MY PAPER PLANE FLIGHTS

I do not see the distant horizons that vex you. I do not care about what’s beyond them. I do not wish to see what’s unseen. I fly like a paper plane. I move in this journey like slipping through the layers of air. My small flights cover tiny spaces. I fly, I fall, I rise and restart but not with any bigger and lofty aims that rise out of remorse from the fall. I fly for the mere blissfulness of my journey.
I care not about the unending blue sky, an unending realm that shows me nothing but the uncertainties. As my paper plane covers the tiny lengths it paints the murky spaces with the colors of its own.
I may smile at you and applaud your swiftness as you pass by, rushing for the undefined. But I fly not in marked directions but with this delightful air that takes me with it. Your preset aims may stop your journey but my achievements do not compel me to stop forever and bask in the glory of the self-glorified aims. I laugh at your desperation to see what’s unseen. You leave a wide world pass unnoticed from the corners of your eyes as you rush towards ….. you know not where.

After eve ate the apple..

Ladies throughout all these million years have been quite successful to keep up the deceptive appearance of ignorance and the men acknowledge it universally. Women remained blessedly stereotyped for their pseudo unintelligent talks while men took charge of the world. Women's wit may not have given her more spaces in literature but her intellect was rationally used to provide her a life lived in the easiest mode possible. All this time men thought they had no option other then men for the real work on earth.

FOR EVE ATE THE APPLE FIRST AND PROBABLY SAVED THE BIGGER SHARE FOR HERSELF.!!!

We question, we argue, we bicker... for.. what we term as "equality with men". perhaps your staunch feminist ways allows you to snatch a well-deserved seat in a college from a boy? or to make a tired man stand up from the seat reserved for you? mine does not.

We women claim to be the biggest sufferers of stereotypes. Have we not stereotyped men enough? if not.. then why do we feel a need of an altogether different ladies compartment in trains? Why do we brutally beat an ignorant male passengers in the ladies compartment? Our superficial chastity has victimized men.

CLEVER LADIES... HOW BLESSEDLY STEREOTYPED YOU ARE!!!

Being me and being you

I loved the subtlety that existed in my life. I still love those blacks and grays, the extinct colors in my wardrobe. The colors gave nothing but tranquility. A kind of peace you feel when you watch rain outside your window some evening. This was my way until I heard some people say, "Damn, the female looks GOTHIC". And I had filled my cupboard with the pinks and blues which, you say, looks more like... life. When I now look at the colors in my wardrobe which have molested my preserved quietness, I feel like a clown... can't find words to describe the disgust.
Mom made an excellent cake on my 13th birthday. That particular day spent at home still gives me a sepia tinted picture flashbacks. I would sneak into the kitchen following the smell of the pie. I would wait all day to sit up on the heap of gifts at the end of the day like a playhouse queen. But somebody told me one day that I was not a kid anymore. I still get the smell of the pie but I made it a point since then that birthday was not an only mom affair. But I now miss the first bite of the cake which I used to offer mom.
Dad had planted jasmines in the garden outside our house and I used to love the rush of flower laden air inside my room so I used to keep the door of my room open. But somebody once told me that its not "teen" enough to have no privacy. Since then I moved into a place more desolate. And i know not if the jasmines still smell the same.
I used to once love Coldplay. Hearing it used to take me to a different place all together. "Just because m loosing, doesn't mean I m lost.." Everything they sang seemed like a dream to me. All I met said it was a monotonous trash. And I heard those "look at me.. m so hot" songs for so long that I eventually (don't know how but) started loving them.
Being me and being you can be a traumatic switch. I can't be a gothic female anymore but so much of me is lost behind a clown I now look like. Those apple pies and the jasmines were life for me but I always found myself in a muddle while making choices. What I liked was my choice and this choice was a borrowed likeness. But as I play the long lost Coldplay track I find the little me still surviving.

A sin called Profiling.

How fascinating it seemed to watch Arnold Sch(watevr) in Terminator. I used to sit unstirred for hours to watch the brawny cop going around the town, unleashing hell. As soon as he would sight a poor chap running across, the sci-fi magic would make a series of bullets appear on the screen. What followed was just TARGET SET, SHOT and DEAD.
Honestly, you don't have to be a Terminator to unleash the sci-fi action mayhem. It's a default setup in the human brain. It's a sin... called profiling.
What is the first word cloud that pops in your little head when you see orange pants? The instant profiling that starts and ends in our head doesn't even wait for the man in orange pants to utter a word. His pants say it all. This categorizing is no less fatal than Arnold's "Target set, shot, dead" action.
The four lensed eyed girl in the class, the guy who smelled versace or the geek in the front bench who looks perplexed no matter what... we may have never talked to them but they acquire a bit of our mental space wherein they ,like the Madame Tussauds, are created and maintained forever. This dreaded profiling was so rigid that it never melted though a thousand suns passed.
Lately i saw a movie Precious.. though the movie dealt largely with AIDS awareness and many more serious issues but what tormented the girl in the movie was not her illness but the social acceptance as a black girl who looked not so pleasing to the eye. She fought but not everyone has the heart to do that.
I could find no reason when I questioned myself about the girl in my class, who I thought could never match my IQ level just because she had weird sense of dressing + she carried a fluorescent bag. I always thought that we could never have common topics to talk about. But it was harsher because I wasn't the only one who thought this way. The girl used to rarely talk, used to go home alone after school, her seclusion used to be evident during the lunch breaks and I also remember that she didn't attend the school farewell. And never in my life I ever thought that her life would ever torment my brain.
How I wish that I could go back in time and probably not befriend her but just talk to her for few seconds. Perhaps that would give me some peace of mind. She had been profiled once in her life and victimized forever.
So next time don't let the orange pants say anything at all.

I would have if I could have..

This new post is one such word clot that had been there in my heart and lung for a long time.
Problems disgust me. A larger, wider or smallish personal problems.. anything that torments my little brain, I instantly develop a repulsion from it. You may say that I am not the only one. But trust me I have encountered people around me who are 24x7 intent to help out people and change the things around them. I do appreciate it. But repulsion from getting into mess, be it mine or someone else's, is my incurable disease. And whenever I am questioned for my indifference, it's this one big lie that comes to my rescue. "I WOULD HAVE IF I COULD HAVE."
My intentions are selfish.. I know. But I crave for a life without worries which I do know is inaccessible. A life in seclusion from the wide world and it's unending worries is impossible.

Wannabe omniscience..

What does this elusive maturity give us? A little more addition to our pea-sized brain to scrutinize, think, investigate and analyse life. A life that is merely there to live. This simplified entity is a victim of human brain. We tend to break into the psyche of the people around us through our preconceived notions about right and wrong and so do the others with our own life.

Essentially our mind is a wannabe perfectionist which longs for the environs which are perfectly in accordance with our mental make up. But there is a supreme boss sitting right up who makes every other person with such distinction that the conflicts are irrepressible. These distinctions too serve in two ways according to our basic instinct of liking and disliking people. We learn life from the ones we like and contest and impose our notions on the ones who don't fascinate us.

Throughout our teenage life we are engaged in this inevitable conflict of understanding and not understanding life. Think... what kind of an artificial omniscience do you feel when you counsel your own distressed friend. At that moment you, like a midget in the over sized attire of a perfectionist, give away the preachings with a wannabe supreme intellect.

Life is merely there to live. Subjecting it to an unwanted scrutiny can disintegrate this simplified entity. Love life first and then live it with love. <3

It's raining this night

After mom had switched off the lights

i sneaked into her room

Ihad seen a nightmare

About the phantoms, I was so fond of

I crawled into mom's blanket

Half asleep, she smiled and hugged me

And I went off to sleep in the heavenly warmth

There were loud thunders on that July night

But were muffled to silence

As I tangled myself around ma

It rained all night...

But ma's divine embrace gave me a carefree sleep

I've been wet in a hundred rains since then
But this evening when I was back from work

I saw those ageless clouds

Amidst the urban sunset

And it's raining again this night

And ma I miss the warmth

As I spend the night

Resting my thoughts in the pillow

Wet with your memories...

Unintended Pessimism

Woke up at 11:00 this morning, opened the door and noticed two tiny tricolour badges stuck on my door. Somebody had taken the effort to make those little soulful things.. while I felt like India's just another shallow callous youth, celebrating a sunday instead.
Here we were celebrating 64 glorious years of independence but when i called up my mom i learned that the cause of my mom's irrepressible happiness was the sale at the mall. She told me that dad had shown the example of an annual early morning ritual and had put a tricolour flag on the entrance and then switched on the telivision to watch once_in_a_12_month speech of India's bulletproof_caged_primeminister from the red fort and dozed off midway cause of the incomprehensible womanly voice of the blue turbaned man. I then called up my brother who presently existed in some TVRnagar in Tamil Nadu. He sounded energized about the grand dinner this night in their hostel which finally served a much needed change to his taste buds and a one day liberty from the idlis and vadas. I kept down the phone and wen t to the common room in my hostel. An undersized female was sitting on a plastic chair, fiddling with the TV remote. She murmured, "Border, LOC, lakshya.. certainly not a day to expect good movies.." and she switched off the noisy box and went back to her room in utter disgust. Unexpectedly my phone beeped, their was a message from a school time friend.."DUDE HAPPY INDI PINDI DAY". Humour like an unwelcomed guest creeps in, uninvited, everywhere. I smiled and forwarded the same message to ten more, saving my creativity for something better.
We comment, we critisize , we protest but often we simply internalize the small things which make the world around us, our nation. We tend to seperate the domestic from the issues concerning the wide world. "Jai Hind, JAi Bharat" has become an annual phenomenon, jhust like the flag outside the door of my house. An optimistic note at the end is not quite the style of my writing but today, neither am i happy with the pessimistic air of this piece.