My Book

We all know that life is a learning process. In our lifetimes, we explore multiple facets of life through various experiences. One way of uncovering the mysteries and wonders of life is reading.

A book is a great reserve of amazing information. You can sit in a cozy recliner with a cuppa coffee, read all day, and travel the world at the same time. Books open a window to the unknown; we learn about places we have never seen, or never imagined they existed; we learn about people, and how good, bad, mysterious, wonderful, unique, and eccentric they can be; we learn about different situations, and their complexities.

Out of all these interesting books, there are a few you absolutely fall in love with. These are the books you bond with easily, because they tell stories you connect with in an instant. You feel like revisiting a story and its characters again and again, and every time you read the book, you discover a new dimension to it. You are purged with all kinds of emotions that appeal to you. You are so intrigued with the plot and characters that even after the book has ended, you feel like there was something more to it that you missed. Only a great book can result into an impact of that magnitude.

I believe there is one such book for everyone. One book that we want to know more about. It appeals to us so deeply, that we feel a special kinship with it.

I guess I have found that book.

The book I am reading is like some of the good books in the world – difficult to decipher, yet have a sublime effect on the reader. But it is only after a rigorous study that we can decipher these books.

A rigorous study demands patience. And after all the efforts of having tried, I feel my interest in it is losing steam. Maybe because my book is going through a phase I am not able to relate to. How could it be my book then? And if it’s not, then why am I still reading it?

Or, perhaps I give up too soon.

Either ways, if there’s anything that needs to be changed, then it’s my attitude.

Bad Days

Some days are not worth living at all. They should be deleted without a trace. Shift + delete! What’s even worse is to be going through all the bad days all alone.

It takes every bit of the inner strength to keep oneself together, not allowing the spirit to be scattered, or turn pessimistic. Sometimes, it works. Other times, nothing does. Come to think of it, there is always a middle ground. Deep down, the hope is always alive. And it is this hope that helps us go through the day. The only difference a bad day makes is that it makes us realize that in the end, we are all alone, and that our strength doesn’t come from another person, but from our own survival instincts.

Bad days consolidate my belief in emotional dependence. These are days when we actually need someone who understands, cares, and can comfort us. We end up finding that solace within ourselves; perhaps because that’s the only option we are left with. Solitude has enough room for self expression. Some people do it by shedding tears, while others channelize their emotions via creative pursuits. Therefore, I would say the term ‘independence’ is only another way of conveying self-dependence. Emotional independence is, thus, a myth.

On the other hand, emotional self-dependence doesn’t come easy. We are human beings, and human beings live with people. The absence of close ones doesn’t go down well with any of us. That’s what makes our bad days worse. Nobody should be made to go through them. Nobody.


When we feel our efforts are not being reciprocated, we are led to think about the futility of the entirety.

On second thoughts, what if those expectations were from the wrong person?


They don’t occur due to nothing.

When close ones fight, they say things. Bad things. Terrible things. No matter what, one fact doesn’t change – the blaming each other part doesn’t lead us anywhere. Even if you still want to blame someone, then blame the instinctive ‘pride’.

When this pride is hurt, we are clouded by hatred. Apparently, this hatred isn’t for the “offender,” but for the self. “How could I go wrong?” “I was born to be right.”

Denial takes over, leaving cracks in the relationship.

These cracks are only a reflection of the cracks in our souls, because self doubts lead to self loathing. And self loathing is the absence of self love.

Then, Love, in its essence, loses its lustre.

The relationship is now only a blame game.

We cover the cracks with tape and glue. But we forget that these are emotional injuries that can only be healed by soothing words. And when we forget this, sarcasm follows. It follows us everywhere, till the end of time.

Doubts surface again. This time, bigger ones. More damage takes place.

No wonder, human life is a road downhill. Ironic, isn’t it, given the fact we always want to climb up?


Resolve them.

Because we are nothing without our people.

The Queen

I saw a little girl at a petrol pump today, merrily playing all alone, absorbed in the little world of her own. While her dad filled up gas in their vehicle, her mom seemed to be more into her younger brother.

Her innocent playfulness reminded me of the innocent playful little girl I used to be. Lost, yet busy cooking up imaginary scenarios in my head, and enjoying them at the same time.

Then, the feeling of being lost was buried under piles of imagination and hope; hope of a different, better and wonderful future.

As time passed, the piles grew smaller, and the feeling began to emerge until it became pronouncing. It emerged like the glorious winner who effortlessly made it to the top.

Today, what you see is the face of that winner.


Utter lack of Faith!

It’s not a trophy, but more like a Tiara stuck on my head like a persistent dark cloud.

Yeah, that makes me the Queen of the faithless!

This queen, now, protects her kingdom by building strong and tall walls around it.

Nothing can reach her. Nor can she reach out to anyone.

Not even fresh air.


Like always, so much to say, yet no words.

For a few minutes I blankly stare at the page. In no time I snap out of the trance only to surprise myself because I realize that I had begun to doodle.

I write another sentence, stop, and begin thinking.

All I try to figure out is the reason for not being able to express.

That thought makes me want to cry.

Shall I sit and cry all night or vent it all out on this paper?

I also think of a third option: escaping the pain and going to sleep.


It almost works.