if there were no dreams

 

if there were no dreams

the permanence would slowly take over

and the little escapes into the terrain of subconscious existence

would deliquesce.

the nights would have no meaning and the eyes would not rest

there shall be no solace, no yearning for the quest!

the sojourn shall halt and there shall be no night -

the nights that would otherwise bring together the different worlds,

sit by the horizon and sew the distance between the sky and the earth

and there wouldn't be lovers

who would yearn to seek their love in their dreams!

if there were no dreams,

there would be no expressions

the lit up mind wouldn't comprehend

the ecstasies of the languid nights!

alas! there would be no poetry!

if there'd be no dreams!

for poets who sleepwalk and catch fireflies

who would they possibly transpire in a state of wakefulness?

there would be no explanation for the idiosyncrasies!

if there were no dreams!

Where I want to be!

Where your fingers get entangled in mine
Where your head rests on my shoulder
Where your breath caresses my skin
While you slowly fall asleep...
That's where I want to be..

Where your tiny toes tickle my tummy
Where your hair kisses my cheeks
Where your smile converges into mine
While you look for me...
That's where I want to be..

When nights turn into day
Listening to your stories
Where sun-rays are warmth
Like you holding me..
That's where I want to be..

Zuri

Zuri, 

Envy. Envy is bad. But it is genuine. 

You know what's better than envy - hate. 

Because there is no dilution in that emotion. And you, my love, feel that you are far from love because of the milligrams of hate you harness in tiny corners of your heart. Every human does!

I know he left you crying. I know your friends don't get you. You have no friends whatsoever, but you exist. And believe me, if you exist with a little love, life would be so different. 

Do you believe in magic? Do you want to see it? 

Love people despite the hurt and see what happens to their eyes. 

Dance and tell. Write and tell. Sing and tell. But, express. I know you can't. The hurt is too overpowering. You believe that no one deserves your grace. 

But you do, sweetheart!!

In loving others you will discover yourself again. Forgive the annoying little habits of people. Forgive all those who have taken joy away from you. Forgive those who have betrayed and those who have left you because of your incompleteness. 

It's difficult to complete others when they are not complete themselves. 

You are. 

Forgive yourself and love. 

Love like you are a magician, born to turn every wailing face into a smiling one. Let the spark in you ignite one more time and pass on your light to the people around you. Enough of this hate. 

When you keep love to yourself, it never grows. So is the case with hurt. 

Stop wherever you are and breathe. 

Live the moment and feel the love. 

You are now the light bearer, Zuri. You don't know it. Don't pretend that you are cold with remorse, whereas you are an entity of love. Go forth and be yourself. 

You are not enveloped by sadness or pessimism, they are just illusions. 

Love oozes out of cracks and you are full of them. 

Let it flow, like a stream, a never ending stream and let all those who've let you down know, that you have gotten back up and forgiven them. 

There is nothing more powerful than forgiveness. 

Let go. 

Brontide

Picture Location: SRCM Retreat Centre, Panshet

The clouds were murmuring in what seemed like a thunder.

The downpour had just shown us a prelude,

Of what lay ahead.

While talking on the phone, people appeared to convey to their loved ones that they will be passing through a storm, perhaps. And they might reach their destinations a tad late. 

There seemed to be a tenderness about the communication. Eyes moist, no smiles, as if the silent rustle was warning the humans of an impending doom. 

I stood there, looking at nature in its alluring synchronicity, both living and non-living entities reacting to the brontide. 

I realized, sometimes, what you hear, see, feel and know, are in different dimensions. 

You cannot put them together to make sense out of it. Perhaps a thunder somewhere is actually a rocket taking off from a space station. Or a huge truck unloading rocks on a construction site. The vision gets clouded automatically as the senses start working in tandem leading to a beautiful illusion, or sometimes painful.

But, I have been through many such illusions and I chose to stay still in both calm and storm. 

The residuum is a wonderful thing to observe. It's me, left with rasping dichotomy. 

And I undo it one by one, learning nature all over again.

Redamancy

Tahira stepped down from the bus and marched her way towards the salon she worked at. 

She was usually the first one to reach. While she opened the premises for the days work, she thought of Sam. He was always on her mind. Not because she was in love with him, but he was. 

Apparently so. 

"Let's get married", he had proposed. Sort of. 

She did not feel the tingling sensation, while things were progressing to the next level. 

Did she always want this - yes! 

Did she want this at that moment - no, perhaps. 

How life ambitions and desires vary when you compare it with respect to time... 

What you want forever vs what you want now? 

"Yayy", she remembered, reacting to it. Half heartedly. 

"I love you", he said, the meaningless sentence stabbed right through her heart. 

She loved. Not that she didn't. She loved, deeply - an idea, a someone, who did not exist. It was always in her head. This person, or love, or the idea of it. She couldn't put it down in words what exactly that yearning felt like. 

Sam came in like a breath of fresh air and became a habit. Nothing else. 

As she started setting up the primary counter of the salon, Rinku, her pet cat - a daily visitor came in. Today, it was something different. She spotted a chair stealthily climbed up on it, and started licking herself.

 The chair gave way to a great view - the mirror. 

She felt a sense of deja-vu and thought of calling Sam and talking to him about how she thinks cats are souls who guard you. 

"Sam, remember what I told you about cats, the other day?", she spoke on the phone. 

"No Taa. I don't. What about it?", he asked. 

"About Guardian souls..", she hinted. 

He laughed, "Not again, Taa. Talk to you later!" and he hung up. 

Rinku funnily stared at the mirror and took a strange stance and cuddled her self on the leather seat. She closed her eyes and gently grunted. 

Tahira, arranged her desk with the paraphernalia and wondered about the uncanny similarity between the calmness that the buddha statue and Rinku had. 

A living thing vs a non living thing. 

She took to a chair next to Rinku and stared into mirror. She looked at her self, noted the hair growth on her face, raised her eyebrows a few times, set her hair and relaxed on the chair. 

She gently closed her eyes and wondered what lay beneath her skin. She went one layer down, feeling her veins, the rush of blood, the thumping of her heart. 

Her breathing synced with her heartbeat.. 

1....2......3....4...

She started counting. Soon she was lost in a deep trance, or a sleep she hadn't resorted to in years. 

Her head felt lighter and a brightness within attracted her towards the unknown. She dived in deeper, and tears started flowing. She was discovering the depths of her inner self that she never knew existed. 

Suddenly she pushed herself out of this trance, fearing the unknown. She looked at the mirror and felt a love she hadn't, in her entire existence. 

That's exactly what she was looking for. A love, that she was seeking, had finally sought her. 

"Taa, I love you", she recollected Sam's words and smiled as they dissolve into meaninglessness.

The sense of words was eventually evolving for her. Love!

You, October!

Copyright: ObscureOptimist

October, you make departures beautiful! 

I have let you gone, darling
Like the leaves
That give up on life
And fall from the trees... The autumn colors the earth yellow
In celebration.. I have heard laughters
echoing from the empty spaces
of my heart
that once used to
house the debris
of our love.
I have let gone the hopes
of the purple pain
that were once kisses - Pink, sometimes red!

I lie down spreading my arms, like the earth
waiting to collect
it's own broken pieces,
floating in the universe ,
slowly falling down
as twigs or stars!
covered with dust
that rested, while
our love was alive!
Now Autumn, is just
a sign that tells me
That I have to go back
to where I came from!

October, you make departures so beautiful!

The Orion waits for you to come,
when it can shower it's orionids
on people like me
and wake us up
from the slumber of
dejection
and show us
what the universe is capable of!

So, like a romantic nomad,
with no home to stay
who leaps from heart to heart
Silently hopes!
That
Somewhere far,
Where the sky meets the Earth
I get to feel love and pain!
All over again!

October, you make departures so beautiful!

Nepenthe

Pic Courtesy : Google Images

Strange.

He handed me a peg of whiskey

and said 

"Swallow your grief,

with every sip. 

You will be as good as new!"

I laughed.

How will they ever know

that it's not the spirits that

dissolve my pain.

They are not the clouds 

that eat up the stars

and pour down as rains.

The sky, perhaps feels lighter.

But that doesn't work for me.

If you want me to forget 

the pain,

give me another!

Else, I won't be able to 

weave expressions

around my fragile life

that keeps breaking

making  me feel alive!

Nepenthe (Greek) : something that can make you forget grief or suffering.

Eglaf

© obscureoptimist

I walked into a room, 
full of people practising plays
"Hey you", one called
"Come here and be a tree".
I stood motionless looking at 
characters move by.
For hours together,
as the rehearsals began to set.
I smiled for having found a place somewhere,
then they thanked me and I left.
Walking on the street,
someone held my hand and said..
"Let's cross the road"
I was a crutch to their fear.
I looked around, wondering if I wanted to 
cross the road at all?
Then someone came
and waved a hand.
I smiled.
Happily.
They asked for an address.
I obliged.
and they left too.

What was I?
nothing?
And then someone came along,
and asked me my name..
Are you Samah?
No... I said,
I am Eglaf.

C for Cafuné

Picture Courtesy : Diba

Like an indecorous lover,

you racy Wind!!!

You run your fingers through the sky

and brush it's beautiful tresses

into shades of Rose and Sangria..

Sometimes I could gulp it all down

and intoxicate my soul with 

what you paint for me

and dampen my senses...

Or sometimes compose in your glory

Shamelessly!

Why don't you come into my life someday

and flirt with my woes...

Engage in yet another Cafuné

Soothe the sprint of thoughts..

In my head..

And color my tresses into shades of love

No one has painted them happy

in a long long time...

The Broken Lamp

Picture Courtesy : Diba

He sat amidst a group of people prattling away, sometimes singing and sometimes ordering things around. He watched as the clay took shape and his elder sister applied ochre to the clay pots and lamps. He was amused by how the wheel turned around.

One, two, three…he would count and then lose track of his counting as the wheel spun faster. He was particularly mesmerized by the reddle and how it looked so beautifully red in color. He wished to color his hand, but countless reprimands made him sit on a pile of sand, from where he saw his sister work hard. He collected small pieces of mirror around, as he passed his time. “Careful Krishna. Stay away from glass pieces”, his sister would intermittently call out.

“70 more, and you can leave for the day, Swati”, Kishorilal suggested, as he inspected the clay pots, the lamps and designs that Swati made. Krishna smiled, as he realized, that he could leave with his sister, as soon she finished 70 more lamps. He observed her and started counting again. The lamps, this time.

“You should go to school now!”, Kishorilal insisted.

“That’s ok Sir”, I will paint these first and then leave.

“You can do it tomorrow, Swati. There is still time for Diwali”, Kishorilal said.

Swati smiled, as Kishorilal tapped on her head and left. She looked at Krishna who was busy playing with the mirror pieces he had collected.

“Krishna, do you want water?”, Swati looked at her little brother, just 5 years old, and signaled him to come and sit next to her.

All of 14, Swati was a doting sister. Krishna never missed his mother much, who died when he was 1. His father, a farmer would work 16 hours in a day, while his sister worked in her spare time. He excitedly, got down from the pile of sand, slipping away happily and rolled down to reach where Swati was sitting.

She dusted the sand off his legs and hands, and gave him a glass of water.

“What are you doing exactly?”, Krishna asked as he gulped down the water.

“These are lamps. You can put oil in this, like this, and put a wick in it, and light it. It will glow and pass through these designs I’ve made and people can hang it outside the door or keep it in the porch”, she showed him the intricacies of the designs, as she took out the dried lamps from the kiln and started painting it.

“Can I paint one?”, Krishna asked.

“Umm…ok.. Take this”, she handed him a broken lamp and gave him a piece of cloth.

“You are doing all the difficult ones, and you have given me such an easy one!”, Krishna complained.

“You are new to this. Try the simple one first. If you do this well, I’ll give you another. But no mischief, ok?”, Swati warned.

Krishna smiled, as he observed his sister take a piece of cloth, dip it in the reddle and go over the lamp in linear motion. He repeated the same thing. He painted all the broken pieces and wondered how could it hold oil and where could he place the wick.

Swati’s lot looked finished with paint beautifully put over it. Krishna looked at it in awe, and wondered, if he could carry one back too!

“Can we take and light those lamps?”, Krishna asked, pointing to the lamps Swati just finished.

“They are not ours, Krishna. So no! We can’t!”, Swati replied tranquilly.

“Didi, then can we light these lamps for Diwali, at our house?”, he asked Swati as he showed her the one he painted.

“These are broken, Krishna, how can you light them?”, Swati asked.

“Hmm”, Krishna wondered.

After wrapping up the work for the day, Swati collected her daily wage and left for her evening school along with her brother. Satisfied, she heaved a sigh of contentment, and smiled as both of them capered their way towards school.

“Krishna, why did you bring all the broken lamp pieces with you? What’s the use?”, Swati asked.

“I painted them, so I kept them with me”, Krishna said.

“You did a very good job. If you quietly help me like this, you needn't sit away every day. I hate punishing you. You can sit with me, and I will teach you how to make lamps and pots”, Swati suggested.

“That’s a nice idea. But I don’t like this!”, Krishna whined.

“What?”, Swati asked.

“You make lamps; you put them in the kiln, and then paint them too. Why can’t we take 5 or 6 or 7 out of the 100 you make in a day?”, Krishna asked.

“That’s not the right thing to do, Krishna. We should pay if we want to take them”, she answered.

“Then would we have to pay and buy lamps for Diwali?”, Krishna asked.

“Yes. I will ask Kishorilal Uncle to give us at a cheaper rate”, Swati reassured Krishna.

“Don’t bother, Didi”, Krishna replied. “I have an idea”.

“What idea?”, Swati asked.

Krishna simply smiled. “Tell me”, she insisted.

“Later!”, he dodged.

“Please Krishna. No trouble, No mischief ok?”, Swati probed.

Krishna laughed his way to the school, as Swati chased him.

***

As Diwali came, all the lamps got sold, and the demand increased. The cost increased too. Swati hesitated in asking for lamps at a cheaper rate. Wondering how to explain it to Krishna, she started framing alibis. While she was preparing answers, she heard Krishna’s voice.

“Look Didi. We have a brighter Diwali than most people”, Krishna called his sister out and showed her his array of broken lamps with pieces of mirror placed in it.

“Wow”, Swati exclaimed as her eyes twinkled, with the reflection of the streetlight from the mirror.

“This is brighter than the oil and wick, Krishna. You are brilliant!”, Swati praised him.

“See, I told you I had an idea, Didn’t I?” Krishna felt proud.

“Of course you did. Let baba come and see, he’ll be very happy!”, Swati said.

The new moon, somewhere in the dark sky, wished to be a part of this bright Diwali in the house of Krishna and Swati.

***

Bangalore Woes

As I sat in the auto rickshaw, waiting for the traffic to shift, I saw a rich man inside a classy SUV throw a paper cup out of the window, as the passersby looked on. Long hours in traffic do that to you, I thought. I wanted to go and howl at the man, but I was worried what if the traffic moved. The autowallah forbade me to do it. I kept sitting, looking at my watch every now and then.

It had been 3 hours, and I hadn't moved even 20 kms. People in smaller cities with less conveniences, manage to cover 90 km in 3 hours. And here, I, in a city like Bangalore, was stuck in the traffic, staring out, looking at faces, and wondering what must be their story!

This write-up could be a mockery, or an angry rant, but I thought, there is no point in complaining. Things are not going to change! So I thought, let this be a plea, instead, to all those who dream of leaving the tier 2 cities and coming to bigger cities like Bangalore with a dream of making it big!

Believe me, it's only an illusion!

What is so good about Bangalore anyway? The weather? Yes! IT WAS! Not anymore. 9 ams are hotter than ever before even in October. Still, coffee talks are mostly about what a beautiful and wonderful city Bangalore was, and now what has it become. Everyone feels it, knows it, but no one is doing anything about it! Complacency!  Or perhaps nothing can be done about it.

The AC cars, and AC offices make up for the harsh weather. So, at the end of the day, there is nothing much to complain. But ask those who have seen Bangalore grow from only Malleswaram to a Whitefield, Electronic city and Hebbal, now!

Some also blame it on the North Indians, for coming here and making it so hot! As if!

...And the roads! Barely, two huge trucks can pass. Even on main roads, which apparently connect the city to the IT parks. If one vehicle happens to break down, and stop the traffic, then you have a perpetual limbo and you are stuck. You want to reach somewhere, but you can't.

Living near the techpark has its own difficulties. What if a couple have workplaces in two different ends of the city? Where do they stay?

I also feel very sorry for people who drive to work all alone, in their posh cars. Effectively 1 car, 1 person occupies the space of 5 people. Did we never know what carpool as a concept meant? The local transport is one of the strengths of Bangalore. Perhaps the only! But people don't use it. Or maybe they do, but that is overcrowded too and it's a pain to commute long distances hanging and standing in the bus.

Then what is the solution? Metros? Well. They made that too. Phase 1. And that connects the most minimally used areas of the city. People take a metro ride for fun. There are hardly any workplaces in the areas where the metro is operational. Phase 2 is in progress, but who knows after how many generations will that materialize?

Water, Electricity! I don't even want to start writing on these topics. I have stayed in Central India, and Nagpur's temperatures cross 45 degrees in summer, and we have never faced a power cut of more than 2 hours! And in Bangalore it's 4-6 hours a day!

I did not even bother to find out what's going on. I know the Government is lousy. The state blames it on the center, the center blames it on the opposition and the opposition blames it on the state. And it's a vicious circle.

Why do I even elect such people I feel.

Perhaps, it’s entirely my fault. Not just mine; it's the fault of all the people who vote! And bring such incapable individuals to power. 

I have lived in Bangalore for over 3 years now, and my tryst with loving-hating and then loving this place has been an on and off affair. But this time, the feeling of dislike is kind of stagnating! I hope it doesn't deteriorate further.

My daily 15 min commute to work has been all that has kept me going. And people ask me what are your weekend plans! Boss, I'd rather stay home than spend 3 hours in a cab and reach to a place to hang out and then take a cab again struggle through the traffic and go back home!

I don't mind the tags.. Sloppiness.. I do!

Dissecting - My Choice...

There we go! :) Any good thing and we are ready to retaliate tagging it under the unnecessary tags of useless feminism tactics! Let me do a reverse engineering. Consider the men of India! Forget women.. Please! Women are not important here. Let’s concentrate on men! Now line by line.. Concentrate!

My body, my mind, my choice

No one has a problem with a man who has unkempt looks, shabby clothes. The mind of men is respected more, than that of women. Has been so, always. The decision maker of the house – man. The one who gives permission to the women of the house – man. The one who controls the finances – man. The one who uses his mind – the man! Their mind, their choice!

How do you look at a woman with hair on her arms, face and legs, wearing short clothes and walking openly on the street?

To wear the clothes I like; even if my spirit roams naked

He wears whatever he likes. Irrespective of his chicken legs, irrespective of how clearly his underwear appears from the shorts, they roam around displaying their attitude. Because they have nothing to hide. They can roam without t-shirts, because the season demands. They can sleep naked, because it’s comfortable! It’s their choice.

How do you look at women who wear bikinis on the beach?

My choice; to be a size 0 or a size 15

A man can be 100kgs and still demand a slim fair bride. A man can eat and drink beer merrily to aid his paunch. His choice!

Would you marry a fat woman?

They don’t have a size for my spirit, and never will
To use cotton and silk to trap my soul is to believe that you can halt the expansion of the universe
Or capture sunlight in the palm of your hand
Your mind is caged, let it free
My body is not
Let it be
My choice

Little boys have their thoughts caged. They have the same fears and same doubts as girls do. But they are told that they are super humans. They are given an extra piece of chocolate an extra glass of milk. And even if it can’t be their choice, it is. Most of the times! How many of us tell our little girls that she can fly an aeroplane, or become a police officer or become a superwoman? Why do we give them Barbie dolls and kitchen sets to play with?

To marry, or not to marry

If am man remains unmarried, he is a sanyasi. A man having a bunch of girlfriends has a great social life! He is ideal. He is earning. He is living independently. His choice!

Would you stop questioning a woman who is 40 and not married? Could it be true that she is not a whore or an escort either?

To have sex before marriage, to have sex out of marriage, or to not have sex
My choice

Sex is just a natural need for men. Women can't have that. Like masturbation is boring after a certain age, it is essential to have sex. They do or do not. There is no judgment. It’s their choice!
Isn't sex a natural, physical need of women too? What’s wrong if they have sex before or after marriage?

To love temporarily, or to lust forever

My choice

Men may lust. And it is termed as love. Men may love, and may never lust. It is certainly their choice.

Why is a woman expected to mix the concepts of love and lust. Why is it assumed that if she loves a man, she will readily sleep with him?

To love a man, or a woman, or both
Remember; you are my choice, I’m not your privilege

A man can love one woman. Two. Three at a time. A man has spoiled many lives loving the mother wife and sister at the same time.

Why are women expected to love just her man and her kids and no one else?
What’s wrong, if a man loves a man. What’s wrong if a woman loves a woman?
It’s certainly every human’s choice!

The bindi on my forehead, the ring on my finger, adding your surname to mine, they’re all ornaments and can be replaced
My love for you cannot, so treasure that

Why does a relationship need to be in bondage? Or why does it need a validation. Are bindi, rings or mangalsutras sign of happy marriage? Love is. Happiness is.

Where is love?

My choice; to come home when I want
Don’t be upset if I come home at 4am
Don’t be fooled if I come home at 6pm,

Men can come late from work. They can have busy schedules. And they are considered to be working hard for the family. What would you think if a woman comes late? Is she necessarily partying. Even if she is, what is wrong?

My choice; to have your baby or not

Why do men pressurize women for sex, without precaution. And insist on abortion, if they are unable to manage the responsibility. Why is sex for pleasure for men and not for women?

Why can't a woman decide that she doesn't want to have the baby?

To pick you from 7 billion choices or not
So don’t get cocky

Why do men expect that they will get any girl? Why is there so much ego?

My pleasure might be your pain
My songs, your noise
My order, your anarchy
Your sins, my virtues
My choices are like my fingerprints
They make me unique
I am the tree of the forest
I am the snowflake not the snowfall
You are the snowflake
Wake up
Get out of the shit storm
I choose to empathize
Or to be indifferent
I choose to be different

And so the woman decides to empathize. She accepts you the way you are, dear men.

And all she tells you is… She is as powerful as the universe. Vast. Nothing can bind her. And she has the right to choose. She has the right.. And she can. But she slows down for you. Walks a little behind so that you can lead, but give her a chance to fly too! Because she has that power. And how far can that be contained?

I am the universe
Infinite in every direction
This is my choice

 After years of confinement, if women want to make a choice, what is wrong? Wouldn't you do the same?

When there are women who are trying to break free, take decisions for themselves, trying to live a life that any human has the right to live, why is she considered to be a rebel? A feminist, wrongly so? Why is she tagged as someone who is taking the men down?

Nowhere, is she trying to demean the men in her life. She is only expressing what she wants.. How she wants to soar, break free, live, and feel.
Just like every human has the right to breathe, so does she.
In the perfect world, there is no right and no wrong!

We respect the men who empower these women. Without them, they wouldn't be able to make these choices!
I support this initiative. It's my choice. If you don't I respect yours! 

***

Kudos to Deepika for such a powerful voice over. Piku promotion or not.. you are always great, girl!