Wishful Cuts

Roza emphasized desperately, "such a shame..... such a waste of a good fit!!". Naimmin, in response, quoted a french philosopher, so effortlessly, that one could be convinced of his affiliation with them, "..... and expecting it to fly". It was indeed effortless but held a peculiar conviction, in fact conviction with a hint of sarcasm. She was embarrassed about this conversation but she knew this would yield best results, well, better than her alternatives. While the defeat, hopelessness, and their seeming permanence challenged her mind to concoct something positive, she was confident about her choice to seek help from him, and let his practical negativity reign.

"It's all wishful thinking", Naimmin reiterated the third time. "...but what if?" Roza implored, her feeble heart disagreeing but accepting the truth in his words. She had been over this, each year, trying harder but coming back weaker. It angered her that this didn't change and it wasn't going to change. 

Naimmin declared he couldn't relate to her and wanted to excuse himself from this play, but, his damaged heart wanted to preach and so he did. " You can't create an unreal world and be disappointed that it is not real. Samina is willing to play along with you and ease you into the impossibilities of your world, but I won't. She might be burdened by the weight of your friendship but I am not. You are not the first in the world to have sorted a sequence for yourself, to be petulant about the "what if", to demand and implore at the same time. You will rise above this, even if you don't want to, one day you will just rise. It won't matter and you wouldn't know why. You just will rise above this. I can't tell you when, but you will. You can't rush into this kid, try as you may."

" What if......" Roza managed to interrupt but gave in. 

That's the thing about a feeble heart, it knocks for strength along the way. Some times it breathes through the strong hold, some times it suffocates. Some times it takes comfort in bleeding and some times it quivers for the gone. 

"Utopia. The Greeks had two meanings for it: eutopos meaning 'the good place' and outopos, meaning 'the place that cannot be." 

- Mad Men

Stagnant

Seek, seek more, a little more

Stay, stay a little longer

Atleast linger aimlessly 

its an acquired impotence 

not a rendered curse

Play, play, less, a little less today

Walk home, slowly, a little slower 

"not today kid", screeching 

hurt a kind soul unintentionally 

possibly your own

Bleed, bleed, oh well, oh no

Speed, speed through the times amiss

watch it unfold, the one untrue, the many far away

Deny what could be

Hold, hold it close, too close

Keep it warm, it is delicate

Let it reveal

....the damaged you 

Hold it close, a little closer

Stale, so stale, so strong, so lame

Know better or let it rest

Yet to come is an excuse of the withered

It "weren't"

She walked in a plush overcoat, looking confident, which could easily be mistaken for overconfidence by the audience. She poured her damaged heart in front of him. He replied "you weren't".

This is precisely how things should be. Damaged, open, expectant, hopeful.... determined, sure, and blunt. I have been meaning to write about this very essence for a while now, conflicting my own evolving thoughts each time which in turn nullified the thoughts leading up to it. I wanted to propose to be bold, open, brazen, expectant and unprepared but at the same time I wanted to warn about the outcomes. Now I have the answer finally, or so I think? Until I contradict/challenge myself, bear my inquisitiveness. There is no other way of life than exploring the possibilities of 'what may' while secretly hoping for the utterly unrealistic. However, there is no preparing for the brutal reality either. Does that mean we be cautious to the extent that our raw thoughts muffle themselves to oblivion? The guardrails set for us are already misleading enough to fog our most potent thoughts. Shouldn't we be the ones to allow them their magic?

It takes an awfully long time for the magic of uncertainty to unfold, each milestone reminding us of its fragility. This should be a reason enough for us to be open to hurt.

Now, as for the outcome, I wouldn't have it any other way - unapologetically blunt.

"There is nothing more pathetic than caution,

when headlong might save a life,

even, possibly, your own" 
- Mary Oliver 

Low Light

"....because I never get picked", he said with a sarcastic smile. I, on the other hand, did get picked most times in life. It may not have turned out to be a good thing always, but I did get picked. I knew tonight I would get picked and so I put extra thought and render utter sincerity into answering the question on a 6 X 2 inch note. I wanted to preserve the sanctity of the occasion and respect audience's intelligence about circumstances. I wrote down the truth, simple and naked. I hadn't made it up and it wasn't allowed either.

Most people took a positive route for the theme tonight - "Pushed", but like most times in life, I chose the negative route. "Why sugarcoat the truth while confessing it to yourself?", I thought. I had the anonymity working in my favor and I was glad I wrote it down exactly as it was.

The host began jubilantly,"Currently..... ", and I realized I was picked. I heard her say the words out loud exactly as I had written them. Each of the 14 words clutched my heart mercilessly but what made it bleed was the reaction from the audience. It was a brutal validation.

The crowd managed a collective 'awww' and followed it by a sympathetic 'oooooohhh'. A tear rolled down my face onto the t-shirt, one I purchased 10 minutes back. Thank god for the anonymity.

" It’s a very brave person that does something anonymously." - Joan Holloway

125th

I lifted my head up in a graceless act
The ads on the subway blurred out instantly
Did it read "Casper"?
"Don't don't" I begged within
hoping they would roll back
the sense of a pair of eyes creeping
discomforted my misery
They didn't give up
and mine couldn't hold it any longer
At 125th, I won, am I stronger?
Today, I see a man
his head hung low
gripping the pole so strong
to magically render strength so lost
A wild swing, and he lifted his head
"Is it hazy?" I wondered
....but my eyes caught a tear
streaming to his ear
as if whispering "it's ok"
I swallowed a lump
and looked away
we both chose to give in
but may be
........just may be
we didn't give up

AI

Acceptance is the most unforgivable disservice to oneself if it’s a choice, chosen each time to defer oneself of what could be. It’s this idea of “carrying on” within an outline of social security that limits the self not only from seeing beyond, but from even wondering of a fuller journey. To not allow oneself to wonder, to be afraid of the passion it might accidentally spark is beyond pathetic. The half thought of “if” today drags in a knapsack of the lost chances to the doorstep, looks the naked you in the eye and narrates you the specials from the glorious “regrets”. This terror is enough to cajole oneself into drawing the circle smaller each time.

Tell me “it adds up now” and I will shed a tear on your behalf. It does not add up. You rationalized the hell out of it, but it does not add up. You are not convinced and so you seek comfort in convincing others that your misery had a purpose. To fit things in retrospect and to rationalize choices has become our reflex response to “how did you get here?”

If here and now is the only truth we live (as told by Alan Watts), don’t we owe ourselves the truth of what got us here and now? Was it a series of deliberate moves or underlying acceptance of what happened?

I can spare the retrospection but cannot not excuse myself from introspection. A recent confession to a friend who did not see it coming brought on a dimension to my observations so far. Throughout the growing years, the finish line was fixed for each race. Each race was different in length, posed a different challenge but had a finish line. The end was certain. The certainty of the end was comforting. However, the races we run today don’t have a finish line to it and neither do they have a track. Sure, there is an illusion of a track and a mirage they called it finish line. Sure, it was promised to you by someone who made it halfway. Maybe they convinced you the halfway mark was the finish line. And now you are here. Are you convinced? Who is laughing now? Well no one. Not you and not the one who thought this was it.

With a moving finish line and no markers defining a track, it’s not exactly a race (well it never was to begin with). It’s a stroll and should be a stroll filled with a sense of wonder, one that consumes you but releases you with each breath.

“Yaaaaaaaar…….. sahi se fail hona chahiye tha” as these words came out of my mouth I realized the magnitude of void. A void that can only be filled by challenging and failing gloriously. The key is to mess it up and see the magic unfold out of it. No, it’s not the same as seeing others mess it up and learning. Stumble as you wish/will, bruise proudly, adore the scars and laugh.

'Just might'

My sister said to me " Oh....be wrong!
with faces seen and unseen"
But I know there is a wait to your lazy face

The face buried inside that pillow carelessly

I miss the train, a button and a step most days
My hands are barely enough
I am running late to everything
and you don't seem to care

I don't want to reach
So I have you on my mind
We kiss in the kitchen 

They whisper, we blush

You know I fog your glasses

Its the 96th Street....
"Have we met before?"

Coffee helps me slack a little more
The crowd helps me ignore
So I think about you
..... the one who I can't
..... the one who I won't
..... the one who I lost
..... the one who has 'the one'
..... the one who wants
..... the one who just might
.....and burden the universe.