turmoils

there is only so much a man can take
but i give up, for once i wished i didn't have watsapp.. for once in the many times i wish i was in an era of letters. where people took no liberties of staying mad forever, or where there was no space left for misunderstandings, or where feelings meant much more to dash them away.. i wish..
why my post.. i have had a tough day and a night emotionally taxing.. trying to save friendships , apologizing to people.. why i do? i don't know.. cause i care? i guess.. i do.. no matter how much i try..
does the time spent hold no value? does caring for some people whom you hold dear, not enough?
i am emotionally exhausted and spent.
seas are never smooth.. but when they are rough.. often the ship wrecks. the ship, the crew, the timbers all washed away swept to be never seen or found.. perhaps a few debris sweep up the beach.. painfully reminding of the once majestic ship with a crew of many...
friendships are similar... built with love and care the timbers.. the memories the crew.. whole together the ship.. once shattered is never placed back, never glued back.. and someday when you are sitting on a beach and sudden memory flashes by.. and you are painfully reminded of a once friendship, of a bond that once was so dear.
and when there are three ships sinking together at the same time.. its hard.. its more like a 100 typhoons raging over, howling but you are there trying to stire clear of it.. tugging the ropes hard.. holding on to the ships.. but will the hold stay? shall you see a new sun?

Long or short?

It’s an eternal question of doubt ever since Eve had hair. The length is pretty important. Too short may make you look too boyish or too long may make you look like a lice ridden long jata of the beggar.

SNIP SNIP!

When we were children never bothered about hair much. I remember sitting in a stool in front of baba as he masterfully snipped off hair to a perfect “bati chaat” (bowl cut) it’s like those monk cuts except for the bald patch in the middle.

A few years and i started to yearn for long hair just to tie a tiny ponytail perhaps. But nah, too troublesome for a daughter of both parent’s working again i didn’t bother.

A few more years and i started to grow it. With a lot of pride i showed it off to my friends but as ever it was shunned saying “cmon that’s not long!” but my pride just thought “ huh! They are just jealous!”  But 5 months into growing it long and i was fed up already and cut it short. Short very short. I wonder how rapunzel ever managed to even comb it everyday!  

FYI: longest hair record is held by Xie Qiuping (China) at 5.627m (18 ft 5.54 in). It’s almost like growing hair is her super power!

People make a lot of fuss about hair. After my daring act of chopping of the mane, i got so many reviews about it. Some said “oh god your long hair!” (like i lost an arm!) some complimented rest disgusted. It’s like a taboo having short hair. Like it’s to own to being disciple of satan,  to have short hair. It’s a conservative and dogmatic  society. Refusing to see the logicality of the concept.  No wonder hair products have such a huge consumer all over India. So much hair does require a lot of shampoo and conditioner.

Bare with me. After effects of environment education exam and not to mention exams OVER! A whole 5 semesters blinked away! 

Beauty in randomness..or even the other way around

Whether its beauty in randomness or randomness is beauty is one and the same thing.. there is an explicit beauty in the random things which one chances to notice upon.. the haphazard random way the wild flowers grow over an equally tumbled down wall... or the random way the slum houses look from far away like they are a card castle (of course many might not think so.. but i really marvel that they hold their ground without toppling down by the breeze) a random smile on someone’s face, the frothing waves which emerge randomly from the sea and hit the shore creating nature's art on the sand, the cracks on glass which are seemingly random but yet create patterns (from a cracked mobile screen i have to look into every day!), the random way all the books and things around my room are kept (though this point is strongly opposed by ma.. again i have an anomalous concept for beauty).. such a concept was displayed by an artist in some art museum in Paris.. a room full of scattered rubbish right from tickets to thermocol to plastic bags were all scattered around.. we mistook it to be a room under cleaning but on enquiring was found that it was a work of art!! After all those years this came back to my mind that may be what the artist did want to convey was random things indeed has an appeal of its own.. and may be just may be modern art is about random strokes and thoughts creating a whole new picture (yes, i am still trying to come up with an explainable meaning for modern art)

And now that i got talking about randomness... may be fate is disguised randomness..... 

                         an instrument of patterned randomness....

What happens when your mom goes into battling-the-dust mode (dust terminator)?????

And you are made the lieutenant in the army of two who have waged a war against million dust devils.. some might call foolish but i call it “THE HOME WAR”....

Tools for the battle are brooms, dusters, vacuum cleaners.. and the armoury being scarves and duppatas wrapped around in dacoit style.. i even took the liberty of sporting a pair of goggles(looking fashionable during war doesn’t harm,does it? )  

And the great war ensues...Grim situation... and i crumble into the the self-destructive mode due to the "achooo viruses" which the dust devils have cleverly targeted, causing explosive noises which in no way scares away the inanimate things and i am send off to do less life threatening jobs as my mom fights the war bravely proving that she is an one man army against the millions...   

Moments like these make me so proud of her..(tears) :’)

PENning the PEN’S story

I am a significant piece of insignificance

A slender tube of plastic, ink and nib

Through ages humans have made and remade me..

I am a vital tool of their expression

I am a medium to their thoughts

You will find me in abundance but still give a frantic search for me while noting a phone number

My lifespan is as long as i have ink to spare..

I have been shared, borrowed, fought over and with..

I have even been the accessory to the buds of friendship...

At times i am thrown

At times kept in a drawer  forgotten..

And a few many times preserved as a memorable gift from someone special....

I come in all shapes, colours and sizes.. and even types!

I will never disappoint you with my diversity.. cause i have a choice for each and every liking..

I can be fancy and strict ,showy and subtle...

I am used by all, but fascination of few..

I have played a silent role in all your lives..

Right from when you were a kid!

Remember bragging about me to your friends

About the first time you upgraded from a mere pencil to the magnificent sword of me....

As you aged i became a necessity... a tool without which you were lost in the classrooms...

Without which pages of the notebook were white as the untouched snow...

You grew, still older and i was forgotten in the maze of the alphabets on the keyboard..

No more was I needed..

No more was my friend ,the pages heeded..

But I am happy for the part I played

All those lives I touched and stayed..

I have and always am a significant piece of insignificance...

p.s : When i meant something of everything I literally did mean ANYTHING and EVERYTHING!!!!