Tag Archives: happy

Loneliness is an Island

This day has sent me to an island,
My thoughts are pecking the wet sand.
The horizon is bereft, and the waves roar,
But I remember being a castaway, before.

Though all this seems too familiar,
I don’t really know how to live here.
I have never had my food alone,
Or If I have, those days are gone.

A broken raft is my only hope,
Old logs tied with a primitive rope.
Trees provide shade on this hot day,
But as time passes, I’m filled with dismay.

Loneliness is a museum of memories,
Deaths to which I’m an accessory.
If I had one wish, I’d wish for love,
As rare on this island, as is a dove.

A setting sun isn’t enough a despair,
Worse are things that you can’t repair.
Shattered hearts don’t just hurt rib-cages,
On such islands, they put you for ages.

But when it’s dark, the sea is swept away,
The land breeze makes a sail-worthy bay.
The raft is ready, and so is the food,
And so am I, under a makeshift hood.

So off I go, uncertain but with a drive,
I won’t give up; I know I will survive.
It may be tough, but I’ve seen worse,
To me, no island is as potent a curse.

When you find me, famished and weak,
Just remember that I refused to be meek.
And I’ll tell you how I endured the sea,
Stranded in the day, till the night rescued me.

A Blown Eyelash

They are found in shooting stars,
and in flying dandelion seeds,
seen in extinguished birthday candles,
and also in other men’s deeds.

They have made lunatics of greats,
yet they are the power of braves.
They have made people attempt
to raise loved ones from their graves.

Sometimes they nibble the insides
of my mind, they slowly gnaw,
until I am certain that they will
one day consume me, raw.

Then there are those times, when
they give me bliss that’s pure.
They make me overeat my elation,
and leave me wanting for more.

My oldest friends, they are,
they keep me on my toes.
But when there are too many of them,
they turn into my worst foes.

Why do I end up believing
that a blown eyelash will cure?
Why am I always dreaming,
when I know that I remain unsure?

Is there a way to comprehend
if these wishes will come true?
Or do I have to be only content
with fulfilled ones, so few?

I am with this knowledge, though,
my wishes are known for rebirth.
They make me the man that I am.
In me, you shall find no dearth.

The Little Bunting

(Dedicated to all the caged souls who crave freedom)


In a drab cage of a lonely house,
a little bunting had a home.
All she knew was the rusted bars
and the semi-golden dome.

She was born and grew up in there,
not knowing about the world.
Her wings were all but useless now,
for they were never unfurled.

For a long time she lived happy there,
oblivious to what lay beyond.
Her freedom was never a thought
since she was part of her spawn.

One day from her drab old cage,
she saw a flock of pardalotes.
They flew like kings and glided fine,
high up, they appeared to float.

All of a sudden, she grew morose,
and took a look at her wings.
She wondered of the open sky,
she wondered of unseen things.

She knew that she had had enough
and tried to get through the bars.
But her frail body failed her, so
she just stared at the stars.

A sudden rush, a sudden urge
forced her to spread her wings.
She knew she’d be free soon enough,
so she began to merrily sing.

When the following dawn arrived,
she strengthened her resolve.
She knew she wanted her freedom,
and she felt her fear dissolve.

She opened her wings and closed her eyes,
praying this as she cried:
“Help me God, I deserve to be free,
Enough, I have been tried.”

She fluttered her wings, for the very first time ,
she generated a torrent of wind.
As she slowly raised herself,
she gasped, as her breathe thinned.

She chose not to stop, she wanted to fly,
she broke the semi-golden dome.
Her cage broke open, and out she flew,
the sky was now her home.

The bunting looked at the world below,
growing happier as she flew faster.
The drab cage was no longer her home,
and finally, she was her own master.

Caged no more

(The image above is original art. Please do not use it without permission)

The Song

It was an hour since he sat there. The waves would be usually heard crashing on the shore, but they seemed to caress the sands tonight. Even this deep in the night, he could witness the white foamy sea from a distance. Why not? The moon was shining its brightest. It seemed to have hurried up early on and held itself onto one place in the once-starlit sky. He look skywards, trying to fathom if it was possible to find twinkling dots. Save Venus, he could not find any… He wanted to sing a song, but his heart was too heavy. His loneliness was murdering him slowly. Even with all the brightness of the moon, inside him was pitch dark, as if his Light had betrayed him. Even with the sounds of the waves, that he so adored, he could hear the silence that had crept inside his head. Singing a song could not make him happy, and no amount of light was enough. And there he sat, with no one but himself. He believed the sea would console him, but it was not doing so.

But then, he heard a song. He looked around and gazed along the length of the entire beach. The voice could be heard very faintly, enough to make him feel that it was only a figment of his imagination. But he knew that it really was there. He rose, feeling the pull towards this beautiful song. It was certainly better than sitting at one place, hoping for Light to come back. As he advanced in near darkness, feeling the sand pour in and out of his toes, his pace increased. And the faster he moved, the clearer he could hear the sound. He never imagined the beach extended this far… It seemed to never end. But the song kept strengthening his resolve, and he ignored his own gasps. He was running now, as if the sound was the only meaningful thing left in his life.

He stopped in front of a wooden cabin, and he knew for sure that only a wooden wall separated him and the source of this song. His curiosity caused him to locate the place where this sound originated from, but for the first time now, he tried to fathom its beauty. It was unlike anything he had ever heard before, something his life had prevented him from listening to all this while, something he could listen to only because he was lonely now. As he slowly regained his breath, he began to admire the song even more.

He opened the door, and the song was the more vivid than it ever was before. Inside, she sat on a chair in front of a candle-lit table. Scanning through old photographs, she sang his beloved song. While she picked up each picture and looked at it, her tears continued to flow. She was as lonely as he was, but she had been like that for a much longer time. And she never got a chance to sit on a moonlit beach, or listen to the waves. But she sang her song, despite her heavy heart. She was stronger than him, and he knew this now. For the first time in what appeared like ages, he smiled. It was time for him to sing, and he sang along with her. She lifted her damp eyes and looked at him. The both sung together and for some reason, it sounded more complete. She smiled, too. They had found their song.

The Promenade of Hope

Marine Drive – what are we reminded of when we think of this place? The sea, the breeze, the sunsets, and the lovers (and their antics, too). True, this place is popular for all this, no doubt about that. A lot of people come here just to have an eyeful of the romance they find people indulging in. Perhaps, it is entertaining or just plain too arousing (I am sure people who have witnessed some serious PDA know what I mean). Yet, every few yards one can find someone sitting alone, most likely from a recent heartbreak, sometimes with that empty look on their face, sometimes with tears in their eyes, but always quiet and isolated from their surroundings.

Foursquare Check-in: Marine Drive.

Comment: “Two reasons I come here – when I am alone, when I want to be alone. Reason 2 this time”

Of course, I didn’t mean it. There were others reasons why I would come to this beautiful place. For me, this promenade has mostly served the purpose of connecting with myself. Perhaps, it is the only place in this entire world where I don’t have to stress on NOT thinking, concentrating instead on the sound of the waves and noticing each change in the notes of this wonderful music of nature. There have been times when I would engage in a conversation with the sea for hours, to the extent of considering it as one of my most honest friends. For hours, I would just ‘talk’ to it. However, whenever I was with someone (Yes, I have performed my own set of antics here, as well, minus the PDA!) this sea would keep listening to me, choosing to answer only when I diverted my attention to it.

I found it extremely futile to understand the exact reason of not only commenting on my check-in like that, but also the check-in itself. To top it all, I shared it on Twitter, too. I knew I had just broken up with my girl-friend, I knew it was painful, I knew I needed to be alone for a while to convince myself that things would be okay if I wished they were. But what prompted me to post such a comment still couldn’t be figured out. It was like Math. I sat there facing the setting sun, with tears in my eyes, quiet (Right, I was isolated, too, just like I previously mentioned – why would I waste almost a paragraph on it, if I didn’t feel it myself?) Staring at the sea but choosing not to converse this time, I wept slowly, making sure my sobs did not escape. It was difficult, but even more difficult was trying to accept the fact that I had just broken up. It was like breaking a house I had painstakingly built, brick after brick, for 4 years. I recalled making a sand castle at Chowpatty (not too far from where I was) when I was a child. I remembered sitting there and staring at my ‘achievement’ for a long time, even as my playmates frolicked in seawater. I must have sobbed the same way when I had to leave it back there in the evening.

The waves crashed the tetrapods harder, as if urging me to speak and relieve my heart of the heaviness it felt. I gazed at them with the same vacant expression I had since I spoke to her on the phone a few hours back. I had come to the Hutatma Chowk, one of my favorite places in the entire city – partly because I loved taking walks here and partly because of the famous large open second-hand books library near Flora Fountain. I have always loved the books over there, though not as much for reading as for the large piles they were neatly organized in. I found being surrounded by these piles immensely fascinating.

I went to one of the book-sellers and asked if he had old National Geographics. Nodding enthusiastically, he guided me inside through the maze of papered knowledge, pointing at a pile of yellow-bordered magazines as high as I stood. The other piles behind it were even larger, and many such piles acted like walls of the ‘room’ I was in. I expected myself to smile at this lovely sight as I often did, but I did not. I could not. I crouched and pretended to carefully examine the spine of each book, as if looking for a specific issue. As I saw the book-seller leaving, I wiped the trails tears had left as they trickled down. I felt it was better to get inside an open book shop and weep, rather than walking on the road and doing the same. Perhaps I was being too much of a ‘cry baby’, but I knew that it was all I could do. It was hard to believe that minutes earlier, I was absolutely happy, with everything to look forward to… Because minutes earlier, I had someone I was sure to spend my life with, though a bit scared because there was a marriage proposal for her, which her family had approved and the guy’s family were highly likely to follow suit. Minutes earlier, I had someone who would rejuvenate my hope when it faltered because I knew that with her by my side, I would never lose.

But I lost. The very rejuvenator of my hopes had to extinguish them by saying that the nuptial was approved and that she couldn’t do anything about it. She said she loved me but could not go against her family. I was still proud of her, because she chose to obey her parents over me. Not for a moment did I feel betrayed. Instead, I felt that she was being as honest to me as she had been in the past 4 years. But yes, I was extremely sad. I listened patiently to all that she said, by the end of which I had reached Flora Fountain from CST station. I hadn’t spoken a word and, worried, she asked if I was alright.

“I am going to the Marine Drive.”

“Why?”

“I want to be alone for a while.”

“Okay. Please take care, and call me when you can.”

The waves still tried to coax me to speak, but everything I experienced since she had called me was playing in an endless loop in my mind. The sea roared louder, attempting to distract me. “Why did this happen?!” I exclaimed slightly louder than I did in the course of the day. Half an hour later, my phone vibrated for the third time. It wasn’t her as I had expected, but another girl, an ex-colleague who replied to my check-in on Twitter.

“Why alone on Marine Drive? Where is your girl friend?”

“I don’t have a girl friend anymore.”

“:O Ohho! #Facepalm”

She then messaged me privately to ask for my phone number. I replied back with my number at once. I got a missed call, and I politely messaged that I had no balance. She then called me and asked me about what happened, and I answered. I went walking all the way back to CST, talking to her. Apart from asking about me, she also spoke a lot about herself – How she was, her own break-up and how she had to deal with it, how she believes in the Zodiac, her love for the clouds and how she thought they conversed with her. By the time I got the train, I realized how better she made me feel just by talking to me. I was still sad about my break-up, but not as sad as I had been at the Marine Drive.

I still go to this promenade, but never alone. The sea still talks to me, sometimes making me close my eyes so I can concentrate on what it says. This happens when the person in my company talks to the clouds because she loves them. But she loves nothing else the way she loves me. This person is the same girl from Twitter. She gave my life a new meaning, teaching me how to feel free to express without inhibition. It is not that I didn’t know how to express, but she perfected and polished my expressions by helping me remove each spec of fakeness from within me. She completed me.

Whenever I come here, I remember my state on that day, and I wonder what made me check-in at Foursquare and share the same on Twitter. Perhaps it was in this manner I was destined to meet my cloud-lover, at least in theory. But whatever it is, I am happy. And in the end, that is all that matters.

MarineDrive