Big Boys don't Cry

The pain...the unbearable pain.
Big boys don’t cry.
His mother thrashed him for stealing another boy’s electronic toy car. It was actually his brother who had been the thief but he loved him too much to see him getting scolded. He felt like crying but managed to keep his eyes from streaming.
The pain, consuming him bit by bit….the pain capturing his breath…..
Big boys don’t cry.
His beloved left him for his friend. All that she had wanted was his money. He had been duped…..robbed of wealth, and pride. All was lost. A tear was about to roll down his cheek. He rushed to the washroom, washed his face and pretended to be normal.
Big boys don’t cry.
The pain, strangling him….heavy…..heavy……so heavy within his chest. The pain…the piercing pain.
He put everything he had, to get his mother operated. He loved her more than anything else in the world. He held her hand in his and told her how happy he was to see her recover that fast. She smiled and her flesh turned cold. He felt his eyes water. He pulled out his handkerchief and moved it over his eyes to ensure they looked unaffected.
Big boys don’t cry.
The handkerchief is wet. Sweat. Sweat. So much of it.
He throws himself into his chair, his trembling hand reaching for the glass of water. It falls midway. A tear escapes his eyes. Another one. Yet another one.
A body……dead……and wet, with sweat, and with tears.
If only, big boys could cry.

The Song

Counting every single breath,
Swinging between life and death,
She strived, a bit anxious and uncertain,
To get up and pull back the curtain
Of the window, she had been looking out of, for years,
The window that now brought her to tears
The time so short, the wait so long
She yearned to sing her life's last song
To the one who should have been standing tall
The one whom she wished to see most of all
The one who had stood by her throughout her life
Through every fest, through every strife,
And when he was nowhere to be seen,
She wondered where he could have been
For did he love her or did he not,
She needed to know in little time that she had got
The song of love, she wished to croon,
But either the wait, or life had to end too soon,
Silence was the only song she sang,
That broke when the doorbell rang
The flowers smelling sweet as ever,
The card that said 'love you,forever'
Had to be condensed to the farewell word
That echoed beneath the song, unheard.

Personality vs. Intelligence

I was recently asked to compare personality with intelligence."Personality", I said," is apparently more important than Intelligence."Most of the heads nodded in disagreement.” You gave the wrong answer!”, my friend told me.It might be the wrong answer to be spoken in public, but don't we all know what makes us prefer a person over other and what makes us decide our friends?Do we take an IQ-test before we offer to be friends with a person?Of course, if your friend turns out to be super-intelligent, you made a lucky choice and you think more highly of her/him. But, that's only after you introduced yourself to her/him because you liked her/his style or dressing sense or popularity quotient or the way she/he talks or smiles.Personality can be developed. Intelligence is rarer and mostly, God-gifted.This makes intelligence more covetable. A good personality is more desirable, though.(Whom would you recognize first-Hritik Roshan or Stephen Hawking?)If life had been about scoring well and earning high, I would have given intelligence more preference. But since, it's friendship, relations, society and people around us that make life worth it, personality gets a higher score from me.What do you think-Personality or Intelligence?

I Never Loved You

To tell you the truth, I never loved you
Because your lips weren't red & eyes weren't blue
I tried to avoid you in different ways
To save myself from seeing your face
'My friends would laugh’ was my fear
I felt embarrassed to find you near
But at the time when no one did care
To console me you were always there
When all was shattered & my life was a mess
You gave me love and happiness
What happened? Why couldn't you wait
for me to change or was it too late?
When I realized what a heartless life I had led
I found your body in front of me, dead!
Your lips weren't red & eyes weren’t blue
but you gave me love that was very true.'

(forgive the 15 year old 'me' for the flaws)

She suffered from T.V.

Manisha (name changed on request) was very excited. She had been invited by NDTV to its show. “Some show called Money Mantra, I guess”, she told me.
“Great!” I said, “Do let me know when I’ll be able to see you on T.V.”
“Of course”, she said, all eager to be seen on T.V.
I wasn’t much excited for I had many a times refused to oblige NDTV people by my presence amongst the audience. But ignorant her, she really was happy to have been given the offer. (I was trying imagining how she must have reacted at the time when she was given the offer. But somehow, I always found myself not imaginative enough to get the exact reaction)
“Three of my friends accompany me to the studios. They’ll send a cab to pick us up and drop us back!”
This was one thing I hadn’t ever known. They send a cab to pick the audiences up! Gosh! There must be too many of my kind who turns down their offers.
“Cool!” I said, “I hope you have a nice time. I’ll be waiting to see you on T.V.”

The lucky day finally arrived.
How was it? Here’s a summary of what she told me.

The cab arrived at 10:15 am to drive four of their precious audiences to their fully Air Conditioned studios (She felt cold there.)
The shooting (something on travel and tourism) began at 11. It continued for about one and a half hour. It was so very boring (with host, Pankaj questioning ‘some’ Ankur, ‘something’ in travel and tourism industry) She took it, anyways, with the broadest of smiles on her face. (She was to be seen on TV!)
Whew! Somehow, it got over and now the cab would drive them to their college, where there’ll probably be some people talking about economics and stuff; But that’ll be more interesting than an episode on Travel and Tourism.
The cab? Where’s the cab gone?
Damn! They took a three-wheeler to their college. They were confused, frustrated and exhausted. But, they still were excited.
5 pm- the telecast on TV!
5 pm- she, with her family, took a seat on the sofa facing the TV and switched on what had been the most ignored channel.
She went the whole (boring) thing again just to get a glimpse of herself. The whole family sat without blinking even once. They waited and watched. It was only Ankur and Pankaj on TV, and a few of the lucky audiences, at times. But no Manisha.
They did not lose patience. They watched continuously.
And there! A little bit of the suit she wore was seen.
The show ended. So did the enthusiasm.

So much for a part of her salwaar-kameez being shown on TV!

I wouldn’t make a guess on whether she’ll accept such offers again.
But she is definitely a positive thinker.

“But I forgot to tell you something”, she said.
What, I wondered.
“One of the boys amongst the audiences was real smart!”

Every cloud has a silver lining (no matter how negligible it may be)

A Change?

For eight years, we have laughed at each other, with each other and amongst each other.
For eight years, we have lied to each other and lied for each other.
For eight years, we have lived for each other and we have lived each other.
For eight years, we have been each others’ reasons for presence at schools.
For eight years, we eight friends have been a team.
Today, after eight years, we are at different places, even miles away from each other (only geographically, of course)
But there are some things that keep us from missing each other. And that’s probably our own ‘new’ friends.
Never had I thought that it would take just a few minutes to make new friends at college.
Never had I thought that it would take just a few hours to know each other.
Never had I thought that it would take just a week to call my ‘new’ friends my close friends.
Never had I thought that strange acquaintances would make a team and this soon.
But, one thing that I had known forever is that what creates a difference between mere existence and life is called friendship.
And perhaps, everyone knows this, inside. Perhaps, this is why we could recreate lives so soon.
My friends at college (new no more) have helped me relive my days at school.
They have helped me realize once again the magic that gossips hold.
They have helped me feel once again the thrill of bunking classes.
They have helped me rediscover myself, and all in a period of two weeks!

So, has college life brought in a real change in my life? Not quite.

I am really grateful to my friends, old and relatively new, for persistently helping me equate life with friendship and friendship with bliss!
Thank You, friends.

Look what I found!

Yesterday,while browsing through my old notebooks, I found this small,pale piece of paper.And what did it hold-one of my most ignored poems that I must have written long time back in a fit of emotions and then forgotten about it!
I think I ought to give this one it's share of publicity.So,here it goes......

Life's Best Days

Sunny days,pleasant nights,
Lovely smiles,tender sights,
Heavenly moments,beautiful times,
Of lullabies and nursery rhymes,
And of innocent words and ways,
Formed the life's best of days!

Clumsy workers,naughty mimics,
Bounded by no hours,no ticks,
Little hearts that swiftly pound,
Always stuck to the playground,
When shrink,as their holders grow,
Wonder where childish days did go!

Stormy nights,cloudy days,
Devilish smiles,fiendish ways,
Heavy moments,guilty times,
Of selfish deeds and petty crimes,
Make you wonder when you sit alone,
Where are the life's best days gone?

When dolls fail to give you joys,
And coins and greens replace your toys,
And there's no fun, no pranks, no play,
And all you do is work all day,
And no chocolates and hugs in turn,
You wonder why childhood should go and never return!

***
(smile)thank you

No Interference Please

When I was small, I used to practice and sharpen my drawing and painting skills at the Art Gallery. When I would be drawing, people would gather around me and it felt like thousands of pairs of eyes were monitoring each and every movement of my hand. Some of the spectators would also give advices and some others would even try pointing out the mistakes. I would get very nervous then. My pencil would behave as if it were heavily lubricated. After all that effort I would put in to get the desired result, I would get something that would be far from sensible. And then, I would really wish that people had not interfered in my passion.

Sometimes when I am engrossed in a novel, I feel something strange. I either hear someone (or something, I wouldn’t be sure) breathing or hear some foot steps. Could it be a troubled soul? A ghost? Oh no, a dragon? I wonder. This scares the wits out of me. And then, the loud, unbearable words-‘What are you doing sis?” Whew! It’s just my brother. I get relaxed but I really wish my brother had not interfered in my leisure time.
Sometimes, when people try to peek into our lives and try to know about it out of their limits, we really wish they do not interfere in our lives.

When the politicians try to disrupt the equality of the nation through reservations and quotas, we wish they don’t interfere in the matters of the people.

When the peace of a society is broken by inhumane plans, everybody wishes no one had interfered in their city.

When the bloggers and the blog-hoppers see no point in sitting and staring at unyielding screens, they wish the government hadn’t interfered with their freedom to expression.

Conclusion: Interferences are never admired. Everybody wishes to live in a non-interfered world. And everybody must make it clear in the best possible way. So, while you think of ways to make your points clear, I am going to talk to my brother and tell him ‘Look, I don’t want you to interfere at all when I am reading because when you do, I get really (no, not scared) angry…..yes, very very angry.”

Height of Corruption

From the grass-root level of a government-run organization to the top of it, a term that is said to keep the employees alive and their kids fed is chai-pani. The norm might be catching up with some private organizations too. Donations in schools, vanishing funds in organizations said to be carrying out social work, sifarish in job areas- and before a ‘victim’ of corruption thinks he has had ‘enough’, he has illogical, unexpected, elongated telephone and electricity bills waiting to be paid on his desk.
So if having to bribe the chaprasi to get to talk to an officer or giving huge amount of ‘charity’ to an adoption centre isn’t enough, then how much actually is? Sky is never the limit, not the least for the ever-greedy, ever-demanding ‘bribe-takers’ who think bribery is so very normal that they have devised euphemisms for the term ‘bribe’ itself.
Not everybody in the system is a part of this wave, you may say. I agree. But the very few who are not in the wave are forced to stay as sediments. It is very difficult for the conscience-followers to rise above the corrupt and surf the waves without getting drenched.
While we keep our fingers crossed and wait for the sediments to shed their fears and rise above the water-level (before we are swept away by a flood), we try also to measure the depth and try to find out what the ‘height of corruption’ is(Is there a measuring instrument long enough?)

If World were a Temple

There is this small in size,large in the number of visitors temple near my house.I usually go there primarily because I like the scent of flowers mixed with the fragrance of the insence sticks.
At the time of the aarti, there are about thirty people there.While the stuti plays on the tape recorder(most probably donated by someone), one of the devotees volunteers to ring the temple bell to the tune of the prayer song.
Then, a thought strikes my mind.
If world were a temple, people would cheerfully volunteer to do things knowing the long term benefits of the act.
People light the lamps and the insence sticks.I wish everybody in this world, strived to bring fragarance and light everywhere.
Some people distribute paper bowls of rice or sweets as prasada.I wish the able individuals of the world worked to feed the little unfortunate others.
I was grateful to the temple for the thought it gave me.
A beautiful, fragrant, illuminated world, devotees of humanity, lamps of hope, insence of peace, prasada of love!
I was overwhelmed with the thought.The tape recorder became silent.I realised that the stuti was over.Then, it was the time for everyone to offer prayers and flowers individually.
People started rushing into each other, pushing each other and using their get-through-the-crowd techniques.
All thoughts were shattered.I takes less than a moment for the world to transit from selflessness to selfishness.
Conclusion: Because people make temples, temples are part of the world and the world cannot be a temple.
But still, I wish temples were temples and the world were a temple!

Do Birds Cry?

Ask a man without anyone who can be called his own what happiness is. Most probably,he'll say he would have been the happiest man if he had a family - his parents, wife, children. A man who spends his nights on the roads and sweats through his days to feed his family, would interpret happiness as being able to give his children and his wife a shelter,pride and regular meals to keep them alive.
This man who has a wife and children, a house big enough to keep them and with an extra space for their guests and enough money to afford dining out on birthdays and anniversaries of family members, is unhappy.
Why should it be so? Is happiness meant for saints and sages? Is happiness beyond reach for the common(in terms of thinking,that is)?Enough never seems to be enough.I wonder if there is anything that can satisfy a common man.I wonder if birds ever cry because they do not have enough sky to fly through!

Tit for Tat

We hesitate to call ourselves 'best friends'.I still wouldnt say it because I know she will read this.She has promised me she will. But as far as I know, she has little interest in reading.Why would she read this then?Well....the answer is quite simple.....she'll read this because she does not like(I hope she'll enjoy it now)reading.

31st December(new years eve) is no day to be taken as any other day especially when its also the birth date of a close(i actually mean,best)friend.But I wouldnt be myself if I do what's obvious.The terrible happened. I forgot her birthday. The day was forgotten till I called her up some two months later.This unforgivable,unforgettable mistake was easily let off by my friend.I was glad.

22nd March-Many people called me up and wished me a happy birth day.I admit I was expecting a call from my friend. I was hopeful till the very last second of the day.She didn't call.She didn't call?I was sure she had forgotten. I called her up two days later and we talked for some 30 minutes till I told her I am eligible to watch 'Being Cyrus',an adult movie."Not so fast!" she said "You ain't 18 yet.You'll turn 18 on......".And there was a pause followed by a long (and irritating) apology."I ought to be punished"she said"And so I'll read your blog tomorrow."I was happy.(I was happy?Why should I be happy when people use my blog as a source of punishment!)So, if she really feels sorry, she'll read this. To make her feel better,I said"That was just 'Tit for Tat'.Wasn't it?"This was a mistake.I could imagine her eyes twinkling and a mischeivous smile lighting up her face."Yeah."she said"Tit for Tat.And you weren't punished!"
Oops!So after she has read(tolerated)my blog,it'll be my turn.She does 'my' thing and I'll have to do 'her' thing. So what will it be?Scolding boys,shopping for long(i mean really long),or turning blank CDs into coasters and rags into designer wears.Well friend,whatever it will be,I'll do it.Afterall,it got to be 'Tit fot Tat'!

Call me talkative

"And what is the best thing you like to do,Pooja?"
A spontaneous response poured out of the little girl's mouth
"Talking"
Though it was a very obvious answer,the teacher had not expected the girl to admit it.
'What's wrong if I love to talk?' the girl would think.But on every parent-teacher meetings, talking would be on the top of both the parent's and the teacher's 'complaint lists'.



"Practicing Random acts of kindness" was the school's thrust of the year.Teachers talked about it in the 'value education' classes.
"Do whatever you can do to help people." The teacher had said.
The best that Pooja could do was 'talk'.She had always disliked people complaining about her being 'talkative'. Why should they be complaining about it? She had thought.



Pooja used to see an old lady sitting in the lawn whole day.The old lady was her friend's grandmother and from what her friends said about her, pooja had realised that she was not loved.
She had understood(kids do understand!) that the women sat alone in the lawn trying to escape the reality(that now seemed to be inescapable).Pooja saw the lady's grandchildren ignoring her some times and laughing at her at other times.(being laughed at was perhaps better than being ignored.You laugh at something when you are aware of its existence.)
"Amma......"The little girl called out to the old lady.Pooja saw the lady smiling for the very first time.
If one word can do that, what must all that i have do-Pooja was amazed.
And then every day was filled with innocent words for the old lady and magical smiles for the little girl.
'I am talkative.Everybody tell me that I am talkative. I love to be called talkative! And I love to talk to 'amma'.I feel so very happy when amma smiles.She is a nice women.Theres just one little problem' she thought 'amma speaks a different language.'

I OBJECT

His beauty pierces the blinding light and penetrates into my heart through my eyes.Some of it climbs upto my mind.And then i realise that its not beauty. Its deceit.I realise that God is not what we think he is. He is just the 'audience'.He sits back and pretends he runs the show.This show can run without audience, for what is a show for him is life for us.And someone ought to tell him he is not needed.So I take the charge.

"Mr. God ,(you ought to change your name.Many misconceptions associated with it!) we all respect you so much. We pray to you, we thank you and we love you. But why do we do this?You think you can have all the praises and prayers and then you can just sit there and watch us 'funny' people singing, dancing, struggling and crying?I object."

He stands there and smiles.

"We cry, you smile. We live, you smile. We kill, you smile. We cheat, you smile. We die,you smile. Is that what you are going to do forever? You still smile and I object."

As I object, he smiles.It irritates me and I try my best not to let my eyes stream.

"You.......you are the cause when you know you have the power to be the end of all miseries.Why don't you do anything? Why not punish the evil people? Why let the good ones go?I need an answer. I am waiting for one and you stand there silent. I object."

Finally, his expressions change and he speaks some words.
He is gone and the words still echo.
Everything gets dissolved. The words stand. The words haunt.
The words...........'Objection overruled!'