Versus

Today, as I was going back home from work, I noticed two women in the metro. They were friends. One was very pretty, she was carrying a verrrryyyyy very ugly clutch. The other one was less than average and was carrying a heartthrob handbag, it had the gleam of a high fashion designer brand.

It got me thinking...
Who must be happier? The one who is beautiful or the one who can afford all things beautiful? Or are both miserable because the other has something they want?

And that triggered off some serious analysis in my head, as always. The over-thinker me.

The women set just a very small example of the things that make us happy or unhappy. Most of our happiness is relative. You are better, you have something that is better, you know more than someone, you have more than someone etc. etc.

But, alongside our relative happiness, is our relative misery. If you have something more than someone, there could be a third person with more than you have. You are or have better, but can never be or have the best. Just as you will always be ahead of some, there will always be someone ahead of you.

Something that makes you sad is a privilege for someone else, there are many in this world who have it worse than you. They will rejoice if they had the chance to step into your shoes.

Does that mean there's nothing like happiness or sorrow? They don't exist?

I feel, sorrow does not exist. If we just stopped feeling sorry for ourselves we will always be happy. I don't want to sound mean, but the easiest way to stay happy is to stop comparing yourself with those who have it better than you, rather, if you have to compare, compare what you have with those who don't. It will make you sad for them for a moment but simultaneously you will be satisfied with whatever has come into your lap.

And, there's no better way to live than to count your blessings every day.

The sublime oasis

A place where each person is an island, but not.

Unattached yet entangled with the rest. Take their history and there’s not a link, yet they know each other’s lives.

Connecting them is the familiarity...of those dim, yellow lights. The mahogany cabinets and rugged wooden tables. Those overused, abused cushions. The glimmering chandeliers. That one broken windowpane.

They are the regulars.

Could be rivals, could be friends. Might help each other, might not even acknowledge.

It’s vulgar but warm. It’s dingy but addictive. Here, rivers of elixir flow.

It’s a place frequented by the same people, every day, every evening. Some work, some don’t. Some waste away, some grow. Some come with friends, some alone.

It’s a favourite of those who lust after experiences; they are poets, writers, painters, dreamers, philosophers. Their drunken eyes are full of imaginings, heads full of dreams and their hearts? They bleed.

It’s a bar. 

It gets ugly.

Look at me & look at you,

Let’s switch lives for a day or two.

My back is bent & I’m not as alert as you,

You will experience this ugly phase too.

I pray, your kids will care for you,

For some reason, mine are unable to.

I hope there’ll be someone to talk to you,

For, I know how I ache for a friend to talk to.

Love is no longer enough, I can tell you,

We crave comfort in our last year or two.

Your money is hard-earned & I congratulate you,

All I’m saying is donate just a rupee or two.

Every small drop counts, I promise you,

Donate & be an inspiration to others too.

The rising cloud

Your essence touches my soul

as I breathe you in.

Today this journey I take

is a different journey I make.

From heaven to heaven, till I cover all seven,

from pole to pole, till I’m lost forever.                                                    

Wrap your arms around me;

engulf me as you rise up from the valley.

Your misty touch is fluttering wings of a butterfly.

I can’t catch you, but again and again I try.

Promise me, when to ashes I turn,

together, free and wild, we’ll run.

So, as my hair flies and heart wanders,

I crave to hopelessly surrender.

Each curve, each bend, all depths and heights-

you were specially designed to hypnotise.

The artist of all artists created you as if to taunt me,

“You will be hungry forever. Go, have her if you can”.

Life is a void

There is a void. This world is a void. Your life is a void. The void of the world is filled with lives. All we do is try to fill our lives with things. But with what? We fill this void with Love – the most important. All other things germinate from love- hope, faith, dates, anniversaries, deadlines, awards, promises, families, friends...and the list goes on and on.

But as we say, life guarantees nothing. Not even itself.

We are so busy filling it with love, all sorts of love, that time just flies and before we know it, it’s all over. There’s no void. There’s nothing. It’s all over and you’re dead.

All you've done in your life is Love.

So, are we just passing time because we really don’t know the purpose of ‘being’? Or is loving enough of a purpose?

We leave with a bigger void...of not knowing, and knowing only that we will actually never know.

Why do you haunt me?

There must be a name for it,
this fear of you haunting my dreams.
Aloud, I renounce our secret dream trysts
but you're so bittersweet that I can't resist.

In my dreams of you, we are one.
With joy I shout, cry and scream out loud.
It's scary, when I wake you’d be gone
because in reality I am all alone.

Your ghost turns my feet cold.
You are my death foretold.
Every night before bed I pray,
“Don’t haunt my dreams any night of any day”