I wonder what’s more to blame in what one ends up to be: the circumstances one is born in, the choices one makes, early conditioning, inherent nature with quirks that cannot be done away with or disillusioned movement towards an unseen future that is likely to remain hazy always. Choices one makes either turn out to be good or poor, but it’s only time that has the power to reveal what the outcome of our choices will be. With these morose thoughts I wish to drift off into a nice sleep, if the night will let me.
Not many are familiar with the concept of kindness, and it is a lot harder in practice then one tends to believe it is. Human beings, nature, animals – one needs to stop and think how their actions are being unkind to each, and refrain whenever possible from causing any uncalled for misery. Life is difficult as it is for all living beings on Earth and the last thing that I’d ever do is inflict misery upon another for gratifying my selfish needs or base emotions. I am working upon the kind of person that I want to be. A work in progress is what I am and will always be.
By constantly evaluating one’s actions and reactions, it is possible to arrive at a solution for weaknesses we are inherently born with as humans. These are failings that go unnoticed until you start training your mind to question and to be insatiably curious to explore deep into your own psyche before you can question the actions of others. There’s freedom for those who choose to embrace only the best of emotions and actions that separate us from being nice when there’s something to be gained to actually being kind.
Observing human beings by closely monitoring their actions, words, non verbal messages being transmitted are things that I have been preoccupied with far longer than I can trace back in the recesses of my mind. People perceive and more often than not, they mistake it for facts, and I’m not one to ever get into a discussion that’s bound to go round in circles, concentric ones most probably. Fact dies a silent death every time I’m in the presence of people – something I allow myself to endure once every few years. Usually, I’m strictly against exposing myself to the human race or animals for that matter. I have a deep regard for inanimate objects that don’t interfere with my thoughts and conversations going on in my head.
I realized it when I was a 10-year-old that the best company I can ever have are my books, the music that I painfully collect after sifting through the trash that passes off as music, good movies, my art supplies and that’s about it. An indulgence that I can’t let go of are the things that enhance my bathing rituals, possible only when I am at home, my subtropical paradise. How I wish I had a way to disentangle myself from this place and live somewhere where I can only see green fields and blue skies! No humans to disturb the peace. Some people are just born with all the luck in the world, and some are cursed and fated to suffer. Suffering is entirely optional and this saying is not always true, in my opinion. Situations beyond one’s control tend to get in the way of my nodding my wee head in agreement. I find human emotions amusing at best and I’m curious to explore the entire range of emotions that I get to witness every time I decide to mingle with people. It’s not that I hate people. I have always loved every single human being I have had the privilege of knowing, for however short a period of time I may have been aware of their existence. Like the pages of a book that I flip through, I seem to be leaving behind people, no matter how engrossing I may have found them at some point of time in my life. Looking back and missing someone is something that I seem to be incapable of. No human has ever captured my imagination to such a degree that I can fully express my thoughts. The realization that I am living in a world where finding a common ground with someone is going to be impossible is a fact that I’m saddled with.
Written in 2012.
And then in 2013. I met him.
We loved with a love that was more than love, but maybe it was all in my imagination, a wild imagination capable of conjuring just about anything.
We were two individuals uniquely programmed, yet we were identical clones of each other and it seemed like the Universe was pulling a fast one on us. How could it be that we were so alike that we understood each other without uttering a word? I was stumped for the very first time in my life. When we ceased talking after a month, I couldn’t understand what could have possibly gone wrong that he chose to end our connection. Then I read about twin souls and how difficult it is to connect with someone who’s most probably your twin soul, and it all made sense to me. Or maybe I finally had gone crazy, as predicted by all who claim to know me well. To believe in the concept of twin souls is utter madness, but that seemed to be the only solution that brought me respite, and gave me the freedom to get moving once again. In a world full of people, I finally managed to run into one human being I had absolutely everything in common with. As far as stats go, it couldn’t be poorer than this. I knew this was going to remain a rare occurrence, never to be repeated in this lifetime. I decided to move on in 2015 and life seems to be back on track – almost as normal as it used to be. Some decisions can completely transform your life – for the good.
There’s nothing I despise more than my sweat glands acting overtime. It’s something that’s sure to drag me out of my imaginary world and bring me back to reality. In my imagination, there’s no place for something as drab as sweat. Summers suck. How I wish to be sent to Siberia and be banished from wherever it is that I am at the moment. Snow through the year and a winter that chills my bone will be nothing short of bliss, and Heaven right here on bloody Earth!
I was a good student and by that I mean, I did no wrong and religiously adhered to all spoken and unspoken rules. I never spoke or interrupted a teacher, but one day, I was punished for speaking and disturbing the class. It was absolutely unthinkable. I was in the 6th standard and sitting in the second row. Two other girls were busy whispering while the teacher was trying to explain the flow of blood from one organ to another. With sweat dripping from her forehead, the teacher was furiously writing on the blackboard and talking without bothering to look at us. She suddenly turned her head, looked straight at me and said, she saw me talking. I was amazed to know she could see something that had not happened.
I immediately stood up and looked at the two girls in front and denied talking/whispering. She got mad and said, I must get out of the class and infuriate her no further. I was terrified of going out, as the principal of the school had a habit of roaming around and skinning alive kids who were found standing outside classes. He treated both girls and boys equally and didn’t mind inflicting bruises and cuts with repeated thrashing. I repeated myself once more, but the teacher refused to hear me out. I walked out of the class – I had no choice.
I prayed to god really hard to keep that fatty inside his cabin.
A few minutes later, something wonderful happened. I saw him get in his car and out of the school compound. I relaxed and thanked the invisible lord. I was getting bored standing there, so I headed towards a place where I could drink a glass of water. We were supposed to stand in one place when we are thrown out, but I had 30 minutes to kill and I was wearing a watch. I spotted a poor kid who was standing near the school gate. I asked him why he looked so hungry and thus began a conversation intended to kill my time. He told me he was hungry and if I had anything to give to him, he would be much obliged. I had 20 bucks. I used to spend 5 on the bus fare and 15 on chocolates for my brother daily. So I gave him 10 bucks but not before he shared his story as quickly as possible.
I was interested in knowing if he was an orphan, how he survived at night, where he slept, what he did on days when nobody gave him anything, why he wouldn’t wash his face when I could see a water pump on the other side of the road for anyone to use, if he had only one torn t-shirt and where did he get that from, did people ever beat him up, and what he planned to do and go where, once my conversation with him was over. I spent 15 minutes, gave him the money and told him to spend it wisely. I felt sad for him but that was all I was capable of doing for that 7 year old kid that day. Once the bell rang for the next class, I returned and things were normal again. The whispering girls were very apologetic. I told them not to worry, as I had a good time and whatever happens, happens for the best.
Another sleepless night! Nothing new. I finished painting 3 canvases and now they hang on the walls of my living room. One is a Wancho man with eyes that look deep into your soul, the second one is of a Parisian cafe with a girl and her umbrella, and the 3rd and my favourite one – Romance in Paris.
Sadly, I can’t click any photos today.
My camera fell and crashed when I went crazy clicking photos of the rain yesterday. I threw my phone on the wall and it fell apart. The camera falling apart was an accident; the phone a deliberate one. I absolutely love looking back at all those moments when I have thrown the phone outta my car, windows of various buildings and at times, destroyed it by stepping on it a million times – I find it very relaxing. I tend to overreact when I see silly messages and I have a bit of a temper when it comes to dealing with stupidity of any kind.
My fascination with art began at a young age and with a dad such as mine, no talent was ever not encouraged. He went the distance as a father, I believe, and was always anxiously behind my back, watching my every move. Not something you approve of when you are sickeningly too young to appreciate love and affection. As far as he was concerned, his child prodigy was destined to produce a masterpiece one day. He made me sign my name on the lousiest of scraps I doodled every now and then. Something that caused me deep embarrassment from the strands of my hair to my very unsightly toes. In a fit of rage, I burnt all my artworks ever created or shredded them to a million little pieces, till every drop of my blood was satisfied with the glorious sight of destruction all around. Once destroyed, I am always filled with remorse the next day. I spend a great deal of my precious time wondering about my terrible mood and almost 20 years have gone by without me being in control of this darned mood that has a mind of its own. As far as my ability to create something artistic is concerned, I think I’m suffering from a severe case of clouded thinking. Life’s distractions are far too many for me to live in a world filled with colors and I’m destined to be a part of a grey, grey world.