Short Book Review 46



#sunrise #hilltop #yourstruly #trees #nature #naturephotography

Auburn lit sky around,
An eternal silence from mankind,
momentarily broken,
by the rustling of the leaves.
Leaves with shades of,
green, yellow and brown,
perching on the tree.
From afar,
a pair of eyes,
watch everything.
Everything that has changed,
my Ame.
Everything that has remained the same,
in my Ame.
Looking into the shadows of the past,
where I was naive,
to the looming life.
My laughter rings in my ear,
and slowly reaches,
towards my eyes,
making them glow,
with the hope,
that all,
is not lost, yet.
Filling me, with a desire,
to grasp the grains,
of my dreams.
A wish,
to find my lost parts,
in the wilderness of nature,
where I fully comprehend,
my Ame.

Toska – noun /ˈtō-skə/ – Russian word roughly translated as sadness, melancholia, lugubriousness.

“No single word in English renders all the shades of toska. At its deepest and most painful, it is a sensation of great spiritual anguish, often without any specific cause. At less morbid levels it is a dull ache of the soul, a longing with nothing to long for, a sick pining, a vague restlessness, mental throes, yearning. In particular cases it may be the desire for somebody of something specific, nostalgia, love-sickness. At the lowest level it grades into ennui, boredom. ― Vladimir Nabokov

“Toska is a feeling of inner emptiness, a meaningless of everything around you, the feeling of being lost, physically and spiritually, in both space and time.” — Alexey Kostromin (photographer)

I wish that this Valentine’s we learn the art of loving ourselves a bit more than loving others ❤ Self Love is the most important form of love ❤

The Bench

#thebench #yourtruly #lakeside #memories #nostalgia

You and me,
sitting at the two edges,
of a wooden bench.
Nervous, hesitant,
still very happy.
Glancing sideways,
I catch your gaze.
I blush, and you smile.
A smile of victory,
on your face.
You slowly slide,
towards me,
closing the gap,
between us.
There are no words,
only silence,
yet we hear each other.
You let your finger slip,
into mine,
we look towards,
the setting sun
by the lakeside,
hoping for a forever.

Years later I sit,
on this bench,
my back to the lake view,
Thinking of you.
So what, if our future,
never met,
our thoughts did,
maybe one day,
our horizons, will too.

The idea of this poetry came when I was listening to this song from “The Fault In Our Stars” by Ed Sheeran.

Then searched my google drive for the the above image which I clicked a month back by the lakeside.

Do stories come to you while browsing through images or listening to songs? Whats your process like? Do share in comments below 🙂

Loosing Someone to Cancer

Today is World Cancer Day, and since morning I have been reading articles on cancer, stories by cancer survivors, and experiences of the people who have lost someone to cancer.

I thought I too should share something that is very personal regarding this disease.

My Father was ten years old when he lost his mother to cancer. For the longest time, no one even knew what she was suffering from; people just said she was very ill. At the age of 10 years, my dad turned from a kid to the man of the house. My Grandad used to work out of the city, and my father was the eldest among his sibling. His childhood memories are very vague, the thing he remembers about his mother is her smiling face even at the time of her death. He worked hard, doing household tasks to taking care of his two younger sisters. But losing his mother at that tender age changed something in him, forever. My uncle’s and aunts say that they don’t remember my father ever playing, he was always either working or studying. He shunned himself down emotionally, and this still is a problem with him. He still doesn’t know how to process his emotions, and he always fumbles in hypersensitive moments. Most of the time he gets super stressed out if someone gets too emotional in front of him. He is only one amongst us who finds hugging very uncomfortable. Sometimes I try to imagine, how different my father would have been as a person if he wouldn’t have lost his mother at such a young age. But such is life, not fair, yet we try to make the best out of it.

I have seen my friends losing their parents to cancer, and I see my colleague going to therapies with her mother for bone marrow cancer, even while knowing that its just about adding few more days to her diminishing life. I see them facing the challenge heads on, like my colleague once told me, that the only key is to make each day as it comes and stop thinking about the future. Each chemotherapy could be your last chance at life. Life is not easy both for the patient and their family. Even if you have all the medical facilities available for you, yet you can lose your loved one to this disease.

I read books on cancer by people who suffered, yet nothing comes close to seeing someone lose their loved one to the disease. Today, on this day, I want people to keep the hope alive, the only thing you can do for someone who is suffering or someone whose loved one his suffering, is to be there for them, listen to their stories and pain. Give them a warm hug and a shoulder to cry.

Be kind to everyone, and you never know what pain the other person is going through right now.

To read more about World Cancer Day, you can check this site out here.

Missing you

I miss you,
Miss you terribly today.
The warmth of your hug,
The serenity of your smile,
Those love filled eyes,
Your fragrance,
Your fingers holding mine,
Telling me things will be alright.
I miss your silent presence
Next to me, in bed.
I wish I could crawl back
in the time,
lay my head on your laps.
I miss,
Your wet kisses on my face.
I miss,
holding your saree’s border
while crossing the street.
I miss,
You’re calling me Queen Victoria,
and bowing your head in front of me.
I wish,
I could go back inside your womb,
and be there always,
safe from the outside world.
I miss your hands,
wiping my flowing tears away.
I miss our laughter,
your jokes and our talks.
I wish,
I can be nine again,
where you were the cure,
for all my daemons.
I miss,
long head massages,
that you gave me
in my headaches.
I miss,
just being a daughter,
and nothing else.
I wish,
I could hide,
behind you,
like I used to do,
when someone unwanted approached me.
I miss,
Miss you Maa,
even though I know,
you are a phone call away,
I miss being with you.
I miss you,
terribly, terribly today.

This song truly depicts my emotions right now. Listening it in a loop from last hour or so and letting my emotions flow freely, with my words and tears.

Let them flow

“As often, she laughed,
As rare, were her tears,
She let her laughter be with the people,
And took her tears alone, to her room.”

When I was a kid, I used to cry a lot, that’s what my relatives say, but my parents disagree with this statement. According to them, I was afraid of huge crowds, and strangers, hence I created havocs for my parents at my first family wedding when I was a year old, and that got stuck in everyone’s mind. Who says that the first impression is not a thing. But early on I learned the lesson that public crying isn’t a good thing. Maybe because I was teased a lot for it, I stopped crying publicly. Moreover, my parents weren’t into taming our young ego’s, so I learned that people try to cry silently if they feel wrong about something.

I am a bathroom crier, and I can stand in front of the mirror for an hour and can look at my tears stained face. I started doing it when I turned a teenager, where I was often fighting with my parents, or fighting with myself and these tears were my only savior. They set me free, free from all that was burning in my heart. And this habit of solitary crying has since been with me.

I still remember vividly when I first went to a hostel, and on the second day my dad called me up, to know about my wellbeing, I choked when he asked how was I doing. I had just come back from my first ragging session, and for an eighteen-year-old whose ego has never been crushed by an outsider this session was a slap on the face. My choking frightened my dad. Now my dad is someone who is not very good at handling the sudden burst of emotions. He angrily asked me why I was crying, and I had no answer because no one else was crying after the session. He was on a business trip in Mumbai, and he had called me during a dinner break in the middle of the meeting. He frantically called my mother and asked her to talk to me. My mom immediately called me back, patiently listened, and explained to me that I had to go through this process for my growth. Since that day I decided that I will never cry in front of anyone be it, my parents. But of course, I did, but seldom, mostly in the presence of my mom. If I remember my colossal outburst correctly even in front of my mother has only happened twice, where I have cried the whole night hugging her. And she caressed my hair whole night, letting me out all the hidden pain inside my heart. I am glad I was lucky to have her with me in both those moments because they were two losses that changed the course of my life.

But from last three days I am not feeling my usual self, its as if my heart has shrunk and slowly everything stored inside it has flown out, and the only thing I am left with is this unwanted sadness. This sadness has no reason, I was perfectly fine a few days ago, and suddenly this sadness has engulfed me. People who see me from outside won’t even notice a change. No one has noticed it till now, but its the lonely time where the birds of sadness come fluttering out in the open breaking the cage. I still try to rationalize this feeling by stating that I have been lately reading sad stuff. But then I read emotional books all the time, yet it doesn’t hamper my mood in this way. Another reason I gave myself is that I am PMSing, which could have led to this feeling, but my PMSing never includes mood swings, no I don’t get it. So finally I stopped rationalizing it, and let it be. I accepted the fact that I am sad without any reason, and I will get over with it.

So I came home, had a cup of hot chocolate, thinking it will improve my mood. Alas, it didn’t, So I listen this song which is very close to my heart in my sombre mood.

And let my tears roll down my eyes. Nothing works for me like tears, and when finally the rain of it shower down my eyes, I feel the birds flying away. Of course, not all of them have left the cage yet, and I am expecting a few more outbursts this weekend, to carry away the pain and sadness from my heart.
As Charles Dickens said in Great Expectation,

“Heaven knows we need never be ashamed of our tears, for they are rain upon the blinding dust of earth, overlying our hard hearts. I was better after I had cried, than before–more sorry, more aware of my own ingratitude, more gentle.”

PS: Don’t feel sad or worried about me, I am ok, its just a phase and I will be over with it. So guys take care and have a nice weekend.

The Last Gift

In the crowded lanes,
Of the bustling city.
He kept searching,
for something,
that would glorify,
her alluring charm.
Something that will be,
like a missing diamond on a crown.
On the streets of the flea market,
his eyes fell,
on the palette of earrings,
hanging on a board.

#earrings #mumbaistreetmarket

by the array of choices,
he closed his eyes,
envisioned her angelic face.
Choosing carefully,
he picked the one,
lying on the muslin cloth.
Holding it up,
in the sunlight,
he saw vestige of their,
fragile relationship,
in that exquisite,
Oxidized silver pair of chandbalis.
Paying with trembling hands,
he realized that,
this is, his last token of love,
to her.

PS: The idea of this poetry struck my mind when I saw a guy buying a pair of earrings in Colaba street market on my recent trip to Mumbai. I always find it fascinating when I see a man buying jewellery for a woman 🙂

Note:Chandbali Earrings were originated during the Mughal or Nizam era in Hyderabad.