Qala

 What if, the only meaningful thing in your life is just one person's approval. 

Ever interacted with a kid? They are very easy to crack conversations with. Mostly because there aren't many people who would want to put in time to speak to them. God forbid if you are a kid in midst of a party of all adults, you already know it was a bad decision to come for the party if no other kid is going to be there. And this constant hunt of trying to find people like yourself, who might be okay to do some childish talks with you, becomes your whole childhood. (Most of adulthood too, but thats a different story) 

Parents also, almost always, bribe kid to do their bidding. If you eat paratha, i'll give you chocolates. If you go to school, I will take you to park in the evening. If you don't listen to me, I will not talk to you. The problem appears when they unknowing start putting barter on the unconditional love of theirs. "If you don't be this person I might not love you." Though this one always works like a charm. Because only thing the child knew that she always had, or may be only thing which really matters is now up on the stake. 

What if, the only meaningful thing in your life is just one person's approval. 

You see that your mother is not happy, mostly because you are not the person she wanted you to be. You promise yourself that you'll make it happen for her. Because then she might become happy, then she might give you her love, her approval. You start grooming yourself, loosing that weight she wanted, study as hard as you could, let go of your comic books and novels as she don't see much value in them. Don't watch late night movies, even though thats the only time they come on TV. You take up science instead on art. Engineering over animation. You work really really hard to learn to sing the way she wants you to, even though every time you fall short. You go to every extreme possible to make it to the high rank of the industry because thats the dream that she had dreamt for her family. You defy her because you believe realising this dream of hers is the only way to make her happy. 

One day you make it happen for her. But she refuses to acknowledge - because she wanted it to happen in a very very certain way - not a bit more, not a bit less. Then it dawns on you, that you can't make it happen for her. It dawns on you, you don’t even like singing. It dawns on you, you were just trying to realise her dream all this while, you have no clue at all who you really are. Nothing of yours belongs to you, it is just a bad fake imitation of what your mother is or wanted to be. You say your name loud again and again just to find meaning of it, just to find out who it is, just to find out who you are - while you just hear hollow echos and no answers. Even the remote spark of your own self - when you actually felt some connection - you had crushed with your own hands. Then you just start living in the darkness of your mind, trying to find minutest of the snowflakes which would have belonged to you. The irony of snowflakes is that they melt away as soon as you touch them. 

One day you find that your mother has finally come back to you. Suddenly you start feeling jittery. You realise that you have really little time before you could either preserve the ghost of mad and broken self, a person you have found of your own or become again your mother's daughter. In. that split moment, it all becomes clear for once and at all. You choose yourself this time. You hang yourself. You are happy, you choose peace. 

Your mother loved you always, unconditionally. She always wanted best for you, she thought this is the only way for you to get it. She was helping you make better choices in life. Guiding you along with tough love. Even when you became stubborn and choose something not meant for you, she thought she might put sense in you by taking away her support. But it was too late when she realised that she has done this tough love act for her for too long.  All she wanted was to take your head in her lap and soother you and tell you that everything is fine. We don't have to live with differences anymore, we can do what you like this time. but it was late, too late.

Want to hear a horror story - A mother gave her unconditional support and love to a child even when she was making all the wrong choices and end up creating a monster who only did what her heart desired. And they lived happily ever after. 

The Heroes of History - I, Tonya

I believe it all began when we as Humans started recording the history. Now everyone wanted their names in it and always as the winners - The Heroes of History. But the funny part about history is that it only tells you about the version of the Survivors. So you can never decide who the hero was in the actual play of events.

I, Tonya is just that. As Tonya says, her version of truth. It doesn't need to be right version, just close enough to make her look good - without distorting facts. I am not saying whether her version is right or wrong. Or if her history of abuse was something to sympathise with or actually made her a winner or just something which the movie people added just to make her case compelling, after all an underdog story is everyone's favourite - but I am not here to judge. It was story - good story on that.

It left me with a sour taste though, reminding me about the people who are hard to put down. They have this uncanny tendency of getting up again after every beating. They just don't know how to stop. It gets very difficult to sympathise with them because they don't really want the pity that you have gift wrapped in your sympathy. They just take a wilful look at it and spit. And just as they do that, your disguised pity turns into open contempt - you were being good to them after all and a spit is all they have to give you in return - when you were not even asking for anything in return really.

In that precise moment you realise that these are not the people whom you give points based on their skill or your sympathy - because they know your points are just that - pointless. So far you were something just because you could give people points and they were egar to take it. Now, you know how much these people are actually worth and so does these stubborn set of people. And even when they discard your point system you still find yourself giving them points - because that's what define you even though it doesn't define them. And you make sure you give them far less points than they actually deserve because you resent the fact that you can't beat them down, doesn't matter how hard you hit - they'll get up again.


3/5
I was a good movie!

Killing with Kindness - Three Billboards Outside Ebbing Missouri

The movie is called Three Billboards Outside Ebbing Missouri and trust me, it is just that. 

It would have been a very, very straight forward story of courage, but what makes it different are tiny moments of kindness. They are a community of compassionate people who are culpable of same mistake and yet similar deeds of Kindness.

How do you measure kindness? 

I guess this is that one things which need not be big the better, a tiny drop of it has the same effect as the whole sea.

That moment when Willoughby accidentally cough blood on Mildred's face and she shows kindness in that moment even though he is one she fighting really hard. And Willoughby let's her go.

The moment when the community comes forward and pays for Mildred's dues for they believe in her cause (or their own may be).

The moment when Willoughby tries to gives his family a comfort of a Happy last memory than a sad one by killing himself.

Or when Dixon saves Angela's case file even though he himself gets badly burned by the fire started by her mother.

Whether it's Penelope in her borrowed quotes and naiveness or James in his clumsy supportiveness, or the dreadful combination of Dixon and Mildred when they for a moment they are not sure if they want to kill the culprit.

They are all Hero's in their own right. As thankfully, there is no measure of kindness.

You never inflict a Revenge or Misery on others, it's only you who gets affected. It's up to you what you become as a result of it. 



4/5

It Moved Me.

Step 1. Take Control

I have been complaining from a very long time now that I don't have much to do. There is no excitement in my life, these is no thrill, no adventure no adrenaline rush but deep down i know that is so simply because I chose to live that why. So i figured this year I'll take charge. I mean there is a limit for which you could actually choose to be a lazy bum, i guess now I am bored of getting bored. So here is my plan, every month I am going to give myself a challenge, i.e. more or less indulge in an interesting activity and talk about it in my blog. Why I came across this thought? Well i figured, You can't be interesting until you do interesting things. So, what the hell, lets do it. Why blog about it? i have few reasons for that as well 1. I love to write, it is the way in which I can express myself best. 2. I need to connect with someone, even if the second person is me again. Lately i have been living a life of a loner (almost) and it is growing on me.I need to vent the steam some how. 3. I figured that writing about things i do keeps me hooked to them. 4. Who knows I might get famous. If Rebecca Black can so can I :P So what will be my activity for the month of January. By this time I have already created a list of 17 things to do. Of these the chosen activity is: Challenge January 2013 - Walk 100 KMs. I know it is an easy one, at least for me, because I love to walk. My issue is only with commitment. So, here we start. Good luck to me :)

December Marathon

Last year December, I spent my time watching movies. This year again, I am starting my movie marathon. I don't know how it'll go, but one thing I know for sure, I am in for an interesting December.

December Movie 1. Closer

It is amazing hoe life works. You spend three years of your life with someone and then one fine day your realize that you can't live with that person anymore. Every little thing about him irritates you now. Times when he used to be possessive about you before, you used be proud and now if he does the same, it suffocates you.

Love is the biggest of all commitments. Not only you promise to live with your life with just one person, but also a few restrictions becomes a part of what is called a relationship. It is easy, way easy to break the boundaries of this relationship. All you need to do is to take a simple step and say sorry. But if only, Love were such a simple thing.

The boy who lived, died today!

They say it was just a movie. May it was, but was it. The doors of Hogwads were closed forever. Now no one will call me a Muggle any more. Because magic entrapped itself, somewhere on the platform 9 3/4 at Kingcross station. For past ten years, I was carrying a wand with me, today they tell me, it is just a stick. Quidditch through ages, is banned for ages now. Every age has a fairy tale. Today they took from me, the last of my magical hope, now it is just a story which i once read, while I was a kid. I am not a kid anymore, because the boy who lived, died today. I will not name the-one-who-must-not-be-named because if not for him, I would have never known the magic i possess. I would have never known what is it to be a free elf. I would have never known me. Now no one will teach me how to pronounce "wingardium leviosa", because dictionary says, it's not a word. The room under the stairs is empty now, but i have all those memories, piece by piece in a box in my heart. I shall recite them again someday, till then, remember me!

पुराना सामान

अज कई सालों के बाद

उनका सामान जो खोला
कुछ चूडिया निकली,

टूटी सी
जो कभी हाथो में उनके
बजा करती थी
कुछ शंख थे,

सिप्पियाँ भी
बड़े शौक से
इक्कठा करती थी वो
जुराबे निकली थी ऊन की
सांझ ढले गीत गुनगुनाते हुए
अक्सर बुना करती थी वो
दवाइयों की खली बोतलों क बीच से
एक इतरदान मिला है
हलकी सी खुशबू बाकि है अभी भी
और रुक सी गयी है एक लम्हे में
कहने को बेजान है उनकी वो पुरानी घडी
कुछ पुराने ख़त मिले हैं
जिनमे उनके दिन भर का बियोरा है

कुछ गम लिखा है, कुछ यादें भी

और कुछ हसी अभी भी बाकि है
उनकी धुंधली तस्वीरो में
बिक रही हैं उनकी वो यादें आज
कौड़ियो के मोल
कहते हैं पुराना सामान है

किसी काम का नहीं

To my family and the words, said-unsaid which still lingers in the age old air of a heritage.