An Expensive Bag with No Hand to Hold

She defines life as a way for enjoyment, money, beauty, tour, lifestyle, that’s where she finds herself comfortable in. Dumping money in every store she visits, she could see the elegance in material world perfectly. Out in the morning and landing up back to home late night, she cares for none. The house is a palace where people race with her word speed to get her things on time. A ravishing beauty, she covers herself in the mud for more grace and fine touch. Having stepped on half of the earth, she craves for more. In all day travelling, she never miss to see the holy statues in the temple, a strange thing she does. Like her skin, a heavy, black and an expensive bag is always attached to her. She forgets the bag wherever she goes and someone there hands it to her. A thankless takeover for the bag.

Having known her for a long time and being invited to have dinner in the palace, I went there to know her more. Her eyes deep and red, neck held high, she welcomed me with honor. Loquacious, as she has thousands of words to say and share, alone and proud in the house. Her tales were never ending and I interrupted with the question about the beautiful bag which she forgets everywhere. The graceful smile vanished, she picks up the bag and unzipped it, empty like her house. In response to the perplexed face she replied, I dump my loneliness in this bag and try to forget it but this loneliness is so attached that it has multitudinous ways to find me. She never paid for the material, it was always for the few minutes conversation she had with the people. She wishes if money could buy everything on this earth, she would have bought and distributed to the lonely humans. The visit to the palace detached me from the worldly affairs. Relations and attachment holds a lot more than money in bags.

Sorrows: The quickest way to learn life

Half awake throughout the night, alarm clock buzzing to get the attention and she was gazing at the lifeless images in mind.  A heavy thought which she carried all over the night blurred her vision. The morning rays were dense and puzzling, pushing her back to darkness. It was the day of commotion and demanded excessive travelling. Calls which required no response but just to confirm the presence. Many things entangled to form a perplexed picture. Feeling trapped and losing the calm every second. Her steps were tipsy and mind weaving the conversations to build a clear track. In a crowd and still alone, she lost the faith in herself and asked for help.

Anxious water drops moving down her head and hands shivering to hold a bag. She reached the metro station and took a seat to think in peace. An old man sitting next to her and observing her moves. He saw her shedding tears and hiding her face to get unnoticed. She could feel the old eyes keenly observing her. She wiped her face and sat straight but still lost in her puzzles. Suddenly the old man shouted the words printed on the banner,’Delhi Metro, The fastest way to travel’ and Sorrows the quickest way to learn life. He put his hand on her head and said to her, you will learn soon. She was shocked as the prayer got answered in no time. The old man stood up, gave her a smile and moved out. He took away all her worries and stress and the day was a win for her. There is meaning to every problem we have in life, rather than crying over it, face it with will and win it.

The Miniscule Minority Park

A curious wave putting my thoughts on the road and I kept on finishing the paths from one bend to the other. Late in the night and winters making its presence felt more and more. Took a wrong turn and entered the right place. I stepped inside a park where the vibes were like the arctic frost. Wrapped with an extra load of apparels, moving fast was an uphill battle. Suddenly came across a  guy who introduced me to the place as the one made for non straight people . The way of expression made it clear and I was glad being inducted there.

My presence there was not appreciated by my friends but my experience was enriching. An endless trip to the place started and the miniscule appeared to be large and more happy than the major one. There was always an uproar of emotions and activity like the butterfly opening the wings for the first time. More hidden the thought more explosive it is. Same was visible there. Life there was filled with rainbow colors, marking the excitement. Many there were  hunting for bodies, some for fun and some like me just for an experience. From old to young and kiddos, all were the part of  hidden miniscule, a society in whole.

With nothing to hide, the only thing prevalent there was truth  and everyone came out live to perform, we all were secretly related. Every visit gave me something to hold and carry with me. Love was like a wind, flowing but no way to capture. The beauty was in no discrimination policy. Everyone was respected as a human and no basis of being natural or unnatural. The miniscule played a sound impact on my inner self which the majority never did. It was more a hidden criminal community with unmatched love and care.

An Unnatural Understanding of Nature

An avid traveller just needs an opportunity to move out and see the new paths and people doing the same things in multitudinous ways. The journey starts from nowhere and ends to pathless paths where the curiosity just speaks up the name of the land and the traveller ends up expanding there. This time I started for a small meet with an old friend and found myself exploring the humanity.

Waiting in an auto for people to come and fill the vacant space, I saw a charming girl coming. She stopped near the auto and looked at the temple with a smile. She sat inside and I observed the heavy makeup and the revealing dress she was wearing. People noticed her and moved out.

She was a transgender and may be a sex worker too. I sat next to her so that others can occupy the space and we all can move. The journey was a track of shame and uncultured words for her. People were discussing about sex so openly as if they were about to make out. Abusive words and torturing discussion, she took it all. Looking outside and ignoring everything happening inside. People called her unnatural and diseased. One who gets the fruit of bad karma in this form and also the one who is the cause of difficulty in others life.

Next day there were two coming for the ride. Well this time they are refused to sit inside as they harm the auto driver’s business. Abused again and thrown out like a useless part. In the name of nature we create differences and harm others. It’s not the creation that is abused but it is the creator.

Bewitching Black Blind Eyes

Something missing, I realized it quite soon. Hot and humid, the dense rays were crossing the fence of patience. Devotion inside was entangled up by the burning flames of sun. I was standing there waiting for the bus. Cars moving in and out and making crazy, irritating sounds, senses warmed up and vision illusioned. Weather painted the face of people with saltwater. No bird, no creature, only humans moving around with a passive look.

With no voice and utter silence in her appearance she was sitting on the bench alone. Covering her head with a cloth and a stick to mentor her steps. The gracious face had a smile whose reason I was looking for. She was touching the seat next to her again and again, may be in order to touch the one whom she was waiting for. I noticed her moving almost fifty times to find no one there but the smile and divinity was still on the face.

Mesmerized by her Godly Aura and supertemporal patience, I was lost in her silence. The world around her was black but she could see it better than me, feel it better than me. I sat inside the bus but my mind still wondering whom she was looking for. Bus moved and I was fixtured to her.Patience and tolerance was what I was missing and I found it through the vision of blind eyes.

When her Mother Died

There were hundreds of people in her house, her relatives busy in telling others about the loss of a divine soul. Some making arrangements for the last duties to be performed before the dark and her mother lying quietly on the floor like an angel with no wings of life. Not even a single tear in her eye, she was constantly looking at the blue sky. Her aunties forcing her to cry and let it come out else she will go insane, 12 was not the age to lose life.    

I didn't have the courage to hold her and make her feel comfortable, still I went close to her and gave her my hand. She said my mother a devotional singer, who always sang in the name of God and he cheated on her. He is a looser and my mother is a true friend, always did what he wanted and still she died of cancer. She prayed to let go the pain but everyday she gained, Maa didn't stop singing and he didn't stop giving. I lost my savior two years back and now there is nothing left, I am alone. She bowed down to the breathless body, hugged her tightly and gave out loud cries.

Hours later when her mother was in sandalwood fire, she said I am scared about the future. I have no one left and I am a girl. Her relatives decided to let her go with her maternal uncle and stay with them. She said I wish there would have been no childhood in my life. I don’t know what to believe in, the devotion my mother taught me or the truth which I have experienced. I will take the loss with me to understand it more. More or less life is a hidden story which leaves us to think and understand the reason behind the activities and plays, life is all meaningful.

The Most Drunkard Beggar

The sugar syrup was sweeter than ever, sweets were more dark and eye catching. It was the month of festivals and celebration was seen on every face moving around. Winters just started giving a shadow to summers and sun seemed to be brighter and clearer. I was there to buy the sweetest one for my celebrations.

Suddenly a heavy and loud voice hammered my ear drum and moved my attention to the faceless crowd. A man with dirt dark complexion, tattered clothes on some parts of the body was abusing everyone in the crowd and with a move to fall if he takes just one step more. He stopped at a liquor shop and took the coins out of his pocket. Bought a small bottle of mind twisting liquid and drink it all in one go. He was the show stopper for all moving there. One came close to him and in a polite tone asked him to sit, else he may fall. Love and hate had no difference for the dark man. The politeness was pressed hard with the swords of alcoholic words.

The attire was showing the misery and brutality life brought to him. Wearing a part of the sleepers, showing the incompleteness in everything. Holding a long and thick bamboo stick showing the stiffness and rigidity in thoughts. He moved far away from the place abusing everyone, even children and God was not left out. Well he believed in No Discrimination. He might have been touched by the inhuman behavior of us which made him drunkard. His words were begging for life, life with peace which he might never have felt. I learnt to share my part of celebration with others so that I can never get a chance to see “The Most Drunkard Beggar”.

One world under a Blanket

Getting up from bed that morning was a tedious task and everyone avoids it. The clock was ticking loud and even after snoozing, it was moving its arms at pace faster than the blink of an eye. It moved round and round and she decided to get up and brush her up for the money earning activities. She covered herself well to get protected from the arrow shots of winter. Waiting for the bus and stretching the sweater sleeves to make it more cover the naked.

Radio said it was the most chilling day in the North and the temp was down to 3. She huddled to the girl sitting next to her and gave her a warm smile in return of the heat she got. Smile was the only warm thing at that time. Rubbing her hands again and again and transferring the warmth to the ears and eyelids. The smoky roads and hibernating people  gave the same expression of losing themselves to the play of climate. The light was dim and red and so the bus stopped at the view where life was playing with the less experienced and so called Divine Holders.

Three in number and just wearing their skin, loud cries and dull figures were visible. She looked out and her vision was smashed by the scene. From head to toe she could experience the winter arrow pinching her. The naked God’s were trying to make a fire there and were collecting the papers from the filth to cover their body. Fog covered the eyes of the people passing by, nothing was noticed, nothing was felt. Well they might also be living in the hell of their own creation. And here the God himself was not even wearing Gold. She cried and wanted to hug them. Let the God feel the love Humans carry for him. She remained silent and unmoved, didn’t donate anything as it was not meant to be. She got the message how fortunate she was to wear something at a place where even God move naked. Since then she has been bringing the world of naked under the blanket of Warm Love. Inside, we all are naked not to see the God crying and dying of winter, not to even let the fire be made to save him. Spread the blanket to move all under it. The message was a silent game of winter shots.

The Sound of Coins

It was morning and was chilling outside and even being in a warmer place I was cold and I wanted to reach office as soon as possible thinking to get some heat there.

The Shuttle stopped at the Red Light and some children came running towards the cars and started knocking the window panes and murmured something to the people sitting inside. For them the chilling weather meant nothing, they were going to every vehicle wishing to get some money. They were giving helpless expressions and even touching the feet and asked for money to get something to eat.

I was busy checking the mails and when I looked up I found a small girl less than 6 years of age standing on my side, staring at me. She didn't utter a word, I kept on looking at her. Her eyes said a story, she looked weak and sleepless. May be she was forced to come there and beg. For her it was something for which she gets money and her parents  treat her well for that.

I moved the window pane down and asked her name. She smiled and said Kajal. Her voice was charming and had an ocean of Innocence in it. She moved her hand towards me and asked for money. I gave her a coin and on getting it she was elated. She didn't go to anyone to ask for money.

She took all the coins out of her pocket and made a jingling sound out of them. Hearing which she started smiling more deep and divine. In no way she was begging, she was not needy, she was there to give a message of sharing and that sound of coins is still there deep in my consciousness.

It's a way-out for Thoughts

The first thought about writing hit me when I was fighting to find the real thing I am passionate about. I sat down and started writing my experiences with the idea to break the monotonous worklife. It worked well and the passion became a supertemporal Hurricane. It is because of the writing I started believing in myself and found the world covered with different shades of light and darkness. 

I have been writing through my mind from very young age but never thought to preserve the treasure. Some poems that survived in my Spirit made me to write after years of being out of track.

Life is a great exploration which mounts on the person who is trying to break, build and bless. The flow of thoughts are limitless and that's the reason I found almost every topic approachable but some became the Heart and Soul of my printed pages. Society and Spirituality honed me to perform on them and understand them more. 

Coming here was a random thought and a help from a friend whose writings I admire a lot. The book of friendship opened with understanding of professionalism and then turned to the similar interests of writing and putting the thoughts in use for others. 

There are some great and inspiring people whose words I follow and  their approach is always mixed in my terminologies of thinking and putting them on paper.