Chit-Chat

Butterflies and bees chat along their way,
Flowers left with little honey.
But who is the 'lone gardener,
Who walks along the trodden path?
Picking up what is little left
Of once a blooming garden.

People pass by, every now and then
Talking among themselves of that gardener;
Some pity, some curious , some just notice.

With love and care he nurtured the garden,
It's butterflies and bees, the bloom enjoyed,
Along with them were pruned ,
The silent graves which now beheld-
Happiness, sorrow, disappointment and success
All enfolded into one eternal sleep.

But strange enough, did anybody
With the gardener chat?
Ask him whether he slept alright?
" Mind joining for a cup of tea or something?"
"The summer is pretty this time of the year, ain't it?"

The winds blow and tickle your senses,
While the gardener sits alone
Talking to the epitaph under the Gulmohar's shade.

People pass by, every now and then
Talking among themselves of that 'lone gardener;
Some pity, some curious, some just notice.

She watched him from her window, for years.
Every twilight she saw the gardener alone,
Humming to himself, a yearning chord-
She wondered if she should stop awhile,
Lend a face to share a smile.
For a little chit-chat for the miles?

People pass by, every now and then
Talking among themselves of that 'lone gardener
Some pity, some curious, some just wonder......

Don't just stop listening yet.

This World is no place for Idealism. And how do I know this? Because, I read it on Buzzfeed! (If you are not already smiling, then the joke's lost on you! ) 

Also, because I think I am entitled to a little wisdom - given my life and the sum of my experiences, which  ironically  is very short-lived  (Yes, I convince myself from time to time that I am much younger than I think).  

However, science states that no Hypothesis can ever be discounted. Yes, we will go with science , and logic. 

Do you smile more often than you are smiled back at?  (I thought as much)

Are you often heard saying "I think I am taken for granted!" ? ( Why do you event try?)

How do you like your egg?  ( Okay that was completely irrelevant! ) 

Let me re-frame that question- does your partner prefer the style of cooking the egg to your taste or just assumes it's scrambled or sunny side-up ? ( what? You are vegan?!! Whatever! ) 

Do you offer to help out more than you receive a thank-you? 

Do you remember to wish people on their birhtdays and I mean all 7hundred of your FB friends? 

Now, how many of them remember to wish you back? ( Do the math) 

How many of your ex-collegues and acquaintances and yes, friends  (of some time ago) call you to ask for help  and if they have to return the favour they ping you back on whatsapp to say - "hey missed your call, whats up!"( feel like punching a wall? don't! it hurts!) I, for one, could swear a good pair of Louboutins for every penny I collected everytime somebody called me to ask me for help or CONTACTS. Hah! 

Have you been judged, for being the spoilt or the privileged kid because your grandparents/ parents dote on you ?  (Oh yes, because they assume you are being spoilt . And oh yes, because they were such Samaritans fending the big bad world all by themselves. They are all such Self-made men and women!)

Are you surrounded by hypocrites who talk about changing the world, criticise governemnts and society and often neglect that poor man/ woman/ home-help who needs that money more than they do? ( yes, they could spend it on ZARA or OLD MONK)

Have you been pushed  back in queues , because there is a girl/ lady/ woman or some plain -ass jerk who demands to be accomodated?

In your relationship does your partner keep telling you that you don't give back? ( the expectations never end, my friend) 

Oh and humour me, do you have a Boss or Landlord? 

If the responses to all of the above are an affirmative, then you are closer to - peace. Awareness, Buddha, told is the step closer to enlightenment. 

And while we still fight our battles of spirituality, individuality (write about all of the above:-P) and other shenanigans, I have learnt to Ignore. " If you really care for me, you will shut-up!" 

Up untill recently, I believed that one has to fight back- if one needs to survive. Unfortunately, that means you'd have to fight 6 billion versions of you. Futile. 

A simpler and more effective solution is to realise what you could do / should do rather than what should be done, or what should be. Focus on your path. Just yours. 

Thanks for listening....

In awe of a Labourer

Sways, Staggers, Limps and Falls,
It plays not, cries not, laughs not, but Works;
A laborer from dawn till dusk,
Its tawny colored body
Gleams in the light.
The little Man goes on and never complains!
My eyes enthralled, watch it in awe,
As it climbs and falls and never says "Can't!"
When God thought of earnestness, he thought of an ANT.

Let's colour the sky Red

Let's color the grass blue,
The trees orange, and the Earth pink.
The flowers all lavender, because that's my favourite colour.

i  don't want magenta, crimson or scarlet running wild anywhere.
It is terrifying to see the brown earth coloured in them,
It makes me want to run to momma and hug her tight..
Only that momma is no longer there......
Neither is papa, with his arms around me,
Nor my sister or my brother to soothe me as i cry.

Mrs. Hastings with her cat precious is no longer our neighbour.
Daddy said she moved away in a big machine that had many others like her.
The street looks so colourless today; it looks pale.
People everywhere say they are either white or black.
But I don't want to be black or white,
i  want to paint all their faces with the colours of the rainbow...

"Let's colour the sky Red", i said.
i want everybody to be under it, it's the colour of our blood.
It spoils the Earth when strewn with it.
High up, it reminds me of a red glass, like the one i  once saw in church.
i could see God through it and i  like it in the sky.
i  called out again.
Daddy didn't come with the paint brush. Momma didn't move.
Everybody is just quiet. Nobody is listening to me.
i  don't think i  like colouring any more.

Melancholy for a Lover gone

Clairvoyance, you fill my heart with relief
Is it that knowing, gives you peace?

Yet, there is a silver storm I fear
In distance, dark, but somehow near

In my reverie a creature stands ashore
Yearning, in the direction that the wind blows:
It hopes, in innocence,
Hopes in faith,
Hopes that praying shall heal all pain

I catch myself and wake up to find,
A clock, some papers and an old file behind

Yes, I ape that life taught smile
Yes, I pause that awkward cry
Yes, I  left those flowers to dry
No, I did not,  break down or cease to try

As I inch closer to the harbor
I hear a deafening clamor

I freeze mid-step, as the fog clears:
I see, I listen, and retreat in tears

I meandered the streets that night
With rains that cut short my sight

Elated, did not, that moon look
Nor did that night, silence took

The resounding of seen, the calling of what is known
Will give you resolution but never any more hope

And what was gone the morning, come
Was my lover, my friend and my favorite rum.

Ramble-oodle !

A very very stupid, and a plaguing-ly common existential FAQ; yet, this seems to have taken roots in my head. And the closer I get to the day I turn a year older or in my case twenty-seven years older, I really can't laugh it off or sleep upon it anymore. Chocolate or no chocolate, I honestly want to know - what the fuck am I doing? No, like really. 

I know I have a job, I pay my bills, I guess you could say I socialise. 

But here's what else: I don't even like my job, I don't have savings, I don't get to travel as much as I'd like, I don't earn as much as I think I should be earning ( no, not think. I definitely do not earn), I don't have a car, I don't have a parent/ guardian to co-sign a loan application, I don't have an MBA, and I don't have a ring on my finger, I am also not 20 Kgs lighter like I had planned. 

Oh, and that conceited assumption that I went around the whole of my life with- that I am creative, well that's colossal balls too. Turns out, I am not. 

I guess there is a latent gene of creativity in every human being, and therefore, by default I could be creative. But I am Lazy, no matter what the tarrot-cards' lady says. I AM.  I have never bothered giving a fart towards honing/ exploring whatever this creativity within me was all about. But, like they say, Ignorance is bliss-  I assumed I was creative, because when I was younger, I could sing (without a clue about chords or notes), I could dance (like I din't have two left feet) , I could speak (I can really faff, without blinking an eye), and what I could not communicate orally, I could write . But please,  for every 100 people out there, 98 really write well. The remaining two can do their math well. Not to mention days of my school years spent on art and craft projects- truth be told, I just have a colour sense. But then, again, these are colours. Who doesn't? Even a toddler knows his colours basis what visually appeals to him.

In a recent turn of events, when I was asked to sketch, with a certain set of artists - I produced a sheet of paper with Doodle scribbled over it.

I go to music festivals, and I kick myself for not knowing how to play an instrument. 

Being multi-lingual , knowing 4 languages, is pointless if all the languages are spoken within the country  and on a larger scale, by a 0.2 percent population, worldwide. 

I say to a friend, " I am in an 'eh' mood. Going through an existential crisis kind of a situation but only in a more worldly sense. If I make sense at all. Do I?"

Friend responds, " LOL" 

He then adds, "Twenties are difficult no matter what." 

Great. Does that mean I am going to have it all sorted, when I am thirty? If so, can I time travel to three years later? 

SHIT. I am OLD. Already??? Where did it all go? What did I do!!! 

Shhh....Ommmmmmmmm .....*breathe*...Ommmmmm 

Someday, someday....just that today, is not that day. 

P.S. My peers/ colleagues/ friends all seem to be doing really well. Is it just my imagination; or am I cosmically a target??? 

LETTERS TO BUBBA - Epistle #3

Dear Bubba,

I have not been sleeping too well, lately.

There is this cloud of moist that seems to engulf me, constantly, and even if I dare to breath, I am left gasping for more.  I imagine a cloud of dark, black, inky threads, creeping surreptitiously along the corners...Could it be a manifestation of the jumbled web of thoughts; a state of  my mind, perhaps?

What do you do, when you realize what you want? Where you'd like to be? Where you don't want to be. The idea is so clear in your head; and you even know what you need to do to get there. ONLY, you don't have the means to get it.

I could perhaps dwell over it more, but then I instantly recall that feeling of pure and raw pain that follows immediately after knowing what you could have and seeing it becoming someone else's. My mind recoils.

I cannot bring myself to admit it... but in my heart, I know I feel, defeated, Bubba...

I found myself crying one night... you would comfort me, if you were here. But you aren't.

I want to hope that there is another dream that I could chase, but until I fight to get that strength; I am living with a shadow of myself.

Will you please come and wake me up?

-A