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!
This oblivion. Sometimes it is good.
Many times, like now, it is killing
Like it were alive.
Stabbing and jeering at us. As if we have been enemies since centuries
Sometimes I wonder:
If the situation stayed
And I were replaced by her
Would you react the same?
You know that fancy,
Having a broken glass in hand
Sharp, and striking it through the wrist
Over and over again!
Tearing everything in the path
The threads, the skin, veins
Gushing blood and moments of pain
Counting till the last
Visions of all the was
the knives that stabbed
cups, full of poison
and that helplessness…
And now free, free of everything
Free of all the stabbing pain
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!
This fragrance of itr
That fills the air
Whenever I open my bag!
A pretty notorious way
Of reminding someone
And of your absence too…
It was a beautiful day. An amazing company. Shared laughter. While one conversation was leading to another, he asked: “What plans do you have for yourself?” “None”
Plans. Unknowingly he had now touched the raw nerve he talked about a few days earlier. Plans. What she wanted to do with her life. Which direction she wanted to choose. What paths did she desire to walk?
Very few people had bothered about this. Her desire. What she wanted to do with her life. And yet, amongst those few people, her family never featured. It was twice that someone wanted to help her. That the destination had been fixed, so let’s find the path together. Let’s walk together.
There couldn’t have been any sound better than that sentence. “I will show you how to.” And it still remained a mystery to her. Was it her naivety or was the person too convincing? Or was she too desperate to arrive that she drank from all cups offered? Never differentiating, never trying to probe whether it is water or poison.
A part of her did feel poisoned. Cheated. Like being promised of a dessert and getting a toffee. The path promised did exist but it lead elsewhere. Her desire, her dream, her destination was too far from the path she was trodding upon. A part of her always grieved. Maybe she should have probed more. What fun was it walking with people who wouldn’t even understand? Who mocked her? Her passion? What did they know? Had they themselves ever yielded anything from their labor of love? Just how could they?
And here she was, with another hand to take her there. The path seemed better. Familiar. Things she should have been doing for long now, but wasn’t. But a part of her was still hurt. Still afraid. Still wondering where this rendezvous would take her to.
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!