I am the miracle I seek, the mountain I must climb, the hope I need to preserve, the promise I have to keep, the battle I fight, the puzzle I must solve, and the desire I shall fulfill. I am what I am. The universe exists within me, as much as I exist in the universe.
Pieces
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Maybe
sometimes, deluding yourself into being brave is the easiest thing to do.
Because if you allow yourself to be broken, you’ll keep counting the pieces
forever.
“ Toh bhaiya aisa hai ki hum poori duniya ki sar par chadhkar baitheh hai. Chhote-bade harr aaine mein, hum hi toh rehte hai. Hum hi hai jo najro ko lubhaate hai, aapke selfie k liye Likes hum hi toh leke aate hai. …Hum aapki khoobsurti ka raaj hai, aapke sar k permanent taaj hai. Humara status koi Bajrang Bali se kam nahi hai – dekhiye tel unhe bhi chadaya jaata hai, aur tel humein bhi chadaya jaata hai. Hum baal hai. Sabse bada bhaukaal hai, khopdi ki khaal hai, bheje ki dhaal hai, agar mil gayein toh kamala hai, aur nahi milein toh jindagi bhar ka malaal hai. ” With a soliloquy for the ages, deftly delivered by the inimitable Vijay Raaz’s off-screen voice, Amar Kaushik sets the tone for this social problem comedy movie Bala . What catches the viewers’ attention first up, is the wonderful medley of pictures that accompany this opening stanza – from everyday tea-stalls to roadside Romeos, it captures the common man and his ubiquitous hair. Or lack thereof. After all, what better w...
Every morning, when my eyes open for the first time, when my brain wakes up to the inescapable reality of the today, when my lungs tell me that they’ve kept up the tiring work of keeping me alive, when the tips of my fingers are still tingling with the evanescence of dreams I had subconsciously reached out for, my heart goes thump-thump-thump, screaming into my ears that without you, every waking up is an exercise in predestined futility. And every night, just before my eyes close for the last time, when the gap between my toes has accumulated the imperceptible dust of the shattered day, when the waves of deliverance have touched the roots of my hair for the briefest of seconds, when the riotous desires from the omnipresent halls of collective humanity have lived and died in my sweat and blood, my heart goes thump-thump-thump, whispering into my disintegrating cognizance that without you, every going to sleep is a scream into the nothingness of oblivion.
What is the measure of a man, I sometimes wonder. Is it how fiercely he loves or how selflessly he lets go? Is it how he behaves with his elders, peers or someone who can do him absolutely no good? Is it how he tackles challenges or how he talks about himself? Is it how he puts mind over matter or how much of himself he can give? Is it about how much of his ego he subjugates or how many lives he touches? Is it how he treats women or how humble he is in victory? Is it how he handles power or how he stands up for his beliefs? Is it the reassurance of his being or the legacy he leaves behind? Whatever it may be, the only thing I know is that the only way I can ever measure up to my father is through height. A biological happenstance that has led to me being of the exact same height to the best man I have ever known. In every other measure, he was, is and will always be head, shoulders and an universe better than me. I only wish I could have been a better son.
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