Not all those who wander are lost!

 

When it’s your time to leave.
I would say it’s a pretty strange feeling. A feeling of wedged between the two, the past self and the future one.  The past self is running towards comfort and the future towards adventure, the present stuck in dilemma.

This is a common phenomenon that is experience regularly when people send you of. Yes, they send you saying it’s for your future and sometime if you are wiser, you take that step on your own.  Standing there at the airport knowing all that I have been, shedding that skin, and moving forward to seek what all I can be. It’s a mixture of anxiexcitement i.e, anxiety and excitement.

This also exists in many relationships where we are constantly evolving in our life and trying to hold on to that little sanity of comfort and losing all that is ours.  Like at our home, in friendships, in romantic relationships and probably most in marriage. This is not only hard but uneasy too, to lose the self that we know and to become that is required, when we all want is to stay in our safe cocoon.

The interest that we pay for this is, we tend to lose some pretty good people we have. It’s simple, you outgrow or are outgrown. Growth is nonlinear, there is no one direction to it.  The best way to put it is it’s unique for each of us. It’s very personal, many at times oblivious to others. As a result there are quite a lot of misunderstanding and hurt exchanged in this process. Finesse I would say is a must. You should be ready to see what the person has been through and accept the phase of their evolution and they yours.

It is absolutely necessary for us to get lost sometimes, to see the beauty of what we had. I wouldn't say lost, that seems quite extreme, rather we wander off. We wander in search of a balance to the future self and a past self. A neutral zone, like Switzerland, where we all in comfort, sit and discuss how we have sculpted life or rather how life has sculpted us. Along with it, to analyze how the many relationships we have, are evolving. Accepting it, then deciding what can be done with it. Well sometimes you choose, other you are chosen.

In the end we wander to seek ourselves, the balance, and the ability to carry your own comfort in your very many explorations. A fancier term would be PEACE, peace to be what you are becoming with the choice to revisit what you were. Someone was definitely right is saying,” Not all those who wander are lost”. Neither I am.

The shadier side of being polite.

The shadier side of being polite.

Oh.. what can I say the end arrives earlier than designated. The end here I mean is not a breaking up.. I would say breaking up is courageous, rather we let the relationships fade. Fading is the worst kind of death. You do things that you have done for name sake. You hold on to things that were never yours. You try to make time for them when all that you ever want is to be safe in your cocoon, not in the judging presence of people who put you down for all that you are. This comes from the people who we know and whom we love.. that causes the extraa hurt in everything that you do.. you are conditioned in such a that you would always choose to be polite. Yes, I accept we are bought up with excessive manners that we would always rather hurt the person with feeding him lies that letting them go. Telling them this doesn't serves you.. telling them no this not what I signed up.. telling them that evolution is important and impermanence is the only permanence.. rather all we choose is to act as if nothing has happened.. and build on it.. because acting like this would emphasis it more and more.... but let me tell you it is injustice done first to yourself and then to the other person too.. Its injustice that you can’t confront, nor accept or see what you have done.. but you don't see this, all you see and say is that time will heal all wounds.. it’s not time that heals all wounds.. it’s just you forget it.. but do you get healed? That becomes the question here. As you live in denial more, the more you don’t see, rather don’t want to see what is what.. you are not accepting of what you are and as you wear this mask.. you just grow away from everything that is you .. and you mold yourself in way that is polite in terms of society.. and we politely avoid, we politely be passive aggressive, we politely transfer the blame, we politely smile and comment and live a happy lie.

The Locket of Life

It’s that locket, preferably heart shape.

Heart shape because it’s the abode of all ecstasy collected.

Collected little by little, now by now.

There aren't many, but the few, cherished.

Cherish by attaching it to the beaded piece of silver around my neck

From my neck its aligned in a way, heart to heart

To the heart, it comforts, cold metal on the raging heart

The heart, like in the fairy tales, beats inside this heart

Thus the two exist to become one wholly, experiencing life

Entwined and intertwine

One, ticking for the latter, and the other, by holding on to those fleeting moments of ecstasy for the prior.

A clandestine affair.

One pumping my veins and the other my euphoria

In essence, keeping me alive, keeping me afloat in this outrageous ocean of my tears.

My Sister

She is the pillar of responsibility, that shares my load!

She is that understanding eyes, that listens quiet

She is that loud voice, that ferociously fights

She is, the happy days, safe place and chaotic night 

She is this wondrous warrior, that protects me in my plight

She is this adventurous soul, that explores and enlights

She is the warmest hug, that comforts unconditionally and  makes it all right. 

She is my guide, my companion, my confidant

She ... my sister

*This for that special person, with whom you can find home. on Request of a friend !

Savory Song

Savory song

No, I am not just that sweet smile on a pretty face

Neither the calm nor the kind

Rather

I am that angel with a crooked halo.

I am the charm that harms

I am the laze of Sunday afternoon.

I am the gaze that lets you dazed

I am that punch that stuns

I am also the words that strike

I am the bitter in the bittersweet

I am the darkness of the night

I am but who, that I show you

And remember

I am not all sweet but savory too.

Reconstructed Rains

It began to pour outside and something filled her heart. Little Zoya loved the rains.  In her mind the rains equated to happiness. She didn’t know why, but she loved every minute things about it.  To begin with the shade of the cloud, there were different from the rest, darker but not black, a graceful grey or rather silver as her mother would say.

They weren’t the silent types, they came announcing their arrival with music and lights. She loved to see the lights but the music scared her. Nani used to tell thunder came only when the clouds fought amongst themselves, “like mum and dad!” she had exclaimed.

After their arrival with the band, there were two possibilities. One they just pass away to destinations unknown leaving Zoya in wonder or they showered. And when they showered, that sound, It felt like a gush.. Nani said, when the clouds were overwhelmed, they pour their love on us, and the earth in turn made that delightful sound. But not always the sound was same. It was loud, when ice had showered! She couldn’t believe the clouds could shower ice too. She never got to ask Nani why, but she did try to taste that ice and in doing so, had successfully angered her mother.

She loved the feel, when the drops hit her palm. Sometimes like needles other she could feel only a chill. Sometimes too quick other too far. They were never the same. She longed to play with them but her mother had ordered supervised visits only. Nothing more than her hands were allowed and if her mum felt generous, Zoya’s feet were too.. Strict supervision prevailed at such times accompanied with a human taller than her.  Nani had taught her to say a thank you too when the rains spread delight and so she did.

The sound intensifies as she rushed to her courtyard, only to see her mother already arrived. She had bought coffee and hot bajji’s along with Zoya’s favorite hot chocolate to celebrate. At times such she felt a gush towards her mother that usually ended up in hugs and giggles. She then knew how earth felt.

Her father arrived on time to join them in their play, who got wet the most, a game she loved to lose. She liked it when the rains stopped too. The puddles they left behind, the joys of becoming a cold mess to be washed in a warm bath later was immense for her. She couldn’t wait to conquer those seas. That’s when her father told her to get a paper. Unhappily, as she got the paper, settling on his lap. He stared tearing the paper, folding and folding and folding and a boat appeared. It was an absolute delight. Now she, Captain Zoya got more paper to make boats to successfully conquer all her unknown seas. 

It would be very later one day, she recollecting the joy it bought her would make it a tradition to celebrate with her child.

The cruelest curse

To be loved in words but not in essence

To be comforted by silence but not in hugs

To be loud but yet unheard

To be generous in gifts but busy with time

To know. Yet, choose to remain unknown .

To be given what you want

But not what you need

By a loved one is the cruelest curse bestowed upon.