To My Lazy Weaver

    You started me

I feel like a string that has been involuntarily entangled

In the patternless fabric of your memories

Engulfing me

You are that lazy weaver,

Who started a graceful work, but died on me.

Left unfinished shaping me.

    You only knew what you started.

I feel uncared, incomplete, useless, artless.

I tried to build myself

From the leftover work of yours

Tried to mend the broken child in me

From the stage where you abandoned

And took up death as your eternal project.

   I am unfinished, semi manufactured.

Waiting for you to comeback

From the unseen worlds.

To teach me

Teach me how to face this (mean) world.

Teach me how to survive the dark-hearted demons.

Teach me how to be brave.

Teach me how to smile again.

    You started weaving with the finest silk

With the brightest colors

And You left your job and went away to a never returning place

    Unskilled and uncertain, I took up the task

Of weaving myself.

From whatever I can get hold of.

There are lots of missing treads, unfitting patterns, uneven textures in me.

I get confused, weak, worried, and overwhelmed.

But I pause

I Unknit, untangle

Breathe

And I work drawing inspiration from what have you started

And I try again.

How can I ever give up on the abrash creation of yours?

I will never.

The Soul- The Bird- The Tree

Imagine. A phase of life where we are still unformed. We were just uncovered, shapeless souls. And at this stage of life, no differences like shape, size, gender, group, community, class, race, nationality, genus, and species existed because we were still formless. At this phase of life, we had to go through a brave ritual of ‘the choice of becoming’ anything that our hearts wished to.

There was a soul who was going through this phase of life. It was excited about becoming. It was told that this phase is unique because there was one choice and reversing it would be difficult. The soul was excited about the future.

It always wanted to fly. See the world. Travel. Learn about everything around. It shared this with other companions who were in the same stage of life. They wanted to explore. The soul can not be contained. Eventually, it knew that they would choose becoming birds. Because the birds can fly among the clouds. The birds can see the world living its different phases, witness the stories of others, write the stories of their own. The birds cannot be contained and limited. There were lots of directions to explore and every adventure leads to many new beginnings. With this choice, two plus two will not just be four but can be even five. Heartfully excited.

After a few phases of life, this soul found itself turned into a tree just because it could not build up the courage to come out of a few counterweights that held it. Not sure if it was afraid of itself or the world. Or was it just lazy to stand up? Slowly, there were new little excitements thrown at this soul, just enough to make it stay away from its dream, blissfully. And before it knew it was completely rooted, surrounded by expectations of the ground. Planted. It tries to stretch itself towards the sky in the shape of its branches, as a sign of its hidden wish, sometimes. But it is formed now. There is completion in this shape. And because it has ‘become’ the tree, it must fulfill the meaning of its ‘being’ now. It must write in the exam of this world, two plus two is four, while at its heart, it knows that the other thing is possible in some other beautiful world. Or else, it will be categorized as a failure. 

I wish, one day when all the expectations on self from the projected view of expectations of around are fulfilled, this formed-frozen soul remembers that the reversing might be difficult, but it is not impossible.

Struggles

She tried to alienate herself from the incoherent noise around.

The background engine whine, the instructions from the cabin crew, the familiar and unfamilier languages that people spoke around her and the hopeless romantic Bollywood songs played by the passengers all leading to a non rhythemic intolerable annoyance. The piercing and nerve wracking beams of lights that followed from the busy city streets to the packed up flight were like the flashes of her chasing memories that she wants to dim off. She tried to focus but her mind rushes in thousand directions. What ifs filled her and were suffocating her. By now she has become familiar with the unfamiliarity of her current inconsistent personality.

She tried to distract herself from herself.

What's all the point?

Opened a magazine from the seat pocket. It says "secure your future. Smart saving plans". She blurted into a loud laughter that disturbed the middle aged bellied man from his sleep. Future - uncertain and unpredictable future, like an unfaithful lover. 

Eventough the word 'future' meant hope for the world, for her it meant one more irritating journey. Sometimes it brought a promising and exciting idea. But that too was brought to make her realize that she was stupid enough to show interest. It was more like the nature or an invisible hand that played a game with an intention of teaching her to retrieve into hopelessness. She laughed again, this time within her mind, when she saw a curly haired little girl wearing a pink t-shirt quoted with a word "love". "One more girl conditioned to believe in hyperreality created by society to expliot her vulnerability as a means to produce and nurture more humans and commercialise her emotions." , She thought. 

She tried to think positive. But the world has always punished her for her positivity. Her passion for becoming abled was suppressed by thankless jobs. Friends turned to strangers whenever she was financially challenged. She thought of how much she loved to teach or atleast be a part of learning process. She felt magic when she saw the expressions of a teacher and the students during the process of transfer of knowledge and exhcange of ideas. But again it occurred to her mind that how people are commercialising it just to earn money. Classes were more like assembly line. Students never heard the teachers  true voice or thoughts. She recalled how a normal happy day can lead in to a night where she as a school girl experienced death for the first time. She has never seen anyone dying before. This both shocked and amazed her. One death can shatter everyone. It can change the way her classmates and teachers looked at her. Sympathy. She didn't want sympathy. She wanted answers. She wanted to explore the causes beyond her understanding and mitigate the impact beyond her capability. One guys death created a ever increasing high gravity nonescapable vacuum of sadness.

She thought what if there is a lightening struck when her flight is highest. Will she directly go to see her dad. She was told during her faith training in the childhood that when people die they get into deep sleep till there is the day of judgement. She thought that might be good at least she might get some sleep. But what if she doesn't get sleep like everyday. What ifs like over expectations of the society, the exploitation of the thankless bosses at jobs and all the broken promises of her exs haunt her even after death. Faith gives peace of mind she heard. But then she thought of all the voilence people are creating in the name of faith. She has not seen even a single case in the real life to validate the statement except in those relegiously sponsered movies or stories. She tried to validate her theory of reaching her father through her death through other existing lines of faith but that seemed irrational too.

The flight landed. She didn't carry much baggage except the back pack. Her phone rang to end into a curious, excited and concerned call if she landed from her mom. She took the lift and was about to close the door. She noticed a secure smile for her assuring gesters of holding the doors open for an elderly lady with lots of luggage. She went downstairs to find her brother who travelled for hours to pick her up at the late at night. Her phone buzzed with her aunt's texts of how much she was missing her, her best friend's silly forwarded  quote  and her mother's enquiries of her whereabouts. She then noticed how unfamiliar faces turned into familiar old students who were looking at her with full of respect and proud in the bus on her way to her home town. And all this dragged her to feel cared for. Flashes from her work friends who pitching in for her absence and all her rooomies taking care of her in her sickness. She thought of the recent interesting class of her demanding boss on epistemology and research which reinforced passion in her career choice  and her funny friends who are ready to counsel her through laughter therapy in her tough times. Her brother secured the aisle seat that she was sitting in so that she will not fall off in sleep. Her students vacated their seats in the crowded bus to make room for a mother with her child. She strictly told the negativity to take a break and forced her broken heart to try to mend.

VISION OF MY HEART

when i see from my mind everything seem correct.absolutly perfect.the mind says this is what expected from you.This is what you are supposed to do.Everything is already decided.Everything in the universe goes on in a fixed rythm.Preset.Norms.The orbit of earth is fixed.A river must flow.And i must grow.
They would conclude learning,and growing is to mimic the path of all people around.According to them there is a way to talk,a way to stand,a way to smile,a way to think.but if there are pre-set ways then how come new arrives.then how is change possible?then how does the meaning of innovation come?
then i try to follow my heart.
some times there is a proper way already justifid.which can't be amended.Authenic.But they deject from the way.And after certain time the later created way is so ossified that people forget the fixed,pre-set way.
Just take the case of courrouption,dowry system and other...so called evils of society?In our India these are so much embeded in our life style that we have started giving it the status of an unreduced primary.The truth is that many people in the society will kill or die in the name of honour killings,moral policing to follow and be the night templers of the petrified,unnessary customs.
But very few will care to protect the fundamentals of humanity.The fundamentals like truth,honesty,freedom of living,hope,peace.Very few dare to stand for those commandments armed not with vandalism,but rightiousness.And these good peole are silenced.These are the people who face many challenges but still stand up for the cause.Recent death of an RTI activist,Amit Jethwa,has proved this.Jethwa was a prominent "Right to information activist" who filed a pti against the illegal mining in the forest of gir region and was shot dead.
I feel if that the humanity has proved its capability of destruction in organising wars and terror thn why can't it destroy the evil darkness.If this capability is directed towars fighting for the cause of good deeds in a non-voilent way then surely every thing will be according to the rythm of the nature.even the change.That will be like digging and bringing out the dimond of truth and rigtousnes from among the petrified fossils.
Every one has to follow their own heart.But not blindly.One must realise what your heart truly wants.I heard somewhere that god directs us through our heart.When evry individual listens to his true voice of heart,when he realises the truth,then he will really stand up for a good cause.hats off to the activist and other few courageous good people who show a way to us.
-starlet

Thousands of years of conditioning.

The beautiful majestic shikari bird flew far beyond into the deep blue skies. It felt free. It was happy to fly high, enjoying the grasslands. The sky was its limit. When it was hungry, it used to hunt an insect and then carry on its flight, against the wind. It felt good when the winds touched its wings. It had no one to direct and no one to limit as every direction had its own views the world was unlimited. It raced with the other birds and wished them well on their way. It flew east and could see the rivers with fish. It flew south and could see forests with little worms in their trees. It flew west and saw vast green farmlands. No matter how it looked, everywhere and anywhere it went, everyone shared and cared. There was no fear that it would starve and so there was no greed. It needed no options. It was free. It didn’t have to learn how to survive the beautiful wild, it just knew. The whole world was its home.

It was then captured by a hunter. It was made to starve for many days. Its wings were tied, and its legs chained. It wanted to eat, fly and run. One day, he loosened its wings. It was so eager to fly. It shook and rushed towards the sky quickly. But its legs were leashed. It had to come back. It had no choice. This time they untied its legs and put food in front of it. It rushed and ate but had to stay as it could not fly. This was repeated on and on until it forgot what it is to feel the winds in its feathers. This was repeated on and on until it was convinced that there was only one option, and it was to come back to the hunter, in its mind. Years passed, now it hunts, not one organism but many and for someone else sake. 

Jean-Paul Sartre said, “Freedom is what you do with what is given to you”. It thought it needed food and it is its choice to come back. Every other shikari bird it knows comes back. It must hunt- deadlines and commitments. It must breed only with the birds that the hunter chose. Now it flies but just for the sake of hunting for its master. It was tamed and leashed. It was forced to race with other birds, along with other birds and against other birds. On the days it flew in some other direction, it was afraid of not finding its way back. It was repeatedly told that the wild was darkly wild. It was now afraid of getting lost. There were set of rules. It was supposed to follow. It forgot that there is another way too. It was intolerant of different birds who appeared to know where to go on their own. So did other Shikaris held it with their sanctions.

Thousands of years passed, and generations passed in this taming. Now every action is to be linked to a reason and every reasoning, in turn, limited to gain. But no one clearly knows what they want to gain.

Pushing out

Coping....

A soulful whisper to the dessert...

You were once a cold frozen ocean
Rejected what you were,
Moved ahead experimenting
Like a child in the blissful forgetfulness of previous hours' harsh stumble
Let yourself dance to the rhythm of the winds

Also embraced the hot smiling Sun.
Just to get transformed into 'You'.
The entirety. The completeness.
So that I can meet you and appreciate.

Few know their destination
And pass through
Getting lost in your sandy blanketed
Non-directional and endless spread

Almost familiar with the world
But a Stranger to self
Heard tales of Dervesh who wander in your maze
Losing everything but finding themselves

You give me the power to embrace the warmth and Also freeze in the wired-ness of life
Choose to move on like you
Maybe someday I will find completeness like you.

-Starlet

Precursor of non-conformance

What do ‘you’ people call it?”
She asked, in a mocking tone.
And laughed loudly on the disinterested response
She added, “It is said this way and not that way”.


I smiled and then thought-
“Shudh”, Perfect grammatical form
Correcting everyone’s sentences
Sticking on to a majority dominated codified version
Her version, she is somehow associated
Not born in it, but taught, repeatedly trained all through her childhood in the name of schooling

How can someone standardize the heartfelt expressions?
How can someone force fit emotions into a fixed template?
Few people are so frequently oral chastising, making me wonder if they having an OCD.

The purpose of language is to connect
Pick instant appropriate words from the database of the mind and express
Language is now utilized to only serve fancy fallacies
It is now degraded to a mere instrument that confirms how ‘we’ are different from ‘you’
Not any more a simple tool to exchange ideas but a confirmation of supremacy
Judge the dialect one uses as a symbol of the class they belong to

Blinded by style, words, pronunciation and grammar, We are forgetting to connect
What if one does not see language as the majority see?
What if one sees language as it has to be seen?
As a device to express basic ideas in a simple manner
Ripped off all the complications and grandiose


Codification of phraseology is the output of a tribe being stuck to a place
Who are afraid of adventure
Who are insecure to move out and explore
Who have made boundaries and are frozen
What if there is a voyager
Who chose to give away security and familiarity
Who is in a state of forming from each encounter in the journey
Who rejects the effortless way of confirmation and also rejects aimlessly accepting only what is fed
Belonging to the immediate surroundings is the easiest thing that one can do.
It gives a lot of comfort.

But what if one wants to pursue the true identity and not confirm?
Has she ever wondered
What if this codified version of script, her standardized obsession that she adamently imposes on to others, was also the precursor of non-conformance?