This n That

I have about three blogs brewing in the 'draft' format - one of which had great going - till I overdid the discussion of the theme of it - It would definitely see the light of the virtual day - presumably soon. But for now, I thought I'd break the block and do something with the energies that are draining down in the daily grind.

Most writers, non-writers who think they are writers and everyone in between these two categories have one thing in common and that happens to be the writer's block. I was quiet sporadic with my entries lately, and I conveniently blamed it on the infamous 'block' - till I realized that the said block could actually be imaginary. I don't seem to have a talker's block (ask my BFF) or an eater's block (look at my size) and I pondered - why would I have a writer's block? And then came the revelation and the much needed violent push to start blogging again, lest all the ponders disappeared into the same vacuum they come from (which happens to be the grey matter, of course)

I had numerous lofty things crossing my mind - from what I rethought about Malcom Gladwell's writings, the psychology of forgiving and forgetting (though not in the same order) and Dogs. Yes, dogs. I did realize that I have a lot common with them, though I secretly hope I had the restraint of Leo, the white lab (my friend's pet) who looks more like a white steed and has a monk's control over his senses. Just the other day, he walked past a freshly baked tray of goodies, placed in his sniffing distance, as if they were non existent. Amusing and amazing at the same time huh??

In the meanwhile, life zoomed past into the third month of Twenty Fifteen and is gingerly stepping into the fourth as we speak. The New year saw many things, pretty and powerful ones happening. The ones  where bored and over privileged folks  fussed and judged, sulked and pouted about the most trivial of things - and the more morbid happenings like young and perfectly healthy folks passing on. The contrast of these tribulations always startles me while acting as a gentle reminder that one needs to prioritize complaints, pouts, whines and fusses. Life is too short to be little and that is probably the most ground breaking discovery made so far.

Spring is a brutal thing. Looks like a dream when I gaze at it from this side of the window pane and feels like a nightmare once I step out. It gets so intense that the canine traits I said I posses tweak into perfect peak and I smell outdoors on the kid, the husband, their laundry, bikes and even shoes. I live with it, both the beauty and the burden - hoping summer rolls in sooner - and then, I'll complain about the heat wave, dehydration and the AC bills - talk about irony! - Didn't I just say we have to prioritize complaints? Well - look at mine as taking artistic liberties. One has to write about something when one has to write. So please discount the rants :-)

Parenting - something that I do and see others around me doing. I'd always second guessed my skills as a parent and then do some analysis into the styles of the ones around me. Sometimes I nod in agreement, sometimes I chuckle - as everything pretty much is right from the perspective it comes from - so how do we know what is right or wrong? Live and learn I guess! And hope that we come out with minimum regrets.

And then probably, the most unthought of all happenings - weaning off of the social networking. I had major fun while I was at it, but like all good things, it had to come to an end. The end probably came into being when I force shut my account on account of 'lack of time' during my stay in India, where I had real networking and real tasks in front of me. It took every ounce of my restraint to get over the itch of wanting to get back - but once it was resisted, it was resisted. I spent a majority of my FB buffer time reading and then on Quora absorbing all I could about the subject called Human Psychology - that is probably where I realized my psyche resembled the canine species more than the homo sapience. (Grin)

Jokes apart - there isn't anything like a writer's block - so the next time I cite it as a reason to have kept away from blogging, I'll make sure the imaginary lie detector beeps loud and clear so as to drown my pseudo excuses. And totally off topic, I did get a subscription to The New Yorker again - and boy do I love that magazine.

I should be getting back soon - and should be hoping that I did more blogging and less barking - Seriously!

:-)

The chronicles of Feminism

I am not a very proud person in general. Yes, I have body image issues, confidence issues, socializing issues and a whole lot of other stuff that I better leave out mentioning. I try to accept compliments gracefully, but just in case I don't look or seem very ecstatic about receiving them, it has more to do with genuine self doubt than any false modesty. That being said, I am very proud of one thing though - and that thing has to do about being a woman.

The term "feminist' lingered in my ear shot since my childhood days, but my first brush with intense feminism was when I discovered the writings of a prominent Telugu language writer Chalam. He glorified the female existence for me and did so with passionate empathy for the women in the world. The first time I read his works, they were kind of cryptic, almost alien to my then secure, well bred and protected teen self. I never gave a closer look to why women were different or treated differently, or why male children were prized over females in almost all cultures I was aware of. And then came the day when I spoke with a friend of mine to adopt a puppy. I was supposed to pick it up from a common friend of his. "It is a female" He emphasized, "and the only one left back in the litter. Are you sure you want a female puppy?" - That, my friends - was the most absurd question I had heard in my life.

Mily came in with her female bits in tow - I didn't care much about the gender, but it did kind of leave a subconscious mark on my seventeen year old self - "Are even male animals preferred over female ones?" The answer was a resounding yes! - Yes we lived in a man's world. Yes, the girl kids were taught to be modestly dressed, taught to come home after 6 pm and keep their family's good name and integrity intact. And yes, boy dogs take the cake (grin)

In the meanwhile, the 90s Bollywood churned out many chick flicks, heavily inspired form Mills and Boons and other romance plots and glorified the ' Alpha male, Playboy ' type pseudo heroic characters that were played by impossibly cute leading men. It was pretty evident to me by that time, that men had it their way - they had their cakes and ate their significant others' all the same. They did all they hocus pocus with numerous female admirers that threw themselves at the hero's feet, and in the end - get reformed to win over the most chaste, pure and innocent ice maiden of a female lead.

Fast forward to the internet age and the social media hangouts, I saw a whole new shade of 'Feminism'. There are heated discussions, short films, viral videos, blog posts, forum chats, personal views and the whole nine yards of how a certain woman describes herself as a 'Feminist'. Don't get me wrong - I don't have anything against calling myself one (remember? I told I am unmistakably proud of being a woman, not withstanding my hesitation to put labels on myself or to align myself  too closely with any deep rooted schools of thought,(only because I feel like 'put in a box' when I put myself under a 'title')  Well, isn't calling oneself a democrat, feminist, animal activist, green crusader or a Buddhist have to do more with what we do than what we say?? - That is exactly where my ponder is heading - in the direction where all the armchair feminists of my day and time are leading me to.

Exhibit number one is a smart woman, an achiever in her own right. Pretty, talented and what appeared to me as 'sensible and sensitive'. She scores extra brownie points for using the term 'feminist' as a self proclamation. As much as I shudder at labeling myself, I do have a strange admiration for the ones who are confident enough to put headers to their personalities. So, this feminist in question got pregnant with her first child a few years ago - in a casual social gathering, long before the gender of the unborn was or could be determined, she addressed it as 'him' - not once but several times in her conversation. Curious friends enquired if she knew. "I am so aggressive and alpha from the inside that I know I am carrying a male" came the quick and confident answer. Amusingly enough, she did pop out the much prized and desired 'male' that matched her inner fire. But mind you, she endlessly talks about adopting underprivileged and abandoned female children while wishing her second born is aligned to her 'inner alpha whatever'. She does, however, wish that her sister in law has only a female child - which will get her SIL's 'ways' into check - what ever those are supposed to be, or how ever they are suppose to get in check (Grin)

Exhibit number two has a very creative personality. She muses in excess feminist banter, illustrating her  fierce female energy in numerous breathtaking ways - It all unfolds in front of you in perfect harmony, till the topic of discussion halts at her family. Her MIL is nothing short of a witch, and her SIL is a female dog (Is this why my well meaning friend warned me against adopting one? I wonder) and more often than not, you wouldn't have met either of these women in your life to make your informed, personal judgement. After excruciating moments of enduring her verbal atrocities for these unassuming women and arranging your facial expressions akin to needing an enema, you would have to politely excuse yourself citing bladder issues and an impending visit to the women's restroom OR you'll be buried alive in that yapping reeking of insecurities and pseudo superiority.

The third kind is a crusader against people wanting or wishing for a male child. She spitefully condemns all male births in the neighborhood, though it is in the earshot of her 'associates' - she liberally quotes the skewed gender ratio in the northern parts of India and articulately explains why none of the animal species look in between the legs of their off springs to determine their gender. All well so far - Oh yeah, she celebrates birth of female children born to all and sundry - excepting her own. Sadly, she takes great pride in producing a male heir to her family and somewhat regrets not meeting her own expectations the second time around. In this very conversation - she mentions how her daughter would grow up a self sufficient woman, making sure to have a quote unquote italicized, highlighted, underscored "Son" before hitting her thirties - and honestly, I am tired of grinning already! :-)

Then there are these many intelligent women, whose grey matter, ways of expression, vastness of knowledge, well read and well bred upbringing baffles me to no end. (And I swear, I mean no sarcasm)  - they do however, painstakingly and relentlessly put down each other in more public and publicized ways than one. They whine and pout, rant and sulk about each others' talents, popularity and even dress sense, often slotting one another in condescending and crude terms that might shudder the average cussing male. I wonder why us women are so wound up supporting or appreciating each others' pluses, or even about giving and receiving compliments. I wonder if it is fed to us from the cradle - like you know how they say charity begins at home?? - Snow white had a plotting, murderous step mom - and Cinderella didn't do any better - she had not one but two - two step sisters that hated and plotted against her with a vengeance. Sadly, these were women - and the ones who were supposed to support and nurture the said protagonists - drives home the point quiet loud and clear - the point that the judge of our middle school "Women's world" essay competition - (who was a male, nonetheless) put out so confidently that none of us cared to ponder upon in our write ups - "That woman is a woman's biggest enemy"  -  decades after that resonating point was made, it still echoes in my eardrums, loud and clear.

I am kind of sad, and a bit tired of all this drama - this hypocrisy, this 'not wanting to grant a leave to your domestic help while she has a painful period' while one gets on the soap box and lectures about woman's rights or this 'I don't want to make coffee for my hubby, while I stay home and nap as he works to feed that LV bag or that cashmere scarf habit' attitude. I am not even scratching the surface of how career women put down stay at home moms are vice versa. That is a totally different can of worms - like I said, it is a bit of fatigue at this point.

I never call myself a Brahmin to emphasize my choice of vegetarianism or a Hindu to proclaim  my awe for the Mahabharata or Ramayana. I am neither a blogger nor a writer though I rave and rhyme and no, I wasn't the school pupil leader despite being appointed one, nor a room mom, despite pitching a tent and volunteering in my kid's classroom. I am neither a democrat nor a republican. Labels put me into a box. Confine my free spirit. That is perhaps why I never was ambitious enough to require a working title.


I sure am a Feminist though :-)

Good to be back

In more ways than one. First things first, there is something about being Home..it could be the messiest, dingiest place, but nothing beats the comfort of being in 'your' place. It is akin to being in your body., as in being alive:) my travels took me far and wide, to hills and valleys, to snow and scrotching sun..they were wonderful, surreal, soul stirring...but coming back home to your bed and kitchen has an incomparable charm. 

On that note, this blog post has a significance. The nomad life comes to a halt gently, transitioning into my comfort zone. A new year unfolds just in time, bringing in new promise, new lease of life and dreams and unheard, utold vows of being more regular with the jotting down of thoughts that linger. 'Why not make the much overdue restart!?', the mind ponders, and  the fingers work in harmony with the grey cells. 

And then, the winters of the west coast! A perfect yin and yang of crisp air, filled with the precarious smell of foliage waiting to burst out of the branches on the numerous trees..air so sharp, that it tickles and tingles, pierces and pokes the many invisible pores of the epedermis.  Bright sun fails in outdoing the winds but adds to the ambience nevertheless.  Bare stems stand still, tricking the eye into believing they are gone! But spring springs back, in full vigor. The sinuses protest but the senses devour the sight from a safe distance - filtering through the window panes, open blinds and sheer curtains. 

Lost in a wonderland, the little girl that lives inside reaches the footsteps of 'Home sweet home' did I hear her voice ripple in sensual echo "There is no place like home" :-)

Ponder

It had been well over a couple of weeks since I blogged last. I was experiencing withdrawal symptoms. My head was filled with random ponders, threatening to burst. I have a confession to make. Life here is very complex - or complicated! Nothing like it is back home. You have help for practically everything - someone drives you around, someone cooks your meals, some one cleans after you and some one else presses your clothes - Ironically, you have no time. Ironically, it complicates your life. For me, personally, this 'help at all pauses you take' makes me busy in a very silly and absurd way. I lose track of my time. I lose the momentum - the feeling of 'being in control' and as a result get busy doing everything else except what I am supposed to be doing - and that includes blogging. I am yet to put a finger on the reasons behind my being 'busy' - but I swear my day zooms past like a commercial break punctuating a television program. I probably sleep walk - should consciously check on that ;-)

I'll get back. To the ponder that is. I connected with an acquaintance of mine yesterday - A woman of two beautiful children. A woman who is steadily becoming a good friend. A petit frail lady who passes off as few years younger than her age. She sports perfectly straight hair that falls bountifully around her shoulders and carries a tote bag on her slender arms. She talks in mouthfuls, smiling as she speaks, raising her thick set of brows, nodding in amusement at the most mundane of details I relate to her as she comes to pick up her kids from the art class. One looks at her life and sees harmony, perfection and perfect order. One wouldn't in the least suspect anything wrong with her life. She is a cancer survivor! After our family's own tryst with the 'elephant in the room', I saw her opening up more, sharing all her fears, battles, triumphs and wisdom with me while we cope with my Mother in Law's journey to recovery. I listen to her - imagining myself at her feet, taking notes about life and the battles it throws us into - the crap that happens, sometimes in moderation, sometimes in heaps and heaps - but is it not the courage and grace we sport during our worst times that unveils our true selves?

Challenges makes us or break us. Life is not fair. It is very easy to be fragile, cry and howl, complain, crib, whine and hold everyone and everything that crosses our path as the reason behind our turmoil. In our cares, we often manifest into miserable creatures, liberally splashing all that misery on everyone we come in contact with. It takes substance, integrity and character - like the one this brave and wise woman sports, to face our downfalls and fears with grace and poise. Just yesterday this woman said  "A person who understands others' feelings is a great human" - I paused, examined the sentiment and smiled my brightest. In a world where 'others' is quickly becoming obsolete, I found  this exemplary woman, who, in her own complications, is still strong enough to look out for others.

I feel blessed twice, to have crossed paths with my friend, and to be a part of the family my Mother in Law hails from. Everyone in the household - that includes women in their prime with perfect health, (and of course, that includes me) had so far complained about back aches, head aches, upset stomachs, lack of sleep, PMS, boredom, lack of time, lack of rest and a gazillion other cares that I can't really list out - but the woman in her sixties, battling a life altering disease, sit there with an iron clad smile that doesn't budge from her lips. She doesn't even complain about the weather. I, every once in a while, pause and reconsider if my complaining about lack of sleep because the 'street dogs had a field day in the middle of the night' qualifies as a complaint to begin with. I freeze in this moment, in awe and wonder for all those lofty souls that endure through  thick and thin with utmost integrity, gratitude, grace and love. And I do hope, I evolve into a better person just because I am fortunate enough to know, observe and interact with these heroes and fighters.

Escapade

Once in a while, when one gets relatively lucky, one spots a sight on the busy road, like the one I spotted very recently. One might wonder what the said 'sight' is - if it is Shahrukh Khan zooming past a Harley davidson and waving back at me, or Narendra Modi doing a Namaste rallying on an open top vehicle. It was neither a mirage nor a miracle..it was, of all the things, the brightest green hued Chameleon in the whole entire world  and perhaps the most adventerous, laid back daredevil his species had produced. He had, I assume, woken up from a well rested sleep and decided to face his fears! And  behold the way he did that. He formed a slowly crawling, unmistakable smear on the road, his color was probably the saving grace that shielded him from ruthlessly unruly traffic, announcing his presence ahead of time. How else would one explain his crossing the divider and getting to the side  my vehicle was cutting through? We slowed down and please believe me when I say that I could see an expression on his face, an obvious pride and a gait that seemed to challenge the passers by.  He was not scurrying, nor was his frightened. His four limbs moved with the symmetry and precision of a robot making me wonder if he had built in special effects that animated his movements. His rigid tail curled into a tight coil at the tip and he emulated Michael Jackson doing his slow motion walk in Billie Jean video. I looked back, cranked and creaked my perpetually sprained neck muscle and tried to trace him till the end of the road, until he reduced to a speck and disappeared into the narrowing road, saying a quick prayer and hoping he'd succesfully complete his odyssey to the other end of the road.

He was just a glorified critter so to speak but the punch he packed in his courageous adventure and the shield of fearlessness that his brought along left a bright spot in my just unfolding day, a spot as green, as positive and as unmistakable as the color of his skin :-)

The white hysteria.

I did ponder upon the 'fairness' obsession of Indians a time too many, but it suddenly seems to have manifested into a white obsession that had seeped into almost every aspect of people's routine - from whiter toilet bowls to whiter shirts, sarees, suits, arm pits, bikini lines, teeth, baby soaps and the whole entire nine yards! Just the other day, when I was catching an old regional classic on TV, after a lifetime of a break, the whiteness mania jumped out of the screen, and to keep the metaphor strong enough - spat on my face and strangled my neck to suffocation.  Yes, it was insult plus injury all rolled into one, dipped into the bleach of 'collective regression' of the Indian janta and splashed all over me, its figurative pungence suffocating my brain cells to premature death! 

I gathered pieces of my scarred and shattered self to look back and ponder - not that it is going to help the 'operation white wash' in anyway - but just to purge out a little bit of that poison that was force ingested in the process of an innocent attempt to watch an old movie, walk down the childhood lane and revive some memories. The first shoker came disguised in a movie star and crickter riding an open top jeep, while the former mocks the latter about spending too much time on the pitch and getting all dark and unhappening. Then, a magical potion comes to rescue and adds the much needed glitz and glamor to the cricketer's face, and the young women of my country, being the white watchers they are, clamour after him. It was a message delivered profoundly, loudly, clearly and strongly that no matter your skill in the game or the grit in your challenges, your life is as bright as your skin tone, and nope - it is not just the women who need to be fair anymore, to get a good groom or job or just a plain old good life. We seem to have caught up on that part of gender equality. Even males need to be 'fair'! Fair enogh! Isn't it?

There was a time in the golden era of telivision when a bright white clad Lalithaji lectured the nation about the many virtues of 'Surf' detergent powder that made her win both court trials and kitty party arguments with the same aplomb. Now I see numerous manifestations of her in both genders, ages and  sizes. A whiter outfit has the potential to win you anything from jobs, contracts, romantic dates, powerful positions, leadership opportunities and even customers and clients. The same goes with smiles polished with one of those many toothpaste formulas. They make your teeth glow in the dark like florescent strips and bring the other guy's girl running to your side.  But in practical application neither the powders or the pastes add any kind of brightness to our school uniforms or molars. If there were any sort of stringent laws about false and emotional bait advertising, I am pretty sure a good number of those businesses would be sued by now.

What do these ads do to you and me apart from putting our worth and intellect down based on the shade of our skin, clothes or teeth? They induce a collective 'white' complex in all our brains - my fourteen year old nephew who is this quintessential tall dark and handsome young man with the trade mark South Indian skin tone and saucer eye balls was subjected to several brutal analyses of his 'dark' skin during his recent trip to India, even by kids his age and by family members. The American bred young  man had a disgusted look for our tribe all along. I could'nt for once, tell him the glories of our land or the virtues, cause we as a nation, didn'nt seem to have looked beyond the color of his epedermis.

Like I said, it won't change much..but my insides seem a little cleansed from all the white dirt that had piled up. I'll go back to scrubbing the kid's white uniform and cussing Ariel detergent for its underperformance - and pray that a jaded school shirt might not take away the chance of being the class monitor from my unassumingly innocent eight year old who might still not understand how her getting 'tan' after coming to India, had become a conversation starter and burning issue in the whole entire neighborhood :-) 

Here's to a fairer world and fitter screws! Screws of the brains, that is ;-)

Melodious Meanings

On a slight diversion from the ponder I intend to indulge into, I have to  admit that getting off of Facebook left a void in my routine and filled up, and did so amazingliy, some other craters that appeared in my days over a period of time. I see folks reaching out to me through the other happening app on the block. On one such 'reaching out' sessions with a friend back home that loves and misses me badly, who in return is loved and missed by me badly, sent me a link to her favorite song. Now, what are the chances that I click on links and videos sent by my friends? At a risk, I admit - few to none! Blame it on my laze, or just the short attention-span I seemed to have developed to the overload of 'shared' stuff on FB, It does take a nudge of the brutal kind from the senders to make me sit through the loading and assimilation of such shares. Last night, when I promptly clicked on the link and  unmuted my smart phone..I was greeted with the audio visual of a very articulate singer crooning a  well orchestrated number with expressions that suggested he was devoring some sort of elixir. As hard as it was to keep my brain concentrate on a song that made as much sense to me as the graffiti written in the Greek alphabet on the concretes of the narrow streets of Athens, I felt fumes of that melody making my insides stir in an unsure joy! Had it been a video of the song, I'd have contextually guessed, with the help of those lyrics,  what the words woven into those lucid notes on ranom instruments were trying to convey to me. I was done listening to it and paused for a long moment to experience the after taste of the composition only to be greeted with a blankness that startled me.

Here's my friend who nudged me the nudge that it takes to make me listen to it, claiming it makes her insides joyous, and here's me feeling slightly awkward to admit it to myself that the song did'nt speak to me. Just when I keyed in telling her that the melody  was superb and I wished  I knew what the lyrics meant, my hubby, who was unintentionally eavesdropping on the music asked me replay it exclaiming that it sounds amazing. While the husband in question didn't understand the lyric any more than I did for the same exact reason I mentioned above, he seemed to have heard the unconveyed message or it could just be that he is a better candidate to appreciate the universal language of melody. Thus, the ponderer pondered over the obvious. Am I a lesser mortal that was destined to not get the unknown but universal language of music that makes the babies, birds,beasts and even the flora and fauna respond and rejoice in its melody? How shameful, how shallow? But then it struck me, the obvious destiny that I was supposed to be meeting..the destiny of loving and living in words. To me, perhaps, it becomes very essential to understand in that many words, the meaning that breathes life into melody. It could be an obvious lack of connecting to the notes or a recklessness that refuses to make an effort to delve into those sounds, but no matter how many times I heard the song,  the desired effect eluded me with a vengeance.

And then I picked up, to test run, the requested gift for the approaching birthday - noise cancelling headphones by Bose - and played the smooth voice of Mr.Nigam lending vocals for an impossibly chiseled  Mr.Roshan. Those magical words set to a tune, whispered into my ear, almost making me imagine a set of lips sending those sound waves directly onto my eardrums and my every cell dances respondingto the   power of  language. And thus I realize, as much as I love music, the key to my joy is vested in words.

The power to stir my soul lies in the strings of familiar sounds, the sounds that translate feelings of anguish, love, helplessness, disappointment, longing, fears, gloom, joy and tears into something palpable. My world seems to be built on them, bit by bit culminating into a whole, unfolding the mystery of the universe and beyond.  As much as my feet tap and hands sway to the seven notes, my soul refuses to budge but to the power of the millions of meanings that emerge in carefully placed patterns of the alphabet. To me, nothing beats the power of words. Those words serve as an index, as a connection, as a reflection and a translation of everything that lies between the earth and space..including Music and melody - and how rediscovered I feel just wording this ponder! :)

Reflection

These selfish bits..

They seek what they don't share,

Love they want..but do they care?

Lost in an indulgence

Of what they are denied

They bask in the glory of inflated pride.

Their blessings galore

Wash away in tears of want

They fight mighty wars, to get what they can't!

While all that is, lies heaped in a pile

It is neither counted, nor accounted -

For it is not worthwhile!

The trained sight looks diligently

Flaws it spots

Slotting itself into the poor havenots!

Yin and yang, these allies throw

Right in the face,

Just go with the flow!

Count the blessings,

Say a humble thanks!

Look away from the gaping blanks.

Peccadilloes, these turns and twists -

Our downfalls blur in the halos 

We imagine, exist!

This world ain't perfect,

It can never ever be..

And this world includes

You and me :-)

Verse

It is a flight..
Although of stairs,
It still is a flight..
Launching into space!
Those careful steps
Ascending the terrace
Leaping into the divine grace!
Life shrinks when placed below
Under  the blanket of  stars aglow!
Where do these airs of existence escape?
When the soul shuns the mortal remains?
Perhaps into this vast nothingness..
Lost like a twinkle in the Sun's blaze!
These little plights, these petty fights
What are they, but flecks of dust!
Under this celestial arbor
Things fall in the right place,
Live n love , shun malice.
This flight of stairs..
This flight into the air..
Bliss unfold..saga retold!
Lift the head and  intently gaze!
Bask in the cool of  that starry haze.

Transition

Behold, the intoxication

Of being in your company!

Abundance of exuberance

Shining in your splendor!

Beautiful faces, bountyful freshness -

A vigor that can capture the world!

Tangled heartbeats,

Lustily grazing wet skins,

Akin to love? These bountiful hormones.

The universe blurs in the background -

With thruths and realities.

Rosy lens you are -

Showcasing a mirage.

Flip by, day by day..

Slipping into finelines

Of fate and the face

Unfolding the ultimate verity!

Rising emotions, overflowing sensations,

All settle down -

The blurred background comes into focus..

Once you transition into the depths of life!

Oh youth - pretty and naive -

You are something else!

Reselience

Life happens, not like it is expected to,
It serves bloody blows for me and you!
The next turn would have been
The dream come true -
But the twists we encounter
Detours to challenges anew.
Thorns sink in the skin -
Roses we desire!
Was that a happy grin
Set to fire?
Seek to smile, joyly dance-
Circumstances snatch the chance.
Dreams knock down
Like domino blocks.
The doors to bliss
Appear with locks -
But wait a blink,
Be positive when you think,
As clouds they say, have silver linings!
Poke through hurdles
Armed with smiles-
Then journey unfolds
Of joyful miles.
Those hits you endure
Of  bricks and stones-
They break the bones,
But hold in the moans!
Gather them together,
Prepare your ground,
Build your abode
In a strong rebound!
Rope in the guts,
Life does get hard -
To meet with those cares,
Hardy soul prepares - 
And sprouts fresh foliage
Of grit and dares!


(Inspired by the click above by a dear friend)