Good still trumps evil

The world is falling apart.

When nature lashes, man mourns, but gets back up and rebuilds. But when man kills, he is not just killing man; he’s destroying families, bullying innocence, mocking faith, and ravaging hope multiple times over. This is happening everywhere. The scale and intensity may differ, as it is usually subjective to individualistic opinions and perspectives, but it is happening everywhere. And yet, here we sit behind a very clean, unobscured (and not splattered by blood or human remains) screen, playing judge and jury on who is saying and doing what, or not doing, about it. That is the aftermath we’re all focused on when the ones who suffered are still suffering. They may not know about the Facebook posts or the tweets we share and the dead will never know, and maybe, just maybe, it’s best that they don’t because, on top of all that is happening, they do not need to know that the rest of the world is using their tragedies as ‘points of information and misinterpretation’ of their ill-timed debates. What they do need to know is that humanity still exists, if not in the physical world, but in the hearts and souls of men irrespective of religion, race, or geography.

A child has forgotten how to smile, a mother’s tears has not even dried up yet, and a father is still trying to find help for his now limbless son, and the only voice we have is the condescending remarks about each other’s reaction to it. If only we channel that energy towards a more productive effort. And, yes, kind thoughts and prayers do count! We all have a role to play, and no one role is below or above another. Some are called to pray, some are called to act, and some are called to be a voice to inspire hope. Whatever it may be, we must give it our all to make it count, because I believe with all my heart that good still and always will trump evil.

Having said that, no situation ever calls for anyone to display their self-righteousness or ‘holier-than-thou’ attitude. No man has any right to say that anyone deserves the fate that has been served to them because of their beliefs and practices. Don’t get me wrong; I’m a believer and I believe that no sin goes unpunished. But it is not for man to judge. It is a sad day for humanity and, particularly for believers, when people start saying things like (and I’m paraphrasing here) “It wasn’t unprecedented; they asked for it. Do you know what they are and what they did before it happened?” We are called to spread love, not hate. We are called to be a blessing. We are called to be human. We may not all have the voice of a leader, but we have heart, and to bring change – the right kind of change – requires heart.

The world is falling apart; let’s not let humanity fall too.

Dear Sir

Dear Sir,

This is for you – you, who taught me to find joy in other people’s success and content in simplicity. That my mission is to make my home happy, and to give love and affection to my parents because happy homes are the foundations of a happy nation. That it is my privileged duty to contribute to the cleanliness of my home, my neighbourhood, my state, my nation, and to leave behind an unadulterated world to the generations that will come after me. That I must walk with my head held high but with both feet planted on the ground. That every man is my brother and not a sworn enemy. That I should not rejoice in winning against someone but, rather, rejoice if I should win them over. That I should try to save or better at least one life other than my own. That I should be blind to caste, creed, colour, language, in order to do so. That I need to keep learning so I can share my knowledge with the world – to burn like the sun if I should shine like one. That I should think and act upon my thoughts. That I should never rob anyone of the truth. That I must not only keep my word but perform it. That dreams are not to lull me back to sleep but to awaken me to reality. That, not my treasures, but my success will inspire a poor kid somewhere – for that child to find hope because of my life should be my humble propeller towards excellence. That greatness can only be truly defined by humble servitude.

You – who people adore and look up to as their mentor – have left a void that no words, no salute, no number of mourning days can fill. I rejoice, yet, in this place of sorrow for you did leave something behind; your vision of a better people and a better world, but you just didn’t stop there. You left for us hope and instructions to realise that dream. You were a child of the earth and a servant of humanity. You were a teacher through and through. And now, even in death, you continue to teach us.

RIP, Dr. APJ Abdul Kalam, Sir. Thank you for your life.

Sincerely,

Your student.

A Break from Me

I need a break. And I don’t mean a weekend shopping spree or Sunday social nights of endless yet meaningless, hollow laughter. Nor am I referring to a fortnight at some sandy shore, staring at the celestial, starry spectacle above the horizon, blind to the neon lights behind me. I’m not talking about visiting the family and reliving the age-long memories of dinner around a tree-long table, the hearth alive with the sound of determined flames, disturbed only by the sounds of slurping and the occasional snort. Don’t get me wrong – I want all of that; but none of that is what I need.

What I need is a vacation from the hurt, a holiday from the pain, and, if it’s not too much, a lapse in my memory of all the bitter truth I have had to confront – a life-long break from the old me. All I want is to be able to look at the mirror and smile at myself. I want to go back in time and tell my younger self, “You’re beautiful in your own definition. Let the world tell you differently, but don’t you believe it.” I want to tell that old man in the street, “Hold on. It gets better.” I want to be able to laugh without hurting. I want to love without hurting anyone. I want to be the reason for someone’s smile as they lay down to sleep each night. I want to hide away so I can be found. I want to lay my burdens down and never have to carry them again. I want my sighs to be that of content and not of despair.

I want to travel to places whose names I can’t even pronounce. I want to meet people whose scars and laugh lines tell me a better story than what I hear from the world. I want to be able to fall to sleep before my head even hits the cold, hard ground and I want to wake up to the sound of children’s laughter, in beautiful sync with the birds’ chirping.  I want to drink from the gushing streams, leap through the woods with my furry friends, and fly over the clouds with the tiny winged ones. I don’t want to soar like an eagle; I want to be the eagle.

Forsaken

Can You hear the nations weep? A mother is still crying for her baby that was torn away from her bosom by nature's wrath. Will You not turn Your eyes to this place? That one is a child looking for his parents while holding his lifeless brother in his arms. Those are the faces of the people who survived yet no more alive than the ones under the rubble.
Where were You when the earth went wild and ravaged the helpless? Where were Your angels when it happened? Did they stay back in the heavens and watched in silence as the earth swallowed up lives ahead of time? It rained, afterwards; did they cry for the people who died, or for the ones who are dying still? Why didn't they come? Why WON'T they come?
Has heaven closed it's doors or have we burned them down ourselves?

What Shadows Bring To Light

The leafy boughs above me,

The kind blue sky beyond webbed seams,

The pacifying humming of the bees,

The sparkling rhythm of the stream;

Gleeful hues dancing in the sunlight,

Leading a sight-line to burrowed beauty

Which shadows try to hide;

But innocence pleads guilty.

I hear wood nymphs giggling,

As they skirt along to the flirting breeze;

I am almost certain they are mocking

At the creature intoxicated with ease.

I spring, then, and waltz to the shore,

Gaze at my reflection with reluctant curiosity;

The scars that the shadows ignore

Pierce my eyes with haunting clarity.

Recipe for Joy

It's a new day; a new day to forgive, to love, to live and to hope.
Don't believe in luck for it is a faithless friend. It will draw you closer with its magic, just to destroy you right when you start to believe it is your only ally.
Be kind; to yourself and to those around you (yes, even to those who don't deserve it... Especially to them).
Love extravagantly. Even when it breaks your heart, love extravagantly. It might be the most heart-wrenching thing to do, but love is not love if it doesn't break you first. For it is when you are broken down to pieces that love rises up and fights for you. You see, love does not mend. It is not a quick fix. It does not patch up your life. Rather, it builds you anew from scratch. It actually creates something from nothing. Hence, love requires that we be broken, cheated, destroyed and reduced to nothingness.
Love fiercely and you will see it fiercely fight for you when you can't fight for yourself. Brace yourself for the pain, for the reward thereafter is exceedingly great. And you will more than have deserved it.

Memory Overflow

So this is Bangalore- where it’s tropical summer in the sun, cool spring in the shade and wintery cold in the rain. Add wind to the last equation and I’m back home in Shillong. Ah… Yes, home… Home is where the heart is, it is said, and right now my heart is nestled in the rain-laden clouds gliding over the slanting tin roofs of the urban Shillong and over the pine-abundant countryside whose woods are studded with rock shelters where the cowherds can seek shelter from the rains as they gather man and animal around an open fire. The earth echoes with the pitter-patter that falls from the skies and the whispers of the wind as it caresses the pine needles and brushes the hill tops. The mist adds a mystical touch to the scene and I am almost convinced that I‘m daydreaming if not for the fragrance that can only be equal to that of fresh earth being kissed by the rain as it falls drop by drop teasingly before releasing its torrential splendour. But reality has a way of bringing you back to your urban senses- “It’s time to get back to work, Alice in Wonderland.” So I was daydreaming after all. Fine! Back to my desk, where the closest thing to nature is my memory, where all beautiful things thrive; they remain the same, yet they change every day. The rain deprives me of my walk in the park (pun intended), but it allows me to do so much more- to walk and jog and hop and sprint and even fly in the meadows and glades of my memories; and it serves me just as well as does the therapist’s couch (or even better, I dare say). All I’m saying is the rain need not be a reason to just laze around, rather to grace your mind with calm and content you wouldn’t normally find every other day in the confines of your little cubicle.