Safety pins

When I was a kid, I have seen my mom carrying a bunch of safety pins in her handbag. She always carried them with her wherever we moved with her. Sometimes she used those pins to fix her saree and sometimes they were used to fix our clothes.

She would fix broken buttons of my shirt with safety pins turning them inside, so that they are not visible from outside.

There were times, when she used them to fix our school bags or school ties. I have seen her panicked out, whenever she ran out of them. They used to have a permanent place in her monthly grocery list.

These days, she doesn’t use safety pins anymore. She has stopped wearing sarees for the ease of life. She thinks that we dont require any more safety pins to fix our lives. It’s our job to find the fixers and enable ourselves.

For those years, when I ran out of her safety pins, I tried to find the fixers for my own ease of life. But I could not find any.

I used alternatives from time to time. But none stuck so far.

In another conversation I asked my mother if there is any alternative for such safety pins. She said, “no matter, what you use, all such measures are temporary.”


Broken bowl and a heart

When I was young, I had a bowl. A beautiful ceramic bowl with exquisite design of violets. It was my favourite bowl. I always loved to eat chilled melons out of it.

The summers are sweltering here. And the chilled water melon brings the relishing respite. Before going to work I used to cut a melon into small cubes and fill them into the white ceramic. By the time, I return from work, the bowl used to be chilled with melons.

I don’t know, if it was the juice of melon or the touch of bowl which brought happiness in those days.

One day, it fall down from the kitchen platform and broke into two pieces. I tried to fix it but nothing worked. I made a phone call to my mother if she could give me a suggestion.

All she said that, broken bowls bring bad omens. Get rid of the old one and buy a new.

I did same. But I could not cherish the new purchase and I stopped eating melons.

I wonder, if the same happens to broken hearts. What if they can’t be repaired, if they can’t be fixed or healed with time.

If a broken heart brings bad omens ???

I asked my mother again, and she said, broken heart casts curse. And a empathic heart bears pain.

Demons of past

There is little darkness in us, no matter how little or large but it’s there. It has a permanent space with in the escapes of mind. It resides in brain, heart, liver or immune cells.

We are fully aware of its existence yet we develop the denial of its patience. Sometimes we keep it hidden in the layers of our mask and sometimes it’s dormant for years till the tigger.

The awakening sets in when we accept our darkness. We make the pact with our demons and turn them into our lifestyle. The deal is simple, you reap the rewards till the demons ask for their share.

The darkness brings more darkness. It creates a current sink for all the happiness residing in us. Eventually we are left with no happiness but the doom and despair.

The first thing, that dark affects is the light of hope. Till we keep it alive, survival is easy. Find that hope within and out. Light is everywhere. It can reach to the clefts of ceiling and in the wooden hearts. Find that light and guard it from the winds of past. What’s past is past. We can’t undo the past. But we can chose the future for better or worse.

Ask and shall be given.

Look back and beseech, love is always there.

Living in a casket

Just yesterday, I was reading this short story ‘third resignation’ by Gabriel Garcia Marquez’s, when I could not stop myself relating to the paralysed man who lived 12 years waiting for his casket.

The day was not over with the haunts of emotional turmoil when I stumped into Guzaarish movie playing on my television set. I was laying in my couch with the old blanket for it’s warmth, wondering if I am living in a similar casket.

For years, I am nomore than this dead heart. I can feel the pain, but other senses have gone numb. I can smell the pain near me as I am hungry for more.

It’s like living in a coffin which is well laid with cushions and well carved mohogany. People see me living in a happy and peaceful place while I can feel the rush of 6 by 3 feet of bound space.

Suffocation numbs my speech. The noise of insane crowd kills my anger and what lefts is a dead me with an amounting pain.

Until today, when I placed my self outside that casket. The space is more, there is ample air to breathe. There is chaos of people loving around me. But deep within I hold this fear. The fear of going back into that coffin.

You know you living in is much better than carrying with.

Perhaps living inside a casket is much easier than living with.

Take a break

Pain is like a leech. It bites you everyday and twice on Sundays. It grows with in and reproduce with simple mitosis turning you into a ghost with exoskeleton.

My friends often find me a good source of their vent outs. I do no have complains for their aggressive outlook towards life, yet it kills me to see that they live a unfulfilled life.

Desires and dreams often become greed and a constant feed for the pain. To fulfil a desire, we often succumb to do the undesired things in life.

Lately, I have been keeping myself busy to umpteen level. I realised that this attitude is costing me my friends. I don’t have time to see them and cherish their presence. They have settled with the fact that I am always busy with no weekends for them.

The source of pain is pain itself .

I work to travel. And I travel to run away from work.

How in the same word, if I settle for less and see if the remedy exists?

A day off in love

She asked, “if given a wish, how would you accord a day off, full of luxuries”.

How less I could wish on this day, ” I would like a lazy morning with my newspaper and some magazines with ample amount of good tea. A breezy day and sunny side brunch. A stroll through the cold street or may be a rigorous cha cha class ending in nostalgic lanes of my past.”

She blurted, “I am offering you a future, and you still want to saddle on your past”

Yes, said I.

I can’t afford a day off from loving my past.


She asked me, “what is scary???”

I giggled, “read my writings”.

Falling in love may be as scary as falling out of it. Love happens easily. But how often it’s the true love, is scary. 

The agony of being lonely is scarier than the agony of being in love. The unrequited love is more ugly than a fulfilled one. 

Last I remember, the scary was the height of mountain I climbed past. It was the moment I felt on the top of world with a bit of fear for falling down to ashes. 

Nothing is scary unless believed in. Scary is the insecurities of dying lonely. Scary is the insecurity of being cheated in love. 

Scary is the insecurity of unseen and unfelt. Scary is future.