Anaahat

We are revisiting lockdown states – empty streets, closed shops, voiceless, noiselessness all around. Last year, in my privileges of being able to be at home, I was enjoying the quietness and simplicity that reminded me of a simple rural 'being' with only necessities and no frivolities. I remember hoping that the world takes notice of how important this is and how it has changed personal lives of so many. I was hoping we find a way to bring these simplicities in our success-driven, fast lives. Definitely, I wasn’t thinking of these waves and more lockdowns to revisit that quietness.  Today, a part of me is tired of this. And another part is realising that there was hardly any time in history when everything was right in the world anyway. Perhaps, there were moments - like a swimmer coming up for breath and then going underwater to swim ahead - there were perhaps just moments. There were always ideas for a better life.  Like a synchronicity, I saw The Trail of Chicago 7 . It

I dont usually do this. But, today I want to stand for my voice. This is one way of doing it.  I have just came back after watching the movie Thappad. I sit here with a well of emotions and thoughts as if the thappad has been to awaken something within me as well.  If I say that I haven't braced for a thappad (physically or emotionally), I would be lying. Every act of witnessing and being weak in the face of violence is equally violent. I have witnessed men physically and/or emotionally abusing women. I have witnessed men treating their wives as their property and expecting them to simply support them.I have seen these perpetrators in all classes, they are simply more accepted in the lower economic class, and are hidden behind a curtain of education and privilege in the other economic groups. I have seen the society at large turning a deaf ear. And, I have also been a party of that pretence.  This thappad has been to see it for what it is, and not buckle up for not having the c

"Anything can happen anytime, it is best to be prepared."  As I read the y oung Rahel and Estha's theorem to live life,  a young me also internalized it as my life theorem.  To the young, this was a good enough method to deal with situations.  Making a bold placard of this, I pasted this on my bedside wall. I glanced at it everyday and  lived analyzing every situation and breaking my head to 'be prepared' for 'anything'. It didn't work. Because in principle, one cannot be 'prepared' for 'anything'. Life threw millions of surprises. At each instance, I scattered in distress trying to figure out how to best deal with the next one.  Eventually, I found shelter in spirituality - something I could hold onto that would not fail, that would not let me down, that would stand steady until the end. I read several theories and books and autobiographies by  wonderful spiritual explorers. Everyone harped on the same thing - the way to l

The journey of self-exploration being difficult, is the least I can say. I was in a similar journey six years ago. So, I know the feeling of some external force taking over my internal house and re-arranging the furniture (that I have so lovingly gathered) inside me. Still, knowing of a similar 'feeling' of a difficult path years ago, is no respite in walking it right now. If anything at all, it just adds to the weariness. When this time arrived in my life six years ago, I resolved to one thing - that I want to live each day happily, and if someone cannot add to that 'happy day' then I don't want to interact with them. I also believed that sharing my viewpoint is important because 'if I change, the world around me changes'. I would have this image that 'I want to be like a room without walls'. But, now I feel sharing is a double-edged sword. If there is no response, it hurts. If there is a response, I am overwhelmed with this weight of spreadi

These , my dreams and dramas my slowly evolving orbit suspended on the skin of time circling a star, priming for light as the dead moon breathes sunlight and the sea licks the shores of imperfection. Grant me these mistakes, these hidden scars, these pools of irises projecting forgotten stories on guarded eyelids. Indulge me this love this paradox of submission forming icicles of unspoken words churning deep waters spewing out garbage and treasures into these scars bending my fingers with the unending lines from my palms. This is my slowing evolving orbit suspended on the fragile skin of time.

Those eyes, a world hidden in them the meaning of existence or merely an acceptance of yours. A look that stirs you, a calling to drop the reigns to look within for what those eyes can see.