Dead Relationships ...

The Cactus is the favored plant for décor in the hubs and mansions of all and sundry .It’s a fashion statement for many yet prosaic. It is used as an ornamental plant which adds to the intrinsic appeal to the environs overall. It is treasured and for one’s own safety never touched as the leaves in the form of spines can leave indelible marks on the skin. It has no fragrance or floral intricacies. Dead relationships are like cactus. They lose the sheen and beauty which was once so lucid, fresh and alive with activity. They adorn the canvass of our hearts with memories which come back to us in leaps n bounds when touched with the tender stroke of a brush called reminiscence. The recall of times spent together cripples the soul with disappointments and unraveled possibilities haunt endlessly. Love, warmth, sharing and selfless giving is replicated with pain, sense of loss, anger, betrayal, accusations and bitterness. It leaves a sour taste when stumbled upon by accident or consciously. The stink and stench of dead relationships holds us back to venture out as pessimism and negativity is the sole resident of such hearts. Constant comparison finds new bearings and depression overtakes optimism. Places, common friends, gifts and the legacy which it leaves behind, follow us where ever we go as spies. It’s a conscious vigil of never to get involved with anybody with deep roots which can never be uprooted. The person or the memories he/ she leaves is decorated in our hearts just like the cactus which leaves scars whenever touched.

The question is why do we revel in its insipid existence when life has so much to offer. People come into our life for a reason, season or a lifetime. We should learn whatever lessons good or bad it has to teach us and move on with zeal and hope to find happiness and content. The ones’ who hold us back n leaves a sordid picture of hurt n pain sans progress, possibilities, goodness and achievements should be buried forever with no resurrections. Any takers ?

Conversations through the Lens!

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Terminal Illnesses...

The shimmer n the finesse on the surface of the glass has its own appeal. The tenacity is unquestionable as it depicts clarity, substance, magnificence, smoothness n originality. A clear glass sans abrasion is always in demand and attracts the eye even if it’s opaque, translucent, brittle or otherwise. Likewise, our health is the key to happiness. The effervescence of youth, vigor, vitality and spunk takes us places to an uninterrupted path of achievements. One feels like the king of the world as everything seems attainable with a little quest, luck and hard work. The cracked glass or the scratches it leaves on the surface lead to an ugly feeling which has no remedies. Terminal Illnesses creep in our lives slowly without warning. We ignore the minute signals which our body sends to us just like the visible scratches. Optimism pervades fortitude. An aching arm or knee, the sweet pain in the belly or head, the unease in the gait or muscle gains momentum without notice. The perpetual signs are ignored sometimes due to negligence, sometimes cause of lack of time and sometimes with no reason at all thus leading to further damage with no rectifications. Gradually the originality is replaced with artificial drugs which bring quick relief so as to resurface again. The scratches never leave us for once. The canvass of our lives is marred with that dark hue permanently. The illness soars to dizzy heights of remorse thus pushing the individual to the dungeons of ill health. The progress is slow which makes the individual weak, sorry and lifeless. Some fight it out with sheer determination n rest bite the dust.

The crack is a permanent fixture with no replacements. Terminal illnesses like glasses leave us with no choice. It remains till the time is up for its final exit. So why do we ignore the warning signs so complacently that’s the question? A stitch in time saves nine, it’s time we brush on our kindergarten anecdotes so as to save ourselves from further damage of a permanent scar of a terminal illness on our healthy lives .

Its Never Too Late ...

The daybreak brings with it fear rather than a whiff of fresh air. It’s the uncertainty which looms in the corridors of the minds of people whether they will be back safe and sound. Unknowingly there is an unsaid adieu to the house n family which is not understood always. A blank look, a silent prayer fills our soul when we step out of the house as people fall prey to the unannounced blasts which rock the country time and again. They are nothing but innocent victims who are unearthed from their routine of things brutally. Some succumb to injuries and some are scarred for life. They are mere pawns to the ire of irked souls . Every citizen has a right to move freely in their country placating fright, trepidation n dread. Who has given any person the right to play with the lives of thousands of people? Being a victim of injustice does not mean that we render the same to others so as to glorify our angst. A child has the right to weave his canvass of dreams with the colors of brotherhood, togetherness and bonding. Blasts and the massacres lead to strife, distrust, chaos, anger and ill will. A sense of revenge makes inroads and the mind finds ways to punish people who are responsible for such condemning acts of violence. In a way the automated effect of revenge n the anger it generates finds new bearings. It’s like a legacy which corrupts the system as well as mankind. On the name of religion, justice and one’s rights, violence replaces peace. Lack of education and direction in life makes the individual choose a path which brings doom to the religion & family. Life has a lot to offer. The sensibility of choosing the right path gives success and recognition in the right light. No mother teaches her new born to kill so as to prove a point. No religion dictates to take lives to seek justice.

Why are we befooling ourselves when we can chalk a life of achievements, mutual respect and good will? Violence, bloodshed and revenge never give rich dividends. The road of righteousness may be replete with struggle but it’s worth it. As then the conscience will not prick for the innocent lives one takes to justify his act. Corruption, injustice can be eradicated if all of us work towards it as a whole. Religion should not be a weapon but a bridge. Peace and a carefree milieu is all one yearns for so why not discard the evil and violent thoughts and embrace non violence for a better tomorrow.

Depths of Love...

The nails of our hands and feet grow even though we chop them off and on. No matter how hard one tries, they will grow back. The sight is phenomenal. It’s an unsaid commitment which dies only when one walks on the last journey of life called death. The decay is in full swing but as long as one is alive, there is no stopping. Likewise, love interspersed with selfless care, giving and unconditional approach grows to dizzy heights when fuelled and nurtured with purity of thought and action. It weathers the storms of life n stands the tests of time. Adieus, distance and disruptions not only makes the heart grow fonder but gives unbridled depths which one cannot fathom or gauge ever. When the nail cut a little deep , by mistake or sheer carelessness or with an uncared approach, it sends shivers down the spine leaving a tinge of pain. Fights, resentments, misdemeanor, conflict, betrayal and agony leaves an indelible mark but true love sustains the hurt and pain, forgives & forgets thus bouncing back with a new verve and spunk to take it to a another level of commitment and trust. Tender loving care becomes the spice of life. The myriad shades of sibling , parental , romantic n platonic love never ceases n is bound with a very delicate yet a strong thread of togetherness, bonding and belonging. It is ready to embark on new journeys of life and the intricacies it has to offer with a never say die attitude. It flows unrestraint as if a bottle has been uncorked. The ebb of emotion is deep like the sea n undecipherable.

Why can’t we take lessons from nature which forgives and forgets. New life is enthused with new avenues so that the milestones could be set. Just like the nail, it is mystic, deep rooted and never leaves us. Love is not a need but completes us same as the nail gives the beautiful look to our hands.

Instinct & Habit ...

It’s a peculiar trait of all and sundry to stack all the new crisp notes in an orderly fashion, pushing the crumpled, ugly looking ones in the extreme front. It ‘s instinct, they say to get rid of the smelly, over used notes. The masses as well as the classes follow the ritual religiously. For once the elite n the poor are brothers in arms. It leaves a fetid smell in the wallet and gives a sick feeling too. The note loses its sheen. Its originality goes for a toss. The numbers are not readable. It’s not at all authentic any more and is scrutinized many a times when given to a vendor. The tattered effect leaves a frown on the visage and many a times people refuse to accept it. It’s rejected and adds to the agony of the owner. It carries some value hence it is kept so as to be used when the need arises. Every day it’s a top priority to discard it. Hopes are dashed when it returns back to the wallet. Nobody likes to mar the beauty of the new notes aligned with a dirty one .So then why is it that we nurture and harbor the dark hideous thoughts in our mind which maligns the soul? It makes us the universal prisoner of our vacant self, pushing ourselves in the vicious cycle of treason, ill will, jealousy, hatred and deceit. In the bid to be successful and be on the top, the grey shades come to light. The person sleeps on ethics, team spirit, camaraderie thus giving impetus to individuality and self glorification.

Nobody likes to be ruled by the spell of dark, dirty n ill thoughts. The beauty is replaced with anguish and discomfort. The essence of life looses meaning and unknowingly we tread on a path which is lonely and insipid. Its time , we push away such thoughts forever same as we discard the smelly, ugly note on instinct.

An Unwelcome Visitor !

Serendipity , it’s a blessing in many ways. It’s a gratitude to god that good there are people who are not only setting an example but also are fighters even if the odds are against them. Everyday , at sharp 1pm the doorbell buzzes. Its in a way a reminder that lesser mortals too can teach us - the elite with their ways. Deprived of education, wealth, comforts, food and hygiene there is still a lot of hope. Perseverance, patience n practicality is their forte. The garbage collectors, pick the litter of our house without batting an eyelid on a regular basis. Either they have become immune to the smells of the garbage or they have resigned to their fate. It’s a hapless surrender of dreams, aspirations n possibilities. People open the door, don’t even exchange a word or two, give the waste and simply shut the door. The flats of delhi, in various localities avail such services. Its ironical, we use things, dump them in the dustbin and then the things which are used by us is picked by a stranger who is actually not a stranger anymore but a regular visitor. A visitor, who is stoic, is welcomed n yet not welcomed. Welcomed to collect our dump only. Sounds interesting isn’t it. ?

How many of us ask them while they wait for the bin to be emptied, whether they need a glass of water? Don’t we ask our guests the same when they travel from their houses so as to entertain themselves and us. The house is spic and span only because the litter is already given to people who are a little less fortunate but sure are earning themselves bread rather than begging or stealing. Time we should show some respect towards them and treat them like a human being rather than a doormat.

Insensitive Calls...

Its elation woven with a feeling of being wanted when one receives a call during the darkest hour. The caller is in a way a blessing in disguise as he is nothing but a cloud with a silver lining. The sudden surge of emotion is replete with possibilities and optimism. One thanks the being of that person in their lives. The call stretches to more than five minutes which etches a picture of bonding, togetherness, love and concern. Within minutes the bubble of illusion bursts and the call ends with a one line “I gotta go, something came up”. Was it actually a love driven concerned call or someone was killing their time? Why do we do it that’s a mystery? Is it a deliberate move of taking people for granted? Don’t we feel cheated when on the receiving end of such calls In spite of it we keep doing it out of habit?

It’s time we seize it and earn some respect from people who are there at our troubled times and are ready to lend an ear at the oddest hour even though they know that they are being used emotionally.

Insecurity ...

Why do people use people for their personal gains? Are they insecure of their own credibility or they simply under estimating their own potential? Or they simply have given up on themselves? Is it worth a chase? Why not, all efforts don’t turn futile. Putting a muzzle on the other person’s laborious hours by hogging the limelight under one’s name is condemning. They win laurels n praises on the ashes of the people who deserve it. The burial of such a kind is over whelming. It crushes the beauty of creativity, anger and frustration replicates the hub of glorious thought process.

It’s a question to those who steal the limelight of the unsung heroes – Are they able to look themselves in the mirror with a heart of content and achievement before they hit the bed in the night?