Most people are other people. Their thoughts are someone else's opinions, their lives a mimicry, their passions a quotation -- Oscar Wilde

Dressed in a beautiful saree, decked in the finest jewellery, I looked expectantly at the mirror - I looked weird! My face looked bloated and disproportionate. I looked fat and short. 

It took me some time to get over the shock, and once done, I looked again at another mirror…my abnormally thin and elongated face stared back, I looked too slim and too tall!

‘But that's not me!’, I exclaimed. 

I walked across a wall of mirrors and confronted a new series of reflections, each showing a different me…I felt confused and lost.

This frightful experience got me thinking. Why did I need approval for my appearance from the mirrors? Why can't I trust myself and believe, irrespective of what the contradictory mirrors say, I LOOK GOOD. 

In spite of being powerful in her own way, the wicked stepmother called out each day, 

‘Mirror, Mirror on the wall, who’s fairest of them all?’

Why did she need confirmation from her mirror?

Why do we need approval from others? Are we too high on confidence that we are sure of praises, or are we too low that we need crutches?

Whenever we need to back our thoughts or ideas we always quote a higher authority and say how it has somewhat echoed our thoughts and when contradicted we start rethinking. 

Why do we give so much importance to others’ opinions that it somehow starts manipulating our own thoughts? 

Most of the things, these days, have become artificial -  forget nails and hair,  people's behaviour too has lost its uniqueness. Trying to stand out as different has made us the most ordinary. How can we be unique if we are too influenced by someone else?

It took one Pied Piper to lead an army of rats…similarly one winner can suddenly give birth to thousands of aspiring clones, each copying and competing to one day replace the original. Hence, losing their originality in the rat race. 

Instead why don't they be inspired, and aspire to be a maverick?

Protecting or Hiding?

 

While peeling the onions I started wondering why God made them special…are they His favoured children so He is keeping them cocooned?

Or is it His way of saying we should hide our true feelings within layers of made-up emotions? Or is it how He wants us to see life…peeling each layer and finding surprises, smiles even shocks and tears?

Scientists have given findings, philosophers reasons and dreamers their fantasy…but the bottom line is each pair of eyes and brain have their own story and their own reaction. 

Isn't it the same with life? While facing similar situations we react differently, we handle it differently and each of us play a different blame game…

Not many courageous hands would come up to acknowledge the responsibility or to face the criticism. Mostly would prefer to hide under layers of excuses, lies and oh God why me-s!

Maybe realising that layers would only encourage us to be cowards, God decided we shouldn't be  physically cocooned and be bold enough to handle every challenge. 

Instead He gave us emotional layers as both weapons and shields.

The Vexing Weaver

Exasperated, I looked at my treasure of cups hanging at the window. An overactive spider had, yet again, spun a web through their handles. Being the prolific storyteller, it loves spinning tales with the produce of its spinneret. 

Winding through the hooks and handles, fueled with its grit, like a crafty matchmaker, interweaving each member with silk,  it creates a long family chain. 

A master weaver but a complete spoilsport, strewing unwanted blossoms only to add another crease to our foreheads and reach out for that sole weapon, The Broom.

Endless battles...

Lost in the maze of opinions

self doubting my own self,

Trudging through the dirt

of abuses and blames,

Trying to sanctify myself

with my own tears.

Cutting through the cobwebs

of living nightmares,

With sharp blades

of determination and purpose.

The goal seems too far fetched 

without a defined path.

Fuelled with the chants

of I have to do it and 

I can do it...

How long can I maintain the zeal?

How long can I survive the war?

 

Bidding Farewell to my Dream City - Namma Bengalooru

Saying goodbye to places is not new to me. There are towns, cities even countries I have bid farewell to...always wishing I could come back but always knowing I would never return. I have survived each of the heart wrenching moment. This time however, seems to be different. This is going to be the toughest goodbye of them all. Could it be because this is my dream city or is it because this is where I started my marital life or is it because each time I get off from the train / plane and step on Bangalore's soil it always feels like homecoming or maybe it could be for the reason that this is the city of my favorite cricketer. The reason could be any but the crux is I love this place...I love the city.

It is raining outside. I can hear the pattering of the raindrops and the growling thunder. The candle flickers each time a gust of wind caresses it...yes you guessed it right...there is a power cut and today I do not have the heart to curse it because today I am enjoying the beauty of a candle lit evening. I am not upset about drying the clothes, just out of the washing machine, in my living room because today I realize that I do not have many rainy evenings left in Bangalore... I may be gone before the monsoon arrives.

As I look back to the dawn I first came to Bangalore, some eight years ago, I can still visualize my husband and me sitting in an auto-rickshaw, chilled to the bone, heading towards our hotel. With chattering teeth we were asking for direction from passerby. The warmth that we received from them showed us that we were welcome to their city.

With passing years I have experienced the weather getting warmer and the people getting colder, the traffic becoming thicker and the density of trees becoming thinner. The influx of people from every stratum of society from all over India has dimmed the beauty and serenity of this city, however, in my heart I know that my love for this city will never diminish.

As I bid adieu to the "Garden City" I wish it may regain its lost beauty so that someone else coming to this city may relieve the wonderful time I spent here...

A New Beginning?

These days reading the newspaper with the morning cup of tea ceases to be a pleasure...thanks to the increasing violence.

However, what really shocks me is the rise in the number of suicides committed. The reasons for the self immolation are many...students failing in exams, lovers failing in love, dowry harassment, molestation, financial crunch, rising work-life imbalance...the list is unending.

Well, what really gets me thinking are not these external factors behind killing self. I really wonder what a person feels before taking this dire step...is it the feeling of being a failure, inability to cope up with the peer pressure, embarrassment or does it mean ending the troubled life to make a new beginning...........in the next life....

Home

It seems a lifetime when I believed
There was a place where I belonged
A place called Home…..the place I owned

Where I could be as free as the wind
Or as authoritative as the king
Maybe as willful as the young stream
Or as colorful as a sweet dream

Where I would get up each morning
Secured to find the same wall, same floor, same ceiling
Knowing where to find my things and where to keep looking
I was sure of every step that I took
Sure of the ground on which I stood
I was familiar with all the things wherever I looked

It was my home…..a place that I owned
It was my home…..a place where I belonged

The cool breeze, when I opened the window, entered the room
The beautiful sunshine made my little kingdom bloom
As I gazed at the hill the way I did every morning
It seemed to say, “Good Morning my Sweet Little Darling”

I stepped out into the garden and walked on the soft grass
Looked at the beautiful flowers and breathed in the sweet fragrance
Spoke to the trees as I always did
Watered the plants and plucked out some weed
It felt wonderful it felt like heaven
May I stay here forever, I wished then

It was my home…..a place that I owned
It was my home…..a place where I belonged

Wishes do come true but not always
As I soon discovered with tears in my eyes…
I was severed from the roots where I had grown
I was refused the home which I had owned
It was for my future they said
Which in ruins then laid

‘Join the race and seek the world
It will be good for you to keep ahead’
With these words I was uprooted and
Taken far away from the place I loved…..
I owned...….I belonged
The place to which I was always related

The new house which no more was my home
Also had walls, floor and ceiling
But they could never evoke the same feeling

With tears in my eyes I opened the window
The cool breeze entered…alas there was no kingdom
The sunshine was not as bright or beautiful
Or was it my mood that was awful?
As I peered out I could see no hill
Without it, to live on, I had no will

I stepped out into the garden
Everything was new, everything was different
There was no known color no familiar scent

Lost and broken I sat down on a step
Oh! It was hard and cold
I looked around for something that was
Even distinctly familiar
Alas! There was none

It was a house not my home…….
My home…..a place that I owned
My home …...a place where I belonged
I lost it somewhere down the road
Lost it to some horde

Sitting down on the steps I recalled
I was sent here to get my future secured

I struggled each day to succeed
But books were not my only need
I was looking for my home…….
Looking for something known

As I studied new lessons I was awed
How beautiful was the world outside!
But something died within me deep inside

My future each day was getting more secured
And I…….more insecure

It was for my good they said …………

What was the best for me was not good enough
It brightened my future but darkened my inner self