Unwinding Whispers...

It’s such a long long time... and I sit, shelving my tumbling thoughts, tossing away the unwanted, nurturing the sweet ones, and staring at the blank screen of my laptop, waiting... waiting for words to gush out. My ink had been on strike.  Words were flying afar. Thoughts were beginning to crash. Mind had become standstill. I was worn out… the aftermath of a hard labour. I know not from where to start... what to write… After the new birth, how can I be my old self? There were some realisations and some confusion… I had lost some things… but gained some others.

 

Often I am stumped with something I wish to write. It is not that words don’t come to me. They do. It is not that the muse never drops in on me. She does.  They come uninviting, looking coyly at me, footing themselves at an arm’s reach… I can see them. But I am powerless to feel and fondle them. They are a bit timid to come near me. Like the cup of coffee that is still to reach the lips… Like the book that is yet to finish… Like an unfinished conversation... Like an incomplete mating…. The pangs become agonising.

 

I want to be that young girl again. That little girl, who was shy to talk, but always eager to smile. That girl, who was waiting to be accepted, but scared to come out of her chrysalis. The one who always wandered dreamily with a book in her hand. That little one who was so eager to do many things, but was afraid to open her mouth. The one, in spite of her inner fears, pretended that she was bold. Strong. Stubborn.  I want to go back, and start living again. I want to do those things which I had kept aside so that I didn’t have to open my mouth to ask for it.... The things which I had suppressed so that I will not hurt my dears and nears...

 

I have to get up. I have to start living my life. I am going to make a wish list... the things to do and experience before I leave this earth. Why should I be imprisoned by my circumstances and let it affect my life? I am not going to let any situation  decide who I am going to be! I am not going to be limited by what others have said about me or what is expected of me.

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I am going to live honestly in the present moment, bravely facing what lies ahead, complete with new understanding of what lies behind me, though no longer subject to the past. I am going to become all that I am meant to be...

Lunatic Whispers

“Madness in great ones must not unwatched go” sang the bard. Some are born mad, some achieve madness, and some have madness thrust upon them. I fit in the first breed. I have a streak of madness in me... and I savour those splashes. In between I get some sparks of sanity too. I tried to bring in more sanity in my life, but then I got sick of it. Living a normal life, sticking to those rules and regulations.... Huh! soooo boring and suffocating!!! I have always felt that I am a misfit, and that I see things differently from others. I hate rules. I hate status. I hate getting orders. And I hate people judging me. With my tinge of insanity, I can fly free. No one dares to question me. “Ah,she! She’s a bit mad” sums up my actions. And I am safe. They don’t try to understand me. And I don’t have to open up to anyone. I like to remain a secret, a mystery. I like to talk to myself, I like to play with myself and I enjoy my company. 

I live in my own world. A unique secret world which is outlandish and out of reach to most. In that impenetrable terrene, I can live as a poet, as a writer, as an artist, as a princess, as a ruler.... Hey, no!! I am not schizophrenic. (Well, people who are mad won’t admit it either, do they?) I prefer to call myself a day dreamer. Now don’t try to find out what went wrong inside my head. It’s just a manufacturing defect.

So you think that you are absolutely normal and I am mad? Look around.. Think hard. Haven’t you ever done anything inappropriate? Illogical? Have you always been abiding the hidden rules? Then I pity you.. You would be having the most boring life you can ever imagine. Most people are mad in different ways. If you observe closely, you can see some interesting bouts of madness in everyone. But they hide it well. We are all insane. Those who say otherwise are delusional. How can you dream if you are not mad?

One is always considered mad when one perfects something that others cannot grasp. Actually insanity and imagination are twins. They are the twin children of dreamers.  Just try being insane. It’s so much fun. You would realise what you missed all these years, and would think that you should have gone mad long before. As Aristotle said,  “No great mind has ever existed without a touch of madness.”

Sleepless Whispers...

A date with midnight everyday is an ecstasy. Sleep and me were playing hide and seek right from my childhood. She hides and I seek. Persistently. Not even once she’s come seeking me. I still don’t understand why sleep always keeps a distance from me. Thoughts always prioritised. I dreamt lying awake. My mind begs my brain to stop thinking and allow me to sleep. But... it recollects all the stupid things I had done, and the foolish decisions I had taken and reminds my mind, and scorns. And the fight starts. Brain commands, Mind evades. Brain chides Mind cries. Brain scowls, Mind howls.

Going to bed is a nightmare. I lie down, and snuggle inside my blanket. My mind, then, slowly pops its head up, and starts to wander. Then it pokes my brain. And in a split second, my brain springs up... and starts teasing my mind. Yes, my mind has always been a fool. I had been lucky till late not to lose it altogether. But off late, I am not so sure. I would be counting the sheep, I would be singing to myself, I toss, I turn, I grumble, I mumble... 

Is it because I am awake in someone else’s dream that I am unable to sleep? I’ve read somewhere that if you can’t sleep, your soul mate can’t sleep either. So somewhere, someone also might be lying awake now? When and where can I meet you, my dearest soul mate? Are you out there somewhere, hiding from me? 1.00am monitors all my thoughts. 2.00 am knows all my secrets. 3.00 am gives me answers to most of my questions. 

And then leisurely, unhurriedly, sleep walks in. When it’s almost dawn.. like a punishment... leaving me with a heavy head, and a heavier heart....................

Unmatchable Whispers...

Karna, the unmatchable...

It was my dad who first told me about Karna. “Be like Arjuna”, he said. “Be honest, be brave, and be bold enough to face the truth”, he continued, after our bedtime story session. But that was Karna, I argued. The bold, the brave, and the enigmatic was not Arjuna, but the one and only Karna. It was at that moment, I realised that I was falling in love... In love with the matchless, inexplicable villain of our great epic!!!

If ever I get an opportunity to have a rendezvous with any of those imaginary characters I fantasy, I would, any day, any time, choose Karna... Abandoned by his own mother, mortified by his gurus, disgraced by his peers, the valiant warrior was always tormented and abashed.  His eyes would have reflected the humiliations he had gone through.  When he was about to prove that he was much much better than Arjuna in archery, his heart would have been crushed beyond repair when the so called gurus insulted him and sent him back.  When Draupadi ridiculed him in front of many, how terrible it would have been for him to retreat with his swollen pride!! If she had chosen him, her life would have been a million times better. He would have treasured her preciously. He would never ever have allowed anything or anyone to hurt her even a little.

Temptations and obstacles failed to terrify this majestic hero. Whatever happened, he stood by his word till he breathed his last. If he had set his mind, he could have become the unrivalled emperor. He was supreme to all in arms and weaponry. He could have got whatever he had wanted. But he never cheated. He was never shrewd. He never lied. He never played any dirty games. He never begged anyone to spare him. Still he was labelled as the villain.

No one saw the pain in his eyes. No one saw how he hung his head down in shame many a times. No one bothered to wipe out that tear drop which refused to come out from his eyes.... What did he do to deserve such hatred? Was it because of his loyalty to the one and only person who had loved him and spared him from his humiliation? Was it because when many pleaded with him for Arjuna’s life, he agreed not to kill him? Was it because he gave away his armors and hoops to Indra knowing well that he was inviting his own death? If he was wrong, then what about Arjuna killing him when he was helpless without his chariot and weapons? What about all the other slaughters of Bheeshma, Jayadrada, Duryodana and Drona? Is this Dharma?

 If this is Dharma, then, My Karna, you don’t belong in this world. But Karna, you can be proud of yourself. You are majestic, par excellence. You tower before others with your unrivalled personality. You are you, my dear.. The one and only enigmatic, unmatchable KARNA ...................................................

Bookish Whispers.....

The journey of the wanderlust vagabond in me took off with the monthly magazine Chandamama. It was with this book I began my first step to the land of fantasies. It opened a window to a wondrous world of magic, mystery, wild imagination, legendary icons, love, battle. In that world, I was never alone. I had lots of princes, princesses, kings, queens, soldiers, magicians and many others around me. I used to dream of a huge palace under the sea, and would imagine a handsome prince coming out of the sky to whisk me away. I used to think of myself as a fairy or a mermaid. I was intrigued, induced and influenced. It was there I fell in love with Karna. It was there I was attracted to the deep passion of Shiva, and the playful naughtiness of Krishna.

I slowly stepped ahead to the land of Amar Chitra Kathas. There I met many legends, and they surrounded me with their valour and wisdom. I became Jhansi Rani, Uloopi, Vasavadatta, Amarapali, and who not!!! I took part in various battles, and was a witness to many a love affair. The epics were simplified, and mythological characters got life. Again there was Karna who used to tempt me.

I treaded further. I used to have crosses made of broomsticks under my pillow to ward off Count Dracula. Walking further, I met Enid Blyton and Hardy boys. Somehow I was not lured by those famous five and secret seven. I was after Frank and Joe Hardy. I travelled with them, solved many cases, and envisioned myself as a detective. I learned never to lose my nerve ever...

During my teens, the romantic in me peeped out. I was surrounded by M&Bs and Harlequins. Charlotte Lamb and Danielle Steele lured me into their lives. I started to dream. I was floating through the lives of many, and was waiting for a lived happily ever after life. It was about at the same time I met Tess. I went with her to meet Mrs d’Urberville, I cried with her when she buried Sorrow. I waited with her for her Angel, and was with her when she murdered Alec. Tess was my stepping stone to the land of classics. I religiously followed Charles Dickens. Estella sounded like a sweet song. I was waiting my chance to stab Scrooge. I became a hardcore fan of Pappilion, empathised with Scarlett O Hara, and made The Thorn Birds my Bible. Sidney Sheldon and Irving Wallace haunted me. Robert Ludlum tramped on my nights. Jane Austen persuaded me to Northanger Abbey and Mansfield park. I wanted to kick Darcy many a times. Then came Jane. The sweet Jane Eyre. Rochester was, is, and will be a dream. I used to feel jealous when Jane went to Rochester’s room. When his bedsheet caught fire, I remember reaching there before Jane. There was a fire inside me too. Then came Alex Hailey to change me altogether. Me, an introvert, who never looked at anyone’s face, who never used to talk to any relatives, started looking out for them to patch up the distance. But having already labelled me as arrogant and proud, they were reluctant to come near me. It took me years to become one among them.

There are many, many more, who came in and went out from my life. Being an only child, books and authors were always my best friends. I literally lived on words. I moved from one page to another. They made me observe the human mind. I tasted a lot, devoured many, chewed some, and digested a few. It comforted and consoled me. I travelled all over the real and imaginary world without even a single step. They made me laugh, they made me cry. They made me tensed, they made me calm. They made me talk with the dead, and live with the unreal. They gave me space to fold myself inside their pages. And I live, folded, breathing the words, waiting... for more..................

Unveiled Whispers...

“All day I think about it, then at night I say it.

 Where did I come from, and what am I supposed to be doing?

 I have no idea.

 My soul is from elsewhere, I’m sure of that.

 And I intend to end up there.” Rumi

Today when I reminisce, I realise that most people had held me at an arm’s length. Or was it me who was keeping others at bay? I used to have a masked air which made people think twice before talking to me. I knew I didn’t have a friendly appearance. Or had I deliberately made myself unfriendly so that none would come near me? I was a lone wolf and made my face completely bare leaving others to wonder about my thoughts.  I was branded as the one with a big attitude.

But I was not. Actually I was scared. I was always at a loss for words. I didn’t know what and how to talk. My tongue got glued when people came to me. My voice refused to come out from my throat when I opened my mouth. Conversation is an art, and I lacked the skill. My hands would sweat and my throat would become dry. I’d falter and blabber. My voice would vanish. I languished in my own world of unresolved thoughts and memories. I couldn’t cry too. The tears were sealed. How I had longed to weep out the tons of emotions, anger and tensions!! How I had longed to wipe out those little drops when they spill out!!  My pillows were always dry. Those little pearls would rise up from my heart, to get locked behind my closed eyes.

My friends think of me as an outgoing person. But deep inside, I am extremely private.  I keep myself well shielded from the slaps of life. I bridle my emotions. Life became less messy when I became obedient, undemanding and sacrificing, when I cropped the wings of my dreams. But that isn’t living, is it? That’s just an existence.  I wanted to live. I wanted to come out from behind my veil. I wanted push myself back from the edge of self destruction. I wanted to dive into the sea of life and swim along with the tide freely. I want to soothe the fears that plague me. I want to..........................

TRapped Whispers....

 

Finally, everything is clear. It is not men who make mistakes. It is us, we the woman. If you want to live safely in such a cultural-rich holy land, there are certain facts you are bound to be aware of. You have to learn martial arts, you should have the courage to defend yourself. Authorities might place cameras and other bullshits for you, for your safety. They are trying their best to make India safe for women. Because... men can’t control themselves. Men are dogs out on the street who wait to snatch precious diamonds. (Not my sentence-Comparison made by a man himself). And you can’t control the dog. Men are hard thorns waiting to prick a soft flower.

A decent woman is not supposed to go out at night. A decent woman is not supposed to go out with a man. She is not supposed to become friends with men. Because Indian men won’t be able to control their libido. The mere sound of the word ‘woman’ will put sex in his eyes. Maybe that’s why these beasts rape even their little daughters. So, my countrymen, if your mother or sister or daughter or wife happens to go out at night, please make sure that you pour ample petrol on them and burn them alive. And if they do want to step out from their prison, please make sure that their father or grandfather or uncle or some useless dog accompany them.

Any my dear sweet and soft flowers, when these dogs come to rape you, don’t fight back. Because a woman is far more responsible for her being raped. Men are always in an enjoyment mood. Those who have money use money and those who have courage use courage. The rich pay and the poor grab. But remember.. if they rape you, don’t make a sound. They are teaching you a lesson. They beat, they bite, they hurt, they tear off your dress, they rape, just to teach you a lesson. If you keep silent and if you don’t fight back, you can live forever. They will let you go alive. If you wear a jeans, you will be raped. Sleeveless is out of question. Does that make women in sarees and purdas safe? Those women also are getting raped. So it’s not the dress, isn’t it??

Don’t ever think of confiding in your male friend. Don’t ever ask your male friend for any help. Because we have a biiiiiiig culture, and in that culture, a woman cannot have a man as her friend. Because men think sex.  

In the land of Durga, in the land of Sita, in the land of Jhansi Rani,  in the land of such brave and pious women, in our great Bharat, it’s a shame when a woman has to keep her eyes and mouth shut. When will the mindset of an average Indian man ever change? Why do they think of sex when they see a human with a vagina and breasts? It was this vagina that pushed you out to enjoy your freedom. It was these breasts that suckled you to become who you are now.

I am a person who has many male friends. I have not experienced any wrong or untimely movements from anyone. When should you start to keep them at a bay? I strictly tell my sons, my family, not to make any girl cry. Let that awareness spread among the youngsters at least. To make a place safe for a woman, the first thing that should be done is to make men aware that women are not a toy to be broken into pieces. Men have no right to tear apart a life for their enjoyment. Men should be ashamed of their gender by seeing the way those Nirbhaya accused stood, without a remorse in their eyes, and by listening to the words of those defence lawyers. These morons should be kept in a cell full of gays for some time, and hanged by their balls. They should be chopped off................

Disclaimer: This is not aimed at the men I know well. This is the reaction after watching India's Daughter. I am not generalising men. Just those dogs who can't control their urge.... I'm sorry if I have hurt anyone's feelings....