Archive | February, 2014

For the love of feminism.

27 Feb


“Like a whispered dream,
On a warm summer’s night,
Perching upon her flushed skin,
A simple flash of light,
In the depth of the everlasting darkness,
A promise for the thirsty traveller,
The last foothold for the trekker,
A chance she couldn’t slur.
It came to her when she was drowning,
In a sea of bleak failure,
The promise of a feather not a wing,
Yet it was enough for her.
She held on to it, her lifeline
Her salvage, her hope flared,
With it she let her faith entwine,
And she pushed herself forward.
She knew now what had to be done,
The cords she had to cut,
She would stay there for none,
Move on she must, she would.
Her heart might be breaking,
But her spirit now was hers
For keeping, for healing,
And she wouldn’t give up.
So she cut away her binds,
And rose from the ashes of what was,
Ah, at last, she was released,
From her memory’s ensnaring claws.
Such sweet relief, her moment to shine,
She was in her glory,
She had conquered and won,
That’s what she chose,that was her story.”

It’s sad, that in today’s modern world where everything seems to be better, brighter, faster and where we are breaking through all the past confines of our minds we still continue to use this one word.
Not just use it, rather we relish the snide way it rolls of our tongues.
Do you know why? Because even now, if a woman stands and demands for more then being given to her, talks of her rights and the ways she has been slighted by men, or (God forbid) gives out her opinion and views confidently, she isn’t viewed as a woman voicing what could and should be taken as “human” rights. Or a person just bringing light to an issue of importance. Rather she is treated to be from another species, despised by those who don’t understand her, sneered at by those who know they won’t give her more space, pitied by those who see nothing but stupidity in her. And her whole race.
Hah. A feminist. She isn’t to be trusted, respected or listened to-only those of her own kind will do that. Us? We should just mock her. Make her regret choosing this path, ensure failure for her at every step and continue to label her.
Stereotype her.
Although generally stereotyping is bad, but for anyone who stands up and speaks for a woman-in any form-let’s just forego all the usual morals and norms and give them an entertaining caption.
How beautifully two-faced and shallow we can be. Yet how highly we can think of ourselves.
I believe in equality between genders, I believe we are better or worse from each other not based upon what gonads we possess or not-I believe that when color and creed aren’t grounds for discrimination, gender shouldn’t be.
Does that mean I belong to the lesser race of the “feminists”? Maybe. But then you, who love to point at me and laugh at me, belong to no race at all.
Human race, as it would stand to be, had shun out people who judge so blatantly, so quickly. So harshly.
I dedicate this post to women who love themselves enough, respect others of their gender enough and expect from the general race just enough to speak up for themselves, for their sisters and for anyone-be it man or child-who is oppressed.
For when we do what we are doing, you might see it as feminism. We just see it as a war against what’s unfair, a fight for the weaker people. An effort to free the oppressed and strengthen the weakest links.
I do not however, dedicate this post to feminism. Would murder the whole point now wouldn’t it?

Loving the women of our world is so easy, respecting them an easier consequence of the emotion. Try this form of love, acceptance-and the world will be a better place.

Hoping for miracles,
Yours always.


Love is in words, uttered softly.

26 Feb


In the length of this lonely night,
When I am caught up in your thoughts,
I try, in vain, to block your sight,
To sleep again without you on my mind.

When the shut eyes finally comes to me,
It leaves me in no better state,
For in every moment, it’s only you I see,
I feel, I want, I need you-but it’s too late.

Like a caress, whispered softly,
You are in me, around me, everywhere,
You woo me so gently,
That I am again caught up in this affair.

Like a lover I had longed for,
My favorite fantasy, you become my dream,
A craving which makes me want more,
Yet so far away from me, you seem.

I lay here, still as a breath in the chilly frost,
A smile tugging on lips made for you,
Hurry to me, before again we get lost,
In the flurry of this ancient world.

Come to me, come and find what’s yours,
Take back what always belonged to you.
Rush those step, oh mighty soldier,
Or live with years of pitying rue.

Love can be for things, animate or not. And love, it can be conveyed through things. Inanimate or not. The power of words is so strong, though, that they always seemed more animate then any other object to me. They can bring alive any emotion with as much strength as the person desires to convey. And they have that aura themselves which can make you fall in love with them. I fell in love with words when I was but nine and my brother helped my write my first story. And falling in love with poetry and literature was an inevitable consequence. However, I fell even harder for poetry when I realized that prose can convey emotions that sometimes whole novels can’t. It urges you to open your heart to a thousand different emotions. In my case, it let me express myself when I could find no other way. And it continues to amaze me how poetry can be used to strengthen bonds like nothing else can. And break them too. It’s a strong weapon, you see, that I suggest we all add to our arsenal and enjoy at the same time.
Fall in love with poetry, it isn’t hard. And you will see a thousand new facades to the world around you.
And realize this, that there are a billion forms of love other then the one always publicized in all those rom-coms. Till you do that, there would always be something lacking in your life.

Forever yours,

Love isn’t selfish, nor does it hurt.

18 Feb


These past five days have been an eye opener for me on so many levels and in so many forms that it all combined to be a shock to my system. But, I am thankful for these days too because where I lost somethings I gained a whole lot in advice and experience.
And life teaches lessons better then anyone else.
Details of what happened and how are too much for me to go into right now but these past days finally showed me that there is only one person to trust and only one to love.
And try not mixing the two up, unless the object of your affections is you, yourself.
Who would these people be then?
Let’s make it a bit more fun and dedicate each day of these 28 days of love series to them.


17th February-The one you love.
This is the person to whom you hand the biggest chunk of your heart, with a license to deal with it as they please as; you shower them with love, respect and courtesy and unlimited attention. Be warned, though. They are not bound to reciprocate your actions. In fact the chances of them going the opposite way are quite high. This could be a friend, a mentor, a relative, a colleague or even your romantic interest. The key to handling this relationship? While you are already trusting them with your heart I advise you not to trust them with anything else for then not only your heart but everything you said or did could 9and will be) be used against you. Still, though this is a relationship that seems parasitic, it is actually symbiotic and unavoidable. So, go find that person to play with your heart but keep every other emotion and thought in a lock far away from them.

16th February. The one you trust.
See, take this advise and never ever let it go. Trust and love mixed together is a recipe for disaster so keep each of them far far away. Be amicable to the person you trust but don’t let love be a part of the equation for it will blind you, your trust will be infinite and you will be made to pay for being an open book. This day is then dedicated to the person you can trust with the deepest of your thoughts and emotions, can even be liked but can and should never be “ardently loved”. Would you rather your have your trust misled with or your heart broken too at the same time?


14th February. For the one you love and trust.
Write it in a place where you can see this on a daily basis. You, and only you, deserve the honor of being trusted as well as loved for you would never flirt with your own emotions nor would you use information on yourself against yourself. You know who you are and you will be the only one who can judge yourself fairly for not only do you know where you are coming from but also where you need to go. But when you go baring your heart and your secrets to the best of the people, you are out begging for nothing but trouble. So. Don’t share. Ever. Unless-of course-it’s your mother we are talking about. She is a class apart. No? It’s not narcissistic to love yourself, it’s imperative. It gives you a confidence, a glow that will attract people to you like bees are to honey. The best part-you would no more be dependent on other people for any sort of affirmation.

This all sounds selfish? Maybe, but then I think you missed the point of this whole post. 😉

Love is in every lyric sung.

13 Feb

There was something in it’s flow, the huskiness, the power, the vulnerability-what a perfect mix!
How unutterably harmful, so dangerously intoxicating.
It wasn’t love at first sight, but it was love at first “hearing” if there is something like that.
Paltrow would probably hate me for saying this, but then she wouldn’t be getting where I am coming from-however, the fact of the matter is, I fell in love with Chris Martin’s voice the very first time I heard the stirringly sung “Scientist”.
Doesn’t sound all that romantic, no? But then it never was meant to be. I have never had weird celebrity crushes because that’s just that-weird.
But his voice, it just takes me to another world. It’s pleasant there always, relaxing, refreshing. And the breeze is both warm yet comforting. It’s my happy place, when I fail to find one in my immediate surroundings. It’s my wall to lean on, to regain a lost part, to make sense of everything.
In short, it let’s me be.
And though Martin with wonders like Yellow, Fix you, Green Eyes, Moses (and so many more) is at the top of this list of my favorite most singers, he isn’t there alone.
Stevie Wonders with that richly smooth tone, Bryan Adams with that touching brogue, Enya with her hair-raising voice and Dido with her accented vocals are right up there along with Lennon, Lana, Lorde, Nickelback, Hoobastank, Muse and a dozen more.
So, maybe I fell in love with music at a very young age. But so many times not only has music formed an important part of many a milestone in my life, I realize now how good music can help shape your persona.
At least it has helped sharpen some aspects of mine, and I am not talking here about getting that swing in your step after dancing to JT’s sexy back.
I am talking about deeper impacts, like how shallow upbeat songs might lead you to embrace the superficial aspects of life; how listening to sad songs through your childhood let’s you have more of a tendency to be a patient of depression in later ages; how listening to operas can let you mature artistically before your age.
But on the other hand growing up listening to songs like “Imagine”, “Superstar”, “Animal Song” cultivates the inner dreamer and optimist in you making you ambitious and goal oriented from a very young age and letting you realize that being competitive and wanting to make your place in the world are not bad things.
So not only am I grateful to my brothers for exposing me to the best and the most inspiring of music from a very young age, I am proud of my deeply rooted love for such lyrical wonders.
Again, I will say though, this is a kind of love I wouldn’t substitute for anything else. The dimension it adds to my life is too important to me, will always be. And though it might not be for all of you to get, but music in many forms is that love of my life which is definitely irreplaceable.

Love is always patient.

12 Feb

It was six summers back when I first saw her.
Six summers back when I fell in love.
It’s been six summers since that we have known each other.
It’s been a summer since I lost her.

You see when you love someone, as utterly and irrevocably that I loved this girl, you realise something-that though love is a beautiful emotion to behold, it’s not an easy one to handle.
It needs continuous work, continuous effort-and then you are expected to be aware that not only can the feeling not be mutual, but something much worse might happen.
Something as painful as losing the object of your deeply rooted affection.
But then, there is another dynamic to this situation which can leave you broken.
That you might loose said person after having known what their love for you felt like.
You think now, who is this girl she speaks of? What happened with her, between them?
To answer that I will have to digress a bit.
Have you ever heard of people “wearing their hearts on their sleeves”? Unfortunately, or fortunately, I am not one of those people. I keep my heart under the strongest, and the most intricate of locks. It might seem that it may have spared me many a heart aches but it does the exact opposite for although I don’t fall in love easily or quickly, but when I do love-I love wholly, completely and with every fiber of my soul. The phrase “my love is my life” comes to my mind and though it sounds cheesy, it’s true.
Proof of what I say? I have only really had three best friends in my life. This isn’t to say I haven’t got many friends, in fact I look at my closest ones and thank god for them every day. But for me to give any one the best friend status isn’t easy. Why? Because when I call someone so, I mean it. And I mean it only after I have handed over to them a part of my heart that can never be returned.
Which means that those parts of me are gone, I can’t hand them over again.
Now imagine having this piece taken from you with a flippant charm, cradled in front of you to the end of the world and then broken into tiny pieces without a backward glance.
What do you do? Where do you go to find that missing piece of yours?
No where, for it is beyond your reach now.
But even broken and shattered, with the scars bearing signs of what was and at the same time making it impossible to use the part in any way again-even so, this stupid heart of mine misses her. Misses the times I spent with this best friend, the laughs we shared , the talks we had, the memories we made. They are crystal clear in my mind.
Maybe too clear. I wish they had get hazy, I wish that part of me that I gave to her I could get back.
Or I wish that she had come back.
But that’s the thing about love, you can’t force anyone to feel it for you no matter how powerful your own emotions are. Love isn’t mutual till the other person tries.
Maybe I tried too hard. Maybe she didn’t try at all.
Maybe someday down the road we will fix this, maybe it’s not broken just bent.
But. I have to accept the status-quo for it’s been a year and these maybes are not turning into facts.
And they might just never. For now they have begun to feel like fantasies. They seem improbable.
However, no matter what, at least this whole scenario has taught me that love can be as bitter as it is sweet and the best way to enjoy it is to be patient.
I am an optimist, and I am loyal. So I will sit out this period silently till she finally realizes that she needs me. Or till my patience gets me some other reward, because love isn’t about my wants. Love is respecting the other’s beliefs and while doing so, you can either let your feelings run bitter or let them run their course.
I love her still, but that doesn’t mean I am falling all over her begging her to come back.
It only means that if ever she turns back with a softly whispered “Sorry”, I will smile and say it’s ok.

Love believes in giving.

8 Feb

I ran up the stairs, all the way to the top floor of the building. Such was my state of excitement. Such was my euphoria.
The time had come, finally. The wait had come to it’s end. It was here, the day, the minute, the second I had been waiting for since God knows how long.
The final part of Harry Potter series was here, and I had just driven to the most prestigious bookstore in town(the only one stocking it within two days of the book launch) with my brother and parents to get it.
As I finally took the final two stairs in a leap, following my elder brother as closely as I could, and my feet met the plush carpet of the polished store, I found my heart skipping a beat at the sight of the beautifully arranged pillar of the Harry Potter books near the check out counter.
If I was in a movie, the world would have stopped, the books would have had an ethereal glow to them and the angels would have sang in the background at that instant.
Still, even though none of that happened, my excitement unbelievably went up a dozen more notches and my face, I am sure , was covered with the goofiest of smiles.
But then, I landed back heavily on the ground, falling from my flight to the heavens, as I saw the long line of people awaiting to get their own copy. All equally enthusiastic, equally happy.
All at that instant my worst enemies as I caught anxiety clawing around in my throat wanting me to scream them away from the books.
What if-oh God forbid-but what if by the time it was our turn they would have sold out all the copies they had shipped in? I asked my brother this question repeatedly enough to make the usually cool person lose his calm. He told me to shut up and not to be stupid, they would have gotten enough copies to last them a week at the least.
I disagreed, though silently, as I saw the pile of copies so gorgeously decorated before, shrinking out in its size.
And then, even though I only had courage to peek through squinted eyes, I saw the inevitable happening.
Two people before it would finally have been our turn to get the book, the last of the pile got picked up, packaged and sold.
I closed my eyes, to hide from the truth, to pray, to keep the tears from falling as I whispered to my usually worshipped-to-death brother, “See, idiot, they are out of them. I told you we should have left earlier.”
I heard him heave a sigh and I thought he finally understood the situation we were in but when I opened my eyes so that I could say something to make him feel better, I found him wearing only a smile.
I gritted my teeth, “This makes you happy?”
His grin widened as he shrugged nonchalantly. I frowned at him but when he pointed behind me I followed the direction of his gaze unwillingly. And then all but screamed with happiness.
There sat one of the sale clerks with a huge carton of books on his side as he set up a pile of books like the last one.
But this one was better, as I knew that from this lot, one would be going home with me that evening.
We came home that day, my excitement bubbling through the house, my brother’s like always contained behind a facade of boredom.
But we both had the same goal, which we both achieved. To finish the book as soon as humanly possible.

I fell in love with the Harry Potter series when I was in grade fourth, and my brother suggested I read the book he was reading-part four of the series. Once I was done with that I quickly read through the first three parts and then I had wait with my brother every year for a new book, lamenting when the release was delayed, rejoicing when on time, praying for the next one to come sooner.
But it wasn’t only these series I fell so hard for. Over the years I have fallen in love with many a writer, many a book series-in short I have fallen in love with reading.
And that’s one love I can’t get over, an affair that has taken me to places, helped me meet people no other relation has ever been able to. This is one relationship not just full of depth but it is always giving. Always kind. Always reliable.
Hence, my deep affection for reading, for finding new writers and revisiting the old loved ones, is not just irreplaceable, it’s hard for me to imagine my life without this dimension in my everyday routine.
Besides, what’s a quiet evening with a cup of cappuccino without a book to excite your mind?


P.S. I am loving this 28 days of love series not only because I am getting to focus on all things in my life that are important but also because I get to share my love for all these things with you guys. My favorite people of all. Remember, love is a billion little things in your life, not just that one person on his white horse.

For the love of Coffee!

5 Feb


I sat there. Forlorn, empty. There was a lack of direction at that moment of my life. A lack of activity, energy.
That all might have been due to the fact that I was a “run on my hormones” teenager stuck in a car as we “road-tripped” to a city which was far down there on my list of places to visit.
Or it might have been so because I, even at the age of 11 was the most melodramatic person you could come across so being so at almost 16 too made sense.
And let’s add a bit more drama here. I had just realized I would be celebrating my “sweet 16” far away from my friends in a new town, amongst unknown people.
Granted at this age I would see the advantages to such a situation and feel the excitement of celebrating my birthday in a historically exotic place-in short I had see it now as a beautiful opportunity-but at that time it sounded worse then a life-imprisonment sentence to me.
Hence, all the circumstances put together, I was having a stellar of a journey as I lounged like a moody teenager between my mom and my sister.
Till we made that pit stop halfway to our destination at that cute little cafe.
Oh. How little things can have huge impacts on us.
I wasn’t a fan till then of any beverage but coke. And no eatable but donuts would I munch down on. But having your 16th approach you at Concorde speeds is an eye opener. So, just recently I had started swapping out the fat for much “healthier” options in my life.
Not, exactly, to be healthy. But to lose weight.
So, when we sat at a corner table in that quaint cafe in the road side and everyone finalized their orders, my sister suggested I share her coffee with her seeing that I wanted to eat nothing else.
I wanted to bitch and whine but my family was already on my case “that I eat too little” so I kept my cool and just shrugged.
When the waiter finally brought the food around, I looked at the steaming pot of coffee and wanted to hide (how stupid we can be) for I had the impression that coffee can only be only bitter and disgusting (never judge a book by what you hear guys).
My share was poured out, my cup placed in front of me and my family watched on while the cup and I stared at each other.
I willing for it to disappear, the coffee begging me to give it a chance. And my family-just not sure as to what the hormonal teenager would do next.
Finally, I took a huge breath, squinted my eyes, pinched my nose and then went for the kill.
But-wait. What is this thing? It’s bitter, it’s mildly weird but-I still want more.
And I had more. One sip, two, three-and then the whole cup was finished.
I didn’t want more, for a newbie coffee drinker those 150ml or so of a caramel cappuccino was enough.
But I knew this was the beginning of something good.
And I was far from wrong.
For that journey, I found something new to be excited about.
And in the long run it was the start of a new affair for for me.
My love affair with coffee started off a little slow, with a cup once a week (mainly because Mum wouldn’t let me have more) but it moved on to two then three per week.
Fast forward to today, and I can’t go one day without at least one cup. And two is just as much a norm.
It kick starts my mornings, it warms my bones on cold days, it soothes me on bad ones. It energizes me when I am tired and, amazingly, it’s the one thing which can make me feel better no matter how bad my day is going.
It calms me, centers me and brightens me up all at the same time.
A friend recently said the number of pictures I take of coffee and how I go out on a daily bases to new places to try their coffees I should become “a coffee critic”.
Another suggested I name my blog “the coffee way”.
All brilliant ideas, but I believe although most people see how I love a good cup of coffee they don’t get it’s not an addiction.
It’s this love I have for it, a need I have to keep it in my life. Maybe it could be for in the past four years so many changes have come in my life that I want this one constant to remain there always.
Or, like I said before, it’s just an absolute affection for a flavor, a taste, that neither my taste buds nor my heart can go a day without.
It’s a best-friend I can sit with on rainy mornings and share my deepest thoughts with. It’s a keen ear I can have with me in quaint cafés to discuss the strangest politics with, it’s a prop I can use to meet up with old friends or hang out with new ones, it’s a conversation starter, it’s a common ground to build new relationships on.
It’s my favorite partner to have on quite, cold evenings when I sit at my window seat after a long hot bath and stare out at the deserted streets.
So, I have a love for coffee that is neither romantic nor unsentimental. It has dynamics that maybe most won’t get. But then many will for if not coffee, there is always that one constant in our lives that we hang on to with both hands hoping we don’t have to let go of it, both for our happiness and our peace of mind.
To love. In all it’s weird yet unlimited forms. Happy 28 days of love to you.


P.S. Check my Facebook page for more information on #28daysoflove .


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