Human Beings.

Human beings are strange creatures. They measure time in moments instead of numbers. They celebrate long and grieve longer. They claim to understand the pain of loss but truly do only when they experience it. The circle of life and the curveballs that it brings along makes them perpetually confused about loss, heartbreak, death, and failure.

They like to hold on to their youth strongly and want to feel the emotions of being wild and free too often. Growing old is an awful experience, even more so when they realize they turn into a burden than a responsibility on growing older.

Human beings are strange creatures. They dream but restrain from discovering the strength it takes to live the dream. But when they do, they forget to stop and appreciate the little things around them. They claim that happiness is short-lived but never realize that it's self-created and self-destroyed.

When it comes to expressing their emotions, they fall short of words. They care, but they stutter to say. They hate, but they hide behind a mask. They win, but they find meaning in failure only. They write wonderful stories, but keep them away from everyone in torn journals.

Human beings are strange creatures. They watch great movies. They read great books. They admire the lives of their favourite heroes but they compromise with their lives. Only till they realize they cannot compromise any longer.  

Solitude.

Oftentimes solitude fails at making conversations with us.

It lurks behind our backs hoping we'd notice it.

But as we move one from one phase of our life to the other, waltzing from moments of euphoria to awful times of melancholia, it wishes we spot its presence.

It sits along with us on a park bench, trying to lure us into its gifted world of beauty.

In the darkness, when we run and hide from the world, it tries to befriend us.

In the bright light, as we stroll in the sidewalks, with our hands in the pockets, it extends us its hand.

Too lost in the humdrum routines of the world, we never hold it back.  

But there comes a time when we meet solitude eye to eye, and there's no going back after that.

It showers us with meaningful conversations and beautiful introspections.

As we gather our thoughts and experiences, solitude makes us realize that the greatest company a man can ever have is his own mind.

And that, my friend, is when you truly understand you have earned a true friend in yourself.

Mother's Daughter.

I guess I was a four-year-old child when I first imagined being a mother was ultimately cool. When I was forcefully sent to school by my mother, I always assumed that all she did was stay home, watch TV, play with toys and basically have a gala time while I suffered at school. As I grew older, I understood and witnessed the amount of work my mother did with an ease that only she could pull off. It has been fourteen days since I’ve lost her and four days since I've started doing the household work along with my younger sister only to realize that stepping into the shoes of my mother is not just difficult, but also very stressful. I realized this as I had a breakdown in my office parking lot, today. However, as a four-year-old, I was still correct about the fact that being a mother is cool. I mean, who else can multitask so effortlessly?

I've been told that the loss of your mother practically paralyzes you for days and then, you are on your own, navigating the big mean world without a survival kit. Though I partly agree with it, I do not think a loss like that ends after a while. Colossal losses like this come in waves, overwhelming and drowning you every time they reach your shore. As a person who has been spoilt rotten by my folks, I find it rather impossible to waltz into the footsteps of a responsible adult overnight. Even more so, when I am dealing with pain and confusion. But then, I cannot refuse the change, can I? Such is the nature of human life. Despite losing a major chunk of your heart, you are constantly encouraged to move on with your life. To smile. To fight hard. To stay strong. My mother too was deeply strong. She had a way with her words and she used them only for good. Her joys were sedate ones too: filter coffee, a blooming rose in our garden, Telugu literature, and conversations with her youngest brother. But the problem with my mother was that she set an example too nice to even try and follow. She was never lackadaisical about anything. As a teacher, she carefully crafted and inspired many young minds and she was always particular about working hard and earning a true value for that work.

So when people are asking me if I really have the need to go back to work and attend work calls, I frankly have no better answer than this: She isn't here anymore but her dreams and her ambitions for me are here to stay. I am solely responsible for carrying them out, now and forever. This is an intensely fresh beginning for me and I am still figuring out how to be cool like her. But you know, I will figure it out eventually. Because I am my mother's daughter, after all.

Mindless Thoughts.

I just cannot tell you how I spend many nights staring at my bookshelves. I have so much to say and so many stories to tell. But the words that my mind is carefully churning do not reach the tips of my fingers. It's on these nights, I particularly wonder if I can write only when my life breaks into tiny chunks and vanishes into nothingness. There are nights and then, there are these nights. When it is raining so beautifully outside my window and I sit inside, staring at the things around me wondering if I can muster some sentences that make sense or sound warm. I stop listening to music, I stop reading and only pay attention to the raindrops creating a slow pattern of music that I go on and on to.

It's on nights like these that I think what am I going to do if I wake up one morning and fail to put words to paper?

Mood Swings.

My mood swings are like shapeshifters.

One day, they are bottled up tight intact,

The other day, they are freely flowing.

They come in blacks when I anticipate the whites.

But when I expect the blacks, it's always the whites.

Grey areas, they announce unabashedly.

But grey areas are not what I like.

My mood swings are like shapeshifters.

They chase me into the darkness sometimes,

And prance around me like sunshine, the other times.

But it's more than just the confusion, you know?

To do the unwanted.

To want the undone.

My mood swings are like shapeshifters,

Even they do not know what they are in for.

It could be fancy, or it could just be plain.

But how would they know if all they do is surprise me?

But, Where Am I Heading?

I've been totally slacking off my blog and my writing (except the ones that pay) for days now and Pokemon Go must be blamed for it. Just when I figured the game isn't working and it won't for a long time, I imagined I would nicely slip back into my regular routine of life. However, I am distracted with Gilmore Girls. The list is endless, I could find tons of things that could distract me from my lofty and otherwise amazing goals. Sometimes I don't know what I am doing with my life. Or to be more precise, where my life is heading towards. I think about it often. Especially on the nights when my Wifi doesn't work.

The past few weeks have been spent in a hurry, I cannot recollect a single thing that I have done without rushing. It has been all overwhelming and with so much going on, I am still clueless as to where I am heading with my life. The whos, the whats, the hows, the whys - I am just trying to get around with all these things. Sure, the attempts and mostly feeble and futile, nevertheless, I am still trying to understand the core of what I am trying to create with my life.

When I was a child, I wanted to be a lot of things. I wanted to be a ballerina donning tulles wherever I go. I wanted to be a person who tells stories to people around me. I wanted to be an archaeologist because I figured it would be fun to be one. I had a harmonica when I was five and I played it so terribly that people around me hoped they'd die. That did not stop me from wanting to be a harmonica player. Backtracking my childhood, it doesn't come as a surprise to me that I wanted to be a lot of things. It kind of made me very happy that I was interested in a bunch of cool things. As I grew older, a certain sort of weariness and introspection took over me. I took the time to understand that I did not want to be an engineer. Nor did I wanted to do an MBA I slogged years for. I just wanted to write, be close to writing, but now that I am doing that already, people ask me if this is all I want to do or if there's more to it. And there, that sends me into a tumultuous frenzy. Because I do not truly know if there is more to my life than writing? Or if my life is heading anywhere except towards that.

Like I said, I am still not sure of what I'm doing with my life. Yet, whatever I am doing right now, it makes me feel very alive. If you know what I mean? It makes me laugh, it makes me cry and more than a million times, it makes me question my sanity and threshold levels. But for all intents and purposes, the lack of clarity is making me enjoy the moment. Even when I am suffering.

So, what did I say when I started? That I wasn't sure where my life is heading towards? Well, we shall see that it fetches a closure, soon.

P.S. Here’s something that I got published, last week:

Yay! Another One.

Happy reading. Toodles!

You Are All You Need.

You come into the world with nothing in your arms,

You find the meaning of life in melancholy and the joy of living in love.

All by yourself, stumbling upon places and people you carry within.

You fight the demons of your life, sometimes with a friend by your side.

You are taught different things, but your experiences remain to be the greatest of your teachers.

You come into the world with no survival kit in your hand,

You understand the way the world lives. Even worse, you understand it  by failing.

You learn that you don't come out of a battle without a few scars here and there.

Never place your trust in the wrong hands, you are told. But you misplace it. You squander it.

You come into the world with no plans in your head,

You stand tall beside your literary heroes, you chase the evil with the superheroes in your heart.

You walk the cities with your little heart on the sleeve and go everywhere you feet take you to.

You build your home in the darkest hours and you walk alone even in the brightest hours,

Everything you need and all that the world can hold is just inside of you. Hidden but waiting for you to discover it.

Dear man, you are the architect of your own happiness.

Make it or break it, but don't be the creator of your bitter endings.

You come into the world with all the strength in your heart,

And maybe, that is all you need. Now and forever.