Sharing your Angels :)

Each one of us is fortunate.

I say that not to lecture you about counting your blessings, but to remind you that life is good.

We are all blessed because we can name at least one person whom we love unconditionally, and who loves us back. All of us have that angel in our lives. Our guardian angel. It could be your mom, your dad, your grandparents, a dear relative, a sibling, a friend, a teacher, a lover and sometimes even a complete stranger.

You know they are your angel because they are as good to everybody else as they are to you. That is what an angel does. Let smiles bloom where there were tears, let spring winds blow when life is a frosty winter, let sunshine beam through the stormiest of days and let tranquility pacify the turbulent ebb and flow of your emotions!

But, possessiveness is the greatest sin you will commit against your angel.

You might not be ready to share their love and friendship with anybody else, believing that they are yours and yours alone to keep. But that is not true.

Learn to share your angels with the world, because the world needs all the goodness it can gather.

Share your angels, because sharing is the force that will propel them forward on their noble earthly mission.

Share them because like you, the homeless man on the footpath needs them. The widow, who has 2 kids to support and no income to boast of, needs them. The distraught orphan on the streets needs them. Those who aren't as lucky as you are, and those who know only suffering and pain and sorrow, need them.

Share your angels, because your angels need these broken souls too. To mend, repair, heal and patch up their pieces together into a beautiful, whole person again. Your angel needs them, because they form the purpose of his or her life. And because, the almighty has instructed them to love those who need it most!

Share them, because if you don’t, you will end up chopping their wings off and chaining them to misery, obstructing the fulfillment of their destiny.

Share your angel because that is the greatest favour you will ever do. To them, to the world, and perhaps, even to yourself. Set them free once you have realized you are good to go. Release them once they have filled your heart with all the joy, peace, love and warmth you need.
Unchain them, because they would never do it by themselves. They won’t leave till you are ready to let them go, because angels heal, not hurt.

Set your angels free, once you have assimilated and absorbed their goodness into yourselves. Don’t hold on to them forever. And once you have set them free, try and be an angel for someone else too :)


Inspired from "Angels" by Lang Leav. Read it here: http://langleav.com/post/41380845770/angels

First Love

Friday. First day, first show. But not their first date.
She had been seeing him for the last 10 years. She had been in love with him ever since she had learnt what love was.
It did not matter that she could see him only once, or maybe twice and rarely, if she was lucky, thrice a year.
It did not matter that he was 30 years her senior. Or that he was married. Or had kids who were almost her age. His magical smile, those honest, haunting dark eyes, his salt and pepper beard, his kind face and the way he made her feel....that was all that mattered.
No, she did not own him. Never would. And that was okay. Love never meant ownership. It meant being happy for him, even if she was not a part of that happiness. She had the gift of his time for those stolen 3 or 6 or 9 hours every 365 or so days, and that was enough.
As the lights in the hall dimmed, and the screen lit up with the title, "Jab Tak Hai Jaan", she looked at him, directly in the eyes and hoped he knew what he meant to her.
Nonetheless, as he smiled at her, she whispered so only he would hear, "I love you so much, Shahrukh!"
Like millions of girls her age, SRK was her first love :)

My Name

You write my name on the wet window pane that’s been washed with the first monsoon shower. You trace the letters softly, looping the g and the r with flair, but conveniently forgetting to dot the i. The glass smiles through the slant of your scribble, and I can glimpse the busy street through the transparent letters.

You write my name on the blank pages of your journal, absent mindedly, as you pause to recollect and reflect on the happenings of the day. I am grateful for the space my name occupies, page after page, thought after thought, doodle after doodle.

You carve my initials on the frosty Borosil glass, as the ice cold water condenses outside.

You do not spare the dusty car too. Your fingers float, moving and stopping alternately, until my name proudly appears on the front, back and the side glasses.

The beige, peachy, golden sand on the beach knows what I am called. Every weekend, you dutifully remind her of the six letters that make up my name, imprinting them, if only momentarily, just in the lap of the ocean.

Your FaceBook password is twenty four months old. My name is typed scores of times in a single day, whenever you log in to the social network.

I often wonder what goes through your mind when you do that. I wonder what my name means to you. I wonder what I mean to you!

A hundred times I ask myself why my name finds itself resting on every surface your fingers touch. A hundred times I question the injustice of it all.

The wet window pane will be wiped away, along with my name. 

The blank pages of your journal will be filled in royal blue ink when your ideas have found words. My name will be lost, in the loops and curves and knots of your handwriting.

The Borosil glass will have to be washed. My name and the memory of it will be history.

The dusty car will have to be dusted. Reluctantly, I will clean the front, the back and the side glasses, stripping the vehicle bare of my identity.

The sand on the beach will give in to the pressure of the high tide. The ocean will hungrily swallow the tracing of my name. The sand will forget, once more, that I exist.

The keyboard will be busier checking up on your friends, once you have logged in to Face Book. You will be thinking of plans and parties and meetings and get-togethers and celebrations and I would not be a part of those thoughts.

I wonder why. A hundred times a day, I wonder. A hundred times, the very same question. A hundred times, no answer.

Perhaps I have become a habitual presence in your life, woven inextricably into your days and nights. My presence is like that of the air you breathe, necessary, but rarely noticed. My name is routine. The love that once punctuated these six letters has faded.

But sometimes, when you come back home and smile and whisper my name with faint strains of affection and longing and happiness and a slight playful amusement in your voice, I realize my name is special. In those moments, the love sparkles again. In those moments, I know that there is a reason why my name means so much to you. In those moments, I know, I still mean so much to you! And I know, there is still a place where my name is inscribed permanently. I know that as long as you are alive, and even after I am not, my name will stay, forever, imprinted in your heart. And in those moments, knowing this is enough.

Poetry

(This one's based on my definition of poetry. What is yours?)

It started at the edges of his forehead, easing the strains of worry and soothing the furrowed lines of misery there.

It flowed through the bridge of his nose and spread out, radiant, into the creases of his warm, mellow, chocolate brown eyes. It made his eyes sparkle, as if they were molten gold, as if they had a life of their own.

Like music, it flowed.

It travelled to the dimples of his soft cheeks that were lined with a week’s stubble.

It poured through, like light, seeping into every inch, corner, nook and crevice of his handsome face.  

And finally, it came to rest, breathing life into his guarded lips.

His smile, yeah, his smile was poetry!

WELCOME

Okay. so like hundreds and thousands of aspiring young writers spread across the globe, I too, have finally come up with my very own blog! There is no reason, absolutely none, as to why you should visit this blog. After all, everything that one has to say, has probably been said before. There are only so many languages, so many words and so many ideas that the world can spawn, right?

Umm, wrong! Sometimes, two very similar people can react very differently to very similar situations and circumstances. Sometimes, the very same words can generate very different meanings, and sometimes, you need to read between the lines to know what truly is, what never was, and what always will be :)

So, welcome to this blog that goes by a very impulsive name (that took more than 48 hours to finalise :P).
Welcome to a very impulsive world, where every scribble will mean more than it gives away, where every ordinary occurrence will be distilled into a not-so-ordinary observation, where at times, tears will betray joy, and laughter will mask sorrow, where the present blends seamlessly with an upcoming tomorrow.

I welcome you to discover randomness. I welcome you to find a method in this madness. I welcome you to be a part of this crazy, whimsical experiment, because we learn from each other and we grow, only when others grow along with us. Welcome!