This Is Not A Cry For Help

Since the lone wolf has been glamourized beyond realistic boundaries, I thought I’d bring to light what it really is like to be alone and lonely.   It isn’t being a sharp-mo…

Source: This Is Not A Cry For Help

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Carcass.

The solitary car drives into the humble
moon, slipping past humanity;
Not a single lives shines in
the headlights, on its way
to the impending doom.
Winds’ a whisper crawls
across, the lengthening
shadows all around;
eerie silence, like a
blanket. 3 hearts
beating as loud
as drums, the
tires acting
like bread
crumbs
in the
mud
that
will
set,

For the police to recover the bodies, three months later,
all bones and flies over the molten flesh,
hollowed sockets, stinking rot, skulls shattered,
they were not bodies, they were carcass, they were a mess.

Anecdotes: Stories From My Family #1

Today, I am going to relate to you all an incident that happened with my great-grandfather back in 1900s’ – I am not very certain on the date- but which had brought to me tears of laughter when I first heard it, and many times since, from my grandfather, his thirteenth and the last child.

History

My family, the Varmas’ were a quite rich and influential family in Badaun, a district town in Uttar Pradesh, back when the English still ruled over India, and were head by the reticent, respected and renowned barrister Shri Vasdeva Sahay Varma, who lived with his wife and a huge family. Overall, there were thirteen children, out of which only six survived, and who are now reduced to two, my grandfather and his immediately elder brother. Apart from that, there were many servants, many families of relatives, and it is said that the house once was the home of over fifty people.

My great-grandfather (referred to as GG from now on) was a very reserved man and liked to keep to him. My grandfather, Dr. Hari Krishna Varma (G), admits that he rarely ever talked to him; in fact, even topics related to his children’s schooling were dealt through a loyal relative. He was a man way ahead of him time; all of his surviving daughters were educated, and one even did her Masters’ at a time when girls were married in their teenage years. He was extremely intelligent- he had topped his University in Sanskrit, which he had learnt for just three months- and was a superb barrister whose his earnings were voluminous. A man of class, G says for him to have never travelled below a first class in a train, and yet he donated at the local temple every Tuesday.

Physically, he was extremely fat and weighed well above 100 kilos. Normal height, and wide body, I like to imagine him as Father Santa.

The following incident occurred when he was travelling for work on a train.

Incident

It is an incident in a time, when trains were not in ample, and Indians travelling in the first class compartment of the train even more uncommon. Hence, there was no reservation of seat, and once people got on the train, they were supposed to get their tickets from the ticket collector.

One time, my GG was sitting in the train when it came to a stop, and he alighted on the station to get a drink of water. On returning, he found that another man had made himself comfortable on GG’s seat.

The conversation that unfolded was something like this, but in Hindi, I suppose:

GG: *politely informs* Dear sir, I’m afraid you’ll have to vacate the seat. This is my seat and I had just got off for a sip of water.

Man: *in clearly no mood to leave from the seat* Sir, forgive me, but I really don’t see your name imprinted on this seat anywhere. If you’d just point that to me, I’ll vacate immediately.

GG: *surprised* What…? *recovering* Okay, then please forgive me sir but then I’m left with no other option but to sit on you since there is no sign here that says that only one person can be seated on one seat.

Man: WHAT?! *staring at the huge and heavy expanse of my grandfather* I’m… I’m… Sorry, sorry, I’ll leave immediately. *gets up and leave*

Yes, that happened. It happened in real life, and the man had to give up the seat.

Conclusion

My G has traced our family back to five generations and it’s really refreshing when he tells us stories like this. In a time when nuclear families are the norm and one is loses the roots of the family evolution, it is stories like these that keep us bound together in laughter.

G often tells us incidents like these, most of the time, a funny thing that happens at a moment leads us to stories that happened years ago, but are funny even today. It’s a beautiful experience and memory to share.

How’d you like it? I’m thinking of beginning a collection o such incidents together, narrating them as the come to knowledge and mind? Would you be interested?

Hope you liked this one and (hopefully) the others to come too.

Boom!

Blithely, I count the purchases on my hand, and feel a rush of excitement
To prepare food for the party at my father’s retirement.
He doesn’t have a clue, I grin with glee,
He will be so happy, we will all see.
A full roast of pork, and the succulent gravy- Boom, boom!
Something blasts, sending shards of metal and glass across the room
The image of my father’s face burned into my memory
And the thought of how his party will happen at the cemetery.

Promise, I did not want to go to the concert, and I did tell my friends.
They persuaded, knowing little that it would bring our end.
And yet, I proceeded, to make them happy.
Not wanting to abandon my friends and then be crappy.
I called my boyfriend’s cell phone and told him of my plans.
He said he’s sick. He did not know it then,
That we had said our ‘I love you’s, our last time it would be
As one of us would be dead before the nocturnal hour in the city of intimacy.

Please, I don’t wish to go,” I begged with my mother to let me skip,
My school, for once in my life, and of course she flipped.
“No, you must go,” she insisted for I had my religion exam today,
And she had painstakingly listened to Prophet’s sermons yesterday.
“Don’t kill, don’t betray, forgive and always be kind,”
These thoughts are going on in my mind,
As during the test, they barged into the room and opened fire in our school (and hearts),
I wish my mother had listened to me from the start.

Mum said to send her pictures of the sea from the hotel roof,
With myself in it, and the lovely evening; I’d agreed, appearing aloof.
Fulfilling her wishes, I was descending to the lobby
Of the hotel, to visit the Gateway next to the Sea,
When I heard the loud noise just across the hall,
And felt myself collapse of the floor with each one and all.
There is something wrong, I feel palpable in the air,
I lose consciousness as I see my mum call on the local number here.

My new job is in the country that hosted the famous Tomatina, 
The first time I am abroad from my home country of Argentina.
I was enchanted and delighted as I stepped in the commuter train
Not exploring the capital city would’ve rendered my visit, vain.
I glanced left and right and in and out and up and about,
And in my occupation, was unaware and didn’t hear what the others doubted.
Suddenly I saw some panic and some people shouted, something had happened,
I was flung to the floor, something on my leg had me shackled.

The entire world sits tensely, for once in solidarity,
As the cries of the wounded and the killed echoes through the air.
We just sit and take in the live news, in horror and in pity,
We sit in front of our screens and stare.
As a thousand lives are destroyed, and they leave a stain,
That refuses to fade away with time; only darkens again,
when something similar happens and we are all dumbfounded,
paralyzed into action, since we and our loved ones are safe and counted.
Yes, there is fear, and there is rage, and yes there is pain for those whose lives have altered,
forever, and nothing can ever bring them to even remotely normal,
we can all pray for them lives and pray for the world,
and pray for the monsters that we have nurtured.
Or we can take a stand and remember to fight,
against what is wrong, and for the right.
We can raise and voice and we can make a change,
in ourselves by making our humanity resurface again,
In spite of the fear and the doubt, we shall fight
Against our blood, united for once, for the right.

Monsters.

*

Every night, before I sleep,
I hear the sound of the child weep,
I hear melancholy run deep
in the sound from my beneath.

Every night I wish to ease,
it’s pain, for it to be at ease,
But just like my fear fear of monsters beneath,
That don’t allow me to under, peep,
Does it too, have some under the crease?

Every night before I sleep,
I vow to end all its miseries,
By looking under my bed, fear be buried,
But, everyday, I fail spectacularly.

What stops me, the cry in its voice,
or the fear in mine, I have no choice
To help the tormented, I couldn’t start.
Who said anything about monsters under our beds,
when they live in our hearts?

*

(By the way, go follow TWPM at their instagram @theworldpastme for anything and everything.)

Mathematics Fails.

I perceive the thought as it enters my mind
and then quickly brush it away like a mosquito
that I know will return once it has spotted
me, a half-hearted attempt, with clear intentions.
And now, like the mosquito that keeps buzzing
near the ear and then flies away only to buzz near
the enclosed ear of a tortured soul again, the thought
enters my mind when I see my mother’s loose skin
and the father’s pepper hair, and the slow, yet steady,
constantly increasing messiness of the house,
as my mother’s knees give way to the arthritis and
notice the increasing summons of the plumber or
the guard or the electrician to pick out something hidden
in the high shelf as my father’s backache prevents it, and
the reply that I don’t get when I greet ‘good morning’.
my hung-over-sleep voice rarely above a whisper
as they don’t hear and the quivering of my father’s hand
when he signs a cheque and the uncertainty of my
mother’s foot as she places one step after the other.
And I realize that though I may have known them all my life
and though they may have been there for me (physically or mentally)
all my life, I’ll be there for only half of theirs. And then sinks
the grim reality that there is probably only a small fraction of their life left
that they will spend with me, and with the planet, after which
they will cease to exist but in the memory, which will continue to haunt
me till the day I take my last breath on this planet, my entire life.
And yet even in that half life, they do so much for us that even
a hundred thousand lifetimes wouldn’t be able to pay
that back right at them . And I think how in that half life, they can
know us better that we can ever know ourselves.
It’s funny how promptly the rules of mathematics change, where
one will always remain less than half. One half life less than a full.
Slowly, as the mosquito leaves once he has sucked enough,
so does my thought, and as the mosquito leaves behind a  red sore spot,
the thought leaves behind a faint resolution to make the most of
the time that I have left with the two angelic souls that I have
and who I love most deeply and without whom, I shall always be
half.

Real Neat Blog Award

It’s been a long time since I’ve done anything, let alone awards and since I have been absent for a long time now, I think it might be okay to a come back.

Recently (quite back) the blogger from Dear Kitty nominated me for the Real Neat Blogger Award. Yayayay!

Real Neat Blog Award

Anyways, the rules of the award are:

1. Put the award logo on your blog.
2. Answer 7 questions asked by the person who nominated you.
3. Thank the people who nominated you, linking to their blogs.
4. Nominate any number of bloggers you like, linking to their blogs.
5. Let them know you nominated them (by commenting on their blog etc.)

The questions that I have to answer are:

1. Where do most visits to your blog come from? India. My country folks be the best.

2. What is your favorite sport? I’m not a very sporty person, but I would say Basketball or Volleyball.

3. What has been a special moment for you so far in 2015? The entire Kashmir visit was magnificent.

4. What is your favorite quote? I don’t have a favorite. However, the one that is on my mind right now is from a poem, “I am the master of my fate, I’m the captain of my soul”. It is so inspiring.

5. What was your favorite  class when still at school? Eighth, tenth and twelfth have been amazing. 

6. Anything you had wished to have learned earlier? I wish that I’d learnt to stand up and speak for myself and be confident and secure about who I am. 

7. What musical instrument have you tried to play? Piano.

My nominations are:

Ritu
Erika
Anoop
Rob
Kavya
Aaron/Jonathan

My questions to you would be:

  1. Name one habit you dislike in yourself.
  2. Where do you live? Name one thing you like about the place.
  3. How would you rate your cooking? What is the best thing you can cook?
  4. Rate in order of priority, your desired qualities in potential life partner (or already life partner).
  5. Would you rather: spend a night in a place rumored to be haunted or make ghost hunting your profession?

Hope you enjoy this session.

 

Tick Tock

Whenever I wish to read something good, I turn her and read some lines that are my favorites. Inspires me always!
Must read.

Elusive Mummers

IMG_0398
They told me to be scared,
And I believed they had a
Reason, because these were
The men and women who
Had surrounded my being
From when I had first sneaked
A look through my eyes,
My eyes, they saw my skin and
Saw nothing different which
Could hint that I am not worthy
Of the accolades of existence
And I saw the mirror tell me
The same, but you told my
Mind that it isn’t one,
My mind, it believed to be stripped
Of secrets and it asked you to do
The same, but you snatched
Apart the clothes which kept
Me warm, and you exploited my
Noble skin, but you unwittingly
Also made it callous,
My skin, it burned till it drew red
And it hurt, but I was still not afraid
When you told me I deserved it,
Because in my heart I knew I didn’t,
And…

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