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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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The Mistake We All Make.

I’ve been apprehending the past couple of events and I can’t help but blame myself for everything that is wrong right now. I think it’s high time that you, too, should blame yourself for it.

 

‘The Mistake’ is our sympathy for the poor.

 

I want to put it straight. Stop showing sympathy for the poor. I may sound like a shrewd woman, but I’ve got my reasons.

 

Let’s go back to the days when we were young. Some of us didn’t have a scooter, or even a bicycle. But today, each one of us owns a car. Big or small doesn’t matter. The point is, we all have worked hard, our parents have worked hard to give the luxuries that we have right now.

 

In my case, my father is a self-made man. He came from a remote village in Punjab and went on to become a prestigious banker that he is. He has earned respect and wealth in equal proportions. His father, my grandfather, also started from a scratch. He joined the army and went on to raise four wonderful kids who made him proud in the entire village.

 

Same goes for my mother. She has also worked hard her whole life in a job that she despises, but still works to give us a better life. Her father, my maternal grandfather, was the first one to move out of the village and went on to become a reputed government official. People still talk about his courage, wit and humanitarian deeds to date.

 

My point of shedding a light in my personal life is to enlighten us all that if these people have broken the norms prevailing in their societies and come out of a poverty-like life, then why can’t every poor in India do that?

 

I know my parents and grandparents aren’t the only ones to have written a successful saga of rags to riches. I know that in each lower middle-class, upper-middle class and the rich family, there is embedded a story that will inspire us all.

 

I once read about a statement given by former UN Secretary-General Kofi Annan about giving something for free to the poor. He said,”One should not create a situation where people do not value it”. He was talking about the food subsidies in India.

 

A bitter incident took place in our family last month. My cousin sister was about to get married in a month. So, obviously, everybody was making arrangements for cash because there was a huge dearth of it due to demonetization. One of our maids who had worked in our home for like almost two years took away 24,000 rupees from the cupboard. We were unable to take any action because marriage was round the corner. After the wedding, my brother took her to the police and said to her that these are the same people who used to teach your kids, provide for their education and gave a lot of free stuff to you and this is what you did! Her simple reply was, “So what?!!”. I was astonished.

 

This is what proves the very point Kofi Annan made during his comments on the food subsidies. If we give everything that we, otherwise, pay for, for free to the poor, they just won’t value it. They will create a kind of feeling that they are entitled to get certain things for free. And hence, we kill the very urge for them to work hard to create a better future for themselves. We always make a hue and cry over the number of poor people that are present in this country.We always blame the government over not showing enough care for the poor. But, think for once, that if our parents or grandparents would’ve gotten the same facilities for free, would they have worked hard for it?

 

Feed the poor. Feed the hungry. That is the kind of help that they need. But anything beyond that, will turn disastrous.

 

I know there are people who really need our help. Like the orphans, or the differently-abled, or the aged. But showing sympathy to the poor and simply giving them money so that their present becomes better is just not okay! Let them work hard for it! This is the very reason that begging is a CRIME in India. Do not promote this kind of behavior.

 

Instead, create opportunities. Opportunities that can turn their lives around. Enlighten them. Create a fire in their hearts to really work for everything that they need.

 

This is the only way we can stop making ‘The Mistake’.

 

XOXO,

H

 

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I Am My Own Prison

They are on my lips,

But they fail to come out.

My thoughts have no way out.

 

They rise and fall,

Like the mighty waves.

But then a sudden halt.

 

My wings were not chained.

I flew above the sky.

But now I feel tamed.

 

I am in my own prison.

I wanna rise.

But it seems to be a distant vision..

 

They say they all love me.

But their sounds are pain in my ears.

I’ve lost my glee.

With my ashen face,

I roam around.

I am my own enemy.

 

Been a while,

Since I enjoyed.

And had a real smile.

 

Nobody can save me.

I am imprisoned.

No one to hear my desperate pleas.

 

I wanna do what I like.

Not to please them all.

I wanna live my life.

 

With clipped wings I try to fly,

But fail miserably every time.

My hope is now dying.

 

My cries die before they come out.

I lie wailing from the inside.

Let me live before I’m completely washed-out!!

 

XOXO

H

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A Jaded Bird

Dusted feathers,

But a burning heart.

Life is yearning,

For a restart. 


They Dictate,

And I hear.

Oh! How I wish,

To burst in tears.


It ain’t a debacle,

That’s for sure.

Then why do I feel,

My spirit’s tore


Had my eureka moment,

Embraced it warmly.  

Sitting in a cubicle,

Waiting calmly. 


Doing my bit, 

But the door is nowhere. 

That will fulfill,

My longstanding prayer. 


One day, 

I will brush my feathers. 

Reach for heavens,

And live in a mellow weather. 


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