Just Because

Just because

forwards are boring. 

Just because

it is nice to know what a person is thinking. 

Just because

I want to write.

Just because 

I want to share. 

Just because

I want you to know. 

Just because

I am happy. 

Just because

I want to put a smile on someone else's face!

Just because

it has been a long time. 

Just because

practice apparently makes perfect!

Just because

it is fun!

Just because

we have only this one life!

Just because

there are so many reasons!

Just because

I don't need any reasons

to tell you that I am fond of you! :)

Bus Rides

I love them.

How there are so many living stories travelling together in seemingly same directions.

I love the pulsating dynamics between people without words being spoken.

I love how i don't feel myself but see myself through another's eyes that are still mine.

I love being watched. I love watching myself.

I love receiving reactions. I love not responding to any reaction.

I love the indifference.

I love how there is solidarity among strangers. A utopia for a fraction of time.

How when a stranger touches me, it creates a plunge in my stomach n then increases my blood flow.

And then i calm down and realise what calm is.

I love to see how people use time. How i do so.

How two strangers talk as if they've known each other for years.

And part as if nothing happened.

The detached attachment.That i want to achieve.

I love meeting people for that short span of time n have some of them etched in my memory for a spectrum of reasons.

I love the colors that go by. In landscapes and on people.

I love the wind. Blowing on everyone.

I love the trees that whoosh by.

And at night they get their two seconds of limelight in the bus headlights,

as each cranes out their branches n then branches back into the darkness.

Symbolic of life. We come,live and go. Like millions of others.

I love watching the distant lights go by.

The various smells.

All telling their own story.

How i can create so many stories on the basis of that one moment.

How it all plays out in my head.

How it all inspires.

How it transpires.

How it makes me perspire.

How i love travel while travelling. 

I love them, i do.

Butterfly

Flitting from one profound collision to next, 

all so effortlessly, 

Should one not falter for a moment

from the impact of the first?

Or is the second concussion

the fumbling attempt to grasp the first one?

This fumbling, faltering and flitting

seems to make life; 

Sometimes oh! so worthwhile. 

And sometimes yet, so chaotic. 

As I try to unscramble the pandemonium each day, 

I chance upon purity and sheer beauty

that can take me from 

chaotic comprehension 

to planes of sublime emotion like

Songs that move me to tears of joy

Amid all this swooshing and crashing.

That is what I want. 

Someone to share all this with. 

That is what I want.

To traverse emotions and thoughts together

through an event or a non-event. 

That is what I want. 

To feel the joy of discovering someone else

who feels as crazily about anything and something. 

That is what I want. 

To feel fear, insecurity, uncertainty, 

and consequently, solidarity.

That is what I want. 

To challenge and stimulate

and have that reciprocated. 

That is what I want. 

To share this chaos in my head

and be in the eye of someone else's tornado. 

That is what I want. 

To be alive with someone. 

That is what I want. 

For someone to want with me!

That is what I want.

To have fleets of kairos.

And flit effortlessly

from one profound collision to the next.


Credit for the Title: Arjun Dutta :) 

The Fake Magic Trick

Amidst all the grief and resentment and anger
I see a smile. On a small face. 
Eyes filled with wonder and amazement. 
And what unspeakable joy that one moment brings.
Makes me forget why i am so unspeakably unhappy
That happy innocent scene etched in my memory forever
Jeegooombaaaaa
Laughter and fake magic tricks 
Know what they taught me?
Happiness and faith in the unknown
Springs pleasant surprises in your way
Aah! the unpleasant ones come along too
But the former make up for it a thousandfold
So always remember that feeling 
When your eyes are closed and
Your hands are open to the unknown
Excitement and fear all entwined within
And you say jeeegooombaaaaaa!
(or abra kadabra or the equivalent!)
Life is a surprise. 
Enjoy it. 
Before someone comes and ruins the trick!

Restless rustles

Rustling under the sheets

Like the restless rustle of leaves at night

My limbs move irritably

One against the other

Manifesting the state of my mind

As memories of you

From yesteryear

And from yesterday

Jarr noisily against each other

Bringing all other thoughts

To a screeching blood curdling halt.

And then,

It all stills.

Stills of you and me

Over and over.

In different places.

Different times.

Different minds.

Slide one after the other.

Like those cheesy shows

Those mundane events gather around.

Caustic as they are,

They seem to me

Such an utter relief

As I break down

Walls of rigmarole

And

Wails of longing

Are let out.

Like eruptions of those dormant magma monsters

Like the proverbial crappy truth that sets you free.

I long for you.

My proverbial crappy truth.

That just doesn't set me free.

I am inevitably chained down.

To conventions. The convenient ones.

Those that you seem to have broken off

In a struggle.

And hiding away, you are,

In your lair

In a universe created by you.

Get your head out

From the opaque clouds it lies in.

And create that galaxy

Down here in the world

Which we creatures struggle with daily

To grasp and live in.

But ignore conveniently.

As we long for bliss.

I long for you.

My bliss.

Shattered. Shredded. Bleeding.

Dried and scabbed permanently.

Come pull it away permanently.

Pull my cowardice away.

Pull my illusions away.

Pull the curtains down, not away.

On this once and for all.

I long for you. To end.

Of me. Of you.

For you. For me.

For us.

I long.

The truth and choice of love

Truth has no meaning by itself. It is only when you believe something to be true that it becomes your truth. Each one of us chooses our own truth according to our own reality or perception of reality.

Choosing. Being able to choose on your own is such heady power. It is freedom but a freedom that always seems to be tied down somewhere to someone and sometimes to the choices we made in the past and also sometimes even to choices we didn't get to make, like the family, place and religion we are born into.

Choosing between entities of non-choice (entities by birth) and a choice you grew to make, like a friend is like asking me to choose between birth and life that is lived. Each has its own place but so intricately and subtly intertwined that you never know when one would affect the other.

The choices I now make are a result of where I was born and how I was brought up (not a time when I had a choice because, even if one is given a choice at that impressionable age, it is always an influenced decision. Not an independent informed decision) and as a result of the experiences (tangible and intangible) I had and how I understood and perceived them.

Love is a choice. It is said to be freedom. I consider it to be freedom when it is "true". It is my religion. But like most religions today, it is warped and misunderstood, even by its followers. and like religion, is left to the interpretation of its followers/subscribers.

But it so often seems to me that the things we claim to do out of love for a person don't come as a choice. Some loves (yes there is more than one and yet none) are just autocratic. They are anaerobic. And some is just fear wrapped in syrup.

Very few instances of love are just free fresh air that you can take in and let out whenever you want. That is a dream. An ideal. A goal. A state of nirvana one would try to achieve and also never be understood for that.

That is the dream I choose to believe. That which is an illusion, a chemical reaction, a mirage, a fallacy to others, I believe to be my truth. And i choose love each day. In its varied forms and colors and emotions. "Each day I choose the truth I believe in."

Dear You, I wish.

Dear You,

I don't know how to say this. Amidst this affection, friendship and joy we've shared, there is this deeper affection in me growing for you.

I don't think you've realised it. If you have, then you are afraid to acknowledge it and negate it because you don't feel the same.

Or I hope you've realised it and you're afraid to acknowledge because you feel the same! How I wish it were that way. It is so intense, even I pretend it does not exist. Only sometimes. Most of the times, it rears its fiery head out all the time.

I wish it were only fear of how to move from friendship to love.
I wish it were the fear of betraying your best friend, so long gone.
I wish it were for fear of telling me.
I wish it were the fear of meeting me again, for the first time.
I wish it were the fear of holding my hand again, for the first time.
I wish it were the fear of saying "I love you". But in a completely different plane.
I wish it were the fear of riding with me again, for the first time.

This started as a creative template for someone else. All in an attempt to distract me. But the more I write, the more I find it is all about you. Rather, for you.

I wish I didn't have the fear of showing you.
I wish I didn't fear telling you.
I wish I didn't fear feeling fully.
I wish I didn't fear uncertainty in this.
I wish I didn't fear losing you.
I wish, shockingly, I didn't fear you. 

Words or Lines

Every word that every one says
Creates lines in my mind
An image. Running like a reel.
One that is slipperier than an eel.
Hard to capture.
But one that is just in my nature.

Words. They are what must be weighed.
They are what I have wielded.
Not knowing their power.
To create. To break. To hurt.
They are what I have used.
To hide. To take shelter behind them. To prevent.
In anonymous ways.

Lines. I lose myself in.
Every stroke. Every dot.
Leaves me waking. Hour after hour.
Creates beauty, even if incomprehensible.
Words, if so, are just words.

Words require thought. Rhythm. A wordrobe.
Lines flow. They require emotion. Inclination.
Both require paper and ink!
Both I have utilised.
To love. To create. To energize.
To express. To justify. To entertain.

Both I need to command and control.
To recall whenever and however.
But more importantly.
I need to command and control
What lies within. The source.
Be it
Words or lines.