Stories

Few Years back I would wonder how stories were weaved,
Today, I know how letters are sown together in the fertile land of mind, watered with imagination and cherished with delicate care
From those letters grow words, which are taken and tied together with the thread of interaction and made into stories..

September calls for stories,
Stories of yours and mine..
I wonder how would it feel again
If you tell your story to me like the first time?

Present

When you live in past, you die thousand deaths,
When you live in future, you are prone to anxiety attacks,

Living in present looks unrealistic
But when you observe with keen eye
What else do we have except for this moment?
What else can we do except for breathing ,loving , living , embracing nothing but this very moment!

The plans that we made, some worked some didn’t
The plans we are making , some will float,others might sink.

We are in a queue and the path is predetermined, nothing can be done with the pavement..
So, Why worry when you are alive at this moment?

If you wish to see a miracle
Stand before the mirror and look at yourself..
You are what Presents are made up of.

Without you there is no past, No future and certainly no Present.

Fiction

You would be that lady in Old Victorian gown who lives in an abandoned mansion situated in countryside with some 20-30 cats , who keeps herself warm by sitting near to her fireplace while her man sits opposite to her in an armchair reading her a chapter from the copy of Harry Potter. In between, he winks at her whenever the book mentions Hermione , and she winks back because she understands.

When the first snow falls she stands near to her window admiring what nature has to offer and her man looks at her , admiring her for that nature has offered him in the guise of a mortal , the most beautiful creature in the whole world .

You and me

And as each minute passes, I am more certain of the fact that I am born for you . . to be with you.

Existing to complete your equation of life, fate and death. You paint my soul in all the colours of rainbow, holding me steady just like a tree is held by its roots . Strong and Still.

I wonder, do you even know how your mouth uttering my name coats my ribs ? bringing warmth to my soul ? The heart is engulfed in that warmth and I can survive my hot and cold night alike.

To know that I am meant for you is the greatest joy , you have given to me apart from the joys that you have been bringing each day, every hour , every minute with each breath of yours mingling with mine.

Love, You are the definition of love for me. From beginning to end, the part of same cosmos yet which keeps on existing in different dimensions .

Twisted tale

Ours is arrange marriage 
Arrange, no?
It was arrange adding to love marriage.

I met her at her house
She looked beautiful,
We talked,
She called herself "rebellious soul, never confined , never to be trapped"

I loved her instantly for the second time , My first wife was also a rebellious one so she left me early.
I told her I never give up and someday will confine her with a slight grin.
It worked...

We met every week,
Talked everyday,
She turned me down when I gave her bouquets, chocolates but was delighted to my gentleman efforts,

That's all I wanted...
She could never get slightest idea about our future that I had planned with her,
Everyday When I looked at her
"Rebellious soul never to be confined" echoed in my ear,

It is our wedding day,
She became mine.
Waiting for me in the beautiful bridal attire
That's my wife , right ?
I told myself the rebellious soul is being chased by me
It's time to confine her.

That night she slept peacefully
Never to awake again.
While she slept I choked her breath with her dupatta ; the love she bore for me now transformed into fear,

Rebellious soul , so she fought
But couldn't win because I am her husband right?
She was maintaining eye contact all the time and I thought how much I love her more ,
My first dead wife closed her eyes when I did this to her, pity isn't it?
But she looked right through my eyes, making me hold her dupatta more tightly around her snow white throat.

And then she peacefully slept.

I never give up I said with another grin while closing the door of my Giant Refrigerator , confining her with in.

To exist is not to live

“Wait for me here”. – Godot,1949

Dear reader,

As I venture on my new journey to talk about existence, I want you to think of Godot. Some of you might have waited for him in their college classroom where a teacher and an old man named “Beckett” told us to know that “nothing had changed, nothing could change” except for our wait for Godot.

I remember when I first held the “book” in my hands, Waiting for the text to get over and understand the mystery of who Godot was? When would he come? Why were we even waiting for him? Was he God?

I got no answers except for the last one. Bless! Beckett for that, he himself cleared the air by stating that if he wanted his readers to think of Godot as “God” then he would have mentioned God not Godot. So, it was clear that Beckett wanted us to wait for Godot. The purpose of the text was to wait for Godot, who never turns up physically. His presence could be felt yet not seen just like the wait we keep on patiently doing , without even knowing if the person we are waiting for will ever turn up or not!

Unaware of its depth I thought the text doesn’t made sense. Ironically today, “Godot” is symbol of “purpose” for me. Beckett knew that even waiting needs a purpose. Whether someone comes or not doesn’t matter, The purpose of waiting is known in the heart of the person who performs the act. The Purpose being an energy acting as reinforcement for us to keep doing something again and again and again until we just either gets it or lose the hope of getting it.

So, dear readers , if you are waiting for someone and others keep on telling you that it’s of no use, remember that the purpose of that “waiting” is only known to you .. no one will get it except you. And in your heart you will always find the right way to pursue what you truly wish for.

“Last Entry of you. It’s a wrap for us!”

Yesterday night brought me contentment and the hazy sky before my eyes was finally clear after spending days in state of turmoil,

I have realised that the happiness I tried to give you is causing eternal pain to my soul.
This sadness, gloomy shades of depression is rotting me inside,

All this time when I was trying to fill you with my energies, you were still empty.
You have various pores in the parcel of life which will never let my energies settle in you.

It is an end for us since I can't fill your emptiness .
The void that you are, it's extremely powerful, engulfing everything .. Emitting nothing , retaining nothing.

I have realised I will become empty, will turn into numb void like you , My soul will rot away, leaving me infected with your disease.

So, Today,
I have decided to cut you off ,tear you apart from myself.
You don't belong to me, healing you is not in my control anymore.

I can live without you but I cannot live with the suffering self with you.

With this, let's just wrap the show.

They call you pretty!

It all began with a note, 
Slipping through the desks, passing hands with a message, "You are pretty,I think I love you."

Took me minutes to register, what does pretty has to do with love ?

Fitzgerald once said,“I hope she'll be a fool -- that's the best thing a girl can be in this world, a beautiful little fool.”

How do you respond to a confession?
Friend,
Teach me how you tell someone you think you love them but not to that extent to sacrifice your reputation!
But if you can't sacrifice how does it justify that it's love?
Well what kind of love can anyone justify!
And there it goes,
The loop keeps on widening.
Circle within a Circle within a mind of its own.

It all began with the thought!

Well, Does it mean you find me pretty that's why love me or You love me that's why I am pretty?

A day later , I heard her talking ,
They call you pretty, they love you more.
With this the loop widens and my question lingers on.

Trepidation

And then I am fascinated with the story behind the idea of Charles Bukowski quoting , “I have got to decide- Kill myself or love myself.”

Does my wish to know his sorrow, anger , disappointment , hopeless and overwhelming response to the question of what he should be doing makes me crazier than him? I guess not, or Maybe It does! I honestly don’t know who he is yet or why is he popping in my mind just now when all I was trying to do was immerse myself in the imaginary green light of nature , thinking of Tara and meditating . I know Universe works in a strange manner. How strange? You ask me ? Well not that I know of. I am not aware how it happens and I am not questioning it. Maybe because I am just irrationally afraid of the answer. But wait, Stick by me , in few months I might reveal how it is working in the back end , trying to make my life a little easy , it’s not tough but not ideally as I would have preferred it. Do you feel in the same manner? Lucky for you if not ! But if you do, hey, come and meet me. Let’s talk about the hidden motifs we can find in our situation and maybe we can grade how the driver of the train of our life is performing. But hey! seriously tell me , does it all actually fall in place as we all say?