Monochromatic Perceptions

  July 3rd 2021 Half of the year has passed and my soul hasn't left my body yet, so I guess it's going pretty good as of now. Although the former part of the pandemic hasn't been a very smooth ride, the later part has taught me a lot of things which I never knew about myself. The society or the environment we live in has specific constructs about what is good and bad, what is beautiful and ugly and from childhood these beliefs are made facts and are inculcated within us. But discovering  what's beautiful from one's own perspective, holds a separate joy altogether because it's personal, something which is completely our own creation.  "To find happiness, look halfway between too little, too much"- Ruskin Bond. It is true that we keep searching for happiness which is long lasting, but how do I explain to you the joy in inking a new pen with a little bit in your fingers and on your nose. Yes, being the clumsy person that I am, I'm always one step far

With the departure of teens, which makes me incredibly depressed when I think of it, there has been countless changes in this person who writes. In this ruckus of everyday life I have discovered an excellent escape in books which is awfully strange for a person like me. But the joy that comes along discovering every new chapter especially when the writer surprises you with thoughts that are similar to yours, the heart blooms a little. Reading has made me notice alot of things which are irrelevant in the eyes of others. I remember the first hibiscus of spring in my small balcony. It had a vibrant but sweet orange-pink colour and along with small violet blossoms beside, my garden found its colour palette for the season.  A few days back, when the tension of the elections were gone and stormy wind was marking the arrival of Kalbaishaki, my heart felt contented with joy again. I will never forget the night which made me dance with joy in my moonlit terrace at 3:30 in the morning. It was al

 Winters bring out the beauty of the sunrays. The mild yellow streaks falling on the bedsheets, the curtains , on the side table which has been a mess since fall, on the bookshelf and on our face, comforting us with the warmth we all crave. As we walk down the streets in those quiet afternoons , the lanes whisper to the walls about their golden glow which they get from the sunlight which peaks in from the dying leaves of the trees, creating art in every corner. The little dance of lights and shadows between the lanes continue until its dusk and the cold wind veils the city, making it difficult for the street dogs. As the warmth departs, and the chill takes over, the heart looks for a shelter. With the city dolled up with Christmas lights, and  people heading up with hopes, there's a sudden occurance of a familiar fragrance in the air. A fragrance so familiar and old yet so fresh, feels like they never left. The heart shrinks and breaks when it desires the undesirable yet it doesn&#

  We all are bleeding. We don't see it with naked eyes, but as we grow old our heart tears everyday. Everyday is a fight against the odds in our hearts and we try to avoid them, run away from them, make them crumble up into a ball of paper and throw them into the dustbin, and everytime we fight, we bleed. We are unaware of the pain we suffer everyday, blinded by the materialistic accomplishments and convinced happiness. Or may be we are aware. We see us change everyday. We repent to look at ourselves in the mirror coz our eyes scream, it screams the truth we often try to hide with our blinded emotions. But these eyes , these petty eyes do not have much to offer. Everyday it dies a little. Everyday, we die a little.  But there are days when we can't run anymore. All these emotions demands to be felt. The sadness and pain hits our head like a hammer. It keeps hitting us again and again, demanding their rights to get noticed and finally they succeed. They over power us, drown us

There will be a house. A house on hills. Not a very fancy one, but a small one. Big enough to fit in a bed beside a long window, a kitchen and a garden outside. There will be curtains all around the house. White , embroidered curtains, so that when the sun comes in, it fills the floors with shadows of different shapes. I ll sit there in the afternoon, gazing at the sun and thinking how beautiful it makes my house look. I ll click a picture or two, with the flowers in my garden, the bright green grass with the dead leaves and broken petals fallen on them. There will be a bookshelf, filled with books. I ll have time then, i ll read and re read all the books I love. And there will be a little corner in my house, the cosy one, the one corner which makes one feel safe and protected. The one where I ll sit on those rainy days with a heavy heart listening to Chopin with a cup of black tea mixed with a tinge of ginger and no sugar.  But there will be a part in the house, left untouched and em

F. Scott Fitzgerald once said that- "The loneliest moment in someone's life is when they are watching their whole world fall apart and all they can do is stare blankly" . within the year 2020 , people all across the planet face the sensation of helplessness. Everyone within the globe are fighting death with the minimalistic way possible without even knowing what ever they're doing is true or not.  The lockdown initiative taken by the govt to fight against the Chinese virus , is becoming very challenging for a developing country like India. If we undergo the economic statistics of the country, the results are spine-chilling. People are losing their jobs , local shops and businesses are being shut and lots of companies are within the verge of bankruptcy. The concern doesn't end here. People that are most suffering from these repetitive lockdowns are the labor people or the daily wage labourers and sadly this sector of the society is usually unheard. Their f