Once upon a dream!

           the one

If only I could ever say it right,

the things I saw when all was quiet.

Beyond that hill, where the wind is still,

the stars above were not a distant sight.

I flee this town, I break all bounds,

I got my wings, I took my flight.

And so it was, yet so it wasn’t,

I was lost, the roads looked brazen.

My head was high, my spirit young,

they verily called me foolish, impudent.

 

That fair haired child had bled his knee,

was playing with straws, when he fell on rocks.

In the narrow streets and tall houses,

a big fat girl makes meaty sandwiches.

Three old men, sitting on a bench,

bald and grey, they said, “hey”.

A bunch of boys thumped tables, their fists high,

I don’t know why they had to shout,

but all of them were pretty loud.

 

I sailed the tides, high and low,

I played with the winds, warm and cold.

I went up the mountain, rough and steep,

and saw the valley, quiet in its sleep.

 

Once upon a dream, once upon a night,

I had my wings, I took my flight…..

There was Something in that Place to which the Mind could not be Indifferent!

The summer of 2014, I  happened to visit this place, I never knew existed, a few months back. In the heart of a street crowded with workshops and greasy mechanics, was the gate of this quiet place, whose inhabitants were absorbed in their own pace and visibly oblivious to the life outside. The building was said to be about a century old but I personally always doubted this information for a century old building could not be in such a good shape…..not when it is located where it was located.

Luckily I had a chance to meet a lot of new people and though it does not happen very often but, I wish not to forget the people I met.  

That sturdy, old woman with big blue eyes behind those big round glasses was a class of her own. A woman from a foreign land but her apprehension of the locals was remarkably astute.

The old man, short stature, bald and the kind of man who kept his half moon spectacles at the tip of his nose. Someone with not a very good sense of humor. His company I never fancied. A man of principles and discipline. But he valued his principles more than the people around. I won’t say his preference was wrong but it certainly did not match my taste. 

A man in his early thirties. Over- weight, curly black hair. He looked much like some afro-american except his thick mustaches that curled upwards from the edges. He was always good at making jokes and especially parodies. But otherwise, a shy person. 

I knew that ‘R’ was christian. She was a happy person who loved to talk. She seemed very animated when she told me about her experiences in Malaysia. I bet she regrets not marrying those Hindus and Sikhs who had proposed her but much as I can tell, she has a happy home. She was the kind of person who make the whole place come alive. 

The best one was ‘I’. That young skilled man who knew what he was doing and why he was doing. I must above all appreciate his patience as a teacher.

‘S’ was a good kid. I know I intimidated her because she never stopped smiling when I was around. I believe that was a good thing.

I always found it strange the way ‘S.B’ always fought and resisted taking her medicine and injections, but she never said a word to me and always did what I asked her to do. Although I was glad that she showed me some respect but her silence with me always left me uneasy.

It was hard to swallow that ‘R’ died. He was in a terrible condition. His leg looked awful. What still haunts me is the time his every breath had become visibly painful yet, when asked, he did not as much as complained. Not able to reply, he sufficed to smile. In the world where we strive to be heard. Trying in vain to make our insignificant selves sound significant. Crying at every little thing. There was this man, wise enough to keep his dignity when disease and poverty had taken the rest away from him.

‘N.Z’ , the pushtuun, also had incredible patience. That gangrene and daily dressing must hurt a great deal. I’m certainly not proud of it, but I could never look at his foot without getting nauseated every time. I once forced myself not to look at his foot. On the face of that old man was always this child like innocence. He always looked the way a child looks with curiosity and bewilderment at people, trying to figure out whats going on with all these  serious looking people.

I wonder who was the lady with the camera. I never got to know her. With her incomprehensible German, she sounded as if she is cursing someone while she was smiling as she talked. I imagined Hitler speaking like that, all the time she was there.

And I feel obligated to give honorary mention to the beastly german shepherd with whom my encounter was most unusual and thrilling but certainly not pleasant. I once happened to go to the administration block when I passed by an office whose door was open. Walking at my leisure, I was just passing by when I noticed a bull size dog staring at me from inside the office. The dog apparently did not like me much and started barking. As he stood up, he was as tall as me. For a second or two I just stood there trying to figure the magnitude of severity of the situation when I finally realized that someone was angry and someone was coming towards me and might actually bite me. I practically ran and did not look back till I was safe. I was terrified then but I must admit that I loved the adrenaline it gave me. And now to think of it, anyone watching the whole thing must have found it pretty hilarious.

For that place where I may not go again, I can borrow Metcalfe’s words that he had said about the Indian subcontinent in 1800’s, “There is something in this place to which the mind can not be indifferent”.

a

ramblings

   Happiness. I wonder what it even means. I’ve heard it’s the state of feeling blessed, knowing that everything is al right or that it will be al right because things seem to be going the way we want. But then, nothing is ever al right, especially when things go our way, something is always missing. It’s same as when one door is unlocked, we get to see ten more locks to open. It never stops, and we always know that it’s not supposed to stop. Then what makes us happy? Delusion. A moment in a fool’s paradise.

   Things like ‘sadness’ and ‘pain’ are even more confusing. It mostly happens when we are hurt or our expectations are not met. But then, is it not same as being weak? Complaining and moaning about things and then fondly indulging in self-pity as if anyone would care. Forgetting, that everyone has enough to take care of already. Arts of cowardice. Weaklings.

   I may be wrong since, I fear I never had a real taste of either happiness or sadness. However, sane and clever people try to hold a middle ground. To know that things might be in our favour but, being careful not to expect much. To realize that we are not happy but not wanting anyone to see that. Keeping a middle ground and never giving in to any strong emotion. Thus, a gift of ever lasting discontent. Detachment and disconnection. I seek for sanity but clearly, its lunacy. Never mind!

ramblings

don’t tell anybody….

g

Many a times I have put in the internet search engines ‘history of gossips’. Every time I ended up unsatisfied. All I know is, that almost everyone has at least once gossiped about some one and also been subjected to it.

      I too, have been subjected to it many times, especially after coming to college. For an instance, one of the female demonstrators has a striking resemblance with me and so last year a girl came to me saying, ‘ hey, you are XYZ’s niece, right?’ My innocent reply was, ‘Really? Oh my, I never knew that’. Even then, the word of mouth traveled with the lightning speed and  for the past whole year people have been ‘telling’ me that I’m related to her.

      About twice, I have very warmly congratulated people on getting engaged just to find out, it was nothing but some pathetic rumor (oh those embarrassing moments. Felt like an idiot, then).

      There is exclusively too much of gossiping about the break-ups and and heaven-made-sweet-couples (which do break-up really soon). Social medias like face-book are efficiently accelerating the whole process of gossip-travel, as if, canteens, back benches of lecture theaters and yes ‘hostel’ was not doing the job much already.

      But, I have learned one thing about myself. I’m gender biased. I never thought I could be, but after seeing a boy (of 20 years- almost a man) gossiping, I felt like throwing-up at him. Now, don’t blame me. But what is this world coming to? Where has the manliness hid itself? Nevertheless, a boy gossiping is simply horrible. Disgusting.

men-gossiping-206x225

    A very sage person once told the world the best way to spread a rumor, tell a woman and ask her ‘do not tell any body’. Having done this, just wait and see the magic. It works. It really does.

     I might be wrong about this but people who get into gossiping and spreading rumors are mostly tired and bored of their own lives. They look for an escape as their energies are more than their positive utilization and so they need help. At this point, I must confess that I too have taken part in such activities but I’m too ashamed to tell when and about whom did I talk. But, since I consciously avoid being part of this, I assume I’m not a gossip girl after all (feels like an angel ^-^)

     Even if I’m right about my theory, that gossiping people need to get a life, please do not think that I wish to ban this practice because, if people did not gossip and rumors did not spread then how ever was I to know that those who should-not-be-named did what should-not-be-told. But,

ssshhhhh! DO NOT TELL ANY BODY, eh?

sssshhh

* images are not owned by the author.