Monday, March 12, 2018

Where I want to be!



Where your fingers get entangled in mine
Where your head rests on my shoulder
Where your breath caresses my skin
While you slowly fall asleep...
That's where I want to be..

Where your tiny toes tickle my tummy
Where your hair kisses my cheeks
Where your smile converges into mine
While you look for me...
That's where I want to be..

When nights turn into day
Listening to your stories
Where sun-rays are warmth
Like you holding me..
That's where I want to be..

Wednesday, November 29, 2017

Maya


Maya!!


No.. She's not an illusion. None at all. 

But, the idea that you can own her, sure is. 


She is like a firefly. She'll light up into a flame and attract you. And you'd catch her, perhaps. But don't think she'll glow at your whim. She owns her spark and you can never grab it. 


Not between your lips, or fingers or palms.


You may wonder, why doesn't she talk; and sometimes she's full of stories. It is annoying, intriguing, senseless. All at the same time... 

She wants more and more of everything on certain days and on some days she is as benevolent as the grace of God - so giving!


She can let go easily and not ponder over things that tear you apart. 


She'll instead whine over trivial matters. 


She'll hold you when you are weakest and not hold you at all when you are worse. Not because she cares less. 


It's because she needs to hold her self together. 


A broken hook cannot hold a mantle. 


She breaks and remains broken. 

Until she's ready to be whole again. Sometimes, she tries to make things alright. 

She tries to proves that she's done it before, but most of the times she's just gotten accustomed. 


Most of the times, she remains who she is. And you should let her be. 

She may be a mystery, but she's real. Don't make her a figment of your imagination. She's not an illusion. She's a real person. 

But let go of your ideas about her. Those are illusions- Dangerous ones!!!

Tuesday, November 28, 2017

Zuri



Zuri, 

Envy. Envy is bad. But it is genuine. 

You know what's better than envy - hate. 

Because there is no dilution in that emotion. And you, my love, feel that you are far from love because of the milligrams of hate you harness in tiny corners of your heart. Every human does!

I know he left you crying. I know your friends don't get you. You have no friends whatsoever, but you exist. And believe me, if you exist with a little love, life would be so different. 

Do you believe in magic? Do you want to see it? 

Love people despite the hurt and see what happens to their eyes. 

Dance and tell. Write and tell. Sing and tell. But, express. I know you can't. The hurt is too overpowering. You believe that no one deserves your grace. 

But you do, sweetheart!!

In loving others you will discover yourself again. Forgive the annoying little habits of people. Forgive all those who have taken joy away from you. Forgive those who have betrayed and those who have left you because of your incompleteness. 

It's difficult to complete others when they are not complete themselves. 

You are. 

Forgive yourself and love. 

Love like you are a magician, born to turn every wailing face into a smiling one. Let the spark in you ignite one more time and pass on your light to the people around you. Enough of this hate. 

When you keep love to yourself, it never grows. So is the case with hurt. 

Stop wherever you are and breathe. 

Live the moment and feel the love. 

You are now the light bearer, Zuri. You don't know it. Don't pretend that you are cold with remorse, whereas you are an entity of love. Go forth and be yourself. 

You are not enveloped by sadness or pessimism, they are just illusions. 

Love oozes out of cracks and you are full of them. 

Let it flow, like a stream, a never ending stream and let all those who've let you down know, that you have gotten back up and forgiven them. 

There is nothing more powerful than forgiveness

Let go. 

Friday, November 24, 2017

Ray-n



Rayn,

How you burst into fits of laughter while tears trickle down your cheeks. 
Your lashes hug each other like they were separated for ages - insomniac, dreaming with eyes wide open!

You hide your face as if the monsoons are hitting you hard, but my love, you are Rayn!

Pour down, like an endless drizzle, or a thunderstorm and laugh your heart out. Do not hide the freckles that redden up or your crooked teeth that twist your lips. 

Don't bother about how you look. 

You are beautiful, you needn't look so. Because you already ARE. 

Live like you will never live again and embrace the tiny bits of happiness that come your way, even when you are picking up broken pieces of yourself. 

There is wit and humor all around. You have a lot within you, let the happiness pour out and hold that sadness in your palms. Open it and let it go every time you are tempted to laugh. 

Let people think you've lost it. Let people question your sanity. 
Everyone out there is insane; fighting an unknown battle and crying over it.

But you laugh. Laugh, my dear like you will never laugh again, and let the giggles echo in the hollows of the universe. Let each organism know what it feels like to vibrate in optimism despite sheer agony. Laugh. 
And pour down, love. Whenever you want, as much as you want!

My darling, Rayn. 

Monday, November 06, 2017

Brontide

Picture Location: SRCM Retreat Centre, Panshet
The clouds were murmuring in what seemed like a thunder.
The downpour had just shown us a prelude,
Of what lay ahead.

While talking on the phone, people appeared to convey to their loved ones that they will be passing through a storm, perhaps. And they might reach their destinations a tad late. 

There seemed to be a tenderness about the communication. Eyes moist, no smiles, as if the silent rustle was warning the humans of an impending doom. 
I stood there, looking at nature in its alluring synchronicity, both living and non-living entities reacting to the brontide. 
I realized, sometimes, what you hear, see, feel and know, are in different dimensions. 

You cannot put them together to make sense out of it. Perhaps a thunder somewhere is actually a rocket taking off from a space station. Or a huge truck unloading rocks on a construction site. The vision gets clouded automatically as the senses start working in tandem leading to a beautiful illusion, or sometimes painful.

But, I have been through many such illusions and I chose to stay still in both calm and storm. 

The residuum is a wonderful thing to observe. It's me, left with rasping dichotomy. 

And I undo it one by one, learning nature all over again.

Thursday, November 02, 2017

The Contrast!

Look at this picture!

Picture Taken in Paris, France, near Notre Dam


What do you see?

The little girl playing merrily with the sparrows? Unmindful, fearless, happy, naive, welcoming!?

Have you done anything like this in your life?
Of course, you must have. We have been carefree, outgoing, not worrying about the repercussions of indulging in little pleasures. 

We have played with people, friends, things, animals our parents warned us against. We have climbed roofs and yelled at the top of our voices?

We have been children, enjoying life insouciantly!

What has changed now? Why do we not do this anymore? Societal rules, norms? Fear of being judged? Fear of masks falling off?

What do you think is the old man doing? Can you picture yourself in the place of the old man? 

Can you gauge his expressions? What must he be thinking? What could be his life story?

This beautiful contrast depicts two extremes of our life! What we make of it in between is all that matters!!


“If you were a bird, and lived on high,
You'd lean on the wind when the wind came by,
You'd say to the wind when it took you away:
"That's where I wanted to go today!” 


― A.A. MilneWhen We Were Very Young

Wednesday, November 01, 2017

Have you ever been on a date with yourself?


Try it!

Excerpt from Love in the time of  Cholera : 

“He allowed himself to be swayed by his conviction that 

human beings are not born once and for all on the day 

their mothers give birth to them, but that life obliges 

them over and over again to give birth to themselves.”

― Gabriel García Márquez


Monday, October 30, 2017

10 Years of Blogging


10 years ago, sitting in a plush office, in an IT park, I wished I was someplace else. 
Daydreaming creatively found an outlet and I started blogging. A fellow colleague taught me how to get started, and there was no stopping.


From tiny life experiences to poetry attacks, to story writing leading to fictions - you name it and I was on it!

Slowly, like every good thing, the enthusiasm died - but what did not die was the urge to express.

My very own expressmyway.blogspot.com has now turned to a well deserved theobscureoptimist.com.

It was high time, I gave the place it deserved. I wanted to start a brand new blog, I have done it a couple of times, but I did not know where to archive the older posts. 

So, I carried them with me, to this new space too!

Most of you, have read, lived this blog with me for years, and now I hope for you to tag along in another journey of - regular blogging and expressing - hopefully!

Find me on Social Media!

Facebook Page: The Obscure Optimist

Instagram: obscureoptimist

Happy Reading!

Wednesday, August 16, 2017

Dalliance


Midnight, sharp, my cell beeped. I got a message from an unknown number that wished me the most beautiful birthday.

“No matter what they wish for, no matter how far they go, people can never be anything but themselves."
be you! always. Happy birthday!

No, it wasn't my birthday.
Yes, I wished it was.

Because this person on the other end was quoting a Murakami. And he/she had effortlessly used one of his quotes as a birthday wish. Who could possibly be as crazy as I am about an Author of a foreign origin, who writes about dysfunctional humans and cats!

"Sorry. Looks you have the wrong number", I replied.

After waiting for almost an eternity, the cell beeped again.

"Shruti?"

My fingers went over the qwerty in million different patterns.

I managed to type, "No! Wrong number."

An instant response almost ended the conversation.

"Murakami, huh?", I pinged back again, curiosity piling up.

"Seriously?!!", came the response.

"Sorta!", I replied.

"Very Impressive"

"This was perhaps Shruti's earlier number", I pinged resorting to small talk.

"Chance encounters are what keep us going!", the ping came back.

This person was referring to Kafka. That was my favorite read. I wondered if soulmates ever existed.

"No small talks please", the request instantly came in. Rude, I thought!

Our talks didn't limit to Murakami alone. It spanned over my favorite authors and favorite discussions. I had no clue who the person on the other end was. Was it a man, woman, girl, boy, an aged gentleman, a well read retired principal from a school, a librarian, a college student or a doctor? I had no idea at all. I started looking forward to late night chats, discussing books after books, the interpretations, philosophies, how characters came to life in our mundane lives, and how silly quotes from books made utter sense in real world. We lived in parallel universes, entwined in a love affair - unknown, yet very true.

I liked how the fling lasted more than a week. For a month. Almost a year. 

"I saved your name as Reiko", I pinged one fine day.

"How about Midori? or Sumire?", came the reply.

I had not imagined a girl to be on the other end discussing books with me all these days. I did not know, suddenly how I felt about it.

"Good choice", I responded, not sounding too surprised about the discovery.

I saved her number with the name as "Sumire", while she called me Miu.

Like an ethereal escape, both of us deluded into our own lives, realizing, how Sputnik Sweetheart must only be a fiction.

Monday, August 07, 2017

Redamancy



Tahira stepped down from the bus and marched her way towards the salon she worked at. 

She was usually the first one to reach. While she opened the premises for the days work, she thought of Sam. He was always on her mind. Not because she was in love with him, but he was. 

Apparently so. 

"Let's get married", he had proposed. Sort of. 

She did not feel the tingling sensation, while things were progressing to the next level. 

Did she always want this - yes! 

Did she want this at that moment - no, perhaps. 

How life ambitions and desires vary when you compare it with respect to time... 
What you want forever vs what you want now? 

"Yayy", she remembered, reacting to it. Half heartedly. 

"I love you", he said, the meaningless sentence stabbed right through her heart. 

She loved. Not that she didn't. She loved, deeply - an idea, a someone, who did not exist. It was always in her head. This person, or love, or the idea of it. She couldn't put it down in words what exactly that yearning felt like. 

Sam came in like a breath of fresh air and became a habit. Nothing else. 

As she started setting up the primary counter of the salon, Rinku, her pet cat - a daily visitor came in. Today, it was something different. She spotted a chair stealthily climbed up on it, and started licking herself.
 The chair gave way to a great view - the mirror. 

She felt a sense of deja-vu and thought of calling Sam and talking to him about how she thinks cats are souls who guard you. 

"Sam, remember what I told you about cats, the other day?", she spoke on the phone. 

"No Taa. I don't. What about it?", he asked. 

"About Guardian souls..", she hinted. 

He laughed, "Not again, Taa. Talk to you later!" and he hung up. 

Rinku funnily stared at the mirror and took a strange stance and cuddled her self on the leather seat. She closed her eyes and gently grunted. 

Tahira, arranged her desk with the paraphernalia and wondered about the uncanny similarity between the calmness that the buddha statue and Rinku had. 

A living thing vs a non living thing. 

She took to a chair next to Rinku and stared into mirror. She looked at her self, noted the hair growth on her face, raised her eyebrows a few times, set her hair and relaxed on the chair. 

She gently closed her eyes and wondered what lay beneath her skin. She went one layer down, feeling her veins, the rush of blood, the thumping of her heart. 
Her breathing synced with her heartbeat.. 

1....2......3....4...

She started counting. Soon she was lost in a deep trance, or a sleep she hadn't resorted to in years. 

Her head felt lighter and a brightness within attracted her towards the unknown. She dived in deeper, and tears started flowing. She was discovering the depths of her inner self that she never knew existed. 

Suddenly she pushed herself out of this trance, fearing the unknown. She looked at the mirror and felt a love she hadn't, in her entire existence. 

That's exactly what she was looking for. A love, that she was seeking, had finally sought her. 

"Taa, I love you", she recollected Sam's words and smiled as they dissolve into meaninglessness.

The sense of words was eventually evolving for her. Love!

Friday, August 04, 2017

Epiphany


The wind caressed the tamarind tree, and the remnants of raindrops fell on Mangal. Startled, he looked up, and adjusted his seat on the rock he was sitting on. His cane stick fell in a water puddle. Mangal picked it up and tapped it on the concrete a few times.


Thakk.. thakk…thakk…

This place helped him cool off his anger, every time he had a fight with Kanta. He would barge out of the house at these impulses. These were regular scenes, and Kanta would eagerly wait for Mangal to come back home. He thought of one such fight he had years ago.

 ***
"Mangali"

"Aye Mangali"

"How long before you switch off that television and finish your food?"

 Kanta was eternally tired of running after Mangal for every little thing.

 "Bastards, all of them!", Mangal yelled.

"Why can't they catch a ball falling at an arm's distance? These cricketers are way too complacent for the money they are paid"

 Kanta sighed, looking at Mangal shift tensely on the cane chair, reacting to the Match India had just lost.

 "Such an abysmal performance. Leeches!", he frowned.

 "Eat your food, so that I can wrap up before the maid comes", Kanta called out one more time.

 Mangal took to his cane and hit angrily on the floor. "Coming!! Didn't I say!"

 At 80, his voice quivered. His anger, not so much.

 Kanta stayed mum, knowing this will take a while to settle down.

Babbling incoherently, Mangal inhaled heavily and began to sit for his meal.

“Finish this fast, the maid will come anytime”, Kanta reiterated, exasperatingly.

 He slid the plate away from the table, “Let her come”, he said and furiously walked away, his cane tapping the floor.

 Thakk.. thakkk.. thakk…thakk..
Copyright : obscureoptimist

***

Sitting at his favorite place, Mangal, looked up, at the intricate designs of the tree, and wondered, how beautifully the sunshine seeped through the gaps and distributed its chunk into beautiful rays. Today was not one of those days, though. Monsoons had rendered the city devoid of sunshine for over a month. Mangal detested overdone things. Seasons, too, sometimes, when they stayed superfluously.

 Brooding over what’s what and why was not his nature. Mangal would sit under the tree and observe things around him. He would add the numbers on the number plates of the vehicles parked or going past him. He would sniff tobacco every now and then, and, do nothing.

 It was hard to know what went on in his mind. He kept looking up, at the tree, wondering why he did not observe it this closely before. It was like an unfathomable maze. He picked up one branch and started tracing it from the trunk to its end. But he lost it every time. He failed to figure out which branch went where.

 After minutes of staring at the tree, he groggily stretched his neck and looked down. He felt the pull in shoulders and spine. He drew his attention to the trunk of the tree, and saw how beautifully it held all the origins of the branches.

He imagined Kanta.

He realized, he had not acknowledged how dependent he was on her.

 “Mangali Uncle…Can I drop you home? Aunty must me waiting.”, said a kind passerby, interrupting Mangal’s business.

He smiled.

It had just been 1 day, and he had to start informing everyone about her death. Perhaps there were many who did not know.

 “Sure. Thank you”, Mangal said.

 He turned back and took an earnest look at the tree one more time. He tapped it as if it was a reassurance that he was giving to someone who sought it from him.

 “Let’s go”, he said and started walking towards the car.

 “How long does it take for a tree to grow, if I plant it now”, Mangal asked the young man who had offered him a lift…

***

...end....