Say it Louder, My Dear

 

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Did you say something, my dear? I didn’t hear it.
Perhaps you said it in hush-hushed tones.
perhaps the words got lost on the way out.
perhaps your thoughts, ensconced in your mind
are afraid to face the blinding lights of the world.
Say it again, I didn’t hear it.

Say it out loud. Don’t be afraid, my dear
There are trumpets blaring out in the world,
no one, but me will hear your dim tone.
We’ll be one- you, me and your thoughts
against the entirety of the universe of man.
Say it out loud, I didn’t hear it.

I see your eyes waver. Why do they, my dear?
the flickering flame within you threatens to die
thanks to the drought surrounding me and you.
The arid, the dry, the parched earth,
make your soft, smooth skin full of lesions
keep your eyes steady, my dear.

Stand up my dear, you have space, don’t you?
You, me are enveloped by blue uncertainty.
my universe, our universe has a great, great extent
Scope- which you never knew of.
Fight for it, I’ll be there with you, for you
Stand up my dear, do it.

-Sumedha


The world, my friends, is a perennial equilibrium reaction. In the words of Le Chatelier, change in concentration of one changes the conditions of reaction.

Don’t suppress her. 

 

Note: I hope its clear that the poem is supposed to be about woman empowerment- something I’ve always wanted to write about, pouring in a lot of melancholy. I have done this finally today, though I admit, with very little success. Iwill definitely keep trying.

 

A blog par excellence

Swastika Tiwary’s blog…. This is one blog which I feel everyone should read. Swastika is a person of many talents and perhaps posseses one of the best minds I know. It has been a pleasure to know her. 

Coming to her blog, I feel that seldom can one come across blogs so perfect. Such simple stories told with unmatched passion and inexplicable subtlety. These are Stories that touch your heart. She has rendered tiny moments of life with a lot of intensity. Swastika has many more stories to tell. So please, please visit her blog and you will experience something new. 

Fifty!!

I started my blog a few months ago and I still remember the feeling when my first follower, followed my blog. I was over the moon and so ever thankful.

Today I have reached, what is perhaps a very important stepping stone in my blogging venture. Fifty followers!! I thank you all for following my blog ‘Little Things’and inspiring me to write more. 

I am so thankful and I love you so much!!

All That Remains is a Photograph

A little camera, embedded in some small, forgotten corner of the brain has a bad habit of clicking the shutter-button at each and every moment of one’s life. Worse still, It reminds you these things by sending fleeting images to you every now and then. You comply by twitching your lips remembering some far, forgotten joke that didn’t seem so funny at the time.Moments come and go, and we fail to act, to recognize them. Its later that this camera exerts its presence by showing you images of moments you have lost forever.

‘Could I have done something differently?’ One day I found myself pondering.
‘I don’t know, perhaps.’ I answered myself.
‘Why do you say so?’ My naivety prompted me to ask.

And once again, I myself answered……. ‘Because the only thing you still have left is a yellowing, white mug- imprinted with a beautiful picture of you seven- sitting in some dust- laden corner of your study table, humbly holding leaking and empty pens.’

Pictures are a menace, I tell you.

It captures, it reminds, it guilt trips.

Seldom, can you do anything about it.

A plethora of photographs of us, occupy a lot of space in the image gallery of my phone- all with skewed eyes, open hair and protruding lips. They somehow don’t bother me because of the fact that I have gained a whopping number of kilos after it was captured. What hurts is the fact that I cannot remember how that authentic smile felt. I cannot recall the whole episode of us sitting underneath that huge tree, eating expensive five rupee ‘o yes’. I cannot seem to recall the absurd name they used to call me which invariably always made me burst out laughing.

All that remains is the photograph.

 

 

The Woes of a ‘good singer’

Like any and every other teenager in this ever judging world who strives hard to prove that she is not a complete narcissist, even I pride my self capability of laughing at myself. For the record, only I can laugh at myself. If by any chance, someday you mistake my demeanor and conclude that I am open to being laughed at, you and I are not going to end on good terms. Well, that apart, sometimes i do laugh at myself and other times I speak about my talents and capabilities on such an exaggerated note that I can almost feel the person in front sending me cold vibes.

Well, music is one such thing from which I have never shied away when an opportunity to exaggerate my capabilities knocks on the door. I am learning music since the past ten years. It is to be noted here that whenever somebody asks me about it, I make it sound like I started learning music as soon as my mother conceived me. Invariably, all the time, by luck, or bad luck the person in front decides that they are going to test my musical capabilities.

‘Oh you learn music? Why don’t you sing something!?’
I find it funny because it is like meeting a scientist and asking them to invent something.

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Over the years, I have accumulated a bundle of about a crore and a half good excuses as to why I cannot sing at that particular moment. Most of them include the planetary alignment of Mars not being in perfect order to sing some Raga. But my dad- even after I blissfully lectured him about how he doesn’t understand Indian classical and should therefore not comment on it- just refuses to hear reason.

I guess it comes with old age, but he has mastered a particular slanted eye look that scares the living daylights out of me. As soon as he does that in front of the guest, without any delay I burst into an impromptu song. I hate to admit this to myself afterwards, but whenever I sing something under those situations where my father scares me,what I sing sounds like cacophony of frogs.

But of course, the spirited girl I am, that doesn’t stop me from smiling ear to ear, while meeting the next person and lying through my teeth about how mellifluous a singer I am.