Should I swagger, or just move like Jagger ? March 14, 2012Posted by Akriti Bahal in Excitement, Happiness, Life, Love, Mother, Satisfaction.
Feels the time as one can say,
The nostalgic days up here, time and again.
Seems the Sunlight shining in the day.
Is the new companion that always finds its way.
Makes its way.
The olfactory glands through the hallway.
Softly into the palate leaving a trace of its reign.
Now, should I jabber more,
Or just directly swagger my score? (*Wink*)
Ain’t it *REAL HARDWORK* ? (Wink, wink again!)
Because I Was Too Busy Too Care January 27, 2012Posted by Akriti Bahal in Humaneness, India, Sad, Satisfaction.
How many times do we find ourselves present in a place of commotion and we actually act for it? How many times have we stood up to support a cause to bring in any change? How many times have you stepped up for others, if your aid could be the one that could change a person’s life?
Of course you don’t remember, because you were too busy to care.
We all do stop by traffic signals every now and then and we all, surely, do come across young kids begging with wounded and bruised hands. I agree that’s a different sort of business that goes on in our country, but have you ever stopped to humbly ask any one of the little souls; maybe have a complaisant conversation with one of them? Who knows, out of his innocence and ‘love for chocolates’, he might just end up telling you what goes on behind the scenes. Did you ever get down of your luxurious car to do so? Oh! Maybe you were just too scared of the rash Delhi roads to get out. Okay, understandable! I sympathize with you.
India. Winter. The hot tea. And the tea stalls. Yes, I know you get the very picture of it, we all Indians do. As much as we love to bring in the Indian-ness by binging in on a cup of strong hot tea (or I should say, a glass of strong hot tea) from a tea stall, that much we also like to ignore the things that goes around us. Yes! Yes! You would probably speed up your car to specially reach your favourite tea stall, get served by a chotu, but you would never care to even give a second thought to talk to the kid, trying to make him cognizant of the wrong and thus,saving him from child labour. Have you ever stopped to spend a minute of your precious time to do so? Or, probably it was just too cold for you to act. Okay, justifiable enough.
Living in a country like ours, where everyone is on a run, a different form of F1 race is seen on the roads everyday with new participants signing in each day. When the number of participants increase to a myriad, so does their racer-cars, and also does the road accidents. How many of us have actually come out to help a victim of an accident? Or maybe, you just considered it as just-another-histrionic-event and sped your car away from it. Of course, you were in a rush to reach home as you were missing your favorite TV serial -a better dramatic deal. Fair enough.
Then, can we say that humanity still dwells inside us? We easily expostulate for what we do or just say, “Who cares?!”
In one way or the other, we are always carping and find excuses to blame someone or something. How many times do we actually act? Sometimes Yes, Mostly No! Because most of us are just Too Busy To Care. We feel for the issue, imbue the commotion, we even feel inspired to do something, but most of the time, that inspiration loses its way in our packed, no-time-to-think, no-space-to-breathe, BUSY schedules.
Realizing, I can say that if I had stopped to help the tenuous woman in rags who abruptly fell on the road, maybe out of undernourishment, then maybe humaneness still existed, at least for her it did. If I had politely reacted to the kids begging near the shopping complexes, and hadn’t angrily rebuffed their presence when they touched my arm, then maybe mankind still persisted for some lots.
And It won’t go without any events of healing.
Yeah This time.
Because everything is disseminating into the air.
And this time
I am not too busy that I won’t care.
I Stare At The Girl Who Stares Back At Me January 19, 2012Posted by Akriti Bahal in 2012, Feelings, Fiction, Life, Peace, Sad, Satisfaction.
Tags: girl in the mirror, having faith, lonely, mirror image, reflections, woman in the mirror
Rummaging through the dressing table of my thoughts, fiddling with the hair clips and the barrettes inside the chaotic silver box; searching for that tiny dazzling piece, fishing for an iota of glow and lease which can wash away all the filthy grease; I glance at the mirror. I look at the reflector sitting right in front of me, with a quiescent face much out of haze, gazing at the striking work when light meets its base. It engenders a new soul, which will always remain.
It sees you through when you cry. It hears you, sits with you when you don’t want anyone to pry. It supports you in the scorching Sun, it stays with you in the dark night’s run. When even the street lights fail to ease the plight, it moves along with you in the form of your shadow, so that you don’t lose your way through the seedy plateau.
I stare at the girl who stares back at me. Yeah, the girl in the mirror looking right in my eye with fervor.
Look at me, she says. Do you really recognize me, she surveys. You may think you see who I really am, you may feel you know where I come from. A mere mirror image, is what you call me. But, I am the ‘you’ which nobody besides me gets to see. Now, if I tell you about my part, I’m not just a figure lost in the gloominess of the dark; you can fool the world, but not my heart.
Back in time, you rebelled about the Mask that covers each one of us; trusting your thought, having faith in your insurgent slots, I hoped for more of your adamant chants, if that’s what made you rant. What happened to your expressions now, what blockades them from extruding out? Are they somewhere deep in hiding, or are they just safely residing?
I gaze at the woman in the mirror in amaze, wearing the same mask as me, but with a transparent veil and a higher sage. I utter with unrest, maybe even a little detest, “Who is this girl I see, staring straight back at me?”
I am now, I am you. I am someone that you were to transform and imbue, she expresses with a slight rage as if wanting to come out of the mirrored cage. This time with a saddened look, she shook, I don’t know what lies behind the glassy wall, is it a world where you are forced to hide your heart, or is it something you chose yourself to depart? I don’t know, I just don’t know, but one thing I would echo. There’s a heart that must be free to fly, that burns with a need to know the reasons why, when you keep it beneath a thickened ply.
I scowl as I raise my voice and frown, “Quit or I shall leave. Everybody arrives with their own set of preachings, coming close and then screeching. They know how to categorize and theorize, but nobody really knows how to empathize.”
Her countenance deepened, her brows wrinkled due to the feelings that under went vigorous fissions. And, this time she asked, “Who is this girl I see, staring straight back at me?”
With this she vanished in the hour of commotion, but she still remains with me with the same notion.
Aged A Little January 12, 2012Posted by Akriti Bahal in Crowd, Feelings, Fiction, Happiness, Peace, Satisfaction.
Tags: Aged, Brittle, express
I was juvenile when I stood into this thumping line.
The journey was slow
With each step refusing to give an easy blow.
Sweat droplets; dripping
Heat and Sun; ripping
Deluging crowd, restless to make the first round
Yeah pushing, squashing and crushing;
I took my first-shaky-step
Too timid to make a pep.
Standing in the line
Managing to breathe in the filth, in the grime
Pushing back the crass throng
As if fighting in war time;
I aged a little
Maybe got even more brittle.
I continued my sheepish-raw-steps
Though examples seemed rather inept.
But, in this course of tan
While the flooded line moved with its own plan
Stepping over you, suffocating you through;
I found a place to rant
To express; which I never could pant.
In this sluggish walk, tip-toeing my way through the flock
I, surely, aged a little
Maybe got even more brittle
But, I did find my piece-of-pax
Even though at the cost of a little tax.
With the support of the side railings
Gradually entering the house of all ailings
Little by little, metamorphosing into someone more sensible
I regained my voice
Long lost in the miseries of choice.
Yeah, I must have aged a little
Maybe got even more brittle
But, I pulled a pour of my own
That I didn’t have to borrow or loan .
Shambling with endurance
Trying to grip a strenuous balance
Falling, bruising, treading and struggling
I finally reached the door step.
Now its my moment to knock it hard
And exclaim, without any cowardly regard.
Coz I know I have aged a little
Maybe got even more brittle
But, I received a refuge from impertinence
Gained a shelter filled with breeze,
Away from any hindrance.
The journey will always continue
Just like my feelings will never subdue
And now with this prep,
I take my first step towards the door step.
** This post is dedicated to my blog, which just completed a year. It has been bearing and will keep on silently bearing my expectorates; trying hard to decode my jabberwockies.