A distant heartache. Letters from nobody.

"There is a lot going on in my mind, even though there is barely anything going on in my life.

I love the idea of falling in love. Maybe that's why such shifting affections. Most of the time, my feelings don't get reciprocated because I read too much into someone's friendliness.
And the number of times this has happened is a little too high.

I can't understand what is with this plaguing demand for attention.
It is awfully shallow how someone's attention should determine my existence. On one hand, I'm all for wanting to be on my own, and all that independent woman jargon but give me attention and I turn into putty. My heart, my soul, everything belongs to you.

This giving in, is followed by a burn out phase, where I start fearing the oncoming onslaught of affection from said person and I run. Run in the opposite direction.
This is becoming a pattern and a pattern for this, isn't really a healthy thing.

I don't know is this a passing phase or is this who I am. Sometimes I attribute it to growing up, or being a lost soul or being mentally stuck to being a teenager.

But whatever it is, I hope to recover soon."

Manure

Today I realized why holding manure in your hand, can be the best life lesson there exists.

To experience how inconsequential you are, dig a compost pit and create manure. Every time you regard yourself as someone more than significant to the working of the universe, find some manure and hold it.

Manure is, what we are. Manure is, what we will eventually become.

I am not driving questions at the lessons of self worth which most of us have been taught really well, but a rather subtle reminder, of how the significance of each individual is the same. At the end, each one of us shall decompose to become the same manure. Maybe some of us will yield better manure than others but we will all become the same.

Each one of us, so involved in our lives, with egos the size of mountains, forgets this fact.

Being someone who suffered from this disease of misbelieving that the world rests on her shoulders, I can safely be considered to be one of the best persons to sermonize over this.

It is necessary, to realize who we really are instead of the inflated versions of ourselves, that our ego makes us think we are.  It is also necessary to realize what an infinitesimal role we play, in the gearbox of space and infinity. Holding manure, seeing the ocean makes me see my insignificance. Makes me see that though I might fret over being ignored by my nemesis at a social gathering, the earth will not stop rotating on its axis, the stars will still twinkle at night. It makes me accept the status, which technically equates me to an ant and a lion, all at once.

Nothing drives home the principle of uniformity in diversity, better than this thought of how trivial, we all are.

“For dust thou art, and unto dust shalt thou return.” (Genesis 3:19)

Fescapedes: 1

Your eyes, are crystals.
They sparkle every time I look into them.
To be the reason for their sparkle, I haven't been better flattered ever before.
I presume it is me, the reason behind that sparkle.
I close my eyes and lean in to feel the world spiral in my head as we kiss,
With half shut eyes, from beneath the curtain of my lashes, I see them sparkle, for some other miss.

We can see.

This is an open letter to every man, living in this country who fails to realise that he isn't staring in a way that is obscure enough because news flash: we have eyes. We can see. And we do see.

You think that you are molesting us with your eyes and we are not realising it. You think that each time you look at us, we do not realise how with each blink of your eyes, you've removed another piece of clothing off our bodies in your head.
You think just because we look the other way we are oblivious to your lecherous, rascally smile which by the way just conveys the joy your inner sexual pervert and voyeur is experiencing.

Whatever your thoughts, don't think them. They are as much of a lie as the 'respect' you have for us.

The part where you presume that we dress to please you, purge it out of your system because we certainly don't. That girl whose legs made you salivate more than Pavlov's dog, is wearing that pair of shorts because Mumbai is a really humid city. IT HAS NOTHING TO DO WITH CATERING TO YOUR ENTERTAINMENT.

We do not belong to you. Our bodies do not belong to any of you, so stop looking at us with that sense of ownership.

This non-consensual undressing that you carry out in your head, is nothing short of a rape. It is nothing short of a crime. In case you didn't realise, we do not want it. And we are definitely refusing it.

Imagine living in a world where every move you make, every step you take is not only observed but ends up being next to pornographic material in somebody else's mind. Imagine that feeling of being caparisoned in a world where the thoughts of the opposite sex, about your outfit, determine what you will wear.
Imagine a life where you are nothing but a sexual object, no matter what you wear.

Yes. That's what I thought, sounds frustrating, doesn't it?
That's been our story, for decades.
And it is in your hands, to change how this story ends.
Don't take it to the level where the woman who ignores your stares, is forced to gorge your eyeballs out because trust me, most of us, are right around that alley.

Reconstruct your psyche. It is high time.
And thank you, if you DO end up doing the same.

*On a side note, I do realise men are hormonally hard wired to look at other women and vice-versa but what I'm referring to here, is the uncalled for staring and lewd/obscene looks.

Deep inside.

In some convoluted heart, a miserable emotion reigned in all its glory. It was less of an emotion, more of a sentiment. What is the difference, you might ask.
A sentiment, is just the less passionate version of an emotion. If emotion were a dark haired, dark eyed, bipolar beauty, sentiment would be the more sober version of that woman after attending rehabilitation.

It had started to feel like an emotion again. It was like an ocean wave, rushing towards the shore and becoming a tumulus, powerful emotion and the very next instant, it was retracting from the shore to go back to being a sublime and muted sentiment.

An undying obsession with wanting admiration. Admiration that would lead the admirer to ruin. An admiration which would destroy the admirer and empower her to a whole new level. An admiration which would mark itself by the twists and turns it made the admirer's wrist take while he held a brush, soaked in paint. An admiration which fed on his happiness and fed her with arrogance. An admiration that left him drowning in misery, with her being the only glimmer of hope, an only chance of survival.
An admiration that makes the admirer's blood run dry and fills her blood stream with an intoxicant.

Ah the pleasure, of having ruined someone's life. By not belonging to them because this emotion, admiration, is not love, no ownership exists. Destructing someone's inner temple where deities of self-respect have received adulation all their lives, razing that temple and filling it with turbid, putrid waters of self loathing and feeling an immense pride at having reduced the admirer, a monument, before he met her, to a mere pile of ruble.

The glory of having been admired and having become immortal in the work of the admirer.
The glory of being a muse.
The glory of being a conquerer.

Questioning

Rethinking my answers, my so called solutions is probably proving to be the toughest thing I've ever experienced. I can't accept changing what I have believed in and what I've thought off as love and as an idea of relationships.

Am I really the idea my parents have created for me or am I so much more than that and refusing to realise it?

Is there that option of being someone who your parents wouldn't imagine you as?

I mean am I really what my society has created for me?

Are those my beliefs or are those society's beliefs?

Is this my religion or is this the garb I am choosing to wear because probably society chose it for me?

Is love what I have always believed it to be or is it something much more mature a concept than that?

The worst question being, will these questions change once I'm home or will they continue being a plaguing disease and torment me till I choose?

Choose from what is and what I can be?

As straight as an arrow

I do not like how humans always consider body language as the most subtle parameter for assessing a person. I probably do not like it because of the accuracy this particular way of judgement exhibits or partially because I find it unfair to judge anyone by their subconscious decisions. While people like me, live with a paranoid fear of not putting their best foot forward when meeting some one new, the prospect of being judged on basis of my body language or rather on basis of what I choose to do unknowingly seems absolutely annoying. The mere thought of being judged because I unknowingly touch my hair too much and dubbing it as affection seems unfair because someone who I just met does not even deserve to know so much about me.

In the recent years, my mother has been obsessed with making me keep my back straight. Everywhere I go, she keeps droning on "keep your back straight." To the extent where sometimes she ends up poking me or prodding me publicly. Earlier, this was absolutely fine. Now it is starting to veer along the lines of annoyance.
Her reasoning is, that if I'm confident of myself my back will magically be straight?
To that theory, how about no?

Confidence and straight backs seem absurd if linked together. Models battle self esteem issues and still have straight backs. Likewise, I can have a slouchy back and be supremely confident.

I do not seem to belong to the category of people with an appetite for "how to detect a liar by their body language." In fact that is just another way of misjudging people's subconscious actions.

Point is, dear mother and people like her, it is unfair and heartbreaking to watch you judge people over what their involuntary actions give away. I'm touching my hair because it is soft, not because I like you. My back is hunched because my bag is too heavy and I'm touching my face too much because I can feel a pimple come up, not because I'm lying. Stop reading people's actions and instead focus on what they choose to show you, find the hidden poetry in them, later.

GOT.

Game of Thrones.
This show has rapidly transcended from a show, that I abhorred (because everyone was speaking about it all the time) to a show that I'm now, completely in love with.
Game of Thrones is not just a show. As much as the fandom hates GRRM for the deaths; it is actually the deaths, the treachery, the harlots and the copious amounts of violence and sex which make the show more endearing than the rest.

In fact, the real world is just a blanketed version of Westeros.

In the real world, pseudo conservative behaviour and hypocrisy is what the raw human nature, chooses to hide beneath.

There are Ceresis and there are Jons.
There is conspiracy and there is loyalty.
There are Daenerys and there are Jeofferys.
There are rightful leaders and despots.

Point being, we are not a far cry from the show.

Baggage

(This post is in response to a message which my dad received the other day, below is the message)
Question for spiritual guru --- to add growth to a plant it is a common practice to prune it from time to time ; what is a eqv in case of humans, obviously you are not going to prune physically, so what do you do to grow?

(This is purely an attempt at decoding the question, not committing the sacrilege of considering myself a spiritual guru)

Each day, along with the continual addition to the number of days we have spent on earth, what also increases is the baggage we carry. The emotional baggage and the mental baggage, to be more specific.
I have not interacted with a gargantuan number of people in my infinitesimal lifespan of nineteen years but nevertheless, I have come across people who though, despite seeming emancipated, do end up taking certain things to heart.
For the less intellectually whetted individuals, such as us, even the most insignificant details can become hurtful.
We might pretend to ignore something or behave like it did not make any difference to us at all, but deep down inside, a harsh word does leave a scar.
In addition to the not so major, slighting incidents, there are also people who undergo serious emotional damage owing to certain circumstances.
The point in all of this being that all those scars (or scabs in some cases) pile on to our mind. Without realising it we are adding endless layers of absolutely unessential emotions and carrying the same around with us.
A small altercation in the office, or at home and subconsciously you start holding a grudge, deep down inside.

So start cutting down on all this baggage. Cutting down on all the pain and the hurt. On the innumerable grudges you are holding and stifling yourself with.
From time to time, remember to take a look inside and forgive what happened in the past, forgive the people (even if you don't speak to them anymore) not for their sake, but yours. Every  six months or any particular time period of sorts, indulge in a little introspection and find all the noxious, venomous emotions, that you might have held on to, by mistake.

I can't entirely recall where I read this, but your emotions must be enough to fit into your child's school bag. The question is would you then fill it with all the joy or the bitterness?

Maya

I find it a cruel joke that humans spend their lives believing and acting like they'll never perish, whereas life is actually nothing but a collection of short lived phases.
Our minds are so befuddled by material incantations that we seldom realise our time here is limited.
I do not mean to be the preacher who asked a little boy to stop eating sugar and couldn't give up sugar himself but I wish humanity employed their time to find a way around these foggy curtains of attachment.
For myself, I wish the sustenance to go beyond this material world.
Imagine a cliff, if you jump from the cliff into the gorge, you presume you will die, what if, one dip in the gorge and you find yourself in another world? Redeemed as a detached individual?
And the promise of redemption isn't made before the jump. It is a risk you've to take.
The high cliff symbolises the high that comes with money and power. Only after attainment of the two can you find the courage to begin the shredding of the thread, the bond, between you and the lust for money and power.

The truth is, this concept is too idealistic to be true. Getting out of the maya jaal is probably tougher than moving mountains. These material attachments, like a spider's web start off from the periphery of our lives, slowly working their way in. As we grow, so does the stronghold of the web. The irony being, we can't feel the web strengthen its grip till the moment we realise we want to free ourselves from this web. A captor that leads you to enjoying and loving each minute of captivity. So much so that you go on to consider that captive existence, your life.

Free ourselves, let us.

Inspiration

I recently joined a summer school in my city for want of a better way to spend my vacation. I'm being honest in admitting that I partially expected this course to be an unmitigated disaster of sorts (I feared the course would be miles above sub normal levels and I'd end up feeling like a fish in a lake, staring at the trees on the banks, trying to figure  how the process of climbing works.)
This post is actually an adulation for the most brilliant teacher I've got a chance to learn from.
It is not entirely about how he made, the most complex concepts easily graspable but about how his affection for each one of us seemed devoid of any partiality (Indian education system, I hope you're listening), how his level of informality and approachability made the class feel like it belonged to our individual comfort zones.
Right from taking efforts to memorising our names to relating Fordism with a Charlie Chaplin clip he just made International Political Economy seem not even vaguely as intimidating as it really is.
10 days in this class and I've never been more sure of pursuing IPE in my future.

Despite being the daughter of a teacher, I've never entirely respected the profession (I've dutifully respected the professionals involved though, no matter what.)
I would actually want to thank him for lifting the veil off the absolute beauty of teaching.
For making me realise that imparting knowledge is noble and joyous. For making me feel that if tomorrow, I end up teaching, it would probably be one of the best things that could happen to me.
Thank you Gonzo.
PS brownie points for the "shant ho jaye."

MH370 taught me.

As the mystery of the missing plain MH370 deepens, the only people whose absence (death probably) struck me really hard is of the two Iranians using the fake passports.
I don't, in any way, intend to sound insensitive towards the souls or the grief of the loved one's of the others aboard that unfortunate plane.
A chance reading of an article about the last status update by those two Iranians made me break down into convulsive sobs. (http://time.com/20592/mh370-nourmohammadi-iran-malaysia/)
It makes me miserable to think of the irony of the post which has the man saying no when asked are they ever coming back.
It makes me feel thankful for being blessed but more than gratitude there is a strong surge of guilt gripping my body and mind.
Guilty of living a life that they were running away for. Guilty of how having everything they must have spent nights yearning for and despite having all of this, complaining about the most minor elements of discord in my otherwise seemingly perfect life. Guilty of how despite, the younger one being as old as me, won't live to see a glorious future. Guilty of having been chosen to be blessed.
I have never really prayed for a stranger but this is the purest form of gratitude and askance of peace for their souls. For everybody who was there on that doomed plane. For their loved ones and anybody who has ever died before having a shot at life.

It has gotten me to a really poignant conclusion which is a fact that must've been hidden away from me owing to my absolute ignorance and disregard for all that is good and lovely in my world.
Life is the most precious gift.
Squandering it, should feel more devastating than ending it.

PS the painting attached, is my depiction of the above post, I'm not exactly good at it, but as one of my friends said, "All arts are about reflections. :)"

Fate and some other thing

There is a question that has been plaguing me. Can fate be controlled?
People have blind faith in gem stones, a talking parrot picking out a card that would predict your future, tarot cards that are supposed to tell you how your future will shape up but my question is that despite all these manifestations of the human obsession with wanting control over the unknown (fate), can we actually manage to do so?
The philosophy of whatever happens, happens for the best is mildly baffling me.
If it is indeed true, why are certain people beggars? Why does suffering exist?
If someone looses their parents or spouse, is it for the best?
A recent discussion opened my mind to another belief that we all get what we deserve, which explains the concept of suffering better.
There is another possibility that while we have been falsely lead into believing that our actions control our fate, our fate is probably predetermined and our actions have no implications over it.
I believe that centuries ago, when the world must've been a haven for the dark and the twisted, some man probably to lessen the mean behavior of man kind, came up with this concept to make the world a better place to live in. The fear of your present changing your future is bound to get a few people to move away from their vile ways.

Chronic urge to run.

Something is absolutely wrong with me.
Or rather something is finally right with me.
I guess I can devote this clouded phase of mine to a case of the blues.
God alone knows.

Coming back to the phase, I think I have a split personality disorder.
One part of me, is elated about new work opportunities and things like that. The other part is absolutely frustrated with the prospect of new assignments and loads of things to deal with.
Basically I am frustrated with the prospect of life.
I want to buy roller blades, get skinned knees in the process of learning how to roller-blade. I want to spend a year wallowing in abstraction. Doing random things.
In fact, I have a list for the same.
1. Train to be a bartender.
2. Learn how to do a headstand.
3. Go on a Satvik diet for a month.
4. Go bald.
5. Step out in an ice blue colored wig for the next twenty days.
6. Watch Aurora Borealis.
7. Go visit a nude beach.
8. Try and leech onto a person. (By leech, I mean cling to them, quite literally.)
9. Make a will.
10. Buy and try one of those pills that are supposed to make you loose weight.

I want to run away from my mundane existence. I want chaos. I want the dreary black and white in my life to be filled with the vivid colors of chaos and trouble.

"What did you learn from your time in the solitary

Cell of your mind there was noises distractions

From anything good and the old prison food

Color my life with the chaos of trouble 'cause anythings better

Than posh isolation I missed the bus you were laid on your back

With the boy from the Arab strap, with the boy from the Arab strap"

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cuNLJ1I1-vw