Where am I going?

This is the question isn’t it? Have you ever paused to think how we, and by we I mean almost all of humanity, are all so obsessed with destinations? Everything that we do, every emotion that we feel and every decision that we take revolves around the question “Where am I going with this?”

Right from travelling to a new place, to earning a living, all we think about is our destination. More often than not we forget to admire, enjoy and learn from the journey. Only if we would stand still just for a few minutes, would we realize that all the lessons and wisdom are buried beneath the paths we travel, and that we have missed so much.

Having a goal, and pursuing it relentlessly should not be confused with the obsession that I speak of. Goal is something that keeps you going, something that motivates and inspires you, something that makes you see and do things you would otherwise deem impossible.

Obsession is when the thought of trying something new or experimenting with something instills fear inside you. It makes you scared of who you are, and who you will be. It makes you question every decision you have ever taken and also your own capabilities.

Journey is what prepares you for the destination, and if you fail the journey, the destination will keep eluding you time and again. Not everything has to go somewhere, at least not at the cost of you being too timid to try. There is no way of succeeding if you have already given up and there is no way of finding out what works for you and what does not, unless you have tried it.

On The Inside..

I am an inspiration
To the world you don’t see
The world that I breathe
The world inside me

The world of my fear
Of my confusions
The world of my cries
Of my delusions

I keep them in
And hold my head high
And you will never know
The confrontation that I defy

And I defy not because
I am ashamed or weak
I defy because
Its not sympathy that I seek

I am an inspiration
To my world, to hold on
To keep breathing
To not feel torn

To tell it, that it’s okay
To exist, to be there
To be the darker side of me
To be the secret I don’t share

To make it believe
That I need it as much as sunshine
To let it know
It was, is, and will always be mine

Broken Love

A love that breaks
Is the one that was
A crack in glass
Can only be, if it was ever whole
And that crack is not a flaw
Although the world might say it is
It is a scar, a brave one
Of having withstood an assault
Of having withstood pain
Of having seen how touch feels
And then having been separated from its warmth
Was it a stone? A stick?
It doesn’t matter
Did it hurt?
Ofcourse it did
But what good is a glass
That never was tested
What good is a heart
Where pain never manifested

I have been rattled
And scratched and chipped
And worn down by heat and dust
And shaped and colored
To hide it all
And yet once in a while
The scars show themselves
Unabashedly, proudly
And sometimes arrogantly
I am still the same inside
And no paint no pain can change that
What’s more
I never want to..

Lest We Forget..

Aaj muddaton baad bhi
Iss mitti me khushbu hai unke khoon ki
Iss desh ke har zarre me
Amar kahaani hai unke junoon ki

Woh faansi nahi
Unke sapne ki parwaz thi
Jo khud khaamoshi ki aagosh me jaakar
Sampoorn bharat ko jaga gai woh awaaz thi

Iss tirange mein sadev racha basa rahega
Ye rang unki shahadat ka
Har azaad peedhi ki rag rag me bahega
Fakr se , kalaam unki bagawat ka

Cricket crybaby

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I have seen people crying over failed exams, lost love, betrayal, death, frustration, workload and sometimes even boredom. But never in my entire life have I seen someone cry during a game of cricket when a country loses (at least not in the screaming and kicking way crying). As I sat there at the edge of my sofa, while Mahendra Singh Dhoni faced yet another ball and hit it for a fabulous four, the camera just for a moment swept across the crowd and momentarily froze on to someone who seemed to be crying. Actually crying. Tears and everything. That wasn’t even a camera trick or a onetime thing. I saw that thrice. A Bangladeshi fan actually crying and screaming as Dhoni smashed a six to complete India’s victory lap.

It is one thing to be passionate and yet completely another to be a fanatic. No doubt, over the years cricket has constantly changed facets from being just a game of one country to being a geographically transcending sport, to being a profession and now absurdly, a religion. Still, at the end of the day it is a game. What happened to sportsman spirit? We don’t cry when we lose. We should not. Sure we won’t be happy, sure we will grieve over it a little, be a little frustrated too, but crying? Booing? Making insulting images with bloodshed and cut heads? What happened to being humble as a winner and graceful when you lose? A particular Bangladeshi fan had morphed an image of Taskin holding Dhoni’s bloodied severed head before the Asia cup final. We as Indians were outraged and angered to see that image. And after we won we did the same thing. That takes away from us, every right that we had to be indignant about the behavior of that fan, because we stooped to the very same level.

With match fixing and betting bringing in money and blood into it, it has lost a part of its soul and its spirit, which I personally feel sad about. It is a career for a lot of our fellowmen, a dream for a lot of our youth, a source of entertainment and bread for a lot of our countrymen, let us keep it clean. Let us not forget what the sport has to teach us- passion, dedication, strength, unity, team spirit and sportsmanship. Not jeering and mocking and certainly not sadism.

I don’t deserve a good guy

 

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I am not a feminist. At least not in the currently perceived extremist sense. I still have ample room for logic, common sense and I do make it a point to respect the opinion of people who beg to differ. Also, when I am very clear on something, I often have a stubborn unapologetic stand on that, which is exactly why I am writing this.

Take a look at the picture above. You must have seen this splashed across Facebook, Instagram or some other virtual world. If you haven’t then please do stare at it for a while and let me know if it offends you in any way because it certainly did offend me. Well, not the whole of it , just the first three lines. I mean like seriously? After being astronauts , CEOs of the world’s largest companies, doctors, engineers, chefs, army officers , pilots , singers, actors, models , writers and a gazillion other things why do we as a community still have to go through the abomination of being stereotyped and insulted in a way like this?

Why do I still need to know how to cook, clean and want kids in order to deserve a good guy? Can I simply not like cooking or not have an OCD about cleaning or not want kids for the love of my career and still deserve a man who loves and respects me as such? How does any of that make me less worthy of love, respect or freedom?

If a man says the same things it sounds normal and even exotic, but just as women come into the picture it starts sounding outrageously absurd and inadequate. Think about it. While we are still blatantly flouting all norms of freedom and equality, disrespecting fellow beings from our own species, should we be calling ourselves evolved and developing? I think not.

 

Written by : Sidhanta Kumar Mishra (the chupa rustam writer)

Dosti mausam nahi ki apni muddat poori kare aur rukhsat ho jaye
Dosti sawan nahi ki toot ke barse aur tham jaye
Dosti aag nahi ki sulagti rahe raat bhar aur subah rakh ho jaaye
Dosti sitara nahi ki raat mein chamke aur fir subah ko kho jaye
Dosti phool nahi ki subah khile aur shaam talak murjha jaaye
Dosti to saans hain jo chale to samjho hai zindagi abhi baaki
Jo silsila saans ka toot jaaye toh kuchh bhi nahi baaki.