A dawn in the breaking

Under the lilac canopy-like dome, 

The crickets were slowly losing their hold. 

The bats navigated their way back in silence, 

The green of the trees woke up to gold. 

The colour was mysteriously natural, 

And it promised of so much more.

The larks and the myna spoke of the old times, 

Their song encrypted in a mystical lore. 

The breeze greeted me with its mist 

And I instinctively looked north.

Smiling at the beauty unfolding, 

I wondered when it was last that I had welcomed the morning with such warmth. 

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The Imperceptible

It doesn’t always take harsh words or big fights for a heart to break into two. Mostly, it is the simple gestures that are enough to cause the pain of a knife in your insides. Changed people, or changed times… No one can be so sure, except that there Is a change. Not enough to pinpoint or to mark with a different colored marker, but something so minute and imperceptible that it leaves you gasping for a more tangible contrast- something you can be sure of, something you can allow yourself to cry over, something you find worth the trouble of letting go.

The power to make magic

You stare at the moon and watch it change colour. You look at it blankly and wonder why it was you in that sad place, in that sorry state.You look at the moon and slip in thoughts of possibilities; you ponder at the chances that you could have taken, would have taken if the world was kinder to you. You blink at the stark contrast and wonder if you got everything you deserved, or anything at all that you were worthy of. You do this every once in a while to treat yourself to self pity. You take consolation in thinking that you are the victim of the world and a slave to your destiny. You will be disappointed to know that you are alone in no way. 

But you have a way to rise above the crowd. Make something substantial of this very realization. 

Do not wait for the morning. Let the moon watch you while you grow and spread love with what you have, and you’ll see how you can create magic out of the opportunity called life.

The power to make magic

You stare at the moon and watch it change colour. You look at it blankly and wonder why it was you in that sad place, in that sorry state.You look at the moon and slip in thoughts of possibilities; you ponder at the chances that you could have taken, would have taken if the world was kinder to you. You blink at the stark contrast and wonder if you got everything you deserved, or anything at all that you were worthy of. You do this every once in a while to treat yourself to self pity. You take consolation in thinking that you are the victim of the world and a slave to your destiny. You will be disappointed to know that you are alone in no way. 

But you have a way to rise above the crowd. Make something substantial of this very realization. 

Do not wait for the morning. Let the moon watch you while you grow and spread love with what you have, and you’ll see how you can create magic out of the opportunity called life.

If only… 

You would take the time to say Bye before hanging up on your mother
You would initiate an apology without bothering to check who was right

You would have chosen the pastry over the oats

You would hug for a moment longer 

You would take that walk on the cold sand 

You would stop by to return a stranger’s smile

You would laugh without a care

You would love with your heart and soul
If only you knew what lay ahead. 

Take that leap

In one refined moment, if you feel like doing something unimaginable, something that may be possible only at that moment in the history and future of time, do it. Do not think about the rationality of it. Do not fear the outcome, for it is not upto you to control it. Do what is in your control. Take that leap. You may not soar as high as you intended to. 

You may not soar at all.

You may not like the landing, and you may regret letting go off the railing.

But secretly, your heart will cherish the free fall.

Morya


If the deafening music from the dhol wasn’t enough, there came spurts of fire crackers in the form of bombs that left a missing beat for most. Tens of feet danced to perfect beats as occasional bouts of gulal stained the misted air. 

I tried my best to divert my attention to the feel of the rhythm of blood flowing through the arteries in my ears. Blocking both my ears with all my might couldn’t keep the noise of the dhol out of my hearing. Through the shut glass windows of my balcony, I didn’t need to strain much to see the multi foot tall idol of lord Ganesh placed in the carrier area of a huge truck. The idol was elaborated with garlands and flowers, with bright colours further accentuated by the flash of spot lights. Through the purposefully created smile of the Idol, I imagined what would cause its eyes to be saddened. The entire procession held a long queue of traffic waiting behind it, the blaring horns of the impatient commuters being overpowered by the beat of superfast bollywood numbers imitated by the hired band. The crowd was in thousands, a few were drunk enough to even dance to silence. The others, unmindful of the ambulance they were holding up behind them, kept chanting morya morya.

In the momentum, I too, summoned the Gods in my head and prayed to them to give some wisdom to the crowd so they can open their eyes to the plight beyond the elaborate idol of clay. 

I did my best to answer my own doubts about the symbolic festival that Ganesh Chaturthi was supposed to be, and tried to comprehend why its underlying purpose was overshadowed by the blinding focus lights; and its simplicity smothered by the dominance of the dhol.