Unloving Someone

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!

Freed

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…

Kaash Ki Mai Likh Pata

Kaash ki mai likh paata

Yeh uljhan, udaasi, zindagi
Aakhir ha kya yeh sab?
Kyun, kuch bhi samjh nahi aata?
Kaash ki mai likh pata

Yeh dooston ke aaye din
naye chehre; naye jhagde
Yah duniya ke badalte rang
Kaash ki mai likh paata

Aasmanon ki tarah dil bhi dikhayi kyun nahi dete
Ki baadal hain, andhera hai,
chaand hai?
Kaash ki mai likh paata

Aur us doobte suraj ki manind
Yeh dil agle din, phir ubhar kyun nahi aata
Kaash ki mai likh paata
Kaash ki mai likh paata…

Oblivion

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

 

Blessing in Our Life

Capture

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?

What Pinched Him?

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?

Condolence

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!

Ask for Alms!

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?

Path

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.