The King decides what his subjects read

Cartoon by Awantha Artigala-Daily Mirror

 Being a journalist in an independent media organization would have been an enviable job. With it comes the luxury to laugh at those who betray their integrities to attain perks and privileges; those who lick stinky feet rest on high pedestals, become entertainment material. There is a pride in spurning a green billet wrapped in a brown envelope, handed over at the end of press briefings. There is an unavoidable supremacy that comes with the feeling that your head does not bow to anything else but truth. Empty may be your pocket and leaking may be your roof, yet you have a heart in full and a good night’s sleep devoid of demonic dreams.

Yet, the illusion that one could write what one would want at a so-called free press often goes into pieces.

After the conclusion of war, censorship that had been there in black and white has become a ghostly presence in every media institution. Sometimes, it comes in the form of illogical midnight requests of omissions by the management. Then there are taboos declared and dispensed by those even above the management.

Even with a hierarchy that minimally interferes with the editorial functions, there are hidden hands of the regime that could slip through the protective net to throttle the necks of those who hold the pen.

This is exactly how the impeachment motion against Chief Justice became a banned subject for us. Ours is perhaps the only national English daily that carried editorial after editorial, column after column questioning and cross-questioning the regime’s shameless behaviour in dissecting and raping the independent structure of the country’s judiciary. There were opinion pieces exposing the nudity of the Executive and the spinelessness of the Legislature.

The persistent attack was however to spur the conscience of the readers more than to prick the wrong-doers in the eye. Of course, there was nothing wrong with twisting Goebbels’ theory for a worthy cause; after all, it is not a lie that is being repeated—but truth, more than the whole truth and nothing at all but the truth!

One could not be too sure whether our objective was fulfilled; for the dangerous dormancy of the people still continues in abundance. As for the latter, they knew their hands were smudged with dirt and blood; hence, they dreaded revelation. They were the faceless, unreachable paragons of vagueness, hiding behind the humongous shadow of the crown who drew the free flowing ink out of our pens.

With much reluctance, the politically victimized CJ and the blatant insult to the country’s virgin of Justice needed to be swept under the King’s carpet. Perhaps, it is misinterpreting the mandate people granted the regime. Jumping over the fundamental and ethical boundaries, the King even decides what his subjects read!

Depriving the citizen of his rightful morsel of information is tyranny.

At such times, one has to read between the lines, decipher and decode the message. For our hands are tied to a forced allegiance for a regime that we no longer believe in; a government that could no longer be termed synonymously with the state.

Did the over-enthusiastic general public who took to the roads in support of the 18^th Amendment find it unfitting to oppose when the government trampled the Right to Information Bill?

The kingdom of free media collapsed with the fall of Leader. With its knights dead and having abandoned the fortress, it is just another security checkpoint taken over by the regime.

The Journalists and editors who do not go to taste the Kiri Buth at the Royal Palace automatically become traitors the same way Macduff becomes one for evading Macbeth’s banquet.

Well, tyranny in modern times could come with a majoritarian Parliament and an overwhelming public vote. Perhaps, Shakespeare’s Macbeth was a lamb when compared to the contemporary wolves.

Perhaps, censorship is a security measure for those who open their chests for bullets for nothing. It saves the lives of those of us who hate to sugar-coat our hatred and distaste. The price of life of a journalist has fallen so low during the recent times.

It is not worth dying for a citizenry who plays the statue when their rights and liberties are massacred in the broad daylight; for it is very unlikely that they will open their self-locked mouths in our demise when they were locked at the loss of what is very much theirs.

 

 

Kalu Maali: Unfair endings are always real!

As any other profession, journalism too would call upon its human breed to bear a few troubles and regrets. With the boastful heroics come the lists of haven’t-done’s and to-do’s. And if you are a woman, who walk into a Press room, fully driven to change the world, the common storyline of your life is that you fall in love with a bloke in or out of the paper, enter the holy mess of wedlock and bear children.

So, instead of changing the world, you watch your world change.

You go back to your fairytales, nursery rhymes, math tables and get stuck with homework. Only this time, it is because you have a child: a child who quenched the fire in you to be a daredevil. A child who is alien to the fencing skills of your pen.

And you wait and watch your orbits change.

And what about the man who wowed at the altar to be by your side during good times and bad times—happy days and sad days! He was the man who used to read your scribblings and say they were good. Now you realize, even though he read them, he never understood them completely.

You won’t blame him, coz, at the end of the day, he is just another reader.

Henrik Ibsen’s Nora is no journalist when she breaks open her cage. Yet she isn’t labeled a bad woman for seeking freedom. It looks extra-ordinary on stage or cinema screen yet, hypocritically nasty in real life. As opposed to Ruwanthie’s narrator who has understandably walked the streets, met many people and seen the world, Nora is just a closeted pet. Yet, she breaks away from the frame whereas her modern-day counterpart is still imprisoned in its four corners when the curtain falls.

Fairytales have cheated on us (with men).

Though they are named after women, it is the men in the shining armour that make them happily-ever-after’s. A woman comes to the world with a ready-made frame, whereas society sets the man free and let him pick the frame which suits him.

What makes the jubilant Kalu Maali a boy is that the frame won’t fit any other way.

Though my lips still taste bitter from last night’s premier, I buy it!

 Writer’s note: Five years down the line, I picture myself in Dil’s three-quarters, probably sporting the same hairdo. There are no big regrets for me to bag and take when I walk out of these doors. My seat is not unfillable. The void won’t remain for long. I wonder whether my hand will forget my pen---will my man still know me when he sees me?

Between the lines

Sandwiched between

Every two words

There is a word

I dare not utter…

Metaphorics

Never worked

With you

Never will it be…

To proclaim it

I am too shy

To admit it

I am too proud

-I miss you!

What I told you

A squirrel has built its nest on my windowsill. I want you to come and see my forcibly adopted kiddies, when they open their eyes.

 I fell from the bicycle and scraped my knees.

 I picked a fight with the bus conductor, because I caught him leaning on a schoolgirl.

My hair had grown two more inches. There are a few grey hairs, emerging here and there. Is growing old at 24, premature?

I cleaned my table and found a wrapper of a chocolate we had shared ages ago.

My slipper was scrapping again. Perhaps it is the roads I walk on-or is it just me?

My umbrella has grown frail, it cannot hold the rain anymore; perhaps, what it sends inside for me must be the the most gorgeous raindrops.

I broke a door handle, a tap and dropped a cup from my mother’s most treasured set-thus I was banished from the kitchen for two days.  Why is china worthier than the services of an efficient kitchen aide?

Hindi songs are my new lovers. Like the midnight hunger, that sends you down the stairs at the twelfth hour of the day, I creep into my desk, switch on the machine and listen to the same songs over and again. Please do thank the person who invented the earphones, on behalf of my family members.

What I didn’t tell you

My mirror has gathered dust. And I have forgotten what my face looks like. Perhaps you remember.

I miss the shoulder against which I fall asleep, the hand that disciplines my uncurbed hair and the tone of guilt in your voice when you say we are home.

I miss the scent of your perfume; you rub off on me when we hold hands in our usual Friday walks.

I see your face in my morning tea. Perhaps, this madness has  long lost its method.

What I carry around is a memory; a collection of days and minutes I took a lot for granted.

It serves  me right!

Dear earth, I promise…

When many lovers walk down the aisle and pledge love and dedication for each other for eternity, I will make a pledge for you, the day I get my chance; for you are part of me and I am part of you. Dear earth, I promise not to waste many papers on guest lists and no overprinting of invitations, cake boxes and thank you cards. I may not be able to save an entire forest with my attempt, yet, it will give me the satisfaction to know that another tree could live one more day, before going to the axe. Dear earth, I promise that I would not celebrate fulfillment at the expense of others’ bliss. Thus, I will not allow loud music to leave me with a thundering headache on the day that is supposed to be special for me.  Like you, I also do not understand the logic behind making glaring noises to say you are happy when silence or soft music would have conveyed the same message, perhaps, in a more elegant manner. Dear earth, if I am to have a cake, I promise that every part of it will be edible, unlike the expensive Regiform structures that will devour a portion of you, the day they are discarded. I might not have anything as grand as the showpieces, yet, my cake will be a real treat-not just a feast to the eyes. Dear earth, I promise to keep away plastic and undegradable materials that choke you. Hence, my wedding will not have liquor, no plastic bottles of fizzy drinks. I may displease many by being stubborn, yet, it is a good way to find out who love me more than they love the bottle. Even if the world laughs at me, perhaps you will understand my disgust at being kissed by drunkards, because a bride of any kind should not be humiliated in such manner at her wedding. No one takes seriously the wishes  coming from such persons, as it is hard to go by the word of drunkards. Dear earth, I promise not to be over-indulgent and go against nature by picking artificial flowers. Whatever I carry in my hands has to be natural, that withers with the dying sun. Thus, I will carry with me the ultimate truth of life and the lesson that, nature cannot be cheated, let down or ignored. Dear earth, I promise to plant a sapling on every anniversary, and many more whenever time permits.I may not be the most attentive and thoughtful person to have walked on you, yet I will care, the way I have been caring. Dear earth..till death do us closer, I promise!

The world beyond your doors

You wait for years, months and days and finally you have your wings fully grown. They stutter to the sound of wind the sight of the high skies. You are ready step on the window sill, spread your wings and take off! And you realize that, life is all about taking off’s and safe landings.

Despite the reasons that make one walk away and whatever the theories that justify such departures, it takes a lot of courage and soul-searching before someone decides to get out of his comfort zone.

It is hard to let go of die-hard habits, the familiar desks and chairs, the friends and villains and everything else that have been greeting you every day for the last four years. If you have any regrets, that would be about missing your good times with friends, the lazy Friday afternoons spent in front of the Television set watching cricket and of course the familiar food outlets within the vicinity.

Whatever the pundits say, those who proclaim their departures and act on them are thousand times better than those who say they go without a hint of courage to walk out. Announcing departures may be a convenient way of attaining favours or a better way to climb up the ladder. Yet, it’s a bargain, a lot of people cannot be comfortable with unless your conscience is deaf, blind and mute.

You spend your last few days, cherishing every moment of them. You talk to everyone because you know you might not get another chance. Your desk already looks empty because you have taken away the jokes, the poems and inspirational quotes that used to adorn your sidewall. You have started emptying the place of your presence because you will leave only the footprints and many memories that won’t die with time.

They say, despite the strengths of the individuals, goodbyes are always hard. Thus, you learn to uproot yourself from one place and plant yourself elsewhere. There is a pride that blossoms within you, because you act on your own will without letting someone else decide the fate for you.

With every goodbye comes a greeting for a new beginning. Thus, you begin to grow friends, spread goodwill among them and learn the proper way after trying out so many ways to do something.

If you have to cry, you will do so in secrecy and smile to the world because, it is your choice and you are about to reap the fruits of your hard efforts. Perhaps, after a long voyage, you will come back, like a wise, old sailor coming home.  After all, the world is still  round and small.

Bliss

Bliss is when you can go about your daily tasks on a rainy day without being depressed. It is all about understanding that weather too has its moods and that does not give you the excuse to change yours accordingly.

Bliss is when you can appease your empty stomach with the last two bananas in the comb without cursing the empty refrigerator. Gradually you will come to know that the temptations that lead your heart and eyes are not necessarily those of your stomach.

Bliss is when you can keep your head high when people try to pull the carpet beneath your feet. It is all about understanding that we are not here to change the world, but to change our individual selves for the betterment of the world. As for those who act like the “serpents” under the “innocent flowers,” you will come to know that their days at the helm are numbered, and one day you will meet them on a different platform- if that is meant to be!

Bliss is when you can get lost in a crowd and still be at peace with yourself. You will reach a time when you feel that making conversation with strangers just for the sake of it, is cheating. You will get tired of being nice to strangers just because society demands it. Hence, you will opt to the method of being cordial to everybody without being a public entertainer.

Bliss is when you are grown up enough to let go of childhood grudges and forgotten birthdays. You will come to realize everybody else’s lives do not spin around yours. You will gain the maturity to understand that, being there for a friend does not give you the authority to expect the same from him/her who received your support at their hour of need.

Bliss is when you know love is not synonymous with expensive roses or perfumes. Hence you will come to love selflessly and remember to treasure people you have earned more than the possessions you have got.

Bliss is when you can give your mobile phone for repairs and not miss it or go on for a week without the fear of getting your mailbox clogged with mail. You will draw a line for technology and still learn to do things on your own without trusting the computers way too much.

Bliss is when you learn that happiness does not depend on those who are around you but within yourself. Hence, you will not let it be disturbed or shattered by the words and actions of others.

Bliss is when you smile knowing that the world smiles with you when you spread good cheer and love.

Dear heart I am sorry

I know I have been foolish. I was selfish. Several times, I took you for granted. Today I would want to say sorry for everything I did or did not do that made you hurt.

I let down my guard easily and let the outsiders toy with you freely. I would have listened to my mind, yet I was not too wise then. I let them misuse your mildness and let them keep you hostage. I would have rescued you. But I was too blind then. I would have realized that it was torture, when it felt like it was acceptable in love. Dear heart, I am sorry.

I tried to imprison you in social conventions. I did not understand the gravity of the most innocent dreams you nurtured, nor did I take seriously the thoughts that triggered me to do the impossible. Instead of going by with what you preached, I took the safer way of listening to the mind more. I ignored you when you said I was strong enough to walk out of my comfort zones. Instead, I decided to take the easy way. I was deaf to your craving for adventure. Instead, I kept doing the same thing over and again. By doing so, I not only deprived you of the chance to soar high with jubilant feelings, but also I let myself get used to the sameness of life when I had every means to change it the way I want. Dear heart, I am sorry.

Too often I underrated your judgment and did not let myself trust your choices. I gave too much for rationale and thereby forgetting the simple truth that the most valuable things in life are the choices that were made with the heart wide open. I thought your pick was not good enough. Too often, I questioned your choices when I failed to see reason in it. When everything turned out perfectly, suddenly it dawned to me that this is why you led me through that route. So, today, I know better. Dear heart, I am sorry.

I have ignored your voice when you tried to alert me on a coming danger. I thought your voice was a sign that says I am going mad. I got scared in the vicinity of people who tried to talk to you directly. I knew you liked the sensation of it. Yet, I feared they were trespassing of my emotional boundaries. I did not know then that you were strong enough to be broken several times to emerge in one piece. I feared cynicism would violate you, a heavy dose of which would leave you blind to the romantics forever. I know today that you were much more than that. Dear heart, I am sorry.

I let you dictate me poetry, the only time you get autonomy over myself. I would not mind being led by you, for I know in most cases, you can hardly go wrong.  Dear heart, thank you for remaining unbroken.

The recipe of love

Who said Valentine’s day is all about love? Must be a marketing conceptualizer who does not have time to spend with his wife. Contrary  to the popular misconception, Valentine’s is the day on which  love sells for the highest price  when there are fools rich enough to buy any rubbish  wrapped in red. Wouldn't a rose smell the same on any other day? Don’t snow-globes produce music? Do chocolates taste sweeter when it is Valentine’s?

The truth is that, love is not flooding the roadways with red lights and snaring the trees with red polythene hearts, nor was St. Valentine a big marketer who foresaw that his noble initiative would be twisted into a lucrative business. Who would have thought, what brought him his sainthood would become a money tree!

Undoubtedly, there is nothing wrong with celebrating love; but the question remains as to whether there is real love to celebrate. Most of the victims of marketization of love are none other than schoolchildren who attend mass tuition classes.  Their version of love is as as vibrant as their love for color. For them, fluffy teddy bears matter. Coffee bar is another name for paradise. Chocolate hearts may not fill their tummy, yet it will satisfy their hearts. Seeing these items of temptation on shop windows one might get the impression that a boyfriend or girl friend is necessary to indulge in such treats. Yet, their definition of love is far from its real meaning.

Roses wither with time. Care bears stop caring and chocolates expire. It is only real love that lasts forever. Be it the love shared between two lovers, two friends or even among family members , it needs compassion, care and commitment to make it last forever.

You need not have calendar day circled with a heart to share your love. You have 365 days and nights to express it. Valentine’s Day might serve as a good reminder for anyone who thinks he/she is too busy to keep in touch with those who are dear and near to him/her. Yet, love does not have deadlines. It does not mean you can love a person one day and hate him/her for the rest of the year.

Love is cozy without soft toys, sweet enough without chocolates and aromatic without expensive bouquets of roses. It does not burn holes in one’s pocket- a mere note, a smile, gesture, touch or a hug will express affection that cannot be valued in rupees. Love is rich. Those who tried making Valentine’s Day a price-tag day for love only made it cheap.

Dear Diary,

Monday

Each one’s parameters of pain are defined by the amount of trouble one has to endure. It it easier for someone who has lived all his or her life in heaven to call the earth, hell for the contrasting comfort levels one finds here. Depression does not mean having a weak heart and seeking help is not an attack on one’s pride. Bravery does not necessarily mean living-trouble free; it means, keeping your balance when your boat is rocking in a storm, and placing your trust in the hand that is extended to grab yours in the hour of need.

Tuesday

Freedom fighters are not only the ones who are good at fencing and crowd-raising. With or without arm power, there is a fighter within every individual; whether they fight for freedom is another matter. Rulers will come and go. Yet, the essentials of freedom may remain the same. Too often we have been too complacent to go without a voice in many occasions. We have been satisfied with the role of spectators when we ought to have been the front-row actors. No wonder, the world is changing and the people are complaining that it was not the change they wanted.

Wednesday

I will sit with you on a rainy evening over a hot chocolate, and listen with enthusiasm to the list of girls who turned you down. I will let you talk about them at the usual ranting speed with the words that need a lot of censoring. You will eventually slow down to breathe and look with an unspoken apology. I will try to make you realize that, no girl is obliged to say yes to your proposals just because you have the looks, brains and the dough. Every girl has a right to say ‘No’ without giving reasons, and expects that ‘No’ to be counted likewise. You will call me a feminist and walk away into the setting sun only to call me later to say sorry for behaving like kid-why similes? - you are a kid!

  

Thursday

Forgetfulness is a blessing in disguise. Whatever the experts say, I can’t imagine how to live in a world where everyone remembers everyone’s cruelties and their life’s mission is to take revenge. All hail those who forget!

Friday

My story has you in its diction. There are corridors filled with your presence and a wardrobe that has locked your perfume in. There is your half-finished coffee cup by the bedside and the papers exactly how you left. There is a story without an ending; a climax with its hero missing. Memories hurt less when they are written.

Saturday

I sniff fakeness when I confront it. Don’t say you care, when your definition of care is talking behind my back. Don’t smile when you are a back-stabber and don’t ask me questions I am not obliged to answer. I do not need to be fake to be popular. Hypocrisy may be your way of life, but not mine!

Sunday

Yellow rice, seeni sambol and papadam will make you feel glad to be alive. To complete the scene, a mug of vanilla ice-cream sprinkled with milo! Take me to paradise,  I will still come home in time to have my lunch! 

‘Islandness’

Not all those who are born with wings are compelled to fly long distances. They fly around their demarcated territories and come back home with the setting sun. Yet, there are those who cross the waters, savour different types of food and build their nests with different materials. So are the travellers and migrants.

You can be deep-rooted to your soil or conveniently airborne that you can easily replant yourself elsewhere. A traveller can afford to love or hate the land he/ she is exploring. He can openly criticize the food he gets to eat or the natives who are too lazy to point their fingers at the direction of the super market he has been looking for. A traveller can always leave the land when his least favourite season hits it. A traveller finds his own universe within the universe. His travel journal may not contain the label of the worst food he ate or the picture of the most insolent native he met; yet, it will have the theatre ticket of the most mesmerizing opera he viewed and many accounts on the random acts of kindness by the natives.

 There is an attachment within this detachment. There is a freedom to come and go as one pleases.
Only the time will tell you whether you are a traveller or a resident. For us, what makes life more difficult in a foreign soil is the fact that we tend to seek too much of home comforts. This ‘islandness’ has its pros and cons. It must be the smallness of the entity that one can reach the other end of the country within less than twenty-four hours. There is no vastness for one to get lost. There is fresh air even the city. There is space to breathe and neighbours to talk to. A migrant does not necessarily mean a one who forgets his roots. He or she is a person who has a great amount of courage to do what the seemingly brave travellers are reluctant to try out; be a resident instead of going places. Accept the conditions and try to get used to them. Bring up their children and still teach them the cultural values and their histories. Make them feel proud of a culture they have never tasted. They will make a home in a far away land, and inevitably take a tinge of ‘islandness’ there with them. True enough, opportunities draw them there. Unlike all sorts of fairytales that are painted, they land with the realistic pictures, and for them survival matters more than anything else.

When things do not work out, something tugs them to home, and like the birds do in their winter flights, they will come looking for their old nests and be grateful for the fact that, in this island home, the world spins slowly.

Love by any other name

Sometimes, you come to love people for simply what they are. You crave for their company and intellectual conversations. Sometimes, you find comfort in the company of strangers and come to realize that they are more fascinating than the people you call your own.

It is not wrong to yearn for somebody to read your mind and wordlessly offer you a shoulder when you need to have a good cry. Sometimes, you come across people whom you don’t mind exchanging with the seclusion you seemed to have enjoyed so far. You hear poetry in their voice and find a guiding light in their eyes. There will be victory in attention they pay you. This does not necessarily have to be romance. A friend can be all this without being a lover.

Yet, sometimes we you fail to define the margins between love and infatuation, jealousy and devotion, and friendship and romance. Often we wonder whether it is necessary that every relationship has a name irrespective of the fact whether the name we give describe the nature of the relationship accurately. Sometimes, what we don’t realize is that societies adopted to the theory of naming objects only for people’s convenience. So, it is not necessary that all your relationships have name so that society finds it easy to refer to it. There is no criteria  under which you can standardize a relationship. It depends on the people who are involved in it. If the two parties are comfortable with their stride together without a name, it cannot be a problem to anyone else.  As long as you are not jumping the moral boundaries ,it is rather better to go without a name than calling it the wrong name at times.

Sometimes what people don’t realize is that personal relationships are complex than what they find on the surface. For an outsider it can be just another ‘juicy tale’ on undecided lovers who are about to fall in or out of love. Yet, when it becomes your own tale rather than a story found in a tabloid, you tend to think hard and empathize with those had been there before you. You begin to understand the grave error you had committed by trying to judge and measure such relationships.

Be it love, friendship or even romance, it is the business of those who are in relationships to call them what they prefer; whether they call them right names or wrong ones is another matter. Friends fall in love and lovers fall out. Strangers become special friends but do not achieve the ‘lover’ status. It is love that shows its face in every gesture of care. It is love that makes one send random text messages in the most unusual hours. Yet, this love need not be branded; it can survive in its generic form.  

I still do…

The evenings that pass often put me on the idle mode.  There is a chill that throws me under the blanket much earlier than my usual bedtime. There is thunder that throws fireworks across the skies every two minutes. Looking at the sky, much awestruck, I am still the twelve-year-old who had a thing for star charts and the one who wrote poetry to the sky.  

The rain falls; with its huge waterdrops falling against my window with a thudding sound. I have been watching the rain since the day I knew its name. I have looked at it from many angles, had written many pieces and taken quite a few pictures of it. Yet, I still stand amazed at the way the surroundings change before the rain; I still welcome the first few raindrops that wet my hair before it grows into a shower.

I still prefer walking in the rain with my umbrella half flying in the wind than getting into a cab to hurry home. Whether you are watching it from a bus window or you stand inside a crowded bus stop, the rain has a calming effect on people. It can slow you down and remind you to breathe. As crazy as it may sound,  I still feel the trees smiling in the rain that falls after a drought. Looking at them with an open mouth, I still wish I were another tree in the line to feel their joy.

Sometimes, however much we try, there is a certain degree of naiveté, we take around with us, despite our age. Be it a never dying desire to collect Archie comics or Asterix, or a never-ending craving for chocolate, the roots of which can be traced back to our infancies; these comfort habits have always had a calming effect on us.  You still prefer the old worn out pillow and the blanket. You do not want to let go of the beanbag that has been there ever since your birth.

Sometimes, people tend to think that burning the bridges and letting go of your real self in order to fit yourself into a pre-designed mould, is a sign of maturity. ‘prim and proper’ does not necessarily mean that you cannot scoop out the remains of marshmallows in your cup of hot chocolate. Elegance does not always mean well-tailored suits and perfect make-up. With elegance comes the strength to be what you are, and love the things that made you what you are today. Kicking the ladder once you are on top may be a harder way of putting it. Yet, if you ever have to come tumbling to the ground, there needs to be something to remind you of your strength and capabilities ; it is not only the people around you, but also the things that you grew up with and the activities you did and the habits you developed that in return, developed you to be responsible adult. A past cannot come to your rescue, if you have already dumped it in the litter-bin.

As for me, I still have the rain!

The year that dawns

The final leaf of the calendar sways in the cold December winds. Some of the older leaves that went to the bin at the end of the respective months, had smiley faces scribbled on them; there were also stars, hearts and sometimes a few faces with downward curves as mouths.  A few more days to go, and a new calendar to scribble a new story-those were my thoughts when I carried the heavy bundle of calendars home in a crowded bus.

The year has left me with many things; yet it took a few things away. Perhaps, arrivals and departures do balance out life and contribute to one’s maturity. Every trouble that waylays leaves something with you, rather than robbing you of something precious. When times go by you realize that people are subject to change; not only their complexions, fashion sense but also their loyalties shift with time. after a hard wait, you realize that a single incident cannot change your life forever, but an incident can lead to a chain of events that will make you end up in a different track. Those who yearn for change should not be like those who are waiting to witness a miracle; rather, they should be the performers of the miracle; or the miracle itself.  The year that is passing, has taught us many things. There were lessons that I learnt the hard way, battles I have won, friends I have made and a tinge of change I could be able to make. Yet, there is much that is left undone.

I wish the new year could teach me how to treat those who talk behind my back, with a sense of dignity.  I hope it will discourage me to fight back and encourage me to smile when the world forgets to relax. I hope the time ahead will make me realize how to be diplomatic and keep my cool when I am in the hot waters.

 I wish it would also teach me to be more demonstrative and expressive. I hope  I will learn the art of looking  more human and less stony in the days to come. I want it to bring me closer to my adventure, a life I build for myself that  has many doors and windows that does not suppress the winds of time.

I wish the new year could teach me how to keep a straight face when I know the others are lying. I want to be punctual and be more organized when it comes to the boundaries between my worktable and study table.

I wish the new year makes me think more about my health, and urge me to treat my dark circles. I wish my craving for green-tea becomes an innocent addiction and my love for green vegetables more than a fling.

I wish the new year gives me enough days to realize whether I am a revolutionist and whether my idealism has a limit. I need to see the border where I should stop dreaming and start working if I need a proper rest.

Despite all the changes, I wish the world keeps loving me the same way I love it and its people.

Giving is all about loving

They say Christmas is a time for giving, sharing and show others we care.  I kept wondering why only Christmas and why not every day, every minute and every second when someone comes asking for something; or when we know someone is out there anticipating something. How often we get swept away by the currents of media stunts and cheap market strategies that thinking about others has to come with a price tag.

Perhaps, those who get blinded by such campaigns forget that, there are many things in life one cannot buy for money; however much hackneyed it may sound, they are in deed more precious than every buyable item one can find on earth.

Christmas is time to think about those who helped you stand on your feet. Even if you keep thinking about them through out the year, it is time you let them know that they are constantly in your thoughts. It is about renewing ties.

Christmas is the time you make an effort to feel the hardships faced by others. It is time you try your level best to change their lives for a day when you are unable to do it forever. Christmas is being happy, knowing that you have contributed to the happiness of others.

Christmas is the time you think about the air you breathe, the cool breeze that touches your skin and the trees that shed old leaves to get new ones. It is time you say your prayer for their survival. Christmas is about being sensitive to the silent agonies of those who have no voices to expresses themselves. This includes the air that gets violated with every tiny ‘sili-sili bag’ you burn and the soil that cries at every plastic cup you dump. As we have been often taught, your obligations are not only towards the mankind; but also towards the nature that assures the existence of the humans.

Christmas makes you realize that giving is another name for love; it was what Jesus showed through his actions. He gave himself for the betterment of the man thus spreading his love in the hearts of others who in return were bound to love the world. Sadly, little does one realize that letting festivities take precedence and thereby forgetting the true meaning of Christmas is far from loving the world.