The armour

A small piece I wrote, sitting in the wee hours of the morning...trying my best to sleep. Spurts of writing are the best, I tell you. They clear the haze in your head. Gives us the breathing space, we so desperately seek.

"Someone had once told her…she had a beautiful smile; an aura that lit up an entire room. It drew people to her.  It drew them to the life pulsating inside her. They told her that her happiness wasn’t frivolous however. It came from within. It was bone deep:  A separate living breathing entity of its own. A second soul, very much an individual as it was intrinsic.

They said the happiness awoke something inside them. It was the bizarre origin of its genuine character perhaps that lead to the effect it had on others. It was supposed to have come from extremes of sadness. A strong characteristic strength of survival gave it all the more personality. It was beautiful, her happiness. It radiated with the will to shine, despite life. Life, being what it really is: a tough road to walk on.

Her happiness liberated them. It freed them of their own fears. It helped them believe they could radiate the same way too. She gave them hope and faith by being a living, breathing example, which God had never really been. She, however, was one of them. She was believable. Keeping their faith in her was a better bargain any day. Such responsibility. Such trust.

She wondered at how badly all of us want to believe that we will conquer something in life someday, that we will die happy people, without regrets…without pain and sadness. However, the truth wasn’t pretty, truth being what it is: bitterly honest.

She wondered at the power of denial, the resilience we humans possessed and she smiled. There, standing in the face of pain and suffering she realised she had her armour and her shield. The only thing that was most valuable to her. She never really understood the gravity of it until now; how lucky she was to have her smile. How completely armed she was."

The Critic

It is not the critic who counts, not the man who points out how the strong man stumbled, or where the doer of deeds could have done them better. The credit belongs to the man who is actually in the arena; whose face is marred by dust and sweat and blood; who strives valiantly; who errs and comes short again and again; who knows the great enthusiasms, the great devotions, and spends himself in a worthy cause; who, at the best, knows in the end the triumph of high achievement; and who, at worst, if he fails, at least fails while daring greatly, so that his place shall never be with those cold and timid souls who know neither victory nor defeat.

Theodore Roosevelt

That thing you do.

"I have wasted thousands of kisses on you... kisses that I thought were special because of your lips and your smile and all your color and life. I used to think that was the real you, when you smiled. But now I know you didn't mean any of it. You just save it all for your songs. Shame on me for kissing you with my eyes closed so tight."

Faye, That Thing You Do.

Being unwell.

"I don't know how i do it. how easy it is to hide emotions when you're standing in a room full of people. How easy it is to stare at the computer screen ...reliving a time gone by. I don't know how it is possible to hurt so much...without letting the world know. Without them catching a glimpse of what you're feeling inside. How do i do it? why do i not scream? why do i not hit walls? why do i not bleed profusely...openly. hoarsely.

I want them to know. i want them to hurt like i do. i want the world to punish themselves for not knowing. for being so ignorant. for being so vile. for doing this to me.

why do i have to be so bottled up? why do i have to hold on to this grudge? why do i let it slice my insides? why do i wish horrible things to happen? why m i so angry?

This is what you call being diseased. the disease is all here...in the heart."

All about Potty

It was 2001 when I first heard about the boy wizard "Harry Potter". Also, it was precisely two years before when I rolled my eyes as the 'nerd' of my class walked out the library with this impossibly fat book in his arms...

It read "Harry Potter and the Goblet Of Fire."

However, it was precisely three years into the future in 2002, when I walked out the state library with a fat book bulging in MY arms and a big gloating smile pasted on my face. Guess what it read?

Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire....ladies and gentlemen! I was hooked.

Nailed. Floored.

You might wonder why I talk about it 10 years down the line, when Harry Potter has stormed the world in full fury and gotten over with it? Now...at a time when Stephenie Meyer's Robert Pattinson is charming the world with his fangs? When voldemort and the 'boy who lived' is so passe?

Well, I'm 20 years old now, its been a long time since I wrote full fledged 25 chapter fan fictions for this Harry 'Potty', wrote numerous fan mails to J K Rowling that I never sent, stuffed my computer's RAM with folder after folder of information and pictures of Daniel Radcliffe, Emma Watson and the others. I should say that I've grown over it. I should say that it was a childhood fling with Rowling's work. But I won't.

I still get looks from my peers when I admit to people I love the novels. Still. The smug faces that look at me when I tell them its still one of the best works I've read...are priceless!

"My god....grow up! It seems you haven't read enough then!"


I'd say I haven't. I've no shame in admitting that. And who wants to grow up any way? As if a dark novel about terrorism and in your face reality is going to end up teaching me a thing or two about life any more than  the boy who flies on broomsticks and saves the day?

However, what I refuse to believe is when people say Harry Potter is a children's novel. I do admit, it started out with just that intention, but by the fourth book, i might rethink my evaluation. I still think Rowling's work is poorly perceived by half the world as a children's book about wizards. Why is it that fantasy can never be taken seriously, as much an idealistic novel like the fountainhead?

If JK Rowling isn't being practical, so isn't Ayn Rand. No offence to the author, I'm a huge fan of her work.
But that is besides the point.  

Arundhati Roy won the booker prize for her exceptional novel "The God of Small Things." It is all about love. Believe me when I say, so is Harry Potter. He isn't superhuman, has mediocre magical abilities, is a love starved humble boy who one day stumbles upon the huge responsibility of being 'The Chosen one'. The ones who havent read it, might assume the ending to be exceptionally extravagant like Neo in the Matrix, as he suddenly realises he is 'THE' one and begins to see his enemies as minute inconveniences and erases them like rubble.

Yet the most charming aspect of the novel is that Harry Potter is never central to the elimination of his enemy, Lord Voldemort. He is a part of a bigger wider web of complications. He is never the sole person responsible for killing Voldemort, he is only there to put it all together. The ending is not about a far fetched magical fight with lots of flashy effects, but a simple conclusion that some people can never understand what the world is really about. It is that simple mistake that Lord Voldemort makes that leads to his death. Ofcourse there is magic involved but when you read the books, it is surprising how secondary that is to the whole story.

The beautiful part is that in the end you don't want to be a wizard as much as you want friends like Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger. Its not the fantasy but his courage that you end up wanting. You don't awe him for his super powers, trust me he's not superman, but for his humility.

You love and hate him for how real he is. You laugh with him and you cry with him, and he becomes a lot more than just a fantasy novel protagonist. Intriguing, irritating, confused and extremely lucky. Thats what he is. Thats what I love him for. He is by far the most ingeniously written character sketch I have ever come across in a novel.

I still feel the movies have never lived up to the books and never will be able to. They are a supreme injustice to her work. But they have worked wonders for the book's popularity. I, of all the people cant blame them, for it was only after my elder brother brought in a CD, precisely 10 years ago in 2001, for me to watch.

Guess what it read? *smirks*
   

Forgiving.

There comes a time in life...when you feel bliss. Happiness you cannot describe. You want to forgive all the bad things that ever happened to you...hug the people who made you cry...just hug them for what they once meant to you; Like a homage to a once wonderful friendship. Like reconciling with the past...returning to what you were before it happened. Its like coming back to your own bedroom in your parent's house and taking a peaceful sleep. A sleep you haven't had for months. A sleep that you know will ready you for a tomorrow to live in...sleep that gives you the courage to forgive again.


It's like this awful weight has lifted off my chest today. I feel happy again. From within.  It's as if you've regained lost courage. It like stepping into sunlight after weeks of rain. It's this wonderful feeling inside me that I'm trying my best to explain. All I can say dearies, if you want to live truly...learn to forgive again.

Quote.

Don't stand beside my grave and weep,
For I'm not there, I do not sleep,
I am a thousand winds that blow,
I am the diamond's glint on snow,
I am the sunlight on ripened grain,
I am the gentle autumn's rain.

When you awaken in morning's hush,
I am the swift uplifting rush,
of quiet birds in circle flight,
I am soft stars that shine at night,
Don't stand beside my grave and cry,
I am not there. I did not die.

Melinda Sue Pacho

I can't think of no title!! I want to sleep!

7:15 AM---*groggy, irritated...and a wee bit hungry*

LOCATION--- living room couch...a blanket tucked around my waist.

Imagine the heights. I have vacations and I have slept so much...too too much...that my body refuses to sleep anymore. And I keep wondering...what the hell am I doing with my life?

Here I am, finally having pushed off the blanket after an utterly pathetic 2 hours of trying to doze off. I have revisited my past boyfriends, present crushes, future hopes...analyzed them together and apart, compared them and ended up feeling guilty for it. Missed them, hated them and loved them all in these two hours...no, now THREE hours of ‘trying to sleep’.

God help the pathetic me.

Now I sit back here, on my couch and I finally find a pen from the heap of clutter that is my bedside table, and try to write something. Anything. Anything to ward off this non-sleepy nightmare. Thank God for blogs. Or is there some like the prodigious ‘Yahoo’ guy I must end up worshipping? I’ve got to check that up in my infinite spare time.

You know what’s making me feel worse? I can actually hear ‘humans’ outside waking up from their perfectly normal routines of sleeping AT night and waking up in the morning. Maybe they are up for a morning stroll. You’d say...I could try going out there too. Could I not? Alas, my friends, I have not been gifted with an active enthusiasm for life. I prefer to sit back and waste away gloriously.

I’m actually dreading the point where the household wakes up and sees me up so early. My mum might just adore me for a few minutes until she realises I haven’t slept at all. Her momentary joyous fantasy of getting to see me up early will wither away into a nasty hysteria of ‘I told you so’. No offence, mum. (I hate to admit it.. But the woman is always right!)

I’m particularly missing that sleep inducing tea mum was eyeing that day at the super mart. I also remember painfully how I scoffed and dragged her away from it. “Why would anyone have tea to sleep?!  It’s all a pile of rubbish!”

I could try a pile of rubbish right now...

At least I’ll be doing something normal; (obviously if we omit the necessary details) I would actually be drinking TEA AT 7:15 am in the morning. J

Dear God, how badly am I in need of a normal routine? I think I should get back to criticizing the boyfriends... that is far less depressing. ;D

Angel.

"I miss me"

Been so long since i wrote something. I miss writing. Sometimes its not the right time or the right moment, while sometimes its like a flash of thought running thru ur head...but it doesnt measure up enough. Its as if life is running too fast. Much too fast.

There are times when I want to write. Just for the heck of it. Anything. Hell I might just start copying a document in microsoft word. It been so long since I've sat alone and had a talk with myself. Had thought about anything more than what I was going to do next. Or worried about my marks last semester (yea, well i didnt score well this time)...and then move on to worry about the next semester.

I'm personally pretty nervous about next semester though. Fashion Design still doesnt seem to be my calling. Sewing scares the shit out of me. Dunno what's happening. Its like uncertainty just never ends. Its frustrating. Maybe its just cold feet.

But then...a few days back. This strange thing happened. I was sitting in the train, by the window, (believe me, window seats are the best places to think) and a far away memory came and hugged me. It was warm, faintly familiar...and long forgotten. Memory is a villain. It drifts the best of things away from you. And then suddenly one day it walks back in like it never left. Tangible enough to feel...strong enough to live it all over again.

Its been just a year...but he seemed really far away. I don't know why I'm writing this moment down. Its something I should've ignored and not recorded like this. Coz when you write you immortalise experiences. This is something memory can't take away. Writing is our only refuge against time.

And that day he visited me again. It was like old days again. The laughter, the hugs, all that love... I could picture his face so clearly as if i'd met him yesterday. Even that silly smile too! That pasted itself on his face everytime he thought he was being funny. hehe.

The real world blurred for a while and I was reliving forgotten days and feeling all those buried emotions again. He took a huge chunk of me away with him. But I reunited with it again that day. And suddenly I missed feeling like that. I missed who I was back then. After so many months I actually missed loving someone like that.

Whenever a relationship ends...the sorrow isnt as much of the end of what wasnt meant to be anway but of losing something inside you when it ends. That innocence, arrogant ignorance, that undaunting trust, that fervent energy contrasting to the cautious, reserved nature of an experienced soul.

No matter how heart breaking it was a few months ago to leave him, yet today when I relive those memories..I don't miss him. I miss me. I miss who I was. I do laugh at the ignorant idiot that I was...but I do miss that ignorance. Its like the old pining for their youth.

It gives us a lesson to learn. Why don't we open ourselves to the possibility of being 'young' again? Love is surely something that requires no experience, no age...it is a feeling that can only be felt when we let go of our pasts and surrender. When we are just like the 8 year old who loves the girl that sits in front of him in class because she has such pretty pigtails. We can only love if we're young at heart. Like they say..."Love like you've never been hurt..."

Heal. Move on. Surrender.

That is the only meaning of life. To find the courage to love. To understand that love gives you hope...and hope is the only thing that keeps you going.

I Am

I am the one you hate... you love.

 I am not politically correct.

I AM.

I am the green you don’t want...but u need it anyway.

I am the freak who’s heady... who’s  arrogant.

The orange you despise but I intrigue you anyway.

 The pink that chokes you but catches your eye.

The yellow that blinds you but warms your soul.

I am the one you hate. But you want me anyway.

I am the rainbow in your hidden dreams.

The golden pot that you can’t reach.

Are you afraid?

I think so.

Why else would you hate me?

Do you want me?

I think so.

Why else would you notice me?

I am the bird in your dreams.

Who sores higher beyond your reach.

I remind you of your infiniteness...

Of how great can you be.

Yet I scare you still.

I know.

That is why you need me.

A walk to remember

I don’t quite remember exactly how it started but I do have a vague idea. I’ll try; Dad was diagnosed with diabetes but at a very initial stage. So in order to control his blood sugar he began a daily ritual to go for walks.

Though he tried different routes he majorly went to a neighbourhood park adjoining an orphanage for girls. The house was attached to the park as if it was its very own lawn. I’d accompany him most of the time since I’d have nothing much to do than watch more and more TV (Yea, there was once a blessed time when all worries seem to end at homework). I do remember getting a little envious whenever I’d see them playing around together all evening. It’s quite ironical somehow since now that I think of it; I was after all having a walk with my own father...it never occurred to me that they might just have reasons to envy me.

Anyway, thus began my habit of always accompanying him for his evening walks. Well, most of the time. I do remember I missed quite a few of them. Dad might never have realised it...but I think they are the only times I actually remember having bonded with him. Infact they were more than just father-daughter quality time...they somehow shaped me into becoming a loner at heart. They are the reason why today I love going for walks. Preferably alone. I’m not a regular but they are my only refuge. And somehow I always remember dad when I’m out for a walk. They sort of connect me to him.

It’s pretty sentimental. Hehe.

Even when I’m in delhi...after a bad day or neck breaking stress I just drag a friend along and go out for a stroll. (Haven’t yet been able to gather up the courage to go for a walk alone in delhi till now. Its just freaky...you know the hype about unsafe metro cities)In fact, going for a nice, long walk with your dear is the idea of a perfect date for me! Hehehe. Candlelight dinners are just too cliché. People talk about busting stress and doing this and that...I wonder...what is better than a walk? What is better than just being yourself for a while? Its like having a heart to heart chat with yourself. ..or maybe a picnic for that matter.

Parks have always been my favourite haunts. My friends think that’s highly boring so I’m left alone to hang out there (don’t really mind though). But no matter what...that park near the orphanage is always going to remain my favourite one even though it’s nothing much to look at. Just a huge stretch of grass, maintained sloppily and a family of sleeping dogs scattered here and there. It gave me a lot of ideas for my design classes though. So I’m kinda indebted. I still remember using the image of a mumma dog and her puppies fighting for some milk for a population control poster! Sir really liked the idea.

Nature just somehow steadies me. It’s like sweet music stealing through your body warming you a bit over here and a bit there... Not a believer of astrology but the earth is the element of a virgo. I’m a virgo. Maybe there’s a connection. But I like water too you know. Swimming is one of my favourite activities. So can’t say.

I went for a walk alone after so long today. Kept hanging around for two hours with earphones jammed into my ears, an overcoat warming me and a book stuffed in the pocket. I just kept going round and round, skipping a bit in between, singing under my breath and I tell you I was lost. Heart and soul. People must’ve thought I was crazy. But the overcoat is pretty good to look at...it might have signalled at my civilized origin, so I think it saved my repo. I got inspired by a few more things to use in the next semester of college. It’s just so amazing how much natures gives back to you if one only pays a little more attention. It’s a freaky world out there I tell you. Nature is crazy. But it’s the most beautiful crazy thing you will ever come across.

Anyone who reads this entry; I personally insist that you should try going for a walk sometimes if you don’t already, that is. I’m not saying it because I have personal memories involved...it’s just too good an experience to miss.I’ll see if I’ll go back to that park anytime soon...haven’t gone back there since we moved. Lets see.

Angel.

This bug in my head...

Was just wondering if its ever possible to find sumone who never leaves? I gess in the end all u r left with is urself. all for themselves. A human being is born to be lonely then. In reality he never has company. Maybe he is just too scared to accept the fact. or maybe because its just too hard to stay alone.

of all the promises people give each other i think it is one of the biggest lies wen they say they'll be there always. and then the phrase... 'no matter what'. promises should never be made. i dont understand how people can speak with such conviction when they don't know their next second. how can they be selfish enough to raise someone's expectations when they are not in control of their own life?
I think it is one of the biggest challenges of life to learn to live with yourself. Dunno why people find it so unbearable to live with themselves at times. Even when it is ourselves that we love the most in the end...but still. Dont have the answer to this question somehow. Dont know how to justify this to myself.

Perspective

How much can a person endure? Is life really all about enduring? Of taking shit and just keep taking it until you attain 'nirvana'?

I gess salvation is a kinder word given to 'good riddance'. Life itself is a huge pack of situations you have to deal with. Situations that you have to endure. And the stupid part is no one comes out alive. We try so hard...for what? For fulfilling a purpose which can easily be compared to a dream. A dream thats way too much like reality. I Wonder what's reality then? Is it...endurance?
I think birth and death are the easiest parts of life. Dunno...tell that to the people who die horriblw, slow deaths. Hmm...I'll take that back then. I gess birth is the easiest bit then. Maybe because we don't remember if it hurt when we were born. It ust have. I find no sense in a child bawling otherwise. So...voila. From birth to death, nothings easy. So then life's a pretty tough piece of shit ain't it?

All these words like 'hope', 'faith', 'joy' seem like some kind of medical kit each of us carries throughout our lives. Like first aids. So we can keep bandaging ourselves with them whenever it hurts. Its pretty funny in a way if you look at it. Humans have such amazing ways to fool themselves, its commendable. We have an all protecting saviour (God) to take us out of complicated problems that mostly are a result of our own stupidity. Then we have 'hope', 'trust', 'courage', 'faith'...the tool kits to help us trudge through life.

Its quite amazing. I don't know about God but a human in itself is a pretty smart bit of genius walking the earth. It has quite commendable ways of tricking itself into illusions. Like ways to survive a terribly rough patch. It is human nature to glorify, to exaggerate. I don't know if we actually have it in us to face the simplicity, the 'normalness' of life. To actually see the truth. It is inherent in us to complicate, to create so called 'values', 'cultures', 'taboos'. We live in these cocoons beyond which we dare not look. For if they break...they will break us too. Infact, I don't think these cocoons ever break. They are wound up so tight. Not until the last breath, they don't. And so we carry on...trugding...Humans have this admirable tendency to keep on going. Thumbs up to us for that.

A few more....

These are some of my favourite quotes from the wisdom section


Sometimes the more you think, the more there is no real answer.
Winnie the Pooh

If there's one thing you can say about mankind, there's nothing kind about man.

The most important things are the hardest things to say. They are the things you get ashamed of because words diminish your feelings - words shrink things that seem timeless when they are in your head to no more than living size when they are brought out.
Stephen King

I do not intend to tiptoe through life only to arrive safely at death.

There is an art of listening. To be able really to listen, one should abandon or put aside all prejudices, preformulations and daily activities . . . But unfortunately most of us listen through a screen of resistance. We are screened with prejudices, whether religious or spiritual, psychological or scientific; or with our daily worries, desires and fears. And with these for a screen, we listen. Therefore, we listen really to our own noise, our own sound, not to what is being said. It is extremely difficult to put aside our training, our prejudices, our inclination, our resistance, and, reaching beyond the verbal expression, to listen so that we understand instantaneously.
J. Krishnamurti, The First and Last Freedom

We never realize the power of a single human being until one comes along and conquers our heart
Unknown

"People will forget what you did, people will forget what you said, but people will never forget how you made them feel."

Common sense is the collection of prejudices acquired by age 18.
Albert Einstein---------cool

Everyone sees what you seem, but few know what you are.
Machiavelli

Our deepest fear is not that we are inadequate. Our deepest fear is that we are powerful beyond measure. It is our light, not our darkness, that most frightens us. We ask ourselves, Who am I to be brilliant, gorgeous, talented and fabulous? Actually, who are you not to be? You are a child of God. Your playing small doesn't serve the world. There's nothing enlightened about shrinking, so that other people won't feel insecure around you. We were born to make manifest the glory of God that is within, it's not just in some of us; it's in everyone. And as we let our light shine, we unconsciously give other people permission to do the same. As we are liberated from our own fear, our presence automatically liberates others.
Nelson Mandela-------cool

"What's wrong with thinking?""There's nothing wrong with thinking," Spitty began. "So long as you don't think too much. See, that's your problem, Stein. You dwell. It's not healthy. Sometimes you just gotta let things go, stop feeling sorry for yourself, stop trying to figure out the why and the how and the what does it all mean. Because we all die in the end anyway. Some people stick their heads in the oven. Other people just kneel over in the middle of dinner. But no one gets out alive. And that's the sorry truth. And that's why you gotta enjoy yourself now. Because that's all you basically get in life - a few superior kegs, a few worthwhile hangovers, a few nights when other crap fades into the background and it's just you and the moment and the moment is righteous."
What She Saw by Lucinda Rosenfeld

The holy passion of Friendship is of so sweet and steady and loyal and enduring a nature that it will last through a whole lifetime, if not asked to lend money.
Mark Twain-----cool

Man is a God in ruins.
Ralph Waldo Emerson

The glory of friendship is not the outstretched hand, nor the kindly smile, nor the joy of companionship; it is the spiritual inspiration that comes to one when he discovers that someone else believes in him and is willing to trust him with his friendship.
Ralph Waldo Emerson

A smile while giving honest criticism can make the difference between resentment and reform. Philip Steinmetz

My favourites

Just adore these quotes.

It was right then that I started thinking about Thomas Jefferson on the Declaration of Independence and the part about our right to life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness. And I remember thinking how did he know to put the pursuit part in there? That maybe happiness is something that we can only pursue and maybe we can actually never have it. No matter what. How did he know that? ------- the pursuit of happyness


How happy is the blameless vestal's lot! / The world forgetting, by the world forgot / Eternal sunshine of the spotless mind! / Each pray'r accepted, and each wish resign'd.
-----eternal sunshine of the spotless mind



have no idea to this day what those two Italian ladies were singing about. Truth is, I don't want to know. Some things are best left unsaid. I'd like to think they were singing about something so beautiful, it can't be expressed in words, and makes your heart ache because of it. I tell you, those voices soared higher and farther than anybody in a gray place dares to dream. It was like some beautiful bird flapped into our drab little cage and made those walls dissolve away, and for the briefest of moments, every last man in Shawshank felt free. ---- the shawshank redemption


I find I'm so excited, I can barely sit still or hold a thought in my head. I think it's the excitement only a free man can feel, a free man at the start of a long journey whose conclusion is uncertain. I hope I can make it across the border. I hope to see my friend, and shake his hand. I hope the Pacific is as blue as it has been in my dreams. I hope. ---- the shawshank redemption



My momma always said, "Life was like a box of chocolates. You never know what you're gonna get." ---- forrest gump


I don't know if we each have a destiny, or if we're all just floatin' around accidental-like on a breeze. But I, I think maybe it's both. ---- forrest gump

In Love...

Back aching, im all dizzy, haven't eaten anything, want another few hours of sleep, havent had time for myself in days...but yet all I knoe is I'm in love.

All these hours of no sleep count for nothing...all the cribbing, the frustration, the work load...they count for absolutely nothing. When I'm standing in front of a piece of art I've made, I know I'm in love. In love with myself. In love with my life. In love with the decisions I took and finally what I got from it.

Its not exactly roses...but the satisfaction...the selfpeace. It beats everything. This ecstasy is maddening. As I write this I'm asting precious minutes of work but it doesn't matter. This bout of emotions need to be recorded. This moment of happiness is an event worth remembering later. I'm in love.

The irony is I could rite now either die under the pressure of this work load or could just die with the happiness of knowing that I'm doin what Ilike. NIFT is intoxicating. It leaves you free to be what you want to be. It feels like home. You can let your imagination run wild..and the better you get with it the better its appreciated. I experiment so much with myself...exploring has become a passion. The library has become my refuge. Everything else stands meaningless now. I now live for me. And I love every single minute of it....hopefully we have a happy marriage together.

This is where I lose

He sits on top of the world...
A shining piece of glory,
people swarm around him,
heavens shower blessings.
Crimson envy watches from
the sidelines.
He is his own design.

A man of honour,
beauty shames to place itself
beside him. Precious diamond,
he shines...
He is his own design.

An example to millions,
a wonder to all,
a better idol was never born.
Magic shimmers through his being;
the angel from heaven that everyone's
seeing.

His silver pendant hides a quiet secret:
The key to another beating heart.
It tells a story from the start, of tears,
sighs and two smitten larks, of quiet meetings
in the dark, of love struck down by
fate's darts.

The shimmers hide the inner dark,
the glory veils the broken heart.
The laughter lines hide embedded
frowns, the scars concealed with
countless crowns.

Awestruck sighs pave his path...
he shines.
A man of unique design.
"You win it all!", A voice calls.
His heart groans in mourning
for a love gone to the noose:
"No, my man, you know it not,
this is where I lose."
-Angel

Phoenix ashes

"Every small gust of wind only heightened the cool feel of tears streaming down her cheeks. Her hair danced wildly around her face. The wind whistled and howled; determined to drown down her sobs. She did not fight. Her skinny frame just stood there submissively, swaying gently in the brewing storm, inviting the winds to take her with it…

All the energy in her body seemed to concentrate on the one small handkerchief that her fingers clutched tightly. Yet it seemed her very soul repelled the fact that she be holding on to that spotless white cloth so dearly…like she had breached a forbidden territory.

She stared down from the edge of the cliff where she stood. Depth plummeted down to a vast emptiness below her…spreading like a sea of black nothingness. She felt strangely cocooned as she stared down at the space below. The feeling of being so minute comforted her inner turmoil. Hers was just another sorrow in this enormous existence. She was just another wretched soul. The insignificance diminished the magnitude of her hurt ego…

Her skirt flapped wildly around her legs while the empty black sea below her tempted her viciously. If she would just embrace it…the nothingness would gulp down yet another pain and like a sea, remain the same as before. It was incredible how darkly luring it was to never feel again…

She edged closer to take a better look…persuading her entire being to step into a trance which would ease the trembling. She allowed the tears to blur the darkness spread out before her and turning it into a confused haze of cloudy, murky and quivering mass…
She let the bag hanging down her shoulder fall to the ground. Her feet slipped out of her shoes and embedded themselves in the cool sand swarming her toes.

Her sobs returned with fresh gusto; reverberating in the noisy wind…making known the agony of her heart. She stretched out her arms in front of her, trying to take support of an invisible wall around her. She found none. There was nothing present there to hold up her shaking knees…except her own feet. As if a jolt shot down her spine she shuddred and for a second, hesitated. The comfort of the void below her seemed to grow faint. Yet she closed her eyes determinedly dragging her toes to the end of the edge where no further ground reassured her. This was the end.

Her arms still stretched out before her and by now she was crying openly…hoarsely; shuddering with the effort of her sobs. Her eyes remained tightly shut and she clutched the handkerchief tighter. Debris on the edge rolled down from her feet. Her face contorted in deep agony. Images flashed past in her mind fumbling to hold ground...but it was like swift slides coming and going...befuddling her sense of thought. The wind had gained momentum and seemed to push her further and further. Just one set further and she would find her peace. Her definition of 'peace' disturbed her and she struggled to ignore it. The conflict slowly wore out her resolve and she let out a low, deep moan. The images vanished. Her body tensed and then relaxed. She jerked her eyes open and with one swift motion threw the handkerchief into the wind.

It flew haphazardly in the fierce winds like a wounded bird being tossed helplessly. She watched it with a strange detachment...as if she never owned it. Her body remained still as it acknowledged the warmth steeling through it among the cold, wild currents of the air. Then with another gust of wind it shot off forward and merged into the descended grey clouds.

Staring one last time at the darkness below her, she unconsciously rejected its illusionary comfort and reflexively ground her feet firmly in the earth. The uninviting darkness below her repulsed her immediately. Staring down at it one last time in cool disdain she turned around, picked up her bag, slipped into her shoes and walked away."
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The mythological bird, phoenix, is said to take rebirth from its ashes. Symbolically, the bird stands for resurrection or rebirth. I relate it to coming back from devastation. It could be death or coming out of an intense crisis. The above piece that I wrote represents a phoenix taking rebirth from its own devastation, the ashes. Similarly the girl lets go of the handkerchief, which is symbolic of what her troubles are, to start afresh. She comes out of her depression which has caused her to go to the extent of suicide but in the end realises that this option is an illusionary comfort and not worth giving your life away for. Thus she emerges from a major crisis. The phoenix ashes stand for courage and that is exactly why I named this short story so. In the end there is no one to support your "shaking knees" than your "own feet". Its your life. Its your fight. Its your problem. You either win or you lose.

Of breathtaking revelations and rapture...

There is something very pure about devotion. Complete submission...total surrender. Gurbani holds the unmistakable essence of humility...of what should really be considered true love. We glorify love too much. We magnify the simplicity...we complicate it with vows and thus in turn put limitations to the free feeling of love. Love should liberate us, not turn us into slaves of meaningless commitment. Love, in reality, should nourish you. It should teach you virtues of patience, kindness, selflessness and of course as said before humility. When there is true love there is no plural but singular. Individuality fuses to become one strong form of perfection...since both the individuals merge together with the best of their qualities. It is highly hypothetical but that doesnt mean its not correct. Love is perfection. That is why God is synonymous to love. Since God is perfection. If one wishes to come close to that perfection i believe one should learn to love...and that too, to love with total surrender. I was amazed to learn that each word in The Granth is engraved with humility. There is such complete submission that it touches something inside you. You begin to wonder if it can be possible or whether it is something supernatural.

There is no 'I'. No ego. You can only sit back in awe and tears in your eyes. If such a thing can exist...surely this world must be a beautiful blessed place and this law or force of nature or god must really be something worthy of respect. This is immortalised happiness. I guess today I have somewhat understood what it must mean to attain salvation. Contrary to what I have always believed, there really is a 'higher joy'.

Yet now i understand that this 'higher joy' doesnt come from hours of meditation but with the fact that you work your ass off to do justice to your own potential. That you explore youself inside out and lie down in ur bed at the end of the day knowing that you did this world loads of good by doing good to youself. Finding God is not being selfless. It is infact selfish. Since it is for you. For your happiness. So in being thoroughly selfish for your complete growth as an individual i think you end up doing something for everybody. You end up being a great contributor through your very selfishness. So in a way...true selfishness is also a great virtue. And whats best...you grow closer to God. Through your faith in yourself...through your journey of self exploration you realise there is no limit to what you can achieve and i think this is exactly what humbles you. You actually realise how limitless you are. I think this is where enlightenment occurs. True ecstasy. This is God.

Inspiration from 'The Fountain Head'

Its a wonderful way to think this way. Having never to worry about anything but yourself. Being indifferent to the world around you. Their thoughts dont affect you...they are like rays striking against glass; reflecting back as soon as they dare to touch you with their heat. So that you become like a granite, solid and strong, who lives only for themself. How great it would be...never having to sacrifice anything for anyone. Never having to live with illusions that you killed your desires for the sake of some "higher happiness". That you killed your soul with selflessness. How great it would be to hold up your ideals...your integrity in the face of a hypocritical world and cast your undaunting resolve in its teeth. How great it would be to have courage like that. How great it would be to be Howard Roark.