Can you, can anyone stop loving a person at any point of time? Like, “I am done, I don’t like this person anymore?”
Whoever it is, a friend, a lover, a teacher, one can never unlove. One can never tell oneself to not feel for someone.
And moving on? We just stop expecting out of people. Stop waiting. Quit all our hopes and accept the way we want someone might just remain a fantasy.
We don’t stop loving. We stop expecting any scenario with the person, anything together.
That’s how we move on!
We are told that the ladies who are the easiest to look after are the most blessed.
The question remains, do we treat them as the blessings that they are said to be? Do we treat them as they should be?
Or do we, because of their low maintenance, just neglect their needs?
Because they do not make a fuss and create havoc every time their needs or wishes are not fulfilled, do we overlook their needs? The things that make them happy? The subtle forms of care and love that could overjoy them?
Do we forget doing the things we would for other people because they might just start throwing things in our face? And because these ladies make no such nuisances, do we just ignore them? Take them for granted?
Or for that matter, any person who does not explicitly counter our ways, or do not make extravagant demands, do we take all such people for granted?
Planning things, eating out, conversations, or anything for that matter, any plan, we never consider these “low maintenance, considerate” people.
Is this what someone’s consideration is worth? Is this how they should be treated?
Or are we waiting for them to snap and move away to start looking at them and looking out for them? Or caring for them? And if we do, would it be what keeps them with us? Happy and content?
Or would they have moved too far before we realize they have given up on us?
It is raining. I am warm and cosy in my bed. A cup of coffee and some books add to the pleasure. And I guess everyone using Facebook now is equally cosy and at ease.
But some people aren’t. Some people are being thrown out or beaten just because of their identity. And the fact that something happened in their area, in their they had no say whatsoever.
Even they aren’t the reason for my post this time. The reason is the constant revenge posts in my feed. My six years of NCR gave me a lot of friends who proudly call themselves Indian. I am glad to have them. But after the Pulwama attack everyone, almost everyone is posting solitary with the soldiers and how they want revenge. From Pakistan and from Kashmir.
The 45 soldiers who lost their lives might not have deserved this. But did anyone step back for a moment to consider why a 20 year old youth would want to blow himself up? He wasn’t raised in the so called Afghanistan and told killing people will bring him to Jannah. He was raised in a village in Kashmir where I am pretty sure he was told, and it was emphasised that suicide is one of the gravest sins. That once committed, the doors of jannah are shut for him. That this suicide results in eternal hell.
Then why? Why would a person having his life ahead of him take such a step?
Why wouldn’t he consider the fate of his family after he is gone? Didn’t he know how families of militants are treated? Didn’t he know that even if PM wouldn’t say anything, army would avenge itself? Would at the minimum burn his house down. Beat all the Male members up and harass them at every opportunity? In a fit of rage, his mother and sister could be raped?
Or was it because he had had so much of this pain and trauma that he couldn’t hold back?
After all, does it not need immense strength on part of a person to just blow himself up? How many of us can survive that thought without tearing up? How many of us can could the time, the seconds till our death? And then cause our own death too? How many?
Or was it that he was already so dead inside that no heaven or hell mattered to him anymore? That he had seen enough to blow up not just himself but 40 other people too?
If he was so traumatised didn’t he know the families of these people would be in pain too? What had happened that rendered him numb to everyone’s pain? Tears?
Did anyone think, or ask for his story before asking for revenge? Did anyone even care to seek out the wounds inflicted on him? The reason that he drove to his own death?
So many times we come across situations, across people to sympathize with. What happened was bad. Destructive! should not have happened. The person may be shattered, maybe in need. Of hope. Of words. Sympathy.
But whatever the events, whatever it was that created havoc, an emotional turmoil, is there anything that can be said to ease the pain? Can we tell a person who lost his guardian that it happened for good? Can we tell a person in pain that it shall be beneficial? Can we tell a person that God is teaching him something and hence the hunger, starvation and the lack of food?
What do we say to people suffering?
Are the condolences, the words all hollow? Devoid of any meaning? Any depth? Mere misused words. Rather, used words…
And some useless condolences. Sympathies!
I was recently travelling back home when an elderly person boarded the vehicle and started talking about his personal miseries, ill health and how he is a father to some 2 ladies. He also mentioned his dearth of monetary resources.
While asking for help, he held out his cap in his hand. A cap. Which is often seen as a symbol of respect and dignity.
What must have befallen this person to openly talk about his misery, ask for alms and even hold out his respect to others? Even knowing the fact that they may as well disrespect the dignity he is putting forth. What must have befallen him to not think about running into an acquaintance or someone recognizing him? Or the cold he must have felt while uncovering and displaying his injuries.
What could it be? What kind of misery? What sorrow? Test?
I could hear his tormented voice
its breaking into a wail
pain, anguish, agony
Innocence; questions in eyes
frantic attempts in sheer fear
Giving in, I console
Brazen, insensitive hope
blinded by some positivity
His plans are the pest
there’s prosperity even in the loss
My audacity, I forget
his pain wasn’t some easy trial
death staring him in the eye
The dread of losing his father!
Thoughts manifest into reality
the feeling you give out
comes back to thee
Numb, lost, immature
unable to comprehend
what world, emotions
I sought answers; road to my destination
the burden of questions heaving onto me
attempts to shake off everything
friends with solitude; company!
What would reflect back, I wonder!
Emptiness? Numbness? The answers I seek?
A detailed map to my destiny?
Some moonbeams as company?
The dark veil of moonless nights
Shroud for all the misery
When we first introduce children to questions and how to answer them, one of the first questions is “How are you?”
And an obvious answer that is taught is “I am fine”.
Over the years this becomes so much of a habit, fine, that we forget we can feel otherwise too. We feel lots of things, we do lots of things and hide them up behind a ‘fine’. Why?
Why did anyone not tell the kids how to express themselves? How they should express truth, and let emotions out rather than bolt them up behind the door of “I am fine.”
A person can be so so much more than just fine.
Let us all be that person behind this fine. Let us be us!
I had someday, against nature
taken that one step; dreaded
I knew all that could go wrong
Nevertheless, I found the courage
for once to risk it all
the reward too lucrative
for once, vulnerability ceased
A surge of courage, strength
a step towards the dreaded journey
Fear, excitement, adrenaline
How does it sound?
Ever witnessed flight of a bird
a broken wing, nearing death?
It breaks into flight, not merely for its sake,
to escape… Alas!
Why didn’t it know its fate?
the flight of a broken wing
How far could courage take
or service of a fake smile?
I repeatedly ask myself
“For how long?”
Busy, bustling, daily chores
A life full of demanding more’s
Ah! The clock goes too fast
Just can’t do enough!
With hands full, I hear a call
A familiar, cherished voice
somehow it felt different
So wrong, painful
I look back, the source of the voice
Dad crumbling, drenched in sweat
something seems utterly wrong
the panic on his face
I run, trying to get a hold of him
save the fall, the anguish
But midway something hinders my run…
A chain round hand.
I try jostling it away
breaking free and going over
somehow seems too strong
Ah! What do I do…
Somewhere I comply, negotiate
I get timeouts and return back…
like a dutiful slave!