Random Stuff

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Changing Seasons

Published February 21, 2018 by Virgo293

The winter blue is almost fading now. My favourite over-coats and floating sleeves have rolled their way on the top of my cupboard. My not so flattering body has found its hope away from the ‘gajar ka halva’ and I am busy relishing the last few morsels of the season’s last ‘Sarson da Saag’ and Makke di Roti.’ I am enjoying the short days and the lazy long nights, and yet, as I go to bed, night after night, I can’t help but feel sad about it continuing to get shorter.

Not very surprisingly, this feeling, often stretches itself to life. In the long rituals of deciduous trees, I feel I lose a part of myself. When the branches shed their leaves to protect the life that runs within them, I somehow know that we are no different. The only variation that perhaps remains is the way they make it look so painless.

Nevertheless, the shedding of yellow, for the green to blossom, is nature. And this is a shedding that is in coherence with the spirit of life. It requires no apology, and mustn’t come with any guilt. It must in fact be an occasional jolt that one shakes oneself with, to step out of one’s pale shadow. A long winter will follow indeed. One will definitely have to go bare; bare-skinned and bare-hearted. But the spring is sure to come. A spring that fills hearts with warmth, and the world with a new layer of life.

This shall happen annually for a few, once every two years for some, for some it might take a decade; and few very rare species are made to stand unfazed, evergreen, in all seasons. But none is stronger than the other. And none weaker. They are all different from one another. Each with a different mechanism to cope, and a different season that they shine in.

As the winter goes by then, and the spring approaches, and in places like Bombay, where summer is knocking the doors; one must remember, that the only truth about seasons, is that they keep changing!




Published February 10, 2018 by Virgo293

Adversity has a wonderful of getting you in touch with your true self. As popular conception, or misconception, goes, I don’t think it defines you. It helps you explore a side to yourself that you never knew existed, or reaffirms you of a side that always did. It is unexpected times only that look you in the eye and challenge all beliefs that you comfortably wrap yourself in. And yet in these times, what you lose first, is your vision.

For me fortitude, is to embrace this blur and juggle with it, while believing in wisdom being as much a tool as just physical courage. When a tiger confronts you, it is nature that has decided your immediate response to be flight. Does this mean that fleeing is not courageous? Does this mean that fight is the only grand thing to do? The only thing that deserves the mark of character? I have an issue with replacement of the word ‘face’ with ‘fight.’ Just facing an issue isn’t a big deal anymore.

The recent Padmavat controversy has a root in what I am trying to say. The reaction and uprising that the film’s climax has received rekindles my faith in the power of judgement in today’s society. I won’t waste my time discussing ‘Johar’ and the evil associated with this practice, because it has already died a natural death. Had there been even a little bit of honesty or righteousness in the practice, it would have found its way to today’s world. However, I do want to talk about the thousands of people, not just women, who continue to inflict pain upon themselves, day in and day out. And it is the ‘glorification’ of this infliction that I have a problem with.

It starts with small things. Like putting up with that abusive boss, because that is how the culture today is. Almost everything falls into the ‘Chalta haicategory. It spans out to bigger things, of dealing with mental and physical torture, and at times succumbing to it. Even media trolling, despite how trivial it sounds, has an impact on the normal life of an individual. How many mouths then, does one fight? How many tussles does one aim at conquering? And how then, does one get away from this pain, when the cool thing to do, is to take a stand?

And when you do so,  you know what you are called, right?  What the hushed tones define you to be. Yes! A coward. A spineless, opinion-less being who has no right to be called human. It is this stereotypical definition of courage that I have a problem with. This glorification of ‘bravery.’ So much so, that it has gone to mean revenge.

Let me go on to clarify something here. I don’t mean to degrade those who find a voice to justify themselves. That is also a form of strength. But what I mean to do instead, is take off the color of embarrassment that shades the life of a person who knows how to let go.

Who wouldn’t call the case of Avantica Maken that of immense bravery? Doesn’t it take guts to pardon someone who took away the man who means more to you than your own life? If this is not strength, then what is?

It takes immense courage to detach oneself from a situation and let go. It takes even more courage to let go. And for me, this perseverance, that meets suffering, without even a hint of malice, in thought or action, is fortitude!

No man, woman, preacher or practice that propagates this, is in any way, glorifying cowardice. That one chooses detachment from the infliction, or escape from the pain altogether, is completely a personal choice. None of it defines one’s character, or its strength. And the courage to do what naturally comes to one, in this world of judgement, is perhaps the true purpose of life.

Life in extreme conditions


Published February 8, 2017 by Virgo293


It has indeed been a while since I had a conversation in this blog. I know, what a cliché to begin with. But I guess it is honest. Writing things to put up here actually associates with a lot of such feelings. Such ‘clichés.’ Feelings that create a nostalgia that we so repeatedly speak about. Like a hot cup of tea on a rainy evening. Like the smell of wet mud on a Sunday afternoon. Like a barefoot walk on a sandy beach.

These aren’t just metaphors anymore. They are feelings so universal that you could bottle them, and put them on a rack and people will know them as flavours. These are crutches that people sail through this brutal world on. They work as a push. They pull you to themselves. They give you a kick unmatchable to the best kind of wine. And yet, you don’t get to experience them when you want them most. It’s a high you can’t choose. Life decides when it tickles you. Almost like your fate.

I wonder if this is an addiction. Actually, it is. I am addicted to this stimulation. I am addicted to inspiration sending shivers down my spine. I am addicted to being drawn to write. To being moved. To being reduced to tears. To rising up to new beginnings and to lying awake in anticipation. I am addicted, to being alive!

But fortunately, or unfortunately, this is a feeling that comes only in parts. Or in phases. In days, sometimes. And sometimes, just in moments.

You can’t help when it touches you. You can’t help its high. You can’t help anything to do with it. Not even the fact that you are addicted.

Days pass awaiting motivation. Awaiting that spark that will light up your mind. You are not sad or depressed. Not even unhappy. You are just empty. With a hollow that continues to surround you.

How then do you help yourself? How do you put your foot down? How do you take life in your hands? How do you trace the flavours back? How then, do you become alive again??

Persistence they say is the key. Hard work is what fits the bill. You must keep doing, they say. I wish they could also tell me doing what? What is it exactly that I have to do?

I can keep writing bad things; I perhaps one day will have something good. I might become famous with that one click. Life might become better after that. But success and fame isn’t what I signed up to writing for. I signed up to writing because it made me happy. And I wanted to be happy every day.

What do I do now? I am addicted to the high it gives me. And still, I have nothing to say.

As I put these thoughts down, it dawns onto me. I’ve to find something to say perhaps. Look for that high. That inspiration. It is the stimulation I’ve to seek. And until I find it, not write!

A miracle then, will perhaps happen. And in that search, of that new flavour to bottle, I might find my happiness, in the bottleneck!

Bullets and Daggers

Published October 17, 2016 by Virgo293

A strange silence has been following me recently. Not a hollow, a silence. A contemplative silence that nudges me to think about the so many moments that while away in life. The so many minutes I spend in my past. The so many hours that go thinking about what the future will look like. A silence, that constantly threatens me with the bullets of time. That threatens to take away the carefree spirit I have been trying to nurture ever since.

The constant question that keeps nagging me is ‘what if?’ ‘What if that meeting did not go well?’ ‘What if I did not finish that assignment?’ ‘What if I do not end up anywhere?’ They feel like daggers hanging on my head, these questions. They tend to make me escape lack of company, they force me to escape thinking, and they lead me areas so unexplored that I feel scared of being lost and never being able to come back.

And yet, what is constant, throughout this phase of bullets and daggers, is the light I see ahead. The feeling that this is all a conflict and that beyond this phase of uncertainties, this alleged lack of answers and this stern silence, lies a land of green. Where noise and discussions won’t seem so scary. Where abandoning lies and uncovering masks won’t be so difficult. Where little by little by little my patience and persistence will defy these powerful weapons; and the peace I so constantly seek, will shield my tired self.

That is when I guess, this silence will be more insightful. That is when the questions that pop up so naturally, will not threaten me of an unnatural death.  The dark cave I am so afraid of even looking at, will take me in and lead me forward. The present silence I’ve been shutting my ears to, will be a relief, from the world that offers setbacks and promises, together at once. And then, I’ll let the questions be, as they continue to hang in time.



Corridors of Time

Published May 23, 2016 by Virgo293

A Line.

Published March 23, 2016 by Virgo293

Life is a line. A topsy-turvy, roller-coaster, straight yet curved, impossible to trace line. A line that goes up and down and up and down and up and down. In its wave form, the crests and troughs are difficult to gauge, predict and at times even deal with.

When you are just expecting a difficult climb, your tummy tickles with a sudden fall. And just when you are easing out for a comfortable drop down, it turns that you have to trek a rift all the way up.

It’s enough, believe me, for all of this to make your head spin. To make it go round. And round. And round. Enough at least to have you stop and look around. To seek a corner and sit. And take a deep breath. Even better if it is green, the corner. And below the stars. It still has to be in this world, unfortunately.  But trance, isn’t far away.

Breathe in. Breathe out. Once. Twice. Thrice. And then, Open your eyes. Re-adjust your vision.

The smile, will automatically come back.

Lay back. Lie down. Look up. And give yourself a break. From the hop skip and jump. From day and night. From good and bad. From thoughts and feelings. From them. And from yourself.

There is a lot inside. Waiting to settle down. To relax. To take a nap. Or maybe some actual sleep. Give all of that a treat.

Close your eyes.

When you open them next, you’ll perhaps believe me. Believe me when I say that even through the stagnancy, you’ve traversed to a different point, in the same line.


Published February 21, 2016 by Virgo293


Glistening light, a smilie and a good morning wish. A text that says so much that words are unable to.

The same glistening light. A similar good morning text. Words again communicate so much. Yet, the smile isn’t just missing on your phone. It din’t appear on your sleep-ridden, heavy eyed, face as well.

It shouldn’t be a surprise how smilies have affected our mode of communication so much. They’ve reassured the world of the fact that there is so much that words simply can’t define. They are aptly called emoticons, because what they communicate, are pure emotions.

That blush on your face has no other way to travel the distance it so easily does these days, nor those stars in your eyes. Ditto for your heavy heart. They don’t just communicate feelings, these smilies. They make the reader feel.

In short, they do everything that I would like to do as a writer,  but with words. No wonder they put me to spot. I genuinely feel insecure.

Because no matter how hard I try to mix flirtatiousness to my language, the piece just remains incomplete without a wink. My heart felt poetry fails to convey anything, until I use a prompter. Even a formal email, becomes much more interesting, with the use of an appropriate smile.

I wonder if this matters though. Why can’t I just use them, make my job easier, and get over with the fuss. After all, this might just be a transformation language is going through. And I agree that words by themselves are too powerful to be afraid of a transition like this.

But writers, especially the ones like me, definitely have something to think about

Amidst all these thoughts, the only reassuring one is that no matter how hard they try, one thing emoticons can never win over is Silence.

Perhaps because this is the only one thing that words have never been able to triumph over. And perhaps because, the whole point of silence, is to gauge understanding, without expression.

How silence not being affected is of reassurance to a writer, is a discussion for another time. But I insist that they should keep writing, with or without emoticonning.

PS I am really tempted to put a simlie at the end of this post, but I won’t because I have to make a point. 😉

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