Aananda

  The place you once called home is now a stranger place than the outside world. And you’re wondering what went wrong; what changed that you’re having to wager so much trying to be sane. This is getting difficult, there’s no way out. But there’s a voice telling me what you want to hear. And I bring forth kindness and love, comfort food and soup that we’ll reheat and share. I’ll tell you stories of times before that I’ve heard from someone else. There’s something holding you down, but you don’t want to go there. And I’ll hold you and tell you, there’s nothing else you need to do but stay. We’ll solve puzzles together and I’ll make you hot tea or coffee. We’ll sit outside and stare at gardens, till the end of daylight. Times have been difficult and being strong isn’t easy. You’ve found ways to survive but we’re meant for more than just breathing. All essentials taken care of, what would you like more of? A while we play, and sing. A while we listen to some music. But alas I leave, ...

 Joan Didion wrote a book called ‘The Year of Magical Thinking’, about the grief and mourning that followed her husband’s death in December 2003. This book is investigative journalism attacking the self. A writer’s deep reflection on the end of a symbiotic relationship of 40 years; the bereavement and irrationality that followed; and the vortexes she couldn’t escape. I’m 19 as I write this. I was never the target audience for this book. Even as I binged through reading it, I knew this book wasn’t for me. But if grief hits everyone the same, I was reminded that it hit my mother too. I saw what it was like for her to go through the intense grief following the death of my father. And how she was then asked, throughout the years, to shed these parts of herself and look ahead. Time and again, people who grieve are asked not to indulge in self-pity even when every timed-by-the-clock habit that they’ve followed for decades, have to at once, be discarded. Conversations and chores wou...

there are conversations to be had, and pretends to be played. embarrassments to laugh at,  and colleges to complain of.  There are problems to be shared in short crisp sentences,  and consolations done just the same.  With a wish for more, but solace in some.  There’s distance between you and I the width of the universe.  And here I am, glad to be in the same universe.

you would’ve enjoyed knowing me; to see how I love the same music you did; to see that I eye      and love    just like you did. and with your time here, you found a way to be us. and I could use some aid in knowing how to be me,  because these puzzle pieces keep getting lost  and I lose another each time I go in search for one. But in remembering you i hope that our shared DNA would make the pieces you left behind fit perfectly into my gaps. and I’d know myself through you. But now you’ve fold into yourself and there’s nothing holding my universe together.

A burning flame of a soul causing a slow burn of my own. I cannot avert, I surrender to your indifference; your clout; your curb. You’re a blazing angel and I’m a gazer; serenading in rapture; only a witness to your magnificent show. Watching you, as the fire purifies; watch my destruction in your eyes. And the whole world is grey now that I’ve seen your glow. for the reality of you feels more real than the rest of our Lord’s ordeal. There is no crossroads; I have only one way to go. and my cruel wicked hope trots along on a path it doesn’t belong. And I’ll continue to love you dearly with a vague hostility. And the only way I’ll ever have you is if I step into the same pyre as you. melting into oneness, tranquil at home; until then, I’m stuck in monochrome.

For someone who prefers silence, and has a ‘it’ll sort itself out’ reaction to all things in life, I find it rather easy to seep into the background, and to sit down quiet as the world descends into chaos. Assuming the role of a passive observer in my own life, I didn’t mind not having opinions, or not standing up for myself. I did not mind leaving the revolution to others. In all honesty, I’ve never felt the need to explain myself to anyone either. Indifferent to how the world worked itself out, I found a way to make do with personal validation instead of standing up for what I represent. But passivity can be equally destructive. History is stained with women deemed hysterical every step of the way, and we’ve resorted to gain the quiet indifference of a man to ensure we fence ourselves from being called crazy, or hormonal. We’ve distanced us from our own sisters; apprehensive of being labelled one among them. And now, our voice’s go uncared for, and we’re still dependant on our bre...

A friend of mine recently wrote me a poem. A birthday present telling me that she loved me despite all differences. I have to mention ‘despite all differences’ because our story was never that of just love. Her poem didn’t sugar coat the oscillations of ‘connection, disconnection and reconnection’ that all friendships (including ours) are invariably made of; but rather she hailed them as our battle scars. When I stare straight into love like that, which has the audacity to charge regardless of all differences, I get uncertain of my own ability to do that. Because there have been so many times that I couldn’t. Like with family, where love exists but in some weird corner that is sometimes difficult to access; and I’m unable to love despite all differences. Or with friends I’m so used to taking for granted. I’m sure love exists there too, but I don’t think I ever looked at how I let it blur out; how I let myself grow indifferent to the same things that bring value to life. I hate what th...

It was only three days ago that we (my family) became victims of a cybercrime. Victims of a fraud customer-care number that left us confused, and blind to what was being done to us. It left us lesser not only in money, but also in faith. It was only three days ago that I was at once reminded that the people we live among are desperate, broken, and unjust. Looking back, there were so many glaring red flags during our call that day, and we naively ignored them. We’re an educated family and losing money because of a cybercrime is a reminder struck right across the face of what happens to those who unsuspectingly believe. And I’m not just talking about this one time. Every time you find yourself fooled; gutted by thoughts of your own ignorance, you start building walls around yourself. There is a sense of urgency. A glaring alarm telling you to get everything under control, and to never gamble like this again. As if the only way to get through life is by rigorously protecting yourself ev...

A Beautifully Foolish Endeavour is the much-awaited sequel to Hank Green’s first novel An Absolutely Remarkable Thing. The story picks off right where AART ended, but unlike the first book where our protagonist April May was our only narrator; we have five POV's in the sequel. This is a very subtle but effective way to beautifully incorporate the core message of the novel into its structure. The core message of this story is that  the most important thing that we can do with our power is to almost always give it away . And letting people tell their story in their own words is reflective of that ideology. With an unpredictable but bittersweet ending, Hank Green takes us on a journey in understanding our best and worst instincts. I'm reminded that we humans are radically collaborative, profoundly empathetic, and deeply communal.  I came out of this book hopeful and deeply respectful of my own human existence and that of others; along with a deeper understanding of the natur...

I once walked past two frogs that lie; Dead and dry and dirty at night; And I looked past and turned my eye; Like all who ever crossed that sight. The next day I wandered again; But only one of two remained. Left unattended, it still lingered; While the other one got wiped away. Our gates shuddered as a woman cried; Begging for alms, more for her child. And I looked past and turned my eye; like all who ever crossed that sight. And I’ve seen barefoot kids on streets; With their misery on their sleeves. Offering toys and tales unsung; As I continued to stare up front. ‘It’s all an act, you can’t fall for the trick’ But the act itself is the suffering. We ignore the evident pleas and cries, But praise those with a benevolent eye. I wish to never be that person again; Never to turn my eye and pretend; Like you were just another animal dry; Left unattended under the sky. -To Naomi

now i’m a curious stranger  enchanted by your softness. Let me be a tourist in an unknown store; i’ll be patient in your vastness.   my fingertips glide across volumes. tell me, which one do I choose? I have forever in your world, but find me a beginning worth my muse.   my footsteps echo in this world left empty and ancient. but i’d read you cover to cover; Shaking brown dust off brown titles and ordered pages.   my yellow tulips grow in your grounded brown. like belle in castle; with you, I’d like to find my way  out of this provincial town.

To all those who have helped me, and through that, taught me how to help others. An important tool that I have been trying to learn recently, is the ability to ask for help. I’ll have to admit, there has been quite an intolerable level of feminism fueled independence in me, and I’ve often seen it as a personal failure to 'ask' for help. But I think I’ve lived through that mindset long enough to realize that I am wrong in so many ways. I guess this 'intolerable independence' is the result of our self-help culture, that has vehemently preached that 'the answer lies within us'. And although it is true that the answer does lie within us; I realize asking for help doesn’t really negate that sentence. It only helps you reduce the burden of negative cognitions. And by the end of it all, answers are something that we have to find for ourselves anyway. That being said, receiving good help isn’t easy. A lot us do not know how to respond when someone asks for help, and re...

Parents aren't given the choice on how their kids end up being like. I mean, yes, their choice of mate affects the other set of DNA that influences their baby’s health and personality. But other than that, parents don’t really have a ‘choice’.   But, if given a choice, parents would choose so much. First off, they would definitely choose their kids out of Autism or ADHD. Although we do call them ‘specially abled’, If given a choice parents would rather their kids not have these ‘special abilities’ since it makes life difficult for their child. I might sound politically incorrect, but that’s just how it is.   If given a choice, they’d want their kid to be healthier and less prone to diseases. In the same way, if given a choice, they’d want their kids to be born intelligent, with good memory, with artistic traits, be good at math and linguistics … I mean, nurture can only take them a certain distance, right? Well, what if parents can actually make that choice? What if parent...

While growing up, we all had that one artist we worshiped like they’re our One True God. Actors, musicians, writers, animators; we see them as larger than life itself. For many of us, art is the only form of therapy we know; the only thing that made us feel seen. But this idolization has unintentionally made the definition of art exclusive. And our view of art and artists has grown narrower and narrower. I recently heard Will Smith say ‘Parenting is more Art than Science’. This line is fascinating as it beautifully deters from what art is usually connoted to.  It serves as a reminder  that life itself is more art than science,  and there is creative energy in   every move we make. We often lose sight of this; suffocated by thousands of books telling us how life should be lived; and education that numbs the childlike wonder that we should foster in every single aspect of our life.  From the food we cook and the way we want our breakfast b...

Doctor’s with a shitty personality can be more annoying than other people with a shitty personality. He who is put on a pedestal next to God does not get a pass at being shitty, and yet there are so many of them. And with this pandemic, doctors have penetrated our homes through  panel discussions and debates on TV.  And the shitty ones get a bullhorn stuck right in front of them.    ‘Should people hoard the new covid-19 drug?’ the reporter asked. 'Rising tensions with regard to possible supply shortage has left people alarmed, and they believe hoarding as the only way they can protect themselves. What do you suggest?' Honestly, this felt like a fairy reasonable conclusion that most of us would come to. Although deep down we all know hoarding isn’t an ideal response to the pandemic, we aren’t above that compulsion. The doctor who was on the show that day responded with a mocking chuckle , followed by a definite no. ‘No we shouldn’t hoard the new drug’ he said. A...

Nobody has been paying rents and dues since 2 months. And being someone who depends on rental income, it’s a huge pain in the ass to talk to tenants and hear their financial constraints for the 100 th time, although deep down you know that they’re pretty well off enough to pay. But my mom, being the kind woman she is, decided to meet our tenants to discuss partial rent waiving. And so we went to see him. But honestly, all tenants would comfortably wish their owners disappear so that they don’t have to talk about rent at all. When we sat down with him, he spoke in the audible frequency of a snake. And not even a “healthy, mildly enthusiastic about life, harry potter kind of snake”. This was a snake too haughty to care about being audible. We couldn’t hear a single thing he said without leaning in. God knows we tried to maintain a 6 feet distance. But on a safer note, we wore our green home-stitched masks that wrinkled like raisins because it has been washed too many times, and he had h...