Lets Just Keep It "UNTITLED".

I always had this weird notion of life being extremely difficult,  slogging entire life, for NOTHING, and at the end of the day its NOTHING you all get.

Yeah, Nothing.

I still believe in it. Maybe with little improvisations, though.

We do run behind a lot of things. Desires, dreams and all that nonsense. But there comes one day when you actually stop running, because you realize you are running behind something which is running away from you.
There is a time when you realize, "it" just wasn't for you.
A time when you get tired.
Tired of all the expectations and losing.

I believe when people lose more than what they expect, they just become immune to all the losing. And why wouldn't they? They just become brave. Losing is a part of life. But what the author forgot to mention was, it should atleast be compensated with a fair proportion of winning (maybe, at times). When someone lose a lot, he actually doesn't have anything else to lose anymore. "Its' just yet another day of losing" for him.

There is a time when you stop believing in turning points. Because at every point you turn, you turn for nothing at all. So whats the point in gambling with your heart? Its really not that strong. Success stories are encouraging when you read them in magazines, but reality? Is it even close to encouraging?

Even I believed in "stories". But today standing at a position which has not just shattered me but also has broken me down into trillions of pieces, I have stopped believing in stories. Not because they are manipulated, but because they just depress me even more.

There are no happy endings. There are just endings. How happy or sad you are, its relative. Endings are constant. When a phrase ends, lot of things get buried deep down the lanes of Time. I know how it feels when you bury expectations. Its not easy. Well, a reality check. But, when you have buried a lot of expectations before, sometimes, it just become a little easier to bury yet another expectation.

So? Stop expecting? Well, practically I wish we could have done that. But as human beings, its lot tougher. We can't stop expecting, but atleast we can shield ourselves from the disappointments. I mean, are we even left with any other option?

Heart is a stupid thing. Weak and stupid. But condition it to such an extent that it either stops expecting or it just becomes strong enough to face the storms of continuous failures. Only feasible option.

I have become immune. I hope you become too.

KASAB

Graves are closed, so art thine eyes,
terror-sticken of the ghastly experience.
His countenance, the ususal brute,alas serene,
Cold under the "carnival of rust" .
"Allah", was his last word, muffled and low,
deaf to His ears, buried under the chores of those thousands,
wailing, summoning justice.
Handcuffed to all the sunshine, the Pakistani stood,
strong and valiant, on the "deadly hallows",
awaiting the call for Eternal Peace, The Last Slumber.

He struggled for a day's bread, the little lad of five,
detatched from love and amour,
unaccepted by his idol, his father.
Hunger-stricken eyes, worn out attire, hopes ensorcelled.
Kasab, the lonely child, awaited Allah's answer,
the last judgement of his cursed life.

"Cursed", indeed, his life, the skeleton of unreciprocated love,
broken dreams, and, the viscious circle of empty pockets,
was sold off to Hades hounds, in Allah's name,
in the promise of a new life,
a better begining, rising from the ashes of phoenix.
The little child, clinging onto the hopes of an evergreen begining,
gripped the thumb of a figure, dark and brutal,
Unknown of the times, yet to come.

Bewildered eyessaw the shady dark scattered tents,
like the mouth of Lucifer, seducing souls to bound in "loyal slavery".
Stacks of rifles, godowns of bombs and weapons ,
with names, varied and wierd,
encompassed his vision, for twenty long years.
His innocent heart, juvenile and fresh ,
died the death of a jailed victim.
When he rose, he rose from the ashes of his childhood lore,
"innocence", finally "gone with wind".

He rose, a bloody antihero,
satiated from the blood of guilt-free veins.
He killed, but his inner god, died some more.
every single day, in every single breath.
Trained to slaughter, he, abounded by the vows of
brotherhood and "loyal slavery",
chose to paint his sword red.

When he killed, he killed without a tinge of mercy,
his soul stopped him, but he was never taught to listen,
his heart raged agony, the boy of five,
was lost in the mad rush.
'twas a night of despair, a night when Taj was robbed of her jewels,
a night when prayers were questioned.

He was beaten, tortured, ached inhumanly,
but his lips, sealed and locked,
dare not speak a word, for they were his brothers,
his mates and he, the loyal slave, ate the pain,
with a smile, stubborn and victorious.

When he walked up those stairs, leading his way towards his end,
those thousand eyes rejoiced to the core, but his, dropped a tear,
silent and unseen, he looked back at his life,
his Faith laughing at him,
"What a Life?", he thought, remembering his last prayers,
the black cloth covered his face, the chain was pulled,
Kasab, choked his last breath.

He was a puppet, a child tamed to murder,
a good soul sold to Terror's hands.

SHE

She walked past those starry eyes,
        smoothly, void of imperfections.
  She wore her best heels, 
         slipped into her delicate satin attire.
     Her kohl smudged dark eyes searching the street,
           of something she expects everyday, every night.

As she stands near the pole elegantly,
       her countenance reflects the unexplored pain,
the harsh layers of make-up, alas, hide it no more.
 She lights a cigar, her lipstick-coated lips puckers up, inhaling the smoke,
          which hurts her lungs but gives her soul, the divine solace.

She waits, still, time pass by and so does those "starry" eyes,
               she, the only being, knows the bitter-sweet reward of this waiting.
Far, from the blue, comes a limousine, white and shiny,
                               stops near her, the door opens, quickly.
She silently taps her smoke off, her inner goddess cries out,
               she checks her watch, and hops inside the dead-rich machine.

She wakes up, her teary eyes looks the ceiling, above,
           her body, naked and tired, hurts from inside,
 she pulls herself up, fighting hard,
            the ghastly experience of the night before,
    but she fails to fight back, miserably.

She looks around the room, she is not familiar with,
                  sees a cheque on the table, takes it fast and swift.
She hurries out the room, wipes the silent tear,
 rolling down her beautifully sculptured cheek bones.

The door closes after her, slowly,
closing down all the moments of night before,
                    and opening up moments, yet to come.

"I'l Find Love"

Dark kohl eyes search the midnight summer's dream,

Beyond the canopy of twisted flora

Across the sun rays kissed stream.

Her eyes,hopes engraved deep,

frisk the flowery tales across the horizon,

Once lost and forgotten,

buried under the age's yoke.

"I'l find love.",said she,

looking out the casement of towered walls,

little sure of the love she promised her soul.

Knights came, came men from across the world of riches and hues,

But none could touch her bosom deep,

Some said,"Her Highness is difficult to impress."

"Her pride will kill her slow.",said some.

No one understood the woman inside her,

Desperate to love and being loved.

She wanted no riches, no wealth,

Jewels she wanted nevermore.

All she asked for, a tinge of love.

unbroken, unconditioned, untamed

of the vileness of the world.

Valiant and juvenile,

she still awaits her Knight,

Chivalrous, bound by the 'cote of Love',

And yet still, her heart hopes,

"I'l find love."

If not in tonight's sunset.

then at tomorrow's sunrise. 

Confessions Of A Loser

Years back my grandmother told me that in life you lose more and gain little, but whatever you gain, no matter how trivial it is, should make you feel proud.

Well honestly, her words were too "alien-ic" for me back then.

But today when I sit with this blog and give a thought about what she said, nothing comes out but the truth. Yes, life is all about losing and  gaining, we had that enough in our philosophy class. But feeling proud? Well, that's the complicating factor.

I was always that girl in my childhood who stayed at one corner, kept to herself, engaged in her own happy world. Limelight really never attracted me, although I was always the topic at the luncheon. And surprisingly, the discussions weren't too amiable for me, rather I would say a lot embarrassing. Because I was "considered" the "good for nothing child" amongst my siblings. Reason? Funnily, its yet to be discovered.

That was the inception of my never ending failures.

Although, I never took these "small talks" to consideration much, but yes at times I did feel pathetic when my name became a source of uncontrollable laughter to some fleshy old aunts over the coffee. And since I was one introvert ass, my one and only point of serenity was the bathroom, where my tears were much hidden from the outside world lest they will become yet another steaming story.

Over the years I realized two things about myself. One, no matter what I do, how much name I earn, how much respect I receive, my abilities to a certain extent will be looked down upon. Second, I have to struggle to death to become the "able daughter".

Well, that too has a story.

I am a person of little means. I dream less, work more. But there was one little dream of mine which didn't get fulfilled. I wanted to become an advocate, enter my dad's shoes and make him proud. But I guess, the shoes were too big for my ends. I didn't get through the entrance, which left me shattered. But what killed me more were the sarcasm dipped comments which without any doubt satisfied the appetite of all those relatives who out of nowhere arrives at your "funeral day", just to add onto that extra topping to hurt you. I mean thats' so very unfair. I still don't understand how can someone's failure be such a deliciously attracting topic for the society? I mean, don't they have an organ named heart? Or is it that they haven't ever met with Mr.Failure?

Worst part is when "they" ask me, "Weren't you suppose to do law? Oh dear, I almost forgot, you didn't get through, so are just doing a graduation? "

Anger, disappointment, frustration envelopes me each time when I have to answer a "yes".

But as my grandmom rightfully said feel proud in what you gain. So along with that "yes", I add that I'm not doing graduation from anywhere but Fergusson's, thats' supposedly one of the top ranked college in the country.

True, I didn't get through law. True, I couldn't be a good daughter. True, I failed to earn that pat on the back from my father, but what I earned, I earned purely because of my efforts, there was no shortcut. And I am proud of it. Satisfied, maybe no, because there is a lot more to conquer, atleast to shut up those "big mouths", but proud, yes I am.

"Failure is the ladder to success". Well thats' bullshit people. It can never be the key to success. Success is your madness. The madness to capture what is yours. Failure is when you slip because of that madness. How fast you get up is the success.

So in Paulo Coelho's words to all those losers out there , "When you want something, all the universe conspires in helping you to achieve it." The secret of life, though, is to fall seven times and to get up eight times.

 The next time you lose something close to your heart or meet up with failure, feel bad, you have every right to feel that way, cry your eyes out, because in no way you can get solace otherwise, have chilled beer, it really helps, but the next morning when you wake up, don't let the failure haunt you, and to shut all those lips be ready to shed your good social image and start saying "Its' none of your business".

Losing is just a part of life, how often you lose should never be the headache but how badly you lose should be the question. Committing mistake is no big deal because when you find your path, you must not be afraid. You need to have sufficient courage to make mistakes. Disappointment, defeat, and despair are the tools God uses to show us the way.

I didn't give up hope yet, I still dream to be the next Ram Jethmalani. I have chosen my path, its' tough, but its not impossible. And I don't fear the struggle, because every success story is big and is vacant without failures in between.

The Modern Wedding !!

“To have and to hold from this day forward,

For better, for the worse,

For richer, for poorer,

In sickness and in health,

To love and to cherish,

Till Death do us apart”

Wedding Vows.  Years back when my little world comprised fairy tales and happy endings, I always believed that two souls in love and bound by marriage can only be separated by Death. “Till Death do us apart” was something I blindly believed. But modern times have transformed the meaning of marriage so drastically that unfortunately its’ more about “Till our MOOD do us apart”.

In this era of fast paced life, traditions and cultures have lost its relevance and meaning. Today things have changed, pathetically. The old saying of “happily lived ever after” now turned out to be  as  “happily lived never after”. Actually the institution has been subjected to continuous and constant evolution. The idea of marriage as a sexually exclusive, romantic bond between one man and one woman was relatively a recent development, again sadly, losing its meaning steadily.

The society has undergone a shaky transition and the outcome was so dangerous that today the youth talks more about “break up” parties rather than the “engagement ceremony”. Moreover you never know whether you are celebrating for different sexes or the same sex.

I remember getting the shock of my life when one of my friends confessed he is a gay. And my reaction was rather very embarrassing but I think anyone would react that way, forgetting the awkwardness of the situation and the person in question.

But isn’t it a common affair now?

We look at gay couples like other couples on the road. Yes, we definitely find morons who laugh and worst part they term it as some “sexual disease”. Just for them, being gay has nothing to do with disease; they are not ALIENS for godsake. Its’ just their own choice. And yes, we do attend gay weddings, now that its’ legal.

My motive is not to propagate gay rights or whatsoever, my point is the sudden huge leap from a world of traditions to a world of “modern” norms, which has destroyed our society for the worse and has left nothing but a heap of waste. Ten years back the fact of being homosexual would have boycotted one from the society. But now, they say “its’ cool man”.

And even if its’ not about gay couples, “straight” couples (as they say) goes in and comes out of marriage so fast that its’ as if you wore the wedding band tonight and the next morning you are signing the divorce papers. Gen next change their partners as fast as they probably change their underwear. I mean honestly people, we had enough of Kim Kardashian’s marriage which lasted a day and “syamvaars” on air.

Marriage is not a JOKE. Its’ an union between two souls engaged in a life time commitment. So why is it our generation cannot respect it? Couples choose how many children they should have, sometimes no children at all. They casually claim that they got bored and they divorce. Bored? I mean is it like getting bored from a job and resigning from it? Are marriages and relationships today survive till the time the other gets bored?  Then I should be proud of the fact that our parents are happily married for twenty five years, thankfully they are still doing great and FORTUNATELY they aren’t bored.

These new definitions of marriage have opened the door for gays and lesbians claiming the right to get married.  “The process began long before anyone could even dreamed of legalizing the same-sex marriage.” ,said E.J. Graff, author of What Is Marriage Of?

Leaving behind the different kinds of couple we see nowadays, there is another prevailing practise very prominent in modern times, especially the Muslim world. POLYGAMY, again a grave contradiction to the traditional definition of marriage. Just to reform, it should be the bond between one man and MANY women, and I think its’ more believable keeping in mind the status of the youth today . In the 12th and 13th centuries, the European aristocracy viewed extramarital affairs as the highest form of romance, untainted by the gritty realities of daily life. And as late as the 18th century, the French philosopher Montesquieu wrote that any man who was in love with his wife was probably too dull to be loved by another woman.

The ultimate conclusion which can be drawn is that our mindset which we possess today is certainly not because times and the generation have changed and “moved on” so much, the exact reason lay deep down the roots of civilization. Changing partners, divorce, extramarital affairs are not recent trends, they were always there, just the rate of usage (if I call it that way) has increased today.

So all the love birds out there, really it doesn’t matter if you are a gay or a straight person, what it really matters is the love. If you have held his/her hand don’t leave “till DEATH do you apart”.

Love, love, love, love, love, love, love, love, love.

There's nothing you can do that can't be done.

Nothing you can sing that can't be sung.

Nothing you can say but you can learn how to play the game

It's easy.

There's nothing you can make that can't be made.

....................because I'm a (wo)man.

What defines woman?

Being the selfless mother?

Being the responsible wife?

Being the dutiful daughter?

Or ignoring all these “tags”, what ultimately defines woman is the one thing (organ) between the thighs that classifies them as creatures far from even deserving the “humane” respect, from whom? The NORMS of our “civilised” society, the binding cultures which beyond all doubts and clarifications FAIL to bind humanity, a sheer mockery of these namesake rituals.

Speaking of mockery, it reminds me of an administration based on oppression and repression, a community built on inequalities of gender and reinforced by some harsh naked truths.

The social model of this community which calls women as “noor” of their lives, funnily is based on SEXUAL APARTHEID, a belief that women are deficient in their natural and “innate” potentials and abilities, including their psychological make-up and intellectual capacity.

Apparently a shame to the community, social morality and humanity. Often did I believe in the fact that development never comes in changing the mindsets of thousands but starts from within, from the place one reside and from the class one belong. I’ll not be exaggerating if I claim that women have inflicted the greatest culture and “public” morality and “chastity” and its’ biggest prove (one unavoidable to the eyes): Hejab (dress code).

To my utter surprise, during the research I found that sexual apartheid starts in the womb. They say that once the soul has appeared in the foetus, the “diyeh” (blood money) of abortion is full for a boy, half for a girl and three quarters if the sex is not determined. Unfortunately, the discrimination lies purely on the gender. Perhaps, even in this fast paced modern century, the fact that “I am a woman” will subject me to tremendous heartrending violence which again would have been exempted if I were a MAN.

Condemning against a culture or a strata of “protective” norms and laws is definitely not my point, but if such norms give way to injustice and disgust to humanity, I  personally feel that summoning of the high tide is the call for the hour.

True, Islamic punishments have severely encouraged and highlighted the violence against women, especially in the household. The psychological effects of these laws reflects the constant degradation and exploitation of women in government offices, courts, streets, etc, that is whatever they come face to face with officialdom, is profound though unmeasurable.

The ultimate shock which stirred me to my nerves was a quote from a fatwa by the late and unlamented Ayatollah Khomeini of Iran. It says, "A man can marry a girl younger than nine years of age, even if the girl is still a baby being breastfed. A man, however is prohibited from having intercourse with a girl younger than nine, other sexual acts such as foreplay, rubbing, kissing and sodomy is allowed. A man having intercourse with a girl younger than nine years of age has not committed a crime, but only an infraction, if the girl is not permanently damaged. If the girl, however, is permanently damaged, the man must provide for her all her life. But this girl will not count as one of the man's four permanent wives. He also is not permitted to marry the girl's sister."

Sexual abuses on children by Muslim males include fondling of genitals, coercing a child to fondle the abuser’s genitals, masturbation with the child as either participant or observer of the poor little girl. Above all, just the cherry on the icing I wanted, IT IS NOT IILEGAL for an adult male to “thigh” or enjoy the girl who is still in the age of weaning. How INSANE and DEVIL-LIKE it is! ‘SHAME’ stands a much a trivial term for such horrendous act. This practice prevails in Arab world, Iran, Afghanistan, Pakistan where normal sexual development is suppressed.

“DENY MEN NATURAL AND WHOLESOME SEXUAL OUTLETS, THEY WILL FIND UNWHOLESOME AND UNNATURAL ALTERNATIVES”, sad moral of the story.

Many would tag me as an outraged feminist probably, honestly I’m not. But if this is the result of our unconditional love and care, I will never EVER say no to protest be it in any platform. Oft, this harsh world has taken our motherly tender as our weakness, but its’ time to answer back this testosterone charged society, that ENOUGH IS ENOUGH. My heart rips apart to see these women suffering and silently crying behind the dark “hijaab”. For once, look at those eyes, feel what they endure everyday, and you can find nothing but immense pain hidden in those kohl eyes.

Author’s note: To answer all those controversies which might arise after reading this piece of blog, I would clearly like to state that I don’t intend to hurt any religion or community or belief. But I would refuse to give a black eye to all the crimes happening around me in the name of religion, and if this leads to hurt few “oh-so-sensitive” feelings of the moron lot, I give a damnation.