A parody of Life.

In the well furnished room, among the Victorian interiors and hardwood floors sat Ms.Faith in her plush couch resting her feet on the ottoman. She sat gazing at her recently finished painting of a girl with dainty feet and thick black curls dangling from her head, accompanied by eyes as blue and deep as the ocean. Ms.Faith even at the age of 53, was a woman of class. She was one of the most celebrated artists of her time and the hard-earned fame and glory was solely her own feat. Her vanity was even justified upto a certain extent. However, inspite of all this, she was completely oblivious of a grave thing that occured in her absence, under her own roof.
Living as a spinster, her house remained empty most of the times when she was out attending exhibitions in art galleries or busy with one of her socialite parties. And it's during these vacant periods that her paintings all came to life in the literal sense. The moment she was out of her villa, her paintings would dissolute and step out of their canvases to become animate. Since the characters in these paintings were extremely cautious, Ms.Faith never had the slightest inkling about this bizarre reality.
Today, after her extensive admiration of the new painting, as Ms.Faith got up from her comfortable couch to leave for the inaugration of an Art school, the apparently unalive paintings started preparing themselves for their usual ritual. As the door closed, and Ms.Faith vanished, the paintings waited for a safe period of five minutes after which, one by one each painting started disengaging itself. It was like looking at a puzzle in which each part was being removed systematically. The petite girl who was created by the artist just moments ago was the first one to get out. Next was Ms.Faith's rendition of "Socrates". Similarly, the multitudes of paintings disembodied themselves and gathered in the dining area. The last to reach was a centaur. They seated themselves comfortably in the spacious dining room and each one was ready with his/her rant.
This was a tradition carried out in this household from when Ms.Faith first started painting. Each character spilled out his/her emotional baggage while the others listened. The theme of the rant was always the same- 'How their soul is trapped in an unknown body'. They let the newly manifested girl go first.
" What is this? Why am I wearing a frock? And my hair, who on earth has such perfect locks? Why do I look like my whole face has been powdered ten times? This is not me. I don't want to look so superficial, is it possible to change my appearance? You, sir! You look splendid! I really wish she painted me like you, that make-up and that dressing really suits you!"
The mimer simply replied with a number of gestures which the girl could not fathom.
"Have a look at me, will you?" said the centaur, "I'm sure that will stop you from complaining. I'm half human, half horse. So basically I'm not half as good as you. The horses shun me because they think I am like the humans who use them for manual labour and the humans feel inferior when they are with me because of my evident horsepower. So hoof am I really?"
One by one they started speaking and eventually all hell broke loose. Everybody kept blabbering irrespective of whether anybody was listening or not. The opera singers were singing their lungs out, it sounded like they were angry but the sweet melody made it confusing to judge. The Neanderthal was trying to converse with ridiculous grunts and pretty evidently trying hard to appear like a Homo Sapien. The mimer was aggressively miming unable to express himself as efficiently as he wanted to and it just ended up looking like he was having a seizure. Amidst all the pandemonium stood out one man who was as calm as a winter night. Co-incidentally, this was the same man who was Ms.Faith's 'Socrates'. He loudly cleared his throat in an attempt to speak, and just like that, the whole room fell silent. This man had the authority with which he was originally painted.
"Look at you!", he exclaimed, "Causing a havoc over something which is beyond repair. You were made like this brothers, you cannot be changed because it is simply impossible. You are inanimate to the world and that is the reality no matter how much you try to change it. However, I do admire you all for rebelling like this, for raising your voice over the injustice done to you. It is true indeed that you should be given the right to decide your character, to shape yourself according to your own interests; but it is also true that you have been made this way by your creator and there is nothing you can do to reverse your destiny." "But I tell you this, You're not alone my fellows. The same specie who created you, the humans, they frequently live lives which are not their own. They shape themselves according to the needs of the society. They fret about what the world thinks and act according to what is socially acceptable. They fear to get out of their comfort zone and succumb to what they think is safe and practical, they do not venture or scrutinize and basically are puppets who dance to the strings held by the Society. And all this, even after they have a choice! Even after being the master of their own game! Even after being capable of designing their own destiny! So then what are you? Mere brush strokes on a piece of paper, hah!" "If our superior counterpart has left all hope in life and live under the grey-scale, you should be considering yourselves extremely fortunate to atleast have some colour and meaning in life."
This sounded so absurd and foolish to the other paintings. Humans had the ability to mould their clay according to their own whims and fancies but still chose to let another potter play with it. If they could, they would grab the first opportunity to run the brush and master a few strokes here and there in order to transform themselves into what they really are, to release their soul from the unknown body they were trapped in. On the contrary, their own creators had the freedom but were still refraining from using it. So what good was it for the paintings to argue over something which was not even in their hands. Considering this the only consolation they could muster, the paintings quietly climbed back into their canvases.
After a while, Ms.Faith was back home looking fatigued and worn-out. As she was getting ready to go to bed, a phone call from her secretary informed her that she had an appointment with yet another businessman, to strike yet another business deal. As she groaned and readied herself to act according to the social protocol, her beloved paintings in the canvases were all trying to stifle their knowing smiles.

The tale of a Bibliophile.

My relation with books stretches back to a long time ago when I was about 5-6 years old. Coming from a pretty typical Indian family, the focus was mainly on my studies and the only books that were readily bought were the dull textbooks which dampened any child's imagination. Reading outside of the curriculum was almost considered bizarre. Fortunately, my father had a contradictory opinion about this; but he was never around much since he was earning bread and butter the malayali way (There's a reason Dubai is like the second Kerala) So I was left with my minute, miniscule library which I think consisted of three books. One was a set of knowledge books which was gifted to my sister by a family friend, the second was a Tinkle comic book which can't really be called literature in the right sense. The third book was very dear to me, called 'The Mango tree' . So I set off with my modest possession for the extensive journey to the land of literature. Nevertheless, I had my ways and thankfully my brain didn't tire of the same old books I repeatedly read to keep the fire ignited.

     As a kid, visits to my cousin's were much looked forward to since they were accompanied by food, merriment, but most of all the prospect of getting to read his books. My indolent cousin had a gem of a book which he was obviously least appreciative of; but my eyes didn't escape this wonderful paperback he had discarded in one of his drawers- "The little Red Riding Hood" (with pictures! Oh yeah!) So this book was, I think, one of the best things that happened to me when I was a child. It opened an array of imagination, everything from her little hooded red dress, to the wolf dressing as the granny outright fascinated me. Oh and I could go on and on about how divine the frayed pages of the book smelled, since my olfactory senses sometimes still get nostalgic about them. Why I was not allowed to take the book home to call it mine, I never understood. My cousin didn't give a rat's ass about it anyway. Well, be that as it may, I'll forever be thankful to Charles Perrault, for I'm sure several kids like me loved this little masterpiece.

    In school, everybody dreaded open house, since that is when the encounter between your parents and teachers occurred which can wreck your life for days to weeks, depending upon the severity of your doings. However, I waited in anticipation of this day. Dear reader, please do not assume I was a brilliant student, it was only because it used to be one of those blessed days when the school hosted a book exhibition! The neglected exhibition acted as my bookstore, in fact the book shelf at home still adorns the books I bought from these exhibitions. They are not very choice books I'm afraid, but it acted as a kick start to my hobby.
    Books opened for me a whole new life, multiple lives to be accurate. I climbed the hill tops of Peshawar, drifted through the land of Westeros, explored Britain in the Victorian era and feasted at the Great hall of Hogwarts. Books enlightened me, took me on expeditions and made me don a hundred different cloaks. Touching a new book felt like laying my hands upon a world full of possibilities. Taking in the waft of yellowed pages was better than any perfume ever bottled. Eyes wandering through the books stacked haphazardly was like seeing magic on parchment.
    Books became a solace, a silent friend, a companion in despair and a medium of satisfaction. They made me see clearly into the nooks and corners of the world. Every book ended with an emotional turmoil followed by days of grey clouds hovering above my head. However, I gradually recovered, and plunged myself yet again into another world. Even if some ignorant people think that reading is boring, one thing I know for certain is that I would gladly spend all my life growing and faltering, living and perishing, dreaming and reasoning with my face buried inside a paperback.

A juvenile reverie

You know how when you were a kid, you used to have imaginary worlds of your own, where dolls could talk and cars could fly and everything was made of chocolate? Then eventually we grew up and the imaginary world crumbled like a house of cards. It was a time when nothing seemed absurd. Everything seemed like a possibility, so much so that we'd even bet our lives on it.
    I can myself give an instance or two, one of which is when I set out to fight with my friends who claimed that Santa is not real. Hey, I mysteriously  got presents every christmas on my windowsill ! So that means he exists! [LOL!] That was all the reasoning we needed. Then the inevitable happened, we grew up [ DAMN!]
    Nursery rhymes were replaced by trigonometry, Dexter's Laboratory was replaced by The Big Bang Theory and Emotions were replaced by Smileys. Although, it happened as a gradual process, the realisation of it dawned like a sudden jerk. However, is this phenomena really as exclusive as it seems to be? Do we really leave the child in us miles away, to rot as we grow up?
    Speaking from whatever little experience I have, I would have to say, if the child in you perishes, it's one of the gravest mistakes you've committed with your own hands. The curiosity, inquisitiveness, bluntness that a child possesses, if we adults try to emulate some of it, we'd build a happier life for ourselves. As we wring ourselves each day and try to keep up with the mice race, we are losing out on the small surprises and minute bouts of ecstacy. Don't make the vivid , animated world we are in, turn into a grey despair. The day novelty dies, mankind will need another evolution.
    So turn and wave back at the child who is trying to catch up with you. Walk with your tiny reflection. If you try to overhaul time, you'll trip and fall head-first. May the spark in your eyes remain until the end of time.

   " ...Refrain, don't carry the world upon your shoulders" ~ The Beatles

That boy/girl thing.

When a girl is born in India, if you're fortunate enough, everyone is overjoyed. They don't see any difference between a boy and a girl. I was one of those lucky people who wasn't discriminated on the grounds of me being a girl. As I grew up I realized I preferred to be a guy than a girl. I mean call me sexist but this is how it is in the Indian society- a girl plays with dolls and is supposed to be shy, submissive and well-behaved. I was none of those. I loathed barbies so much that I deliberately broke the one Barbie somebody made the mistake of gifting me, I got into fights with guys and challenged guys twice my size. I went out on ventures all alone leaving my mother vexed since she couldn't find her precious annoying daughter. Basically, I was a pain in the neck.
      Girls are always brought up in a way such that they live according to certain norms and have to behave a certain way, because hey! You got two X chromosomes! Thankfully I was nurtured in such a way that I never had to restrict myself to these. I think it's unfair that we expect girls to behave and act a certain way only because they are 'girls' . It's liberating to be a guy; you don't have to pay heed to what the society thinks about you or whether you're considered respectable. No matter what you do it will be excusable because "Vo Toh ladka hai" . Subconsciously as a kid I refused to bend to these man-made rules and now as a 21 year old I still refrain from subjecting myself to these regulations.
I am my own person. If I believe in live-in relationships, I'm not immoral. If I see a girl smoking I'm not going to cringe because I see a girl who is smoking, but because I don't support the habit. Time and again you see people creating an uproar over something that a girl pursues and the reasoning is usually that she had the audacity to do something like that inspite of being a girl. Seriously if you're going to oppose something let the reason be gender-free.
If you make your daughter grow up with dolls and your son with cars, you're starting to stereotype from a very young age. I understand that the two genders are different and function in different ways, but that doesn't mean you impose it on them. Let them find their personality. Help them grow as good human beings, not as someone with gender rules. Shape your child's character irrespective of his/her sex. Teach him/her to respect and acknowledge everyone as a fellow human and then as a man or a woman. Let us not create unnecessary differences. We are all imperfect and need to be groomed under the same factors. Don't teach me to be well mannered specifically because I'm a girl but because it's a virtue everybody should inculcate. Each individual has the right to discover himself/herself. Don't build shackles around your daughter. Let her grow without the society deciding her character. Don't clip her wings, let her soar, push her away from the safe nest. She will always come back, you just have to give her a chance.

Reap from the 'Reaper'

                  Reap from the 'Reaper'

If there is one thing common between everything that breathes on earth, it is that one day we all die. Or if I were to talk like an optimist, I'd rather say, once we all lived. Death is an irony really. The deceased feels nothing on leaving behind his family, friends, earthly possessions; but the ones he left behind feel the most agonising of human emotions- Loss/Separation/Atrophy.

      When you lose someone to death, a part inside you dies as well. A feeling you felt only with that person dies, the laughter which only that one person could invoke dies, the person that you are when you're with them dies. The ones who die are instead the ones who now live- the people who loved him; who have a hole in their lives now which seldom is filled.

    So why did God make death? Why don't we get to live eternal life? Why is death inevitable? Because at the end of the day, we all have to go home. Maybe the One who sent us felt the same pain when He had to part with us to give us the gift of life. He knew his plan for us. So He sent us on our way with an assurance that one day we'll come back, where He'll reunite with us and we'll be at the better place. 

     So let go. Don't hold on to the ones you've lost. He had an amazing journey and he's going back home to tell his Creator of all the wonderful people he met, all the dreams he fulfilled, all the love he received and all the beautiful emotions he felt. He's indeed at a better place for there's no sorrow, violence, injustice or cruelty there. Death is on the contrary, the gift of life. They may seem like two diametrically opposite things but the reward is always at the end of the race. When you reach that finish line, you look back at your exciting path, and feel content. For now it's time to retire and return. It's His way of telling you that you've done your part and it's time you come back. 

      So if you have lost someone, realise that we have to let them go. We all have to cross that bridge which separates life from death. And when we look back we'll see every person we loved and will always love waving back at us with tear-filled eyes and a small smile on their face. I once read somewhere, "God crumbles up the old moon into stars" . We are those stars on earth and each one has to carry on his journey back to the moon. Accept it. Kiss goodbye. Release.