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Illusionary Fall

As I tread,

Softly,

Into the woods,

Hazy night,

Moonlit,

Stars shining bright.

I see a squirrel,

Prancing down the bushes.

The carefree manoeuver,

The glee in its eyes.

All seemed unnatural,

In that nature’s paradise.

I walk closer,

Curiosity deepening in my mind.

As I reach for it,

I fall into a dark pit.

At first,

It was scarier than I thought.

But as I feel deeper,

It was freedom,

That engulfed my dreary heart.

I, for once,

Wasn’t complaining.

The fall, as it may seem,

Was a much awaited liberation.

I fell deep,

Deeper than it appeared.

And reached a moist spot.

I saw my own reflection.

I saw,

Beauty all around.

What is this place?

I thought.

Confused,

I forgot of the mighty fall.

Lilies, lotuses, roses,

And what not!

I couldn’t believe,

My luck. Oh God!

And the beauty,

The peace,

That I yearned for.

I could see it in the dark pit.

I experienced it,

Because of the fall!

Love,

H ❤️

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Untamed

You rise,

And fall,

And still go on.

 

You care,

You cry,

And still  manage to love.

 

You are power,

You are life.

But still treated as a mice.

 

The  beauty within,

Is unimaginable.

But still,

Your silhouette is what they savor.

 

You are the creator.

And the nurturer.

But your chains,

They tell a different story.

 

You are blamed.

You are tamed.

You are a prisoner,

In the hands of your creation.

 

They cheat,

They sly,

They rip off your mind.

And still,

With every single vein,

In your body,

Burning in flames.

You rise.

Rise like a Phoenix.

With love ever-flowing.

 

Oh! My love.

How? How on Earth?

How do you manage?

To be so forgiving?

 

They burnt you alive.

Threw you on a live pyre. 

Your own blood.

It just kept quiet…

 

You were draped.

In silks and cotton.

In long flowing skirts.

Hoping to shut your soul,

To a world full of potential.

 

Break this glass of illusion.

My dear.

Break it.

Let them typecast you.

Let them keep you in a cage.

 

You spread your wings.

Your beautiful, white hued wings.

And break free.

To reach the skies.

Skies full of your dreams.

 

Be your own creation.

And not the creator, 

Of ruthless dictators.

Who betray,

Lie,

And leave you in abyss.

 

You are the creation.

Of a world,

That belongs to you.

And not the puppeteers,

That you created.

 

You are,

Untamed.

 

Love,

H

 

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Sorry That I Failed You

Even the tears,

The ever flowing tears,

Have dried on my face,

Leaving indelible marks.

 

The pain in my heart,

Which evoked once,

Has gotten into my conscience,

I cry, I cry.

 

Oh! My Rohingya brothers,

My beautiful sisters,

And our innocent children,

I am sorry that I failed you.

 

They left you floating,

In lakes and rivers,

Lifeless,

I could see you all helpless,

But all I could do was nothing..

 

Your feet bled,

Whilst you crossed the barbed wires,

Their gunshots piercing through your body,

Your cries, oh! your helpless cries.

I am deeply sorry, I failed you…

 

For days,

Your belly was without food,

Families lost,

Some completely washed,

In the Bay of Bengal.

I am sorry that I failed you.

 

Dear son, how we rejoiced,

The first day of your school,

Never a thought crossed our mind,

That it will be your death pool!

 

He stabbed you once,

He stabbed you twice,

I failed you little munchkin,

I silenced your beautiful voice.

 

They shot an ideology,

They shot her voice.

Dear Gauri Lankesh,

But why are you still alive?

 

Their only aim was,

To bury your alighted mind,

But little did they know,

They’ve alighted millions of lives.

 

Who are they?

Cut from the same cloth, right?

Members of the same family.

But lagging in foresight?

 

This world has enough pain,

Enough souls who are suffering.

Please stop adding to that number.

Please, enough with the plundering..

 

And all I can ask,

Is for your forgiveness.

It is my utterly shameless silence,

That has created a world so VICIOUS.

 

Asking for forgiveness,

H ❤️

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Sorry Neighbor.

I,

If I may,

Apologize.

I have been,

A devil in disguise.

 

Oh what ‘Aman ki Asha’?

What peace,

If I may ask?

My fellow countrymen,

A fallacy in which they bask..

 

I have killed love,

Harmony,

and every beautiful feeling.

I know hate,

Jealousy,

And why would I even conceal it?

 

Forget about a country,

Forget about a state.

The street that I live in,

There are many people I hate.

 

I may,

If I want to,

Wear a mask of love.

But really I’m a villain,

Benevolence, I don’t speak of!

 

And why,

Why on earth will I be ashamed?

And critical of myself?

Aren’t we all in this together?

How well we repel!

 

And teaching hatred,

To our kids.

Doesn’t sound so filthy.

“He did first, then I did”,

We find it healthy!

 

And isn’t this,

What’s going on?

From the past 70 years?

Blaming each other and all of the rest,

“Uh! The mistake is THEIRS!”. (always)

 

There are widows on both sides,

Childless parents,

And also orphans.

But who cares to budge, my dear,

We are totally okay with coffins!

 

Well,

We do shed a tear or two,

Whenever a soldier dies.

But the martyr can’t be yours,

‘Cause otherwise we will rejoice!

 

A fake motherland,

I like to worship,

With all my heart.

But only for a day or two,

Rest of the days I’m a total pervert!

 

Bring on,

The next 70 years now,

Shall we?

The nations we both so love,

Let’s turn ’em into a debris!

 

XOXO,

H

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Pakistan Kills 2, India Kills 2…

I was going about with my morning routine; tea, breakfast and reading newspaper. Then I came across this picture which moved me to tears….

An innocent kid weeping incessantly over the mutiliated body of his father. The question isn’t here who did it. The question here is why? And for how long????!!! 
Pakistan kills 2, India kills 2. 
Children from both sides become orphans. Women from both sides become widows. Hostility grows. And for what? Only to satiate the egos of a few politicians? What personal enmity you and I have with Pakistan? Or what personal enmity does a kid or even an adult in Pakistan has with us? Nothing! 
But this killing is unstoppable. Blood is shed over and over again. We discuss this over and over again. But who listens? 
Hate has made us hopeless maniacs. We follow the herd and join the ‘I Hate Pakistan’ club. Without even knowing why it came into being. Without even knowing our follies. 
But how does that matter to this little kid now? He has lost his father forever. A father, for god’s sake! I can’t imagine in my dreams living without my father. I commit mistakes. I prance around proudly. Why? Because I know my father is there to protect me always. 
But this kid’s father was there to protect to us all. And he died. Mercilessly. 
We weep when an Indian soldier dies. But rejoice when a Pakistani soldiers dies. Why? Wasn’t he a father? Or a son? Didn’t he have any family that will mourn just like this little kid?  
How can we be so negligent towards the emotions of their families? Why can’t we all come together and stand firm on the face of the governments of both the countries that we don’t want violence. If you guys have a problem, then just stop talking. Why kill innocent people from both sides??? 
My heart pains… 
Love and respect,

H💔

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Agony Of A Chopped Tree

I was planted,

Then I was watered.

I was taken care of,

With undying love.

 

The world was a sanctuary,

Full of nothing but merry,

Where I could rejoice,

And have my own voice.

 

Then I started to spring,

And heard a bell ring.

They are on their way!

But I can’t even run away!

 

“Who would come for my help?”

I couldn’t resist but yell.

The thumping of their feet,

Echoing a drumbeat.

 

Chop! Chop!

The first of my branches dropped..

Ruthless maneuvering I could see,

Nobody to help a feeble tree.

 

This went on,

For long.

I was in utter pain,

Alas! It was their reign.

 

I was told to serve others,

And in the process self-smother.

Their faces had grins,

While I was dying from within..

 

Who do I tell that I want to grow?

And not to become an art of Michelangelo.

Their craftsmanship would cut me into dices.

And they would all call me priceless!

 

My agony was their ecstasy,

And it was my only legacy.

To serve, I was nurtured,

In the end, brutally murdered..

 

XOXO,

H ❤️

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My Journal- Day 2

Today I came home early so I paid a visit to my nanaji. He was ecstatic to see me. And what really touched my heart was when he literally requested me to spend at least one hour with him on weekends.

 

Here I was, thinking, that nobody really needs me or feels happy around me and here I have, one of the most important persons in my life, begging me to come see him more often.

 

Life is, well, simple. Sometimes.

 

My co-workers detest me, to say the least. Every day I spend a good amount of time anticipating the reason why I am the most hated person at my workplace. And then there are some who brighten my day up and vice versa.

 

One thing struck my mind today. While ‘dealing’ with our fellow humans, we totally forget that they are humans! That they have complicated lives like us. That they go back to their deep, dark secrets and feel guilty. That they’ve been used. That they’ve been lied to. That they’ve been mistreated. That they’ve things they can’t really tell anybody.

And yet, we somehow, very easily indeed, blurt out harsh and mean words. And forget about being guilty about it afterwards.

 

Imagine a world, with clean air. Clean air. With no hate. No lies. A world that is painted in soft hues of pink and blue. With a tinge of greens and whites. Pastels all around. Happy people. Smiling at strangers. Youth helping the old. Clean air. Clean atmosphere.

 

Well, the chances are really bleak. But fantasies never hurt. Humans never hurt if treated properly.

 

What have we all become?

 

XOXO,

H

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My Journal- Day 1

Life is what you make it. And we make it step by step, day by day.

 

Today was also a stepping stone towards something great. Yes, I’m a believer. I like to believe that something great is waiting for me. And if I don’t work for it today, I might miss on the opportunity.

 

My banker life is sort of an assignment. It is not what work I do. It is how I do it. And I choose to do it with integrity. Work is worship. That is going on in my mind right now. I’m serving the public. It is their money that we have deposited in our bank. And they have an absolute right to ask a hell lot questions. There shouldn’t be any chance for me to feel irritated. Instead, I should be more convincing.

 

And the battle to be convincing is eternal.

 

And then, there is team work. It is not what I expect it to be. Some of my co-workers inspire me, while some teach me valuable lessons.

 

But there is this voice that keeps telling me that I am an employee of the bank and I have the power to bring the CHANGE that I want!

 

Peace.

 

XOXO,

H

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Demonetization- The Story Of An Indian Banker

Disclaimer: BEWARE! Bhakts will find it offensive (A LOT!!)

 

Okay. I apologize for being so late in putting forth my views on this whole ‘demonetization saga’. But I had to get hold of all the niche details of this drama that is costing an array of problems to the aam aadmi (pun intended).

 

First of all, it started on 8th of November when I was happily scrolling through my Instagram feeds and it has taken a toll on me ever since. So, I’m gonna jot down some of the (many!) obvious loopholes in this so-called ‘bravest ever step taken’ by a ’56-inch chest guy’.

 

  1. The Black Money Loophole: Duh! Bundles of cash lying in peoples mattresses and tijoris is now a piece of sh*t. And, I’m not the one boasting of this achievement. The writers of the demonetization saga claim so. As an Indian banker, I’ve had first hand experience of most, if not all, black money holders using their servants and their wives and their kids to put their sh*t together. And I’m not even kidding, mitron. We, the bankers (slash puppets) are helpless. Also, I was very little when I heard of the phrase that goes like this- All that glitters is not GOLD. And on 8th of November, I got a solid proof. All that glitters is not GOLD, it is BLACK! Black money, white money, gold money. It’s all equal now.
  2. The Black Money Loophole-2: I mean since November the 8th I’ve heard so much of this black money ragas that I can’t just put forth the facts in one point now, do I? So, it is not a banker secret that people are hiring daily wage workers at near about 450-500 bucks per day to get their black money exchanged. Now, how many of these poor workers will the 56-inch chest get hold of? 0.1%? Okay, I’m underrating him. 0.2%. I can’t rise the stakes more than this, please.
  3. The V.V.I.P. Loophole: So, my brother is currently pursuing his grad and still got some 10,000 bucks of old notes. But, the Adanis and Ambanis and Tatas and Birlas own something the size of Lesotho (it’s a country, in case the Bhakts don’t know) and still I spot Rajus and Ramus and Sonus and Monus in the long queues. Hmm. Guess these corporate people only use Bitcoins or maybe they are the face of PayTM! Right.
  4. The Aam Aadmi Loophole: On 10th of November I entered my branch and a middle-aged man came running to me saying that his daughter is sick and he needs to get medicines for her. He even showed me the prescription in case you Bhakts cry a foul. It was early in the morning and we managed to help him. But after that we’ve heard a lot of sad tales and even the newspapers are filled with the stories of the poor and the not-so-poor that they are suffering the most in this money crisis. I read news of how elderly people die standing in long queues. Once, I tried to help an octogenarian by depositing his money from the backside and the customers started shouting. It took me a while to explain them that it isn’t my money and that the elderly man had some kind of knee problem. Only after looking at him they cooled down. But what kind of a ruthless PM sends his 90 year old mother to stand in a queue? I’m amazed that people chant his name and nobody came forward to even stand in the queue for his mother. Thank god for photo-ops 😉
  5. The 2,000 Note Loophole: I mean what a breakthrough, man! What a breakthrough! Printing a 2,000 bucks note for a nation that majorly constitutes of lower middle class people. That deserves a slow clap. Okay, so next time when I go to buy cheeni and daal and some chai-patti, I should give a 2,000 rupee note for some 200-250 rupees bill. Okay. And I should enlighten you all that people are reluctant to take 2,000 rupee note but they have to because of point number 6.
  6. The Management Loophole: So, yeah. Point number 6. The currency-crunch. From the stroke of midnight, all 500 and 1000 rupee notes will become blah blah blah. And we’ll have new currency. But where the hell is new currency? Every single day we are telling customers that we don’t have cash. Yes, banks, where you get your money deposited and where you should get your withdrawals, are out of cash. Common sight, is it?
  7. The Banker Loophole: They wanna kill us. Literally. I don’t know what it was but on 10th of November itself I came home with 102 degree fever. We have worked overtime. We work on the Sundays. We are still working overtime, even though the working hours are from 10-4. We are working late. But we are not getting anything, I mean of course with the exception of abusive hurls and in some cases manhandling by the customers.
  8. The Miracle Loophole: I know this government came into being just because of its promises of miracles and it is keeping up with its promises in its own cute,childish ways, but it should learn how to take criticism from two of the most learned economists of our times- Dr Manmohan Singh Ji and Raghuram Rockstar Rajan. Raghuram Rajan objected to demonetization even before it was being looked into as a possibility. He clearly told the loopholes that I explained to you in detail. And I’m amazed how each one of his apprehensions or rather arguments are coming true one after the other. And what can I say about Dr Manmohan Singh Ji. In his very own humble way, he showed the lost government the path to make good the damage it has already done, to the country, to the banking system and most importantly to the common man whose sufferings don’t seem to end.

Well, people are hailing the decision of their PM. But only those who own smartphones and who voice their opinion on social media through memes and tweets. But, I urge you all to reach out to those who really got effected by this money crunch. They don’t own smartphones to buy groceries online through their credit cards. All they want is simple life, and that my mitron, is a distant dream.

 

P.S.- You can go ahead and have a good debate of how I don’t love my country 😉

 

XOXO,

H

 

The Distant Freedom

I met a boy,

Distressed beyond words,

Crying relentlessly,

His appearance was shabby.

It was my curiosity,

That led me to him.

“Why are you crying?

O! Little child?”

At first he was a bit startled.

Looked at me straight in the eyes.

Then a weak voice came out,

“Nothing… It’s nothing.”

Now that I observed him,

Closely.

I couldn’t let him cry,

No.

So, I gained a bit of courage,

To ask this weeping, innocent child,

The cause of his distress.

This time, 

He was less wary of me.

Somehow, we both connected.

A feeble voice struggled to say,

“Baba is beating maa..”

And there I was,

Standing,

My hand on his shoulders,

I was speechless.

I was grappling with words.

What do I say?

How do I console?

How do I tell this little soul,

What his father is doing,

Is awry, beyond words..?

This guy lives a mile away,

From my neighborhood.

Fell in love,

With a damsel,

A heart that loved all.

People all around,

Frowned.

Love before marriage?

O! They were all embarrassed!!

Alas! Their love story,

Was short-lived.

Just like many,

We witness daily.

My friend had a dream,

To paint this world red,

The color of love.

She held her brush,

Dipped it in crimson pigment.

As soon as she took the brush out,

Her father held her hand,

Threw the brush away,

And placed a book there, instead.

She now lives a life,

In strife.

Disputes, her existence.

What was so wrong with the brush,

Anyways?

There’s a girl I see,

On the traffic signal, everyday.

Greets me with a huge smile,

And extends me a flower each time.

Wears a torn frock,

Always barefoot,

Hair gone blonde in the sun,

Skin, dry and broken…

I buy a rose from her,

For ten bucks,

Thinking,

I have bought a piece of bread for her.

And then we part ways,

Only to meet the next day.

I see, and I remain quiet.

I choose.

I choose to remain quiet.

Because I have the FREEDOM.

Yes. The FREEDOM.

Domestic violence.

Well, I should remain in silence.

Two hearts,

Forced to be apart.

Sounds too amusing,

For a gossip to kickstart!

Dreams of youth,

Kept under wraps.

This word ‘freedom’ that they taught us,

Well, it was just a trap!

Children asking for money,

On the streets.

O! Poor thing.

I may as well give.

But taxes?

Eh! How can I give it a miss?

Freedom has come down to,

Being a relative word.

For some,

It is a right.

To some,

It doesn’t come,

Even after a fair fight.

Only those celebrate it,

Who overlook its true meaning.

For the real thing is,

Freedom has never been ours…

 

P.S.- Be it Bhagat Singh, Chandrashekhar Azad or Jawaharlal Nehru; we Indians have always loved our country. Since past 70 years, we are celebrating what has gone by and keeping our eyes shut to what is happening. Winning our country back from the Britishers was not freedom. Doing anything that doesn’t harm anybody is freedom. And I’m sorry to say, that freedom has not arrived yet. So, why not work towards it? Why not work to make our beloved country an ideal country? Let’s leave all the apprehensions behind. Let’s unite in uniting this country towards the cause of love; love that has shaken the very being of the strongest of hatred prevailing in this world. For, we live only once and let’s unite to make this one life worth living 🙂

 

Happy independence day, my fellow Indians 🙂

 

XOXO,

H