Surat rediscovered; Dutch cemetery

Who were those people who had once been so important that their death resulted in the creation of a whole cemetery?

They must have been pretty significant but now as I look around it seems that all they have left behind is a cemetery with disappeared epitaphs, faded hues, discolored walls, plaster rainfalls, broken and exposed bricks and dust covered carvings. The place that had once been built to be remembered forever is long gone forgotten. The place that was meant to be found is lost with time and ignorance.




As the cemetery stands for its impending inevitable disappearance, as bones lay buried in the coffins patiently waiting for their complete gradual annihilation, we walk above them clicking photos of what once had been beautiful, we laugh because the people buried around us died more than a century ago and we didn’t know them at all, never have we heard about them, never will we. If there aren’t many people around, some of us even dare to make some private memories. Of course disrespect was not even the last thing in our minds but who has ever been able to control his or her overwhelming desires? Sometimes, it seems like a nice place to smoke a joint or two but we are just trying to enjoy our lives a little more, what’s wrong with that? Children come here in the evening to play cricket. Well after all there is nobody to come here with flowers and weep.




What’s wrong with all this anyway? What is the point in being respectful to people who died more than a century ago and do not come even a mile close to our ancestry? And besides what lie buried here are just a couple of brittle bones, how are they disrespected if we come here to play or to smoke or to snog or to just have some fun?  How are they offended? We never bothered to respect life, we never bothered to respect history, we never bothered to respect time, we never bothered to respect love so why should we respect century old skeletons?  Obviously nobody cares about them so why should we?

And yet when I look at this disfigured place, I can’t help but wander into the labyrinth of my pessimistic thoughts-

Who will even think of building a sepulcher when I will die? Even with these almost one fifty years of ignorance, this cemetery has somehow managed to survive. I wonder a century from now whether anyone will spend even a second mourning over the fact that my grave bears no epitaph. Will there be anyone who will secretly wish that the grave lying in front of him/her could have been maintained in better way? Who will wonder about the existence of the body lying beneath?  Who will? I don’t even think that my grave will last that long. It would be destroyed way before to bury  some new body. These brittle walls tease me, this impaired burial place laughs at me, these dusted fading paintings and carvings mock me and I stand here in awe, in amazement. I ought to feel humiliated. But I don’t. I am not offended at all. Because I don’t care about my fleeting existence. I don’t care if I am not in the history. I don’t care if I am not remembered. All I care about is how beautiful this place had once been. How wonderful it would be if it could be that beautiful again.

Snap out of it, turquoise ink! You know that nothing lasts.

Nothing lasts. Yes. But this place can still be saved, right?


Being beautiful – What the hell does that really mean?

While I should have been there making the best of the moments and capturing them in my head as much as I can, I was busy thinking about this stupid thing –

No, not again turquoise ink!

Well, being beautiful is some phrase that I have never truly understood. And it keeps haunting me. What can I do!

What is it that you don’t understand?

How do you know if someone is beautiful?



Uff! Attractive to eyes?

I don’t trust the eyes.

Okay, I am going to shut up now. I get a feeling if I stick around anymore, I would die even if I am not capable of dying.

Goodbye, voice in my head. I expected you would do something like that. I am glad you did.

So, the thing is that lately I have realized that while I was busy making myself something that is “attractive” to the eyes around, I have unknowingly objectified my own self.


Still there?

I am stuck in your head. What can I do?

And I am stuck with you. The tragedy of my life.

Anyway, the thing is that I put in appreciable number of efforts to look good; Concealing those pimples, getting my hair done, getting my hair done again because no one can do that at first try, getting my toe nails painted so that they look good in stilettos, learning to walk on those stilettos, manicure is equally necessary, then of course you need a flat belly, a fairer skin would be great ( and I don’t want to admit this because skin color is bullshit but yet I have my crazy norms of beauty and I obey to whatever shit my eyes find pleasing) I am never satisfied with the way I look. Something is always there that’s missing. Over the years I have learnt to ignore it but nevertheless it has kept eating me from inside. I have to have some things that I don’t own and I naturally can never ever own but I still have to get them because they are Oh-so-beautiful. If I were an object I owned and if I could just throw my body away and buy a new one, what would I do? My answer is sadly exactly what I don’t want it to be.
Objectification? Is this really objectification? Yes, it is the most brutal form of objectification. I treat myself like a pair of jeans. No, actually I don’t. We embrace even the rugged jeans with such love. I don’t think I would ever do that with my own self. I want to be what is exactly trending, what exactly some people are flashing in front of my eyes so that they could make some money. I want to be what society is used to liking. I want to meet all those silly criteria. Then and only then my vision magically changes and my eyes begin to perceive myself as beautiful.

There are certain things in yourself that you find ugly. I get that. But why would you feel that way? Especially when you are acutely aware of the fact that norms of beauty keep changing every day?

Voice in my head, you are right but I am helpless.

Turquoise ink, have you ever fallen in love?

Yes, I have. Well…I think I have.

SO that means that you have admired someone so much that you ignored all his imperfections.
Like if he had anger issues, you would have still loved him somehow. If he smoked, it would have been alright with you. If he was moody, you would still have figured out a way to adjust. You would have told yourself that he is caring, smart, understanding and he loves you. If he has embraced your imperfections, why can’t you embrace his? You would have loved him and you would have loved him anyway…
Cute isn’t it?
And you can do that for some other person but not your own self.

That‘s true. I get your point. I have to live with myself all my life. That is one marriage that doesn’t have an option for divorce. Even then I can’t respect it. I can’t lovingly look at my own reflection… what kind of joke is that? I unintentionally compare myself to those models. I am thin, I am tall. But that doesn’t change anything. Had I been obese and a dwarf, I would have felt the same way. Because as long I am not the person in that bloody magazine page or TV advertisement or fashion channels it doesn’t really matter.
Dwarf, tall, obese, skinny… what the hell, I am nothing but an ugly piece of shit.

Such pitiable condition we live in! The people around us are always so keen on pointing out that you are not good enough. What a strange world we have grown accustomed to!
The act of objectifying my own self is like a habit now. It’s embedded so deep that even while I am typing this, even when I am aware of the fact that how wrong I have been, I can’t change myself. What a godforsaken condition! I unintentionally subject myself to misery.

However, however, there is still this wanderer foodie called hope. And I am going to end this with him ( because let’s face it – Nobody likes depressing endings )

One day, I hope we figure a way to embrace ourselves. One day, I hope we stop being dependent on others to know our self worth. One day, I hope that a photo is not capable of stripping us off our confidence. One day, I hope that I am able to propose to my own self and live a happily ever after.

Where is the I in your I?

How many days have you forgotten? How many days are there to forget?
How many deeds have got you deceived? How many are there that you regret?
Crushed under opinions, hidden behind good impressions,
Caught up in denial, under vain beautiful expressions,
The clock is ticking; the so-called time is flying by…
And yet you lie stuck searching for the I in your I…

Adapting, conforming, certain things have to be learnt
Lost and confused yourself, some dreams have to be burnt…
Between the choices of rights and wrongs,
You stretched ignorance for too long…
Now, relevance doesn’t make sense,
The prospect of living is too intense,
There is a thin line between the choice -whether to live or to die…
Just how far will you go to find the I in your I?

Why should you chase the sound if echoes are perfectly fine?
Why should you chase chaos if life is perfectly aligned?
Tired of possessing things that you don’t even deserve,
Tired of invading space that you should have reserved,
A persona is all you have, Identity is long gone lost
A thing you thought you bought; now you have to pay the cost.
And the clock is ticking and ticking; the so-called time is flying by…
And yet you lie stuck searching – Where is the I in your I?