Keeping Busy

No, I am not busy, I mean I am but not because I am busy, but only because I want to be busy.

Does this even make sense?

I hope so.

PS: In the extent of keeping myself busy to avoid things, i hardly know what am I exactly doing.

An imaginary essay

A tribute

To the pearl of our family

My grandfather…

My grandfather has had a great influence on me. Ever since I was born I have always been influenced by him, his actions, and his way of dealing with life. Though we have been together for a very short period of time we have shared great moments which can never be forgotten.

My grandfather was a great man. Despite being a common man he was no less than a saintly person. He had a very pure and a helpful heart. He belonged to an extremely poor family from a very small village called ‘Chakuliya’. In his days education was not so common but still he had managed to do P.H.D in Sanskrit. He wanted to become a Sanskrit professor but luck did not favour him. In spite of his so called degree he did not get any job and thus having no option he decided to continue his father’s business. This was just the first sacrifice he made for his family because after this followed a chain of sacrifices. I wonder how despite these facts he was happy at heart. He never regretted for what he did, rather he always thought about others first and then for himself. And this was the reason why my grand father has always been a special person in my life.

He had an appealing personality. He was loved by all. He was no different from any of our grand fathers. He too was very old, had long beard, very huge but a well maintained and strong body. He had a very happy-go-lucky nature and this was probably the cause for his being loved by everyone. He was a role model for many people. He could easily solve anyone’s problem and was himself a winner in his life.

He had sacrificed for his parents, for his children, and even his grandchildren. He always loved us and cared for us. He took his family business to great heights and had done everything on his own capabilities. Despite seeing numerous twists and turns in life he had proved himself as a strong man and even challenged life.

My grandfather had a very good and close relation with me. Being the only daughter in his family I was loved by him a lot. He pampered me and in return I loved him the most. We shared a special bonding, a bonding which I shared with no one else ever in my life and will never do. We passed most of the time together. Till I was sent to the nursery school he looked after me the whole day. I used to share everything with him- what I did in my school, what was I taught, my interests, and what I wanted to do further. And so on and so forth. My cute meaningless talks never ended but he enjoyed even those conversations. He helped me in my studies and always protected me from my mother when I did anything wrong.

Apart from this he gave me lessons regarding life. He taught me small manners, etiquettes, and the ways of behaving formally and informally. He never scolded me but he always explained to me why I should not do something. He had the biggest hand in building my personality. He was the only one who could understand me well.

It was then, when I was in class 2, he was suffering from throat cancer. His case was critical and the cancer was in its last stage. I was absolutely unaware about this. Even in this situation he never showed his tension, worries and problems to anyone. He still thought about others and their happiness. He behaved in a manner as if nothing had happened. At that time he heard the news that his youngest son had met with an accident and he needed blood. I should say he really was a great man, for even in his last days he did not lose hope when everyone else had. He did whatever he could for my uncle.

The last thing he wanted to do was to donate his own blood to my uncle. B- was short in the blood banks of our city and none of our relatives were B- except the pearl among pearls ‘My Grandfather’. He was a cancer patient and thus he could not donate his own blood. He was just unable to bear this fact. He felt helpless, paralysed and yet he did not lose it. I am really proud to be HIS grand daughter, really he was a man to be remembered for what he did in the past and what he did next. He brought innumerable poor people, got their blood tests, and those who were B- were paid a huge amount for donating their blood to my uncle. Wasn’t that just great? Yes it was. But great people do die and he too died in a month giving our uncle a new life.

Heartbroken we were and depressed I was to lose the best pearl, the strongest pillar of our family. He has imprinted his memories on us with such an ink which is just impossible to erase.

He had left some letters for me teaching me principles of life and giving me pieces of advice. I love him a lot and I miss him a lot. I even follow his footsteps. Whenever I am in a problem I place myself in his place and think what he would do if he would have been in the same situation. He has always been my inspiration and will always be. I miss his small and cute gifts, chocolates, beatings, thrashings and scolding. Even today I read those letters very often but have firmly decided to follow him throughout my life.

Days have passed like years but I have remembered them with silent tears.

PS: I called it imaginary because I don’t remember much of it. All of this is what I kept listening form my family members, which I poured out in words when I was a teen. And I could only wish I had the chance of living it once more, just to cherish those moments.

The Special Bond

 

The bond that we share

Is really very special,

It is the warmth, the love, the care,

That exceeds all level.

 

Your unshared, unconditional love

Has still, never been enough,

The humane wish of always wanting more,

Has left me without you; hollow to the core.

 

I replay in my mind

The unintentional, inconsequential fights.

I laugh aloud,

With tears in my eyes.

 

Do you remember the reason of our squabbles?

I, for one can remember no such troubles.

All the memories that rushes through,

Pictures our happiness true.

 

Sweet savourings shared together,

Has not reached me this un-fateful year.

Would you have missed me today?

What a wrong question I have come to say.

 

It isn’t just sad

That this Rakhi, I am not with you,

Don’t get mad,

But I am still happy for you.

 

We have never settled

Not on a single thing,

But the love inclines,

That keeps us always stringed.
This may be a new endeavor

But my dear, always remember,

The bond that we share,

Is really very special,

It is the warmth, the love, the care,

That exceeds all level.

*

A little something for my precious brother who is not with me on this special occasion of ‘Raksha Bandhan’

I don’t say it, and I won’t say it, but you must know, that I do love you.

Anger Issues

There is a single question in my mind

To which my soul resides.

The question may have been artless

The answer to which for me is tactless.

 

Can anyone please tell me the truth?

How to deal with such anger disputes?

 

Hidden Inspiration

It was 3 am in the morning; my room was eerily silent, disturbing all my thoughts. Could silence do that? The only sound that pierced my ears was of the crickets hiding somewhere outside my balcony. I wonder why I even keep it open all the time. But that’s the habit I have grown accustomed to, I keep it open no matter what, even my parents are tired of that habit now.

So anyways, I was seated at my study, glaring deep into the bright light of my laptop screen, my fingers hovering above the keyboard, just hovering and not clicking. I had been doing it for a long time now, writing and erasing, writing and erasing, and I had been nowhere. The paper was due the next day, and yet I had nothing!

Creative writing, huh? Too easy? Now I know what’s easy and what’s not!

I stood, walking away, may be a walk could solve my problems? Who was I kidding? At 3, I would be scared even I type faster than usual; I would be scared even if my phone vibrated, let alone ring. I just stepped away from my table, and paced inside of my room, poking the pencil onto my head, as if it was a magic wand. I paced faster trying to exert myself.

Wait what? By walking? Of course not so I started doing stretches, jumping, lying down on the cool floor, anything, and anything that my crazy sleepless mind could set at work.

I stood up and refilled my cup of coffee, took a sip from the cup and rubbed my hand on my face. I even slapped myself the ‘wake up slap’. I mean common I had to do something.

I read a couple of articles on the internet then, I also googled things which were not required instantly, and which might be helpful, I read newspapers, believe me not just yesterdays’, the whole weeks. I went back to my novel diverting myself completely.

And yet, nothing!

And that’s’ when I realised that it was next day, it was already 6 and I might have missed today’s newspaper. I rushed outside, got the morning newspaper from outside and scanned it entirely in a hurry. And yet, nothing!

And then I kept flicking all the newspapers and articles in front of me. It was then that, an article entitled “Feminism bleeds blue” caught me and after reading it for three to four times I asked myself, why am I even reading it again and again?

I already knew what I had to write, and how and when? Then why was I wasting my time? I had none to spare.

What I wrote was not anything related to that particular article, really nothing about cricket, nothing about feminism, but something related to women. And as soon as I booted my computer again, opened the word file, words just came flowing by. And I was as stunned myself. Where were they hiding all night?

In no time I completed the paper and as soon as I hit send, I gathered that had my mind worked a little faster I wouldn’t have to be troubled the entire night. But no, it was waiting for some signal, I guess.

I still respect my beliefs: You do it or not!

I hate hose people who do not accept other’s views.

It’s okay if you want to be pessimistic, if you are of the belief that thinking negative all the while, makes you overjoyed when something good happens all of a sudden. It is okay. That is your way of living life; your beliefs, and I do not interfere with you. Okay, I do try and pull you out of that pessimistic zone, giving may be a lift to your mood, or a little positive thought, but I don’t just disagree with you. Do I?

Then why would you not just give my way of life a chance? I am not saying you follow them, may be just accept that I have a different way of thinking things.

Okay, even if you don’t want to do that, then in the least possible means, at least keep shut.

What gives you the right to take away my beliefs from me, my faith with such mean words?

*

I am sorry this may not a good post for reading but this is the least thing possible that my mind can rack through today.

 

Feeling of contentment

How often does it happen with you, that you wake up in the morning and feel guilty at something in your life, despite all the things you are doing?

For me it’s really often. I would wake up in the morning and just feel like questioning me “What the hell are you doing with your life?”

I mean yeah sure, I work, I study, I go about the day as usual, but what exactly am I doing?

May be the answer is in the question itself, but there for me is no sense.

So there are days, when I rack my brain with nothingness and with overburdening questions. And there are days where I just feel content. Sure, nothing changes overnight, but my feeling does.

Today I got up in the morning with an unnerving feeling of contentment. I call it ‘unnerving’ because I know, just when I start relaxing with the feeling, the sensation of guilt overpowers all my sanities.

So, before I lose this astounding emotion, I just wanted to write it down somewhere so that I do not forget, the gratified feeling of contentment.

There will be days of happiness

Days of sadness,

I need not worry because of them,

As it all shall pass.

Wondering why?

I don’t know why, but the darker the book’s plot, the more I tend to like it, so much so that I read it again and again.

So what is the darkest book you have read more than once?

Mine is:

A thousand splendid suns

-Khaled Hooseini.

Whispered mocking

She stood there, staring blindly at the silvery wall, with no engravings on it. She hoped she would change them one day to a brighter colour, never liking the dull, un-happening colour. After all it was her personal space, where no one had the right to bother her, except of course a knock every now and then, but otherwise it was her place, her space. And no one would burst in here without her accent.

Leisurely she turned the knob on to let the water cascade from all sides. She stood there calm, a battle raging within. And yet she smiled. Did the water cool her?

She shut her eyes, and sat down on the floor, letting the water reach her from all sides, leaving no escape from it. She seemed to enjoy it. The water was cold, but so was the temperature outside and so were the people that she just left in the middle of a movie.

Her face was wet, but she knew not, if it was the shower or were there some tears involved? It had been usual for her to be mocked at, and she had long lost the hope to make people understand that it wasn’t her fault after all, she needn’t be laughed at.

And now, just after a long shower, she was past it, she was the strong adamant girl again who would fight any one off, who would knock your nose if you misbehave, who would punch you in the stomach if you say something disgraceful.

Sluggishly, she got up holding onto the curtain. She did not mind her nude body, not her bulky stomach, not her flappy arms, least of all not even her friend’s mockings. Giving a bright smile looking at her reflection in the mirror she voiced herself, “I am a beautiful woman. I am strong and I am invincible.” Almost priding on humming to the song “I am strong, I am invincible, I am woman.” And suddenly the scoffing’s and scornful comments on her bulky body by her friends, or by anyone else did not matter.

She was well past that.

Turning the shower off, she came out of the room wrapped in a towel. Her mother asking her to wear a robe instead was waiting with some weight loss drink and a reminder of her workout session.

Silently, smiling at her mom, thanking her, she drank from the tall glass, and took out the tracks from the cupboard.

Just when her mother left, she whispered to herself, “Who cares if I lose weight or not, I don’t. I am not a fan of size 0.”