Friday, December 30, 2016

Parts of me

Nothing of me is original. I am the combined efforts of everyone I've ever known. My arms and face and body are the only things the world hasn't changed. But the person I am today is a combined workforce of all the people whose lives have touched me. So I ask again, am I really an individual? In a world of millions or even billions. Is anyone an individual? With the multiple galaxies and parallel worlds, with so many somebodies and nobodies, is there an individual? There can be only so many numbers in an infinite. Even though the very essence of it is never-ending nature, there's got to be an end. I mean there's a start for an infinity but not an end? Every action has an opposite and equal reaction. Isn't it? So if there's a start there's got to be an end. So I ponder as to what extend will an infinite number of possibilities will cease to exist even with their special eternal function. 

Is everything I stand for a combined effort of the universe to make me an algorithm of logic and reasoning? I am a numbered individual with parts of many other individuals. Does that make sense? Or is this another effort of the world's social conditioning to confuse till everything turns lopsided. My heads hurts thinking about all these possibilities and conspiracies and efforts taken in my world to come together with the other worlds of the worlds. Do I make sense?

Do I really make sense.
You are too the combined efforts of me as I am of you. I've left little pieces of me in you and you in me. Maybe that's where the concept of treasure maps and hunts are founded. We leave little by little in people and places we never knew we did, as we search through our whole lives trying to be whole. The person who is whole, is someone we call as saviour as he has achieved what we spend our whole lives searching. Is that what God and faith is? A faith we can't question and a god on whose names wars have been fought. Then is there really a point in being whole?

Life is so strange sometimes. It's almost been programmed to be a shit storm and the beauty of the human way is to find beauty in moments that aren't so shitty in a colossal of a shit storm. Maybe that's why it's called a beautiful life.

Now on that note,  slightly dark and somewhat positive, I wish you all a happy new year my dear readers. I started writing this post without a basic plot and let my fingers run wild. So welcome to the chaotic world of the inner workings of a person who likes to write. :))


Tuesday, September 13, 2016


Dear 19-year olds,
So I know for some of you, the world's your oyster. You've got it all figured out. Everything seems to be going okay. For some of you, you're just taking it slow. One day at a time, while others bulldoze into your future, working round the clock, just the way people bulldoze into the platforms during rush hour. Some roam around aimlessly, trying to find their purpose of life. I guess whatever the age, we're always trying to find some purpose in life.

You're trying to establish yourself to an identity which should be fully functionally by the time you're 21, so that you can be an "adult". You try to build politically, socially and culturally apt ideologies to follow through when you will be an fully functional "adult". You're at that at that blurred line between adult and teenager, where everything you do, affects how you're seen as a teenager and haunt you as an adult, but never as an individual at present. Everything that seemed unaffected to you a year ago, you suddenly need to have opinions on. You're at that precarious stage of either totally wasting your last teen year, or living it outrightly. Either way, it's your last year of being a teenager. I suppose, being twenty isn't as different from being 19. Twenty isn't spelled twenteen and that's all there is to that.

19. That means you're mostly in college, juggling a social life with academics. That is something you'll be juggling either way in the years to come too, but at 19, it's the starting point. There's more pressure to keep a buzzing social life so that you don't feel you wasted your youth or "teen" years. There's a ticking clock, reminding you of being a "teenager" and all the amicable stupidity that comes along with it. The relationships in our lives seem to be more complex whether it's family or of the opposite sex. But that's unavoidable and continuous in the years to come, but relationships just get messier as mentality gaps get wider.

You start to see the world with a little less flowers and more dirt. You start to call out the bullshit in all the things you believed in a few years ago and pick bones with people who don't. You rather voice your opinion and bullshit facts, than agree you're wrong. We listen less and hear more. The overload of information thanks to the internet, is also an overload of anxiety of how truly revolting people can be. Wars are being fought, millions are dying and here I am wondering where can I get wasted with friends at night. It's a walking paradox, where we do truly care about issues but at the same time indulge in frivolous whims with the overload of information along with constraints of being social. Information where we truly don't know what to do with or act upon. Not to mention some people do act upon these causes, while we applaud in awe.

Some seem to have everything sorted out while others are in a chaotic rumble to figuring where the hell do they want to do? We yearn for freedom from our family. To be light from family constraints and to venture out on our own. We seek freedom but still depend on family to create our belief systems. Confusion is that one itch in your body, that never seems to leave.

You also start to come in terms with the fact that life will never go how you want and people you never thought you'd part with, you part. Your friend circle starts decreasing as your bond with the ones you have start increasing. You become ignorant of issues surrounding you, while our generation gets isolated and more lonely. Depression is a term you don't want to say, but personally understand in more one than one. To be indifferent and yet feel, to live and not exist, to be independent and yet dependent. To borrow a phrase: The unbearable lightness of being. To be or not to be.

Personally, 18-20 years is that age gap in which we try to form our identity for the age of being a fully functionally "adult" by 21. 19's an age of self-exploration, which can be polarising, but in this time and age? Name one issue that isn't polarising. That being said, personally I try to hold middle-ground to avoid heartache. My mother always said, "Everything in excess is bad" and she couldn't have been more right.

So in all, I'm just another 19 year old, stumbling around for some foundation to hold onto and get past to be an "adult".  19 is that stepping stone, where you can still be called a teen and pave your way to become older as you start to also see the world in a darker shade of grey than before. It's a lonely road as you part with being a teen and start being adulting.

Maybe you believe in nothing. Maybe you believe everything, but that depends totally on how you have self actualised as a person to be what you identify with.
So my dear fellow 19 year olds,
Live. Be happy. Question. Seek answers. Self-actualise. Explore. Create.
Most of all, be kind to each other. Support each other. Only you and I know what it's like being 19 and let's not make it harder than it already is. The world's crappy enough as it is.

PS: I swear I'm not this preachy in real life. Had a major writer's block and this is what I churned up. Hope you like it.
Until next time readers!

Friday, July 29, 2016

An ode of love

Do you see what you do to me? Making me crumble and doubt myself every time I try to do something on my own, or all the times my feet feel asleep only to be woken by the feeling of pricks and needles jabbing into them as my hands searched for you over the books. My head feels like it's going to explode every time we meet but also longed to keep meeting again. And again. I like to hide underneath your beautiful looks and your spoken words to keep myself from drowning. Why are you so cruel and yet so strikingly radiant  that I seem to only focus when it comes to you?
People have spent their entire lives, dedicating themselves to you, and when I'm with you, I feel that I can somehow, conquer the world alone? I look into the world, trying to search for you. I spend all my time trying to figure you out. Time, a place where all broken souls come to heal, but I spend all my time looking and loving you. Why is it that I feel most comfortable under your shadow? Am I under some kind of a spell? Or a trance where I only see you? I don't even know your real name, your story, your background or even if you like me back. All I know is that you make me think in ways I never could and express myself in more ways than one. When you're not here, my head churns into a mix of all the places you could possibly be and where I could find you. The world till now, has shipped us in more way than one, but that's just what the world does, it creats an allusion of what can be falsehood. I know I am definitely not one of your first partners and won't be the last. But when I do see you with other people, it makes my heart sink. How is it you never glowed so radiantly when you were with me, or spoke such beautiful poetry when you held my hand. But at the same time, I wonder in amazement of all the people you inspire to write.

You were the reason for all my favourite people to express themselves in pages and make you their muse. Only you could help people to think and express their passions and stories in ways the rest of the world never could. You cause some of the greatest pleasures and displeasures to people who know you and have loved you. You're a walking juxtaposition, one nobody can get rid off, or not love.
I never knew you when I was born, or remotely thought of you until you creeped onto me on the pages of stories long written but never forgotten. You met me in the novels I read and in the poems you helped people write. But most importantly, we kind of fell into each other's arms the moment I couldn't speak and you needed to speak.

So my love, here's to you. A walking contradiction of the devil himself but also one of my greatest loves and faith. Thank you for existing and thank you for finding me. Thank you writing.
This one's to you

PS: If you didn't understand who's the person I'm addressing this to, read between the lines or re-read. I like to be very subtle in these things and hope you get what this is all about. 
Thank you readers, until next time! 


Tuesday, June 28, 2016

Sunny Days

Her father had a way with worlds. Even in the lowest of times, when the bombs flooded her home with blood and human parts of loved ones, he would simply just wash it off and move on. He'd always turned and look back at her, point towards the big ball of fire in the great heavens above, laugh and say, "That's where they are. Look up! It's so shiny there, look child, look!" She'd smile as his laughter melted into hers. She never quite understood why people were leaving Syria, and going to the big ball. But nevertheless she wanted to go there too, but her father didn't like it there she guessed. Maybe that's why he never took her there. Her mother and sisters had already left for the big ball, so couldn't she?

Even when they crossed the big blue ocean, he never stopped talking about the great big ball. It always hurt when she looked at it. But she never did stop dreaming about it. Even when their tiny boat was almost swallowed by the chaos of the ocean; not even then. She imaged the big ball as her fairy tales described it, with all the girls in their shimmery long gowns, all the boys in their best clad clothes, as the big ball swayed in happiness in the presence of all her loved ones. Every night, she prayed for the mornings, even though the big ball burned her skin most days.
Her father never stopped telling stories of all the pretty balls taking place up there. He never stopped. 

As they neared land, she knew her father was half the size he was back in Syria. When they hugged, her hands never felt so empty and worried her father was leaving. Leaving to get ready for the big ball. She asked him if he was going to take her there, to which, her father just smiled and said, ''No. I have to prepare the people in the big ball for you. The people of this land won't be able to withstand the shine of the big ball if you came child, for that I might leave you here, alone. I'm so sorry!''. She didn't know what her father was saying sorry for,  but felt saddened of the thought of her father leaving, but also happy he was going to her favourite place.

Her father didn't last more than 3 days at the refugee camp. But in those 3 days, he had already informed her of the colour of the ball gown he was going to prepare, her shoes, jewellery, everything. She told him all of her heart's desires and how she had pictured the ball in her head to be, as he promised he would make it all come true.

On the night that he died, she remembered the next morning being the hottest and most sunniest day ever. Almost the whole of mankind on earth wailed and cried about the warmth, but she didn't. "My father's in that big ball up there and almost my whole country is up there celebrating him. He's the most beautiful man they'll ever see and that's why they are celebrating him. Isn't that just wonderful?" she'd tell everybody, as she laughed and closed her eyes to breathe in the magic of the sun and all the people in it, celebrating her father. 

And what a sunny, sunny day that was.

Side note: I'm trying my hand at short stories. Let me know if you think this is any good in the comments below.
This one's for all the refugees in the world. I'm sorry that this is happening and hope you find this in good health. I hope you find your sun in this darkness.
Sending love, hugs, warmth and sunning days to you,
Keen Blogger.

Thursday, April 14, 2016

With all my heart

I guess, I never really thought of the superhero she thought me to be. I was just a part of her, working non-stop, daily to keep her alive and did my best to keep her safe. She never wanted anything from me, apart from the fact that I never stopped giving her the strength and will to live. I never stopped trying to prove my worth and I guess.... she knew that too. But everyone knew, that without me? She'd never have made it this far.

I'm not saying that she didn't return the gesture. She did. She never once complained when she had to cook taste-less health meals because of my poor condition or the money she spent on my medications. I guess she blamed herself for my condition and was frightened that I would leave her. Little did she know, there is nothing in the world that'll ever make me stop loving her and caring for her. I have been through everything with her, right from an infant to the 70 year old graceful woman she is today. Although, I never stopped working, never stopped fulfilling my duties towards her, never stopped loving her, she still blamed herself. Didn’t she know? God had programmed me for her. A slightly neurotic workaholic who'd never stop beating my body for her every whim. I was the reason of her existence and she to mine. Ours was a love affair for the movies, and yet I don't think she ever knew of my love.

I still remember the days she tried to keep herself happy even though I knew she wasn't. To all the boys and friends and loved ones who broke her heart, I've never met you, but I sure know the importance of your being in her life as you left me to pick up the pieces. But I guess the heart wants what it wants. I remember the happy days when she lifted her child for the first time or the day she graduated. I even remember the sad days when her father died or when her dog Bozo passed away. I guess I remember everything as I was there in every step of the way.

But I don’t think she ever knew about our little romance because I never was one for the camera. I did what I had to, to keep ourselves afloat and never complained. But I never gave up on her. I'm glad out of everyone in the world, we chose each other. I hope she can forgive me for when I’m finally getting too tired. I know her body is failing as old age catches up to her and I may not as strong to support her, but I hope she had a nice life just as I did, beating for her.

 -Love always
Your Heart.


Note: Since it was World Health Day on April 7th, here’s my twist on it and hope we can start looking after our bodies and be healthier, for as long as we live. In this case, the heart. This is how I think the heart if it could speak, would speak about the uncanny romance it has with each of us. That or I have a wild imagination.

Side note: How many of you thought this as a story of the heart and his preceding human being? Be unabashedly truthful and let me know if I can write such stories without giving away the suspense and be too mainstream, losing the plot twist.

Also if I should try to write such things more often? Let me know in the comments.

With love from the bottom of my heart. (Literally and figuratively in this case)
Thank you for reading.

Until next time.



Tuesday, April 12, 2016

Breaking the Silence

 So recently Barhka Dutt, a journalist and author, recently opened up about being a child sexual abuse survivor in her new book 'This Unique Land- Stories from India's Fault Lines.'

 And as expected, our highly esteemed and sensitive Indian masses, especially men won standing position in their all rounded compassionate comment and behavior towards her story. One man wrote at that way a women can earn sympathy in the public eye is by making up false allegations of being a sexual abuse survivor while others told her to shut it and stop fabricating stories to get attention. Or even one very detailed comment about how the abuser must've been abused by Barkha and not the other way around as even his street dog won't look at her. I mean let’s not drag animals, who have more class, sympathy and brains than this crass young man, into the picture.

Can everyone please... just take a moment of silence and look at these internet trolls and absolute insensitive masses who live in our country?

Here is a woman journalist, who personally speaking, I too am not a fan of her but sympathy is what makes us humans, and a little sympathy can go a long way. She's got her fair share of mistakes and black clouds that have marred her for some, but does that give the right to anyone, and I mean anyone, to laugh and joke about a weighty issue as her being sexually abused as a little girl? THIS. This is exactly why we as an India society are still backwards when it comes to talking about issues of mental health and child abuse as we have been taught from the start to respect elders and how elder can never do wrong, be wrong and are our superheroes.

Imagine an uncle or an aunt, who you know is immediate family and see her/him on a regular bases when it comes to a family event, as you are almost forced to greet them with a smile and touch their feet, worshipping them, and always giving them their due respect as expected from societal norms.

Even though, the last time you met, you hated the way they touched your tender body but you kept quiet as you being a child thought it was your cousin Riya or Rahul also went through. This is normal. Maybe I am a little abnormal as he's/she's family. We're bounded by blood, and this person cannot and will not hurt me. I mean, blood is thicker than water, right?

But maybe, over a game of hide-n-seek you chat and realize that your cousins don't go through what you went through. You think to yourself, maybe I'm his/her favorite and should feel special. You try and you try, but you just can't let go that vile feeling and you hide the disgust of being touched. You will try to tell your mother or father, who will shun you for even thinking that your uncle-ji/ aunty-ji would even do such a thing. I mean which human is ready to accept that they are related to a monster?

Years and years pass by, your brain must've crammed this to the back and you move on in life but suddenly you read something, see something or let a boy/ girl touch you and you feel like you're chest is a coil which suddenly breaks and all you're left with is anxiety and flashbacks of the past you never truly escaped.

When you finally have the courage to share it as an adult, people hate on you and ask questions as to why you never spoke up before. Just like we're taught, we can't speak when not asked. But when we finally are asked, it's too late? There must be some loophole you could use to voice your opinions without getting hate, but there never is.

Here's some statistics for you:

Of the children interviewed by a 2007 survey conducted by Humans Rights Watch, more than half (53 percent) said that they had been subjected to one or more forms of sexual abuse. Over 20 percent of those interviewed said they were subjected to severe forms of abuse, defined in the report as “sexual assault, making the child fondle private parts, making the child exhibit private body parts and being photographed in the nude.” Of those who said they were sexually abused, 57 percent were boys.

The survey also found that very few cases are ever reported. The vast majority of victims (72 percent) said that they did not report the matter to anyone and only 3 percent of them or their families told the police. In most cases the perpetrator was known to the child. The 2007 government survey found that among abused children, only 25 percent had told anyone, and only in 3 percent of the cases had the police been informed. As in many other countries, deep-rooted cultural norms discouraged open discussion of sex and make it hard for a child to complain about older relative or a person in authority.

Now, do you understand how vital this topic is? By making jokes and trolls on the internet on a woman who finally got the courage to speak out, you are actively propagating in shaming victims of child abuse and bullying them to keep their silence. It's time we talked about the big suffocating and disturbing elephant in the room. It's time we broke the silence.














Wednesday, March 2, 2016

India Untouched

So as most of you know, the Indian Constitution has abolished laws regarding untouchability to keep in terms with the constitution which states equal opportunities to be given to all irrespective of creed, cast, religion, sex, etc.
But sadly, in reality, the pictures isn't black and white.
Just as my exams were approaching, I was asked to watch a documentary for the Dalit Movement in India. The documentary's name is "India Untouched" and can be seen on YouTube.

First things first, I would like to implore everyone reading this to take out some time and watch his documentary. Let's get out of our urbanised shells and realise, India is a country based, formed, enshrined and ingrained about the caste system.
Now you and I living in our apartment in cities and town, reading this on our phones and tablets may not feel that our country, our very dear motherland and its citizens do not practise ''untouchability".
Oh come on, that is an archaic vile concept which nobody practices in society, but my dear fellow urban Indian, drive a 100 kilo-meters away from your homes and you'll realise that India is just the way it was when the British left. There is no change.

As I sat watching this documentary, I was beyond ashamed and helpless of belonging to this nation, of calling its citizens fellow humans with the aim to develop our country. But sadly, this bubble was popped. I was stripped off my rainbow and urban developed glasses and handled out a vision I couldn't wrap my head around.

I would like to formally apologise  to ever complain about the reservation system and how it effects the general masses, if the Dalits or the supposed lower casts have to live a life of slavery under the pretence of religion based on the caste system. I'm sorry for ever thinking the Dalits had it easy in case of never studying as much as me and getting seats in educational institutes. I'm sorry I ever though Indians could see past caste and religion. I'm sorry for thinking we have traits of being decent human beings.
I'm sorry for ever thinking casteism had been curbed and things were finally looking better. I'm sorry I never understood the reasons behind the Dalit movement and the Naxalite movement. For straight away figuring the Naxals were just bullying the government more to give them more reservation. (No, I don't in any way support or propagate naxalism, but more like understand where all this hate against the state is coming from) . I'm sorry I've been blinded by the urban media and the society and its propaganda, to think everything was okay and India was getting better. That India was actually developing socially and the stigma against caste was slowing rising.

Little kids from the age of 4 being taught that if they touched a Harijan they would be polluted. Their innocent smiles speaks of a gentle touch but their vile words coming from their mouths strained of the archaic caste system is a sight to see. The feelings that arise can't be described as reality that suddenly tastes bitter in my mouth.
 Dalits in parts of Bihar, Andhra Pradesh, Kerala, Punjab and a few more, cannot walk on the grounds of the upper caste with slippers, they cannot enter houses, they can't take milk or water without touching the vessel to avoid "polluting" the upper caste. The list is never ending and it just gets worse. To top it off- when asked why they practise Untouchability? -one unanimous answer. We don't know why, but our elders have taught us so, so we listen.

Even the way the scholarly pandits of Varanasi speak about how the caste system came into existence. God created the world and the people who live in it by first and the top- making the Brahmin's (priest) from his body, his head. The Kshatriyas (rulers and warriors) from the arms, the Vaishyas (artist and merchants) from the thighs of God's body and the lowest Shudras (labour  class) from his feet.
As biologically speaking, the feet is the lowest part of the body, hence the Shudras or the Dalits are considered the lowest caste and so are untouchables for the upper castes.
Hence it is written in the Vedas and so every Hindus' must follow it. God is the supreme and what he says is written in the books and so we must follow the books said one religious head.
Even Muslim and Christian converts are not spare. Religion may change, but caste is almost engraved in the soul and Dalits are time and again reminded of their place, on the ground. Literally and figuratively.

The sheer ignorance on part of us and the silent acceptance of the Dalits into a more than a decade long history of slavery is something that sends chills down my spine.

The horrific stories of employment given to the Dalits is spell bounding.  From doing the dirtiest jobs of cleaning bathrooms, to picking up death bodies from train accidents, to cleaning up after a delivery of a child from throwing away the placenta to cleaning up the residue blood on the child, everything is done by them. The lowest of the lowest or the dirtiest jobs which nobody wants to do, is ruled by the Dalits.
Isn't it funny how we call the garbage cleaning woman as "kachrawali" meaning (waste producer) when in actuality she cleans up your crap and you're the one that creates it. Maybe its time we call ourselves kachrawalas, since we even treat our fellow humans as crap. We're the ones that produce all that waste and dirt, but they are the ones who clean it, feel the brunt of cleaning it while facing systematic oppression  from the upper caste.

Dalit in literal translation means broken people. It is heartbreaking to see that your own countrymen follow the absurdities of caste and treat their fellow beings worse than dogs. Even dogs are allowed to eat, drink, enter the houses of the upper caste, but god forbid a Dalit touches you.

Dalits aren't broken by choice, but broken by us. The supposed upper caste who run over them blindly, just because of a few words attached to our name, which is of more importance than the self respect and dignity of another human being.

If this is the world we continue to live in, I refuse to sometimes to associate myself as a human anymore. Even the jungle has more class than us. 
It's a horrible world we live in friends, a truly misguided by religion, absurd from the start of it, which I am to now almost forced to call as home.

Dear India, is this really the 21st century you want to live? 

Until next time readers.

Here is the link on YouTube. The documentary is divided in 10 parts.

Sunday, January 17, 2016


Maybe its just not meant to be.
Maybe it was just a bad day.
Maybe its not you.
Maybe its god finally having enough of your tantrums.
Maybe this world is a conspiracy.
Maybe you're not enough.
Maybe you're thin.
Maybe you're ugly 

Maybe its meant to be
Maybe it is a good day.
Maybe it is you.
Maybe its god having a ball with you're life choices.
Maybe this world is a decent place.
Maybe you're enough.
Maybe you're fat
Maybe you're beautiful. 

Maybe you respect traditions.
Maybe you just don't give a shit.
Maybe you believe in a God.
Maybe you don't.
Maybe you believe in religion.
Maybe you believe in science. 
Maybe you have future plans.
Maybe you can't plan at all.

Maybe you talk back to elders.
Maybe you are just plain rude.
Maybe you are nice.
Maybe you like a boy.
Maybe you like a girl.
Maybe you like both.
Maybe you need love.
Maybe you want love.

Maybe, your maybe is not enough.
Maybe, your maybe is good enough.
Maybe, your maybe is a guarantee.
Maybe, your maybe is a lie.
Maybe, your maybe is a turning point.
Maybe, your maybe is a steep fall.
Maybe, I really should stop caring about the world's maybe's.
Maybe, just maybe, it is what it is.
A loophole. A maybe