A Letter To A Stranger

Dear Stranger,

For the first time in my life, I'm thinking about you. You, as a person, with a strong personality. You...

Every single day, you walk past me, completely unnoticed. You may be smiling, or you may be morose, but you go by with as lilliputian a presence as ever.

Because of your minute existence on my Road of Life, do I overlook you? Do I forget to appreciate your well-being, or mourn your dolefulness? Have I forgotten that you are as much a human as I am, with similar, even larger, difficulties?

Drowning in the sea of my own sorrow and disappointment, do I forget that you, who I see everyday, have a similar mind? That I have no right to blame Nature because Nature is unfair to everyone, including you and me?

I ask the world around me - why is this happening to me? Do I ever ask why it's happening to you? Or us? Consumed with myself I am, thinking I'm the most hapless person in this whole wide world. Now I realize, it's a big mistake.

You made me think, dear stranger. If life is unfair to everyone, why be sad about it? Why not live it as joyfully as possible, fulfilling your wishes and not getting depressed when they aren't? Along with it, why not make life a bit more fair for everyone - think less of ourselves and more of others? More of each other?

Our body is an effective mask, an illusion as strong as any, through which we fail to see the heart, filled with bundles of mixed emotions. I forgot that life is beautiful and complex, and that yours is as topsy-turvy as mine. 

Who knows what you're suffering from? Why you were compelled to do that thing? Take the jump, or fashion the blade?

I feel as much regret as you, as much felicity as you, keep as many expectations as you. Yet, there is the difference of the land and the sky between us. Then why not appreciate each other's existence, and exist together in harmony, complementing each other's presence on this earth? 

As I look at you, I try to imagine you at your home. There you are, sitting on the side of a sick mother, or carrying your dead father to the hospital. There you are, not able to get your wished-for job, seeing your dreams break apart. You may feel there's no one to understand you.

However, by thinking about this mystery you are trapped in, I feel empathy surge inside me, and I can proudly say, that I care for you, and I believe in you. 

From now on, I promise to understand you, and by doing that, understand myself to an even greater extent.

With Love,
Another Thoughtful Stranger

Running Away

My hands pulled at my tie, removing it and throwing it aside. The disappointment conquering my brain couldn't be more well-pronounced - why doesn't anyone understand me? Every time something starts getting better, it becomes even worse.

I spent a fortune on this house, my latest-tech phone, those smart glasses. I even gave up my own ways to relate with the modern people of this world - my old eating habits, washing habits etc, thinking, the result would help me fare, making me a better person.

Help could not be spared by anyone, even sympathy was a hard thing to come by. Does anyone care? Do the people of this world deserve to exist? Do I deserve to exist?

I sat on the bench, pondering my life gone wrong. This sadness caused me to observe my new house better than ever - I had never appreciated the airiness and freshness provided by the trees and the grass.

I stood up, walked over to the center of the lawn, and lied down, arms and legs in the shape of a snow angel. Those small plants pricked me and raised me out of my sadness into a sky full of understanding. I looked at the leaves, waving and calling out to me.

Immediately, I knew what to do.

Without a moment's delay, I prepared for my plans. When all the material was packed and clasped tightly in my arms, I made my way to that giver of life, the forest.

I decided to walk, taking in my surroundings to the fullest. My feet trod on different paths, each teaching me something, telling me something about myself. When I was on the verge of getting to know what I truly was, I saw the canopy of trees.

My legs couldn't resist the urge - they ran as fast as they could, propelled by the soothing air, which constantly whistled in my ears, inspiring me to move on. I kept running until I reached a place much out of reach of the outside world.

Opening my pack, I took all the wood and began the work. Surprisingly, it never felt tedious to build my would-be home myself. The insects moving around me gave me company as I positioned the wood at the right place.

Finally, when the last stone was resting in its place, completing the charming little cabin, I took a look around. Green. Yellow. Brown. Black. Orange. My eyes whirred through the phenomenal transformation of colour taking place, reminding me of the transformation I had just gone through.

Death - Why So Afraid?

On asking people what they fear the most, more than half of them would say that death is the phenomenon that frightens them the most. Why death, I wonder?

Death is a beautiful thing. Our whole life is spent with the aim of a proper death. If we live for death, why be afraid of it? Maybe, death is just another facet of life! It's a mysterious thing - what does death represent? Is it the end?

The fact that I can die any moment, maybe even while writing this, exempts me from fearing it. It is inevitable, has to come some day. Why treat it as if it's the worst thing that can happen to a human being?

For some, it's the best that can happen to them.

Why don't we concentrate on living, rather than dying? Live every moment of the present like its filling you up completely. Death will come as a natural thing then.

See, that's the problem with many people. They live their lives, fretting and alert for the skeletal reach of the end. Result? They die, regretful, sorry for their past mistakes. They, unfortunately, don't know that immortality can be achieved in another person's heart!

The only thing I hate about it is the effect it has on the people around you.  For this, death should be perceived as something completely normal, and should not be mourned. I know it is really very difficult, but still ideal.

Sorry for depressing you on this already-depressing Sunday, but, as Dumbledore says,

"Death is but the next great adventure!"

The Much Awaited Moment

14 August, 1947

Gayatri ran her hands through the smooth, silky cloth of the sari her mother had gifted her. The softness of the fabric, a reminder of the good thriving in her country, calmed her disturbed mind. She brought the sari closer to her nose, taking in the scent. She was going to wear it on the auspicious day – the day for which she had been waiting ever since her…

Screams filled her ears and a splatter of blood obscured her vision. The air was saturated with the words Help! Help! The sounds of whips caused her to lift her hands to her ears, shutting down the flashback.

Her cacophonous thoughts reminded her of her grandfather, killed in that bloody raid. Anger surged in her heart, mixed with an unwanted grief. Grandpa…

Tonight, the deeds of the culprit would be avenged. Many years ago, her uncle, her mamaji, had killed his wife for protecting his beloved. Gayatri hadn't eaten for days, she remembered. But tonight, the good will triumph.

However, the usual silence before the storm was brimming with riots between the Hindus and the Muslims. Why weren’t they rejoicing? Everyone’s wish was going to come true. Then why were the communal groups fighting?

Doesn’t Bapu say everyone’s equal and needs to unite?

After tonight’s turning events, she would be able to walk freely on the streets, in the galis, without the unsettled fear of any impending danger. She would be able to experience watching a film, able to eat food of her choice…

She was going to be independent. Hindustan was going to be independent.

Gayatri smiled. Pakistan had gained its freedom today, it was only a matter of time before…

She didn’t know what it was like to be free – to voice your opinions, to not hesitate. What with the valiant nationalists, she was soon going to learn.

In her heart of hearts, glory was finding its way. Now everyone in the world would know the injustice her country had been subjected to. Added to that, the earth will discover the talent of her motherland’s people – the weavers of intricate cloths, the makers of savoury dishes… the Hindustanis.

‘Gayatri!’ A voice rang out through the room in which she was contemplating the near future. ‘Gayatri! The time has come!’

She quickly changed into the sari she'd been clasping in her hands. With every twist of cloth, the excitement increased.

An adrenaline rush prompted the girl to run out of the room, straight into her maa’s arms. ‘Maa, is it true then, is it really going to happen?’

‘We have to go, Gayatri. Come, I we will walk to the nearby intersection. Mohan is driving the cart to the fort. Come on, dear!’

As Maa walked, Gayatri skipped on her toes, the situation seeming unbelievable. The galis were almost empty now, everyone having departed already. The rest were humming, secretly rejoicing in the moonlight that seemed to renew every moment.

When they reached Mohan, the jolly and good-hearted cart man, he ushered them on with a smile. Gayatri knew what he was thinking – the thought was dwelling in everyone’s minds at that time.

As they drove on, the trees greeted Gayatri like an old friend, waving their leaves at her. They too must be happy, she thought. Smiling at each person she saw, she waited for The Moment.

After a few minutes of patience, a magnificent fort of red sandstone loomed before her. The Red Fort. She checked her watch. 12:00 a.m.

Gayatri, her mother and Mohan joined the crowd gathered in front of the pedestal. The same mood hung over the monsoon air – that of relief, wonder, intrigue. Suddenly, a cheer erupted from the crowd. Narrowing her eyes in focus, Gayatri saw the familiar man with that familiar topi. Chacha Nehru!

As he began to speak, an abrupt silence blocked the throats of the onlookers. Everyone was quiet.

‘At the stroke of the midnight hour, when the world sleeps, India will awake to life and freedom.’

Gayatri felt herself lifting off the ground as she celebrated the moment with joy.

The Reality of Religion

Religion - well, what do we think it really is? Most of us think that religion constitutes different sects of people having the same views and believing in the same ideals.

I disagree.

All of us are born into our religions. Since our birth, we are spoon-fed the different ideas that were laid down by the founder of that religion. As a Hindu, even before I know what Lord Krishna has really done, I am taught to worship him. Something similar to this may also happen in Christian or Muslim or Sikh households.

In short, instead of seeing the world through our own eyes and judging it on the basis of what we think and forming our own opinions, we are told the scheme of things which the religion says. Result? We see the world through biased eyes.

I think religion should not mark where a person belongs to or in how kind of family he/she was born. Instead, religion should be understood as a group of ideas, which can be followed by any person irrespective of their birth.

Why see the universe from just one point of view? From the beginning, the focus should be on teaching different ideas promoted by various people. You are free to follow the one which seems more plausible, or, better still, form your own set of ideals.

I don't call myself a Hindu, or a Muslim, or anything of that sort. I have views which range from Hinduism to Christianity to Islam. But it's not like only those ideals set in Hinduism appeal to me. I have read about these things, and have formed my own opinions.

So why trap your mind? Let the river of your mind flow to far-off lands and see the world in the eyes of a new-born!

Another Piece of Poetry

The waves of Time washed upon her,
Hauling the feather along
The sand, wet with sorrow
The shells, accompanying her song.