It gets worse before it gets better....

When in the dumps of despair, things to look forward to:

1. Existing

2. Not giving in to mediocrity

3. To laugh when you'd rather cry

4. To be brave enough to be alone

5. Caring for those who need you

6. Running on empty

7. To be down but not out

8. Looking pretty in a not-so-shallow-and-totally-nonchalant way

9. To lead, not follow

10. Learning to laugh at oneself

11. To look at the bigger picture

12. Toning down the drama

13. To kick butt!

14. Being passionate about ones beliefs

15. To be happy, I must just be

Seeking purpose in aimless meanderings.

I feel lost. Adrift. Alone. Seeking meaning in the endless meanderings. A reason to be. A reason to go on. To wake up tomorrow. To belong. When life seems like a pointless search for something, anything that explains the why's? And the naivette that becomes me feels that belonging to someone must be the answer. Why else would the world sing volumes about love? Why else would people swear by what should best be explained as a chemical reaction of our brains? And how else would the compulsion to be cared for and loved become as important? I crave for that someone who would tell me that "Life is beautiful" or that his being was dependent on me. Or the person whose very presence would bring me contentment.

Call me a romantic fool if you will.

Calling for the Mumbai Monsoons

I love the monsoons in Mumbai. They creep up cloaked in a blanket of stealth and take your breath away. The smell of the earth after that first shower, the greens that spring up everywhere, and the sea- the glorious sea, all make for a pretty picture. But above all, it evokes such memories. Memories of running through the deluge, of stolen kisses, of coy glances, of sodden clothes but singing hearts, of absolute muck mixed with child-like madness, of splashing through puddles, getting stuck in the traffic, of steaming cups of Coffee and spicy bhajias, not wanting to go to school/work and not being able to (because Mumbai stood still)... Memories that I would like to revisit again.

Zindagi

Kuch ankahe khaab, Kuch dabe khayaal liye jee rahe hain.
Zindagi ki manzilon ki or kadam, liye jee rahe hain.
Manzilen hain ki haath mein dabi ret si, guzar jaati hain.
Hum to ab bhi tumhaari taak mein baithe, jee rahe hain.

Ek aur khaab, ek aur manzil dikhe na dikhe,
Zindagi ke safar par caravan liye apna, chal rahe hain.
Kal ka savera apne saath, umeed laata hain,
Isi satya ke saar par intezaar kiye jee rahe hain....

The Chrysalis

Tucked beneath the clear blue skies,
A little Chrysalis patiently lies,
Cocooned in silk , protected from light,
Biding its time, to take flight.

The seasons pass, time goes by,
And yet the Chrysalis does patiently lie,
It longs for the day when it shall rise,
Rise to soar amongst the cloudless skies

Calling for Miracles

I have heard such stories of miracles. Of life, love, death, ambition, career, and love again. Hearing every story warmed the cockles of my heart, and made me feel that tiny seed of hope. Hope germinated within me that my miracle was waiting round the corner. Waiting for the right time to show up, and make it all ok. Make me believe once again that life is a wonderful, wonderful journey to be savoured with each moment of each day. When darkness falls however, I falter and question this blind faith. Is it that I am too naive to accept the bleakness and the starkness of reality? That I prefer to hang on to the illusion of happiness and the concept of happily ever after, than to face logic and reason? And does that make me the village idiot? To be ridiculed and made fun off, to be raved and ranted at, to be shaken and told that it was impossible. How could it be impossible, if there was a sliver of doubt? A tiny ray of sunshine escaping from a dark room. So although there is darkness all around me, I hope for light. Through the pain, and the hurt, I hope for a particular smile, a sardonic shake of the head, and a mischievous grin. Hope that I wake up to sunny skies, and am told that the darkness was a bad dream. I hope for a miracle.

No hope left

When darkness falls, deep and swift,

Fear creeps in, an icy drift.

A lonely tree stands tall,

Its leaves have withered, it is fall.

The tree looks barren, naked and battered,

Its head held high, its soul shattered.

The heart is mighty, the being frail,

A silent cry, a piercing wail.

The tree, it is bidding its days,

For a time when it won’t have to stay.

Watching seasons from winter to spring,

And wonder what tomorrow would bring.

As it stands dark and bereft,

It knows for sure there’s

no hope left.