Nature’s most common poetry

We spend our lives chasing things that only last for a short period of time. When that short period of time ends we continue chasing the same things in new forms.

But the question doesn’t vanish with your continued negligence – The most absurd question with no apparent answer – Why are you here?

These set of virtues; to be able to see, touch, feel, hear, respond, interact, understand, modify, calculate, read, write – what have we done with that? All these exceptional abilities don’t seem that exceptional among seven billion other creatures who are capable of doing it too, many of them much better. Where does 1 stand before 7,000,000,000?

Where does the drop stand before an ocean?

But maybe numbers don’t mean much. Does the drop know that it’s beautiful on its own too? Does the drop know better than to compare itself to the ocean? Does the drop know that the other drops are not competitors but collaborators?

So do it. Don’t just keep on chasing things that you know are ephemeral. Even if you didn’t score that high in SATs, even if you don’t work for Google, even if you didn’t go to Stanford, remember that these are not your standards, these are THEIR standards. They will tell you oh-so-politely that you don’t matter. You are not intelligent enough. You are not creative enough. You are not experienced enough. Don’t let that bother you. Don’t fall for fake social diagnosis. Take a deep breath and ask yourself, “Was your life really about all this?”

Surely, there’s a possibility we may never find it. But the answer must be in the attempt. This experience of how you came, and how you felt and how you went again – Nature’s most common poetry – this experience of being a part of it itself is quite amazing on its own. The world is large and you are small but it doesn’t matter. What matters more is to know that the world is huge and you are tiny and it seems that it could have very well existed without you and yet you are here.

Pause, and let that sink in.

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Should you get a Pixie Cut?

He held his scissors and the comb in the other hand and asked, “Are you ready?”

“Are you sure?” my hairdresser had asked me. This was five months ago. It was a different hair salon. My hairdresser was a trainee (read cheap haircut). My hair was almost waist length.
“Yes, actually, I want it shorter.”
“This much?” She held her fingers close to my neck.
Shorter, I had wanted to say. Like really short. But her fear was contagious. I dropped the idea and nodded yes.
“Are you sure?” she asked again.
“Yes,” I said calmly.

I had loved them once, my long hair. I used to try different hairstyles. I learnt many braiding techniques. I coloured my hair. My hair was a dream. I had sported a bob cut for most of my childhood. “Why wouldn’t you let me grow my hair?” I would ask my mother.
“You are too young for long hair.”
I was more feminine when I was a child. I wanted lipstick and nail polish. I wanted to wear saree and salwar-kameez with dupatta. I wanted bangles and earrings. But when I grew up puberty convinced me that I was ugly and no amount of cosmetics and elegant clothing could save me – in fact, it was probable that they might end up making me look uglier.

“Yeah, I am ready,” I told Frank. I wouldn’t have been there otherwise.

This was huge. There must be a piece of dramatic classical music in the background. They were playing Shotgun again. It takes courage to do something like this – one of my friends had later commented. It doesn’t take courage. I just had to turn up at a hair salon and say the two golden words, “Pixie Cut.”

Khach.Khach.Khach.

I wasn’t sure if short hair was going to suit me. But certainly, it was bound to make me look different.

Khach. Khach. Khach.

“SO, how long had you been planning this?” Frank tried to re-initiate our conversation.
“A year.”
“Well, that’s a long time…”

“What if it looks absolutely horrendous?” I had asked myself standing in front of the mirror a day before.
“Certainly we wouldn’t know unless we try,” the mirror replied.
“I don’t have the face or personality to carry short hair,” I argued.
“Are you sure?”

No mirror had been so encouraging before. It had taken me a year and an entirely different country to find one.

Khach.

Frank was already working on the last section at the front. Small pieces were falling on my forehead. They were itchy. I had closed my eyes, though I wanted to sneak a peek.

“Do you like it?” Frank asked me finally, holding my chair from the back.
“I love it,” I said looking at the mirror.

I didn’t know for sure if it was the best hairstyle for me. But it was so different that I didn’t care.  I wanted to stare at the mirror and part my hair in different ways – see what looked best but I felt too shy to do it. I stepped outside, felt the wind blowing my ultra short hair. I smiled appreciating the fact that they were not all over my face. Maybe I was just imagining it but more people were looking at me that day. I looked right back. So I did have a personality for a pixie cut all this while, I suppose.

It’s been three days. I have been touching my hair 72 hours straight. There’s heaven over my head. I have admired how surprised people have been. Some of them hate it but most don’t. I don’t. And my advice to you, if you want to get a pixie cut too, would be – Just do it. There might be some criticism. You might draw some attention. You might be a center for debate for a while. Tell them it’s just hair really – we ought to talk about better things than some dead cells growing on your head. Period.

*

Featured Image Courtesy: myhoustondaily.com

A late night thought

Hope is that someday it would make sense
Or maybe we’d to learn to accept the senselessness
Hope is that someday we would find order in the chaos
Or maybe we’d learn to deal with the high entropy
What, when, why, how
There’s no ignoring
There’s no escaping
Things happen;
Painful ones, joyful ones,
People happen;
Interesting ones, awful ones,
Who’s wrong?
Who’s right?
We are, in the end, just lines oriented at a random angle –
Converging, intersecting, diverging,
Maybe we make sense from a plane above,
Maybe our experiences together are infinite hues splashed over a vast canvas,
Maybe, maybe there’s a reason
Maybe, maybe there’s an answer
Hope is that someday our beautiful mind would find beauty of his own;
Hope is that till then, he wouldn’t give up hope over fears unknown.

*

The Movie Premier

We were walking through the streets of London again, still thinking about Mochi. Our tongues craved for more but we were determined not to succumb to our perverse insatiable greed for this Japanese dessert.

“Is today 12th?” Lee asked.

“Yes,” I said checking my phone.

“I am not sure, I need to check, but if I think what’s tonight is really happening tonight, it might just turn out to be the best night of our lives.”

“Oh, nice!” I said pretending I understood what she said.

“Yes! I know where we need to go!”

I followed Lee blindly. Wherever she would take me, I would happily go. No, I wasn’t in love, we just didn’t have any other plan.

We talked, walking on the pavements, crossing the roads, watching people around us.

“Look at that lady,” I mumbled to Lee. “Yes, I saw,” she nodded.

“I want to be like her when I am old.”

“Me too,” I thought. Who wouldn’t? How could one care to be so well dressed even at eighty? I didn’t intend to be offensive if that thought is offensive in any way. I was just shocked because I am twenty-four and I have given up on life already. I don’t even bother to comb my hair sometimes. I wear the same canvas every day. I wear the same jumper. I wear the same jacket. I don’t bother wearing contact lens, I prefer saving two minutes over doing nothing and looking weird in specs instead. This lady, on the other hand, was a model. How does she have so much life? Bottle green stylish hat, velvet dress, shiny pearls, red but not too loud lipstick, white gloves – Posh and graceful – this is what I would like to be. How do I end up being messy and loud instead?

Later, we started coming across even more fashionably dressed people. Silk gowns and gloves. Crisp and handsome tuxedos. The shiny sparkly queue of glamorous rich people was boisterous and long. Everyone seemed happy. Why wouldn’t they be? They were going to watch Star Wars with people who had starred in that movie themselves.

Lee was brimming with excitement. We walked till the very end of the queue, at the entrance of the Royal Theater. Actors were stepping out of the Limousine, posing in front of the camera, stopping by to say a word or few to the anchor, waving to the crowd, signing some autographs, smiling at the camera again and then going inside the theater.

We could have tried asking for an autograph or a selfie too, but we were on the sadder side of the barricade. The free side. I stared at the huge LED screen while Lee tried clicking some photos by going closer to the barricade hoping for better angles and views.

Star War premier, who would have thought?

A part of me was excited. I wanted to post photos on facebook, send snaps to my friends in India. “STAR WAR PREMIER! WOW!” #London #IloveLondon #RoyalTheater #soexcited #unbelievable #likereallyunbelievable #Pleasetellmeyouarejealous

But I didn’t.

Wish I had watched even a single Star War movie. Wish I had given a fuck.

*

I am offended.

If you tell me that I am beautiful, I will be offended.
If you tell me that I am ugly, I will be offended.
Don’t waste that cheesiness on me –
If you do, I will be offended.
If you don’t ever, however, I will be offended.

Tell me I am too tall, I will be offended,
Tell me I am not tall enough, I will be offended.
Tell me I am pretty,
I will say you don’t mean it.
Tell me that I am not,
I will say you are mean.
Tell me I am too thin,
that you are almost almost jealous,
I will say I badly need the gym,
And wonder how you’ve been callous.
“Your teeth are like pearls”
“Your teeth are like cat’s”
Whatever be the case,
I will try to conceal them while I chat.
Tell me to lose those specs –
So much better I might look without them,
Have you seen the dark coffins of my eyes?
What will I do about them?
A major concern as it seems –
My smartphone beaming with an awkward photo,
Snap a couple more sefies,
A game similar to ‘Lotto’,
A jolie, filter dipped face now finally bears my name,
And I will still be offended,
How I don’t actually look the same.
Tell me I look tired,
Had the previous night been rough?
Tell me I look sick,
Did I not sleep enough?
Why do I look so stoned?
Why do I look so drunk?
I guess my face carries a mystery,
A lot of myths to debunk.
Tell me I am smart,
I will judge you for being dumb,
Tell me I am a fool,
I will say you are an arrogant scum.
Use all the beautiful adjectives,
And I will ask, “What do you want?”
Use nothing, nothing at all,
And still that shall haunt.

Maybe, there doesn’t exist a compliment
That could bring a genuine smile,
So, I guess my offense isn’t your fault –
I am just stupidly vile.
Tell me it’s not the case, I will say you pretended.
If you don’t, however, I will still be offended.

 

 

Lonely Bunch of Fuckers

Aren’t we all lonely bunch of fuckers?
Trying to hide from our own demons in each other’s company,
Trying to find our own selves in others,
How does that even work?
How does it even end?
Our eternal search for eternal connection – something or someone who could save us from destroying ourselves.
Aren’t we all lonely bunch of fuckers?
Settling for company we don’t even like,
Listening to things that we sort of despise,
But better that than listening to our babbling brain –
The person will eventually shut up, the brain won’t.
Aren’t we all lonely bunch of fuckers?
We flee with numb solitude when we actually need companionship the most.
Such lonely misguided souls!
Wanting to lead, wanting to be led,
Searching for truth, searching for love,
And at the same time shit scared of both.

Aren’t we both such lonely pair of fuckers?
Cheers to yet another glass of whiskey!
Hope it melts the frozen insides,
And the frozen tongue,
So that the vocal words flow better than the thoughts.
There’s no need for love tonight, for love is scary and too fantastical to be true,
So let’s wait until the line between lust and love vanishes out of the blue.
I might agree to meet you next time,
and the next time next to that,
I might agree to see you, talk to you, laugh with you,
And hate you even more than I possibly can,
But that doesn’t matter as long as you drive my emptiness away,

Until it returns again.

*

Infinity Loop

The other side of the dream
lies another dream
lies another clean slate
that you need to start scribbling on –
Infinity loop
According to my disoriented head
And according to my head high with hope
I am just in a bad mood.

The other side of dream
lies new sets of insecurities,
More shit to deal with.
What did you think, you’d get away so easily?
What the hell is wrong with you?
I think even happiness hurts sometimes
When I laugh
often my heart yearns for the solace in sorrow.
Crazy, isn’t it?
What the hell is wrong with me?
Most of us don’t even know how to live!
Why do they not train you before throwing you out to Earth?
Here, we are trying to decipher the meaning of life
through random Instagram posts
deemed inspirational according to current popular culture.
Perfect.
Hence, the training,
Hence, my point.

Anyway, the other side of dream
lies a new list of confusions
But wait
Why is this moron complaining again?
Can’t she just revere what she has?
Who’s complaining?
I am not complaining!
I am just trying to get rid of some pathetic filters of my mood
I hate it when I am poetic like this
I hate it
I hate poems
Though those are mostly what I write
I hate the honesty it drips with
And I hate how people simply don’t get it
Not their fault though
Poetry is pathetic.
Here, I admit it.

The other side of the dream
lies the new kind of rage
and ungratefulness,
New sets of blows to conscience
New sets of excuses
New kinds of cruel addictions
You thought you could get away so easily?
Sit back
Relax
And get another cup of coffee;
The door just leads into another room
for you to find another door
to yet another room.
I guess the key is to not lose patience
(At least, that’s what the tweet said)
What do you even want from your life?
Maybe food?
Or a quick nap?
Long naps, actually,
Very long indeed
But then you cross a threshold
And you enter into a series of nightmares
Not your position of particular liking,
But you are too lazy to wake up
And your brain is too desperate for you to do the very same.
So ultimately you give in,
Eyes open
Mind shut.
Inherent surviving skills, I figure.
I am impressed
Maybe they will come handy
when I am being too harsh on life
on myself,
like today?
Come on get me out of here,
Brain!
Brain?
Where the hell does it go when you need it the most?
Wake me up, will you?
No,
I know,
It will watch me suffer.
Let me get some popcorn for you
Loser. Fucker.
Oh, you need coke too?

But anyway,
The other side of the dream;
Welcome to the infinity loop,
To the Hotel California rules
It will be easier to ignore, easier not to perceive
That once you check in, you kind of never leave.
The hotel is humongous;
Infinite rooms, infinite doors
You are lost now
Just like you were lost before.
So does it really make a difference?
On the other hand,
I heard the room service is great
And the food ain’t that bad
And despite being in the gigantic maze of rooms,
And corridors,
And floors,
And halls,
And what not,
You can still easily find the bar.

I mean, just saying.

*