I might Have Left

Bloody bickering
Banned Voices
Turning On high
Turning Inside Out
Stoic
Figured My Lost Way
Recede
Taken Away
I Might Have Left
Before you come and stay
I might Have Left
Before You Come And Stay
Gloom
Without Your Voice
Left Hollow Words
Vice
Deceitful Deceiver
Ugly Face
Hollow Rings
Time A Waste
Unpardonable Sins
Chastity Doubles Up
Calls Cold
Pest Eating Away
Rotting smells blooming and gay
I might Have Left
Before You Come And Stay
Links
Broken connections Communications
Interactions
Prejudiced Palpitations
Notice how my broken words
Struggle and Fade
Waiting Turning to Ghost
Hoping For A Ray
I might Have Left
Before You Come And Stay
Unhindered attention
Beauty Body Booty
Fondled and Rekindled Fires
Warm Bodies
Desperate Liars
Feeding Fire
Locked Emotions
Painful Compositions
Soot, Soot Building away
I might Have Left
Before You Come And Stay

We Survived

Wobbling, I fall down

Stuttering, Unclear, my mistakes profound

What a mess, a pile of flaws

Trying to match the nature's laws

Highlighted, standing in spotlight

Brought forth my life's plight

Wary of true self, I hide

With the lion's skin on, I stay disguised

Like You, I masquerade

The world and you and I play facade

But, You know the face beneath this veil

The vulnerable wounds of fear if I fail

You, my dear, know the fragility of my flesh and bones

And you know the twists in my wavering tones

My head housing perforated thoughts

You know which are true and what is farce

Stay back and stop, don't speculate and say

Weak in your conviction, and your tears are a bait

Without knowing the right from wrong

You don't realize what you say

You turn my day to gloom,

And leave my nights doomed

Knowing all about my fears

My chest open, laid bare

Your arrow draws through the skin

Words pierce punishing my sins

Avowed, I ask for amnesty

Defeated I say, "Set me free!"

You are at fault as am I

Withered in time, we both have lied

Either we slaughter each other undignified

Or live through the troughs and say "We Survived!"

When Clothes Decide Our Morality, Society Is Way Beyond Repair

Describing the conservative and unsavoury mind-set of the society, somebody rightfully quoted that a girl’s character is judged by the length of the clothes she is wearing. At the age when figures in our exam scores should have been more important that than those signifying our ripening puberty, there were people who decided what type of clothes looked morally appropriate on us. 

My mother replaced my single pieces and frocks with jeans and tops. My grandmother told me to sit like a girl and speak like a girl in contrast to the customary shouting that was the preferred way of communication in my family. 

All the men could roam around bare-chested in a precipitating 42 degrees temperature. Whereas, women wouldn’t go out without concealing their feminine with an extra protection of a dupatta or a veil. Thankfully, in our parts of the city nobody wore a burqa in that metal-melting heat though, I rarely felt that offered any protection from the piercing gazes of lust and immorality.

It happened recently that I was flying from my hometown to the city where I work. An elderly couple approached to occupy the seats beside me in the plane. Since the lady had some medical issues in her knees they wanted me to sit in the window seat, so that she could sit in aisle seat and stretch her legs towards the aisle when needed. The older man sat next to me in the middle seat.

We had a small conversation, where he told that he was from Leh, his son was an IITian and he owned a famous restaurant in Kargil. He offered me his contact details and invited me to visit his hotel in case I was traveling to that part of the country and promised a discount. He asked me a lot of questions during the flight, which I didn’t find intruding because I lied most of the times.

I prefer not to disclose my identity while traveling. Our not-so-small conversation involved him asking me questions about my studies, my dad’s profession, and telling about his wife’s knee operation and some vague things. When we were about to reach our destination, he told me something that I regret hearing and not responding to.

His words were, “I will tell you one thing. You should wear clothes with full sleeves. Till here.” And he pointed towards his wrist. I remember propping an immediate ‘why’ in response with a smile and an urge to question his beliefs more than his words.

The reply he gave was— “because, it is too sunny, and sun isn’t good for the skin. “. There was no doubt the plane had a roof, and no sunlight came from the window to burn my skin. To his statement he added that he was a father figure to me and that I should listen.

I was gobsmacked. That was sudden and struck me, initiating a mix of emotions and anger dominated all of them. Instead, I controlled myself, responded with an ‘hmmm’ and continued reading my book, though I could hardly concentrate.

My thoughts when back to my school days when wearing short skirts to schools was a habit wherein students had their fun, which teachers wanted them to shun. Morning assembles for praying to the almighty in unison was conducted with the purpose to filter out students who were uniform defaulters. Sometimes, a student with a raised collar, an unpolished shoe, a missing tie and even missing shorts below the skirt was looked upon with wrath.

In one such incident, I remember, my bilingual French teacher made an announcement for girls to stay back after the assembly. When the boys left the prayer arena, all the girls were asked to come closer and form a circle around Ms Jayshree.

We huddled towards the centre encircling our teacher, but maintaining some distance from the about-to-be-epicentre. When we were close enough so that no one from the surrounding floors dropping an ear over our conversation could catch even a word out of it, she finally spoke in a normal but stern tone.

“Those of you who are not wearing shorts under their skirts, please step forward.”

Since I knew this was going to happen considering my bad luck that I skipped the daily routine of the new addition to our uniform, I pretended I couldn’t hear her at first.

“What is she saying?” I asked a friend standing beside me.

“She is asking if we are wearing shorts, if not we have to step forward. Thankfully, I am wearing it today. Else… ” my friend gave a known look that meant trouble straight ahead.

Else what? I thought, was she going to take us to the principal telling him that we is not wearing shorts underneath our skirts? Or will she call my mom and complain to her about it. Will mom still understand that it was too hot to wear so much clothing?

Ms Jayshree repeated her words, only this time she was a little loud.

“Just step forward otherwise I would have to check myself who is wearing shorts and who is not.”

I didn’t know if she was actually going to do it. Images of Ms Jayshree lifting my skirt in front of everyone to check the white color of my shorts flashed before me. That can’t happen!

“Ma’am, I am not wearing shorts.” I stepped forward with a bag of honesty and an axe of dare to hit my own feet.

She got a step closer to me. But, I was sure the other girls would have thanked me for stepping forward and saving them from the wrath of the ‘Volcano God’ who would only stop unless someone’s life was offered as a reward.

She stood a good one feet over me and stared at me before blowing away. “Why didn’t you wear shorts? Do you think your skirt should fly and boys should see what’s there underneath?”

She shouted right over my face, and believe me the closed group meeting we had was no longer a secret conversation, because the corridors reverberated with her voice. Her kohl smeared eyes moved left and right in its sockets staring me individually in each eye, as if I had done the crime of my life and had to be banished from the school. I could only mumble. The tears in my eyes approved her of my guilt, while I regretted coming forth and accepting my mistake in front of so many girls around me.

Remembering my past experience urged me to retaliate. The words that I prepared in response were—if my father doesn’t have a problem with cut sleeves who was he to question! 

I noticed his wife covered head to toe, which again was driving me to ask him to apply his principals to himself and his family.

I was infuriated. However, I didn’t not respond, which was intuitive because he was an elderly person and I maintained a respectable distance between us. Secondly, I knew my response would disturb the peace of my journey and his ripened age and withering mind may have lost the ability to understand things. I chose to keep mum.

It seems holding on to the anger does more harm than good. Sometimes, I still think it should have flowed out of me there and then. I should have retaliated, but I didn’t. I should have questioned because it bothers me to think why I didn’t.

May be even Ms Jayshree would have reconsidered or felt apologetic had I approached her personally saying that the way she dealt with double-protecting our nether parts wasn’t appropriate. But, I doubt if she even had the maturity to understand that.

A girl in typical Indian family is grown up differently, where she is taught to speak less and soft, be diligent, benevolent and the kindest version of her race. This could be one of the reasons why women who are victimized never raise their voices or stand up for themselves. The roots seem to lie in the difference in the upbringing of boys and girls in our society. While it is alright for boys to shout or talk aloud, people shush girls for being too loud in their voice and approach. What kept me low and mum was my own self. May be the story wouldn’t have ended the same way for me or for any other unfortunate female to suffer their company in future, had I drawn the line.  

As for Ms Jayshree, she was probably pacified when our school uniforms changed from skirts to pants during a malaria outbreak.

Image Source

9 Peculiar People You Find When You Hit The Gym

A gym offers more than just space where you can come to work on your body. Only because of the kind of people we get to see at the gym, it becomes even more interesting place--to observe others and getting either inspired or entertained.

You will find these 7 kinds of people in every fitness center, no matter in which part of India you are.

1. The Hero

So, there will be this guy in gunjees, who would enter the gym, check his looks, hairstyle or biceps in the mirror just next to where a girl is exercising. Then, without a warm up, he would straightaway head to the other section to lift heavy weights.

2. The One Who Is In Labor

Not really, but the kind of sounds this guy makes while lifting weight seems as if he is being told to push a baby out of his..ahem.period. We know it takes effort and willpower to lift those 17-kilogram dumbbells, but these people utter a cry as if getting stabbed from the back.
Thump! The weight is thrown on the ground after a cry signifying the completion of set. These guys surely contribute to the noise pollution inside a gym.

3. The Girl Who Comes To Watch TV

She is cycling or on a cross-trainer but her eyes are fixated on the TV screen on the wall. Bollywood numbers, scarcely clad women lifting weights and muscular men with embellished 6 packs-abs keep her eyes glued to the screen. Her workout is taken care of by her body, which on an autopilot mode while pedaling.

4. The Stalker

He checks out the girls, keeping one eye on the lady trainer and the other on his own biceps. Seriously, he isn't there to workout. His Tinder account is inaccessible so he is hitting the gym these days.

5. The Lipstick Chick

This girls ramp-walks on the treadmill, chews a bubble gum and comes with a dark shade of lipstick spread across her pouted lips. She even has a 24 hour, anti-sweat kajal, eyeliner or mascara that her sweat fails to smudge whatsoever.

6. The Talkative Aunty

This aunty comes on and off to the gym with an intention to shed some kilograms of discomfort or because her neighbor also goes gyms. She catches hold of people and starts a conversation with anyone who has taken a break in between the sets. She will probably talk about herself and in between do your background check.

7. The Dedicated Body Builder

He is coming to the gym with a purpose--either to enhance his muscle power like everyone around or to lose weight. He wears the same gym clothes almost daily, doesn't give a shit about what is happening and continues to train himself silently.

8. The One Who Gets On Weighing Machine After Every Exercise

Honestly, this is more common in girls as compared to the other guys--though even they indulge in it regularly. After every exercise, they head to the weighing machine to check whether today's diet and the last set of crunches shifted the needle to the left.

9. The Trainer

How can we forget the kind of trainers in the gym? Those who practice lifting the weight themselves before allowing you the opportunity to get trained. These self-obsessed trainers then coax others, "Chal ab tu kar."

Do you have any other characters in mind? Did you find any of these in your gym? Comment and share your funny experiences at the gym.

PC:http://www.viralspell.com

The Mirage Of A Mirror

Mirrors have been such an intriguing creation by humankind.

• It empowers you when you lift up your clothes to feed yourself the beauty of your own body. It discourages you when you closely look at the acne that has cropped up unexpectedly on your face.

• It makes you smirk when you watch your taut nerves peeking out of your muscular built. It catches you as you notice the first few strands of gray hair in the sideburns.

Mirrors deceive us into thinking we are the most beautiful, the most handsome, the curviest, most muscular, most decent, charismatic, cherubic, capable of being different. . . . . and unique.

Mirrors even make us feel vulnerable. 

We look at ourselves searching for our own objectionable features, unpleasant flab of fat and cellulite, undesirable marks on our body, the off-putting complexion of our skin, thin and slender frames, signs of aging—graying hair and wrinkles and bags under the eyes.

At a moment that reflects back a version of who we are—good, bad, ugly—all of us is captured by such a preposterous piece of brittle object.

                                                    The Mirror

A powerful and highly underrated masterpiece subjected to mere glances and quick thoughts.

• The mirror is where an orator hides his fears. 

• It is where a dancer shuns her bad posture. 

• A baby derives joy watching themselves smile.

• A model engulfs fear and emanates confidence watching her own stunning image.

An animal apes itself in a mirror, discovers the secret and moves on, but we humans remain transfixed by watching our own self in various avatars. 

We come back, again and again, every morning, every visit to the bathroom, to the dressing table, to the salon—we come back to test ourselves for perfection and offer ourselves a piece of self admiration, at times, criticism.

We are as fragile as the object that creates a reflection of our selves. 

We aren’t really what we see in the mirror—we are much more at different times, doing different things. Beauty portrays in a good deed—giving, offering, taking, receiving, sacrificing—when we are unaware of our image.

By simply hanging on the wall, in a frame—mirrors take away the control from ourselves, giving us either frustration or satisfaction. Such is the power of this tool. 

Is it really true that an inanimate object cause so much more than a stir?

Wake up and look at yourself. Penetrate into your own eyes and shush your caustic mind. 

Don't blame the mirror.

Image Source:https://studiojoslizen.wordpress.com/tag/mirror/

Time Is Up

How subtle is this time

It relieves itself

Every hours every minute every second

From the burdens of past

I hear it say that the minute minutes are not long

Jumping between numbers

Testing human patience from point to point

A tick-tock of delay

And it hears you whine

In between spaces

It fills the sheer void

It knows no stopping

Yanks the moment to start, to end

Effortlessly

It deceives its followers

Into thinking there is more of time

Pulls down the curtains

Gently, reminds all

Time Is Up

A Wild Rainy Night

The previous day, when the rains took the earth by surprise, I found myself walking alone in the streets at 10 O’clock in the night, partially protected by my old and debilitated umbrella .

A good friend of mine was leaving the city so we planned to meet before he left for home. After bidding him a goodbye, I walked my way back to my abode, which was a good 1-kilometer walk. The winds were fierce, and the streets were being swept away with dried leaves, twigs and dust. The gaudy restaurants on either side of the road were being shut down in haste. Some ice-cream parlours still kept their business running with couples pleasuring themselves with late night deserts. Small cigarette shops glowed in their tiny spots waiting for the legitimately addicted customers.

I walked down, road after road. Few drops of water poked on my skin, however, I refused to open my umbrella. The rain took over me and left me with no choice—I finally gave in. Battling the winds, I inclined my umbrella against the slanting rains.

Crossing a two-way road, I reached near the divider to go the other side. The endless stream of headlights bothered me more than the downpour—I waited to cross the road for nearly 10 minutes. Cars and cars vomiting out from one side of the road spoiled the beauty of the wild rainy night—but the weather raged back despising humanity.

I seized the opportunity and made a dash to the other side of the road—my umbrella, trying its best to keep the rain away followed me lazily. I turned towards an empty street—and believe me when I say the scene looked enchanting! 

The mystic sodium lamps gave the heavy rains and the wet roads a tint of orange—the colour of fire, yet it soothed my eyes to see the rainfall I could hear the music in the pitter-patter, the rustling of the winds and the solitude in the darkness of the night. There was not a human around—the only one I saw was a man struggling with his mechanical bike that had refrained from starting. A car flashed its artificial light spoiling the atmosphere for a minute or two. Following the street, I entered the lane from where the building that offered me shelter didn’t stand much far.

The lightening roared announcing of its power and traveled miles across the sky cutting the clouds, bringing the night to life. I looked up and felt the rain falling from high up in heavens gently touch my face. The Ashoka trees, which I had never before noticed standing on the sides of the road, swayed like tall giants, dancing and closing in on the dark sea of sky. The view was dangerously beautiful. I was frightened—not by the rains or the wilderness, but by the vastness of the world around me and the power of nature—which I thought I should be. I removed the curtain of plastic sheet protecting me from the purest form of water and drenched myself with the eternal bliss. Nature’s gift so easily available, yet missed by all.

I reached home and had some hot milk with oats. Soon, my blanket welcomed me in its warmth and I fell asleep to the most peaceful sleep I got in days.

P.S – Well, things didn’t happen as perfectly as in a fairy tale. After reaching home, I enjoyed the downpour once again on the terrace, had a cup of milk, of course, watching the rain. My sleep betrayed me because I checked in on my facebook, whatsApp and, then, youtube. When I finally closed my eyes, I realized I had caught a cold.

Live, Don't Just Survive

Another day comes to end

Resting under the fall of the night in a world

Where I and you pretend

We take off our masks and breathe

Seek refuge from the toil of the time

Into the merry of dreams, hearing

Passive voices from worlds that live underneath

Speak to us of time and life

That we think exist in units of seconds and hours

Are a mere mirage—a mist in the labyrinth of life

We walk aimlessly through the maze

Human, what do you think yesterday offered you?

And what will tomorrow bring?

Will you spend that the same way too?

Count, count your time, not on beads or clocks

But, moments of learning, listening, living.

Chant not just the hymns, believe and discover

The spirit in fire, the magic in rocks

Power within you goes waste

Clinging to the world of fame and haste

Speak to the trees, they say a story

Human, you were born naked, you will die the same

Seize a chance until the breath remains

Create stories from the pond of your life

Disperse like seeds and grow to inspire

And if you are lucky, you will hear the earth speak

Of secrets of the Universe that hide in her womb

And you will know this isn’t even real

But, the words will go with you to your tomb

Throw your mask off with the first light

Don’t be that moth stuck to the bright

Climb out of your coffins, you are buried alive

Learn to live rather just survive

Out Of The Box

Image source

Within the box of the world

I speak up the truth

Deduced from a million shreds of my mind

That which went through the circle

And came back learning and seeking something

New, raw and appealing.

Hit by the afterthoughts,

Buffeted by the obligations of world

Forced frozen perceptions

Blinded by the clichés

I follow, you follow, every day

Building my dynamite, locked in the head

Closing the eyes and trying to forget

My visions and dreams burgeoning

Left alone with weak tendrils

Visitors in and out of the box

Whisper strange things—hold and lift you up the ground

Then, let you lose to go down, you drown

In the quicksand of their company

Pictures hung on your wall

Sing a perfect short story

Bygone days, they repeat with repent

Of those who came in and, then, left the box
I strive for life beside them
In the perpetual playground
Blindly following the sun and the moon
The box opens to new, yet, I am nowhere

The morning came as the sun rose again

But, who stayed through the night paved their own way
Repeating the journey, I assure you will too
Next time, traveling in a different land
Shut not the box close
Climb out and breathe

The Conversations

CALL 1

“You didn’t wish me today”, Vidhu exclaimed.

“Ya! Happy Tuesday!” Vishal replied.

“Ya! Same to you!” she retorted back.

“I don’t believe in all this Valentine’s Day and stuff. Plus we have our own day. This day is not needed.”

“I know, even I don’t, but I am not asking for gifts or flowers. I just want you to wish or say you love me.”

“That I say daily, what difference will it make?”

Nothing, but I still wanted you to wish me once. I called you so many times in the morning but you didn’t pick up.”

“I was sleeping. I picked up the call to say so”

“And, then you didn’t wake up until 4pm? That was when your call came”

“I woke up but I slept again”

“Great. That is why I didn’t pick-up your calls and not because I was busy.”

“Oh! So you wanted to do ‘a-tit-for-tat’?”

“Yes! You can’t even say a few words of love. Not even a bit of romance left in you.”

“I told you I don’t believe in this day.”

“Ok. At least wish me now”

“Happy Tuesday!”

“Same to you.”

“You voice is not clear. Could you be louder?”

“I said bye”

“What? Bye? But Why?”

“You can’t hear me. Can you?”

“I will call you later, ok. Can’t hear you properly”

“Bye”

Call Ends

Text Message Sent To Vishal

“I missed you so much. I wanted to hear a few words of affection. I know I hear them every day and it shouldn’t matter be it today or tomorrow. But, was expecting something.. just a few words of love maybe.”

CALL 2

“Hey Hi Vidhu. How are you?”

“I am good Nitish. What about you?”

“I am great. Hey, quickly tell me. Which is your favourite colour?”

“What? What are you getting? No! I don’t want anything. Please.”

“Tell you favourite colour, I am in a hurry. Quick, quick.”

“Hey what are you getting? Please don’t. I really don’t want anything.”

“Tell me the colour fast”

“Purple”

“Don’t worry. Got to go. Bye”

“Ok”

Call Ends

Let's Go Love

Let's meet today

In the heavens of land

That is no more

Stoned in sand

Let's pick up the waves

Over the water bodies of time

And create ripples in the wind

Through the sounds of windchime

Let's fly through the clouds

And play with the milky way

Let's us plunge into the sky of stars

And go that far away

Let's meet in the dreamland 

Where we always hold hands 

And behold each other

Where we don't think what happened

And what might happen further

IC: Vimal's painting, sketches and photography