Strangled

My present asks me why.....
My relationship feels strangled.
The mirror shows the glimpse of
A stranger with frantic hands,
Trying to reach me
with desires strong as metal,
But soul filled up
only with smoke, no fire within.

While the future hazes out...
uncertainty toddling by,
Commitment fades out and
lust flows in....
Paths deviate, souls depart...
But the relationship remains
All for namesake.

Ummm.....

A day passed by, with a sigh,
Deepening all my sorrows.
But as I smiled, head held high,
It healed up all the hollows.

Just Another Day

Well, writing in my blog nowadays has become similar to "a special sweet dish on a happy occasion".

Today was an eventful day of my life, not because it passed exceptionally well, but it taught me a little more.

The life which circled only around friends, laughter and merriment has suddenly come to a halt. Today, the clock does not stop, the day does not wait and the lack in variety continues.

My close friends are soon going to move out of office....and their empty places would be filled up with new faces, following the dreary introduction and fake smiles. There would be the common repetition of making your presence felt in the place where nobody cares.

My purpose was not to get emotional over somebody leaving the workplace, but emphasize on the fact that the superficial layer of insecurity and loneliness heals rapidly with a new bond of attachment over the new ones. And despite these sudden changes and a million hurdles crossing your path, life still goes on...

The Glimpse of a Lifeline in Mumbai

.....and the crowd pushed me without prior indication, forcing me to move forward. The sudden gush of wind mingled with the strong force of manpower, all moving in one direction seemed like a magnetic pull towards the cabins of the local train. Yes, local train is the term which left my heart pounding hard, very hard the first time I stepped into it, rather pushed into it.

Many ask me why I emphasize on local trains of all things in Mumbai???? I just smile to myself........Local train, an insignificant word for the rest of the world is a "lifeline" for residents in Mumbai. My first experience from Dadar railway station to Andheri was exhilarating, I was dumb struck at the mechanical bodies, brushing past swiftly and occupying the empty spaces within a fraction of a second. As my eyes drifted towards the large mass, standing at the so called "gate" of the trains, I was amazed to see hordes of people in different attires, reading books, newspapers, praying, singing songs with one hand clutching on for support and other holding meticulously the rest of the burdens. It was a sight to remember, a place where nobody had time. To people in Mumbai, a second implied time, and time meant money.

This is just a prologue, but someday I would elaborate on many more wonderful things which are unique and interesting in this enchanting place called Mumbai........

Monday Blues

The start of a week day is a ghastly nightmare, which starts showing its effect from the Sunday night itself. I dread the thought of going back to work on Mondays. Every Sunday night seems like the end of a long holiday and the beginning of another tiresome week.

Back in school, Monday was a day I looked forward to, as it meant meeting friends again, sharing lunch-boxes, chattering and laughing over the endless meaningless, insignificant topics. But, office has an adverse effect on me. The grim, serious and so called “professional” environment makes me feel droopy from the start. Watching people walk discreetly, speak softly, work meticulously and eat hastily somehow leaves me more stressed out by the end of a week.

However, my Dad chided me today saying that “humdrum” bores its seeds within oneself, and flourishes if given a way. So, instead of cribbing over my present state, I am trying to enjoy the last minutes of this wonderful Sunday. I have just started reading a novel by Rajashree named “Trust Me”. Initially, I was glued to books written by foreign authors, but after reading books by Chetan Bhagat, Satyajit Ray and Khushwant Singh, I have discovered a new love towards Indian authors.

Though I do not know if this book would be as exciting as Chetan Bhagat’s “Five Point Someone”, but the attractive cover somehow had a miraculous effect on me like many others….

A Ray of Hope

This is my first blog ever. I don't remember the last time I wrote an essay or a journal, and I am plain confused about how to express myself the right way.

Writing in my "secret diary" during school days was one of my favorite hobbies, which slowly faded away in course of time. I cherish the little memories of writing about the million things which crossed my mind...my first crush, the history class, my birthday gift and endless number of silly things. However, as my childhood passed by, the creative part of me too buried down under the burdens of life.

Often, I feel mechanical and the monotony of life suffocates me. I wonder if it is work pressure, wearisome uniformity of daily rituals or the environment around me. The questions just keep circling around my blank mind and slowly vanish without an answer.

So, here I am today, with an attempt to lighten my shuffled life with the little happiness of my own writing.