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I know this one is not at all like any of my posts… but well I am not very much able to write these days…

I am listening these days. A lot. Silently also. And sometimes asking questions… like this one.. So tell me… when was the last time you listened to something like this…

Not heard… listened… like while doing nothing else.

Kabhi kabhi to awaz de kar mujhko jagaya khwabon ne…  and while typing this, I wish I could translate this.

I used to think I understand this.. like really get it, as a kid. Not sure I get it even now.

Duniya se jeete… par tujh se haare… yoon khel apna hua…

I have actually listened to my mom singing this, more than the real song. Her voice still seems more real to me, but anyways this will do

Jahan se bichhad kar chale jayein hum…to yeh naa smajhna mohabbat nahi!

And my dad’s favorite. No more introduction…

And so many more… I wish I could post them without any fear of boring you… but that okay.

“O, beware, my lord, of jealousy;

It is the green-ey’d monster,
.

.

Who dotes, yet doubts, suspects, yet strongly loves!”

I know! But… Well… it’s fun sometimes. It’s so much fun sometimes. My best friend… well so much more than my best friend now… tells me that I should never be jealous… for what I am nobody is. What I have nobody does. And that may be true, that’s okay. But then what they have may be I don’t have.

I get it when people… okay let’s call them well-wishers (so many of them you’ve got)… say that being jealous is a petty petty emotion. I get it. But they don’t get… when I say it’s a magnificent, enormous, grand emotion. And I believe it is second only to Love in not getting accepted in face.

Jealous is a beautiful, fine emotion. And the fineness lies in the fact that it unfolds so many emotions for us that we aren’t even aware of. That we try to hide to ourselves, showing off some grand self. We are human, and no matter how much we blabber otherwise, humans have weaknesses. Hidden uncelebrated unaccepted unexpressed but very real pieces of weakness. You feel insecure. Your fear. You feel competition. You feel obsessions. You feel possession. You feel. You feel even in the moments when you are so determined to show off otherwise. These feelings more often than not don’t have a say. In your heart, in your mind. They can’t express themselves to you in any way other than jealous. Sometime love too.

Jealous is not an emotion may be. May be it is voices of so many meek, dumb emotions in your heart that you refuse to accept as being yours. Jealous is the voice of all that is within you, well… not all, but so much of it is within you, un-celebrated, un-answered. Jealous hurts you sometimes. Of course it does. But then so does love. It hurts others sometimes but then so does an ambition. It can make you reach undesirable extremes. But then so does – well any emotion at extremes can do that. Why do we hide hate condemn jealous so much then?

Give it chance. May be a calculated one. Sometime. A chance may be to say something that’s inside you. May be to say something that you haven’t got around to hear till now.

Oh.. And yeah… did I mention… Jealous is fun… like love.

Leave a note

“Was in the city…” Kabir found a yellow post-it flapping its tongue by the side of his keyboard. It had no name, no number, no meeting timings, no nothing. Absolutely un-actionable, un-informative piece of yellow paper flapping its tongue. “Was in the city…” Kabir could read this all day long. After so many years…

“Leave a note when you leave.” “Leave a note when you are done.” “Leave a note if you happen to come by” Or just plain “Leave a note”. And she would. Leave a note. They won’t mean much but she wouldn’t miss to leave one. “Leaving”, “Done” – most meaningless notes. But like a thread. Always there. Like a line- always open. standby but alive. Like a phone call where you slept off talking. Like a conversation where we remain silent. Like a thread. Like a very thin very important thread holding their lives together.

“You mind leaving a little better note?” Kabir would ask. “You asked me to tell when I am done. I did” She would sound honestly confused. “Yeah but… yeah fine.” Kabir knew the honest confusion was just a cover up for the hesitance. He wouldn’t mind. She knew he wouldn’t mind. He actually liked the note. She would know he liked. No talks. Only knowing. Like a conversation when we remain silent.

Kabir wondered. He moved a step further to take off the yellow fluttering post-it. He looked at the handwriting. The curves of ink, the corner of letters where ink was pressed harder. He surfed his thumb on the writing, feeling the ink, feeling the slight carvings on the paper. She was here, writing the post-it. She must have took the pen out of that holder, must have bent down throwing her untied hair backward. He could see her. Being there. Writing the yellow note. So near. So light but so real. Like a thread.  Like a line – always open. Standby but alive.

Sau gram Zindagi yeh…

Please don’t keep wondering which song this is… or you will make me sad. This one https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=saH2Shlup1Q

Listening to it since morning in here. In here it’s a small world. In here I get to smile without anybody noticing. In here I can shed a tear or two without anyone listening. In here it’s all my space.

I am in here. I don’t know how much of it is me. I don’t think if at all it defines me or I define it. I don’t know how much I belong in here if at all. But this feels home. Like there are rains and dark clouds and chilled wind outside and in here there is a lantern or a stove – a small one. And I have earned enough in the day’s labor to make me a small tea. May be not enough milk but that’s ok. May be not enough sugar but that’s okay too. I like my tea. I like holding it in my hands. I like the warmth in here… ‘gungunahat’ I don’t know if warmth is the right word for this.

It wasn’t always the same in here. There were times with broken roofs. There were times when I had a window broken and times when I was a wall short of four. There were times when I cried so hard that people passing by could hear. It has taken time in sewing itself. It has taken it’s time in here with the walls and roof. Some things I did. Some things it did for me. And we have come to make it – to be this. This place in here. This place I am starting to find home.  This place I am starting to call mine.

There are bad days. But there are okay days too. And then in bad days I have a lantern in here – yeah the same one I talked about. I have grown to live with the winds may be. Or this place in here has learnt to protect me better. Which one of the two – I don’t care. In here I don’t care to know the reasons. In here unanswered questions look like magic. In here things are simple.  In here I feel good.

It’s not left much. The roof will go down in the next rain. The door hinges are gone. It will break with a strong wind. I know. I can see. I fix a hinge or two sometimes. I try to save it. I try to preserve. I can’t. But I try. I don’t want to let go. As if it’s me. As if it defines me. As if I belong… in here.

I was reading some simple little story and I saw the useless ‘you light up my day‘ line. It’s very common no. I have been hearing this in movies. Seeing it on cards since…I don’t know since I started watching movies or started buying cards. And I am sure it meant something when I would have first heard it or read it. I am sure it would have caused some turbulence of feelings if not a rush when I first read it. But today it’ nothing. Okay it is better than I love you may be. Hah! But it really means nothing. Does it?

Every line is commercialized. Every emotion is. They lose meaning at a pace like never before.  ‘You light up my day‘ to ‘you light up my life‘ to ‘you light up my world‘… to a few with a ‘like nothing else does‘ suffix. All have gone bogus. Imagine how should it really feel when you hear ‘you light up my day like nothing else does‘ anywhere – movie, story, card. Anywhere. And what you really feel. I am actually wondering why am I even wasting a minute to write this.

But then the mind wanders as it always does. And it asks. Who would I look at and say ‘you light up my day‘. And you know what I just smile. Who what why does not matter. I just smile. And if I don’t check it in time, I find myself beaming. Literally. And I realize it does not matter how old it has gone or how meaningless it sounds printed on a card. When you pick the card for someone you mean it. And when you think about the stupid line in our room alone and smile. Oh you definitely mean it. And that’s all the line or it’s writer would’ve ever wanted – For you to mean it. No?

Rains

Like one in a wild storm it was raining. It’s been raining for a few days now. She has been sitting by the balcony looking at it raining. All the time. Almost all the time. No it’s not been any vacation but she doesn’t remember going to work. How is she not going to work if there hasn’t been a vacation. A sprinkle of water falls on her face and the reasoning gets evaporated.

She can see him from far. He is walking in the rain. His house is a couple of blocks away. She can see him. All drenched in rain. He looks cute. She smiles. It’s painful. Smiling is painful. She just had a surgery in lower jaw. Smile aches. Huh! She takes in the pain and gives one more shot to smile. Or just looks at him. One or the same thing. Aches equally. She smiles at her reasoning. One or the same thing. Ah it aches again. The lips ache. Or ears do. Yeah.. The part between ear and lips… cheek… ah no. but that’s all there is in the middle of lips and ears. But that is not it. The helplessness of reasoning is aching. A drop drops off the right eye. Drops on the floor in a pool of so many other drops. Has she been crying? She wonders. For what?

She looks down at floor. A pool of so many drops. Are they tears. Or just raindrops. Circles of mild vibrations. Beautiful circles arranged in a random symmetry. Clear and sparkling. Like broken mirrors. Round perfect breaks. She could see herself in the mirrors. She could see the drops in her eyes. She could see the pain in her cheeks in the mirror. Pains don’t have shadows. Her mind reasoned. A drop of pain lands in the pool of mirrors and changes the arrangement. From one perfect symmetry to another. The reasoning evaporated by beauty of perfection. Her refection in the pool of drops. In the pool of mirrors. Tears in her eyes pouring into the mirrors. She sees herself. She sees him in the pool of mirror. Her heart skips a beat. He was walking in the rain. How could he come back and stand behind her? Before her mind could reason any further she turns swift with a jerk.

“How long have you been sleeping?” smiling he touches her shoulder with a blank unconcerned care. She looks at him. His eyes. Between lips and ears, his cheeks. His forehead. It all looked so real. Please don’t be a dream… her heart pleads mildly.

Rubbish

Yeah, so I was watching House M.D. it’s good only. Very good actually. But there are things in serials and movies and books and there are things in life. They just don’t match.

He is in pain. Physical pain. He is out of his stock of pain killers and he can’t cope up with the pain. He cuts himself in the arm. One pain reduces the other logic. He just cuts himself in the arm. As simple as that. Yeah, well, not simple. May be painful. He looked cute and stuff for a spilt second. But two days later here I think… really? Cutting one in arm does not relieve the aching leg. It just cant.

One pain does not reduce the other. A devastation is not overcome by another devastation. A disappointment is not killed by another. My guilt is not relieved by your punishments. The hurts I carve on me are not diminished by hurts you give me. I can’t speak for the world of stories, I never lived there, but in real world it just does not work.

If you are drowning and you put more water you drown faster. If u are drowning and you manage to burn yourself you will get burnt and it will hurt. It just makes it more feverish.  More hurtful. More brutal. Relief is rubbish. A doctor like House would know that… I thought.

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