A Writer's Life

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Monday, April 16, 2012


Sailing on the ship of emotions,

Imbalanced and floating on the direction of waves,

Splashing memories on water

Reflecting dense waves on my thoughtlessness

Caught in the past, 

Unable to move ahead,

The sea water of emotions...

seems like an island to me

I want to halt here, breathe here, live here

The passage of time swiftly crosses by

and what will be left is yet more memories

What is there to look ahead for me?

Success and accomplishment seems like losing life's moments and memories

...but a reason for hidden passion and ecstasy to surface

...like whales on the mouth of water

I earn these moments to inscribe my emotion

leaving behind the success notion

Success to me means nothing more than sheer destiny, I am destined to meet

My passion is writing my emotions, my memories

The inexplicable is explicable in here, but the explicable is not. 

Incomprehensible but beautiful emotions are inscribed in thoughts

These are together woven as one

...through my words tying a knot

Monday, March 5, 2012

I Fell in Love with Myself

...when I felt myself as if I were you

when I saw myself with your eyes

when I touched the mirror and admired every asset of beauty I possessed

...but never guessed

that I could be so beautiful in your eyes

...as i mirrored myself through you

looking at myself from your perspective

I thought nobody could be as imaginative

As God – the Almighty,

...who made me as angelic as me

I got overwhelmed, I cried

A tear in me made my heart ache


I realized I am looking at myself, admiring myself from your heart, from your eyes

So actually it is you, who felt the ache on seeing me cry

Oh Good Lord! You made me a Goddess, Arun!

I kept touching my reflection in the mirror

I saw my eyeballs reflecting an image of me…

Laughing, giggling with wet eyes, crying for a teddy hug, snuggling in your arms to get your attention, cuddling underneath your collar,  

I turned right and left…nodded in the negative, turned behind to see your image, next to me

I missed seeing you

I so missed you

I scratched my nails on the mirror

I wanted to see you

I scratched my body open

And tore apart my heart

My body wailed and wailed of pain

Eyes moist, tears reciprocated

But I didn't hear anything

I didn't sense anything

All because I just so badly wanted to see you

My heart got torn, but all I saw was a smiling face of ME

I tore my hair apart…I panicked

Couldn’t find you...

Still panicky, I went crying and shouting calling out your name

My deepest and most urgent desire was to see you

The desire to see you maddened me

I missed..i realized if it was I, then the heart when torn apart would show ur image and not mine

I realized I loved myself and admired myself BEING YOU…but not as much as I love you and admire you

Tuesday, February 21, 2012

Importance of Language

I think it’s good to have English for Indians, in India, as our second language. We got to explore British English at first, during pre-independence and then post-independence era. Now we even explore Australian and American English, at large. We are the largest audience for Hollywood stuff and buff…India has gained an important trade centre mark for countries that excel 'mostly and only', in their first language. 

We explore Indian national languages and the variety and mix of these languages, though eliminating, or rather modifying the traditional standards, we are actually developing new and brilliant ways of communication, especially in the copywriting and advertisement industry. Language is no more a barrier for those who find it difficult to communicate…every human is now finding it easy to express their ideas and thoughts…in real terms; I think this is a re-intro of the Renaissance era that has developed at a macro level. Our understanding has broadened even towards sign languages and gestures…and simple terms such as “like…ummm” “you know…something like”. You don’t need to say anything beyond that…coz language had earlier lost its essence and only good communication and great vocabulary had a place in the world. But now, what we witness in this generation is that language has re-acquired and claimed back its essence as a “means of communication”, basically. 

True, people who adorn language and use it in the best possible ways, such as writers and poets, are respected and shall always hold the high literary place in our minds and hearts and shall always occupy that inexplicable respect in our eyes…but words, though still, is a blessing for few to use it immaculately, for others it still works as a medium of communication, whether improper or proper. Reminds me of a simple example: in Urdu, they say “tashreef rakhiye” (please lay your ass), is the literal meaning of it. But the politeness and poetic rhythm it uses, makes it sound far more classy and literary than the plain and simple “please sit”. Mark the difference. If a writer wanted to say you are beautiful, the words would be plucked from the ever-blooming garden of vocabulary to express a simple “You are beautiful”. But thanks to the current language use, even a common language user can say “you are beautiful” by simply uttering, “You know what..umm…you are like…umm...errr like a rose..no! i mean Katrina Kaif or Syndie Crawford”. "all I am saying is you are beautiful". 
What I am pointing at, is that language and great use of language are two different entities, and pressurizing good use of language might result in people stammering, feeling less confident about them, but instead if intentions are prioritized, maybe a simple man saying “I love you” would mean more romantic than perhaps a writer saying the same. 

But as am authoring this blog, I realize I started off with the subject stating “importance of language, even as a second language, is a far better opportunity to learn and express your views and ideas in multiple languages and dialects, than in your own primary English language.” But guess I ended up a little more "like…umm..J
You got it, right! ;)
I guess that’s how we communicate. Please note I am writing based on my observation only. It may differ from yours. Post in your ideas, if different. And share your ideas, if similar, let’s converse.


Tuesday, February 14, 2012

Reader's Don't Read, they Ride

Reader's don't read, they ride...
Ride through the landscapes, an author designs from her imagination
Ride through varied countries & countrymen, and emotions of townsfolk
Ride through the many "once upon a time"S and "happy endings" and "tragic departures"
Ride while weeping, while rejoicing, while celebrating education and literature
Ride like a gypsy marching to newer places never thought or heard of
Ride through imaginary wings that like time, fly in a jiffy
Ride through time waves and reach the destination, where the unexpected is expected and a reunion of love and lovers is bound to occur
Ride through thicks and thins in the life of a character
Ride through the unbreathing characters and yet feel their fearing breathlessness and sorrows
Who calls it READING...ask readers! they call it EXPERIENCING
They pray for the characters life
they deal with their problems and situations, as their own
they sleep thinking about them
they fall in love with their descriptions
they connect it with their life's situations
Books are not friends or knowledge material
Books are living legends.
Books are for friendly and unfriendly people alike
books are not gifts for book lovers but an emotion
an emotion that needs the booklover's time to harvest
their emotions in reciprocation
Hi! I am a Rea ider  and a book lover 
if you want to compliment my write-up, gift me a book
if you want to express your hate towards my writing, gift me a "tips to writing good" book
if you never want to read me, read someone else
if you ever want to read me, RIDE through my write-up
I welcome you, my EMOTIVE ADVENTURER...
lets begin...

Friday, January 27, 2012


I fear to live the life that is created in my mind...But I want to know how my imagination will affect a human life.
So I create characters in my stories. I make them live the terror I cant possibly survive through, but I do! Through them. And thinking the character as me, I struggle to give them a heroic exit. You might think every writer does the same. Could be! but how far can they think of the terror, they inscribe. I dont type it away, I dont play with my characters. I live their feelings. I feel the fear they feel. I feel they are in a storm I created for them. It affects me psychologically. I feel breathless when I read not just my characters but the characters of other stories. Welcome to your story. Today I met you, i wrote about you. Tomorrow I meet someone else, I write about them.  The day after I connect the both of you in my stories. I put you into situations in my story and help you escape. Well, if you can't i.e. if my mind exhausts, I am sorry but your character in my story ends.
Picture adopted from: http://www.flickr.com/photos/54575597@N02/ 

I am ready for the journey of YOUR life through MY mind. 

Friday, January 20, 2012

Meet the Winner in Me

Yes! Am a winner!

So what if I have bought the ticket to a lottery that is never going to make it to billions! But I have WON the ticket, coz I WON the opportunity to earn the money to buy the ticket. 

So what if I have WON the race, nobody participated in. But I ran and I WON it. 

So what if I have WON only the time to write a book or a poem, but I have WON the time unlike many of you, who have no time for their passion. Who dream of being a winner. I am a winner coz I wrote what I wanted to. You are a loser who did not get the time to read what I have written and appreciated some good thing in your life. What a waste of your life!

So what if it is just some fun time that I WON. But I won it after finishing my work and meeting deadlines in office.

So what if I won only my appreciation, but I won MY appreciation, and that’s all that matters to my heart. I can understand you have no time to appreciate. So its fine. Let peace be with you!

So what if I have wasted time in my life, I have won that time for my leisure. No regrets!J

So what if I have not got your time for a cuppa coffee, but I have won the time you last gave me, making me feel at peace. Now when my time has come to give it back to you, alas! You have no time to lose WIN my words.

So what if I am a loser for someone, who did not care for my feelings, made me feel dumb and walked away. I won peace of mind, because I never used anybody’s innocence and I am STILL ROCK-SOLID ;) Try harder 

No! I don’t want to win your life race…coz I chose to differ, to not participate in your competitive race. I WIN again! coz I make races for myself, and you run races, set by others. My race is to be ahead of love in loving my people, be ahead of time in caring for my people and be ahead of failures to not be outreached by it. 

I am a winner, coz I won your time, while you were reading this.
Thanks for reading this.
Oh yes! You too are a Winner! You finally won some sense, after reading this.

Thursday, January 5, 2012

A Death Note - My Attempt at Short Story

I, the undersigned, Ajooba, am writing this in all my senses and without being forced to write so. This is a death note of mine, signed by me. The reason I want to die is not one. I am boggled by the cards laid in front of me by my life. By life, I mean Omar. Yes, she is my life. I was born to have her as my mother. I learnt to call her Ma, as and when I grew I felt the need to call her Maam and from Maam to Omar. The course of my life is over now. There is nothing much left for me to call her now. I am nothing and nobody to disrespect her, while respect from me is not desired by her. I am writing this to let Omar know that though she is the reason for me to die, she is not responsible for my death. But I AM. I am very much responsible for her death.

It all began, when I was of a tender age. The love she showered on me made my life bliss. I always used to seek her attention by hiding behind a banyan tree and getting entangled in its branches by going round and round. I remember her giggle in response to my act. She fed me when I was ill and when I was not, she cried for me, when I was ill and when I was not, she cried on my fate as well as on my weird sickness. She felt for me, when I couldn’t feel the pain of my hurt, myself. She loved me like no mother loves her child. Because she was not a mother, in fact she was not a woman at all. She chose to be a woman, and a human, to be my mother. 

Omar was born as a male child to my grandparents, Mr. and Mrs. Srivastava. He was christened Omar soon thereafter, after consulting the astrologer. The astrologer had some premonition of a bad omen with the child’s birth and insisted he sees the child to perform some holy prayers on the child. My grandparents were frightened as they did not want anybody to see Omar, lest the news spread like wildfire that they have an abnormal-looking child. The astrologer could sense something weird and insisted to see the child. On incessant requests, my grandparents gave way to the astrologer’s will. The astrologer did visit Omar’s mansion only to die of heart attack. He could not bear the sight of a child looking so horrifying. He saw the cradle and on approaching the cradle and peeping through the insect-protector sheet, what the astrologer saw could not be explained by the astrologer himself as he lost his voice with his last shriek. The child’s face was covered with flies as his flesh could be seen through his skin. There were several cuts on his lips while his chin gave way to an open vein that was so transparent that the blood flow could be seen through naked eye. There was a certain thing about Omar’s hair too. It lacked a specific texture. It was more thorny in some places like that of a porcupine and in the other places it was really hard to let your fingers pass without entangling itself. 
It was not until she was 11 that they noticed some very weird traits in him. At first, they felt he has animal instincts, no matter how hard they tried to imbibe mannerisms in him; he would behave and act as if he possessed characteristics of an animal. What animal, nobody knew. Omar left his tresses to grow…it turned to be more of an inexplicable yet spooky look of his. His father, while cajoling him to get a good, decent hair cut, cut his finger instead as Omar never gay way to scissors in his hair. The poor couple decided to let him be. “Peace be with us” said the parents in chorus. Going to the barber was no choice at all, owing to Omar’s problem. Doctors too feared to visit him, not because of his beastly looks but because of his infectious bites and beast-like behavior. His face looked like that of a 35 year old woman, or woman-like, to be precise.

It was this one day, when their maid came home late to work. Omar kept observing the maid – Sushma from a distance. She was unaware of Omar’s presence at first, but no sooner did she realize he was staring at her, she screamed. Sushma saw what she shouldn’t have seen. She saw Omar groaning in one corner, with his eyes bleeding, when staring at her. Hearing Sushma’s screams, Omar’s parents – my grandparents came running to the scene. They found Omar smelling hard like a dog, no! Some animal, half-human, half-animal, actually! Sushma was taken aback and so were Omar’s parents.

The sight of Omar at that moment was haunting the memories of my grandparents for a long, long, time, even after the episode was long over. However, Omar was not yet over with his ways. He started growling at Sushma and almost like a howling sound in amalgamation with a human voice, coarsely uttered: Why did you do this…grrr…the sound of heavy beastly breaths could be heard amidst the words, Omar spoke. Sushma lost her balance, and was found lying on the floor, suffocated as if someone was choking her. She held her throat and was trying to release herself from invisible clutches. Blood started flowing from her eyes too. She immediately pointed to Omar and attempted to speak while nodding as if to say: “I shall confess.” Omar sensed her words, even when she was trying to mutter the courage and leading the voice right from her red yet pale mouth. As if ordering some invisible power to release Sushma, Omar looked somewhere above Sushma and directed that invisible spirit sideways, giving Sushma some breathing space and the space she required to speak the truth. 

Sushma arose and still panting for breath, exasperated and exhausted, spoke: I did this because I had no choice. Omar, animal-like, bent down and started crawling towards Sushma with his long hair loose and eyes suddenly a black hole like a well, went even closer to Sushma. Wrinkles started appearing on Omar’s face with every facial expression change, like that on a 45 year old’s. Sensing danger, the feared Sushma, involuntarily chattered her jaws. And before she could say anything else, Omar’s long nails screeched on Sushma’s cheeks that were already red with fear were now smeared in blood, her own blood. Omar’s parents were dumbstruck. My grandmother was lying unconscious at the sight of Omar. They thought some devil had taken over Omar. But this was nature as natural as nature could be; Omar was born with devilish face and behavior, but with an absolute human heart with humanity in abundance. Sushma blabbered and pointed towards the attached lawn beyond the verandah of Omar’s house. Omar made a high leap like that of a cheetah and in one go, had crossed the fence of the verandah and with a second leap already smelled the lawn. Digging really fast with his claw size increasing that were once a baby’s finger nails, Omar dug up the whole area and found the miraculously-yet-alive ME. And that’s when I took birth again from a different mother. Omar had motherly instincts for me. The maid Sushma, was my biological mother but before killing me, she killed the motherhood in her, the feelings a mother carries in her heart along with the child in the womb. Sushma instead opted to dig me, her own child, deep into Mother Earth only because I was a child, who was born with abnormalities – similar to that of Omar. Omar hugged me and this time there were no tears of blood in his eyes but as saline as tears of a human could be.

After this incident, Omar was disowned by his parents, and he carried me in his jaws to a jungle 150 miles away from the village, where both of us belonged. The jungle was my home since my birth. No one from the human kind ever could spot us in the deepest of woods. This was where I first spoke like a human with a tone of an animal. There was one special ability in me – that Omar lacked. I could transform myself as a human, when I wanted to. Just like a chameleon would change its color, when sensing danger, so could I. I could transform myself into a human, when I sensed hunters were around. But when I was safe, I was wild in the wild woods. My life was not dream-like for a human, but it definitely was dream-like for a creature like me.  I had the most sensitive mother, the most sensitive one of all. She was a protector, a savior, a warrior, a hunter, a better HUMAN than a HUMAN is.

It was one day, when Omar  - my mother, went for a prowl. My mother had to hunt for me, to feed me. She got me a human. I was dumbstruck as I was aware of our history. She had narrated to me everything about my birth, my death and my re-birth, about her origin and mine. About her past life and my death life. Born out of human bonding, how could she kill a human? Aren’t we one of them? I inquired. In response, she gritted her teeth at me, which were smeared with human blood and I saw a beast in her eyes. For an instant, I fell from my own eyes. I considered myself a human and feeling a human is most certainly a powerful and a dignified feeling, an animal could ever have. I was an animal that could think wisely, act accordingly and was clever than the rest. I could hunt, could communicate, could transform. But today, I felt a heavy guilt in my heart. The guilt of having lost my belongingness! I considered other animals as my food because they were not my kind. But now! Now my mother has killed a human and I have lost that belongingness too. I felt the human emotion of guilt. Was I a personified beast, personified to experience human emotions and the like or was I really a human, a super-human. NO??? My mother gritted once more and this time as a signal to warn me, to dare me to think things favoring human. Omar hated humans.

I learnt to live with her ways. But the feeling in me, my ability to think and feel was way beyond my power. I was hesitant at first, and now nothing could resist me from savoring the human life, I was entitled to. Sure, Omar gave me life. Without him, I would not have been even alive to think or feel. But do I have to repay by being a beast. I am not a beast. I know I am not. I was sure; I am going to get my taste of human life before deciding to stay within the wall-less home of mine in the jungle, beneath the open skies or the constructed houses, amidst humans. A day came when my human mind could not refuse itself to think and I left Omar to explore the city life, the human life, the civilization I felt I deserved as my human right.

Covering the part of the jungle, where I have spent my entire life till date, was not easy at all. Every tree I passed had a memory. The memory of Omar and me encircling it, rejoicing the shade, the hunting lessons and…huh! Sigh! Memories! I reached the end of the jungle very soon. I transformed my animal state into a human. And sure! I was a handsome man now or so says Indira, my wife. Oh yes! I married and like every human, I too fell in love. But that’s at a later point of time. Back to where I was, I transformed as soon as I reached the outskirts of the jungle. I realized it was difficult to walk, when I could in fact leap. But when leaping in my early days, I still felt the fear of being hunted by larger animals. Now, even though I was walking step by step, I felt the freedom, the power of being a hunter. I felt like the largest animal, no not physically but my thought process was surely superior to the rest of the animals, my friends back in the woods.

I already started missing Omar, who by now, must be fanatically and frantically looking for me all over the woods. Now begins my struggle with the world that was unknown to me and the world that I was equally unknown to.

To be cont...