Make a Difference

Here we are, standing on the threshold of  life, waiting for  the right moment to take flight, taking all precautions to ensure that the launch pad is perfect, warranting the clear absence of all aberrations and anomalies, to want to acquire that coveted pair of wings that will take us thus afar, the great ambition to attain perfection, in reverie of the perfect life, a better tomorrow – Isn’t this, though somehow farfetched, ‘les essentielles de reve’ of every young adult today?

How far is any of this going to get us? The mere fact that one’s pre flight plan is more perfect than perfect in itself doesn’t entail that it would be the smooth journey that we perceive it to be. A vacuum is not what we live in. A world of pain, hunger, strife and hardship surrounds us; a world, though pretentious, consumed by the paroxysm of intricate complexities; the world that we are born into; the world that they are born into.

They, the children of the prospective and inevitable future, who can and will make this place the star of the universe if only they were moulded and given the right opportunities and avenues to expand, expend and synergize their creative and intellectual energies. Their naïve little minds need to be carved out into perfect and clear-cut sculptures with the aid of that chisel by the right pair of hands. It is not yonder, not far beyond, where they lie.

Within the depths of our feeble and unwilling souls, moulded as it is in this world of inhumane and sadistic competition, we will find that there is still, hidden deep in covert existence, an element of humanity that remains. Through this irrational gamble of life, it is not envisaged, but we just keep upping the stakes, jeopardizing our prospects, make the wrong plunges and don’t really count our money or mind the losses because we believe that one day, someday, we will find what it takes to get us to that pot of gold at the end of the iridescent rainbow. It is not ‘name, fame and the dirty game’ but rather a certain value addition that brings greater inner satisfaction. It may seem a much convoluted conundrum.

Delve, explore and implore from the farthest niches and corners of your much enriched and enlightened self and you would be surprised to realize that you don’t have to go any farther. In your hands, you bear a commodity much in demand and far less in supply – knowledge. The uncertainty and beguiling nature of life will not allow us to proceed on that path that we chartered out, the smooth ride through the expressway. Instead, let yourself free of those preconceived notions of what life should be, could be, would be and embrace reality. It won’t take too long to realize that the expressway is monotonous, prone to accidents and not life in its true essence, lacking of human value. Traverse paths untrodden, taste the feel of reality, revel in true satisfaction and desert ignorance.

Lead them; those less fortunate, those hardly close to having been intellectually enriched and yet those most enthusiastic, amazingly talented and now, upon whom you shine a beacon of hope.

Let’s walk together, holding their hands, shining the light to make every step clear through this exotic journey, and hope to make a difference.

Turtle Doves

What remain are but hazy memories of the past gone by – I hardly seem to remember. There wasn’t much that really caught the mind’s eye, nothing that would hold on to later reminisce. It seemed like I was living la Vida Buena, all in utopian balance. I guess I wasn’t wrong, but I do know that I wasn’t right either. The tones of my canvas, that then prevailed, were subtle, flawless and somehow clear – at least those instances that are still enshrined in the fazed out hollows of my memory.

There was some fundamental ingredient that was missing – something that would highlight those tones that, though becalming and dulcifying were still dull and subdued. They needed the touch of some amazingly conjured up alchemy, something magical. Where would that come from? I hoped to find out soon.

Seasons had since changed; time had passed as I still waited with living hope. Will the silent footsteps of time lead me to the holder of that magic wand and license our paths to cross?

And there, caught unawares was I, when you came by. It didn’t take too long to recognize. I couldn’t have been wrong and as my conviction still grows, I knew when I saw the light glow dim above your left shoulder. But, did you see it over mine?

There you were, you held that clairvoyant brush, the one that would, if it braced my portrait with a stroke, add colour and place every tone in note. With hope I breathe, I move, I pass, but a hope much different – a hope to live through a cherished dream of love like the turtle doves of Christmas. I shall keep this one, will you shield the other?

Chromatic hues of spring

Born in the land of festivities but brought up much like royalty who didn’t partake in the little euphoric moments of life and who dismissed the casual, carefree and somehow effervescent existence of common man as the lack of civility– that was I, one who was far too ‘prim n proper',one who was debonairly. Almost nineteen years of living life this way and being tagged ‘Monica’ somewhere down the lane for the extreme case of compulsive obsessive disorder that I do apparently ‘suffer’ from but never once did I imagine myself to be any different – not until today, the jovial, vivacious and insouciant day of the spring festival celebrated to mark the end of dark and demonic forces by burning effigies on the one hand and the smearing of coloured powder topped by water being thrown on one another – Holi.

Much opposed to the idea of ‘playing’ holi, the prospect of taking a day off and going somewhere else, somewhere where I wouldn’t be targeted (for that I definitely was!) was playing in the back of my mind. But, unfortunately, circumstances commanded me to stay, and so I did, fearing for dear life. With immeasurable persuasion and substantial coaxing, I did finally go out there.

And my, oh my! The array of colours that shrouded everyone did indeed scare me. (The only thoughts that ran through my mind at that very precise moment were of the chemical content of those colours and how hard it would be to clean up!) Once you are out there, there is no escape route. Initially filled with inhibitions, I did resist. But somehow, the element of fun couldn’t be ignored and then was when I did loosen up. With countless colours smeared on my face creating a bizarre shade that was spectral and uniquely reminded me of the grinch when I took a closer look in the mirror, drenched in a few buckets of water, a strangely content heart and half an hour later, I returned, realizing two things – one, it is ok to let go and two, it is never too late.

Here I am, it’s been a few hours, and I have expended great efforts on scrubbing, and yet, I still have a tinge of the pink gulal on my face and my fingers glare at me with the shade as I type. At the end of it all, it definitely was a day to remember (my first holi!), a day to bring alive the chromatic hues that paint the days of spring.

Shades of sunset in a cup

Nostalgia hits me – the enigmatic notes of Chopin playing in the background, the creek that ran through the garden somehow resounding them while keeping with the time, the last song of the black bird as it was heading home – the music was all around in perfect harmonious symphony. All you had to do was tune in, listen.

There I was, perched on the window seat, lost deep in thought, with that steaming heavenly cup of coffee that did positively up my spirits on that quiet spring evening, as were the last few that did follow.

Life, as I had known it, wouldn’t be the same again. The time had come and I was heading out, away from home, out into that enthralling enchanted land beyond as I had always pictured it, anxious and excited, all at once, in search of greener pastures for sustenance. Why was home disregarded? Weren’t our folks happy enough? – I couldn’t conceive why. Oblivious to all, I have been – a picture that was charmingly picturesque; that is all that I had seen, or been shown rather. Reality was not something I had come across. It had probably dawned on someone to say, “Let go!” And so, there I was, going – leaving behind the only world I knew, the only people I loved. Right or wrong, for good or for bad – I didn’t know then as I do now.

To say goodbye, I couldn’t. The assurance that I would return was not good enough to refrain from the exercise. It was tearful but the drive to discover, to traverse paths untrodden held me through. With time and distance, I’ve finally moved on.

Even now, I’m here, perched on the window seat enjoying my cup of coffee, though in a setting much different, seeing things in a different light; change it seems has come. I shall, however, never hope to be anybody but me. Change for the better, maybe. Home is where the heart lies. The sights and sounds, the laughter and love that then seemed transient, and yet still remain etched in my memory, truly remind me of the shades of sunset captured in a cup.

Suburbs of our secrets

Life, they say, is not a bed of roses. For the longest time, I have dismissed this as pure nonsense. But with time and age, I guess, we realize that everything, in its own respect, has some implication, significance and purpose. I’d still, nevertheless, hold on to say that ‘life is in fact, a bed of roses’ – for after all, we must understand that roses too, have thorns.

This element called ‘profundity’ is somehow unconsciously installed in us, though not of our own accord or free will. All of a sudden, distant, disconnected and independent, it seems particularly wrong.

It is the heart, longing to liberate itself from the burden of having to be the soul secret keeper and the frustration and chagrin of the rest of our person from the general course of life.

A perfect avenue, I've found in this, to express, communicate and convey whatever little bouts of random profoundness that comes my way and to lead your minds through the suburbs of many secrets.

Take my hand, lead me on...

An existence, much normal, that’s what it was. There seemed like there was nothing that would beckon to this quiet humble soul that would indeed lead it to pause.

To think, I thought, why? – take my hand, lead me on. The path was clear, unmarred – nothing to lead me astray. Clear it was, indeed, but where was real life in that? My heart, it longed for adventure, to breakaway and run free on the golden sands of what lay beyond. But that iron hand, as it always did, pulled me back yet once again.

Much time has passed and I can no longer drift on with this soft wind that in its passing promises no harm – soothing it is, but to bare it all and embrace one much harsher, more real, and longing to be carefree, to wander through mindless meanderings rather than the idealism of the cocoon that surrounds us. There yonder it sits, tantalizing the soul – “Come hither, come take my hand, lead me on.” It was, but, monotonous, though life went on.

And then one day, amidst my much-accustomed surroundings that by then seemed so morose, a little knock, I heard. Though feeble it seemed, internal instinct said that that was the one that would make a difference. Overwhelmed, filled with hope, I tried, I reached out, and yet again, there was that something to hold me back. For years of a custom-made existence, to breakaway and embark on a journey filled with adventure is a touch too hard for the mind to correlate with the heart.

Follow your heart, they say and so I did. I reached out yet again, this time paying no heed to that iron hand, for I wanted you to take mine in yours – take my hand, lead me on.

My life, it was an empty page, before you came along - flawless, serene, dispassionate, peaceful - perfection personified. Somehow, somewhere deep inside, I knew you would unleash what was, even to myself, invisible, perplexing and profound.

There were times when the tide rose high and others when it fell low, but you, though not omnipresent, for you seem so near and yet are so far, touched my heart and took my hand to lead me on. Lead me on; indeed, you did, showed me what life really is, what it should be, what it could be.

Now, what remains is the question – will you be there to prolong this brief sojourn, to still hold my hand and lead me on?