tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-28249217001687115312024-03-19T14:42:48.571-07:00Emotive Adventures - where inexplicable emotions are captured in storiesEmotiveAdventures - A Writer Inscribing Emotionshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17566459389836608590noreply@blogger.comBlogger82125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2824921700168711531.post-35557962173118953012022-11-28T17:49:00.006-08:002022-11-29T04:58:40.874-08:00Literary Festival 2022 at Indo-American Arts Council (IAAC)<p> A walk amidst the crisp, chilly autumn air in New York was pure and magical. The winds and the leaves were in a symphony. The leaves were dancing to the tunes of the autumn air, and silence was music. The leaves were rustling beneath my feet. I picked one beautiful red maple leaf and tucked it in my book as a bookmark. I was in a reverie with a good book, tea and a friend. Isn't that ideal for a person who loves to read?</p><p>Lucky me, as I was going to get what I so wanted! Good books, a big yes! A friend, yes! But not just one or any, but many and all authors. I was going to the literary festival 2022 at the Indo-American Arts Council (IAAC). At first, I felt alienated as I didn't know anyone. But warm smiles followed the event, and as if I knew everybody, I started enjoying myself while getting absorbed into the literary talents around me. The faces we see at the back of the books were standing right there in front of me. I was in awe of them. There were these strong personalities and literary figures with not just stories to tell but inscribing thoughts and values in their writings. </p><p>This literary event took me into an academic space where all the literary talent was there for me to absorb. A place where authors matter. Their thoughts matter. It was a haven for readers and writers alike. One could speak their mind and share their views freely.</p><p>The smell of books for me weirdly makes me calm down, the new fresh smell of books! Yes, it's a thing! Reading blurbs and through blurbs, the ideas, the illustrations, the cover pages, the authors signing and smiling, and the stalls where all the books lay exhibited for attention was all so refreshing, evoking the writer in me to share my work in future. Their content was so rich with words and ideas that I couldn't help but buy a few books right there and then, autographed by authors who will soon be a part of my thoughts and life once I begin reading their work. </p><p>It was an event that few attended, but many should have. We had Priya Kumari, an author with colorful books and even more colorful descriptions of the festivals of India. A lot of authors speak about Indian festivities and food, and culture, but very few know the art to capture the authenticity behind these cultures. In comes Priya Kumari, a woman, a mother, and an entrepreneur with her own publishing house, Eternal Tree Books, encouraging more authors like her and providing a platform for budding authors. She strikes a chord with children, and my child enjoys reading her books. </p><p>Then there was Ananta Ripa Ajmera, The Way of the Goddess writer. She is an Ayurvedic practitioner and a spiritual teacher. In her book, she talks about how some daily rituals can awaken our inner warrior and how we discover our true selves. Her observations and learnings are genuinely insightful. This book will never leave my bedside table. It was a dream and delight to have my favorite Deepti Naval among the authors. Once an artist, always an artist and her art come in various forms. She is an actor and now a writer with her book A Country Called Childhood.</p><p>It was my first time meeting Ms Trehan, author of The Very Best House in Town. Her soft voice, learned ways, and unique viewpoints could not be missed. Ms Khoda, too had some learned insights to share with everyone. Her poise and answers spoke about her experience in the publishing field. She was kind enough to have gifted me a book for my son. The book is titled Somnath Hore: Wounds. Through the work of art by Somnath Hore, the story talks about real wounds, the hard-hitting topics such as famine and death conveyed to children through the medium of art. It's beautiful and tearful at the same time. It's interactive and wants parents to talk to kids about these facts in a way they would feel and understand the wounds. </p><p>These were the in-person sessions that I attended. However, I missed the virtual sessions of my favorite Barkha Dutt, whose book is on my 'want-to-read' list. It's about the rural life of India during Covid. I was intrigued by another book, "Murder at the Mushaira." I loved the plot. I am sure to look into the reviews of this book. </p><p>Please let me know if you have read any of these books and how you like them. I would also like to read detailed reviews. </p><div><br /></div>EmotiveAdventures - A Writer Inscribing Emotionshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17566459389836608590noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2824921700168711531.post-87574461256783174042022-09-24T18:29:00.006-07:002022-11-29T05:18:47.064-08:00I Am Sorry I Don’t Love You<p><span style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 17px;">My letter to society</span></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s2" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;">I am sorry I don’t love you</span></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s2" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;">Coz I know you don’t love me either</span></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s2" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;">And I am done with this one-sided love story</span></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s2" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;">I haven’t taken anything from you...</span></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s2" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;">To return to you</span></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s2" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;">I am done being nice to you</span></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s2" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;">And yet I’d be</span></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s2" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;">Coz that’s how I am brought up to be!</span></p><p class="p3" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 24.5px;"><span class="s2" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;"></span><br /></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s2" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;">I don’t love you anymore and never more than my folks and family</span></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s2" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;">I refuse to leave behind me the memories of fear and being cornered just because of my experiences with you, oh society,</span></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s2" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;">I should’ve fought, yes! I should’ve stood for my team, my family, yes, yes!</span></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s2" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;">But I gave in to your pressures</span></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s2" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;">And you didn’t care for me</span></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s2" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;">You still weren’t impressed</span></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s2" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;">And you never shall be!</span></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s2" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;">Coz you know how to be authoritative</span></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s2" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;">And slave is not me!</span></p><p class="p3" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 24.5px;"><span class="s2" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;"></span><br /></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s2" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;">This goodbye letter doesn’t end with any best wishes for you from me</span></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s2" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;">And yet I wish the best for you coz you are a reflection of us, of who we have made you to be</span></p><p class="p3" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 24.5px;"><span class="s2" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;"></span><br /></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s2" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;">Although I am going to live with you, co-exist with you but I’d care and love myself and my own without you having to support me</span></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s2" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;">I won’t pray you anymore neither look for validation from you</span></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s2" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;">Coz I don’t really care and yet I care about you</span></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s2" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;">I don’t coz you won’t and I do coz I live with you and in you, oh society!</span></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s2" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;">You and your people just know how to make life miserable,</span></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s2" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;">And I don’t bow to such Lords who hold captive the innocent in fear</span></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s2" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;">I’d rather be and stay strong and hold close those who are my dear</span></p><p class="p3" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 24.5px;"><span class="s2" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;"></span><br /></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s2" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;">And lastly, please mind your own business and don’t dare to comment again on my loved ones or me</span></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s2" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;">Coz I never asked for your opinions and your judgement you can keep to yourself</span></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s2" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;">Coz you’ve decided to rot from within</span></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s2" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;">While I want to uplift myself </span></p><p class="p3" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 24.5px;"><span class="s2" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;"></span><br /></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s2" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;">You are a quicksand and you will pull me back into you</span></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s2" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;">Yet again I will think of how I present myself before you</span></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s2" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;">Or so you may think and I will let you think so</span></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s2" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;">But I have understood one thing </span></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s2" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;">That you’re neither a friend nor foe</span></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s2" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;">Whatever you are, you won’t change for me</span></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s2" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;">And whether you do or not, I declare myself free</span></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s2" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;">Free from you and your ideas about me</span></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s2" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;">Free from your lovers and guardians</span></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s2" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;">Oh society, just let me be! </span></p>EmotiveAdventures - A Writer Inscribing Emotionshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17566459389836608590noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2824921700168711531.post-74639022377780332312022-06-02T06:41:00.002-07:002022-06-02T06:41:43.165-07:00I Want Another Life<p> <span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 17px;">I want another life…</span></p><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;">To correct the incorrect</span></p><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;">To right the people I wronged</span></p><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;">To care more</span></p><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;">To love more</span></p><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;">To meet my loved ones for sure</span></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 24.5px;"><span class="s1" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;"></span><br /></p><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;">To give more</span></p><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;">To gain more</span></p><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;">To dream yet again</span></p><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;">To deserve what I got for free </span></p><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;">And therefore…</span></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 24.5px;"><span class="s1" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;"></span><br /></p><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;">I want another life,</span></p><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;">And another and yet another</span></p><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;">Coz no matter how many lives I take</span></p><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;">I cant give back what I got from my family</span></p><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;">I can never settle the score</span></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 24.5px;"><span class="s1" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;"></span><br /></p><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;">Oh God, you have blessed me with so much for sure</span></p><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;">And yet I shamelessly ask for more… </span></p><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;">More chances, </span></p><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;">Or</span></p><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;">At least one </span></p><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;">To give and do what I am here for!</span></p>EmotiveAdventures - A Writer Inscribing Emotionshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17566459389836608590noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2824921700168711531.post-17409662364390786362022-04-14T05:43:00.004-07:002022-04-14T05:43:51.186-07:00Cracks are Beautiful<p> <span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 18.55px;">Every relationship goes through three phases. The third one is the most dicey part. It speaks more about you. First phase is what we think is the most beautiful phase, its all about expressing and impressing. There is no bad impression ever. It is always good. The vibes have already done it for you. You both like each other. The first smile that catches your attention, you can say that the other person likes you. The cliched “butterflies in the stomach” feeling, the loop de loop thought of the first touch, the first kiss is beyond the word “happiness”. The glow on your face, the blushing, the planning of more meetings, the restless waiting in between all defines this beautiful first phase.</span><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 18.55px;"> </span></p><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 18.6px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1" style="font-size: 18.55px;">The second phase is of course that of commitment and responsibility is playing hide and seek with us. We commit because we cant stay without seeing our significant other. We want to wake up with them, spend the day, every memory with them. But there is no more impressing one another. We are now in our comfort zone, we are more friends than lovers. The love starts to wear off. We keep it alive with fun times, outings and memories of good times. We slowly settle in like roommates and not just spouses. The outer world makes us realize time and again that we are married causing a scar, the responsibilities are shared. Just like it happens between siblings, couples too have slip ups and miss out on their share of responsibilities could be carelessness or just some lazy moments. The procrastination then causes a fight. We start missing our blood family who took all the s**t and yet let us be us. We refuse to grow up. We want to see our spouse as that missing parent who will take crap. And that’s never gonna happen. </span></p><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 18.6px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1" style="font-size: 18.55px;"><br /></span></p><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 18.6px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1" style="font-size: 18.55px;">The quarrels and arguments lead to more talk. That’s when you realize actions don’t speak louder than words. Words are louder in real, abusive sometimes when spoken in anger, hurtful beyond imagination, Pang! The softest corner of your heart is hurt, leaving a scar that wont be forgotten in times to come. The weaknesses shared in good times now come as a thrashing blow on your face. You cant take it. The arguments that seemed trivial earlier now suddenly are the elephant in the room. You cant ignore, you cant deal with! </span></p><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 18.6px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1" style="font-size: 18.55px;"><br /></span></p><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 18.6px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1" style="font-size: 18.55px;">Time is a healer and so you patch up, more so, because you want that uneasiness to end. You want better times ahead. The good memories make you give a benefit of doubt that it was all not meant to be an attack on you, it was just a rough patch, bad mood or whatever it is that you deem fit to apply. </span></p><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 18.6px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1" style="font-size: 18.55px;"><br /></span></p><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 18.6px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1" style="font-size: 18.55px;">Now comes the hardest part. Again things get happier, but time and again you are reminded of the hurt with future fights that crop up from the same on going issue as that issue never found its closure. Open wounds hurt most. </span></p><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 18.6px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1" style="font-size: 18.55px;"><br /></span></p><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 18.6px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1" style="font-size: 18.55px;">What would you choose? Most couples move on, forgiving and forgetting all of these moments along the way, brushing it aside under some carpet that never has to be rolled up. But your human brain stores these memories in your subconscious. You take it as an experience and you change your behavior based on these very experiences. You are not the same person like you were in the first phase. Neither is your partner. So what makes me say that cracks are beautiful? You don’t realize but you are bonding. Just like you bonded with your sibling who drove you crazy during your growing years and even for a fraction of second you wished they weren’t there in your life. But you spiral back to them. It is the same with your spouse. </span></p><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 18.6px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1" style="font-size: 18.55px;"><br /></span></p><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 18.6px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1" style="font-size: 18.55px;">You rebounce, renounce sometimes, and rewind the same memories in your brain. </span></p><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 18.6px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1" style="font-size: 18.55px;">These very cracks then form your story. Your own love story! What story without twists and turns, without hurdles and celebrations and accomplishments and sad phases and craziness. We can never forget we are all humans and we aren’t always proud of the things we do. Every person has had such moments in their life that they are ashamed of their actions during that one such phase. There is a saying “Vinaash kale viprit buddhi” in Hindi. It means when the times are bad, our mind makes wrong decisions and results in bad actions. To forgive and forget with your heart is the way we grow together. Remember, marriage is not just to live together but to grow together. When the storm comes, hold your hands tightly, don’t let go or you wont survive and if you do, you will be left alone in the island called life. </span></p><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 18.6px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1" style="font-size: 18.55px;"><br /></span></p><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 18.6px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1" style="font-size: 18.55px;">So I leave you to create more cracks, mend them and make beautiful love stories! </span></p><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 18.6px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1" style="font-size: 18.55px;"><br /></span></p>EmotiveAdventures - A Writer Inscribing Emotionshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17566459389836608590noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2824921700168711531.post-41165558347059693222022-04-06T14:58:00.003-07:002022-04-06T14:58:41.318-07:00I Love Rainy Days…<p><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 18.55px;">I like the slick wet roads and the reflection of lights on those</span></p><p class="p3" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 18.6px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s2" style="font-size: 18.55px;">I love how the dull colors of the sky make everything else look so brighter</span></p><p class="p3" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 18.6px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s2" style="font-size: 18.55px;">When looking out of the window, you see every umbrella a different color and character</span></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 18.6px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 22.1px;"><span class="s2" style="font-size: 18.55px;"></span><br /></p><p class="p3" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 18.6px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s2" style="font-size: 18.55px;">The drops of water on the window panes give me the feeling like when your thirst is quenched</span></p><p class="p3" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 18.6px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s2" style="font-size: 18.55px;">The first thing that comes to my mind is to forget the world and get all drenched</span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3ddKhRwKVPia9R7a1exYAK4mafT1pFXlJ1l3I2_ok2rgPUOrZdTGvJwMNpO1NyPInGEb4KYn2-cq5kpLBshxZomwktXqBB7KBZKSjz3adSqyJ3zEuA2TMHKOeiTEbqsE2SOlw1Ei3-viBWlvUDMKGTV5d_wJCSEu8Nfu7Ldq20uh0VXODL1V17UAWpQ/s1280/F7E3D46A-AA8C-4467-9A04-2922D4118262.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1280" data-original-width="942" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3ddKhRwKVPia9R7a1exYAK4mafT1pFXlJ1l3I2_ok2rgPUOrZdTGvJwMNpO1NyPInGEb4KYn2-cq5kpLBshxZomwktXqBB7KBZKSjz3adSqyJ3zEuA2TMHKOeiTEbqsE2SOlw1Ei3-viBWlvUDMKGTV5d_wJCSEu8Nfu7Ldq20uh0VXODL1V17UAWpQ/s320/F7E3D46A-AA8C-4467-9A04-2922D4118262.jpeg" width="236" /></a></div><p></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 18.6px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 22.1px;"><span class="s2" style="font-size: 18.55px;"></span><br /></p><p class="p3" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 18.6px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s2" style="font-size: 18.55px;">Then there are these happy trees</span></p><p class="p3" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 18.6px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s2" style="font-size: 18.55px;">Loving the rains, you can say</span></p><p class="p3" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 18.6px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s2" style="font-size: 18.55px;">Coz they are swaying happily</span></p><p class="p3" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 18.6px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s2" style="font-size: 18.55px;">And looking all clean and green today</span></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 18.6px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 22.1px;"><span class="s2" style="font-size: 18.55px;"></span><br /></p><p class="p3" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 18.6px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s2" style="font-size: 18.55px;">It is on these days that the tea tastes much better</span></p><p class="p3" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 18.6px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s2" style="font-size: 18.55px;">Beyond looking at the rain, and hearing the pitter-patter</span></p><p class="p3" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 18.6px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s2" style="font-size: 18.55px;">Nothing else is worth a mention</span></p><p class="p3" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 18.6px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s2" style="font-size: 18.55px;">But the fluttering pages of the book want my attention</span></p><p class="p3" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 18.6px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s2" style="font-size: 18.55px;">The puddles, sitting for hours and looking at the clouds for different characters and shapes</span></p><p class="p3" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 18.6px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s2" style="font-size: 18.55px;">These were the memories of childhood that we left in haste</span></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 18.6px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 22.1px;"><span class="s2" style="font-size: 18.55px;"></span><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEji3TsmEG3jAxE05R2vVD7ZN-eNo6wYTw-uS58pk8Ak297w5wJexSLwn8GnFSH_DfLN6YYR-VH2JIQMB4p2j6GoQy52X4nDKWu1Cux5QESI_Z3gJdervm1mipHiVIeMrM1haygXHZDOKiKRbphAhkJLOkCz7YqpBYtpEGRToxmmBSgCUKumUqxAm2-wqw/s540/9F223CD4-48B8-402E-B17B-6577A501158B.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="360" data-original-width="540" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEji3TsmEG3jAxE05R2vVD7ZN-eNo6wYTw-uS58pk8Ak297w5wJexSLwn8GnFSH_DfLN6YYR-VH2JIQMB4p2j6GoQy52X4nDKWu1Cux5QESI_Z3gJdervm1mipHiVIeMrM1haygXHZDOKiKRbphAhkJLOkCz7YqpBYtpEGRToxmmBSgCUKumUqxAm2-wqw/s320/9F223CD4-48B8-402E-B17B-6577A501158B.jpeg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><p class="p3" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 18.6px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s2" style="font-size: 18.55px;">Every memory seems fresh in my mind</span></p><p class="p3" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 18.6px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s2" style="font-size: 18.55px;">It’s like I am reliving my past for some happiness to find</span></p><p class="p3" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 18.6px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s2" style="font-size: 18.55px;">I pick up my phone to call my parents and siblings</span></p><p class="p3" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 18.6px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s2" style="font-size: 18.55px;">And share stories and laugh, a laugh of love</span></p><p class="p3" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 18.6px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s2" style="font-size: 18.55px;">I feel like a peaceful dove.</span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjI5OGHgk1KPMyDu5A4Opixk_cmQdnMECaMSboklCknvXIJmUSL1rqvbXRYC6FsSMG7cudZklxGI_DInYAjmHBwzqpu3fq-EKJK3AjxfIDYpTtPy-m1nT75D5R3HTnuvU9UqbPRyusu97gyXGROeD8HfKABa8-QcjJebu5D2Wij5oaOcsS3KIcF-kBAA/s2048/C013FEBF-C943-473F-95AF-E5CDCE5D124A.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1156" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjI5OGHgk1KPMyDu5A4Opixk_cmQdnMECaMSboklCknvXIJmUSL1rqvbXRYC6FsSMG7cudZklxGI_DInYAjmHBwzqpu3fq-EKJK3AjxfIDYpTtPy-m1nT75D5R3HTnuvU9UqbPRyusu97gyXGROeD8HfKABa8-QcjJebu5D2Wij5oaOcsS3KIcF-kBAA/s320/C013FEBF-C943-473F-95AF-E5CDCE5D124A.jpeg" width="181" /></a></div><br /><p></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 18.6px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 22.1px;"><span style="font-size: 18.55px;">On a rainy day, there is a tear in my eye of happiness and emotions welled up</span><span class="s2" style="font-size: 18.55px;"></span></p><p class="p3" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 18.6px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s2" style="font-size: 18.55px;">Talking about this, my mind trailed off</span></p><p class="p3" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 18.6px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s2" style="font-size: 18.55px;">Embarking on a journey of its own</span></p><p class="p3" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 18.6px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s2" style="font-size: 18.55px;">Every year on my birthday, the rain God blesses my day</span></p><p class="p3" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 18.6px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s2" style="font-size: 18.55px;">I make sure to take the blessings in the most humble way</span></p><p class="p3" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 18.6px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s2" style="font-size: 18.55px;">Although sunny days are a favorite of most</span></p><p class="p3" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 18.6px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s2" style="font-size: 18.55px;">To a beautiful rainy day, I raise a toast.</span></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 18.6px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 22.1px;"><span class="s2" style="font-size: 18.55px;"></span><br /></p><p class="p3" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 18.6px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s2" style="font-size: 18.55px;">The pitter-patter of rain drops turning into rain shower, </span></p><p class="p3" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 18.6px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s2" style="font-size: 18.55px;">The nature is a unique blend of beauty and power,</span></p><p class="p3" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 18.6px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s2" style="font-size: 18.55px;">It communicates in such wonderful ways</span></p><p class="p3" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 18.6px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s2" style="font-size: 18.55px;">Not leaving a soul alone, these rains leave a trace</span></p><p class="p3" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 18.6px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s2" style="font-size: 18.55px;">Petrichor emanating from the thirsty, dry earth</span></p><p class="p3" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 18.6px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s2" style="font-size: 18.55px;">The freshness left behind is like new birth</span></p><p class="p3" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 18.6px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s2" style="font-size: 18.55px;">These raindrops leave their miraculous touch</span></p><p class="p3" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 18.6px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s2" style="font-size: 18.55px;">Of lifting my spirits, of making me feel loved so much</span></p><p class="p3" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 18.6px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s2" style="font-size: 18.55px;">For that every drop of rain on my face, I have to lift up my head</span></p><p class="p3" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 18.6px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s2" style="font-size: 18.55px;">Lift my head, I do…but I make sure to bow</span></p><p class="p3" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 18.6px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s2" style="font-size: 18.55px;">To heavens above, </span></p><p class="p3" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 18.6px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s2" style="font-size: 18.55px;">As these very rains remind me to be grateful for all there is, </span></p><p class="p3" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 18.6px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s2" style="font-size: 18.55px;">The sunshine, the rainbow </span></p><p class="p3" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 18.6px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s2" style="font-size: 18.55px;">and</span></p><p class="p3" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 18.6px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s2" style="font-size: 18.55px;">The Rain! 💦 </span></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 18.6px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 22.1px;"><span class="s2" style="font-size: 18.55px;"></span><br /></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 18.6px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 22.1px;"><span class="s2" style="font-size: 18.55px;"></span><br /></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 18.6px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 22.1px;"><span class="s2" style="font-size: 18.55px;"></span><br /></p>EmotiveAdventures - A Writer Inscribing Emotionshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17566459389836608590noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2824921700168711531.post-83026693004421373472022-04-04T12:13:00.002-07:002022-04-04T12:26:17.202-07:00Beauty in You Lies in the Eyes of the Child that Comes from Within You<p>Nearing 40, I see the difference. Subtle though, but I can see the 20s youth is not what my skin shows. </p><p>I was really bothered by it all. What serums to use, how to keep a taut skin, how to hold on to my younger days! Not that I am old yet but I believed everything I heard and read about the importance of skin regime. </p><p>When with friends and family, having good times, these things were the last on my mind. But when alone, I kept obsessing about this topic. So much so that, I didn’t realize I am losing out on some real good moments with my child here. </p><p>Once when I was hooked on to binge watching videos on the topic, filling my amazon cart list with beauty products, wanting to look cool on insta, checking the make up I had since my early 30s, checking my skin for marks, trying to find a decent shade of lipstick and wearing it whilst noticing hyperpigmentation spots and so on, my son came to me and said, “Mamma, don’t apply lipstick!”</p><p>I looked at him and asked, “Why? I gotta look pretty na!”</p><p>He immediately told me, “No, You ARE the prettiest. Can you make that mousy face, so we can play?” He asked. </p><p>We played this game where I would pretend to be a mouse and chase him around the house. I would sniff him and that would tickle him. He would laugh so much when every time I speak in a squeaky, mousy voice and tell him that he smells like yummy yummy cheese and I would relish him. </p><p>I made that mouse-like face by wrinkling up my nose, half thinking about the fine lines that appear with all these facial gestures. To hell with that, who cares! I just left everything and suddenly I really didn’t care at all. I was back into the game and was jumping on the bed with him and busy with my pillow fights and making a pretend dungeon with the blanket and so on…</p><p>That’s my love story!</p><p>I love how I look when I look at myself through my son’s eyes. </p><p>Sure, when we reach a particular age or a point in life, we seek validation for our beauty. I, for sure, know where it lies. “It comes from within”, they say. But not just from within our heart where we choose to feel young and beautiful.</p><p>For me, it comes from within me, from the eyes of my child who came from within me. </p><p>I love you my son, not just coz you make me feel beautiful. But also because I see what I mean to you. I am the center of your world and you, my son, are my whole world. </p><p>You make me feel like I never can feel low, no matter what! I feel so beautiful and so blessed to have you as my child, who thinks so high of me. You are my one and only…</p><p>I can never love you more </p><p>coz </p><p>there is no more than what I already love you. </p><p>I love you more than love itself. </p><p>I am grateful to you for being mine. I am grateful to the Almighty for blessing me with you. </p><p>A child is a child, you cant make a child…but you make me, you made me a parent and so much more. </p><p>Thank you my Aarav, my heartbeat, my sanity, my purpose to live, my life itself! ❤️ 🤗 😘 🌞 </p><p><br /></p>EmotiveAdventures - A Writer Inscribing Emotionshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17566459389836608590noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2824921700168711531.post-59726247236806655282022-01-28T08:08:00.000-08:002022-01-28T08:08:13.361-08:00Just A Woman<p>When I am like water, flowing easily,</p><p>letting people around me have me as much as they want...</p><p>Being a giver, I am loved BUT wasted. </p><p>I am not valued.</p><p>Then, I block my emotions,</p><p>I turn into ice.</p><p>I refuse to give in. I refuse to be used and wasted.</p><p>I want to be valued.</p><p>So I am boiled. I am pushed to my limits to melt down eventually and be able to quench the thirst of a man.</p><p>and so they have their way,</p><p>I am boiled. But this time i am boiled a little too much </p><p>and i vaporize, I go away. </p><p>Away, where i can never be caught...</p><p>Can never be trapped. </p><p>but then when i reach the sky,</p><p>I reach the space where I feel I am alone. I want to be one with the same people again...</p><p>Its okay to be used...</p><p>Its okay, I repeat to myself.</p><p>I make myself believe.</p><p>And so I fall...fall happily creating rainbows to embrace my very own.</p><p>They feel me on their faces, and they smile and greet me,</p><p>A lot of me still goes wasted</p><p>but I realize I am not the only giver</p><p>the ones quenching their thirst of love with me survive on my love</p><p>they may take me for granted </p><p>but its me and only me they want and not some substitute</p><p>I am therefore valued</p><p>I am a woman. </p><p>I am a nurturer. </p><p>I am happy. </p>EmotiveAdventures - A Writer Inscribing Emotionshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17566459389836608590noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2824921700168711531.post-12650777175167983772022-01-21T14:28:00.004-08:002022-01-21T14:28:29.639-08:00Lyrics to My New Song - I Think I Am Crazy a Lil<p><span style="background-color: white;">I</span><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;"> think I am crazy a little</span></p><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;">But guess you are more than to settle</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;">For...I love the air,</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;">Brushing my hair</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;">I love the blues</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;">Loving me through</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;">And through and through</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;">Happiness evades the devil</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;">And devil is me</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;">But when I am God-like</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;">I am saintly than thee</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;">You can’t be me</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;">Coz you don’t want to know</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;">How much it is that I can show</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;">The world needs me</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;">As much as I need it</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;">To breathe</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;">But to be free</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;">I need nothin</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;">Not even you</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;">Coz I know I wanna be heard</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;">But not when I am not heard by you</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;">I don’t want a pair of ears</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;">I just want to be free</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;">Coz free’s me</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;">And freeze me</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;">If you can</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;">Coz you cant</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;">You just wanna know me</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;">So you can know yourself</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;">Coz it’s not me</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;">But it’s you who needs help</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;">I am cynical</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;">I am lovable</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;">I am a little crazy</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;">Hey let that be</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;">Coz that’s me</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;">You don’t come in my way</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;">Coz I have my own way</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;">And if you do</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;">You cant undo</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;">Love yourself?</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;">Then have some mercy</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;">And spare yourself from being you</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;">Coz I maybe crazy</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;">But I ain’t you</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;">You ain’t nobody</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;">But somebody,</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;">whom everybody wants to forget</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;">So go away</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;">And be Mr. Perfect</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;">Coz you ain’t crazy</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;">You don’t have it in you to be crazy</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;">Coz crazy means to be the real you</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;">And you can’t be you</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;">Coz you are scared to be you</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;">And me? Nope… can’t be…</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;">Coz I am crazy a little</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;">And crazy is free!!!</span><div><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;">You cant be me! </span></div>EmotiveAdventures - A Writer Inscribing Emotionshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17566459389836608590noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2824921700168711531.post-31917585187021261012021-01-09T18:11:00.015-08:002021-01-10T05:44:04.820-08:00When a Husband and Wife Met on Tinder<p></p><p class="MsoNormal"></p><p class="MsoNormal">It wasn’t a good feeling, this attempt at adultery. Is there
anything like that? An attempt, per se? Either I am committing it or not. But
there is an urge, a broken heart, and dissatisfaction in plenty, along with no appreciation combined, that brought me to this platform - TINDER. Little did I
know that tinder is going to break my tender heart! I log in with much
hesitation, half convinced I am deleting my account in 5 minutes. But the app
keeps bringing forth faces never seen. I feel tempted to go on. Or is it more
of an obligation that weak-hearted like me find it impolite to not respond?
Uff, it's just an app, after all. And here I go...at first, slow and observant,
slowly improving my speed. Days pass. I get more and more matches. More choices. Until I realize I’m a player. Now it's like I am addicted to it. Swiping left mostly
and then right at times...now it's like a rhythm. 3 left 1 right. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">STOP! I ... I just ..oh no! Was he? <b>ITS A MATCH</b> was displayed all over the screen. Oh yes...I see a red
dot over the message icon. I have received a message. My heart skips a beat and
yet I dare to see the message awaiting me.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><b>It was from him...my
husband!</b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">We both swiped right for each other?! Me by mistake, him...
Deliberately, is it? I shudder.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">All he wrote was: “so this is where you’re busy then<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">I responded: ...and you too</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><b>Him:</b> Well, looks
like this is what it has come down to, we searching for different partners</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><b>I:</b> I wonder why
it took me so long. You? You must be on tinder for really long.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><b>Him:</b> I created an
account today.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><b>I:</b> Me too.
Strange! Why today? What triggered you?</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><b>Him:</b> I feel
ignored and unheard and unloved.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><b>I:</b> The feeling is
mutual</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><b>Him:</b> Ok then.
Keep looking! If you find someone, do let me know.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><b>I:</b> Why? What
would you do?</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><b>Him:</b> Nothing
much. Just wish you farewell.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><b>I:</b> Eager to bid
me goodbye?</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><b>Him:</b> Both of us
are not happy in this relationship. What’s the point of being together?</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><b>I:</b> Looks like you
found someone already!</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><b>Him:</b> I sure did.
I found you only to realize I have lost you.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><b>I:</b> You found me
but did you want me?</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><b>Him:</b> Yes. But not
on Tinder.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><b>I:</b> Do you feel a
sense of loss then?</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><b>Him:</b> Yes and you?</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><b>I:</b> No, I don’t. I
need to feel appreciated for what I am. That’s what brings me here and I have
no regrets other than the fact that the people here care even less. All they
need is...</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><b>Him:</b> ...Of course
they do</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><b>I:</b> ...but you
don’t. You won’t even come close to me. Why? What have I done to deserve this?</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><b>Him:</b> You haven’t
done anything wrong. But we have a lot of differences that need to be resolved
first.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><b>I:</b> by ignoring
each other’s presence, or better still by pretending we don’t exist in each
other’s lives...</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><b>Him:</b> I know we
need to talk. But how? How can we possibly talk when we both have so much to
say, so much we have been holding inside us; grudges included. It’s a mix of
emotions and no one to hear.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><b>I:</b> The only thing
I probably agree with you is this very thing you mentioned. We initiate a
conversation but we don’t want one. All I want is to be heard. I waited and
waited for my turn. I realized you no longer want to be a part of my everyday
life. We are together, socially. We bond well when times are bad and just when
we think that things are ok, we are on our separate ways. Back to our lives.
There is nothing personal between us now. Only personal lives. And you and I...
is long gone by.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><b>Him:</b> Can we get
back together ever again?</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><b>I:</b> I am broken. I
will try but I don’t have any hopes left. Or maybe there is some light in the
darkest corner of my heart. Still a candle, almost out of wax, as little as the
littlest reasons we fight on. But there is some light. Let's try. Come to our
room then...</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><b>Him:</b> ...it won’t
work this time... bedroom cannot always be the remedy. I feel there is too much
unsaid and unresolved between us. Making out always cannot be the answer.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><b>I:</b> Why don’t you
come inside first and see how it goes</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><b>Him:</b> Well if you
insist. I will come inside but I don’t know how to confront you and doesn’t it
bother you at all how you will face me?</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><b>I:</b> that’s for you
to see. Come NOW!</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">The husband does as he is told. He comes inside hesitantly.
He doesn’t want to see his wife and is too heartbroken. However, he enters the
room. He is shocked to see his wife lying down with a man next to her. All this
while he was at home. How could she? How did they?</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><b>Husband:</b> (speechless) what…what is happening here? He turns
around and leaves the room.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Not believing why he is doing the moral thing by leaving the
room in spite of him being the husband and it being his bedroom and she being
his wife. Disgruntled, he goes back and this time enters like a storm only to
find his wife is lying down alone. Where is he? That.. that man?!</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><b>Wife:</b> Which man? What are you saying? I am lying down under
these sheets, all for you. Saying so, she smiles.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">The husband is confused for a second and believes what he
saw was just some hallucination after he did some immediate checks inside the
closet.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">He hugs his wife. It’s a bone-cracking hug like he is afraid
he will lose her. He kisses her, soft quick kisses at first, really rapid ones.
He wants to make sure she is his and his alone. That no one else has taken his
place in her life, that no one has touched her but him. He then kisses her
lips... never for once leaving them. Just trying to dig deeper and deeper into
her. It’s like a stamp, ownership of sorts. And he sheds a tear. Amidst the
kiss, the wife sees the tear and wipes it away. She understands he so loves her
and this was just a passing phase. Marriage, after all, is a rocky ride. She
somehow managed to loosen his grip on her and asked if she could use the
restroom and be back in a min. Saying so, she walked to the restroom, opened
the door, and asked her boyfriend to leave quickly. He did. She smiled and
waved him goodbye. She came back hurriedly, closing the bedroom door behind,
and snuggled between the sheets again.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">The husband was already asleep, so exhausted with the trauma
caused to him by what he thought he saw and also relieved to have her as his
own woman, dismissing everything else as just his imagination. The wife slowly
pats his back, moves her hand over his soft hair, and kisses his forehead. She
then stretches her hands and takes his phone, lying next to him on the other
side.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">She deletes his Tinder profile and when she is about to
delete hers, she sees there is a message awaiting her attention. She just goes
to check it this last time and reads what her Tinder boyfriend has written,
“check your email urgently”. She does, only to find there is a video of her
husband sleeping with someone. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">She is shocked at first, then calms down almost immediately.
She again stretches her arm, and reaches for the pillow on his side, leaves his
phone there, and then gets a knife from under the pillow. Her heart beats so
fast and yet she won’t stop to listen to her conscience this time. She swiftly
takes the knife and plunges it into his back. Stabbing him. Piercing him. The
husband wakes up startled and to stop her, presses her neck with both his
hands. She smiles, coughs, and smiles. She can’t take no more. Her windpipe
would burst. But she is ok. There is some calmness within her. The sweet
feeling of revenge taken!</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Not before long, her husband thinks he should instead call
for help. He can’t seem to find his phone that is under the pillow but behind
him and he can’t turn as he is injured so bad. So when he tries to do that, his
hand loses its grip on her neck and she relieves herself and goes to his
backside where he is unable to face her. She then takes the phone and throws it
into the drawer in the wardrobe. Locks it there to make doubly sure he cannot
reach it.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">She sits down and sees his face, wrinkled in pain. The
creases on his face reminded her of how that young man he once was, has turned
to be older, with her by his side. Never even once thinking this could be his
end. Not imagining even once, all these years, the woman he lost his virginity
with, woke up every day next to, is someday going to murder him. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Then it all comes back to her. How... just how did her
boyfriend get his hands on the video of the intimate moments between her
husband and that other woman? She quickly wipes her tears and takes her phone.
She calls him but her boyfriend won’t pick up. He just won’t. Then she gets a
message from him. She didn’t expect it to be another video. But it was! It was
a video of hers. Her killing her husband! Now the wife is worried sick. She
frantically runs around the house, opening the doors and curtains and every
place to find a hidden camera of her boyfriend. She did find, finally. No, not
the camera but her boyfriend. But it was too late. She had met her fate.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">She glanced through the pool of blood on which her husband
lay. She repents but it’s too late. She wishes she had called the ambulance on
time. She forces her eyes shut with her mouth twisted in regret and there comes
a fresh flow of regretful tears... the last of its kind because now her eyes
are turned into stone. So is her heart! Her boyfriend puts a leash on her neck.
She is in her own kitchen, all naked, cutting onions on the vegetable board,
lost in thought, thinking about all that could be undone. Just then, her neck
pains... she is being pulled. Her master needs food. She finishes cooking the food,
serves it on a tray. She then kneels down, crawls to her master. He asks her to
lick his boots. She does as she is told. He then demands her to feed him. She
does as she is told. He asks her to wash the plates. She does as she is told.
He tells her to put him to bed, she does as she is told. Only this time he
won’t wake up.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p><br /><p></p><p></p>EmotiveAdventures - A Writer Inscribing Emotionshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17566459389836608590noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2824921700168711531.post-6299184886989557602020-12-24T14:19:00.006-08:002020-12-24T14:19:39.154-08:00A Good-Bye Letter<p> </p><p class="MsoNormal">Little did I know that I am going to die today. But my soul
had chosen to depart on a pleasant day, just the way I like it. I have spent
hours thinking of how should death be for me. Yes, I did think about that part
in detail. After all, what can an old woman in her 100+ years do? I am wrinkled
beautifully…the lines making me more beautiful. My relationships are not
dependent on me but I am on them. I am now a great grandmother but neither can
I enjoy these benefits or take the responsibility for the newborns. Heck! No
one would even trust me to take up such responsibilities. </p><p class="MsoNormal">They say I am now
forgetting things. But little do they know that I have memories stored in me. I
remember a lot of their childhood, a lot of their children’s childhood. What I
don’t remember is the recent things happening around me. That’s because my mind
is all dwelling in the past. Coz that’s where I lived…and that’s where my
presence was important. I was loved and at peace but not realizing the peace as
I was too busy at that time. This present tense has nothing to offer me but
peace of a different kind. Peace in terms of time. The time is now my friend.
It no longer runs past as it did in my dutiful days of youth. I never found
time. And today, I have time in plenty but those around me don’t have it for
me. It's ok, I understand, I too have lived that age and stage. So after
finishing up with my morning routine, I come down to sit peacefully in my
community. </p><p class="MsoNormal">It's basically getting out of the house so that people in the house
can relax and not have to do things for me. I don’t want to disturb anyone.
Yes, I want to help. But I am scared. I am scared I will make a mistake and my
folks won't like it. They won't say it, but their distrust is not what I want to
earn. I have already earned that enough. I don’t know I am old until I see
myself in the mirror or am made to feel by everybody around me. I like it when
I am offered a place to sit, every time I go somewhere. I know nobody likes me
talking, as my speech is not very clear due to broken teeth. </p><p class="MsoNormal">I know I try too
hard to entertain the younger generation but they just smile and nod rapidly to
get back to their lives and excuse themselves but are being polite out of
respect. I am alone. I need to accept that. But what do I do? I am afraid if I
am too silent, I will be considered dead. I will be non-existent. I like to see
little grandchildren of mine playing around me but am scared to touch them and
play with them, what if I upset their parents or hurt them. They somehow like
me a little perhaps but they too have a busy day planned ahead of them. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">So I sit here all by myself. I still feel pretty. I still
feel knowledgeable and have plenty to share but nobody to listen to. And so I
resort to writing. But little did I know that I am dying today. The birds are
chirping for me for the last time. I want to take in most of this world.
There is never enough. Yet I pray for my death as I don’t want to burden my
family. I know they will cry out of the habit of seeing me around. My death will stir
up the memories to come to the surface and I will be happy to be remembered for my
past, for the existence of mine that they valued much. But soon, and by soon I
mean, very soon they will go their way, suppressing their sighs, subconsciously
feeling guilty for feeling at ease after I have passed away. It means one less
responsibility from their busy lives, an extra bed and a room for their
children or for their storeroom even and I don’t blame them. I am happy to see
the world outside but I don’t want to remember anything anymore. Countless
memories have been relived countless times and I now want to be the same
toothless person but a cuter version of me someplace else. </p><p class="MsoNormal">Everything seems
scary now. Because it will all be out of my comfort zone. Everything in my new
upcoming life is unpredictable but if one goes by karma, I think I haven’t
given much happiness to my family and the people around me. I have been more of
a taker, less of a giver. Perhaps that’s the definition of being lucky. So I
was lucky in love, lucky in having a beautiful family, parents and my child is
the most wonderful soul and I have been very very lucky that he has taken care
of me more than anyone can possibly do or even think of. But for now, this is a
goodbye letter. I hope I can write again to share my after-death experiences as
well. <o:p></o:p></p>EmotiveAdventures - A Writer Inscribing Emotionshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17566459389836608590noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2824921700168711531.post-60011667284033771012020-11-17T19:03:00.004-08:002020-11-17T19:03:54.001-08:00What’s My Story? Depression, Guilt?<p> <span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 18.55px;">My story is about depression, about anxiety. And about overcoming it.</span><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 18.55px;"> </span></p><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 18.6px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1" style="font-size: 18.55px;">No, this isn’t an advisory blog. This is just to let you know the only and only way that helped me come out of it was self-realization with time. The advices from people in fact made this journey a long one. I wasn’t very happy to discuss my personal life with others but when the wave of depression hits you, you try to breathe, try hard pushing all your limbs and the only time you breathe fresh air by coming up on the surface is by talking. But people don’t understand this cry of help. They think you are insane, talking too much, irritating, self-centered. Everything they seem to know but the real fact that they do not acknowledge is that we need help. We are humans, a human touch, a listening ear, a meaningful embrace is all that is needed to help us through. </span></p><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 18.6px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1" style="font-size: 18.55px;">At this time when Sushant Singh Rajput is no more, there are millions of posts and re-posts mainly, suggesting people in depression to come out of the closet and speak about their fears and problems to close friends. FRIENDS???? Where are they? They are only there to ignore you in such times. At first, they listen to you because there is a story there about your life. A story that has something to soothe the listener, the so-called friend. They show sympathy in the beginning but then its a pleasure that they aren’t experiencing what we do and then it transforms into a superiority feeling and this is what they think, “I would’ve dealt with this situation better. And of course, I wouldn’t be going around telling people about things and situations and people in my lives. This woman really needs to grow up.” Yes they will speak good things to you at first, but believe me your story will be doing the rounds and people will ask you uncomfortable questions time and again, at every gathering. Some will even show that they are true friends, listen to you and mock at you. You already know the deal. Your story for their entertainment. Don’t sign this. </span></p><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 18.6px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1" style="font-size: 18.55px;">I am not here to advice anyone what to do. </span></p><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 18.6px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1" style="font-size: 18.55px;"><br /></span></p><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 18.6px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1" style="font-size: 18.55px;">But I understand life or our own wrong doings sometimes may seem to hit us hard but even if I wont say it, you already know how to deal with it. The only and only thing I would like to strongly suggest is DO NOT SHARE. PUBLIC PLATFORMS ARE SAFER THAN YOUR SO-CALLED FRIENDS. At least, there are people out there who do take joy in your depression stories but comment about pray and love and care. Be your own friend, journal or blog, stop beating yourself too hard and if your own doing in the past has transformed into a guilt and is killing you secretly from within, don’t try and seek peace desperately. Let it pass through. Accept that hard feeling you feel. Yes, you might think you are the worst person in the world while others are smartly coping with their own lives, so be it! Don’t be in a rush to get there. Before giving up on yourself, think about something good you may have done to others. Even if it is a little something then there is some good in you. Your conscience is alive. Let it beat you hard but then pray to yourself, to your conscience, to guide you to do things right from now on. TRY TRY TRY before you think of leaving this plane. Because you know not what lies ahead. Maybe this suffering doesn’t end here. But what can end is your own life. Maybe you can use it to fix the wrong and help others. Sometimes they say, by doing and spreading good, you feel good. Maybe that approach is worth a shot. Been there, done that! Still look behind and now guilt is my only companion. But not for the world to know any more. I am not just a story for others, I am worth much more. Love and hugs to those who need it and are going through a tough tough phase. Let time and the situations in your life do the talking. Hang in there! even if for just a little while longer. </span></p>EmotiveAdventures - A Writer Inscribing Emotionshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17566459389836608590noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2824921700168711531.post-84098746659392787062020-07-12T08:53:00.000-07:002020-07-12T09:04:50.654-07:00Love Can Bring Evil in You! - A story of Love, Hope, Evil, Strength and Faith<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizoMqYstGjr7QJ7YB2RWsjpI0TF4-76Qt8LQG_lr0qnfVHgG5H5uv6uGhAvSsdQ53-vhaOg1xYTCo5F6E5DCrWaedTGIMF1m8-Bd3cN7FY0W_4NrdI5maxjq2IyZDL2sxsEsWfPQRDXHxq/s1600/541606-prayer.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="720" data-original-width="1280" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizoMqYstGjr7QJ7YB2RWsjpI0TF4-76Qt8LQG_lr0qnfVHgG5H5uv6uGhAvSsdQ53-vhaOg1xYTCo5F6E5DCrWaedTGIMF1m8-Bd3cN7FY0W_4NrdI5maxjq2IyZDL2sxsEsWfPQRDXHxq/s320/541606-prayer.jpeg" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
Love is the strength to see beauty even when there isn’t any.
The world seems like a painting that has all the colors of joy in it. But love
is also a great weakness. To protect our love, we sometimes become evil or we
love so much that we know no boundaries. Can I say love brings evil in you?
Sure, we all know that when in love, we are the kindest and see the beauty in
everything in the world. Even a beggar’s wail of sorrow on an empty stomach,
trying to get some money for food by singing is heard as a melodious voice, so
sweet to the ears. Our beloved’s thoughts are like religious scriptures,
containing all the wisdom there is to acquire. The deeds of our beloved even
when wrong are righted by our excuses and benefit of doubt imparted to their
every wrongdoing. But what happens to the angel in you when your beloved is
in pain?<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
All your happiness that is objectified in a person, all your
love towards that one man or woman seems to be ending with their last breath
and you cry and cry to drain out the pain, every now and then. You don’t listen
to anything. You pray but feel the emptiness of trust or love or passion or
anything. You just go by the day’s chores, there is a vacuum in your heart. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
In this story, that very vacuum is what served as an
invitation to Barbara, the spirit of a witch. But she couldn’t reside in Shyla
unless she said so herself. So Barbara planted some wicked thoughts in Shyla.
Shyla was empty from within. Shyla, by now, was like a baked bean can, which
was used and thrown in the trash for a decade now. This was the time for
rodents and other inhuman beings to reside in this can. Shyla was an empty
vessel with no thoughts or desires. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Her prayers were a ritual of sorts, with only drops of hope
left in them, just a bare little. Whatever was in her that kept her alive, all
the emotions combined had drained from her. She was colorless and hopeless. She
just wanted a miracle. And she knew that a miracle wasn’t to come. Though she
was walking towards the church, but her mind wandered off in a magical, fantastical
place where her dreams took shape of reality in her head still. That’s a great
way nature has given us to reside in someplace else in our head, away from the
pain in the real world, to survive the bad circumstances. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Enough having said about Shyla and her condition now, let’s
see what Barbara did to dwell inside her. She first planted some evil thoughts
in her. She made Shyla think of turning towards black magic or sacrifice of
some sort. But soon, Barbara realized that Shyla could have a bad thought once
but she wouldn’t execute on it. So Barbara decided to show her hope, be her
hope. She is a spirit remember. Only Shyla could see her. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDm7GRbdpWgZNJOZwPVJj-yLW3Q9hAA64El9pRytyqId68MRNfHQY0ULU99vcbjkVPqUUIqeo676gPJrpg1HMTjSrXNZkqaqK32EMVn9Yz8HcxFixx-WOZVtzKo7O-UmpbJF7Cc_zQGvIz/s1600/o-GHOST-facebook.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="800" data-original-width="1600" height="160" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDm7GRbdpWgZNJOZwPVJj-yLW3Q9hAA64El9pRytyqId68MRNfHQY0ULU99vcbjkVPqUUIqeo676gPJrpg1HMTjSrXNZkqaqK32EMVn9Yz8HcxFixx-WOZVtzKo7O-UmpbJF7Cc_zQGvIz/s320/o-GHOST-facebook.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Barbara sat on the corner of the pavement and when she saw
Shyla passes through that pavement, she called out at her. “Hello, Miss! Seeking
solace! Shyla disregarded her and smiled a little meaningless smile more like a
smirking sort of and left the place. After having walked the entire length of the
pavement, she again spots Barbara at the beginning of the next, and she was
shocked. She turned her head to see if her eyes could spot her at the place
where she saw her first. But that was a long-distance and there were also some
slight curves in the lane. She turned her head again to look straight and
missed a heartbeat as Barbara was standing right in front of her. So close to
her that their nose met. Shyla stepped back almost instinctively. She was
stammering and thought of saying something but nothing occurred to her. She
took to her heels and started running, fearing for life. Every lane she crossed,
she found Barbara smilingly waiting for her. Finally, mustering just enough
courage to ask this question, Shyla asked Barbara, “What is it that you want
from me?” As if ready and waiting for that question, Barbara responded almost
instantly, “I don’t want anything from you. I want to give you something.
Something you desire the most?” saying so she cackled. Shyla couldn’t believe
and it was evident the way her furrows met. But a sudden wave of bravery filled
her lungs like a fresh waft of breath. She asked boldly, “Are you referring to Chris?”
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Yes, indeed I am!” replied Barbara. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Shyla - C-can you help us?<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Barbara - Certainly! <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Shyla kneeled and with hands folded in a tight grip, she
begged fervently. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Please, please help him! Cure him! <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Barbara – That’s what I am here for! But you just have to
pay a tiny fee.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Shyla – Fee? What fee! Kindly tell me. I am willing to do
just anything.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Barbara – Then say aloud, “You allow me!”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Shyla – Allow you? For what? For helping us!<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Barbara – Just say it!<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Shyla said the words allowed. Barbara vanished. Shyla was
left confused. She didn’t know if she had been daydreaming like she did these
days because of very little food and no sleep and lots of stress. She sighed
and walked towards her home. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Barbara (from within Shyla) – Now I can help you.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Shyla looked around but felt something weird within her. It’s
like there was a voice recorder insider her heart. Immediately she knew she
made a big mistake and the price was definitely not tiny. So she asked the
voice within her, “Will you leave me someday?” To which Barbara replied, “Yes,
I would but only when I have all of you.” Shyla didn’t understand that very
well but understood it meant nothing good. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The rest of the walk was silent but she was just hoping that
this was all a nightmare. There were tears in her eyes, rolling down to find a
way through her cheeks and neck to her heart. She remembered her God and
realized she was such a fool to have left that miserable vacuum inside her. Why
didn’t she allow the prayers to instead light the darkest sorrowful corners of
her heart? That would have been so wonderful and as if she suddenly knew how to
work a miracle. Now she called upon herself yet another evil. Barbara couldn’t
hear her thoughts but the pain in Shyla’s heart was what Barbara thrived upon. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Shyla was full of answers now. She reached home and unlike
every day, she headed straight to her room where she took her prayer book and
started praying feverishly. Barbara didn’t like that and asked in a loud
rattling voice, “Why don’t you take me to Chris? You know I can help him this
instant. He will be well in no time.” Shyla chose not to respond and tried to
focus really, really hard on her prayers. She knew it isn’t going to be easy.
Barbara created havoc in the house, smashing and breaking things. There was a
loud shriek and yell. Every time Shyla was getting scared, she tried to think
of her deity, her Lord was within her. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Just then, a bird appeared at her window. This bird was
unlike any other. More colorful, more rainbow-ish. Shyla wasn’t sure why she
was feeling the strength on seeing the bird. She kept looking into the eyes of
the bird that moved its wings time and again to settle down but all the while
the bird’s eyes were fixed on Shyla’s. Shyla too experienced eye-lock with the
bird. This bird seemed to be providing some inner peace and strength in Shyla. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Parallel to this scene was that of Barbara’s. She was
screaming, trying to get the attention of Shyla. Shyla now all calmed down and no
longer afraid, spoke to Barbara in a soft voice, “You wanted to take over me,
my existence. You wanted a body. Only because though you think you have powers
you don’t have any. You scare me because in fact you are scared easily. There
is nothing you can do but scare me to succumb to you. I am more powerful than
you. But I pity you. You may have done wrong deeds in your life to be suffering
so much. But I wish I could help. I realize that I can’t. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
So I order you to leave my body this instant. Barbara wailed
a terrifying cry and then puff! She vanished again. But this time for good.
Shyla’s calm mind and rhythmic heartbeats were gone away all with the sudden
realization that Barbara could have used Chris as a vessel. She rushed into Chris’s
room to find him okay. But she was sure that couldn’t be. She closed her eyes
and tried to get a grip on her faith. She wanted to know if it was a miracle
that Chris is now alright or is it, Barbara, in him. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Then it dawned upon Shyla that the spirit needs permission
to enter into one’s body. So she was relieved. She wanted to believe a miracle
had taken place after all. Faith could indeed move mountains. She brushed her
worries aside and hugged Chris. Only she couldn’t feel Chris’s body. She felt
like she was hugging some aura. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
While Shyla was left wondering what is happening, she saw
the bird yet again and this time on the window of Chris’s room. She then looked
at the heart rate monitor and realized Chris was no more. Yet it was his love
that gave her the strength. It was her faith that had brought back her bravery
to fight the evil within her. But alas! She had to deal with the bitter truth
of life, Death! <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></div>
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EmotiveAdventures - A Writer Inscribing Emotionshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17566459389836608590noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2824921700168711531.post-76676341561379925702020-05-27T21:42:00.002-07:002020-06-01T15:00:36.946-07:00The Guiltland<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><b>There is no one here. No one! Just me! A second ago I was a part of the crowd, at the beach, hearing laughter, chitter-chatter, the sound of the waves, and the ocean at large. Everything seemed joyous but not me. I tried to look inside me to understand what is wrong. I know that already and yet I look within me sometimes like you would when you know something is hurting you. And every time I do so, I am transported to this place where I am right now. </b></span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWwculNXJyuGi4I9snUD3UHl4oonsp8a83qyBfvkokLPz2o-nE6N04CCN_FLoVpshw9__K0tTkecQmfFHVABFpw9n85syU9uWpzUd4qVdV8-W-2c9vRfTUFsCivuVluUIEfTGR-PlrbE1i/s1600/A997D9F9-88E5-4B4D-A295-A811879DCC9D.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="456" data-original-width="810" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWwculNXJyuGi4I9snUD3UHl4oonsp8a83qyBfvkokLPz2o-nE6N04CCN_FLoVpshw9__K0tTkecQmfFHVABFpw9n85syU9uWpzUd4qVdV8-W-2c9vRfTUFsCivuVluUIEfTGR-PlrbE1i/s320/A997D9F9-88E5-4B4D-A295-A811879DCC9D.png" width="320" /></a><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><b>This place is a dark lonely lane. The street lights are there but I feel I have lost the happiness around me. Yet it gives me the satisfaction that I am at the place I deserve. A solitary place. At least the laughter does not mock me here. I start walking on this dark lane with the support of the dim street lights. The lights flicker at first and then one by one, as I pass each of them, they break. The glass pieces scatter all around me and I tread the path, being pricked by the glass pieces again and again. My feet bleed and yet I know this is the place I deserve to be and that gives me a good feeling of sadness. </b></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><b>The lights break because the evil in me cannot let the light fall on me. This is the guilt land, the land where the evil in me punishes me. My wrongdoings, the evilness in me, and the memories of the past haunt me here, this is the place I love to hate myself at and yet this is the place I find solace in, as this is what I deserve. Meet me, I am guilty and this is my guilty land. If you want it to be your neverland, treat your people with respect and love and gratitude. When you hurt someone who counts on you, who worships you, the memories of it will kill you from within and yet spare your life to suffer the suffering you gave your dear one someday. </b></span><br />
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EmotiveAdventures - A Writer Inscribing Emotionshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17566459389836608590noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2824921700168711531.post-6546319889986259682019-11-23T14:27:00.001-08:002019-11-23T14:41:21.122-08:00You Can't Get Away<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiICKD7MCrNyctLXrT1-WfTqR1p9ftZaOVWZudBY5LtfDjQuqKwFIdlT8wEmmyaV9GN1qQYCzupBlO8vd83_FTvtAMHvJfnS6rF5o0zuM8RgIdFwCC7I3yS_lVSHFrinaDFDoHsmyh6U6KM/s1600/kill_bill_volume_2_driving.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="523" data-original-width="928" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiICKD7MCrNyctLXrT1-WfTqR1p9ftZaOVWZudBY5LtfDjQuqKwFIdlT8wEmmyaV9GN1qQYCzupBlO8vd83_FTvtAMHvJfnS6rF5o0zuM8RgIdFwCC7I3yS_lVSHFrinaDFDoHsmyh6U6KM/s320/kill_bill_volume_2_driving.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
Ok so, now I wanted to be free. Liberate myself of all the
guilt. Determined to start my new life in this new apartment I now rented and
called my own. I am having a house-warming party today. My friends are coming. I
can’t wait to have more people around me. More people are equal to less
loneliness and less time to think the things I don’t want to think about; to
stop driving my mind to the steer clear roads of the past where there is no
street light and the darkness creeps me now. The dark lanes led to this
accident. The accident that not only took the life of the victim but made me a
victim myself. I should have been more careful but just when that thought
occurred to me, it was late. I had taken life by mistake and this mistake had
cost me my own life too. I could see her wherever I went. The guilt in me made
me see it. I thought about this. What about the people who murder others for
their own benefits? I don’t know what happens to them inside their brains but
to me, they look happy and rich. While here I am, an accident by mistake, for
heaven’s sake, it was a mistake and nothing more than that. I regret to this
day why and how could I take that life. But I couldn’t help. Her life was taken
by me by accident. And now, I see her everywhere. Only crowds keep her away
from me. I read the newspapers every day. Every day, I look into the classifieds
section; where I can find some funfair in the city and go there and find a
bench to sit on and see how much happiness is around me. The fun and laughter
of the children and the shrieks! Yes, shrieks sure scare me but not the ones
from the children in their excitement enjoying the fun thrilling rides. It’s alive!
This place is alive! But I dread going home. I dread it when everybody leaves
the fair for their homes. I wish someone would adopt a 40 something me. But I know
that’s never going to happen. Tonight is the night when she will come for me
again, for the last time. My psychologist says she is on my mind. My subconscious
is playing tricks on me and I am hallucinating. Well, that’s what the science
says. But karma and the universe have a language of their own. I don’t want to
think about the later but the former. I have to save myself and stop this guilt
button that’s always on. It was a mistake. I want to forgive myself first
before asking her soul for forgiveness.</div>
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<o:p></o:p></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLsR0FT0L6pLUW2Jfg6zrWlOQ-cWeFPFIOozTpZPYEQc4EKE9DQ2ABCLCEOdi8HOSrmWywI-mrdd4jmfwgieM8SOEVYbWIWxVskwAHzjXoYQbWHJS2f568BuDsQ3LIohSXzVJsWpdG86v6/s1600/ghost.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1067" data-original-width="1600" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLsR0FT0L6pLUW2Jfg6zrWlOQ-cWeFPFIOozTpZPYEQc4EKE9DQ2ABCLCEOdi8HOSrmWywI-mrdd4jmfwgieM8SOEVYbWIWxVskwAHzjXoYQbWHJS2f568BuDsQ3LIohSXzVJsWpdG86v6/s320/ghost.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
Tonight she came to me at half-past 2. I awoke, heard her
call out my name, “Helen, you cannot escape me.” Saw her white chalked face and
rotten teeth and her messy hair. That was enough to frighten the wits off of
me, but not again. This repetition has to stop tonight. I summoned all the guts
I possibly could have and asked her to stop visiting me. She blatantly said in
her echo-ghost, male-female voice, “NO”. I told her she is powerless to which
she responded in anger by using her telekinetic powers and destroying my new
house setup. I waited for her to stop, even though I so wanted to close my ears
and shut my eyes and imagine myself somewhere else. But no, not today. I looked
into her red eyes and I kept looking. I told myself repeatedly I deserve her
forgiveness. I said it aloud. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Time froze. There was chillness in the air. She stopped and
came closer to me, so much closer to me that our noses almost touched. I was
scared and couldn’t do anything to regularize my heartbeats. But I sure made up
a stone face and looked at her chin, as to meet eyes at such short distance was
impossible at least for the living me. I told her, yes I deserved her
forgiveness because I didn’t intend to kill her. It wasn’t my fault that there
were no street lights. It wasn’t my fault that she appeared before my car. It was
her fault to have stood in the middle of the road, coming from nowhere in spite
of seeing my headlights on, and flashing on the road. I told her, I was guilty
once and shall always despise the happenings of that dreadful night but I was
just a medium while in reality, it was her death calling. She was stunned, I assumed
by her pin-drop silence after the loud chaos she displayed just moments before.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhO8nMGIb9BZDaTcH3pXBxBvv3TcQRnx65BhyphenhyphenwUNSxs_QfeJCfWOBeG_IZkzcYo_SMP8FtSr1iVWAWA0Outpn4NXc5_Kclt7ZF2zpZL2uRX-oTw6w0XVIiklFFCbTyLckm4OqHd6bXS6gC/s1600/art-3084798_1920.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="605" data-original-width="425" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhO8nMGIb9BZDaTcH3pXBxBvv3TcQRnx65BhyphenhyphenwUNSxs_QfeJCfWOBeG_IZkzcYo_SMP8FtSr1iVWAWA0Outpn4NXc5_Kclt7ZF2zpZL2uRX-oTw6w0XVIiklFFCbTyLckm4OqHd6bXS6gC/s320/art-3084798_1920.jpg" width="224" /></a></div>
<o:p></o:p></div>
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I sighed and was relieved to have spoken my heart and mind. I
was no longer afraid of her reactions and as if I had just left a vibe of some sort,
which if worded, would mean that I am superior to her, that I hold power over
her and now I feel only remorse for her loss. She cried the cry of desperation…her
cry meant so much more than her scary ways. It communicated much more. I almost
hugged her. She got up and left. She never came back. I opened my eyes in real
this time. I was at my psychologist’s and she had hypnotized me. I left the
clinic very happy today, happy to be free but I did not understand the tears of
sadness that accompanied my happiness. There was a vacuum in me. I felt this
rush of sadness as if I lost someone my own. I told you, universe and karma
has a way of its own. I left the building and was walking towards my car. For a
second, I thought I saw her. I was about to turn my head sideways where I thought
I had a glimpse of her seconds ago. But I didn’t. I didn’t want to give her a
chance to overpower me today, even if she really was there. By now, I was good
at pretending and I walked the walk of confidence and reached my car. I sat on
the driver’s seat and fixed the position of my mirrors. It was then that I saw
her. I knew this was real. My conscience was clear of guilt now but yet I saw
her. If I went back to my psychologist, she would label me “mad” in polite,
medical jargon. And if I freaked out now, she will know for sure, I am still
afraid of her and would take pleasure in it. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
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But I chose to feel for her. The genuine
feeling of having lost your own life, your tomorrows, your plans, your
relationships and everything you hold on to, so dearly in your living life. I
felt for her these feelings but I did not leave my side too. I tried to
remember how much trauma I have gone through too. So it is not that she alone
is dead, a chunk of me is dead too. I don’t think too highly of myself like I used
to. I have become sober. I miss her life more than she could even though that life
belonged to her. But I had the responsibility. I looked at her, straight in the
eye and my tears rolled out. She saw me cry for her. She came closer to me,
flying on her feet it took her seconds to do so. I was scared of her, still. But
I tried hard to remember that I am alive and that she isn’t. Technically, she
is at the mercy of my conscience and guilt, which are the only ways of her
ghost existence. She whispered in my ears, “I forgive you…only till the time, you forgive yourself.” I still see her when I am driving at my back seat,
grinning and trying to overpower me. After all, I am a human and with an alive
conscience. I can’t forgive myself totally. I saw her a few seconds ago again and then turned up the radio volume. A car came speeding by, and before I knew
it, my car had hit the roadside tree and there was broken glass everywhere. I
was lying there and I got an aerial view of myself. I knew the same instant
that I am dead and that this was karma. The guy who drove the car had bruises
too but he seemed fine otherwise. He was drunk and now was alert and scared.
Scared he should be because I am raged. My tomorrows, my life, my plans, my
relationships…my ….just now I saw her floating. I belong to her world now. We are together. <o:p></o:p></div>
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EmotiveAdventures - A Writer Inscribing Emotionshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17566459389836608590noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2824921700168711531.post-89670575335353236402019-07-20T05:48:00.001-07:002019-07-20T05:48:53.767-07:00<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
That rose in my dairy is the only memory I have of you. It reminds me of my painful past with you and the rose depicts the color of your betrayal.<br />
I wish to close you within those pages too, every memory of yours. It makes me feel I am in control of my past.<br />
<br />
Now this is where you belong...<br />
<br />
Like the dead black rose in my dairy, and the ashes in my hand that I stole from the cremation ground. I killed you but the pain won’t go away. Not the red blood of yours can give back the rose it’s color, nor the gray of your ashes can bring the rain of joy, the gray clouds promise.<br />
<br />
Loving you made me feel pain and ending you made me inhuman. You’ve always brought the worst in me. The only thing left of me that proves my suffering and my entire journey from innocence to crime is recorded in my journal. My timeless journal! Time may tear the pages apart but the memories of my life will remain in my heart. The heart that does not beat anymore. The heart that wanted revenge but received pain that made it go numb. I don’t know if I am alive anymore or buried with your bad memories next to you.</div>
EmotiveAdventures - A Writer Inscribing Emotionshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17566459389836608590noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2824921700168711531.post-48464263338901093672019-05-18T08:24:00.003-07:002019-05-18T08:24:28.296-07:00My Love Story<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
I was jumping, metaphorically as my heart was pumping fast and I realized that I am in love. Gosh, I realized this really late, as I fell in love head over heels with the girl I've shared my room with for 2 long years, someone I knew for sure loves me unconditionally, selflessly. We have always been the best of friends but I feel its her who has always stood by me while I have been sucking the living life out of her. Always complaining, always coming up to her with my problems that she readily resolved and came up with amazing solutions. All the time! and yet, I was never there for her. Heck! I never even asked her if she has any problems at all. How is her life? what is happening in her life. Never! Always so self-absorbed me, I failed to depict my love and respect towards her. While she has been the giver, I am a taker, someone so selfish and always in need to pour out my problems, my frustrations, my depression, while she was always at the receiving end. <br />
<br /><br />
Today, I've realized it cannot always be about me. I have realized I care for her, too much to not tell her this. Hell, I never even paid heed to what she might be going through in her personal life, or how she looked or what is she wearing. But she never complains, she hears me out and smiles everyday when I go home. Her face uplifts my spirits. Today, I am going to make it special for her. Compliment her. Let her know what I feel for her. I am at the florist's just unable to decide what flowers she would like to receive. I never asked her. I bet she knows what my favorite flowers are. I finally decide to buy a bouquet with every flower of a different color. I write the message in a note that reads, "You're the rainbow of my life, the fragrance of a flower, the only thing beautiful in my life." I pay the florist a hefty tip and in excitement, share with him my story and how special my love is. <br />
<br /><br />
I call for an uber and hop into the cab, all smiling, looking at the bouquet again and again, fixing the position of the flowers. Nothing seems perfect, nothing seems alright when in comparison with her. The only thing perfect is her smile, her warmth, her selflessness, her love, her admiration for me.<br />
I yet again talk about my love to the uber driver and he is happy for me. He wishes me luck as I reach my destination and am about to leave. I thank him, all too grateful for the ride and for hearing me out. <br />
<br /><br />
This is what love does. Bring out the best in you and make you smile and spread smiles. I love love and this feeling of love because my love is perfect. I rush to the elevator and then on the corridor of my floor, almost sliding. I want to surprise her, so I fiddle into my pockets and get my hands on the jingling keys, not getting it right in the first attempt as I am elated. I open the door, racing with time and almost seeing her smile right in front of me, even before the door is completely open. And yes, there she is smiling. I hug her and then bend on my knees, gift her with the bouquet, apologise for not being a good friend, or a listener even. I tell her how beautiful she is and she touches my head, ruffles my hair and with her smiling face, kisses my forehead. I will never be able to forget what she said after that..."of course, you love me and I love you as I am none other than you."<br />
<br /><br />
At first, I thought its some romantic line and half-confused and yet pleased, I respond with exactly the same: a confused smile. She then corrects me, as she understands me so well to know what that I didn't understand what she meant by that. She further continues to tell me, "I am just a figment of your imagination. When you were depressed and stressed, and found fault in people. When no one was there to understand you, you created me as your friend, and today, when you have earned back your self-respect and love for yourself, you love me. You finally have started loving yourself. My job is over. Now your subconscious doesn't need me. Now you're self-sufficient. You always have been. But today, you realize it." <br />
<br /><br />
I wasn't sure what I was hearing was right. My mind refused to believe but then images from the past played in my mind...in fragments, not a movie reel. and I remembered just how broken I was, shattered. I had become a cribber. And then, there was no memory of this girl coming into my life, let alone the apartment. She was my mind's creation, yes its true. I created her to fill the gaps in my life, the vacuum that existed due to lack of friends, lack of love life. everyone who left me during my bad times. Yes, I love her. I love God for giving me the capability to create this person in my mind, whom I hallucinated in real. But the doctors wont understand. They say, I have multiple personality disorder. They say this because my neighbors and colleagues got me help, when they saw me talking in different voices, one of my sweetheart and one mine. I feel happy and so complete that I don't need anybody else in my life. And here my therapist says, its not normal. She says I have to eat my meds daily without fail. I say I do but I don't. Am I wrong? </div>
EmotiveAdventures - A Writer Inscribing Emotionshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17566459389836608590noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2824921700168711531.post-18950355641845453722019-04-15T14:21:00.003-07:002019-04-15T14:32:16.241-07:00A Short Story (Paranormal/Horror)<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="color: black; font-family: ""times new roman"",serif; font-size: 13.5pt;">A Paranormal Experience</span><span style="color: black; font-size: 13.5pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="background: white; color: #3a3a3a; font-family: ""times new roman"",serif; font-size: 13.5pt;">I entered
the building on a bet. I was down on cash and didn't buy into the old legends
of the old building, to begin with, so fifty bucks were more than enough to get
me to do it. The legend more like a rumor was that no living person could reach
the 45th floor and that it was haunted. Now the task sounded simple. Just reach
the 45th floor, shine my flashlight from a window. The building was old and
broken, including the elevator, so that meant hiking up the stairs. So up the
stairs, I went. As I reached each platform, I noted the paint displaying the
floor numbers. 15, 16, 17, 18. I felt a little tired as I crept higher, but so
far, no ghosts, no cannibals, no demons. Piece of cake! </span><span style="color: black; font-size: 13.5pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="background: white; color: #3a3a3a; font-family: ""times new roman"",serif; font-size: 13.5pt;">I can't
tell you how happy I was as I entered that last stretch of numbers. I joyfully
counted them aloud at each platform. </span><span style="color: black; font-size: 13.5pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="background: white; color: #3a3a3a; font-family: ""times new roman"",serif; font-size: 13.5pt;">40, 41,
42, 43, 44, 44…</span><span style="color: black; font-size: 13.5pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="background: white; color: #3a3a3a; font-family: ""times new roman"",serif; font-size: 13.5pt;">Puzzled,
I stopped and looked back down the stairs. I must have miscounted, so I
continued up. 44. One more flight. 44. another 44. Yet again. 44!</span><span style="color: black; font-size: 13.5pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="background: white; color: #3a3a3a; font-family: ""times new roman"",serif; font-size: 13.5pt;">And so
it's been for as long as I can remember. So really, insanity isn't doing
something repeatedly and expecting different results. It's knowing that the
results will never ever change; that each door leads to the same staircase, to
the same number. It’s realizing you no longer are asleep and dreaming but the
reality is bizarre, beyond your comprehension. It's when the confusion makes
you sob and the sobbing slowly turns into laughter. For a second, I thought I
am not leaving this building alive. </span><span style="color: black; font-size: 13.5pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="background: white; color: #3a3a3a; font-family: ""times new roman"",serif; font-size: 13.5pt;">But just
to win this stupid stupid bet, I flash the light from the 44th floor, assuming
my friends won't realize its 44 or 45. I went down. I felt some footsteps
following me. The thump thump sound slowly turned indistinguishable. I couldn't
differentiate it from the loud heartbeats within me. I was scared. So I raced
down the steps. I heard the footsteps now speeding up to match my pace. I think
I even heard a loud gasping breath right behind me, but I chose to not look
behind and resisted the urge that is so reflexive in nature. I don't want to
die, I remind myself time and again, repeating in my head like a loud bang. And
then when I finally couldn't handle the fear, fearing my heart would explode, I
spoke out loud. I DONT WANT TO DIE in a loud, fearful yet less affirmative,
more authoritative tone. I heard the footsteps backing off but with a small
evil laugh, more like a giggle. It was creepy. I wasn't sure if my mind was
playing tricks or was this real. Did someone laugh or was I just overthinking?
At times like these, everything is mixed up in your head: the panic, the fear,
the unknown, the known, and most importantly, the thoughts and reality. </span><span style="color: black; font-size: 13.5pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="background: white; color: #3a3a3a; font-family: ""times new roman"",serif; font-size: 13.5pt;">I still
did not succumb to my reflexes and didn’t turn around for confirmation of my
fear was the last thing I ever wanted. I reached the bottom of the stairs and I
left the building. I met my friends outside who were relieved to find out that
the 45th-floor rumor was actually a rumor, or so I made them believe with my
flashlight. They were not much worried about the money they lost in betting
with me. But only God knows how petrified I was. There was something not
completely normal about me. There never was. I was always on the look-out for
bets and life-threatening stuff. My curiosity always got the better of me and
not on a normal level. Normally, in this situation, someone else would have
totally tried to erase this whole episode out of their mind and taken to
religious beliefs or start being a God-fearing, a good man. But me, no! I
really wanted to know who dared scared me. Also, to be honest, I was scared
like hell but not shattered yet. That would happen only to my ashes once I was
dead and gone and why did that entity leave me alone, without doing anything to
me? Just a laugh, really! What must have the entity thought of me? Let this
scared fool run away and spread more fear among people with his tell-tale
stories? That's not going to happen. I was hell-bent on going there again and
finding the truth for myself and not be one-in-many to just sit back and let
the ghost think they had the better of me. </span><span style="color: black; font-size: 13.5pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="background: white; color: #3a3a3a; font-family: ""times new roman"",serif; font-size: 13.5pt;">But how? </span><span style="background: white; color: #3a3a3a; font-size: 13.5pt;">And what should I do to
make sure no harm befalls me. I was not the one to believe in <i>taaveez (an
object to protect you from evil) </i>and all and if I did get it to protect me,
my whole purpose of bravery was lost. Nobody wants death and I too feared for
my life but I wanted to confront it and get it over with, once and for all.
That's how I prefer to end things. Now I needed a plan! I spend endless
sleepless nights not just in thinking of how to end things with that ghost but
mainly because that giggle, that whole experience haunted me enough to scare
me. But as I said, my curiosity had the better of me. So I thought of an idea
finally. </span><span style="color: black; font-size: 13.5pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="background: white; color: #3a3a3a; font-size: 13.5pt;">I needed a scape-goat. Now that I had already
told my friends there was nothing up there, I was sure they believed me as I
came back alive and according to my flashlight story, I was on the 45th floor.
So I got my camera pen and gifted it to my friend Sunil. Then after a few days
of pretending everything is normal, challenged him to go see for himself and
get rid of that little bit of fear he may still have in his heart, all thanks
to the rumors. Sunil rejected my idea, upfront. I peer pressured him by letting
him down in front of our other friends and mocking at him. Now, this is the
problem with men, who live by their egos. Question his manhood, and he will do
anything to prove you wrong. So finally my plan worked and he went up there. I
told him to carry the pen that I gifted him and gave him a paper to write down <b>all’s
well here</b> and throw it from the 45th floor. That way, he would take the pen
with him and the camera would capture everything that happens to him. The
events started recording on my phone. </span><span style="color: black; font-size: 13.5pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="background: white; color: #3a3a3a; font-size: 13.5pt;">Sunil started climbing and with my heart
thumping hard and my conscience questioning my actions, I was filled with guilt
and remorse, already. In my heart, I felt like running behind him and stopping
him from entering up there. But I wanted to know. The knowledge of the place
was more important to me than the life of my friend. As much as I felt bad
about it, I was trying to convince my conscience by thinking if I could come
alive, so would he. And also I’d know what is lurking there. Time was ticking,
Sunil was climbing. The most awaited moment arrived. Sunil left the 44th floor
and was climbing towards the 45th or the expected 45th floor. Soon, he reached
and the paint on the wall read 45th. I was puzzled. How come Sunil didn’t have
to go through the recurring, endless 44th-floor climb. How did he happen to
escape that? Meanwhile, Sunil wrote something on the paper and threw it down
from the 45th floor. I kept looking up at the paper and waited impatiently for
it to fall off. And the paper flew, following no directions of gravity and
slowly landed; when it wanted to, where it wanted to. I picked it up in an
instant, so what if it landed on the graveyard right next to the building. The
reason for the rumors began in the first place. I picked it up and read, Sunil
had simply written, “...</span><span style="background: white; color: #3a3a3a; font-family: "cursive",serif; font-size: 13.5pt;">ALL IS WELL HERE</span><span style="background: white; color: #3a3a3a; font-size: 13.5pt;">.” I turned the paper hoping to find
something more written on it but no, nothing. And I know for sure he did manage
to climb on the 45th floor, which I couldn’t. This mystery just refused to
resolve itself. Dejected, I put my head down and started walking towards the
entrance of the building, where all my friends awaited Sunil’s victorious
arrival. Sunil came back, in glee, all happy and excited and screaming, “I did
it, I did it, I did it.” Everyone hugged him and he most certainly erased the
blot on his manhood. But I was worried. </span><span style="color: black; font-size: 13.5pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="background: white; color: #3a3a3a; font-family: ""times new roman"",serif; font-size: 13.5pt;">We went
to a nearby restaurant to celebrate his victory. I wasn’t an active participant
in all that chatter and started questioning my sanity. Just then my phone rang
and it was my mom on the other end, just inquiring the usual, concerned on my
whereabouts. After the usual answers I give her, I disconnected the call and
it’s then that it struck me to check the recording as I was busy looking at the
paper drop, forgetting all about the recording. I forwarded to the part where I
left off and there lied all my answers. The 45th-floor entry had the 5 written
afresh, with fresh paint. The 4 was erased. I still didn’t quite get it, I was
thinking that Sunil had prepared for this beforehand. But just then, Rajiv put
his hand on my shoulder. I turned around and Sahil too was there. I fumbled and
tried to hide away my phone in vain. Rajiv and Sahil then laughed aloud. It was
them all the while. It was they who planted this plot. It was they, who had
told me about the rumor and had gone up the flight of stairs to this
under-construction, legally disputed and dilapidated building. They went up the
stairs and changed the numbers from 45 to 50 floors to 44. Obviously, someone
who would climb so high would be so tired to try climbing more than 5 flight of
stairs to confirm this belief. This would suffice. The truth behind that scary
giggle had been caught had I the guts to turn around, I would find Rajiv
standing there, said Rajiv gleefully on the success of his plot. But something
still didn't seem right. However, I was the laughing stock for them.
Disappointed and guilty for putting Sunil through this, I went and apologized
to Sunil for being too inquisitive and inhuman to try the experiment on him.
But he, in turn, sympathized with my situation and insisted I see the paper
again. I took the paper in hand to find out what I had missed. As soon as I
took the paper in hand, a sudden waft of wind blew and the paper was blown away
from my hands. I rushed after the paper only to find it landing finally at the
same place in the cemetery, where I had picked it up from. I opened it to found
traces of blood on it. Not possible, how could I ever miss something so
obvious. I started thinking and just then, my eyes fell on the tombstone that
read the name ‘Manyata’ on it. </span><span style="color: black; font-size: 13.5pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="background: white; color: #3a3a3a; font-family: ""times new roman"",serif; font-size: 13.5pt;">Manyata
is the name of the ghost they had mentioned in the rumor. I was so confused.
This name is not that common for my friends to use when planning the story for
the rumor. And the blood, what did that have to say? Why did Sunil point it out
to me? What is his role in this story? I thought of clarifying it with my
friends and I turned to go back to them. I was thinking about brainstorming
them with the questions on my mind, just then, I felt the same aura around me,
an inexplicable uneasiness. I heard the same breath right behind me, not so
warm like normal, and then the giggle. This time around, I turned to look,
letting my reflexes take over me and then I see her there...with Sunil. Their
eyes had the glint. They were smiling at me and then looking at the paper in my
hand. I unfolded it yet again and the mystery was finally solved. The paper
read, “Dare to try the 45th floor again?” </span><span style="color: black; font-size: 13.5pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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EmotiveAdventures - A Writer Inscribing Emotionshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17566459389836608590noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2824921700168711531.post-32840935430026213182019-01-21T05:47:00.002-08:002019-01-23T07:29:43.084-08:00A Horrifying Experience!!!<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">I was sitting in the park watching children play. I was looking at the bare branches on the tree, under which, I was relaxing and thinking of a horrifying tale to send chills to my readers. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgASFiirXPuUQYDcRYnOFfuR3i2vzO8FD_WAnTCkI6wKnwR0yFuTSPRNpUh-I4aFPv3FvddRv_5409xtys7KCBr4KQxs7JTVFZmmPaUtz46u8fO5Rp9uD-K7BVgzLAE0kfXrxVenMzxJAK1/s1600/bare+branches.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgASFiirXPuUQYDcRYnOFfuR3i2vzO8FD_WAnTCkI6wKnwR0yFuTSPRNpUh-I4aFPv3FvddRv_5409xtys7KCBr4KQxs7JTVFZmmPaUtz46u8fO5Rp9uD-K7BVgzLAE0kfXrxVenMzxJAK1/s320/bare+branches.jpg" width="240" /></a></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span> <span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">I always heard our astrologer back home in India say; I am a very sensitive person and every emotion around me finds a home within me. I always felt something spooky in the air towards dark, in an isolated place and I feared but cried too, for I could sense the fear of the still-breathing dead on my shoulder, right behind me. Wasnt sure though and I don't wish to confirm on that feeling as I don’t know if I am ready to accept that I've experienced it yet, The paranormal!!! </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">Now while I am writing this, suddenly a message pops up and the weather forecast predicts rain beginning at 8. It’s 7.38 now and as you can see in this screenshot, my phone is running out of battery too. </span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6PogL8R6j-aqfLLH7N4lDtAgSGOSQYiEDWpWP8CrKPIwpyXqiLHekeeQt0vqLTAG14SQaOzQlU7HaNYoa3nHm1IXM565FP09gCo5Z0oYJDAuXcS9QqbammlYd7RWbPhEunEvF7TKxVCrT/s1600/battery+again.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1334" data-original-width="750" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6PogL8R6j-aqfLLH7N4lDtAgSGOSQYiEDWpWP8CrKPIwpyXqiLHekeeQt0vqLTAG14SQaOzQlU7HaNYoa3nHm1IXM565FP09gCo5Z0oYJDAuXcS9QqbammlYd7RWbPhEunEvF7TKxVCrT/s320/battery+again.png" width="179" /></span></a></div>
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">I don’t know why I do this? Every time I create probs for me.</span><br />
<div>
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">I am wired weird. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">Very soon, I won’t have any battery left to call an Uber and yet I write. Suddenly the clouds have turned grayer and people are leaving from the park... all the sane ones. There are woods behind me. </span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMrqOGn0FyFRxTxAet4woBfFC8UuYAx8mUGICrSyTSa7Zci4d8AP4P1GpEQCLREO0g-dv3h8F7HBt0RX8eLUJUu6nWx33zRdqlmV-HgFAC1d57txAHkVfqLGVdv2khldo1lKNB0tMFOEBB/s1600/park+view.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMrqOGn0FyFRxTxAet4woBfFC8UuYAx8mUGICrSyTSa7Zci4d8AP4P1GpEQCLREO0g-dv3h8F7HBt0RX8eLUJUu6nWx33zRdqlmV-HgFAC1d57txAHkVfqLGVdv2khldo1lKNB0tMFOEBB/s320/park+view.JPG" width="320" /></span></a></div>
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">Not dark, yet, so am waiting. I don’t know why but I want to get stuck up in the dark, lonely park, while it rains and the thunderstorms scare the shit out of me. Maybe, I want the adrenaline rush to feel alive. See, nobody in the park. I like to sit here. Now I have shifted to this bench where I am sitting all alone. The benches are all empty too.</span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMQSjCwxTUXhRTGPsXji61TVAXRCKEzdDIqMxiIaqbYkgryKr9fd1J-9Y8t9zGVnqBxebQz41uFrqXkVSY8SQPTFkADsqkJqI7LKPRqGrXkmzyZaTmzYKCO7Nya5SUlIw_ahPiuzMzdAHF/s1600/bench.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMQSjCwxTUXhRTGPsXji61TVAXRCKEzdDIqMxiIaqbYkgryKr9fd1J-9Y8t9zGVnqBxebQz41uFrqXkVSY8SQPTFkADsqkJqI7LKPRqGrXkmzyZaTmzYKCO7Nya5SUlIw_ahPiuzMzdAHF/s320/bench.jpg" width="240" /></span></a></div>
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">I can hear the swing somewhere and it’s the deed of the strong winds that precede the thunderstorms, um..well... I suppose so. Now I am waiting. Waiting for every dead end to meet and greet me. Shit! My phone’s battery is only 1% now... and it’s dark already. The clouds and the greens above me are making it seem even darker than it is.</span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimfOcWAL7qLSOTmy8Kh6nTRkoPACxRoRRCn6S__KK3qKkzNBDrwjiQ9EmqPB78rS1zz-tW_pT1Hp1IGk5vE0pjdbxHP-PjA0n4HBi_6y4xAUMxfg3bf3ginIUOnC8J2NsvnRMVMsXQLGqM/s1600/one+more+darawna+branches+pic.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimfOcWAL7qLSOTmy8Kh6nTRkoPACxRoRRCn6S__KK3qKkzNBDrwjiQ9EmqPB78rS1zz-tW_pT1Hp1IGk5vE0pjdbxHP-PjA0n4HBi_6y4xAUMxfg3bf3ginIUOnC8J2NsvnRMVMsXQLGqM/s320/one+more+darawna+branches+pic.jpg" width="240" /></span></a></div>
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">The park lights are still not on and I.... I like to... you know... wander around. I am scared but want to call for trouble. I am just walking now. My hair is drenched in rain and my front layers are sticking to my head. I don’t want to move them. I like the dripping of water from the ends of my hair on the forehead. I like everything about this rain. I like how my clothes are sticking to me. I like everything. I like getting scared in this dark. I want to experience being here all night, alone. Is there something that would try to communicate with me? Just when I am thinking this, I see a figure in dark clothes standing afar. I can see the whitish face. Could be a human face only. I don’t trust my imagination. It usually deceives me. I just want to test. I like this feeling, this unsettling one... this scary one. I wave. And the figure waves back. The relief I feel is disappointing. Oh so it’s not actually a supernatural being but a being after all. I don’t know what I am expecting exactly. And then the figure standing there with the black hoodie points to himself... indicating if he’s the one I am waving at. Well, yes, but I am not sure if he can see me nod from this distance. So I gesture him to come. I thought let’s befriend another weirdo like me, who’d like to stay out all alone in this dark park. Just to be sure, he was waving at me, I instinctively look behind and almost expecting to see nobody, I again look ahead only then I realize I missed seeing someone. I looked behind again and this time it was right behind me. It was... well, another guy with the same black hoodie and he was scared of seeing me. At first, I thought he is scared because of my drenched self and my hair sticking to my face. So I want to tell him it’s okay, it’s just me, another human. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span> <span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">But when I lift my fingers to slide off the hair on my forehead... I notice my fingers are ... well... rotten. I am terrified. I look at myself. I am... I am not writing anymore. I am... I am just a... a white, pale figure with no blood within me. I am this someone whom no one wants to meet. But before I react to this self-discovery, I instinctively pounce on this person who was scared and the next thing I know is I am this blood-thirsty beast, relishing metal-like taste and the warmth of his neck. It was ecstatic and I... well, I was.. No, I am... just behind you. </span><br />
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EmotiveAdventures - A Writer Inscribing Emotionshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17566459389836608590noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2824921700168711531.post-4647381080156680012017-09-20T09:17:00.000-07:002017-09-20T09:17:23.418-07:00You Know Me, Don't You?<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">You Know Me! </span></div>
<b id="docs-internal-guid-6fa2c912-a00e-5935-200b-6a38feef28e2" style="font-weight: normal;"><br /></b>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Whats right? Whats fair? Nobody knows...yet everybody says. We all know whats right for someone else. Yet when we are in trouble, we forget whats right. This is my story. A story where I was stuck between right and wrong. I wouldn't say wrong because for me that wrong was desirable. So the fight in my head was between right and the wrong desire. I made a choice. Right or wrong, it was my choice and my choice alone. Can we say that what we do is what we wanted to do? Not really! Coz, believe it or not, there are so many factors influencing our right and wrong. </span></div>
<b style="font-weight: normal;"><br /></b>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Heart-broken, I was still happy. Happy because I felt relieved. Some sort of relief that you feel when you get back your freedom. Now I don't need to inform her my whereabouts. Now I needn't do things to please her or convince her the things I do to get her approval. Her nod is no more important to me. I am sitting on the park bench watching lovers all around me, smilingly. I am actually laughing on their follies...on their promises to be there for each other and expecting a shoulder to cry on when actually it is they who make you cry - the lovers! Sigh! Let them enjoy this blissful moment as much as they can, for as long as they can. Coz reality will be out soon and then these moments of lies will make you heart-broken, like me. </span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">But my faint smile disappeared as soon as I said that to myself. There was a vacuum inside of me. I missed her. I missed those irritating phone calls every now and then, that shouting of her on the phone asking me to be home early. While I used to cook up stories to tell her when in fact I was just having some time off, sitting by myself, with a bottle of alcohol in my hand. I felt futile. I felt the pain when I saw my phone screen and didn’t see her number flashing there. I felt she doesn't need me anymore. I felt the pain in her not needing me anymore, not caring about me anymore. </span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">It was just yesterday when everything was going smoothly, or rather roughly, in my case. Everything was, as usual, her nagging and all that noise but today it is all replaced with the voices in my head. I hear her loud and clear in my head only that I cannot hear her anymore in real. </span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">The peace that I experienced a moment ago is vanished by these disturbing thoughts. I pluck a flower and now I am walking homewards again. I reach the street and I cannot bring myself to say sorry for the last night when I had yelled back at her saying ENOUGH! The lump in my throat is hard to swallow but I do so. I felt like I feel, when the guilt in us surfaces and keeps rising high until it reaches our eyes and wells them up with what looks like water but is called tears. I guess that's because it really TEARs upon your heart and brings the reality in front of your eyes for it to be seen unmistakably. I wipe them away because I live in a society where men are supposed to be tough and not cry. But was I? Was I really that tough...probably not! That's for her to say. I walk with heavy steps and heavy heart towards home. In my mind, I am thinking what should I say and will she say something first and will it always be like it was - her nagging and all...or did this happen only to change things and that their relationship needed this jolt. Everything I was unsure of other than my love for her, other than the mistakes I made. </span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I guess regular life does this to regular people like me. The sight of a beautiful flower awes you but not for long, until you finally put it in a vase and then forget about it. It's only when you’re in deep thought and you watch it on your table that you see and realize the beauty it holds and how it makes your silly choice of a silly boring vase look beautiful. She is that flower in my life, I now think I ignored. </span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Remembering about the flower, I looked at the flower in my hand that I had plucked from the garden at the park. Its pale and has lost all its color. I smile sarcastically to myself and think it's because it is in my hand that it has lost its beauty and has withered away like my wife did. Or didn't it realize it was never a beautiful flower in the first place? Is there anything like a not-beautiful-flower? It's just me. It's always me...I end happiness. I am the reason why a beautiful flower like my wife has lost herself to age even before her old age. I am the cause of all her worries and wrinkles. Thinking so and glad that I could bring myself to think so deeply and so rightly...I open the door with keys only so that I don't alarm her and can find her sobbing too, sitting on the bed. I open the door and sure as heaven, she was perched on the bed. She was all dolled up for me in her pretty pink saree...the color of rose, the color of her cheeks. She somehow knows I am home. She turns around partially with a nod. And I can see her smiling lips, the half of it facing me. I am confused yet happy. I wanted to know why was she doing this? Last night, I told her it was over between us and yet here she was...inviting me to her, waiting for me to get back to her. I call out to her and rush towards her, bending on my knees, facing her, holding her hands and kissing them briskly. I apologise for my unfriendly, unkind, unsympathetic behavior. All she does is smile in return, plays with my hair and says her usual dialogue, “Lets start afresh!” she always does this. She always starts anew. She keeps giving me chances. I realised how lucky I am. We spent quality time together. I got a call from my workplace and had to rush to attend to some business. I came back home late in the evening. I had missed 20+ calls from her and she seemed dead worried to know my whereabouts. </span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Every friend of mine, whom she knew was worried and looking out for me. I received stares from my neighbours with a ‘tch-tch’ expression from many; nodding in despair, and the disappointing look in their eyes, made me feel so evil and villainous towards my own family. As if I am an irresponsible man who doesn't care much about my loved ones. I was so furious at my wife for putting me through this. I felt like I am in some wanted list of people. I wouldn't be surprised if the police was out looking for me. I reached home somehow trying to hide my face, as much as possible, and taking quick steps and sometimes leaps. The door was left ajar and I saw my wife standing there, wide-eyed! Staring at me! Before I could say anything, she yelled at me and created a scene. Every neighbour stood outside their home to see the </span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-style: italic; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">tamasha.</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-style: italic; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">While her eyes were frantically looking for solace, mine were looking at the popping heads of neighbours in the narrow street of my colony. I was raged. Couldn't she have waited for me inside the house? Though late, I would have come home sooner or later. But no! She has to play the victim card all the time. She could have made a few more calls and I could have missed a few more calls...so what!? I know she was worried sick but I was too furious to comfort her. </span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I closed the door behind me and while she continued with her ranting, walking towards the kitchen area in our small hut to fetch water for me, I ran past her and took the knife from the shelf and stabbed her 4-5 times. All of this happened in such a hurry, I didn't realise what I was doing. I was tired of the embarrassment, I wanted her to mute. I couldn't take another word from her foul mouth. It all happened in a few seconds and not even a minute ago she was ranting and her noise was getting unbearable for me. Her shrieking voice was reaching my ears like a pointed pin, piercing me and i could feel my ears bleeding. But that was just my imagination. Yes, my ears were now warm but not with blood but with guilt. My shirt was stained with actual blood - her blood, and I could never wash away these stains, my sins...not from my shirt, not from my heart. The bloodied image would haunt my mind forever. What did I just do? I had come home drunk like always. </span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">In the spur of the moment, I had killed my wife. The wife who loved me and the wife I loved dearly. I know it's hard to believe, even for me. I am insane. I wail loudly releasing my loss. I look at her now still body, the silence outside was actually echoing my insides...I was left speechless, heartless. I was losing it. I had already lost it - the hold on me, the control on my mind. No, no, no! This is not happening. I shout out her name aloud, wanting to hear her irritating voice. For once, that voice would soothe me. For once, I was dying to hear her. She was worried about me because once in the near past, I had escaped death while I was walking on the road, all drunk. This was what worried her the most. She wanted me to come home early and then do what I desired to ensure I am safe around her. And this is her reward. I desired her end.</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Who am I? I'd say you know me. I am one of the many people you see around you. I am not just a slum inhabitant, I am also a person you know who lives in the Midas land. I deserve no introduction other than an ‘alcoholic, an abuser, inhuman, undeserving and a beast’. </span></div>
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EmotiveAdventures - A Writer Inscribing Emotionshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17566459389836608590noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2824921700168711531.post-72755350699754409972017-09-09T22:50:00.002-07:002017-09-09T23:01:45.902-07:00Everything Short!<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="font-family: inherit; white-space: pre-wrap;">I am short of words to write about everything that’s short.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Not a great blog - this one, and definitely not an attempt to mock something/someone that’s short but just sharing my observation. Why this topic, suddenly? Well, just a thought...some experiences and some people in my life whom I know for sure are short but strong in every aspect of their lives.</span><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">Like there is a popular saying about people who are tall have their brains in their </span>knees,<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> or something of that sort. Now </span>thats<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> for fun, right! So, what my observation is with people who are short is that they are really dominating. They want to ensure they </span>are not brushed<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> aside for their petite size and so have a very strong personality. They don’t just say things...they make statements. And I think they are very strong-willed, too. </span></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: inherit; font-style: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><b>Shortcuts </b></span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: inherit; font-style: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">are dangerous but definitely luring.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"><b>Short sentences</b>, too, are more impactful. Sarcasm is short too. They are like the real punch on the face. </span><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">Long sentences, on the other hand, are boring and the meaning tends to get lost.</span></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: inherit; font-style: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Life, too, is too short as we realize, when nearing the end. There is always so much more left to see or experience, or learn. </span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: inherit; font-style: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><b>Short haircuts</b></span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: inherit; font-style: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> are cool too. They make one feel more self-confident and in control.</span><br />
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: inherit; font-style: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><b>Short-term courses</b></span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: inherit; font-style: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> are more loved too. The results are faster. ;)</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: inherit; font-style: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">The </span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: inherit; font-style: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><b>short deadlines</b></span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: inherit; font-style: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> at work...OMG! They really make you think on your toes and bring the best under pressure for most. </span><br />
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: inherit; font-style: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">The </span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: inherit; font-style: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><b>short blurbs </b></span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: inherit; font-style: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">speak a lot about the contents of the book. Also, has the power to improve the sales.</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: inherit; font-style: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Short is crisp. Short is neat. Short is noticeable. Short is simple. Short is definitely not long. And Short is “Short and Sweet”.</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: inherit; font-style: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Having said that, I plan to shorten this blog a bit too ;)</span></div>
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<span style="color: black; font-family: inherit; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><b>Short summary</b></span><span style="color: black; font-family: inherit; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">: Think about it...when you’re short of words, you smile instead. :) </span></div>
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EmotiveAdventures - A Writer Inscribing Emotionshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17566459389836608590noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2824921700168711531.post-65125823119370297722017-07-20T19:16:00.000-07:002017-07-28T05:41:34.764-07:00Its the LOUDEST sound ever, IT KILLS! its SILENCE (Part 1)<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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.<br />
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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!!! </div>
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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.<br />
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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.<br />
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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.<br />
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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.<br />
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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.<br />
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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.</div>
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EmotiveAdventures - A Writer Inscribing Emotionshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17566459389836608590noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2824921700168711531.post-19467845691958229292017-07-19T10:24:00.001-07:002017-07-28T05:24:47.221-07:00Silence - Part 2<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="color: #454545; font-family: times, times new roman, serif; font-size: medium;">Silence is hardly a prayer...</span><br />
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<span style="color: #454545; font-family: times, times new roman, serif; font-size: medium;">I feel silence is for the strong minds and meditating they say brings peace...</span><br />
<span style="color: #454545; font-family: times, times new roman, serif; font-size: medium;">but to meditate, we need to practice silence first...</span><br />
<span style="color: #454545; font-family: times, times new roman, serif; font-size: medium;">And silencing our thoughts seems the hard part</span><br />
<span style="color: #454545; font-family: times, times new roman, serif; font-size: medium;">My attempt at being silent may look successful from the outside but from within...</span><br />
<span style="color: #454545; font-family: times, times new roman, serif; font-size: medium;">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. </span><br />
<span style="color: #454545; font-family: times, times new roman, serif; font-size: medium;">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...</span><br />
<span style="color: #454545; font-family: times, times new roman, serif; font-size: medium;">But no sooner did I say it, I remember having felt exactly the opposite.</span><br />
<span style="color: #454545; font-family: times, times new roman, serif; font-size: medium;">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.</span><br />
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<span style="color: #454545; font-family: times, times new roman, serif; font-size: medium;">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? </span><br />
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<span style="color: #454545; font-family: times, times new roman, serif; font-size: medium;">Sure, I find enlightenment when my surroundings quieten and my thoughts speak aloud in my head. <b>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. </b></span><br />
<span style="color: #454545; font-family: times, times new roman, serif; font-size: medium;">but by then, the damage is done. Ta-Da! </span><br />
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<span style="color: #454545; font-family: times, times new roman, serif; font-size: medium;">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. </span><br />
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<span style="color: #454545; font-family: times, times new roman, serif; font-size: medium;">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.</span></div>
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EmotiveAdventures - A Writer Inscribing Emotionshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17566459389836608590noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2824921700168711531.post-59326455239344187562017-04-16T13:52:00.002-07:002017-07-28T05:28:57.938-07:00Spooked<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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.<br />
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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.<br />
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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.<br />
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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</div>
EmotiveAdventures - A Writer Inscribing Emotionshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17566459389836608590noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2824921700168711531.post-84060208178710152772017-02-07T15:47:00.001-08:002017-07-28T05:30:49.903-07:00Age-Old Moral Stories with a Twist<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<b>The Hare and the Tortoise</b> -The first in the series!</div>
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Long ago, as we know, the tortoise won the race, only because the hare was over-confident.</div>
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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?</div>
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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.</div>
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Now, read this new version of the story.</div>
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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.</div>
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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.<br />
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The tortoise, however, keeps walking and later, reaches the finishing line...the finishing line??? Yes, the finishing line!</div>
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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. </div>
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EmotiveAdventures - A Writer Inscribing Emotionshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17566459389836608590noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2824921700168711531.post-62856444950208483042016-11-03T10:36:00.000-07:002017-07-28T05:36:40.017-07:00Coping with the Death of a Loved One<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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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? <o:p></o:p></div>
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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. <o:p></o:p></div>
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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.<o:p></o:p></div>
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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. <o:p></o:p></div>
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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.<o:p></o:p></div>
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EmotiveAdventures - A Writer Inscribing Emotionshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17566459389836608590noreply@blogger.com0