Restricted Entry

Every so often you come to a door that says “Restricted Entry”. You pause for a minute, always tempted to go in. Good sense prevails and you walk on. 

Some closed doors are frustrating, others hold promise.

Some keys will be taken away from you

Some keys you have to earn.

 

There is Always a Price to Pay

I’m beginning to think that every happy moment has to be followed by excruciating sadness. Every laughter has to be followed by tears. There is no bit of joy that is free. Each new friend you make, you’ll lose another. 

Is life maintaining a balance? Or have we run out of credit on the good times? This songs sums up my state of mind just now: Tujh se naaraaz nahi zindagi, from Masoom. 

Key stanza:  

Jeene Ke Liye Sochaa Hee Nahee
Dard Sanbhaalane Honge
Muskuraye To, Muskuraane Ke
Karja Utaarane Honge
Muskuraoo Kabhee To Lagataa Hai
Jaise Hothhon Pe, Karja Rakhaa Hain

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9KbhG64nLaM

Ambition (or the lack of it)

The thought comes to me in the middle of a stressful week when all i want to do, is to hang up my boots and say enough. 

What if I don’t feel ambitious anymore?

What if the struggle seems too much?

What if I can’t cope with it all… What if I don’t want to? 

What if I want to strip off the pressure to be smart and savvy, have a career, be thin, look great, read, travel…? Why do I feel pressured at the things that once gave me joy- were an integral part of me?  

Do I have the courage to shrug things off? Is this a passing phase? A bad week, a tough day? 

Will you judge me? Love me any less? 

More importantly, will I judge me? Love me any less? 

A Week

A week went by when I thought time would stand still.

Last week, I woke up with no premonition that Tuesday would be so cruel,

Looking back at the week, I want to change much of what’s happened. But the days have passed and I’m helpless, quietly accepting things, murmuring words like ‘fate, destiny, move on’… these sound hollow to my own ears.

I wish I’d taken an earlier flight, come down for the weekend when you were around. I wish I didn’t have to spend time looking for a suitable photo of you, instead you’d be pulling out old albums to show me photos… 

…I wish last Tuesday hadn’t happened. 

Melancholy

“How are you?” They ask, concerned. Pat comes the reply, “I’m fine.”
Sometimes I am. I’m going about my day, doing all the things that I must. I even crack a joke or two, at my expense. They smile, rather uncertainly. Not knowing whether making that joke was inappropriate or would laughing on it be.

For a few minutes, I forget why I feel sad, battered. Then, a wave of sadness hits me and I can’t do anything. Words dry up, fingers stop typing. I remember you’re gone.

Death

When I blogged on finality, I didn’t expect a confrontation with a different, more definite sort of finality: death.

Funerals have a way of underlining that reality. The rites seem cruel but they force you to acknowledge that the person who was talking, laughing – ALIVE- until a day ago is now an unrecognisable cadaver.

There is a flurry of activity around the absolute stillness. Comfort the others who grieve, acknowledge those who made it to pay their last respects. Logistics managed, one does namaskar, pours Ganga jal into the person’s mouth. One tries to accept that the conversation is now one-way.

The priest asks the son to untie all the knots. In my mind, I try to say goodbye. But there are no words. Tears well up as I see other’s cry.

Before I can articulate anything, in a rhythmic chant, the body is taken to an electronic furnace.

Ashes to ashes.

One Way Ticket

It is a commitment, buying a one-way ticket.

It changes dynamics. It numbers days, instigates a countdown. It requests wind-ups and goodbyes. It provokes contemplation. 

End of the stint, it makes one pause, take a deep breath. There is no reconsideration. A bit of regret, perhaps. There is sadness, there is hope. There is an unchangeable plan, wheels to which are set in motion, by the act of buying a one-way ticket… There is no return. No retracing footsteps. It’s a clean slate. Call it the beginning or the end, there is finality to buying a one-way ticket.

It makes the place I’ve called home for a while now, to not be that anymore. I bought a one way ticket, I’m going home.