We're all generally warned to be wary of people and that there's a whole lot of 'bad' out there in the world. It's a place to be scared of , and to think and test multiple times, before allowing yourself to let go and trust. What they forget to mention however, is that, even with all its sham, drudgery and broken dreams, it is still a beautiful world. There are no 'right' or 'wrong' people, just right or wrong actions. People aren't 'bad', circumstances make them so.

We're told to exercise caution in business affairs, because it's a world full of trickery. But they forget to add to not let this blind us to what virtue there is, that there are people who strive for high ideals, and everywhere, life is full of heroism.

Why aren't we ever told to just be ourselves, to not feign affection, neither be cynical about love. For it is lived, and changes definitions everyday, every look, every smile, every glance, every sunrise, every sunset, every action, every inaction, every understanding that takes place, every touch, and every moment that means anything at all. In the face of all disenchantment, it is perennial.

It is considered to be 'naive' to be emotional, and 'foolish' to go on impulse or gut feeling in the face of logic. But the fact that our emotions are actually our built in guidance system, a guidance system that tells us whether we are creating our life in a positive or negative way, is overlooked. Our emotional response to anything says much more about us, our values and our beliefs.

We aren't told of the many fears that are born out of a tired mind, a vexatious spirit and the loneliness that we subject ourselves to, and because we distress ourselves with dark imaginings. Very few of us have nurtured the strength of spirit to shield us in sudden misfortune.

Whatever our labors and aspirations in the noisy confusion of life, they are important and deserve our best efforts, and so we have to keep peace in our soul.

Because whether or not it is clear to us, there is no doubt that the universe IS unfolding as it should.

Too late?

'Oh, I had a lot to say
was thinking on my time away
everything inside, it never comes out right
and we get older and blame turns to shame'





Is it ever too late to say sorry?
Is it ever too late to make it right?
Is it alright to be the reason for someone Else's pain?

Life moves on. True. Does the heart move on? Yes it does.
But it leaves behind a hole, a dented conscience, a misfit piece, a broken promise,
something that was not set right.
Can you ever truly 'move on', as we call it, knowing that you did not even try to correct the wrong you have done?
When you stand in front of the mirror, don't your mistakes, standing in between, disable you to see what you are capable of being?

It is a great thing to be proud. You should be.
You should hold your pretty head high and keep those dazzling eyes of yours forward.
But not so much that you can't hang your head low and say you're sorry with a tear in your eye when you should.
People throw around the word like it's nothing, but it's amazing, the power it holds when it comes from the heart.
It's about more than just mouthing a few syllables. It's about introspection, it's about recognizing the harm you have caused, and having profound regret and sorrow for it.
Ten minutes later, or ten years, the cycle has to be completed. What goes around has to come back around.
Guilt, or regret, is a heavy weight to carry around. Pins you down and makes it harder to breathe.
An honest apology can mend relationships, dissolve anger, soothe shattered pride or mend a broken heart.


I'm sorry for the wrong things I have done.

And solace is finally mine, and yours, I say.

History admits no rules, only outcomes.

What precipitates outcome? vicious acts and virtuous acts.

What precipitates acts? Belief.

Belief is both prize and battle field, both beautiful and frightening, and above all, absolutely vital, within the mind, and in the mind's mirror, the world.

If we believe humanity is a Colosseum of confrontation, exploitation and brutality, such a humanity is surely brought into being. You and I, the moneyed, the privileged, the fortunate, shall not fare so badly in this world, provided our luck holds. What of it, if our consciences itch? Why undermine the dominance of our race, our heritage, and our legacy? Why fight the natural order of things?

Why? Because of this-
One fine day, a purely predatory world, shall consume itself. How far can greed, selfishness and the crave for power be taken? In an individual, selfishness uglifies the soul; for the human species, selfishness is extinction.

If we believe that humanity may transcend truth and claw; if we believe diverse races and creeds can share this world peaceably; if we believe leaders must be just, violence curbed, power accountable and the riches of the Earth and its oceans shared equitably, such a world will come to pass.

I am not deceived. It is the hardest of worlds to make real. Tortuous advances won over generations can be lost by a single stroke of a myopic president's pen or a vainglorious general's sword.

A life spent shaping a world I want my children to inherit, not one I fear my children shall inherit, this strikes me as a life worth living.

You might think your life amounts to no more than one drop in a limitless ocean.
Yet, what is any ocean, but a multitude of drops?



-excerpts taken from 'Cloud Atlas'

In conversation

The moon, she raised her face, but that cold lady didn't say anything, she didn't have to.
As that young girl sat there in silent conversation with the lady who saw everything from a distance, who was an epitome of beauty, in front of whom, people big and small. lay down their deepest feelings, she thought aloud.
Was everyone really as alive as she was? Was everyone capable of feeling the desire and pain she did? If the answer was yes, then the world, the social world, was unbearably complicated, with two billion voices, and each one's thoughts striving in equal importance, and everyone's claim on life as intense, and everyone thinking they were unique, when no one was. One could drown in irrelevance. How important was she really? What set her apart?
The moon looked on, holding answers that she couldn't quite reach. Stones that she carried around, had weighed her down for too long.
From up there, everything looked clear, and true. The butterfly effect that each little thought set off, was so immense, acting as the epicenter of a huge wave, Each little blob of consciousness reflected a different color, mixing and mingling with others to form endless combination's, all the while retaining its real self. It was an ever changing, ever renewing world, that despite everything, remained the same. A distant viewer could never get bored, because it was like trying to comprehend an unsolvable mystery.
Or so the young girl thought. For what it was like from up there too, remained a mystery.
That night, she had been holding a hope for a change in the tide, for what, she did not know. Staring at the white circle for too long, had made her see strange illusions, or so she thought they were. Because it was almost like the lady had winked at her.
She walked away thinking it was the best conversation she had ever had.
Her dented conscience fixed, her troubled mind soothed, she fell into a deep slumber, smiling in her dream.
The lady, as always, had awakened the dream child in her. An so, she dreamed as days went by, and talked to her distant companion as the summer nights died. She lingered in th golden gleam-
Life-what is it, but a dream?

They tell me it's over; you can't wait here no more
But I can't leave; I've been through this before
I think I found my happy place, and lost it just as fast
or maybe I didn't, I just wished it would last.
Knowing is believing they say,
so won't you with me pray?
You can change or stay the same,
there are no rules to frame.
I might have built my wall,
but you might have found a crawl
through into this maze.
And for all it's worth to me,
I'm going to try to keep it just a graze.
With you, it's suffocation
but without, its desolation.
Fleet as an unseen star,
preparing for the inside war.
It's not just you're alone with me,
It's just that you might abruptly flee.
So I'll close my door,
before the rain starts to pour.
Will you sit with me and listen to the stories I have to share?
and renew my faith in all that is fair?
Words fall through me, flashes of images but no text
Anyhow, you never know what's to come next.
Always wanting to leave,
caught in the tangled web I weave
spent so many years in question,
but too many people made a lasting impression.
Should I once again try?
A spirit too needs fuel-it can run dry.

In one way or the other, all of us are dealing with separation - from the loss of someone dear, crushed dreams or something that we do not think we'll get again.
It's a curious thing - separation. It brings along with it the most intense, and the most subtle emotions - grief, nostalgia, melancholy - all longing for a trace of joy.
Consciously, we've forgotten it, moved on - that's the way the human mind works, but the impact is always there, pulling the threads to our actions and decisions. Nothing is ever truly forgotten. It's a weight we carry within us day and night, the weight that keeps us pinned to reality.
In the words of Shakespeare -

How far a candle throws its beam,
so shines a good deed in this naughty world

Everyone has their eyes set on the brilliant flame.
But hardly do people notice the smoke rising above, or the wax melting away, while the candle becomes smaller and smaller, until it dies altogether, quenching the flame along with it.
The story of the flame, the wax and the smoke is one of perpetual separation.
They live together only long enough to create a brilliant light in our minds, and warmth in our hearts.



This post, in particular, is written on this particular day, as it marks a very significant change in my life, and the lessons it taught me.

The dream

She didn't remember much about that night, only very specific things. She remembered him slowly creeping up behind her and letting her hair lose. (he had always said it looked better open) It was flowing everywhere because of the gentle but steady breeze blowing over the vast expanse of the moonlit land. And with every strong stroke, she could smell him. He was there somewhere, playing with her. Daring her to come find him. But whenever she turned to look, she found he haunting stillness of the trees staring back at her. A small voice at the back of her head wondered aloud, 'Why are they so still, so unmoving, death like?'
Just when the hint of confusion began to wrap her mind, she heard something that drowned out every other sense. But was it really there? Because sometimes silence turns into one single roar. As she tried to recreate that night, more questions began to build up inside her...until they turned a very uneasy feeling. Like she had missed something very important.
She expected more than he could give, she always had. And even in the moment of their separation, she was doing the same thing. Maybe it was that little part of her that was making up this dream, that she continued to have every night.
For her, there had always been a very thin line between fantasy and reality, and it was slowly beginning to fade away, dissolving into nothingness. That little part of her could not seem to differentiate between what was real and what she wanted to believe was real.
It was a battle she fought with herself. It was difficult to shut out the presence of someone she had created within her.

I never said thank you for that

I've been hit by a song, a line in particular, and I feel as though it's speaking to me.

I never said thank you
for putting up with my childish tantrums
for hearing me cry my eyes out for the most insignificant things
for creating yet another meaning of 'home'
for giving me reason to believe and have faith
for telling me it would be 'okay'
for making me feel special, even though I'm not
for giving me something to think about
for being you and letting me be 'me'
for making me feel insecure
for hurting me, so that I could realize your value
for the million little things that you thought I wouldn't notice
for putting up with my worst
for accepting my flaws
for helping me try to correct them
for letting me make mistakes
for making me stand on my own two feet
for making me stronger
for letting me know you love me
for sharing your views and dreams, because they matter
for making me feel invincible
for showing me the light
for letting me help you
for showing me your bad side too, so that I could embrace mine
for making sense of what I say and feel
for bringing me back to Earth
for being there in my life, as whatever role you play.

so lucky, so strong, so proud.


May angels lead you in

Not a girl, not yet a woman

I'm sixteen. You might ask, is it any different? since it's so hyped and what not. Well, I don't know the exact answer to that myself. It's strange, day by day, nothing seems to change, but soon enough, when you look back, everything is different. I probably am not the same I was even a week back, but that's okay, because I believe that every step I'm taking, is leading me to a good place. I do not ask for perfection.
Perfection is overrated. There is no frictionless surface. There are no ideal gases. Science itself negates perfection
Be who you are, with all your little quirks and individualistic qualities.
Lets redefine what we're all working towards. Not towards perfection, in that case we would soon become a world of clones. But towards creating, polishing, enhancing US, who we are and what we've got.
Everything isn't right, but its alright because I'm okay with having to face tests, whatever kinds they might be. I'm ready to take on what is going to be thrown at me. It's alright to cry about the stupidest things sometimes. I know there might be times when I'll cry well into the night, thinking about how wrong things are and wishing other things never happened, but I know now that that IS going to happen, but its not the end of the world.
I used to be in a permanent state of confusion. I think that is beginning to clear away. There are things that I'm going to be clear about no matter what. And for the time being, that is enough for me. My thoughts might seem scattered and disjointed, but soon enough, I will find a way to connect the dots.
The lies - they drop like acid rain, washing away the best of everything. If you have an ounce of raw stuff left in you, preserve it, guard it like you would your last breath. Because in this age of the loss of genuineness, innocence is brilliant.
You are everything that is, your thoughts, your life, your dreams come true. You are everything you choose to be. You are as unlimited as the endless universe.
Hold your head high. Stick your chest out.
You can make it.
It gets dark sometimes, but morning comes.
Keep hope alive.
I have faith. I'm telling life, "I trust you. Do what you must."

I imagined myself falling into an abyss without anything to hold on to; I saw myself engulfed by nothingness, in a world without feelings, thoughts, colors, lost forever in a void.
Just then I had a fantastic dream - about an unbelievable reality. I had the feeling that somewhere in a distant world, the dream was being lived out. How could I be sure that dreams weren't actually messages from some other real existence, while my senseless life was in fact, just the imaginary reflection of that unknown world.
I wanted the dream to go on forever, to make me forget everything else, to wipe it all from the face of earth. I knew this whole story was only a dream - this tale that was bringing me back to life was something my tormented mind had created from nothing. Unconsciously, I believed the dream was true, I felt it was true, I wanted it to be true.
I believe in the impossible, I believe in my dream, in my vision of the future.
I could make, barely visible, a glimmer of light at the end of this black tunnel of pain and sorrow, this hopeless daily gloom...
It was what allows us to believe, what can transform almost any man.
It was HOPE
my mind could conceive it;
and my heart could believe it;
and then, I could achieve it..
My dreams gave life back to me.
Now I, must give dreams back to life.

NOSTALGIA

I wrote this poem a long time back...
it does not rhyme, it's too long, and has not been broken into proper stanzas,
and most of you will probably stop reading mid-way
But there's something about it anyway, that makes it really precious to me





The winds of change must continuously blow,
mutating everything, repudiating nothing.
But sure as the seasons change one to the other,
each one leaves behind a tiny whiff
a nostalgia - a longing for the one gone before
an emptiness - as the heart longs for times of old

As I walk through those conversant millieu,
it seems as if I have been taken back in time,
to the time when I was the present here
But now the winds have no ramifications at all
because a period of time itself has frozen
and how can something that is locked in its position,
unable to transform, ever be changed!
Everything else follows the mundane reality of the universe,
except for that brief period of time which continues
to perpetuate as has been stored in my being..
A place where love grew within,
A place where every emotion was valued
Right now, I hold the rod of present,
my present of this place,
pondering over the irony of the situation
the very place I had longed to escape
was the one I now wanted to hold on to forever
and take out the 'r' cuz then there
would be no end to the forever
I never want this moment to unlock

I don't have to try to remember,
don't have to struggle to keep
those faded memories alive
cuz it's all here-with me
and nothing could ever be better
I can see it all so clearly
the laughter, the sorrows,
the joys, the pain,
the sunshine, the rain
-all the vibrant hues of life
I want to hold on
to the warmth of those hugs,
the passion of those arguments,
the care in those tears....

But I know that 'forever' and 'never' are only words
I know that I'll have to go back,
cuz even frozen time is ephemeral
But I will carry through,
the hope, the love,
there's just too much that time can not erase
And as I sit here, in the unmitigated truth,
my soul is painted with NOSTALGIA

I take another deep breath
and feel the wind pass through my body
I realize that my heart is filled
not with sorrow, but with gratification
cuz there are going to be
so many more moments like this,
ones that I will want to live in for eternity
But in this one life, we don't have immortality
And that's the beauty of it, if not 'forever',
we do get to experience all of this at least once
And as we wade through that unpredictable path,
each moment leaves behind a trace by altering us
And by doing that, we carry the moment as a part of us
So that years later,
we can get lost in the nostalgia of that moment
And come back to appreciate
this delicate pattern of life

And yet, every breath I take,
every move I make,
every step I take
reminds me that this is real,
NOW - is life