You may try hard, as you want.
Tell me all the realities; our society.
But my wings are no more bound.
I care not about the cage…
I might as well be the change…
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
Beloved, would you ever be mine?
And for that matter, what is mine?
What would you do, or we do, that makes you mine. And me yours?
What kind of abstract thought is this? This being mine and yours?
Neither of us can possess each other and yet I am yearning for belonging.
Would a name tag do?
But I never wanted to change my name. Neither would I.
There is nothing like my name and your name together in my mind and yet I want to belong to you somehow.
What do I do?
Have I told you how I have fantasized about our kids? The adopted ones?
Nah, I didn’t adopt multiple kids. Just one. With you.
Mother and father.
And he stays with me on vacations. With you rest of the time…
Sometimes we all spend time together. Like a month or so.
I convince you to stay and school him from my place. We stay a year together…
I forgot to write about this. I told you about the letters, didn’t I?
Ah! Beloved… What have you done to make me ready to leave behind everything?
What is it that I can do away with everything in this moment?
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?
Over the past few days, in many of our conversations, I was asked whether I was hurt. Whether what was said didn’t go well with me. Whether it was offending. Or angered me. For that matter provoked any reaction within me.
Somehow nothing anyone said had any effect, any impact on me. As if nothing mattered. As if nothing was said in the first place.
Had I attained maturity? Or is it some other level of numbness? Numb to the extent that nothing pricks, nothing causes a reaction, nothing stirs me up! Why?
I remember in my childhood my sister was not ticklish and I used to call her inert. After all these years, am even I insert? Non-indulging. Not feeling.
Have I lost my neurons?
Have I internalized and normalized everything to the extent that nothing matters anymore?
What have I done to me?
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
How many times have we heard of greatness? Of being something of value. Of being looked upto. But while we pray for such things, do we realise what would happen if all of that turned true? How would life be? Would it be some journey we are ready to embark on?
“Zindagi shamma ki surat ho khudaya meri”
It was pretty easy to pray for. Being a candle in a society. Being light. But did any of us realise what would it be like, burning like a candle to enlighten? What would it take to be that much to a society…
And what if some day we actually stumble across our destiny. If the prayer was accepted at some point of life, would we accept it? Would we be able to do justice to the work we have called upon us? To the responsibility we have asked for?
Do we mean every word we speak?
If not, then why yearn in the first place?
Lying cold, by a bare shoulder
The sight so vivid
And yet trans-like
Was it real? Reverie?
Truth or fantasy?
A dream too life-like?
I kept wondering
The words, fallacy
Entrance to another world
Existence of our being
And verses, binding us together
I kept wondering
What shall I do?
How do I keep this from ending
I kept wondering
Control, Behaviour, Dominance
The act, Satisfaction, Urge
Pulling the string
Judgements, Rulings, Case Study
Ah! The stab of words
The loss of inner beauty
That hope in eyes
That shattered voice
That sudden end of story!
All of us talk of winning. Of how we want to achieve things. Dreams. We build castles. Fantasies at work. A beautiful imagination.
But when we look in our eyes, why do we find them empty? Why don’t our smiles reach our eyes? Why do our hearts feel empty?
We all dream. But we fail to realize them. We fail to work so as to make them true. We listen to society, to people and think this won’t work. That building castles in air is a waste. Why don’t we listen to us?
We cherish our comfort zones, our images. Of how we live and what people think about us that we forget we had dreams. We think about what people would gossip about. not what our dreams on completion would look like. We focus on our position in society. Not the work that can realize our dreams.
Why is it easy to dream of a pent house. Why isn’t working for it that easy? Because our actions, our thoughts are governed by fear. What if? Maybe I lose what I have working for what I want! What if, this dream of being AVP instead of an employee costs me my health? My job? My everything?
Why do we repeat the things we have always done? They didn’t get us to our dreams. Why would they now?
Maybe we just need to take a U-turn. Drive to that crazy path we once shun because of our fears. Because we thought it was crazy. Because we cared about what the world would think. Fear. Maybe destination is not that far.
Maybe everything is waiting and we are not able to achieve it because we are fearful of extending our hand.
Is burning one’s hand not worth if that gets one to his dream?