That one thing.

Ever felt the importance of something- which is clearly not as important anyway! Still you feel like it is the most important thing in our life, the only thing that is going to be good, to be okay for you and you cling onto it so bad. You just can’t let go, not because you don’t want to but simply because you can’t. That one thing that you may have done right; that makes you forget almost all other wrongs. Is it not then that you realise that there is nothing much in your life, except for that one thing? What if even that goes away? Then I might be left with simply nothing!

I thing I am just rambling anyway, I should stop my babble right away.

Have a good day,

Much love.

 

Wasted Sunday.

  • Woke up at 10 AM and still did not wish to wake up.
  • Skipped breakfast, but compensated with two cups of coffee.
  • What I exactly did till noon, even I can’t fathom.
  • Had lunch, and just after lunch, I had the strong urge to go back to sleep again.
  • Resisting everything, I tried to focus and study!
  • Nope, not my day.
  • My stomach started to ache acutely again, shutting down the left over wish to study.
  • I switched on the TV, watched a whole movie. What was it? ‘Our brand is crisis.’
  • In the evening I tried getting out of my bed, but the pain was throbbing and I had no intention of even going out of my room.
  • A novel saved me.
  • I had an early dinner, followed by a huge tub of ice cream. Really spoiling myself.
  • Half tub of ice cream was accompanied by another movie. Which one? ‘Runway bride’
  • Movie and a slow eater of that almost milk shake kind of ice cream made it till I don’t know what time.
  • Again the urge to sleep. But it wasn’t late enough.
  • So I kept myself busy with the novel again. As always, it worked.
  • Late in the night, I was about to turn off but then the phone kept buzzing.
  • All kinds of people texting me simultaneously. Where were they the whole day? When ‘I’ was bored?
  • I reply for a few minutes trying to make it short, but the conversation gets interesting with a couple of people, and I continue.
  • It’s 1 AM now and it’s really time to sleep. I wish them good night, and then go off to bed, finally!
  • Oh, I don’t even feel guilty. Should I? I think, I should but the thing is I don’t.
  • So there, that’s how I wasted my Sunday.

The bed box

She was sitting on this dim corner of the cave, very peaceful, not even caring that she had lost her way, and that she was away from the company that she had entered with. The place was unnervingly silent, and the cool setting was a bit too much for her to take. Still, she sat there motionless and tranquil not thinking about the consequences. She knew someone would ultimately find her. She was also aware that subconsciously she wanted no one to discover her, and stay completely lost in her own world, hidden away from everything else.

That is when I woke up, realising that I was sleeping inside the bed box- the extra bed that the hotel provided. With that dream ending unexpectedly I could only hope for someone to come and push the bed box inside the bed and let me just sleep and to know that if she is eventually able to stay away from everything?

The need for a bedside table!

I lie on the bed with the lights dimmed already, with the temperature of the room set accordingly, and with the novel in my hand, ready to be lost into. In order to avoid any kind of disturbance I put my phone away, on the study table at the far corner (I don’t need it anyway plus it helps me wake up in the morning if it is far away). All set for the perfect ‘alone time’ I start reading the book.

A page or two goes by and then I have something in my mind; a topic on which I feel should write and share it with my fellow bloggers. So I lazily stand up, scribble on a post it and stick it on the wall to remember the next day. So there I slump again on the bed, cuddle against a cold sheets, soothing and yet again I loose myself amidst the fictional world.

This time not even a paragraph goes by when I remember something from the day and again, unwilling I get up, post-it on the wall and return, this time making it sure I would not get up before I complete ten pages.

And so I wait for the ten pages to be done, and hastily get up before I forget to jot it down, and there goes another post it on the wall. This is how my wall is always clustered with post-it for to do lists, for something to share with my blogger friends, and even something that I have to let other people know.

This goes on for a while, until I am tired enough to get up again, after which I unwillingly take my phone with me, so that I at least do not have to get up. After another couple of reminders set on my phone, finally I decide to doze off. It is after all 1:00 AM.

Of course my mind is unwilling to shut down and so I aid to my ear phones, leaving behind my comfy bed, one last time. Somehow amidst the dreams of the story going on in the novel, with the lyrics of the songs and with many other unfiltered thoughts in my mind I doze off, finally.

And that is how my mother finds me often, early in the morning, with music flowing through the earphones and yet scattered somewhere under the pillow, with my phone snoozed off and hidden somewhere between the sheets, and the novel that I would be reading tucked beside me. And every single morning she would wake me with same monotonous say, “Why do you have to sleep with all of these things? Why can’t you just keep them all away on the table?”

And every single time I would say, “I just need a bedside table, mom. It would solve all my lazy problems. You don’t know the struggle of waking up once you are tucked into bed, restfully.”

“Yeah, right! But why do you have to get up in the middle of the night anyway?

Den. Ben. 10

Many years had passed when,

I found myself living in a troubled den,

It was surely a troubled den-

For it seemed that there I had passed years 10.

I cried and cried, I tried to complain to Ben,

But no fruitful aid could he provide me then.

This my situation was, my dear Ken,

And I could not overcome it even in 10.

I cried and cried

I tried and tried to talk to Ben,

But time was unfortunate for me

And nothing could happen then.

Disturbed as I was, to soothe myself I took a pen,

Comfort was not meant for me,

Even after scribbling on pages 10.

And yet many more years had passed when,

I was still living in the troubled den. !

PS: This is a small piece that I wrote really a long time ago, probably during my younger school days. I don’t know if it makes sense to you, let me know on the comments below.

And so they don’t like me now!

I was sitting with my cousin and my aunt in their house, munching snacks and having a relaxed time over a cup of tea. We were having a blast, my cousins who have come all the way from Gujarat are really chirpy and can make you feel instantly at home anywhere, even if they are themselves not at home, and my aunt surely enjoys their company. Whenever they come over it is like the house is full of people, despite them being only two teen girls.

One of them just went upstairs to bring something to show me and that was enough for my aunt to start on me. She definitely likes to know everything going on in my life, and I on the contrary hate telling her or any one for that matter everything going on in my life. I can tell you just the thing you know but not every petty thing. So somehow we landed on the topic of girls being educated which made her say that she wants a “Beautiful, educated wife for her son who would stay at home and look after everyone.”

I could have made 1000 jokes on this and let it go but I could not, just as I am never able to let it go. I tried to make her understand what she was asking for and yet I could pass nothing into her chained minds. For her education is important but when it comes to utilising it, girls aren’t meant to do it. I mean do these people even understand themselves what they are asking for? They want an engineer homemaker for an engineer man, a doctor for a doctor, a management student for a manager? They want a girl to spend years and years educating her, working so hard to bring her to certain level and when the time comes to marry, they want her to leave it all behind and shove her degrees in the store room.

I respect completely stay at home moms or wives who choose to not work for their families, but the respect only extends to those who CHOOSE it, it turns to pity for them and disgust for their family members just the moment I get to know that the decision was forceful.

I know this brings us to another statement put up- ‘FIGHT FOR IT’.

What do you think? Women don’t? Of course they do, but somewhere down the line, there are many boundaries, emotional or otherwise which she just can’t cross or is forced again not to cross. If a man says he understands all this, I am sorry I am not going to believe it. I think you do not understand a person’s feelings unless you have been through them.

So there I was trying to justify myself but it was very clear that I was speaking Latin to a person who understood only plain Sanskrit.

Before the discussion changed into a heated argument my cousins took over and there was no further chance to discuss anything else, but my aunt’s curt replies and behaviour made it clear that she didn’t like my presence anymore, so making some excuse to my cousins, I left bidding them good bye.

I could not stand being in the wrong. I could not help being there, feel disgusted. The fact that I was trying to explain my point, talk up to my aunt made her feel that I was in the wrong then how are we supposed to make them understand things that are beyond their understanding?

We think that we can change these people, these circumstances but I don’t think so. We will fail until we have such people (MEN AND WOMEN) in our lives.

I don’t care if she doesn’t like me, now that I have raised my voice, put forward my opinion in front of her; what I care about is I like myself. I know I didn’t change her mind, but had I just taken it all without even trying, putting a little bit of effort, I would have hated myself. I failed but at least I tried. Well, that is what I am trying to say to myself and keep calm.

Finishing line

What is the meaning of our life?

Who are we?

Has anyone ever thought about it? I don’t know, I keep thinking and questioning our existence but of course have no answer to it as yet.

To satisfy myself I came up with an explanation just to quench my thirst of these questions or at least to make peace with unanswered questions.

Our life is a game, a race where the result is unknown until we cross the finishing line. We have to walk, run until we cross the finishing line, keeping in my mind all throughout that it is a run where our competition is with ourselves, not with someone else. We cannot know the end result before playing the game; similarly we cannot know the true meaning of our life unless we have lived it. We may not even know until the end, may be our lives imprint on someone else’s without our knowledge. We might just not know it. But surely it does have a meaning. We just have to go to the finishing line.

So till then we should try and live our lives to the fullest. It is almost impossible to have no regrets and live like we want, there are twists and turns on the road and that is the game we are playing. So we should live with regrets and fulfilments, with happiness and laughter, with tears and sorrows, with positivity and negativity, with failures and success, with friends and enemies, with love and hurt, with everything that life showers us with. We should live our life with everything in it, because once we cross the finishing line, we are not to come back, at least not as the same person anyway. So why not live it, play it rather than constantly trying to figure out everything which as mortals clearly are unable to?

Let’s just not focus on the finishing line and for once try and play the game. May be the game would prove more exhilarating than we’d thought. May be the finishing line is not worth so much of concern. May be this game is all about finding answers to our questions and by the end of it we’d get them all. Just may be.

PS: It is just a small way to try and satiate my unending curiosity, to make temporary peace with these questions and get along with the ‘game’ so that I can concentrate on more important stuff.

Squishy deluges

I read something wonderful today on this blog by Eliza Rudolf.
please try and visit this blog, it is lovely and you are not going to regret it. https://elizarudolf.wordpress.com/2017/04/16/squishy-deluges/

elizarudolf

The water emanates eloquently…. The beams of light dance graciously on its chests…..

Bending down I heed the gurgling of the ripples…. like the way I used to hear his heartbeats keeping my ears on his bosom….

Sensing the soft flow I try to make them intermit their speed…but they flux through, in between my fingers…..

…..like the way I failed to resist him from making me a lone soul……


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Tug of war

They bundled me up, separated me from all my other friends and tied up a knot on me. I was suffocated. Hadn’t they ever heard of claustrophobia? I wanted to breathe, to smell the ‘exotic Indian air’, to cherish the gone moments, to smile through the troubles but they wouldn’t just leave me alone. The weather seemed to be pleasant, I could sway with it, could feel the wind on my face, but only if they would untie me.

One of them held me by my hands, the other grabbed my wavering legs, and my stomach ached with the knot getting tighter and tighter. Couldn’t they apprehend that I was losing my shape? What would become of me? I would lose my colour and my shape. I wouldn’t want to lose myself but they just don’t understand me. When will they?

They are just relishing their game of tug of war. How can they get pleasure out of this, by disquieting me? How? I just don’t want to be torn into two smithereens, misplacing my individuality.

 

Why I love blogging?

I started this blog for no specific reason, apart from the fact that I was drifting away from what I loved, writing and reading and also the reason that I wanted to be in a world where I could be me and not the ‘pretentious me’. I wanted a world, a sphere where I could find myself and get answers to few of my mental ramblings. I may not have the answers to all of my weird and cryptic musings but over these past few months I have come to love this blogosphere.

I love blogging. I love the people here, every single one of you. My love is present not only because you read, follow, comment, like my posts, but I love you guys because you are there, which more often than not people who are physically present in my life fail to do it for me. May be I expect too much, but I think I love you guys more 😉

Anyways, I just love blogging. I love to be myself which most of the times; I cannot in my real life for the constant fear of being rejected and being misinterpreted. I love blogging, for there are people here who are just like me, who expect nothing from this tiny special world and in return are ready to provide all they can. I love blogging because people here understand each other and are not judgemental as ***

I love blogging cause no one here knows me and yet is always present for me. No one knows me apart from the fact that my name is Moushmi Radhanpara and that is it. And yet there is a connection. I love the fact that without any other evidence my dear friends are ready to be with me, participate with me, talk to me, indulge with me, and all they need to know is my name and my blog address. They do not demand my background, my education, my cultural background and goes the societal list.

I will not emphasise on any fellow blogger who would be close to me, as that would just be very partial. Everyone is special to me and I love you all.

I love blogging as I am myself here and all of us are ‘one’.