All of us and #you

1.The "Be happy. Stay sad" generation that smiles and smokes is us. Smoke harbours happiness and the air around us is sad. We're blowing puffs of smoke into the air thinking that the sadness around us will wither away by those little hazy pretences emerging from our mouths.
But pretences don't submit. They never will.

#I've learnt from you that there will never be a situation from where I can't get myself off. Some circumstances might look scary from afar. But they only look gruesome until they reach. Once with you, they are the easiest goddamn things to deal with.
*Jabh hota hai na, sab ho jata hai"

2. A,G,T,C had the audacity to come in numerous combinations as DNA codes and forge the living.
So does, happiness, sadness, fear and anger.

#There was a day, a terrible one, when your dad didn't come back home. Lifting such weight with yourself, you've time and again said to me :
"Sonali, your Dad never said goodbye when he went for his duty,
for he knew he'd come back.
And you understood that he might not."
That sheer beauty of thoughts and mind! I can never be you.

3. Rains don't feel like rains when they arrive daily.

#You've changed.
In this world of *be yourself*, *know thyself*, *first priority must be me" "never change" "fuck everyone" generation, you've chosen to be kind and showed that we can change without knowing ourselves in the first place (for what is there to know in this temporary mortal existence?) and that can be the most beautiful thing one can do for oneself.

4. Men and women have made their  feelings into toys and played war.
Some have kept quiet for far too long and then there are some bragging of their naked brains.

#You've showed that love is all about the "I", not the "you". Love doesn't come from another person but it comes from within.
You've proved that the love we seek doesn't reside in the man we love but it blooms within ourselves and to understand that means to never letting men hurt us.
While most simply gives it a bad name and swear to never fall for anyone, you've had the nerve to love all over again.You didn't let one man decide your defination of love.

5.Every imagination ought to be first named, classified, then thrown away into sealed boxes.

6. Naked feets of men have walked on flowery roads without bleeding. They now know nothing of rocks.
Meet us.
The generation of the weak.

Debika, you're the answer to why people should speak of themselves more often.
People should speak of them.
We must speak of us.
You've showed we're all weak until we speak.
Thanks for letting me know I'm strong.
I know you are too.
We all are strong.
We were just quiet.

Headphones and metro (notes)

1.Headphones and metro gives me the impression of being what maggi is for mountains and rhyming is for poems.
Everybody seems to be obeying the pseudo-directives.
Still some are not.

2.Most of the girls around me have headphones in their ears, head down, plain countenance, eyes on screen with their minds searching for some hints from men they never speak of, or words that could substitute books as our times have witnessed patience and time shrink down to tiny peepholes or simply the next song to play.
We all look the same.

3.What would happen if I withdraw headphones and mobiles from everyone around me, as if they never existed?
We just might've stared each other.
Smiled? I don't think so.

4.Kids boarding metro have this tendency of grabing the pole and rolling around it.
I wonder how they know what's the "in" thing among children without social media?
Pretty surprisingly, I just saw a girl my age roll around the pole.
I like this girl.

5.Four notes down, I have headphones in my ears and have no idea which song I have been listening to this while.
I don't like the song. I won't change it anyway.

6.Windows in metro are quite big. I like them.
I wish the windows had been on top as well. This could make us see the sky or stars with music in our ears.

7.Now I should change the song to the one I like - *Things that stop you dreaming* by passenger. That's a good choice.
This song starts with a violin's soothing tone that reminds me of Sherlock playing it, standing by the window in his gloomy 221B apartment in bakers street. Now with drums accompanying the violin's tone, suddenly Sherlock's gone and I watch the city lights and moving cars shining like fireflies inside dark green hegdes through the big moving metro windows.
When everything else around you is drifting away with a guarantee of them not getting back the same as they were, everything inside yourself seems to come to a standstill and there's a sudden awarness of your unwavering existence in your bones. That's what I'm feeling right now.
With Michael Rosenberg's lyrics in my mind, this felt like "I'm here, on earth of someone's daydream"

8.It's difficult to put a straight face with a good song on your headphones. I'll just sway my head a bit.
My legs are tapping. I can't control it.

9.A kid in front is eating lays. It's the yellow packet, the one with only salt on the chips. Scientists say every color packet has a different chemical that different brains get addicted to. That explains our likeness for only one or two types of lays.
I pity the kid and his mother.
But aren't my life choices same?

10.Most people prefer to stand by the poles in metro. It's easy to stand by the pole. You can lock your arm around it and rest your head on it. You can grab the pole with a firm grip, preventing sudden jerks. You can also rest your heavy bag by the pole. Getting to stand beside a pole is strategically the best place to stand in metro.
But when there's a lot of rush, atleast 5 hands grab around one pole. When one hand leaves, the other hand comes so fast that it can feel the warmth of the previous hand on the pole.
Most people I know have been this pole.

11.Though some talk over headphones, I use it only for songs.
When someone calls, I remove my headphones and place the phone on my ear to talk.

12.The right piece of my headphones sound more clearer than the left one and I want both.

13.There are people who give music to poetry and then there are the ones who give words to music.
I hope both the groups are convinced with each other's work.
I like the first ones though!

14.Different places call for a different song.
Pulbangash wants "the A team" and "thunder" goes well with "Netaji Subhash Place".
I tried the other way round yesterday. I hoped to feel bricks at NSP and city blues at Pulbangash.
I didn't.
So I closed my eyes instead.

15.I just noticed the variety of colors that headphones come in.
White, black, red.
White is more in number around me.
Red seems cool.
Mine's black.

16.My station's getting nearer so I keep checking on the station names on the screen above me every minute because I can't hear the announcements with the song banging my eardrums. But the other girls are not checking!
How are they managing?

17.The girl standing next to me is watching what I'm writing.
Though I don't like unnecessary interferences, this time, surprisingly, I'm glad.

18.She read the above lines too.
She said "thanks".
I'm glad, again.

19.She's laughing now.
She says thanks again.

20.Okay, I'll stop this here.
I'll talk to her until I deboard.

Rose and the rose slayers

"You're a rose, darling!
Don't let yourself land into a boy's hand.
He'll take in your fragnance and smile.
He'll take off your petals one at a time and smile.
Or he'll let someone's soft hands have you and smile.
Boys, the rose slayers! They're always smiling.
You're a rose, girl. Don't let anybody take you off from your home. Be where you are. Just be! Let the boys come, stare and go.
Be a GOOD GIRL."

There are voices all around, of both men and women.
Heard under sun, remembered under moon.
Floating, smirking, like ghosts.
My brain quivers every time they strike.
"You're sensible.
The one who doesn't wear make up. Or doesn't need it.
You're cute.
You're humble.
You're intelligent.
Everyone loves you.
They look upto you.
You inspire people.
YOU ARE A GOOD GIRL."
I greet these voices with a smile, eyes aiming the ground, hand on my heart, bowing down, burnt cheeks, saying words I'd never want to say whilst my mind still quivers, seeking the truth.

I am a good girl.
I am a rose, who let her thorns do the talking.
Never been with a boy.
Never embraced a rose slayer around my arms, because if you let, the thorns could lose their sharp edges.
I am a good girl.
The thorns are sharp.
So I never let a boy put his lips on my skin.
Never let anyone enter my mind to stab a sword through the limbic flesh and make it bleed.
Never let smoke enter my mouth.
Whiskey and rum still think i'm an  egotist.
"Roseslayers beware" is painted in red on my forehead.
Roseslayers are a forever never shot.
Never did.
Never wished.
Never could.
Or simply, never chose.
Funny! Just some little choices and they start adoring you.

Watch my hands.
They're white.
Spot-less.
Pink palms.
Soft skin.
Red nails.
Feminine.
Hold them to know they're cold.
Hard bones.
Lines on my palm says "no emotions"
They don't wipe off tears.
They get bruised now and then.
And they punch hard.
Girls with such convictions are called tomboys.
T.O.M.B.O.Y
B.O.Y
B.O.Y
Boy.
Fuck it.

Here's a call out to other girls.
A loud one.
They'll tell you to be a good girl.
They'll want you to be me.
Don't be me.
Don't be a rose.
I'm not that thing.

Notes to my 15 year old and 35 year old self.

You're on ground.
Rooted.
Congratulations.

Don't keep a phone.

PMS is real.

Monday is always waiting for you. It knows you're worth the wait.

Your feet is not accustomed to monotony. They love to change where they're supposed to stand.
Be it on the egde of a cliff or under the sand, the scene in front is as beautiful as it's dangerous.

Stay AB negative.

Respect men.

Take your notebook out. Pen it down.

Say no.
Especially if they give you 'ghee waali roti' with chicken tikka masala.

The God concept is a wish. Hope is the key.

You can leave him anyday.

You won't be who you are in the next 5 years and it's okay.

Putting words together just may not be a sideline.

Girls never chased for elder wand. They never needed it.

4 year olds are not as dumb as you think they are.

Men in olive greens are men.

Read more books.

Drink gentlewomanly.

Trees on mountains and plants under water are science and art working together.
Just like your grey matter.

Ishu bhaiya won't let you touch the TV remote when Manchester United is playing. Ever!

I AM BATMAN.

Go play your favourite game.
Sport it out.

Magic is to say 'always' after all this time because what happens in our heads can very well be real.

Family is love.

Tears won't fall. Accept it.

Your hands are cold. They will always be. Let your heart equalize.
Be good, do good and never let the humans notice. Afterall, lullabies were never meant to be heard.

JAI HIND.

Unnoticed

The unflipped pages of a book with words that will never be read.

The color between the dark and light shade of itself.

Caffeine in tea.

The constant sound of a little drum in your favourite song.

The fool among wise.
The wise among fools.

The unused suicide notes.

The numbers 10 decimal places above in the value of pi.

Days when the scarecrow meant no harm.

Beauty of the stem that crowns a flower on its head.

Your best friend's smile when you're looking in your love's eyes.

All the subtle bits of our very existence are laid out in open for them to get unnoticed.
Reader, you get it?
Doesn't it make you question how the sound of rain raises when it gets dark?

We think we know.
But it's always there.
Lurking around you.
Smirking, maybe.
The Other Side.
Unnoticed.
Until you see.
Unless they say.

Scratching heads

Everyone's scratching heads.
Full of questions, curious, anxious,
marching ahead.
Seeking words, numbers, logic and purpose,
with mines under their feet,
they're looking at the stars,
harboring bruised hearts and eyes that are wet,
they're marching ahead.

Scratching heads,
over impalpable claps
the lost love
the old me.
Scratching heads,
over what is right and what is not,
with what shall be,
and what did not.
Those bleak conversations,
or that wrong sentence,
those weary words that we repent!
Scratching heads!
Scratching heads over what might have said.

Scratching heads
on how the green leaves grow on red and blue?
Both hands on his head,
pulling his hair hard,
letting them come through.
Joining the dots,
searching for that clue.

Empirical delusions
mathematical realities
numbers and figures
equations and theories.
Noise noise noise!
Men have read their own minds,
never have they plead,
oh dear lord,
such are the scratching heads.

They banged heads on walls
and found the right words
from where they bled.
They then let the blood drip down
and wore the earned words
as their crown.

With such efforts done
just to live and earn bread
there holds no doubt,
the lords are scratching their heads.