Saturday, 29 August 2015

Broken no more

I woke up feeling heavy, groggy and uneasy.And I knew,this meant, that it's time for me to write.

I am not a writer per se, but I am in a way.I write only for myself.

My mind races..races like a the thoughts are in a Derby race of their own and the one that wins,is the one that comes out on paper.

Usually my thoughts are absurd,random,confusing, metaphorical... That's why they make sense.But it's a long process before the sense part actually comes in.

A process that me and my partners in crime(pencil and paper), explore for hours and hours or sometimes days together.

So just like my usual Derby days, I set out to let my winning thought take it's shape through words.

Those words that I love to scribble onto my favorite diary with my favorite pencil.

Every time I sit down to write, I spend a few seconds feeling happy about my diary..the fragrance of paper,the smoothness of the sheets and the symmetrical lines...I love it!

And then a few more seconds are gone, in looking at my favorite pencil...a blue colored pencil..smooth as ever..just broken..

Just like me...

It was a gift from someone I loved..loved too much.That someone, knew how much I loved to write..and that too with pencils.Someone with whom I had spent my evenings just doodling on paper...scribbling our names..drawing our dream caricatures..
Someone..who broke my pencil in a fit of rage...and my heart..

We were in our favorite coffee shop that evening when we fought. When an innocent question,a casual discussion went out of hand.I don't even remember what happened.. Why did it happen.. All I know and remember is that he broke my pencil and my heart. 

And now,I roam around with a broken pencil in my hand and a broken heart within.

And I write..write all my broken and scattered thoughts in my diary..

I started writing..but I couldn't. It was too distracting.My mind wasn't comfortable. It kept going back to that day.. that coffee shop..and I had this urge to go there.My instincts,kicking me from within to just go.

I decided to finish up my pending work and head to my once favorite coffee shop "Yours truly".
It was evening by the time I finished work.I packed up my diary and pencil and left.

Even though, the travel to the coffee shop was just about half an hour,it felt like an eternity.
I was restless..I don't know why.

I parked my car and walked up to the cafe. It had been nearly a year since I had even seen this place.

As I stepped in,I was engulfed by the fragrance of coffee,the familiar graffiti on the walls, the music and my favorite seat.

It was automatic. I just had to walk up to it,sit,order my coffee and start my scribbling. 

After a while,my coffee came. But I hadn't scribbled.. I was blank. It was strange.

I had all these thoughts and now I just couldn't write!

I decided to leave. As I was packing up,I heard a familiar voice from behind me.

My heart raced. 

Could it be possible?

I turned around to see who was sounding so familiar. It was him.

Our eyes locked.The world around buzzed out.The Derby race in my head started again.
And then he smiled.I was puzzled. He reached into his pocket and took out something.
The other half of my favorite broken pencil.

I smiled at him..a relieved smile..extended my hand and he placed the other half of my pencil on it.

I enclosed it my palm.It felt wonderful.

And then she walked up to him.He turned away from me instantly. 

I smiled to myself.

After all,I was broken no more.

#This post is a part of Write Over the Weekend, an initiative for Indian Bloggers by BlogAdda.#

Wednesday, 12 August 2015

Dear me,I appreciate you!

How many times has it happened,that you do something and wait for someone to appreciate you? Wait for the little pat on the back or a "good job!"or "nice!"?

Appreciation is a very powerful tool in the hands of people, for whom we are trying to do things.

The kind of appreciation, the amount and the way it comes to us,serves as a very important benchmark that directs all our future efforts.

Picture this-a child makes a birthday card for his parent and gives it to him/her,expecting words of love and appreciation like " thank you",'"this is so nice "," I'm so happy" and instead gets a reply like "it's nice but you should make it better next time".

What happens to the poor child? His mind automatically thinks " Papa/Mummy didn't like it..It wasn't so nice.." And it demoralizes him/her.

So the next time,the child may end up doing better and may also begin to hold this 'better' a bit too tightly or the child may stop trying to do 'better'.

But is there anything wrong in letting someone know that they can or need to improve?
There isn't. However, there is a way and time to convey such information.

May be next time,the parent can actually start by telling the child how much they appreciate the effort, how good their child has made them feel and then gently slide in any suggestion that they want to convey.

And not only with children,it happens with each one of us, at some point or the other where we feel,we are not being recognized for our work.

And appreciation for adults is a far more complex emotion that kids.

Yet,before we turn to others for appreciation and end ourselves up in this whirlpool of doing things and getting desperate for appreciation;we need to look inwards.

Are we actually giving ourselves the credit and the feedback that we should be?

When we ask someone for their opinion,we open ourselves to different perspectives.To be able to actually choose the one that resonates with our bent of mind,we need to know which side we are actually on!

I have been anti-cooking for as long as I can remember. My mother is an awesome cook and somehow,it's just an unsaid assumption that I will or should be as good as her.

Perhaps, due to this reason,I never liked entering the kitchen!I used to feel awkward when people asked me about my culinary skills.

But now,I realize that I used to feel awkward because I didn't really know if I liked cooking at all or not!how would I? I never tried!

And now that I have,I know what all I like to cook and how.My style is not like my mother's and it doesn't have to be!I learn from her and add my own twist to it!

As long as I keep trying to cook exactly like her,I will not be able to develop my own style.And same is the case with appreciation. 

If my mother is my bench mark,then obviously everyone will compare me to her!

That's why,I don't have a preset bench mark.I cook like how I want to which makes it easier for me to evaluate my own efforts and explain my goals to those around me.So the guidance and feedback that I receive, becomes much more acceptable.

The perennial mistake that we all make,is to do something and run for someone to tell us how it is.

Why not ask ourselves first?

How do we know what we receive is not fair if we are unable to decide for ourselves? And the minute we do,we also learn different ways of filtering unwanted information out.

To gain appreciation, we need to be appreciated by ourselves.Else, the world is nothing but a big ball of information hitting us all the time!

Tuesday, 11 August 2015

The joy of being broken

Meeting and getting to know people, is a very good thing.Not only because it expands your social circle,but it also expands your thinking prowess.It's an unconscious time travel taking you from who you were,who you are now and who you wish to be with the time to come.

Kaun kab aur kahan mil jaye,kya keh jaye,suna jaye...kya pata.

And even more powerful,is the impact that all that talking, listening and discussing makes.Sometimes,the best learning is the one which we never intended to do.The best realizations are the ones,we never intended to realize..

So just like all other random ramblings of mine,this one also, is a result of one such interaction that I had with a new found friend.While we were chit-chatting about the different kind of books that we both like to read; he sent me one picture that had a few lines written on it.

The one line that immediately got stuck in my head was -"I'm broken.Not out of order".

At that time, it was just a fancy line with a deep meaning, that I didn't understand completely. But now,sitting and watching the rain drops seep into different areas, switched my light bulb (read mind) on!

Am I broken? Yes.
How? In more than one more ways that I can ever realize.

And I'm glad that I am ...because I know, I have a long road ahead of me...a journey that I am going to enjoy...a journey of  building and rebuilding myself..

We all are broken in some ways or another. And we shall always be..because being broken means,that we have the option to rebuild.. Fill those little cracks in our mind, with whatever we want and continue molding

 ourselves differently.

So how do you define being broken?Well.. that's the best don't!

Because as time passes,you realize that there are certain cracks,crevices,bumpy spaces in your mind that you keep stumbling upon with time.

Whether you choose to fill them temporarily, permanently or leave them open for your choice.

Being broken doesn't mean you're weak.It simply means you have the chance to get hurt..take work preserve..

To just do whatever it takes for you to come a little closer to who you want to be and how you choose to be,at a point in time.

And yes,broken doesn't mean not functional or out of order.

It just means we are human at the end of the day...with our own little cracks..imperfections.. 

And that's the beauty of being.

That's the power of being broken...the power to rebuild.

Tuesday, 4 August 2015

Finding words

You don't look at me like you used to
You don't touch me like you used to..

Sometimes when you do,
I can feel those empty stares
Burning through me
As though you have a lot to say
But your words fail you..and me..

Sometimes your touch feels cold and aloof
You hold me like you know me
But have forgotten
And then you rummage through the likes of me,
Looking for proof.

It's been long since you held me softly and wrote words of love,laughter or sadness..
I know I'm just a paper
But I feel you, like no one else does
I feel your joy,confusion and sometimes.. the emptiness...

I know you miss me
As I miss your words on me

But I will wait,
Till the words come to you

The want to find....