In dodo's head

Tethered to this land I call home. People wonder why I am unable to move, Why I have not aspired to fly higher. What could possibly be so sacred, That you refuse to flee to greener pastures, they ask. How do I explain to them, this attachment. Thinking too deeply about it reminds me of its shortcomings. The people who did me wrong, The stifling environment, the ever so inquisitive, ever so bitter mouthed souls. The lethargic folks, always looking for trouble, Ambling to protest all sorts of supposed wrongs. Most days, I am filled with an emptiness here. But it is a known kind, unlike that elsewhere, Being away fills me with an unexplained longing. A friend who knows me too well at some point remarks, Is it your dogs? Are you unable to leave them behind. Perhaps. Is it the 'known fears are better than the unknown' thing? Perhaps. Such a strange thing, This concept of home. I close my eyes, and all I associate with the word, is this place. With its troub...

Sometimes existence feels like a facade, like one of those cardboard cutouts of buildings, all hollow from the back, propped up to give meaning to scenes in movies. Propelled by buttresses of wooden slabs, vulnerable still to the forces of the wind and storms. Life's best lived in pretension- who cares what's on the inside as long as the outside is brightly painted and gives out rather jovial vibes. I watch people bristle past, busy in their own lives. They glance over sometimes to ensure that the facade is to their liking, some wince in disgust at the brightness of it all. Very few walk over to look at the structure, at the other side of the fake white painted windows. Sometimes I think back to my school days, how we used to have music and dance competitions in which I took no part. At the end of it all, when it was time for the prize distribution, we would celebrate together, all of us, when our House came first. But it always felt shallow to me, the happiness barely skin...

the storm rages on outside heaven unleashing pent up anger hurling lightning bolts and screaming yells of wrath the ground below shook windows jolted it really feels like the end there is a battle underneath this elaborate concoction of skin and bones fragile enough to be shaken with all the yelling there is a wonder as to why there are only echoes and emptiness an undefinable pain within is there an answer for this or will the rains wash it all away till the voids are flooded with rivulets of regret and longing.

Newspaper article reads-  DESAM vandalises partying-bar, rounded up teenagers ( http://www.nelive.in/manipur/news/desam-vandalises-partying-bar-rounded-teenagers); there are videos already being circulated on social media documenting this 'raid'- men yelling at shocked girls who were just out to have a good day.  The organization justified it as a means of controlling 'cultural pollution' in the state. Apparently the youth of the state were falling prey to the evils of the world- booze etc, and needed such actions to save them all from doom.  I guess living in such a place, where such well wishers roam around, forcefully conducting 'Keina Katpa' of couples on dates and storming cafes and restaurants, and dictating what you can drink and do (and taking photographs and videos of such raids- of only the girls caught, and not the boys, mind you), one can be forgiven for wondering if one has time traveled to the medieval ages, or even the age of Taliban. The naha...

the mind is a strange thing, needing to be replenished every now and then with fresh sprinkles of hope and sparks of passion in order to survive. bleak hopelessness overpowers souls with every passing wave of time. I have become a grave of my once youthful energetic self- there was a time when I felt invincible, overflowing with ideas and illusions of how I would shine. and now all that is left are doubts. strangers look to me, polite smiles in place, and ask about life plans and goals. I fear my own answer, and have chosen the path of 'figuring out life' with a silly smile to numb the overwhelming feeling of failure. time races past my struggling self, with each passing tide I struggle to make sense of all that I am and all that I wish to be. there's still a flickering warmth inside, awakened once a while by well wishers who see me as more that what I seem, they once saw the light in me, and even now strain their eyes to catch a glimpse again. I flip t...

Unseen scars scatter on blemished skin, Each a infliction of unkind words spoken. It is so cruel, so very cruel, How easily words can be hurled at people, With no care about the consequences.

Perhaps it is because I am a simpleton at heart that I have failed to comprehend the heartlessness of human beings. There is something so wretched about a handful of gun wielding 'humans' showering bullets, with no remorse at all, on innocent souls just going about their daily routine. It seems to me that we have failed as a species to grasp the very essence of life. It has become an entity, cheaply bartered among various man-made compartmentalizations.