Wind-ow

There’s a bang at my window. A loud bang. And another. I open the blinds and peep. Funny. I live on the first floor, why would I do that?

It’s the wind. The wind that used to carry with it the chill of snow, the promises of tomorrow, the songs of the trees with bare branches howling at the purple sky, weeping. The wind that now carries with it the freshness of Spring. Some nights now, it’s a soft thud. Some nights, a big bang. Because now, the window stays closed. It begs to be let in. To be with me.

The window used to be open, rain or snow or sun. Not anymore. I keep it closed. It carried with it too many promises. The chills asked me to endure too much. The songs can be deafeningly silent. The fragrances can be too sweet.

Like thoughts shut out of a mind, the wind is shut out of of the window now.

Advertisements

Of footprints and memories

ImageJust as I try to hold on to moments, moments like granules of sea sand…

Memories are much like footprints left on the shore of a sea. You create moments, and you create imprints. Some people think that time heals, because it fades away the memories. Just like several tides make the footprints vanish away. But these are the people who are fooled to believe that time has taken away those memories. That way, it hurts less. Memories that make you shed a tear or two, they can be happy, they can be sad. How and why do you have to forget them? You really do not have to.

The tide sure will have washed away the footprints, the footprints of a traveler who either bothered to look back, or did not, as he created those tiny little puddles. The tide will have done its job. Its job is to embrace those footprints, engulf them, and make it the sea’s. The waves, they are not cruel or condescending, they are just loving, embracing. They take away all that one has to give to them. And so is time, so are those memories. They do not fade away with time. They become a part of you. You are what those moments make you. You may act indifferent, you may grow up every day, you may die every day. But nothing can change the fact that something existed. Memories, those crazy sweet sticky little things, they stay somehow.

 

Shameless Coward

A hot day transforms into a cloudy gray night

Drops fall on the now dry land

Not of rain, of a woman’s tears, who cried. I saw her in the cafe. She did not try hiding her tears. Her pleading words to someone on the other side of the phone. I felt sorry for her. But then on second thoughts, I started envying her. She had the courage to cry. So thought a shameless coward.

Love and Travel

TravelIt’s never too late for love and travel. What do I place higher, when comparing? I think, travel. Yes, I think so.

Both love and travel teach you a lot, bring out emotions and feelings in you, that you never knew existed. They make you a person you like looking at in the mirror. Then why is traveling a bit dearer to me than love? Well, there are many reasons.

The first reason is very selfish. Love can make you sadder than it can make you happy. It will make you smell the blossoms and rain, feel the light and seasons, see sparks and bubbles. It will give you that Euphoric feeling that nothing else can. It will lend a purpose to this otherwise drag life. But but but, only when it wants to. When it does not want to, it will burn away all of the above, burn it down to ashes, and drown it with the pitter-patter of relentless rain. If you ever manage to come out of the fury of love, you will hardly recognize yourself, the person that you used to be. But travel, it gives you all the experiences, good and bad, to only make you a person you will grow to love. It is always nice to you. If love is a bed of roses with thorns, travel is a never-ending path of daises and cacti and lotuses and algae and scorpions and sand and stars and moon and sun everything else.

Love needs you to include someone in your plans. I have always believed that it is wrong to include anyone in your plans, or get included in someone else’s. It’s a sin. When plans break, they break hearts, and pull at the strings that hold people together. When you travel, you make your own plans, and execute them by yourself. You are happy, no one is sad.

I have given more than my share and taken away more than I should have. Yes, I have counted. I have done things that I believed and still believe to be sacrilege. It has made me now want to lead my life alone. I am way too young to be saying this, but I cannot be kidding myself, saying such things, and secretly waiting for love. I hold love in very high regard, and watching people in true love brings a smile to my face, goosebumps on my skin. But I myself am too distorted to get into it, to be able to believe that I am cut for that kind of love. As for travel, I think that is what does not need much. If I have money, I can visit the corners of this sphere, if not, I can go round about the polygon of the town I am in. I can pluck coffee beans if I have money, or sit in cheap coffee shops if I do not. I can frolic in different waters if I have money, if I do not, I can still watch the same sky, wherever I am. I can talk incessantly to strangers, or stay silent among the people I know too well. I can choose what I want to do with my life.

Love, I love. Travel, I lover.

Though I love to travel alone, I often think of a friend when I think of traveling to new places. And here’s a song for all of that 🙂 https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4uSFw165Qk0

Some people just walk away

Some people do not give up, they just walk away. Walk away to a far away land where no one can find them.

The winds will have blown away all the scent, and scattered the dried leaves and flowers

The noise and silence will have drowned all the songs and words that used to mean something

The moving hands of the clock will have wound and twisted all the memories, making them distorted, shapeless

The shields will have set them across, between the eyes, the feelings, the hearts

The thoughts of the touch will be now touching a callous, numb skin

That is when some people just walk away, because they do not believe in giving up. They walk away to a far far away land, where no one can find them. Ever.

What do you do

What do you do when you are done watching movies with friends?

What do you do when you are done listening to new music, and playing the same old one again and again?

What do you do when you are done watching comedy, and tragedy?

What do you when you are done reading?

What do you do when you are done smoking and drinking beer, wine, and sangria with strawberries and pineapples in it?

What do you do when you are done being sober and sane?

What do you do when you are done wearing pretty dresses to stupid parties?

What do you do when you are done wearing the same PJs for two three four days?

What do you do when you are done sleeping?

What do you do when you are done waking up?

What do you do when you are done crying?

What do you do when you are done laughing?

What do you do when you are done talking shit?

What do you do when you are done staying silent with a thousand sounds buzzing inside your head?

What do you do when you are done sneezing and coughing?

What do you do when you are done staying strong?

What do you do when you are done doing everything?

What do you do when you are done doing nothing?

You just go on, don’t you?

Painting 1

So I am done with my first painting. I was thinking about how to present it to the class, and there is no better place than this to start off 🙂

I love music, short stories, painting, photography etc.

Two things in life that keep me going are love and travel. How about combining the things I love to do, and create something that represent the values that keep me going?

I will start with love, because I finished that painting first 🙂 I plan to play Nina’s Dream https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SWDdARmq-lk when narrating this story.

No story ever told has been greater than a love story. This is a quote from the movie Les Poupees Russes (which I had segue-reviewed before). William, a British who cannot speak Russian, falls in love with Natacha, a Russian who cannot speak English. When he is looking after the stage lights for a ballet performance, he falls in love with her. After a year they meet, and William has learned Russian, to be able to speak with her, tell her that he loves her. He brings his friend and sister for a ballet performance, to show them how lovely Natacha looks, among the other ballet dancers. They cannot spot her, because she looks just like the other girls on-stage, and dances in tandem with them, just like them. Friend and sister say – but they all look the same! William has his eyes set just on Natacha, and he says – No!

Image