A Writer's Life

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Thursday, July 20, 2017

Its the LOUDEST sound ever, IT KILLS! its SILENCE (Part 1)

I am gullible so you can understand I am no friends with Silence...its not even a distant friend to me. Someone suggested I should practice silence to overcome my gullible nature. It will help me think. I did. And I must admit it turned out to be my biggest failure.

I was haunted...haunted by none other than my thoughts, the ghosts of my past. At first, I felt as though its helping me think, think about what I like, dislike and the basics that I never paid heed to, earlier. It was then that it occurred to me that I am disturbing my peace of mind. Its the LOUDEST sound I've ever heard...Yes, Silence is what I am talking about!!! 
It shrieks in my ears. It is a piercing sound. Ever tried to listen to the sound of darkness? well, darkness does make a sound...its dangerous...its like the sound of a bee...the sound you hear at the end of a bell ringing...it leaves you with that feeling, that ear ache.

I made a mistake. I confess. I trusted silence to be my friend and shared every thought with it. Only to know that I was heard. I was HEARD not by silence but someone who also practiced silence; whose presence I wasn't aware of. Silence betrayed me by sharing my secrets with HIM...he was none other than my ghost, my past. My past overheard me cribbing and complaining to Silence and whenever I was with Silence, the ghost of my past, my image, came flashing in front of me: laughing at some distant memory, mirroring my happy past and the best times I've lived...mocking me for having come this far...scaring me to confront the present I've created.

A sudden loud noise comes from nowhere and I am relieved of this pain. I see myself in lights, among young people dancing, making merry and suddenly I see myself there...its my past again. I press my index finger on my ears...trying to drive away that sound...and here I am, sitting in the dark, silent room again. I see images...I see a lot of them. And try to drive them away but Silence screams into my ears...so loud, bringing back the wrongs I've done...I cant shoo it off...I have found a way. I am going to fight Silence. I get up and start moving towards the door. I can see the corridor is well-lit from the light that crawls into my door from that small gap at the end of it. I now run towards the door and a hand on my shoulder stops me.

I am scared even before I see who it is...I feel trapped. Its only when I turn, I see a bright white light...the brightest I've seen so far and I see a hand calling me to come and hold it. Its not scary anymore...I feel I have alighted...my muscles aren't feeling tense any more. I feel like I've woken up from a slumber. I feel so beautiful. I don't know where I am but I do know I dont have to worry...I'm in safe hands.

Just when I start feeling at home again, I see myself spiralling downwards into a long dark, black tunnel. I can see nothing and I feel dwarf-like. I hate to fall...I feel like we feel in the dreams when we fall from a great height. Suddenly, I am floating. Its scary. I cant see a thing. I am just floating, scared. I hear the chant of OMmm...and I try to see above me, from where I could hear the sound coming from. I cant see a thing but then I feel a touch...not a direct touch, but as if someone is touching me, soothingly. I go back to sleep with a smile. This goes on for awhile and I feel I'm gradually gaining my size and am no more dwarf-like.

Wait! something is pulling me down...again a dark tunnel but I can see light. I am suffocating...I cant reach it. Please...help! I feel like I am covered in plastic...its so suffocating...huh! pl...ease.....I cry the loudest and I try harder to get out of the tunnel...suddenly, all lights...its pricking my eyes but I feel so nice. So good. So relieved! Someone is looking at me as if I am just out of comma...and is speaking to me. But whats this...I cant talk...no matter how much I want to say, I cant talk. Again, silence! but then suddenly, I sense a touch...different this time, I feel calm, safe, loved, and I go back to sleep...I know before I learn, its my new MOM. I am re-born.

Wednesday, July 19, 2017

Silence - Part 2

Silence is hardly a prayer...

I feel silence is for the strong minds and meditating they say brings peace...
but to meditate, we need to practice silence first...
And silencing our thoughts seems the hard part
My attempt at being silent may look successful from the outside but from within...
it is as if I am alone at the Jallianwala Bagh and being massacred brutally with bombarding negative thoughts, guilt feeling, bad remarks and comments from every side. 
I once said that silence is helping a gullible, like me, relax my anxious mind and is also helping me reflect on what I was about to say, introspect myself...and so on...
But no sooner did I say it, I remember having felt exactly the opposite.
By being gullible, in fact, I am able to release the pressure mounted within me. By expressing anger and disagreement and by arguing, I feel relaxed from within until the new stress comes to the surface of having destroyed relationships while talking, whatever came to my mind.

No wonder Gautama Buddha had to reside in the woods to attain peace. Should I really pursue silence or let my mind speak to me? 

Sure, I find enlightenment when my surroundings quieten and my thoughts speak aloud in my head. I feel as if the wise inner voice in me finally got its mike to speak the loudest I've ever heard so far. It seems the quiet night outside is being a good audience to my loud conscience. 
but by then, the damage is done. Ta-Da! 

I've never heard the wise in me speak during the day. it requires quiet times and the silent-me is going to break soon someday. it is only when I am on the verge of breaking down, that the dawn breaks and with the first light of the sun, comes my old routine with new challenges and I've forgotten what my conscience said during the silent hours, only to be haunted again during the following night. 

Uff this confusion!!! Silent or not, I doubt I am going to make it peacefully throughout life. 😔 Silence is my best friend, pointing out at my mistakes, but I prefer the noisy background to it because it does not allow me to see the darkness that the night offers, that the silent hours of the night offer to me by showing the darkness within me.

Sunday, April 16, 2017


OMG! I don't know what made me do this...but I googled up the haunted places in Mumbai, India. The paranormal or bizarre things have always caught my attention. And the result spooked me. This was in the year 2003 and I was studying in Ramnarain Ruia College of Arts and Science. There was this one incident I never shared with anybody as I brushed aside the whole thing as just a strange, inexplicable feeling.

It so happened that it was some cultural programme that day and I had to change. So, I went into the ladies common room and we had a very tiny room-like space within the ladies room for changing. I went inside and no sooner did I enter it, I was feeling very uncomfortable. I could sense some presence in that little room, which was hardly a square foot place. I kept turning my head only to see the wall behind me. But I can never forget the weird feeling I had. And no, it was not just feeling claustrophobic, because I know that kinda feeling very well. This one was different. I just wanted to get out quickly.

If I am not mistaken, I think that presence was right over my neck. I don't know and I am not very certain about the facts but one thing for sure, that the feeling was very scary. And when finally, I opened the door and let myself out quickly, I couldn't look behind. As if my inner voice stopped me from looking back into that space. I still wanted to go back and see for sure nothing was there. However, I left it there. I never paid heed to this whole episode and it was buried somewhere inside me. I don't know...maybe I felt it was just some weird feeling of being cooped up in a very small place.

But today, when I read an article on the haunted colleges in India, I was left aghast. My college was listed in the article and the mention of that very room along with some other room number S26, which I am not sure of. But the changing space in the ladies room, OMG! now it explains everything...about that feeling I had. But what scares me, even more, is that I was THERE! :O

Tuesday, February 7, 2017

Age-Old Moral Stories with a Twist

The Hare and the Tortoise  -The first in the series!

Long ago, as we know, the tortoise won the race, only because the hare was over-confident.
Ever wondered, what if the hare would have finished the race using his natural ability of being the fastest little animal? The tortoise's determination wouldn’t have helped, right?
Slow and steady doesn’t win a race but can complete a race. It is the hare's mistake that came handy for the tortoise.

Now, read this new version of the story.

It’s 2017, as we know, after so many years the tortoise again wins the race. But how? If the hare is fast, the tortoise is old and wise. He is 150 years old and slow; slower than a snail.
In order to win the race, the tortoise plays a psychological game. He plays a trick on the hare. The race begins as it must, and the hare runs as fast as he could. He realizes soon after that the tortoise is left behind. Not wanting to repeat the mistake done by his forefather, he wants to ensure he reaches the finishing line first and then take some rest. So he runs and reaches the finishing line and there are a few animals there who cheer aloud for the hare. The hare is happy and now waits for the tortoise to reach so that he can see the look of defeat on his face. the tortoise appears after a very long time and the hare laughs at him for losing this race. The tortoise looks sad but keeps walking with his face down. The hare loves the loser look on the tortoise's face.
The tortoise, however, keeps walking and later, reaches the finishing line...the finishing line??? Yes, the finishing line!

The tortoise had created with his friend's help a new line that was way before the actual finishing line. His friends were there to cheer the hare to flatter him and boost his ego. When people say you win, doesn’t mean you win...never go for flattery...and never belittle your challenger. Everybody is skilled...nobody is skill-less...the tortoise couldn’t have beaten the natural skill of the fast running hare but he could beat him in wisdom. So when people praise you, know the difference between actual praise and flattery and know that the race never ends. To begin with, there is no race. Excel is what you must and you can enjoy the winning experience all throughout your life. 

Thursday, November 3, 2016

Coping with the Death of a Loved One

Nobody can be buried to an extent that they become a memory, a fragment of our memory. Isn't is ruthless? That the person we loved so much and who loved us, even more, is no more…what is ‘no more’ when they were alive were they ‘any less’? then whats with this thing called death…where does it take our loved ones?

What is the purpose of this life, in which, we come from nowhere land and disappear back there, after living half a dozen decades…yes, that’s how meager it is, as it sounds…’half a dozen decades’. What do you want me to call it? LIFE? Isn’t that like giving too much weightage to these years…nothing but an experience for the soul, perhaps? Then why does it feel so much? Why does the pain exist…what I can see is nothing but the face of my loved one and her voice is all I hear. The care, the love, the presence of her cannot just go away. Her scent, her motherly care, her affection is all is left of her…this world, this planet doesn’t need her? Is she a star? Why do we always look up when someone passes away, expecting them to be there somewhere when actually we left them on earth.

Is a person’s life equal to only some tear droplets? An entire lifetime of love now only a few tear drops. How can we just move on when all the person, once alive, did, was to remember you, think about you and love you. Their full-stop is nothing but a small comma in our life sentence. That’s it? Well, a life sentence it is, like in the jail terms…because all your remaining life, you will have this vacuum left that nobody else can fill…and it is a life sentence for it is full of loving memories that now give you pain.

RIP Nimu Maasi…Is all I have to say…and the things left unsaid are too painful to express…a knot in my heart…a knot! I miss you and I wish I told you I love you, before you left us. I wish you a life that is full of life. Your journey with us doesn’t end here…I will live your memories every day.

You recited the dohas and narrated the Ramayan epic to me…but I don’t remember any of it, just your face all lit up when I answered your question about the moral of the story…all I remember is the way you gave meaning to this epic and brought the characters alive. The bhajans you sang in your melodious voice was not a prayer for me, but an opportunity to hear you sing in trance for your diety. It was always about you, Maasi…ALWAYS! You may have forgotten your acts of kindness and love but as a child, all got imprinted on my mind and I know, what a beautiful person you were…I think the RIP is not for the ones who are gone but is even badly needed for the people whom you leave behind. It is the souls of the living that are in pain and I cannot rest in peace without that lump in my throat and sorrow in my heart.

Tuesday, October 25, 2016

Never too Old, I Suppose!

If I were to sum up my life in a day...imagine! all the total years that make a human life...say 70-80; I am currently in the early evening stage of my life: with childhood i.e. the morning gone, and the early youth of 20s behind me (the afternoon), I am in my early evening...and don't parties begin in the evenings? ;) :D

Thursday, October 6, 2016

Shh! The Walls Have Something to Say too!

Everything in this house is beautiful, everything! But the walls, they're mysterious!!! The walls seem to hold a story unsaid. When we occupy a house, we start building new stories for the walls to hear, experience and record. Ever wished the walls could speak to us and tell us about the numerous stories? Well, if you have, DONT! The language of the walls is not that pleasant to hear. It's ghostly! Sarah knew it. But she could never get the mystery of the world out of her head. She always wanted to know how would it be on the other side. She pondered over questions which others did not have the time to think or maybe the others just brushed aside such random thoughts that may have erupted in the fast working brain to instead occupy it with ways to pay off the bills and celebrate with bread and ale. But Sarah had all the time in the world to amaze herself with the little secrets of the universe. Always in search for books of that kind, she was an explorer so to say, but not really. It was all playing in her head. She never took any pains to discover the truths of the universe herself. Well, that's all about her to start with. Now, Sarah resided in this new house of hers, once a home to Mrs. Mason...the infamous Mrs. Mason, who committed suicide in there..or so it was believed. A lady, known to have troubles and create trouble in public. She was depressed and all knew it. The local newspapers covered a story on her personal life and Sarah was more and more inclined to her story as if it were her life. Intriguing, thought Sarah. Everything of such nature was interesting to her. 

Sarah’s father was a priest and so he never hesitated even once to occupy this house and make it his home. Sarah was never home alone even when her father left for the church, her thoughts always gave her company. Good or bad, I’m not too sure. That’s when this thought occurred to her...what if the walls could tell her the story of Mrs. Mason...After all, such a well-off lady committing suicide was not that easily bought by our Sarah here. If only...she thought with a sigh. She looked at the walls, touching them, striking an emotional connect. She felt sympathy for the walls there, who saw it all but could not scream...who bore the agony of Mrs. Mason and endured it all. Just when she went back to sit on the couch, back to her reading...she saw the wallpaper peel off from one of the sides. The beautiful yellow wallpaper with red flower prints! She wondered if it was already peeled off or was it her imagination that she saw it happening right now. Anyways, there was not much need to pay heed to something so trivial..but wait a sec! It happened again and she heard the slight creaking up of the wallpaper...as if someone were tearing the sheet off the wall. What was this? No, not leakage! Had it been that, there certainly would be some water dripping off. Sarah ignored and tried to relax on the couch with her book. Hardly 5 mins later, she saw the wall and muffled her scream with both her palms clasped onto her mouth. She saw the wallpaper was just peeled enough to make a picture of a face, a crooked face of a female with her hair all loosened up. She could see now, clearly, that the outline resembled that of Mrs. Mason on a noose. The picture in the newspapers was fresh in her mind. Sarah stopped right where she was, glued to the place and wasn't thinking straight and definitely wasn't sure what to do next.
A moment later, Sarah rushed out of the house to call her father, the priest but when she did reach the door to get out...she felt a slight nudge on her skirt. She looked down and saw the woman on the wall...crawling right next to her...making circles and holding her skirt.
A passerby heard a shriek. When his eyes followed the sound of the shriek, he saw a beautiful house, just perfect with boxes yet to be unpacked, lying outside and it was calm. Just one shriek..maybe a figment of his imagination, he thought and passed by.

The priest was summoned to a home. The Father paid a visit to the house that was supposedly haunted. While on his way, he tried to coax the owner of the house, a hysterical man, Gerald, that everything is going to be alright. No soul that unrests has the power beyond that of the Lord. Saying so, he stepped out of the car to exorcize the house. At one glance, he knew the spirit was powerful. Nevertheless, he seemed prepared or so he thought until he got into the house with the holy water flask in his hands. At the entrance, he heard hysterical laughter...he saw blood on his robes...he felt a strong feeling, a certain heaviness in his heart and tears filled his eyes, without his knowledge, involuntarily as if in reflex to a strong emotion he felt but couldn't name. Just when he sprinkled the first drop of holy water onto the entrance, he heard a scream...” no Father, please don't”!!! He knew at once that this was not a call to Father the Priest but Father the Dad!!!