My Existence


Once upon a time, when I had not yet began to understand the world, I had this strong faith: I was born to do something extraordinary. I was not born just to exist like just another entity on the Earth.

The faith still holds but the views has changed.

The more I grew, the more messed up it was. All the complexities of the world was beautifully unravelling in front of my eyes. I was lost. I was and still am heading somewhere, I do not know where. All I know is that the journey that I am on, I am thoroughly enjoying it. All the chaos and the frustrations, I am enjoying it all. They are so beautiful that at times this thought quietly slips in my head, “Maybe, the picture at the end does not matter. Maybe, I will know everything in time.”

It was easy to make the statement, “I was born to do something extraordinary”. It was easy to make the statement especially when I was wrapped protectively and snugly in my cocoon. When there were no priorities and responsibilities.

My goal shifted. It shifted to making some kind of beautiful impact around me. Did that make me ordinary?

I began questioning, “Why was the significance of my existence so important?” Was I afraid of not being remembered by people after I die? I do not know.

I still do not have the answer.

It is such a mess inside my head, I am trying to sort them and understand.

This question was raised again in my head when I began to see so many death around me. Two of the dearest people in my life, who left a hole in my heart are constantly missed every day. Sorely.

And only thing running in my head is, “Will I forgot how their laughter sounded like? Will I forget how their smile looked like? Will I forget their smile lines and the way they scrunched their noses. Will I forget how they sounded like?”

The paranoia makes me almost believe that I have forgotten all of it. So, I keep playing the clips from my memories to keep it alive. But mostly, there are many prominent ghostly picture from my childhood that keeps them alive in my memories. But after I die? Will the generation after me care about them?

But the most important of all, when they breathed their last, was all this fuss about existence running in their head?

I do want to be different. I still do want to make it big. Maybe, on the way to here and now, I lost my ambition. I remember the fiery ambition in my own eyes which used to make me feel alive. Now, they are just dark pool of two dots staring back at me, telling different stories that they have seen, which I refuse to hear.

But what would I want when I will be breathing the last few breath of air that my lungs can pump in? I keep wondering, what would make me feel, “Yes I have done it all and I have done it right”?

That is what will define the reason of my existence.

I do not have the answer yet to:
What I want to do?
What I want to be known for?
What matters the most to my dear little heart?

I do not know. Maybe relations? Maybe doing things my way? Maybe not giving in to things the society would want me to give in to?

Maybe, I will be known for having a spine of my own. For standing tall for what I thought was right. For standing firm for what my heart wanted. For letting go when it was right. For being there, just being there.

Maybe, this makes me ordinary.

Maybe not.


Clipped Wing’s Flight

Before I fall in a deep permanent slumber,
Open your eyes wide to the wonders of imagination,
And see what I speak of, to you
With my hand resting over my pounding heart…

What if…
What if I were to turn into a speck of dust,
To tame the ever evolving beast that grows in me?
What if I were meant to merge with millions of other drops,
To douse an insatiable fire burning in the pit of my core?
What if…

What if…
What if I were to disappear in thin air without a whisper,
To preserve the fragments of whatever left goodness as is in me?
What if I slip into an oblivion,
Would I be robbed of my immortality?
What if…

What if…
What if my wings were clipped and I were to taste my first flight,
A little “unprepared” tip off the highest tower,
Tasting the wind with a satisfied smile as I rushed to kiss gravity,
Tell me, would it have strengthened my hold on immortality at all?

What if I ceased to exist after bidding a silent goodbye,
Would you let me go as you let go of the light captured in a jar?
Tell me, would I have made any difference to you at all?

My Temporary Roomy

Her legs are folded sideways, with a file resting on her lap for the lack of board around, she stares at her notes and then furiously starts writing in her notepad. Then looks up at me with a serenity that I did not believe existed when I start any random topic, which would slowly steer towards psychology of a child. That is her passion. Her children. She is selfish enough to make sure she is living her dreams too by taking right step for her children.

Talking to her today, restored my faith in my thoughts. My thoughts are too mature for my age, but then they are my beautiful thoughts. My thoughts that would want to define my life. My thoughts which would define a purpose for my life. My thoughts which give a meaning to what I do. My thoughts which are eventually my actions. My actions have purpose, reason and are not aimless. My actions are beautiful and planned. My actions are patient and is rightly rewarded.

You would say, “What is the point anyways? To anything you would do.” But then hell, why not? Why shouldn’t it mean something? That is why it makes us human in first place. My thoughts are what makes what is me, me in the first place. Why would you want to stop that? Why would you want to tag an idea as “you are worrying too much? If what are you are doing now, is going to be pointless in any and every point of your life, why are you wasting your energy by investing your time in it? Why don’t you walk ahead?

Passion and pleasure. That is it. Passionate in whatever you do and taking enormous amount of pleasure out of it. That is life. A beautiful life. Doing what you love to do. I used to wonder if I should keep my passion apart from my work so that when I turn back to it, it will be like my fun paradise that I would want to visit when I am saturated. Now, I would rather be in my paradise always. I rather love what I do, rather than keep it waiting till I get time to touch it.

Life has a purpose. It has to have a meaning. My birth has a purpose. I am here to do something significant enough to make some impact if not on the whole world, at least a small world around me. But there has tobe an impact, there has to be an difference here, because of me. I want to be a change.

Walking ahead with an aim and a goal is anytime better than wandering aimlessly. Walking aimlessly is like insulting time. Time is very precious and very scarce. Why would you insult it? There is no forever, literally. You may as well simply enjoy it as long as it lasts.

Nothing summarizes what I am trying to say best about time and life than these few lines from a Ghazal:

“Waqkt ki quaid mein, zindagi hai magar
Waqkt ki quaid mein, zindagi hai magar
Chand ghadiyan yehi hai jo azaad hai
Chand ghadiyan yehi hai jo azaad hai
Inko khokar meri, jane jaa
Umr bhar na taraste raho..”

P.S.: You will never read this, but thank you Mamta.
You were the first point of butterfly effect in my day (after a long time) today for the rest of my life.

P.P.S: A very happy new year, my beautiful lovelies 🙂
Small heart bubbles for you 😛
Too cheesy? 😀

That place with Invisible Cameras

It’s there anywhere and everywhere, those cameras.  Those people who watch, who observe your every move: both elegant and embarrassing; who listen to everything you utter sitting behind the wall or as an invisible face behind your table, are lurking around everywhere. They talk, they report, they create an image of you which will be imprinted in their memories forever until they really take time out of their precious life to get to know you  or until you move to a completely new set of place with a minute difference of different brands of cameras.
Where curtsy has to be imbibed into every cell of your body for the survival requirements even if it seems unreal and is repelled by every atom of your body.
Why? To preserve an image. 
Where the definition of you which is forever incomplete has to be masked using a poker face and swallowed in. Where a smile has to be forced out. 
Why? To preserve an image. 
Where you have to prove you are right by manipulating if required when you are on the verge to be proven wrong.  Because the image has to be superior. 
Because it is your image.
All this, only if you really care and obsesses about written off permanently in pages. And if you want to be as great and famous as Shakespeare.
Where you have to do things against your will because you will be judged into a permanent identity of immortality. Because you feel you are being watched.
Because you are being watched, with those invisible cameras.

An Old Friend

“It’s amazing that a man who is dead can talk to people through these pages. As long as this book survives, his ideas live.”
What is surprising is, whatever I’m obsessed about, I read about it somewhere or the other.
When I’m free, I get my answers easy. 🙂