I was reading about the stampede in the Naina Devi temple, in Himachal Pradesh, which caused 145 lives. One of the devotees, namely Ram Prakash, said, "It's a question of faith. The tragedy does raise a question in your mind but faith is supreme. Life has to go on”. Life goes on…this is not the first time that I have heard this sentence being used after such tragic incidents. I have been hearing them for quite some time now. Being from Mumbai, this theory or philosophy has more or less been a part of my personality. Actually, it was made to be a part of my personality. There is a blast, don’t stop for a moment and think about it, start moving about, after all, life goes on. I am on stage and not feeling well, but I have to act, after all, life goes on. There is riot going on in Virar and I have a meeting in Andheri, I can’t get scared and stay at home, after all, life goes on. I had a heart-break, but I can’t moan it, come on yaar, it was just a crush, move on; after all, life goes on. Sister’s cancer, brother’s feud with parents, professional and personal insecurities, cutting through all these, life goes on.
But can we pause for a moment and think where exactly is it going on. If there was a rumor in the Naina Devi temple that there is a landslide, because of which so many died, who started these rumors and why? What happened to the victim’s family? Are they aware of their loss yet? What about those who were injured? Are they all right now? And what about the fear that must have been imbedded in the next set of devotees due the next day. Why can’t they take a day or two and realize the loss of others and their good fortune. Why do they want to be numb and move on when there is so much left to do in the past? Why don’t they help others and realize that a tragedy has occurred, and not just dismiss the dead as mere numbers. Why not moan for a while for the lives that were lost and families that were destroyed?
We always do this to ourselves and others. I remember that day when the serial train blast took place in Mumbai in 2006. Remember it like it was yesterday. Four trains left churchgate station that day, out of which three were blasted into oblivion. I was luckily in the fourth one, on which a bomb wasn't planted. Although, I was suppose to be in the one that was blasted first. I used to catch that train everyday for more or less two years then.
That day also I sat in the train, but was somehow unsure of continuing on it. I was hungry, but also wanted to reach my house on time and this being a fast train would have help me reach my place as fast as possible. I was undecided and almost ignored my stomach cramps and the seducing smell of the kathi roll from the nearby food junction.
However, my hunger won in the face of my willingness to sit comfortably in that first class compartment, and reach home quickly while catching a nap in between. I jumped from the moving train and went to buy my roll.
When I came back the train was obviously gone and there was one slow train for Borivali and one for Andheri. As I live in Goregaon, it was obvious that I should take a Borivali slow, otherwise I would have to change another train if I took the latter. But somehow, I landed up in that Andheri train, which I wasn’t suppose to catch and saw the Borivali one pass by, regretting my decision of not catching it and wondering why I didn’t? In fact I had half a mind of jumping from this train as well and catching the Borivali one. But something pulled me back and I didn’t. Wondering all the way up till Dadar what was it? That is when lights in my compartment went off and my train stopped with a sudden jerk. It was raining heavily outside and no one knew what was happening. Suddenly an SMS came to a lady sitting next to me, who informed us that a train has been blasted. We dismissed it as a rumor and sat tight in the train hoping it will start soon. It didn’t, and the rumors started getting wilder. It seems now there were three blasts. I got scared and started calling up my family and friends. I couldn’t get through and by then I was seriously panicking. I got out of the train and ran out of the Dadar station. I went under the pull right outside the station and went straight to a PCO. Now for people who haven’t been to Mumbai, Dadar station in one of the major connecting points of the city, and is always crowded no matter what time of the day you decide to go there.
But on that day, it seemed like half the population of Mumbai was there on the roads. It was jam packed and mostly with men. I must admit that seeing so many men together intimidated me a bit. I had no clue where all the women where, but at that point apart from a few here and there, I was the only one. I dashed towards a PCO and tried calling home again. By then, it was raining cats and dogs and I was completely wet ( I never carry an umbrella with me). I couldn’t get through as phones were jammed, which we came to know later. I asked a man standing there, what was happening who said he had no clue. No one knew what was happening and everyone was stranded on the road hoping that the trains will start soon.
However, I decided that I will take a taxi and go home. I beckoned a taxi who refused to go. Another one wasn’t interested either and his feelings were passed on to the next one. I was soaking wet and my books, which couldn’t fit in my bag, were falling out of my hands and were almost ripped apart. Finally a taxi guy took pity on me and saved me from getting desolved in the heavy rains. By then it was confirmed by our radio jockey’s that indeed trains were blasted, and many have died. That explained the dead phone lines and abandoned trains on the platforms. I was anxious to get back home and be with my parents. Blasts were always somebody else’s tragedy and were never a part of my life. But now, it had touched my life, allthough not in a big way, but it still had. I was concerned about my friends and didn’t know if they were safe or not. Suddenly two girls and one woman, who I vaguely remember as seeing on the same compartment as I was in, came in front of my window and pleaded me to take them in. I did and the four of us, who weren’t aware of each other’s existence till then, embarked upon a journey to safety.We didn’t talk much and were only concerned about getting to our respective houses fast, praying that all was well with the rest of the family as well.
We sat quietly, trying to get our mobiles work every now and then, got frustrated when they stubbornly refused to and cursed the mobile companies in return . Finally, I got through my place and the relief in my father’s voice was an indication of how worried he must be. The way my mother was giving me instruction of how to come home straight, without stopping anywhere, showed how nearly in tears she was just moment ago. Voice of my brother from behind enquiring about me, showed how he must have been trying my number every two minutes, praying that it will ring and I will pick up. I was just assuring them that I was ok, when the phone went dead again. But at least my parents knew I was alive.
One by one all the other occupants of the taxi left and I was the only one riding it. Suddenly, in Jogeshwari, a mob of men attacked my taxi and were trying to stop it. The taxi driver and I were scared to death, but didn’t have an option, but to stop. I wondered if a riot has broken out and wether these guys were fanatics who wanted to kill me. I am not a religious person, but at that moment, I think I would have flaunted my religion, in case those people belonged to the same community.
However, they were locals helping the many stranded on the road, by forcibly stopping the passing cars and taxis, and making them take the people who didn’t have a mode of transportation.
They were having an argument with the driver of my taxi to take a few with him, who was refusing stubbornly saying that I have girl sitting in my car and I won't allow any unknown man to come in. Finally, one guy realized I was sitting inside looking extremely pale and scared and he stopped the others from arguing. He got a really ageing man and told him to sit beside me. He then came to me and said, “Madame he is also going to Goregaon, please take him with you. We are sorry, but you know the trouble all of us are in and we have to stand by each other”.
I smiled at him and said it was no problem at all. I dropped that uncle at his place and went home. I reached my place at 10:30 that day and my parents have never been so happy to see me. I ate my food, called all my friends to make sure they were all right, and went to sleep.
Next day I realized, it was not an off and we were expected to go to our college. My dad was paranoid and refused to send me anywhere. He was abusing Deshmukh, who was talking about ‘Mumbai spirit’ and how ‘life goes on’ and how we should ‘move on’ and not let the terrorist think that they got us.
But the terrorist did get us. And I think I deserved some time to get over the fear of that evening. And many others who lost their loved ones needed time to moan their death and realize what has been done to them. But no, we were and are, not allowed to feel or think of what is happening. After all, life goes on…
Monday, August 4, 2008
Life goes on…
Thursday, July 31, 2008
Dreams
I had a dream last night about a puzzle,
With too many A’s,
And strawberry cookies on silver tray’s.
A man made of wood,
With a smile etched on his face,
A silver dress made of liquid blue diamond,
With blue and black laces,
Shoes made of glass
And a carriage that can fly,
Little fairies in my hair
And their enchanting smile that is sly.
I dreamt of Ice Cream Mountains
And chocolate on trees.
Of little kids with squatted knees
I dreamt of flowery packages
With little pink bows
And happy birthday songs
With toothed smiles
Smiling across the rows.
I dreamt of palaces and flowing gowns
Of knights in shining amours
And of horses white and brown
I was dreaming a dream of stars and a flowing stream
When my alarm went off
And I had to pull my socks and walk back into the real world
And let my dreams linger on my smile and forget it for a while.
My golden haired choclate boy
I was watching ‘The Departed’ last night (for the second time), and a thought suddenly came to my mind, while Leonard was exploring his insecurities and frustration with his job, with his shrink, whom he secretly likes. This flustered man who looks much older than his age, is the same who played the perfect lover in ‘Titanic’ and was a part of many dreams for many nights.
I must admit that before ‘Titanic’, existence of Leonard Di Caprio wasn’t known to me. And when I first saw that movie, I was much taken by his oh-so-typical-chocolate boy- looks than his acting skills. I was much younger; barely a teenager and my newly developed interest in the opposite sex demanded my ultimate devotion. So, you can understand why I wasn’t much interested in analyzing the acting skills of this golden haired boy, and drowning in his baby blue eyes was much more appealing to me.
However, over the years I have seen a lot more of Leonard and this time I have meticulously observed the various dimensions and layers that he possess as an actor.
Right from the street-smart yet naïve boy in ‘Titanic’ to a cocky smuggler in ‘Blood Diamond’. He got everything right in these movies. From the accents to the body language of the characters that he played, who were as different as a nut and screw. In ‘Titanic’ for example, he was sweet boy whose only possessions were his smartness and his integrity.
In ‘The Departed’ he was an insecure cop who doesn’t know what he is doing and why, but still has faith in the legal system of his country. In ‘Blood Diamond’ he takes us on a journey of a South African mindset and frustration with the system of justice and his distrust in it.
He has not just played these parts but he became those parts. He doesn’t just relate a story; he makes that story an experience which we live through.
On my personal ‘acting meter’, Leonard rates quite high. And I hope he continue to. After all, good looks and good acting skills is a combination hard to find.
I must admit that before ‘Titanic’, existence of Leonard Di Caprio wasn’t known to me. And when I first saw that movie, I was much taken by his oh-so-typical-chocolate boy- looks than his acting skills. I was much younger; barely a teenager and my newly developed interest in the opposite sex demanded my ultimate devotion. So, you can understand why I wasn’t much interested in analyzing the acting skills of this golden haired boy, and drowning in his baby blue eyes was much more appealing to me.
However, over the years I have seen a lot more of Leonard and this time I have meticulously observed the various dimensions and layers that he possess as an actor.
Right from the street-smart yet naïve boy in ‘Titanic’ to a cocky smuggler in ‘Blood Diamond’. He got everything right in these movies. From the accents to the body language of the characters that he played, who were as different as a nut and screw. In ‘Titanic’ for example, he was sweet boy whose only possessions were his smartness and his integrity.
In ‘The Departed’ he was an insecure cop who doesn’t know what he is doing and why, but still has faith in the legal system of his country. In ‘Blood Diamond’ he takes us on a journey of a South African mindset and frustration with the system of justice and his distrust in it.
He has not just played these parts but he became those parts. He doesn’t just relate a story; he makes that story an experience which we live through.
On my personal ‘acting meter’, Leonard rates quite high. And I hope he continue to. After all, good looks and good acting skills is a combination hard to find.
Monday, July 14, 2008
Shame, Shame, New Yorker!
I remember a scene in Parzania, where the American who was friends with the Parsi family in the movie, which is caught in the middle of the riots, is sitting at his desk, frustrated with the religious hegemony politics going on around him. He then starts writing in his dairy, all that is wrong with India. Of course, the problem that tops the list is that, “this is a country where people are waiting to kill each other in the name of religion”.
Well lets just cut the, ‘this country’ part (Which I have some major problems with, by the way) and re-write this dialogue. ‘Any country that allows its people to follow different religions, people there are waiting to kill each other in the name of it”.
To explain my statement I shall refer to the latest cover in the New Yorker, which features Obama in Muslim garb fist-bumping his wife with an Afro ,and a machine gun. Although this isn’t like really killing Obama in the name of religion, I personally believe that stunts like such are a way to murder his character, spirit and ideas, much more worse that physically killing anyone.
The New Yorker is reputed magazine known for its rigorous fact checking and copy editing; its journalism on world politics and social issues; and its famous, single-panel cartoons. Therefore, it was blaspheme on its part to allow publication of such a cartoon on its cover.
Though it’s a common knowledge that every media house does support one or the other political party in every country of this world, maligning the opponent’s character in such a way is simply unacceptable. Religion and ethnicity are two things that have unfortunately come to define our personality and role in the society. They have become reasons for enduring ridicule by many and has won undeserving honor to others.
In today’s world, our monitors have replaced our companion’s face and the impression of terrorism so embedded in our senses, that we trust no body . In this volatile world where we cannot trust ourselves, religion and ethnic connection are two things that have made people create a bond of illusion with the mentors, to feel some sort of connection with someone. However, often these leaders promote such ties for their own personal agenda.
And when you have personal agenda in mind we coin cliches and stereotypes. Like after 9/11 around the world this myth has been created that Muslims are terrorists. Also whenever we have to show barbarians, Africans top the list.
It is therefore, the duty of the people on whose shoulders rests the responsibility of the fourth estate to make sure that such clichés and stereotypes are not re-imposed on the masses and is neither used by certain elements for their own propaganda.
Well lets just cut the, ‘this country’ part (Which I have some major problems with, by the way) and re-write this dialogue. ‘Any country that allows its people to follow different religions, people there are waiting to kill each other in the name of it”.
To explain my statement I shall refer to the latest cover in the New Yorker, which features Obama in Muslim garb fist-bumping his wife with an Afro ,and a machine gun. Although this isn’t like really killing Obama in the name of religion, I personally believe that stunts like such are a way to murder his character, spirit and ideas, much more worse that physically killing anyone.
The New Yorker is reputed magazine known for its rigorous fact checking and copy editing; its journalism on world politics and social issues; and its famous, single-panel cartoons. Therefore, it was blaspheme on its part to allow publication of such a cartoon on its cover.
Though it’s a common knowledge that every media house does support one or the other political party in every country of this world, maligning the opponent’s character in such a way is simply unacceptable. Religion and ethnicity are two things that have unfortunately come to define our personality and role in the society. They have become reasons for enduring ridicule by many and has won undeserving honor to others.
In today’s world, our monitors have replaced our companion’s face and the impression of terrorism so embedded in our senses, that we trust no body . In this volatile world where we cannot trust ourselves, religion and ethnic connection are two things that have made people create a bond of illusion with the mentors, to feel some sort of connection with someone. However, often these leaders promote such ties for their own personal agenda.
And when you have personal agenda in mind we coin cliches and stereotypes. Like after 9/11 around the world this myth has been created that Muslims are terrorists. Also whenever we have to show barbarians, Africans top the list.
It is therefore, the duty of the people on whose shoulders rests the responsibility of the fourth estate to make sure that such clichés and stereotypes are not re-imposed on the masses and is neither used by certain elements for their own propaganda.
Sunday, July 6, 2008
Wednesday, June 25, 2008
Right...
I have very recently entered the world of journalism, and therefore I like to keep myself updated on the happenings around me. I generally read ‘Tehelka’, as I find it giving me information on things mostly missed (an oversight or intentionally, I do not know) by the mainstream media. Also I personally believe that ‘Tehlka’ does ask some basic and fundamental questions, which the mainstream media hell-bent on making a fool out of itself almost always refuses to ask. So, a victim of my habit of getting the most accurate (I think and hope so) or at least the most sensible information, I once again logged on to Tehelka’s official website. The cover story this time was about the case that in my opinion should win the ‘most- blown- out- of- proportion-not- even- that- high- profile- a – case’ award. Yes, you have guessed it right; it’s the Arushi murder case.
When I saw Arushi’s face smiling down at me from the cover picture, I groaned inwardly. My first thought was, Oh no! Not again. I expected better from you ‘Tehelka’. I expected you to give me other important news which is being blatantly ignored by our mainstream. I expected you to tell me about something on Naxalites in Bihar or some other tragedy like the water problems in Bhopal, which are not even considered to be news worthy anymore by our so called national newspapers and news channels. But alas! You have also joined the popular bandwagon and are out with your own theory of the murder.
It’s not like I had any issues with Arushi. Hell, I wasn’t even aware that she existed. That is until a month ago, when suddenly every news channel was talking about the cruel murder of Arushi by everyone and anyone. The way the police was accusing people left- right and center, and the way the media was coming up with its own theory, it seemed like either Arushi was this super-girl and was attacked again and again by the evil lord, as she just didn’t die the first time she was attacked, or else she did die the first time but the father, the compounder, the servant didn’t realize and went again and again to kill her.
If any mainstream media person is reading this, my dear sir, this ridiculous interpretation is what I came up with, from those absolutely ridiculous reports that you, without an iota of evidence or basic common sense put up on your channel.
And by the way, with the entire circus around this case, no one even bothered to talk to her friends or extended family, or ask the police about the three glasses in the drawing room or why didn’t it dust the house or at least her room for finger prints and what the hell was the time of the murder?
All we saw and heard was how she was a characterless girl desperate to sleep around with any goddamm man! “She was found in a compromising position with her servant”; “She used to chat with boys”. Firstly, was anyone present there to see how and with whom she was found in her room? Or was that servant even there in the room to be in a compromising position with her? Secondly, if a 14 year old does not talk with boys or for arguments sake (although no one has any proof) flirt with boys, who will? I mean she was a teenager. And that’s what teenage is all about. Crushes, boy friends, flowers, chocolates, rains, holding hands and blushing furiously if a boy/girl the one you like, even just smiles or turns to look at you. That’s the age when we all have crushes, which are taken so seriously by us, that we think that we are the Romeo’s and Juliet’s of this world. So even if that girl used to flirt or go out with boys, what’s so scandalizing about it? And how the hell is she characterless by doing this, when we all go through this wonderful stage called the teenage?
So, you can understand my exasperation with the whole case. Initially I ignored the article and went ahead to read about other things. However, my curiosity to know what ‘Tehelka’ has to say about this case, got better off me and I clicked on the story. Reading the first paragraph itself made me realize that finally I will know what exactly is the case all about. I shall proudly pronounce that my faith was not shattered, and the feeling of disappointment not allowed to take over me.
I came to know a lot more about the girl Arushi and not just the victim. Her relationship with her parents and friends were explored in a delicate yet detailed manner. Her social life was discussed, but not to malign her, but to add a personality to a mere name. And finally the basic questions were asked and the protectors of justice were called upon for a much needed explanation.
However when I was reading about her father and the relationship she shared with him, I was reminded of my own father. My father loves me and he completely spoils me by fulfilling all my wishes before they are even out of my mouth. He just can’t say no to me, no matter what my demands are. Even if he says no, all I have to do is bring a few tears in my eyes and he simply won’t be able to stand his ground, and say yes immediately.
Arushi’s father according to the report was the same. I then started thinking, how can he have killed her? I know my father won’t even allow a fly to hurt me, let alone he himself being a source of pain. No matter how big a mistake I have committed in his eyes. Then the images of her father being held by the police and all the accusations made on him by the police, media, my very own friends and family, started forming in my head.
I was scared. Scared because it suddenly hit me how quickly we judge people without even giving them a chance to defend themselves? How we always try to put another person, any person in a bad light and stand up as the wiser, morally right and the protectors of justice. How we are so damm insecure that we will try and put absolutely any random person on the slaughter table, without even knowing what their crime is, and persecute them using our weapons of suspicion.
Isn’t it a fact that the middle-class is enjoying itself splashing mud on this family because they will hate it if there is no scandal involved in the case? Because scandal will mean having a person or two who have a dark side to their personality, and then everyone can feel good about their much flaunted morally right and “good” side.
I wonder will we ever be able to get over this insecurity and start accepting things the way they are and looking at situations from all the aspects and in a way that they deserve to be looked at.
When I saw Arushi’s face smiling down at me from the cover picture, I groaned inwardly. My first thought was, Oh no! Not again. I expected better from you ‘Tehelka’. I expected you to give me other important news which is being blatantly ignored by our mainstream. I expected you to tell me about something on Naxalites in Bihar or some other tragedy like the water problems in Bhopal, which are not even considered to be news worthy anymore by our so called national newspapers and news channels. But alas! You have also joined the popular bandwagon and are out with your own theory of the murder.
It’s not like I had any issues with Arushi. Hell, I wasn’t even aware that she existed. That is until a month ago, when suddenly every news channel was talking about the cruel murder of Arushi by everyone and anyone. The way the police was accusing people left- right and center, and the way the media was coming up with its own theory, it seemed like either Arushi was this super-girl and was attacked again and again by the evil lord, as she just didn’t die the first time she was attacked, or else she did die the first time but the father, the compounder, the servant didn’t realize and went again and again to kill her.
If any mainstream media person is reading this, my dear sir, this ridiculous interpretation is what I came up with, from those absolutely ridiculous reports that you, without an iota of evidence or basic common sense put up on your channel.
And by the way, with the entire circus around this case, no one even bothered to talk to her friends or extended family, or ask the police about the three glasses in the drawing room or why didn’t it dust the house or at least her room for finger prints and what the hell was the time of the murder?
All we saw and heard was how she was a characterless girl desperate to sleep around with any goddamm man! “She was found in a compromising position with her servant”; “She used to chat with boys”. Firstly, was anyone present there to see how and with whom she was found in her room? Or was that servant even there in the room to be in a compromising position with her? Secondly, if a 14 year old does not talk with boys or for arguments sake (although no one has any proof) flirt with boys, who will? I mean she was a teenager. And that’s what teenage is all about. Crushes, boy friends, flowers, chocolates, rains, holding hands and blushing furiously if a boy/girl the one you like, even just smiles or turns to look at you. That’s the age when we all have crushes, which are taken so seriously by us, that we think that we are the Romeo’s and Juliet’s of this world. So even if that girl used to flirt or go out with boys, what’s so scandalizing about it? And how the hell is she characterless by doing this, when we all go through this wonderful stage called the teenage?
So, you can understand my exasperation with the whole case. Initially I ignored the article and went ahead to read about other things. However, my curiosity to know what ‘Tehelka’ has to say about this case, got better off me and I clicked on the story. Reading the first paragraph itself made me realize that finally I will know what exactly is the case all about. I shall proudly pronounce that my faith was not shattered, and the feeling of disappointment not allowed to take over me.
I came to know a lot more about the girl Arushi and not just the victim. Her relationship with her parents and friends were explored in a delicate yet detailed manner. Her social life was discussed, but not to malign her, but to add a personality to a mere name. And finally the basic questions were asked and the protectors of justice were called upon for a much needed explanation.
However when I was reading about her father and the relationship she shared with him, I was reminded of my own father. My father loves me and he completely spoils me by fulfilling all my wishes before they are even out of my mouth. He just can’t say no to me, no matter what my demands are. Even if he says no, all I have to do is bring a few tears in my eyes and he simply won’t be able to stand his ground, and say yes immediately.
Arushi’s father according to the report was the same. I then started thinking, how can he have killed her? I know my father won’t even allow a fly to hurt me, let alone he himself being a source of pain. No matter how big a mistake I have committed in his eyes. Then the images of her father being held by the police and all the accusations made on him by the police, media, my very own friends and family, started forming in my head.
I was scared. Scared because it suddenly hit me how quickly we judge people without even giving them a chance to defend themselves? How we always try to put another person, any person in a bad light and stand up as the wiser, morally right and the protectors of justice. How we are so damm insecure that we will try and put absolutely any random person on the slaughter table, without even knowing what their crime is, and persecute them using our weapons of suspicion.
Isn’t it a fact that the middle-class is enjoying itself splashing mud on this family because they will hate it if there is no scandal involved in the case? Because scandal will mean having a person or two who have a dark side to their personality, and then everyone can feel good about their much flaunted morally right and “good” side.
I wonder will we ever be able to get over this insecurity and start accepting things the way they are and looking at situations from all the aspects and in a way that they deserve to be looked at.
Thursday, June 19, 2008
My Palace.........
Sitting in a comfortable room,
On a chair beside my Barbie doll window,
With the sun making my face aglow
And the moonlight making it bright,
I used to write poems of love and hope.
When I used to feel the hand of sadness closing in,
I used to rush into the arms that were always open for me.
I used to cry in them, complain in them,
Leave the weight of my heavy heart and again move in
My world, created with a rubber protection around me.
I used to bounce back into those warm and soft eyes,
Whenever, the evil or the harsh used to stare at me.
And then I used to again sit by my window,
Reminiscing about the shadow of darkness,
And write about the different shades of black.
I was wise then, maybe even understanding,
But never did I realize the magnitude of the world outside,
I used to look out of my windows,
And only see shadows,
Of the world beyond my own.
The one in which I lived and the one that I owned,
I was confronted by those shadows once in a while,
But was never consumed by them.
I did recognize the shades of dark,
But was never a part of them.
And then one day, the protection gave way and a crack appeared in my palace of glass.
I ran away to another room, but the mirage broke apart.
It gave way to another world, a much larger one,
I realized I had many elements which were combined into one.
All my pieces fell apart and they created their own world in many different parts.
I found a new palace in various places,
The walls of which were painted in different colors,
Colors which were not blue or black,
But a blackish blue and a bluish black.
They reflected differently in different lights,
Sometimes glowing in the harsh sun,
Sometimes becoming dark and dank
and losing all its shine in the rain and the dark.
But it was still a palace nevertheless,
One in which I grew much bigger than my height,
And shrank smaller than I ever might,
Have done in my glass palace.
I am still creating such palaces,
In different worlds that I live in,
They are still made of glasses,
But glasses that are much stronger.
Although they are delicate and might be broken by the stone of grief,
But my hands of faith will make them again,
And my mind will always go back to the pages of memories written in that palace,
And will remember the time spend, however brief.
On a chair beside my Barbie doll window,
With the sun making my face aglow
And the moonlight making it bright,
I used to write poems of love and hope.
When I used to feel the hand of sadness closing in,
I used to rush into the arms that were always open for me.
I used to cry in them, complain in them,
Leave the weight of my heavy heart and again move in
My world, created with a rubber protection around me.
I used to bounce back into those warm and soft eyes,
Whenever, the evil or the harsh used to stare at me.
And then I used to again sit by my window,
Reminiscing about the shadow of darkness,
And write about the different shades of black.
I was wise then, maybe even understanding,
But never did I realize the magnitude of the world outside,
I used to look out of my windows,
And only see shadows,
Of the world beyond my own.
The one in which I lived and the one that I owned,
I was confronted by those shadows once in a while,
But was never consumed by them.
I did recognize the shades of dark,
But was never a part of them.
And then one day, the protection gave way and a crack appeared in my palace of glass.
I ran away to another room, but the mirage broke apart.
It gave way to another world, a much larger one,
I realized I had many elements which were combined into one.
All my pieces fell apart and they created their own world in many different parts.
I found a new palace in various places,
The walls of which were painted in different colors,
Colors which were not blue or black,
But a blackish blue and a bluish black.
They reflected differently in different lights,
Sometimes glowing in the harsh sun,
Sometimes becoming dark and dank
and losing all its shine in the rain and the dark.
But it was still a palace nevertheless,
One in which I grew much bigger than my height,
And shrank smaller than I ever might,
Have done in my glass palace.
I am still creating such palaces,
In different worlds that I live in,
They are still made of glasses,
But glasses that are much stronger.
Although they are delicate and might be broken by the stone of grief,
But my hands of faith will make them again,
And my mind will always go back to the pages of memories written in that palace,
And will remember the time spend, however brief.
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