took you a lot of time. You had my ball in one hand and you tried climbing up holding it in your underarms. It was difficult.

I was looking down, but the pit was dark and I couldn't see you. And then for a minute, holding the rope in my hands, I looked up where I stood. The backyard of my house, the beautiful trees and our other friends coming from a distance. The dusk, the calling of my mother from the window, and my tired hands, all were making me give up holding the rope.
I seemed to forget my old games, my old ball.
How easy was it to get distracted.

I turned around and the rope slipped a bit. It continuously slipped from my hands and the slip caused a cut on my palm. That, along with your scream from inside the well had shook me I guess. And before it was too late, I turned back around to the well and held the rope back again.

It's disappointing that you had no way to go and I had let the rope go. You would have fallen somewhere, and I would have had no way to know. Yes, the realisation wasn't automatic, it was induced, but it was destined, like all other things in the world.

Now you say you wouldn't come up because you don't trust me with the rope. But my grip is stronger. You feel I would get distracted, but I'm trying to focus now. You tell me it would be difficult to get the ball now, do I care.

I won't turn around now. We have an unfinished game to play, and you'd bat this time :)

Mid-life crisis

One of those long and dark nights, the headache had returned,

Lying on the bed, with the dim yellow lights on the side table turned on,

Staring at the intentionally muted cell phone, in search of a hope that it’ll ring,

But it doesn’t, like it didn’t all day long.

The mirror at 12 o’clock, reflecting a usually tired, morose, complicated woman,

Age making no difference, the thirties or the fifties,

The mirror image defying all left-over youth and the zest,

The shadow over the boundless walls, blocks the light, adamant on letting the darkness stay.

The endless wait was on,

Interrupted by a sweet baritone, a familiar face,

The emotions tickled, the compassion goes warm,              

And completely inadvertent, the arms widened and the horizons flourished,

Like the grays of dusk transforming into the oranges and the yellows of the dawn,

The wrinkles vanish, the maturity repealed, giving way to adolescence for a second time,

The contaminated mind miraculously recovers, from the age long illness of the unwanted seclusion,

When the hand was held strongly, and the lips were kissed, it all seemed to end and begin at the same time,

What ended was self-mortification, what began was self-worship, love unparalleled,

A two way relationship, a bond sealed by promises and togetherness,

Moving forward, leaving behind the compelling, common background of coercion and relentless criticism,

What ended was the constant waste of life, what began was its realization,

Loyalty is for dogs, she’s a human, everyday, more so a woman,

Not greedy for the flesh and the bones, but thirsty for that soulful and ample hug,

Doesn’t need a break from what she ought to do, but from the un-appreciativeness and lack of response,

What ended was the inertia of groundless custom, what began was a revolution, and denial of mute acceptance,

It’s not coming from the way she’s built, it takes birth from the thinking she does, in her mind,

Self made, only second in the physical aptitude, strong hearted and strong headed, resolute and firm, unlike you,

Her mind has stepped out from the bolted doors, she’s in love again, and don’t be surprised, that’s not you,

The constant ringing of the cell phone, don’t matter now, your calling won’t help,

What has ended is the longing for you, what has begun is the thought of someone new,

Don’t matter now, how close or available you are, she’s found her own proximities,

She’s found solace, she’s known the real now.