Life and books and poetry

I do not know who I am. I really am drawing a blank right now. The whole world seems to be fading away and I feel like I’m shutting down. The systems are failing and it is time to just give up, hibernate, cease all activity.

And then the other part nudges and asks what is that going to accomplish? Where is that going to land me? In a new challenging scenario where I’ll have to wrap my sleeves up and fight like a hero? Am I a hero?

Imagine you as a character who is standing in the middle of nowhere. Nowhere because the world is fading out remember? You are escaping from it and thus you or your wonderful brain makes you think it doesn’t exist. But it does, reality is that it is as real as it always was.

You are receding in a familiar space. You’ve been there quite often and no matter how prepared you think you are – you fail to get a grip.

And when you seek to get help from your past and your past self – it betrays. It gives you what you don’t need. It throws all those amazing times and moments which will only make you wonder why am I subjected to such tyranny? And if it doesn’t give you that then you get a bunch of those awful flashbacks that are not going to be of any help either.

It is funny that you’ll never get what you really need. The fact that you’ve crossed these similar murky grounds a lot of times. There is barely any evidence and then you sulk even lower. Is it a natural process?


One thing that comes to help is the memory of parts of the book I’ve managed to read. Here are a few:

“I couldn’t be sure if I had moved forward or fallen behind, or if I was just circling over the same spot.” ― Haruki Murakami, Killing Commendatore

“Like most misery, it started with apparent happiness.”
― Markus Zusak, The Book Thief

“The way her body existed only where he touched her. The rest of her was smoke.”
― Arundhati Roy, The God of Small Things

“D’you know what happens when you hurt people?’ Ammu said. ‘When you hurt people, they begin to love you less. That’s what careless words do. They make people love you a little less.”
― Arundhati Roy, The God of Small Things


And then there is a piece of poetry by Amrita Pritam. My introduction to her was through Sahir Ludhianvi. I’ve read their eternal love story and I’ve admired Amrita Pritam. The piece is called “Main Tainu Fir Milangi” – I haven’t translated it but found a website that did and you can read it here and here.

Main Tenu Fer Milangi

Kithe? Kis trah? Pata nahi
Shayad tere Takhiyl di Chinag banke
Tere Canvas te Utrangi
Ya Khore teri Canvas dey Utte
Ik Rahasmayi Lakir Banke
Khamosh Tenu Takdi Rawangi

Jaa Khore Suraj ki Loo banke
Tere Ranga vich Ghulangi
Jaa Ranga diyan Bahwa vich beth ke
Teri Canvas nu Wlangi
Pata nahi Kis Trah-Kithe
Par Tenu Zarur Milangi

Jaa Khore Ik Chashma bani Howangi
Te jivan Jharneya da Paani udd da
Main Pani diyan Bunda
Tere Pind te Malangi
Te Ik Thandak jahi banke
Teri Chhaati de naal Lagangi
Main Hor Kuch nahi Jaandi
Par Ena Jaandi
Ki Waqt jo v karega
Ae Janam Mere naal Turega

Ae Jism Mukkda hai
Tan Sab Kuch Mukk janda
Par Cheteyan dey Dhaage
Kaayenaati Kana dey Hunde
Main unha kana nu chunagi
Dhageyan nu walangi
Te tenu main fer milangi

With this I’ll end my random musing. I hope you like what you read. Until next time!

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