I am having a hard time, calming myself down. I want to keep talking even in the middle of fainting, that’s how chaotic my restlessness can get.

it has meaning, no matter how much I accuse myself of being over zealous or over- everything else.

What I see and feel. It is in front of me  and it cannot be rejected on the ground that others cannot see it.
I can see it, feel it, understand a bit of it and have already decided what I will do to look beyond this problem and work out a solution.
Yeah, that’s me being scared of the problem and running towards the solution even before I have one.

But I have voices screaming inside my head, accusing me of the ‘C’ word.
Compromise. Compromise they all say. Because I and we do not
deserve the patience to fight?

Inhibitions, fears, prejudices, I have had them all and I still do. I have fought them, demanded a reply from them and pushed myself
to feel how it feel to be devoid of these inhibitions and limitations…  Titillations (that rhymes)
Actually I’m lying, I have more than sometimes, run away and gone to sleep or overeaten instead of dealing with how I feel.

Oh crap, i just edited myself into the truth zone!

Moving on.

From something as small as being scared of a cockroach to feeling ugly and unwanted; have I tried to break free from these thread-like forms?

I just changed my statement to a question. Yeah, I’m editing this insanely egotistical, judgemental piece of word(s). I’m humbling it  down.
I hope I’m not doing the ‘C’ word.

Welcome miss scared to disagree,
Miss Humble-bee!

Small thoughts as small as tiny obstacles have been strewn across the floor,That is the reason I don’t like curtailing my freedom just because it’s post 10 pm and I am a girl. But you see, for most people, this example seems like a much farther point of reference.
But aren’t our external fears are connected to our internal fears. To justify them is to further push it into ourselves and level it with glue, till we stop thinking that this bias was never naturally born in us.

There are people I know,
who in actuality are quite beautiful people, borne with the potential of magic, yet they have for years cultivated in them the need to fear, to lull down their restlessness to a stinking standstill. Yes, a STINKING STANDSTILL.

They have taught themselves to scowl at a poor man ( poor in money {money- green wads of cash}; frown at the brown loam of the earth and call it filth, look at grass and fear it for it hides snakes  and judge every creature that doesn’t speak human. Not that they are considerate or perceptive to human behaviour!

It becomes unbearable for me sometimes(often),
to stand people like that.

Disgusted by a bit of stench or muck, disgusted at a peaceful creature that barks (because that’s his choice of language, err!) and fear of birds. I am sorry, but are you the child of royalty? You fear love, you fear rebellion and yet you are the loudest one to roar. Have you tried listening to the roar inside of you? The once you so painfully shove deeper into the inside cabinets of your mind. You will fight and cry and crib and complain and spread your discord and persuade others to hate as must as you hate.

But why do you hate?
Your need to be terribly practical and overtly ambitions has distanced you.
sometimes I see the noise running behind your eyes, once, one day I saw it poisoning you, smudging the black of your eyes.
Life isn’t a conspiracy to make you lose.

Your dreams are safe.
You can’t hide your love with your hate. Why?
I have seen you eyes go wet, I have accidentally seen a part of you that is brilliantly tender and passionate. But, you still run away, dear friend.
Please stop.


What’s wrong with getting your hands dirty and our hearts a bit feverish and uncomfortable. Even if you were born in the softest of
kid gloves, where is your nature? Where have you lost your urge to flex a bit of your muscles (molecules) and NO, you can not blame your parents, Sorry, no blaming parents on my blog. Nope.
They protected you like parents do and you should rebel just like children do.
For life is magic, the ability to break free from our personal doubts or burdened strings of guilt is the magic inside the magic. To not try is painful, like deleting a memory you have yet not lived but would love to.
We have to learn to look at the wider whirls of the world, the long shot of the picture and the very very long shot of what’s floating inside your soul.
Singing and slowly waltzing in wait.


I felt anger. The opportunities were muddled with self importance and ego. Where is the passion?, where is the desire to stir up what is hidden behind your silver clouds and murky drains. I have to stop saying I I I I I eye. hmmm.

Objects, people, darkness and smells are the least of our troubles. My mind must have the strength and the beauty to look beyond feeling queasy because it’s too cold, too hot or too pleasant. Prejudice and the need to reject all kinds of criticism is just not healthy. If you aren’t honest and passionate about something why will anyone give you the power to spin a story and create a piece of art.

Too preachy. Never mind. You can criticize me.

You don’t deserve that art. You are numb skull and boring and stupid and too pragmatic. Terribly practical; closed person who likes to run away from herself, himself, itself whatever. Breathe dear angry person, breathe.
No passion running through your blood telling you to follow your heart.
You are so mechanical and shallow, you always prefer skimmed milk to full cream. I hate that your shortcomings as a human being
have to be shared by me. Sorry, I’m being stupid.And judgemental. Passion flows through every colour of crimson blood. Or scarlet or red.

Whatever, just don’t be blue, you know blue means you are dying?

Okay getting to my passionate anger at people running from passion!

Let it be, don’t judge, everyone is different. I know that theory, but is that excuse enough to not be an open person, an excuse to take offence and be slow and lazy and to create mediocre actions, especially when you are in the business of creating expression. If you can’t even make an effort to break fee from your own quarry of fears, not feel the honest mulling’s of your heart, then how my dear will someone trust you tell a story, his story, my story, your mother’s story and even your story?

Oh, and don’t you dare become a bully to get to your end.
Why? Try being one and you’ll see what happens. Even better, be a friend to one and see how they make you feel

Moving on from this minor distraction.

If I take your ‘we all work differently’ as your excuse to be lazy. Sorry, I’m not your father, I will not mollycoddle you!

You’ll miss out on the small instances, micro micro change in the wind of the breeze.

small is big

I love it when I see a special sight through the window, a group of mute children in school uniforms laughing and talking as if the lack of sound in no manner stops them, they
move their hands with delightful precision. I look at myself and remember all the times I have shied away from communicating. Having all my senses intact. I’m sure these kids would pity me and say ‘It’s okay Didi, try harder next time’.

When the rickshaw guy speaks in your mother tongue and wants to know where your village is and when you tell him , he smiles. Though I don’t tell him that I’ve never been there or that my dad sold off the last plot years ago or that I have no relatives to go back to.
‘Back’ is a such a strange word. Sometimes it means forward, more; than backwards.

Anyhoo, let’s get back to quaint experiences.

The happiness of running after a bus that’s already started from the bus stop. When you see the bus slowing down for you. The driver stops for you, for your determination. I know it’s such a small thing, but so delightful .
I guess I’ve just loved the running. Running towards instead of away from something.

A week back, as I was walking back home, there was the sweetest smell of winter spreading across the night and I wanted to run,
run my

lungs out,

feel my limbs gripping the wind between it.

I thought about what people would think, what if someone saw me, I’ll run when
I’m nearer to home, I thought. Just ten steps more and I will fly with the wind.

I never did run. I let the moment pass.

Next time.





I know I’m not perfect, not even close. But I won’t sulk about these small things, in each breathe I will tread on a new stone, learn a
new lesson, hear a new song, catch a new star in the sky and run like the wind. There’s no falling, no failure, no fears, no stopping,
just life and how I choose to live it.

I’d really like it If I had more people on this journey, not with me or along me, but just on some kind of journey,

so, will you run with me?




~ January, 14




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