We are.. Who we are..


It rained today… . Uncertainly. “The weather is somewhat positive”, my thoughts as I got ready. Drizzling. Tiny droplets of silver. As they float and sway in the wind before falling. Mystical and beautiful. A good day to start. A good mood to move ahead.

I reached metro and found a safe seat to find solitude and lose myself in the electric voice of Nina Simone.. Feeling good.. . Generally I don’t pay heed to the people around. But there was this person who was holding a hand bag which was feminine. He himself was having a feminine persona. Confident. Dressed sharp with a scarf around his neck. Suave. The way he stood while reading a small novella, radiated the I-Don’t-Give-a-FUCK attitude. As I returned my attention back to the melodic excellence of Nina Simone (god bless her soul), I noticed the rest of the people in the coach. Watching him. Every individual thinks in a different manner and thus everyone had a different look in their eyes. Judgmental looks, smirks on the faces, possible innuendos and comments ringing in their heads. I even saw two adult grown men whispering in hush hush voices and snickering while looking disgustingly at him. The fact he didn’t say or do anything to these judgmental, rather expressive people at a personal level; got me thinking.

Our society judges,discriminates and what not, based on the self-expressions of an individual; based on appearance (and this is only one aspect of our explicitly judgmental society). The decision of an individual to live his/her life as he/she wants somehow affects out society at a level where the existence of individual entity is dictated by a set of rules which are considered to be “obvious”. A woman should act like a “woman”, and same goes for the man. These dictating “obvious rules” ranges from the type and style of apparel you wear (rather how to wear); to the way you should behave in society.

As children, most of us has been dressed as the opposite gender by our parents for fun. At that stage it is not considered “bad”. Why? Because children are innocent! They are pure at hearts! But when some of us grow up to dress as we please, it suddenly becomes “bad”. Why? Because a male should dress in a “manly” fashion! A female should keep her femininity by dressing in “appropriate” cloths! The fact that our actions and our karma are not considered enough to be acknowledged as good individuals, in a society which has an Epic written on Karma, is hypocritical.

I too once was homophobic like many in our society. But as I matured as an individual , who respect people for who they are rather then their actions and appearances, I understood. I actually saw and understood the difficulties people face when in such situations. As I ponder upon this, there might be a number of individuals who might be forced to live under the said “norms” of our society. Who might be closing their real self into some dark deep vault and pretending to be someone else. Just to be recognized as the respectable citizen in our society. Just because there are norms set by society, followed by our parents, family and friends.

A friend, who belongs to the LGBT community, likes to wear tee shirts, shirts and jeans. She despises all the apparel considered feminine by the society. She works with an NGO from time to time. She has adopted a child and bear the expanses of his education. She is a staunch supporter of gender equality and she believes in making positive changes around her to create a better society. But when she embraced who she really is and came out as her real self, phenomenal changes was their in people’s attitude. The goodness in her and her actions were neglected just because of the fact that she accepted herself as she is. Before that the same people, the same society cheered her for the work she does. Now they despise her and see her with the same judgmental looks, people gave to that guy in metro today.

I asked, “Don’t you hate it when people look at you like that..?”. She said, “No I don’t. It used to bother me before… now I am habitual. People will throw anything at you.. You don’t have to catch it all the time.. you have to let go of some. One time a relative shrugged away from me when I tried to give a hug. Most of the time it is the people who are close to you who behave as strangers. I don’t regret any thing that I have done s far and accepting who I am is better than pretending to be someone I was not.”

The purpose of society and the code it follows were to create a sense of discipline and reduce the random chaos in the masses. To have order and to make the masses more productive and less aggressive. Our society, with this code has stood the tests of time throughout the history of the Indian subcontinent. I do not hold grudges against our society, but I do towards the out rightly orthodox views which forbid individuals to embrace their true self and forcefully want them to behave and act in manners they cannot. To know one and to live as oneself.. this is what all individuals strive for. Live and Let Live. This has been one of the primary teachings since the ages. The progression of society encompass the growth and expansion of the intellectual horizons which accepts individuals in their true self.

The word “being” which is used in conjuncture to “human”, while describing ourselves, holds a deeper meaning. The state of awareness of one’s existence and the state where one knows who he/she is. People are coming out to the world. Declaring to world. Embracing their true nature and self. The need is for us to stand with them. They are our brothers, our sisters, our friends, our acquaintances, our neighbors. People.




As the Day Ends



The glow of the sun,
when the fading rays,
touch the cold water,
with warmth in them.

The softness of the wind,
when it blows,
and makes the still leaves,
dance over the trees.

The moist droplets of dew,
on the green grass,
when the day breaks,
into the twilight.

The crimson reflection,
of the setting sun,
with its glowing hazy shadow,
on the crystal clear water.

The twinkling image,
of the shining dots,
that belong to the sky,
on the mirror of moving water.

The feeling of nostalgia,
which grows strong,
with every lighting candle,
as the day ends.

I See a Dream

I see a dream sometimes.
And it’s so real.
I dream of high Mountains.
I see deep gorges.
I walk through the green valleys.
It looks like heaven.
It feels like heaven.
The flowers of all colors.
The mist over the high peaks.
The cold clear water of the river flowing.
The white, cloud filled sky.
The pine forest so dark n lush.
The sweet scent of the flowing winds.
The vastness all around.
And among all this…
I……living the dream.

The Rain



For the first time…
It rained in the desert…
For the first time …
The sand tasted the water…
The dryness vanished…
Everything became moist…
The first ever rain…
The thirst quenching rain…
The drops of cold water…
On that burning, thirsty earth…
The long awaited storm…
That crashed onto the earth…
The wet winds that flew…
The gift of sky…
The rain…


Have you ever heard the silence speak?
It do speak if you try to listen.
It is never silent.
Sometimes there is a rumble of thunder.
Sometimes there is rustling of leaves.
If u try n hear.
You can hear the whistling of wind.
The murmur of sleeping birds.
The dripping of that open tap.
The voices coming from far.
And if u can’t.
Then close your eyes.
And you will hear them.
You will hear the creaking of old floor.
You will hear the curtain move.
The sound of burning fire.
But sometime all u hear is silence.
No word.
you can’t hear a thing.
But you can feel.
The cool wind in your hair.
The warmth of noon sun.
The chill of the cold water.
The sharpness of a rough edged stone.
With your closed eyes.
Have you ever tried to feel?
What all that is there.
To be felt.
Someone passing by.
That soft touch on your shoulder.
The whispers to sooth you.
The fingers that wiped your tears.
Have you ever felt that?
We all can feel that.
We all can hear silence.
But we don’t.
Because we don’t stop.
To listen what it speaks.
To feel what it is.
It is there always.
Wanting us to listen it up.
Wanting us to hear.
Of all it holds for us.
Of all it embraces tight.
So next time you are silent.
Try and feel it.
Try to hear the silent words.
The sounds.
The syllables.
The music.
That is silence….

Sub: To You.. From Me..


Dear You,

Life is unfair and at times it tests you to the limits. I am on the verge of falling as I write. Falling off to an endless abyss of unknown where you can’t reach me; where your voice can’t haunt me. I tried to reach out, I tried to change the uncertainties and tried to create some symmetry out of the chaos, which was You. But time and again, I failed, I faltered. yet the peace which once resided in me, has vanished without a trace. Silently.

Countless nights I lay awake. Staring at the ceiling, hoping to see you as my eyes search the darkness. Listening to the silence, to hear one note of sweet melody that once was your voice. but the emptiness of the night hung so heavy that my heart aches, It pounds with pain. With writhing, unbearable, unimaginable pain. I curse you, I adore you, I loathe you, I love you. Still.

You once were my pain, my joy, my friend, my life. It ended. It crumbled with the walls falling on me of what we called a home. The invisible sanctuary which held you and me strong and safe In rain and storm. The sanctuary we made unknowingly, innocently. From the feelings of the tender heart full souls, that once we were. Now its all gone. I search for it. When I travel, when I work, when I sleep. when I breathe. Everyday, every single moment. But I am lost. And the sanctuary has withered somewhere in the oblivion, with the sands of time, flowing endlessly.

Yet here I am. Washed up and weathered. I eat, I work, I sleep, and I repeat. living a lifeless life with all the things I can hoard to replace you. Yet the void remains. The only static and stagnant thing in my life. The Void. I tried filling it up. But every time the void gapes more and more. Swallowing every bit of the newness and attraction from all what I try to fill it with. And in the end I am left with the likeness of you which shadows the newness and forces it out. Away from me. By me.

You are nowhere but still you are here. Somewhere. Hiding behind that bench where we sat, someday back in the past. Walking behind me when I walk home. Cooking with me on Saturday nights. you just like to tease me as always. Hiding behind unknown faces and yet smiling at me. I know you are there. With your bright smile, waiting to touch me, waiting to hold my face. But you don’t. And I wait for you at every corner, at every turn. Ready to act surprised. But You show up no more. Now you just like to hide. And it hurts.

The day you died I died along with you. And now I am just a hollow of a man with nothingness filled up to the brim. The need to live has ceased to exist with you long gone. I want to end the suffering but I can’t. I promised you. I kissed you and promised you. so I live. Broken. But I live. Its difficult, and I am cold and alone. But I live. Because you made me promise.

I don’t long to be freed of this immense pain. And I don’t want this pain to wear off. This pain is the closest thing I have left of you. The shapeless, stinging, agonizing pain. And I will keep it close to my heart. Tucked away. Hidden. Forever.

From Me.

P.S. I still keep the coasters lined up on the rack like you did and I still keep your boots out when it rains. I still hate broccoli which you loved so much. And I still find it difficult to remember dates which you reminded me every time I forgot.


The Beginning…

It’s been a while since I wrote something. Quiet a long time. The writers block took some years out of life before I managed to write something. It is so dramatic that you want to express and explode with the thoughts, rumbling and scheming through the catacombs of your mind. But, still you are stupefied with the inability to write down your own thoughts.
I wrote a small piece. A letter. A fictional letter to a beloved long lost and gone forever. It was a first in past years of the creative drought. The rush of creating something just from the sequential placement of simple combination of letters into something creative and scintillating  is magnificent. It gives you a sense of accomplishment. Makes you to move forward. Somehow calms you down to a level from where the chaos inside starts to pacify by itself. Every other person might be having a different thinking or feeling or interpretation, but the essence remains the same.
I liked writing long sentences. Them someone pointed that out. suggested that I try shortening the sentence. It would give a more crisp and defined look to the writing. More suggestions followed, ranging from changing the undertones to the way I write. Some even suggested focusing on the grammar. Some of them understood why I write like that. And some can never. Writing is not a planned work or a chore, which you have to do or which you have to plan. It is like an even flow of a river flooded by thought; churning and whirl-pooling as the flow proceeds silently, but with force. It comes to you naturally. you don’t think that, “today, I will write a passage”; or , “Today I will write about this situation everyone is talking about”. Its not. It is all, but a hungry pang to create something beautiful. Without a motive. Without objective.
The same people at times try and criticize art. They grade it. They try to pin a prize to it. more so, put a price to it. And its pathetic to see. Can you grade art? Can you put a price on art? can you compare two artists and their respective creations? No! you can’t. Art is not meant for being put down for a price or for being nominated for a prize. It is mean to be interpreted. Every artist creates something from the understanding gained so far within the individual self. Thus, each piece of art is different from the other, yet; beautiful. Similarly, every individual interprets art in his/her own individual self. Differently. One might see a smiling invitation with a hint of seduction in Mona Lisa. Others might see a compassionate and loving woman smiling with affection. There are no boundaries. there are no limits to where these interpretations end.
The more I write the more frothy becomes the rapids of mind with ideas and self-suggestions. It is fascinating to observe how well the human psyche respond to the stimuli which gives a sense of being able to create something from entities as simple as words. It is just a beginning to what one can think of as a journey. With no place to reach to, but to wander around endlessly. Savoring the plethora of choicest flavors of life with a hint of spice, which adds on to life.