I don’t want to be renowned

My name will die with me, my karma will stay behind

I don’t want to leave my name behind. Fuck what the world says. I do not want to leave my name behind. I don’t want to be interviewed because of something huge that I did. I do not want to be the person who leaves a huge name. But I want to leave behind a legacy.

There is a difference I feel. In my name, there will be a person involved. A tangible figure. That’s exactly how I don’t want it to be.

No persons. No name. If something good ever comes out of my life, I hope the good isn’t overshadowed by my name.

I don’t want to be famous for what I do. Heaven knows we could use less names and more deeds in this world full of people who would kill for credit.

— Poetry —

She fought for credit
He died without any
She struggled as his work lived on

~ Karma lives longer than generations and civilizations

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My love for Marilyn Monroe

“She is a dead girl, stop being her fan!”

Her beauty is talked of even after decades of her passing away. Marilyn Monroe rose to her iconic status with her confidence, acting, looks and many other things. I don’t remember exactly when I got to know about her. She just became a vital part of my life very quickly and completely.

I have seen her movies, the lovely white dress scene and her beautiful photos at different points of time in her life.
The red lipstick, blonde hair, a troublesome personal life yet twinkling eyes. Picture biographies told me so much.

But there is something I remember more than anything else.

During my adolescent years, when I started to grow into a lady, a part of being an introvert teenager was being self-conscious. I was unsure of what was acceptable. People would comment on the developing curves. Men would stare. Women around me told me that I shouldn’t show my teeth while laughing. I couldn’t understand which body sizes were okay and which weren’t. I did not know how to laugh, talk or make my hair. And the magazines did not help either.

Then came Marilyn Monroe with her closer-to-real-life size, a wide smile, dyed hair and very bold clothes. She was a doll, and she made me feel that it was okay to be anything you wanted to be.

Marilyn Monroe made me feel confident about my body. So, whether dead or alive, she is the most lively person for the self-conscious introvert inside me.
And also for the real lady that I am, everyday of my life.

~ Inspiration does not stop even if life does

Cribbing and complaining

How unhappy we are that we forget we’re still breathing

 

An average Thursday in office. People around me cribbing how their personal life is suffering due to working Saturdays, how the week feels so long.

I am looking around and smiling. Your job can’t be lovable, it isn’t a puppy my dear. Happiness won’t last forever either, rains and sunshine go hand in hand. Things maintain a balance like a see-saw. Those things you loved as a kid can become lessons in your adult life.

 

I am still smiling as I hear the cribbing. It isn’t that everyday when I wake up and commute to office, I find happiness in that. It is just that I know, things can be worse. So I smile. Being without a job is harder than this.

So I just let myself be. I enjoy the job I have, the life I have been granted and the routine I live.
I have complained a lot, at times, for the things I feel I deserve. But then I remember how many things I do have.

We’re all sad about where we are. But life doesn’t stay the same always.

 
— Poetry —

He worried about life a lot
Like a river, time was flowing
He forgot this too shall pass
And that he will always be growing

He thought he will never make it
That he would never have a destination
And then the universe let him know
That travelling well was his only salvation

 

~ You stop when your time has ended. You stop when death has arrived

Dussehra

Each year, this day, we celebrate the triumph of good over evil

I am sitting inside and listening to the fireworks. The build up before the final act. Dussehra marks the end of Ravana, the king of Lanka, by our very own Lord Rama, the ideal king.

I remember what my grandfather used to say, “I won’t go out to watch this cruel act you commit! He was a learned Bhrahmin!”. He had resolved. He never stepped out to see.
His words made me question, and he explained how King Ravana was half a Bhrahmin, how learned he was, and how his act of abducting Sita can be interpreted as his karma to achieve Moksha (final abode) at the hands of the ideal king, the Lord himself.

I don’t go out to see the Ravana effigy being burnt every year anymore. I can hear it all, I see friends going live on Facebook. My father is sending videos and photos as well.
I don’t go out to see this because despite burning evil at such a grand scale, we’re still very evil ourselves. We house jealousy, negativity, hatred and so many unwanted emotions inside us.

Why burn the mythological king when we can’t burn the bad inside us.

Whenever I do hear Ravana’s demise, the ultimate, loud, crackling fireworks, a cry escapes my heart, it did just now.
Jai Shree Ram

May you find peace wherever you are.
May, your example, someday rule our hearts for more than one day.
May, someday in future, Ravana be an example of burning in fire to light our lives with wisdom.

~Poetry~

We burn him every year
Remind the world of his sins
Teach lessons of victory over evil
And how the good always wins

Maybe if we held mirrors instead
And looked inside us, for a change
Perhaps the triumph would be more meaningful
And the defeat would be less strange

~ God hasn’t claimed me as his own yet, but I do learn from his stories

What’s normal anyway?

What is normal for a spider is chaos for a fly

A Pinterest inspired artwork pinned on my office desk. Questions the entire idea of norms and what is socially acceptable.

Make a career out of your talents, find love to last you a lifetime and teach your children the same.
I ask again, what is normal anyway?

Is it mandatory for me to live the life that everyone does?
Or is it necessary for everyone to have a life like mine?

The conflicts in real world arise out of different normals for everyone. His idols offend the ones who read books and her books offend the ones who have never read anything.

She is covered in tattoos and they stare
She wears a veil and they stare
She reveals skin and they stare
She drapes 6 yards of fabric and they stare

 

Their normal is their own, her normal is her own. That’s why they wonder. They stare. They are shocked.

What is normal anyway?

 

Maybe acceptance is the only normal that exists.

 

~ Accept the differences. Let it be

The hard times

We belong to nobody and nobody belongs to us

An iconic dialogue from Breakfast at Tiffany’s. It has made us all shed tears, and hope, against all odds, that we will belong to someone. That life will be an exception, a pretty memorable one at that. Yet we nurse heartbreaks, cruel realities and hateful episodes.

We have grown up with so many happy endings that inadvertently we start believing that ours will be the same too. There will be smiles and memories and butterflies and everything beautiful that life has to offer. And then, the sad movies become the accepted reality. We belong to nobody and nobody belongs to us.

And then another thought strikes.

We’re all just travelling through.

We’re not supposed to belong. We’re not property. We don’t have rooted spots to stay put. We’re all just travelling through.

So whether you find a friend, a partner, the love of your life or even your pet; we’re all just travelers in this world. Some will just cross your path, and some others might travel with you. But you’re not here to set camp.

– Poetry –

They called you heartless
And many other names
They said you were sinful
And played many games

They called you a brute
Wondered what made you this way
They had many stories
A new one each day

But how would they know
How could they guess
With every heart you broke
You lived a little less

You laughed with all your heart
And smiled delightfully
They could never see the truth
Behind your brutality

~ Tujhe todd kar sabne tujhse kaha ki toote hue tukde chubhne lage hain ab