Sa'matri'yoni

0.0001 Billion Reasons Why

noreply@blogger.com (Sayani Mukherjee) — Sun, 09 Aug 2020 19:21:00 +0000

Social media is utter madness!
It is a treacherous and deceitful world of lies and pretence. One can easily feel trapped amidst the likes, views and shares.

The Who, What and Why questions of the world have been feeling lonely lately. It's perhaps worth addressing them from time to time. To what end, you might ask. Well, even if it doesn't meet a specific end, it would surely keep an inquisitive mind alive.
Remember the Renaissance? Oh wait, did you prefer the Dark Age?!

Back to social media.
It has been an immense boon to us. Specially in times like these when we are confined within the four walls of our home, our state, our country...depending on those colourful graphs and numbers that the COVID tracking sites put up and refresh every minute.
It has become so easy to connect with our loved ones. Everyone is literally on everyone's fingertips.
It is a fact...all sorts of long distance relationships... friendship, family, love... none of them could have been sustained under these circumstances through the Postal Service alone.
However, there is always a flip side!

It annoys me how everything is packed and locked in a box these days. Yeah, I mean the phone and the computer.
If I have to connect with someone I open the box and speak. If I want to hear back from someone, I open the box ten times an hour to check if they have bothered to respond back.
It is annoying how FaceTime now stands for videos calls and not people actually "face"-ing each other for real and spending quality "time". Okay, COVID ruined it bigtime but anyway, were we still not having real conversations when we met face to face. All that mattered was taking Insta worth selfies or creating new posts for the feed.
We had lost the human connect long before COVID. Let's face it!

To be honest, I had made my peace with it. Okay, people now are all about FOMO and YOLO...and that is so evident all over their social accounts. It is kind of ironic how you can have fear of missing out when you are in reality missing out on the whole Human Experience!

Another thing that bugs me like crazy is the desperate need to seek validation. It confounds me.
The need for approval has forever eluded me. Perhaps, I am odd. Perhaps, others need a better perspective. Who's to say!
Wait, don't go yet... hear me out.

I get it! Fame is akin to massive acceptance...the acknowledgement of one's achievements and an overwhelming validation of one's talents.
Somehow I find it extremely disturbing.

On a not so unrelated note, I am often asked why I don't pursue photography actively anymore. I shrug off the query with a nonchalant "Huh"...
Two reasons:
1. I wanted to spend more time experiencing and quenching my thirst for the Human Experience...that is way more important to me than capturing the experience. FOMO YOLO and all that!
2. At that point of time (pre 2015 days), almost everyone who had sufficient funds at their disposal, took up a DSLR and called themselves a photographer. It was a major turn off for me, honestly.
I didn't feel the need or the urge to seek mass approval. The quality of photographs being churned out on social media by these "photographers" was super diluted now, so was the audience's expectations. I didn't feel like playing the game anymore.
I do have a couple of friends who are exceptional photographers and I have been fortunate enough to have done some quality photography in their company (2011-2015 days) and I still follow their work and share mine with them. Come on, I have this in my genes. How can I not be friends with the camera!
For those who don't know, my maternal great great grandfather was a pioneer in the field of photography and videography in India. My eldest maternal uncle has taken up the reins now.
Read more about my grandfather (one of the founders of the Hungry Generation) and my family history on the web: My Awesome Ancestors

Evidently, I never quit photography. I just don't put them out on social media anymore, at least not with the purpose of getting one million likes. A photograph is a moment frozen in time. It is a beautiful memory. A photograph taken by me is my memory, created by me and the Universe, captured through my lenses, my visual compositions...precious to me. Not for public consumption. Even if it was posted online, it is only because I wanted to share the memory, not because I am looking for public validation or approval for my talents.

The desperate need to seek approval is sickening. Am sure, as we speak, some analytical mind somewhere is already working on some research in the field of mental health studies along these lines.
A whole bunch of us have lived our lives solely and completely in the pursuit of approval and acceptance. Is it not suffocating? I find it exceedingly disturbing.

We have been programmed to seek appreciation and approval. Behavioral psychology, anyone?
It is a random competition where the talented is fighting neck to neck with the mediocre by the sheer power of numbers.
Some of us go to such lengths to attain approval that failure leads to self destructive behaviour. The fear of negative outcome pushes us even further down the hole till we spiral out of control.
There isn't always a Wonderland down the Rabbit Hole.

I won't lie, I try but I just cannot align myself to this behaviour. I find it pointlessly painful and I love my mental peace and a good night's sleep!

In a world where dinchak performers are hated and viewed a zillion time and artists are rumoured to have bought views, I am too ordinary to even try!
What is 1 Lakh anyway, just 0.0001 Billions... so those many reasons why!

Edge of Existence

noreply@blogger.com (Sayani Mukherjee) — Sun, 03 Nov 2019 15:33:00 +0000

Trust is fragile, as is the knowledge of Truth.

Silence is overbearing, and the burden of wisdom causes a deafening roar.

Broken and scattered, Fate, lay forgotten, on the floor.

Dried Tears and their easily traceable paths, haunt the empty halls of the Mind.

Screams of Pain, echo through the Emptiness...

The shrill piercing cry of Darkness is reflected by the vacant Moon.

The Stream of life flows unrelentingly, still...

The stillness of Time suffocates existence.

A single silver thread of light floating through the night...

A lone spark between two finite ends...

A white dwarf, shining on the edge of cosmic existence...

A gold straw, spun by magic...

A Life at its end...

What Hope is there left?

Is there a better world?

noreply@blogger.com (Sayani Mukherjee) — Sat, 03 Aug 2019 18:56:00 +0000

It is but a downward slope,
This inability of the human heart to care.
Language has become mere words, meaningless, futile.
Thoughts lay bare.

Blasphemy, the desire to seek the Truth.
Accept and surrender, never grow.

Keys on the board move faster than the lips.
Colours hide the myriad hues of the soul.

The cacophony of the bazar,
The chaos in the streets,
All die down.
The spirit of Life sleeps.

Could there be a way back from here, no.
Is this a better world, not sure.

Pebbles and Pearls

noreply@blogger.com (Sayani Mukherjee) — Sat, 03 Aug 2019 18:44:00 +0000

She had never been good with conversations.
She could, though, use her words eloquently on paper.

She seemed happy, like a rainbow in full hue.
Vibrant as a field of flowers, her hair blew in the summer breeze. Like a pair of swans in a dark blue lake after sunset, her eyes glistened.
Her lips carried words that would never be heard, for silence was her escape.

She had memories as frail as feathers. She flew with them through the starless skies. She gathered them and wove a dream-catcher for sleepless nights. She blew them away when they became too worn out and hard to bear.

She stringed together pebbles and pearls. She wove seashells in between to keep them company. She was her soulmate. She was her own hero.

She dreamt of a white horse with a flowing white mane... A field of green grass and a horizonless meadow ahead.

She had wanted everything everyone wants but regular things were not meant for her. She was not extraordinary. She was simple. She was different and there was no one else like her.

She could be with no one and no one could ever be with her.

Misfits and Greatness

noreply@blogger.com (Sayani Mukherjee) — Sun, 16 Jun 2019 10:28:00 +0000

That fine line between who you are and where you want to fit it...
It’s those few steps and a decision that almost always takes you up on a roller coaster only to throw you back beside the line you had thought was a part of your history now.
So, who are you? Where do you want to fit in?

Do you want to fit in?

What’s wrong in being a misfit? ...one may very well ask.
A very legit question. Almost as important as all those questions that deal with existential crisis.
So, coming back to the question, do we have to fit in?

The world is witness to the greatness of misfits. College drop outs turning out to be the greatest minds in the world. Some published papers and discussed theories while some built empires and became millionaires.
This brings us to the question, is greatness inborn or inculcated?
This is interesting. I hold the opinion that one must have the potential within, to begin with. Thereafter, the desire to achieve greatness sort of pushes one ahead and helps them develop these latent talents further.

So, are then some men and women genetically engineered for greatness while others are meant to live average lives?
Maybe, yes.

The desire to achieve greater goals can be a motivating factor which can pull an average person up from mediocrity. However, for such men and women, the desire has to be overwhelming and their risk taking capabilities should be higher than the other group of individuals who we discussed about above.

So, no... there is no need to fit in. There is no need to seek validation or approval of others. All one needs to do is identify his or own capabilities and limitations. Then he or she needs to visualise where they want to be with all their talents at their disposal.
If you are unwilling to risk it, there is very little chance that you will do anything great, to any degree, in your life.

Here we are, back at that fine line between who you are and where do you want to fit in.
Do you still want to fit in?

Afraid to go Home

noreply@blogger.com (Sayani Mukherjee) — Mon, 10 Jun 2019 12:12:00 +0000

Man is a social animal, they say.
So are women, pretty much by default.

And yet, we need therapy sessions and we fight nightmares. We are afraid to talk to the people closest to us and choose a stranger with a degree in psychology over people who were actually supposed to know us.
We run away from familiar faces in our dreams. We keep running till our slumber breaks our fall.

Our individual sense of independence has killed our social skills.
Nipped it in the bud, altogether!

We would rather climb a hill with a stranger than take a walk with a friend.

We crib and we write poetry.
We sing and we write prose.

We laugh aloud in nightclubs. Unfamiliar sweaty bodies brush against us as we dance the night away, intoxicated by the unfamiliarity of it all, silencing the screaming voices of the society in our head with the loud music all around.
We laugh aloud all night. Lost in a world where there is no trust, no faith, no dependence.

140 words are enough at times. A check in is sufficient to let your presence be known.

But somewhere inside the magical realm of the surreal, a world lies that’s so pure. The blinding magic of love and the deafening roar of joy...the boundless mirth that life could give us... entwined into a pattern of its own.

We are souls lost to this world.

We think we are smart, because we have learnt to let go.
And now, we are afraid to go home.

Erosion

noreply@blogger.com (Sayani Mukherjee) — Sat, 08 Jun 2019 17:44:00 +0000

Yeah, I had it all.
In bits and pieces.
All of you and all of me.
I found us, like sands on a beach.
Swept in by the sea and the winds.

I remember the last time someone sent me flowers.
A bunch of red roses on a Saturday morning.
The flowers wilted... I scattered them around my heart.
In bits and pieces.

I found a yellow rose between the pages of my diary...
The one I used to write in before I took up writing on social platforms.
The rose brought back memories of you, of us...
In bits and pieces.

I followed a page on Insta last week.
That of this insanely adorable Labrador pup.
Reminded me of your promise to get me one of my own.
Broken promises lay now, in bits and pieces.

I met You on a summer evening in April.
I met You, at midnight, in the parking lot, in October.
I met You at a beautiful monsoon twilight in July.
I met You again in April around the same time.

I met You, in bits and pieces.
Each time a different You.
Each time a part of You.

Bits and pieces of You, I picked up and made a whole.
Bits and pieces of myself, I gathered up and stored.
Bits and pieces, are all that’s left of me and You.
In bits and pieces lay our story untold.

I see You in my dreams.
The bits and pieces seem to come together.
I look in wonderment at the most amazing whole You make.
I nurse the hole in my soul.
The waves crash against the rocky shore...
Bits and pieces of me, they erode.

Your dreams keep me alive.
In these fragments of broken forevers,
I shall grow old.

The Blight of Independent Thought

noreply@blogger.com (Sayani Mukherjee) — Fri, 24 May 2019 18:09:00 +0000

She whispered in her 6 years old daughter’s ear the secret to having an eternal life...
The key to the realms of kings and queens and dreams, she passed on to the little girl and taught her to strive.
She taught her daughter to be fierce and bold. She told her stories of princesses locked in towers of gold.
She told her not to be like them...she taught her to play the survival game.
She taught her to be the Queen... no, she taught her to be the King! The ruler who is just and kind. She wanted her daughter to be the benevolent bride who rules with her consort by her side.

She taught her to count the stars and to conspire against them. She taught her to fly into the infinite blue of the sky and to dive into the depths of the vast oceans where reaches no light. She taught her that happiness was in her own heart and that she should love with her entire being. The examples she set were high, or so the girl thought.

She gave a little girl big dreams. Dreams that she saw with open eyes. Dreams she dreamt to live up to. Dreams that defined her life.

It was years later when she was rebuked by her mother for having independent thought, she realised that the curse was gifted to her by her own mother. And, a battle within her was being fought.
The battle against words whispered long ago in her ear... words she never forgot... words she held dear.

She was not supposed to reach for the stars nor rule hearts or be fierce.
She was taught, yes... and she became...
She was true to her dreams all the same.
But she broke into pieces when she heard her mother say... words that in her ears echo to this very day...
She was told that she was a blight to her mother’s name.
If anything at all, if she would cease to be, to her mother, it would be all the same.

She was gifted the curse of independent thought.

Paradox

noreply@blogger.com (Sayani Mukherjee) — Sat, 11 May 2019 16:39:00 +0000

Are we doomed spirits lashing against the stormy winds in the ocean?

Or are we gypsies making our way through time?

Are we a paradox of fate or are we the destiny of all that is alive?

Are you and me meant to be silent forever?

Are we meant to watch the skies set into dusk and then transform into dawn every day...

And still never speak a word...

Are we doomed souls fighting the winds on the battlefield shores?

Are we gypsies with tales untold?

Are we the paradox of life and death?

Are we who we are, who are we meant to be?

You and me.

Goodbye

noreply@blogger.com (Sayani Mukherjee) — Tue, 30 Apr 2019 18:50:00 +0000

They who left...

They had their reasons

and I was not one.

They who left...

Had better dreams and a hope of a better life

Without me.

They who left...

They all did well.

Their success made me happy.

They who left...

They don’t know how I am

Or what I feel.

They who left...

Will never know how much of them they left behind in me...

I lived and I lived with a bit of each of them in me.

They left.
It’s time for me to leave. Goodbye.

The Open Love Letter

noreply@blogger.com (Sayani Mukherjee) — Wed, 24 Apr 2019 08:41:00 +0000

He who never came,

I don’t know if you can hear me.

Perhaps am not loud enough, or clear.

I am still waiting...not too far, quite near.

Every knock on the door

Sends my heart beating

A crazy rhythm of its own...

I dream of the peace that your arms would bring

And the love that in your eyes I shall see.

With you, my love, I will finally be free.

Have you met me yet?

Are you around?

Or did something happen to you...

Maybe you don’t want to be found.

Are you hurt and scared to love again?

From all emotions, do you refrain?

Maybe you have met me and not found me worthy.

Maybe...just maybe... you simply never came.

Your side of the bed will be empty forever...

I will puff a pillow each night for you.

I will come back to an empty house,

Light up those yellow lights you love so much, I know

And I would call it home.

I will make space for you on the bean bag beside me

And talk about the random things that no one gets but us.

The silence is deafening.

The thought of you not being there

Is not a future I can live in.

I can’t breath.

The vast emptiness pulls me into an abyss... and I am scared.

I am scared to let go of the thought of you.

I hope you are well.

I hope you are happy wherever you are.

Maybe you have already found Love and it’s not me.

Or maybe... just maybe... you are waiting still.

Maybe you light up the yellow lights and talk about all the random things no one understands but us.

Maybe you too make space for me.

Maybe I am home to you.

You tell me your dreams and your fears.

Maybe you are looking forward to the day we meet

And that day you will be, in the truest possible way, complete.

Do you fear not meeting me?

Do you wonder if I am there?

Have you given up already...

I don’t want to know, I wouldn’t dare.

Maybe you are gone already.

That, I would perhaps never know.

As fortune would have it,

Maybe we are never to meet, but

I was destined to be forever yours.

Come, find me.
Please.

From

She who kept waiting.

The Funeral March

noreply@blogger.com (Sayani Mukherjee) — Wed, 27 Mar 2019 13:45:00 +0000

The Funeral March played on...
I walked silently with the crowd.
It was a bright sunny day.
The winter wind battled with the pristine shroud.

The aisle was long.
The way to the altar was longer still.
Twice I was to be given away.
Twice had I been turned away further still.

They marched through the meadows...
They marched through the hills...
They marched through the shadows...
They marched through barren lands and streams.

The funeral march played on...
I walked silently with the crowd.

There were flowers and they burned incense...
The stink of death and sorrow filled the air.
I was stale and I had wilted...
The wind blew through my unkempt hair.

Was it me they were mourning or was I mourning my dreams?
The crowd was filled with faces that I had never seen.
Their touch was cold... or maybe it just wasn’t as warm as I had been.
Was this the loss of me or was this my loss... I was lost, I could not feel.

Was it me they were mourning or was I mourning my dreams?

The funeral march played on...
I walked silently with the crowd.

— written on a winter afternoon with an overcast sky

Warmth and high

noreply@blogger.com (Sayani Mukherjee) — Mon, 05 Feb 2018 15:46:00 +0000

Plastic cups lay strewn around. Drinks spilt on the progressively fading carpet had started to dry up on their own. The stink of ashes on the make-shift trays made the air stale. Left over pizza lay unattended on the coffee table in the living room. There was silence all around as the fairy lights blinking their way into dawn.

She sat curled up on her balcony...her blanket tightly wrapped around her.
The city, from her 10th floor apartment, looked so beautiful as it came alive.
The cool breeze made her shiver ever so slightly.
It felt cold...inside and out.
As the high of the previous night gradually left her...she knew that warmth would perhaps never be hers. She tightened the grip on her blanket, her sole companion.

Clockwork

noreply@blogger.com (Sayani Mukherjee) — Fri, 04 Aug 2017 03:11:00 +0000

To be able to reach out. To want to know.
Somewhere lost in the crowd.
Alone and scared.
Looking for a way to make it seem worth the while.
Lacking in conviction...yet pushing ahead.

I blame the heads bobbing up and down in the crowded station.
I blame the trains that are never on time.
I blame the alarm clock for not ringing loud enough.
I blame the system.
At the end of the day, I take the fall.

Like clockwork I move. We move.
Each movement accurate. The data sheet smiles.
My name, my identity, my being...it's been compromised.
I know my fate. Stations. Heads. Trains. Clocks.
Mornings will be the same.
Nights will be the same.
Afternoons will be the same.
I will break apart and be put together all the same.

Hammer the clock. Jump the line. Let the alarm ring louder than ever.
Run off.

Peace eludes still.
We are used to our clockwork moves.
We are prisoners within.

Who we are

noreply@blogger.com (Sayani Mukherjee) — Thu, 29 Jun 2017 19:51:00 +0000

Everything that we are not and everything that we shall ever be...all of it...the entire story is written by the people we meet.

However much we may believe that we create our own lives...it has to be acknowledged that a lot of who we are is courtesy the people we have met.

Some of us have siblings. We grow up with them. Sharing, laughing, fighting and loving each other. Some of us grow up alone. The alone kids have a whole universe within themselves.

I remember my life defining moment. It was when my roommate at college told me that she had got two coffee mugs...one for herself and one for whoever her roommate was going to be.
And yes, it's been 10 years since then...we are still sharing, laughing, fighting and loving each other!

The people we date...and the reason we break up with them... These, kind of, change the person that we were before we met them or broke up with them. Some good and some bad...their influences, their choices, their likes and dislikes...they leave an imprint on us.

The colleagues we make and the work we do...they help us understand what we can never be good at. That in turn helps us figure out who we actually are.

We have values and ideals of our own. The foundation, perhaps, remains same but our values and principles evolve over time. We realise how we really want our life to be and that's what moulds our way of life.

Life is ever changing. We may long of things we have lost but somehow nothing is ever lost. The people you have met and lost have left an imprint on you. We carry all the interactions and relationships inside us...as experiences. They help us grow.

We may be the architect of our own fortune but it's mostly our choices to be with the people we want to be with that defines the way our life turns out to be.

Pretty fascinating...I feel!

That which was not to be found

noreply@blogger.com (Sayani Mukherjee) — Thu, 29 Jun 2017 16:30:00 +0000

She was looking for that which was not to be found.
Every place she went, she carried questions around.
She weaved dreams out of magic...sheer art.
And slowly again, she would pull them apart.

The world was a colourful void to her.
She filled it with love and joy and fear.
Her thoughts ran in incoherent trains.
Messy like puddles of water in torrential rains.

Normadic was her soul.
In her hands, the reigns of Life.
Glorious in all her beauty...
In ebbs and flows, she escaped time.

She was easy to love...
But hard to hold.
She slipped by like the sands in the hourglass.
Yet in an embrace, she made you whole.

She was Contradictions given life...
A world of hues and stains alike.

Searching forever for her home in the wood...
She was our mysterious Little Red Riding Hood.

Carpe Diem?!

noreply@blogger.com (Sayani Mukherjee) — Sun, 07 May 2017 18:13:00 +0000

So what do you do when you want to break free and do something new that takes your mind off your troubles and pain...something that manages to set you off along the right path again?

Different people have different coping mechanisms.

Women are known to get a make-over... hair, nails and all of it. A new wardrobe definitely helps them to win the war against all odds.

I generally seek refuge in music and books. Mostly, I just write. That's how this blog came into existence.

I used to a very timid child. Introvert in the very sense of the word. I was a good girl, who obeyed all rules and was filled with shame and guilt when, even by the slightest mistake, some of those rules were broken. I was quiet. I had trouble opening up to people. I didn't want anyone to know me lest they judge me for who I am.

That was eons ago. I do not care about such things anymore. Life has changed me. I am no longer that self conscious shy child. I am no longer an introvert. I talk now. I don't just talk, I express my opinion and views. I am confident and sure of what I am doing. I am, in ways, fearless.

No matter how sturdy an armour we put on, there are moments when we get weak. There are moments when we long for the things we can never get...dreams that we know will never see the light of the day...longings...wishful ones.
I believe, I am the only one responsible for my happiness. I believe, that I am the only one responsible for everything that happens in my life. It makes me feel stronger sharper and definitely not taller (Horlics reference for those who can connect the dots)!
There are things I long for...and I know that reality is far from those things.

I write. When I feel sad about all the things that I am missing out on, I write. Right now I am under this huge #FOMO phase. Hence, this post.

This has been a year of changes...and the way things are going next year will be even more dynamic.
To be honest, I like dynamic. I prefer a hectic life compared to a peaceful one. It leaves me with less time to get into the wishful longings phase.

Sometimes, I wonder if I should stop running. Maybe I pick a hectic life because I am running away from the things that make me sad. Is it just FOMO or am I being an escapist?

Carpe diem... shall I never be able to seize the day?

The Promiscuous Lady

noreply@blogger.com (Sayani Mukherjee) — Thu, 21 Jul 2016 07:17:00 +0000

And that promiscuous Lady...
The one who just walked by.

Her red bag and heels...
The smoke swirling around her lips...
Her perfume, she left it lingering still
Her presence, with it she seemed to fill.
The hair, disarrayed...but that's style
Her smile, a killer, coy, sly.

You may want to touch her,
Intangible, yes, her mystery was.
You may want to know how her thoughts flow,
Like a whirlwind, how they come and go.
You may want to untangle the knots in her hair,
Her aura lay there, her story, to be quite fair.

The tactfully smudged kohl,
And all the colours of Her...
Enticing, intriguing...
A glimpse, perhaps, into her deep soul.
Her face, her painted nails, her hair...
She is my mountain Gypsy girl, my lady fair.

Coarse not soft, her hands were...
An impulse, a recoil, and moments passed
Till Breath returned to me.
My heart beat a thousand beats till she finally set me free.

Her smell lingered, she was long gone.
Her coy smile, she left behind.
She is the promiscuous Lady.
The one who just walked by.

The Journey of Loss

noreply@blogger.com (Sayani Mukherjee) — Thu, 23 Jun 2016 17:44:00 +0000

He said..."it's all over."
She cried all night. She checked her phone every few minutes. She almost dialled his number a couple of times. She spent her nights in sleepless dreams. Her mornings were lost in dreary wakefulness. Every breath she took reminded her of him. Everything around her had his touch. She felt lost...alone in her pain.
Months later...she saw him in the lift at her workplace. She barely glanced at him. Her world had moved on.

"It's all over"...her son told her over the phone. The words did not register at first and when it did, her world crashed around her.
Years and years of memories...every single moment of the last 52 years.
Questions flooded her heart and mind...
How could he not be here anymore. How is it possible that I will never be able to touch him again. Who will I talk to at night when the world had drowned in sleep. Who will I wake up for in the mornings...who will share my cup of tea.

The habits and nuances of the years gone by...every word ever spoken...the dreams they had seen together...their smiles and joys... everything that was theirs was now left with her. He was gone...she would never see him again.

Her children sat with their arms around her...her grand kids sat nearby. He was there among them all...yet his journey has changed direction... he was in peace now.
And her life would never be the same again.

~ The Journey of Loss

In the memory of lost loved ones.

Believe

noreply@blogger.com (Sayani Mukherjee) — Sat, 23 Apr 2016 14:42:00 +0000

And so much we could have done,
And so much I did,
The before and after was washed away with the morning tide,
When I faced the Sun and braced the light,
The salt drops on the floor,
The smudges here and there...
Of multitudes forgone, lay the ceiling bare...

Truth beckoned the strength within,
The desire to do more than just begin,
When the days of light cease to live,
All we do is, believe.

The Snow Fall

noreply@blogger.com (Sayani Mukherjee) — Wed, 10 Feb 2016 19:49:00 +0000

She let the snow bury her that night. She let the cold steal away her light. For her eyes knew this was where she wanted to be and her heart knew this was how it was always meant to be. The snow fell on her that night.

The night sky was filled with the howl of the dog who stood by her as she fell with the snow.
He knew her well and loved her so.

Her hut was a little ahead in the woods...or what once used to be. The winter had claimed the trees for its own and the narrow path had ceased to be.

It was early winter, when she came. She came in silent grey. Never a word did she ever speak not did her heart ever sway.
She would sit by the cliff. Never a fire would she light. Like she wanted the night to give her a fight.

He first saw her on his way towards the frozen woods. Her melancholy eyes was all it took. For he could see into her soul. Their eyes met and they felt whole.
His blue her grey...they were meant to be. From a land afar she had come to see.

In silence she told him of her long years. How much she had loved and how much had been hers. He listened. Sat down with his front paws folded and alert. His ears taking in every single of her word.

He knew her Life was far away. In a place that was not theirs in any way. She had longed for so much...a mere human touch.
She had waited and waited for years to come. To her fears she knew she would never succumb.
He knew not why she was here to stay. He stayed by her through night and day.

It had been a beautiful night...but it will haunt him till the end.
That night when the snow fell...he saw her leave, just the way she was sent. Silent and grey.

Colours

noreply@blogger.com (Sayani Mukherjee) — Sat, 09 Jan 2016 13:15:00 +0000

Oh the vivid colours that adorn thee, Life.
The myriad shades of joy and gloom...
Of the shades and the brightness of the open skies and clouds...
The multitudes in grey that in the minds bloom.

Of lustrous green pastures and happiness galore.
Of the blue grey green seas and the waves that had drowned us times before.
Of all the red pink purples that colour the sky and the heart.
Should have known of all your hues from the start.

Of tears ... Some of mirth.
Of smiles... At times in grief.
Of those eyes that smile inspite of the storm inside.
Of shattered fame and broken pride.
Of the rain drops that wrench out memories from the soul.
Of the sunset that sets longing out...
Makes us seek within ourselves till we feel whole.

Of all the colours that are all black grey and white...
There are these in-between ones that may be or may not be bright.

With each year...a new hue appears
And each hue splits in further shades.
Daggers and saws
Knifes and blades.

Oh Life, thou art beautiful.
Your colours fill me with wonderous joy.
Oh Life, thou art colourful.
Let's sail the ship... Sailors, Ahoy!

To Grow Into SomeOne

noreply@blogger.com (Sayani Mukherjee) — Sun, 20 Sep 2015 14:21:00 +0000

Our English teacher at school always said that a good character is one which evolves over the course of the story. The experiences that the character goes through defines and re-defines who he or she is.

When we enter the world stage, we are like blank slates. It is our experience that finally defines who we are. Without our experiences we are poorly constructed characters who add but little value to the play.

Are you a fan of FRIENDS?

Yes? Then you must have had watched it over a zillion times and it must have brought a smile onto your face every one of those zillion times.

In this much loved sitcom, all the characters grow... I am not too sure about Joey though. But yes, mostly, they all grow.

The Rachel we see right at the beginning of the series: A runaway bride. Daddy's darling. Cannot imagine life without her Dad's credit cards.

And then the Rachel we see in season 10: Independent, confident, career oriented. A single mother. About to move to Paris all by herself.

Look at Monica and Chandler. They grew as individuals and only then did they find love in each other.

That, my dear friends, is evolution of characters.

So, tell me, haaaaaave you seen How I Met Your Mother? *read that in Barney style "Haaaave you met Ted" *

Its another classic example of evolution of characters. Ted, though forever stuck on Robin, eventually finds the Mother of his kids. And, as he himself says, it took him so long because he needed to become the person he finally became to find the right woman...to find the woman.

Its true. 100% true.

We change and we keep changing. We retain some basic characteristics, but overall, we change. For better or worse or whatever...but we change. The more we change the better our play on the stage becomes. And sometimes we do need to grow into the person who we are meant to be so that we can find the person who grew into the person we were meant to be with.

I don't know if the universe works that way...conspiring to make us find our better half. I, honestly, am not a believer in the Universe and its Plans. But yes, practically speaking, we sometimes just grow into each other and that is when love happens.

That is what they mean when they say that there is a right time for everything. the right time comes when you are ready to meet this other person.

The right time is when you have grown into the person who is in sync with the person who are about to meet.

The right time is when you will be loved for being the person you are...and for a thousand other reasons that your significant other can list out for you.

Had you met the same person years ago, maybe you would have never clicked. Simply because you were both different then. Maybe he had always liked Beatles and at that time you used to think they were insects. And then you figured who they really are and started loving them just as much! And then...one day...you met.

See what I mean.

If you pause here a minute and think about it, you would realise how beautiful this is.

In the same way there is right time for everything else. Maybe you couldn't land your dream job earlier but now you do. Not because it was suddenly easy to get through the interview. But, because now you have a little more experience and you are more suited for the job.

So, as you see, life is all about the experiences you gather. The more the merrier.

You will fumble...stumble...make mistakes...soar to the heights of success...make some stupid choices...maybe you would get your eyebrow pierced and then regret it (just saying!)... but then all of that made you the super duper awesome person you finally became.

Life is about awesomeness...you've got the set your sight high on the awesomeness chart and yeah...someone is waiting for you up there...and that person is just as awesome as you are!

Mid-Twenties Crisis

noreply@blogger.com (Sayani Mukherjee) — Sat, 19 Sep 2015 08:10:00 +0000

A personal note, less of a blog post.
I am writing all of this down and I plan to read this a couple of years later to see where I stand.

I am 26. The question that has been plaguing my mind is...
What is growing up all about?

Having a stable job. Earning well. Being independent. Getting married. Owning a place of your own. A car too maybe. Inviting friends over for lunch or dinner parties and asking them to bring their plus one along. Is that it?

What about this...
Having a stable job. Earning well. Being independent. Hanging out with friends. Planning an occasional all-nighter with your girl besties. Maybe a get together with friends over drinks (all sorts) and good food. Maybe a pot-luck. Maybe a three day long horror movie marathon with closest buddies and pizza. Maybe a few trips thrown in...with friends or alone.

Is that not being grown up enough?

This seems to a crossroad. Stuck on the other side of 25 and not wanting to opt for the road that makes you a serious grown up.

Then there is this eternal fear of not having a plus one for your married friend's dinner party. How weird would that be!

People coming off age...and settling down left right and centre. As if that is all life is about.

Could you not "settle down" with someone who wants the same unsettling things that you want? That would be perfect amalgamation of growing up and yet being happy.

Or maybe that is too far-stretched. We are all doomed to die as boring people who grew up and got serious.

Is this the mid-twenties crisis?

Astral Us

noreply@blogger.com (Sayani Mukherjee) — Mon, 10 Aug 2015 17:11:00 +0000

For all the pretence and the longing for reality...
We got caught somewhere in-between...
A limbo of sorts.
Disconnected hearts...aching souls.
Fragile minds ripped apart by influence.
Like a plague it has spread ...
Over, above and across.
When we got used to this way of life we will never know.
But we did.
And our souls were trapped in some parallel universe.
Like astral projections...awake only when we sleep.