Anaahat

Thank You It is an overwhelming feeling. To be able to see my writing in these pages here. To experience that others read and find something that touches their lives. And so I want to express my gratitude. With thanksgiving around the corner, it is an apt time to thank. I thank the universe for continually inspiring me. For throwing me in situations that make me think. For all the soul-churning experiences that have made me, me. That make me want to write. To explore my limits through these limitless possibilities of words and punctuation. I thank you, dear reader. For the occasions that you land on this page. With all the sadness these writings hold, you sometimes read, you sometimes comment. And leave me encouraging words. I thank all people in my life that make me experience life as I do. Writing is a solitary activity. What I write comes just from within. After days of churning my insides with the thoughts and ideas. There are days when I do not want to speak at all. The ...

There have been days, moments spent in anticipation to know this feeling of seeing you see me of a growing sense of self conjuring up as you look at me. And now that i have you. at an arm's distance, with wondrous eyes searching mine i do not know what to do. There are days, moments spent in abandon, when romance is just being with you, knowing you are present, when in spite of myself, and my idea of my feminine freedom, i feel i belong here, with you, to you. Then there are days, when you still look at me, with those searching, probing eyes, and when you see me more than i ever thought myself to be, when you take my hand, willing time to slow down, when you fill my spaces when there was no yesterday, no tomorrow, and the spiritual space of now, exists right now only with you. There are still other times when i doubt you exist, when i think that the fairy tales and folk t...

There is a buzz of the vehicles There is a buzz of televissions some barks some loud voices some alarm clocks, a little rain falling on the trees, swoosh of the tyres

The voice that soothes. Melodious without any melody. with sadness, depth, the silent restraint it holds, taints a curious shade to the evening. Gulzar is crooning on the CD. His voice, a deep melody, reading Ghalib's letters. While Jagjit Singh sings. My most admired artists romancing the words by Mirza Ghalib. As I listen, give in, a melancholy sadness settles as the evening progresses into the night. Oblivious to the everyday sounds drifting into the room. To the cell phone that beeps in apparent emergency. To the life eating away at my cells. I am only of these voices being carried away, with a wanton abandon as the soft light floods my room, the cold tiles under my feet, the warm food tucked away. into a world of stories. where it promises to take me. Then a sadness settles over me. As dust settles on an object after a year of being untouched.

One thought, one irrational act, one memory or one word from the wrong file of fact, and the castle of peace, of silence, of mana, threatens to collapse. An apparition you see, of debris near your feet, the bricks and mortar of the castle you built, for a silenced mind, and an enlightened soul.

Recently, I was miffed when someone accused me of sending out wrong signals, and thereby for being responsible for my public perceptions. The information was uncalled for. I never asked for any opinion, and hence should be hearing one. However, I was informed. And I was miffed. So much so that it sort of spoiled the beginning of my day. Then, I got thinking. He was right. I did send wrong signals. Not consciously, but sub-consciously. I like the ambiguity. I like the anonymous. It irks me if someone reads me. And that’s the reason I was miffed at that someone. Because he indeed read something from something so very small. Then I thought some more. That the reason I like the ambiguity, is because that gives me room. Room to change, room to alter my boundaries, room to redefine myself. That is the ultimate goal of survival I guess. To change. To expand, to sustain things which one has never imagined. Perhaps this is a glorified version of my thoughts. And the non-glorified is that ...

Is it necessary that you have something to say when you write? Can you write just utter nonsense - catching the words in your fingers as they erupt in your mind? Just like that. Leaving the critique on your shoulder. Locked in the bathroom. Locked away. With ear phones in your ears to block out all the noise. So that all you hear is your own. Not the audible one. But the one which sees, hears and notes down things in everyday life to re-visit once you want to say something. Say something. Anything. Don’t look at the white of the screen or of the paper. Just let your fingers run with a life of their own. Let them be the only cord connecting your heart with words. Say everything. What you didn’t want to say. What you never will say. What you will work on, to get rid of. Say everything. All those days of pain. All those days of laughter. And the momentary life of all those things. Say how stupid you have been. Say how you will work on that longing, until it washes away. Until o...

He tries my patience so, Vomitting fire all the time, I have to say no, I think. I have to give it back to him. Bile rises in my throat Threatening to spill out But I cannot be like him Pathetic Irrational like him So, I calm my nerves I try to tell myself, I am not him, and I cannot be like him I think of my gods Of a serene place to erase the screams. But I cannot but wonder, I have become like the women I help I tell them stand up, for the self, not take any shit from any man's manliness I tell them not to suffer I tell them to take hold of their lives But here I am trying hard to think of a serene place, to erase the screams.

To take flight To walk away, Take the next bus to Wherever. Disentagled, From bonds Of tie ups, Of unsatisfied relationships Of wants And heartaches Just free. Free me From this cycle Which binds To people To souls. From a forever From the breath Of peace Of longings and desires, Just, Free me.