सपने

कल सुबह जब उठो तो सुनहरी धूप की गर्मी में कुछ पल नहाना

नमी में डूबे गीले पत्तों को सहलाना

नए दिन की शुरुआत का गीत गाते परिंदों को सुनना

बदल रहे मौसम के इशारे समझना

गर्म दिनों में सुबह की मंद शीतल पवन से अंतर्मन को पुलकित करना

पतझड़ हो तो गिर रहे पत्तों की बारिश में कुछ पल खो जाना

शिशिर ऋतु की ठंडी बर्फ से देह और मन को चकित करना

वसन्त में नन्हे पौधों से थोड़ी बातें करना।.....

जानती हूँ तुम्हारे सपनों की तालिका बहुत लंबी है

बहुत दूर तक जाना चाहते हो

सितारे छूना चाहते हो

पर उन सितारों को देखने वाला भी तो कोई होना चाहिए

वो ऊपर आसमान में टिमटिमाते चाँद और तारे यूँ ही तो नहीं बने

अस्पष्ट अँधेरी रातों में जाने कितनों को राह दिखाते हैं

अपने अस्तित्व को सार्थक बनाते हैं।

अकेले भागते रहे तो कभी थकोगे भी, कभी गिरोगे भी

कोशिश करना कि कोई हो जो तुम्हे थाम ले, उन पलों में संभाल ले

तुम्हे टूटने से पहले समेट ले, तुम्हे बिखरने से पहले बटोर ले

तुम्हे याद दिलाये फिर से मुस्कुराना

कुछ पल ठहरना

फिर से चहकना

फिर से खिलखिलाना

सपनों की वजह से पीछे छूट रही ज़िन्दगी को

फिर से थामना

फिसलते जा रहे ख़ुशी के लम्हों को

संजोना

याद रखना कि सपने कुछ पूरे होंगे

कुछ अधूरे रह जाएंगे

पर ज़िन्दगी के गुज़रते लम्हे फिर वापस नहीं आएँगे।

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Linking to Write Tribe's  #FridayReflections prompt

“It does not do to dwell on dreams and forget to live.” – J K Rowling, Harry Potter and the Philosopher’s Stone. Use this quote in your post or as an inspiration for one.

One Amazing Thing

"I screwed up my life big-time, a lot of ways. Did a lot of stupid stuff. But at least I saw one amazing thing."

------One Amazing Thing by Chitra Banerjee Divakaruni


2013 was a blow. It was a year that filled our lives with much sorrow. It was a time of emotional ups and downs. Two deaths in the family and a birth. My father-in-law's sudden death was followed by an unexpected calamity - the departure of my only brother. I was expecting my second child, my daughter, whose arrival I could not in any way celebrate. I became cold in many ways. I started forgetting people's birthdays, something I had been very particular about since I always liked to wish them on their special days. I would hate when someone remembered mine, because all it reminded me was the last surprise celebration my brother had planned for me. I stopped praying. It seemed futile to sit with folded hands and eyes closed when there was no one out there to listen. I looked around and saw death, loss, grief, pain everywhere. I wasn't the only one to suffer. I would look at a solitary cloud floating in the sky and that would take my back to my brother. It was as if he was in it, flying freely while I stood on the ground searching for him, in vain. When on the road, I would be lost in the deep woods that bordered NJ freeways. They would beckon my spirit silently and I seemed to follow, hoping that he was there, calling me, waiting to talk to me.

But he was not there. He could not be.

I had to come back, empty-handed, always.

Life was utterly hopeless.

I had to find a way out. But I did not know how.

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Then one day, a close friend of mine called me. She was feeling very low. I tried to cheer her up on the phone, Later I wrote something for her. It was my first blog post - For You, My Dear Friend. It was from here that I named my Blog, When I Stopped to Smell a Rose. I did not know what would happen next. It wasn't as if all my agony had swept away. No, I still felt that void. I don't really thing it can be filled in any ways. But it did touch my core in an inexplicable way. My heart ached to write.

I had started on a journey almost unawares. I was clueless as to where it would lead me. But I was willing to be led. Some unheard voice guided me along. Some unseen hand nudged me gently and I started walking.

It was later that I realized a strange thing. I had posted my first poem, my first writing on my grandmother's birthday - October 15.  It was a strange feeling, an astonishing realization, a sign I willingly acknowledged as a blessing. It was an amazing thing to see that tiny speck of light amidst the bleakest, gloomiest part of my life.

I remembered all the birthdays I had celebrated with her, the cards I had made for everyone special to me, the happy moments that had given me so much precious memories to hold on to. Do you think I cried then? No, I cleansed myself of the heaviness of the sorrow that was crushing me.

I got up, and I decided to walk around, with others, to lighten them up, to cheer them up.
To smile.
To make them smile.

Through the foggy blindness of my pain, through the blurry denseness of others' misery, a hope sprung inside. And I decided to write.

I have continued. Somehow, despite occasional setbacks, I have continued. What started on October 15, 2014, has completed two years.

My blog has survived.
My hopes have survived.

The lone distant cloud still fills my heart with yearning and the deep woods still intrigue me.
But something stays put. Something holds me together. The healing continues.

All I need to do now is to extend a Big Thanks to all of you, my family, my friends, my fellow bloggers, who have tolerated me despite my irregularity.

I never thought I would be here. But who can, really, even if one plans. Do we ever have any absolute knowledge of even one moment of future. No, I don't think so.

But then, if we had the knowledge, would it be easy? The answer is again NO.

As I end the post, I want to share one more thing.
Last night, we dined outside. It would have been just like any other moment of eating outside but for one thing. Our table was next to a family who was celebrating an occasion. It was a very special one. The eldest member of their family, their mother-in-law, had turned 90! It was amazing to be part of this celebration although we were not part of the family. As we extended our wishes to the birthday girl, my heart was filled with amazement. I felt after a long time that birthdays are special!



Linking to Sanch Vee 's #FridayReflections  prompt

Did you think you’d be doing what you’re currently doing in life? Write a personal essay.

Simple Wishes.....

 

"What is that boy doing?" The little eager eyes were looking at a boy standing near a fountain in the middle of the park.

"He is throwing coins", her mother replied.

"Why?", she asked.

"It is a wishing well, dear. Some people feel that by throwing a coin in the fountain, your wish will come true."

"Can I have one, please?" The little girl started jumping restlessly. Her mother fumbled through her wallet and took out a penny. The girl grabbed the penny and rushed towards the fountain and threw the coin aimlessly. As the coin plopped into the water, she squealed with joy. She ran back to her mother. 

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"Did you see that, did you?" The look of pure delight in her eyes was priceless.

"Can I have one more coin, please?"

The reluctant mother took out another penny. Her daughter snatched the penny and grabbed her mother's hand. She pulled her close to the fountain. Then, again in a casual way, she tossed the penny into the fountain, waiting to hear the plop, as if that was all that mattered in the world.

Unmistakable laughter - pure and hearty - filled the air.

"One more, please.....one, only one.....please", she pleaded to her mother.

This time, her mother took out a handful of coins, and started giving them to her one by one. And she couldn't resist smiling at her simple pleasure. With every plop, there was a moment of a bellyful of laughter. After sometime, both the mother and her daughter were laughing their heads off.

"No more coins left, dear", Mother said. "Let's go."

"My wish came true Ma", the little girl confessed as they walked away from the fountain.

Mother stopped. "What wish?", she asked.

"I wanted to see you laugh, and the fountain fulfilled my wish. You were sad today. I didn't like that."

Mother was stunned. She was so little but she observed so much.

"You did not laugh at first Ma. But later, as I kept throwing the coins, you started feeling happy too. It is a wishing well Ma. We will come here often."

Mother hugged the little one tightly. She had never realized how much her daughter understood. As for the wishing well, perhaps, some wishes were meant to come true. Or perhaps, for wishes to be fulfilled, all you needed was a simple heart that never stopped trying.

Linking to #FridayReflections with Write Tribe and Sanch Vee

"Hold Fast to Dreams...."

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She stared at the pages of her diary. For the past fifteen days, this diary had been her sole companion. Something had happened to her lately. Nobody knew what. She woke up one morning without any memories. She knew not her name, and who she was. 

In the facility where the doctors were trying to treat her, people came and went. They would come with photographs and other trinkets with which they tried to goad her out of this oblivion. First ones to approach were a child accompanied with his father. The man claimed to be her husband. And the child's little hands craved for her motherly touch. She felt a pang in her heart as she reached out hesitantly to the boy and hugged her to comfort him. But in her heart was just a torment. Who was she? "You are my wife", the man had replied. "Mom", the boy had cried.

Later came an old couple. They were her parents. They embraced her with a touch that gave her some relief. They brought with them stuff that had been dear to her when she had not forgotten anything. Stuff like books, paintings and her favorite food. Her gaze remained vacant as she held each of those things in her hand. "You are our daughter", the couple had pleaded before they left the room.

Some came who were about her age, though she had no idea how old she was. They were a jovial lot, her colleagues. They brought memories from the school she worked in. They humored her with silly jokes. They told her that her students missed her a lot. "You are a teacher, you ought to come back soon", they advised.

A woman simply clad in black and pink dress came and recited her favorite poem to her - Dreams written by Langston Hughes. 

Hold fast to dreams

For if dreams die

Life is a broken-winged bird

That cannot fly.

Hold fast to dreams

For when dreams go

Life is a barren field

Frozen with snow.

Before leaving the room, her friend tried to remind her that she had had many dreams she wanted to pursue. "One was to write a book, remember?" and saying that she dropped the diary in her hand.

She stared at her diary again. She took a pen and started writing something.

On the first page she wrote - Wife

On the next she wrote - Mother

On the next - Daughter

Then, Teacher.

Then, Dreamer.

Then in capitals, she wrote - WHO AM I?

and she closed the diary shut.

‘This post is a part of Write Over the Weekend, an initiative for Indian Bloggers by BlogAdda.’

Also Linking to IndiSpire #132 

Brick Wall that disappeared......

When I was little, I used to have a dream. It was recurrent. In the dream, I would be walking on an unknown path and in front of me stood a red brick wall. It was shaded with beautiful trees. It would beckon me with its mysterious beauty. I would try to reach it but before I could cover the entire distance between me and the wall, the dream would end, and I would wake up. I don't remember when I stopped having this dream. I did not discuss it with anyone since I believed that if I do that, I would stop having the dream. It was as if I wanted to face that wall in its alluring charm again and again and again. 

I never tried to read into the dream too. My dad had a book about dreams and their meanings which I would stealthily read every time I had some weird dream. But for this one, I did not want to. I wanted no interpretation of that path I was taking, of that wall that seemed to stand in between, and the color red. Now, after all these years, I could interpret it in many ways. Perhaps, my dreamy heart wanted to venture into the unknown horizon and live the adventures it had to offer. Perhaps, the wall stood for the many hurdles I would face in my journey which I would have to overcome. Perhaps the color red signified danger or rashness or aggression or passion. 

The path never appeared  uninviting. I never sensed an unease during or after the dream. I wanted that brick wall to appear right in front of my eyes so that I could cross it and see what lay on the other side.

I never met that brick wall. Or may be I didn't seek hard enough. In some shady nook, in some fanciful corner, it might still exist, waiting for me to reach it, touch it, cross it. 

तुम्हे शिकायत है कि राह में दीवारें बहुत हैं 

मुझे दुःख  इस बात कि चलने की कोशिश ही न की 

(You crib that there are many walls in the way

I regret that I never tried to walk....)

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Linking to #MondayMusings on Everyday Gyaan

Chaos.....

For this post, I have written on Write Tribe's #FridayReflections prompt Chaos — how do you feel about it?  I have done a Free Write as suggested by Suzy Que in a previous post.

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Lot of prompts have been doing a round lately, and some of them have been really good. But for one reason or the other, I have not been able to write- have been either exhausted or busy. This time, the Write Tribe prompt on chaos set me to work...What is it that attracts me so much to the word? I don't know. When I think of chaos, I think also of creation. That's how it has been, right? Out of chaos has come our universe. The universe that we are trying to kill by our prejudices, by our recklessness, by our un-satiating desires. Oceans are dying thanks to the chaos caused by our senseless use of plastic. We try to keep everything clean only by shoving away all that is dirty here and there. But we pretend. We pretend to worry. We make and watch videos. We write and read articles. We like and share posts. We crib and complain over the chaos that is ruining us. But we don't accept that we ourselves are the cause of it all. Rational beings chaotically charged!

So are our thoughts. Where is the order inside our brains? Thoughts seem to burst rather than sprout. We act rashly. We give vent to our anger. We become intolerant because we think the entire world is against us, and hell-bent on hurting us. But we end up hurting only our peace and dignity. Waves of wild anger rise high and wreck our lives. What is left is only chaos. How will we stand again? We need to calm down. We need to stop hurling abuse on others. We need to become receptive. We need to open the gates of our hearts.

Gates - refugees are looking for open gates these days. Fleeing from the chaos caused by atrocity and injustice, they are fleeing to safer places. Many make it, many don't. There are kids who die. Alan Kurdi dies. Omran's picture is trending these days. I writhe in pain at the anguish in those little eyes. My heart bleeds at the sight of Alan's listless body. We are all responsible for their fate. How will we ever be forgiven? Who will grant us forgiveness? How will kids like Omran ever recover from the trauma that has devastated their houses, desecrated the innocence of their childhood, ripped apart their families? Who will bring peace to them? 

Little ones are supposed to smile. They are meant to be bundles of happiness. They are dying - the tiny seeds which were meant to bloom in a well-tended garden - a garden which has been uprooted. I wish some gentle breeze carries them to a meadow of love where springs of love flow. I wish they can smile again.

Smile - it is so essential. It is the thing that can counter chaos. A true, well-meaning smile. Not a sly one. Not a fake one. A smile that is as pure as the laughter of a child who is popping bubbles. A smile that is as chaste as the smile of a baby cooing in response to her mother's songs. 

Why have we forgotten that smile?

Why have we become so tumultuous and explosive?

Why are we ready to burst? 

Why do we love to bring chaos in other's lives when we hate to have it in our own?

My mind is in disarray.

Chaos takes over. 

I can write no more.

Linking to Write Tribe's #FridayReflections

Book Review - The Story of a Suicide by Sriram Ayer

In 2012, I sat in front of my TV anxiously awaiting the judgement that would be meted out to Dharun Ravi, an Indian immigrant student at Rutgers University, New Jersey. He had through a webcam witnessed his room-mate Tyler Clementi's private moments with his boy-friend and later on had invited other friends and Twitter followers to witness the same through his web-cam. (The second part however never happened.) The entire incident resulted in Tyler Clementi's suicide.

As I sat watching the trial on my TV, I was at loggerheads as to where my sympathy should lie. I saw Tyler's mom waiting for a fair judgement. Her son would never return. Her loss was irreparable. On the other hand was this boy whose immaturity had landed him and his family in such a terrible situation. Dharun's mother sat in a corner weeping silently, praying for minimum punishment possible for her son. Dharun was charged on account of invasion of privacy. His crime was not categorized under 'hate crime' or 'discrimination' since nowhere did he show bias towards Clementi's being gay.

The case reflected how a foolish use of technology had ruined so many lives. It highlighted how important it was for us as parents, and for the society as a whole to act responsibly. If only, kids like Dharun knew that they had no right to invade the privacy of others. If only, kids like him realized that whatever they do could have serious consequences. And also, if only kids like Clementi had the love and unconditional support of their friends and family. If only kids like him knew that they would be accepted and loved for who they were.

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The Story of a Suicide

I began my post with the case of Dharun and Clementi because when I read The Story of  a Suicide by Sriram Ayer, I was reminded strongly of that tragedy. But the book however has more issues to deal with then just this. The key players of the story are Hari, Mani, Sam, Aditya, Priya, Charu and Alex. Hari's parents, 'He', and the twitter friends are important too in the role they play in the development of the plot.  The title of the novel is well-chosen. This is the narrative of not a man or a woman committing suicide. It is the story of suicide itself - how it happens, what factors or forces are responsible for shaping it up. It is not as if an individual decided to end his/her life and went about doing it. There are circumstances that make it happen. The novel is an exploration of those determinants at work.

I am going to divide my post according to the themes I felt are crucial in understanding the story as a whole. Then, I will conclude showing how each theme intertwines in the plot to bring about a completion in the narrative.

Insubordination

The narrative of the novel hinges on the thread of insubordination. There are different levels of disobedience that are examined in the story. To begin at the beginning is Sam and his relationship with Priya. As becomes evident quite early, Sam is driven into technology so much that he can see nothing else around himself. His inattentive involvement with Priya ends their relationship. Tweets are more important than a meaningful conversation. But when Priya calls it off, Sam's ego is hurt, really hurt. If we begin to feel that he might really be in love, Charu enters and Sam is floored by her beauty and confidence. But Charu is a very different woman. It is never clear how committed she is with Sam. There are points of confusion, moments when she wants to fully surrender to Sam, and then when she completely cuts him off. Sam is a typical male in this regard. The conversations he has with Aditya, and the tweets he makes about women, reveal how he objectifies the female body. The disregard he meets at the hands of Charu and the rejection from Priya are way too much for him to handle.

Then, there is the failed disobedience of Hari with 'He'. The way 'He' traumatizes Hari as a child and the inability of Hari to oppose it is very poignantly handled in the novel.

Mani's failed attempt to commit suicide as he is unable to cope with the pressure of studies is another example of insubordination - his refusal to accept the standards set by society due to his 'inabilities'.

These three are different kinds of non-compliant behaviors at work in the novel.

Abuse and Negligence

In the stories of Hari and Mani are hidden the accounts of countless kids and teenagers who suffer due to parental negligence and social expectations. The pressure to stay within the bounds of conformity are too much to handle. The inability to see that abuse is lurking right under their nose is the cause of much misfortune. Hari is unable to overcome the childhood trauma even when it is not physically present. The scars left on his soul are sore wounds that refuse to heal. For Mani, it is the expectations society has from toppers that intimidates him and threatens to undo him. Both the boys find in each other a possibility of a relationship that will be based on trust and understanding. But past blemishes are not so easy to rid of, and so their relationship too walks on a tightrope.

An intruder called 'Technology'

It may well be argued whether it is technology or its senseless use that is the cause of all the trouble. I feel, that it is both. Technology has entered so much into our lives, it seems to have invaded our sanity too. The addictive spell of technology and the rashness of youth is not so great a combination. The urge to post our 'status', to lure of remaining 'anonymous', the ignorance of thinking that with anonymity we can also wash our hands off our mistakes, to live more in the 'virtual' rather than the 'real' world around us - all this remains central to the plot.

At the same time however, we can not overlook the larger patriarchal forces at work. The hegemonic ideas we conform to, the disciplines we consider 'normal' and 'normative' and the standards we maintain to 'judge' and 'punish' people go a long way in determining why we act the way we do.

Conclusion - Punishment and Patriarchy

 The 'disobedient' women in the novel, the docile child, the failed student, the enraged boyfriend, the unhappy parents - they all work in a given social set-up. They have become what they are in a society that has certain rules of decorum, certain definitions of respectability, certain stereotypes based on which men and women are expected to behave. Although homosexuality is not directly attacked in the story, the fact that it remains closeted in the novel speaks volumes about the homophobia at work. The tragic end of the novel is shaped by forces which were working on getting some other results, but which may very well have brought about a similar fate if homosexuality was directly targeted. As Gayle Rubin has rightly said, " The suppression of the homosexual component of human sexuality, and by corollary, the oppression of homosexuals, is .... a product of the same system whose rules and relations oppress women." The bonding between Sam and Aditya, the fetishizing of the body of the woman in the conversations they have, and the 'desire' to 'correct' the 'aberrant' behavior of the beloved are instances which reveal a sadist misogyny at work. When Charu writes the FB post where she boldly uses words that would be taboo in a polite society, she is breaking the rules of patriarchy that does not expect a woman to have a voice. The "homosocial" (borrowed from Eve Sedgewick's book Between Men ) planning of Sam and his friends is very much in keeping with the ideology of patriarchy that sits on dominance, discipline and punishment. The 'dominant' absolute male considers it his right to punish the intractable 'body' of the woman. She will remain an object of desire, a spectacle, and also a subject of punishment. 

This same 'patriarchy' maintains a structure and places individuals accordingly. In such a set-up, it leaves no room for what it considers 'deviant' and hence there is no place for the 'third sex'. This provokes an 'indifferent' mentality towards homosexuality. It cannot be 'recognized' because no-body in the patriarchal set-up will acknowledge it. Hari's parents are the representatives of this very ideological positioning in the society. The dream sequence that Hari's father, Mr. Hegde has reveals that he is somehow aware of his son's 'different' leanings. The author insinuates that even through the account of Haridas, the labourer, who is revered in the theater but condemned outside. It is through the imagery of 'dance' that Mr. Hegde feels that his son's life is in 'danger'. The dream reflects the opposing forces Mr. Hegde is caught in between. There are 'beasts' out there who will kill his son, he screams. But what or who those beasts are is something he does not ponder over, or may be he does not want to.

He, like most of the heterosexual, hegemonic, homophobic society, refuses to acknowledge its presence. And for that reason, even in the book, the theme of homosexuality rests on the hinges of the narrative. It is there, very much there for us to probe, to understand, if only we are sensitive enough to give it its deserved space.

Abuse becomes the tool of 'discipline' and 'punishment'.

The illustrations of the book are hazy yet powerful. They reflect the confusion and chaos of a society that wears the pretense of politeness. Like the dream sequences in the story, they are at times blunt and catch you off-guard. They tease us out of our oblivion. They mock, they prick, they interrogate. 

Time to interrogate

Each chapter of the novel has a set of questions for the reader to brood over. These questions are exercises of introspection and analysis. They are meant not just for those who suffer a heart-break, or are abused. They are also meant for the supposed power-holders of the society - those who wish to judge, discipline and punish others. The relevance of this kind of interrogation is crucial since the way we handle the incidents in our life can make or break us. These questions are meant to evoke a response that can help us handle rejections, promote and practice compassion, and develop an understanding for those who are 'different' from us, but still as human as we are.

The havoc that is wrecked in the novel happens much with the aid of social media and the brutally indifferent use of technology. Thus it is imperative for the care-givers, the parents, the teachers and the guardians of our society to teach well the kids and the youngsters on how to use it to achieve harmony and not create chaos. 

Following are some important points I feel we need to go over: 

1) We need to understand and respect everyone's right to privacy.
2) We need to realize that whatever we do has consequences. Responsibility for an act, done anonymously or otherwise, can never be done away with. 
3) We need to teach the kids from an early age that the desire to possess can only bring about ruin. Freedom, and space in a relationship are the foundation of healthy relationships. 
4) If someone says No, we need to respect that decision.
5) We should assert our refusal powerfully if our dignity is threatened. To hide the matter, no matter how much we are afraid, can only bring more abuse. We have to speak up before it is too late.
6) As friends, we need to pay attention to each other when we are low. A confident and caring person is all we need in times of crisis.
 7) Virtual life, no matter how addictive, remains just that. It can never replace the authentic, committed relationships we can actually have if only we are willing. What is not out there is just a chimera. It can create illusions, and hallucinations, and can take you away from the real world. It can ruin you. 
8) Conversations - talking and listening - can really help someone in need.. We ought to pay attention to signs and words. Don't overlook just because you don't like it. Our likes and dislikes are less important that a life in pain. That life can be saved if we are vigilant.
9) Accept who you are, even when you are different from others. Be proud of yourself. 

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This post is written in response to Indiblogger IndiChange Topic - Review the book The Story of a Suicide by Sriram Ayer