On the shore of time,
My existence bleeds.
The cacophony of voices
Drown my senses.
Directionless, rollercoaster.
Much-hyped choices.
Ruthless ambition.
Hedonic treadmill…
Unending demands for control.
I let go; the need to let go.
I let go.
In silence.
Invoking peace.
सफ़ेद धुंध में, ओस की चादर ओढ़े
खड़ी है तन्हाई,
कुछ गुमसुम, कुछ घबराई सी,
उसकी धीमी सिसकियां,
मैंने और दबाई,क्योंकि,
समझना नहीं है फितरत में
हर इंसान की, यह गैहराही।
कहीं सोच गलत है,
किसी का धुंधला नज़रिया,
किसी ने अपनी असलियत छुपाई…
मतभेद में उलझी है जिंदगी,
डरा सहमा सा है हर आदमी,
उसको खुदही से चाहिए रिहाई।
क्यों औरों पे लगाऐं इल्ज़ाम?
लो पहले अपने ज़मीर की गवाही!
यह क्या कह रही है, तेरे मेरे बीच की तन्हाई?
मेरा कुछ सामान तुम्हारे पास पड़ा है…
Those innocent giggles, the jiggling and clicking of my bangles,
Those soft meaningful whispers…
All drowning in the cacophony of heated arguments, fights and rage.
We started life’s journey together,
Today, as strangers we part ways.
वो रात बुझा दो, मेरा वो सामान लौटा दो….
Those amazing vacations,
Those breathless views,
Those turmoils where we were like glued,
With each other, with commitments, true.
This night is drowned in melancholy subdued.
ये रात बुझा दो, मेरा वो सामान लौटा दो…
The smile that beams through these family pictures,
The coffee I left unfinished to attend our crying son.
It was an unfruitful and endless wait for you to return.
Abuses were hurled under that bed freshly done!
Tonight is clogged with memories of all that can’t be undone.
ये रात बुझा दो…
मेरा वो सम्मान (respect) लौटा दो !!!
12 July, 2020
Dear Childen
Subject: Your mother’s apology for deficit parenting.
My Dear Children,
I wish life would have been like a Sci-Fi movie, required ‘customised’ software would get download in parents brains the moment a child was born. A software; tailor-made and customised as per the needs of that unique child that was born. A software that would instruct the parent’s brains to handle the child as per his instruction manual effortlessly. And believe you me, the world would be a better place in no time!
Today research has proven that the behavioural issues, mental health issues and many unsuccessful people have childhood issues as the root cause.
In Indian society, the child is supposed to bind and cement the marriage. How ironical that a relationship that two married adults and their families can not “fix” is expected to be cemented by a small 2.5kg bundle of love who doesn’t even know who he/she was!
At 24 years, I was holding in my arms a bundle of joy… I was a mother at that time when I did not fully understand what parenting meant. Then again at 30 years. Looking back is not easy for me today.
Dear children, as I go picking up my scattered pieces I realize that the residue was piercing you. The fragments of me exist in you. With all my weakness as an immature mother, I tripped time and again. With no formal parenting education, all I could do was to experiment with my instincts to give you what I considered the best. When I became a mother I did not know that it is in this role my best and the worst comes to play. I have at times collapsed under the pressure of maintaining our existence, work and attending to your needs (physiological, emotional, mental). I have many regrets. I “could have” and “should have” are many… However today I am writing this apology for having not come up to mine and your expectations and for having not known better. However, with the new realization (acquired as a result of my facing my own mental health issues and traumas) I promise to be more mindfully present for you. Will try to rectify my parenting deficits. This life is a journey and the cycle will continue in each generation. Love grows when we let go of all the grudges and build trust and acceptance. Thank you for being my bundles of joy! May God bless you as you continue to grow into wonderful human beings.
Love
Monika
I see shadows big and thick.
They walk, dance and sometimes trip.
To me, they are featureless with no expressions.
To me, they are flat with no emotions.
To me feelings are intriguing and deceptive.
To all the chaos, I am susceptive.
I lack depth and rigidity.
I lack that intensity.
I wonder why I am shallow? Why all my feelings are hollow?
Is it my numbness or have I changed into unfeeling and biased dame?
Why I have to wonder what I feel?
Why do I need to pause and gather my thoughts?
Why I need time to recollect me and retrospect?
Why I am not spontaneous, even to my own self?
It makes me wonder, what’s the way I exist?
Am I a stranger, even to me?
How can I know, what I feel?
How can I discern my own perspective?
How can I decipher my mystery before I mingle into history?
Emotional turmoil.
Midnight cries.
Love- a mirage.
Fading smoke.
You, Chasing a fish?
Is it a catch?
Is it hit or amiss?
Are people lucky?
Or is it Destiny?
Emotions subdued.
Feelings bruised.
Whoever wins, I lose.
Senses seduced.
Strange high.
Escape trial,
Self Denial!
Don’t you cry…!
People are dry.
False promises,
Are suffocating.
Be in control.
You are whole!
Dreams are fragments.
Imagination segments.
Exist and strive.
Soul will revive.
Take a pause.
For yourself
Applaud!
It’s yet another awakening when pain takes over a being. She was breathing pain. A voice in her head was imitating a yoga instructor saying…
Close your eyes and inhale pain, stay with your breath, let it pain. Observe the pain. Feel it in each tiny cell of your body, release the painful breath through the exhalation. Start all over again by breathing in pain!
Morsels of food were tasteless, sometimes salty and bitter when they got laced with drops of blood oozing out from somewhere inside the mouth. Every activity of the limbs reminded her of it all that had happened. She felt immense pain in standing, walking, or while lying down. All postures hurt. Existing hurt.
Sound in her head was presently saying, “Pop a pill darling and you don’t know where you are… Sleep in peace. Yes, whisper your prayers, forgive and forget. For he who sins, doesn’t know what he does… Possessed by the devil, he attends to him, not conscious of his own actions. Forgive and forget, to move on. Tomorrow is a new day. We will discover a new coping mechanism.”
Some are endless cycles of pursuit.
Craving and psychotic pleasure…
Can pain be an addiction?
It gives a high.
The rush of blood to the head and everything freezes, slow motion. Pause.
Can pain impersonate as seducing death?
Bitter and salty blood, suddenly, tastes sweet as freedom. Freedom forever. Pause and breathe again.
Let there be awakening! Catharsis! Emotional numb!
“Wear your mask, put on some lipstick on your fake smile. Yes, whisper your prayers, forgive and forget. Amnesia. Today is a new day…”
The mind can occasionally be extraordinarily powerful. Arose a phoenix from the ashes. Breaking the shackles and the chains that kept her spirit captive. Revived like that losing wrestler in the ring, with failing stamina but intense willpower.
“Pledge, my darling”, the voice continued, “You will not sacrifice yourself again! It is you who has the key to what you accept or disagree with. Construct on these ruins, a life of authenticity”.
“My heart is a mess ” by Cold Play was an ear worm today. It is echoing in my ears. Non stop!
It is strange how life throws out on us, what we fear. We fear – fear!
And out there it stands. At every step. The mind is intricate and complex. Thoughts arise, fly high and sink to depth. Along with these thoughts are the heart and emotion attached. These thoughts pain, strain and depress. One minute I am happy and planning ahead. The next minute, the emotions are intense.
Clouds rise in the brain. It heavily rains. The water flows through my eyes, yet I manage to smile. There is immense pain. Oh, what is this game? Why can’t I go back in time? Why can’t I adjust my pace? Why can’t I breathe with ease? Thought like threads intertwine. They entangle and they strangle.
I wish I would get up one morning with my mind as a clean slate. A blank mind…a blank life.
What would I now create? With my heart in dumps and head in mess! It might end up in the same plight.
I fear, my fear is pushing me to the edge… Alright!
Musings - An Endeavour to writing 