Ek independence day aisa bhi

It is 15th August today. A day too much special for each Indian. But when it comes to its celebration, I feel most of us have our most special memories caged in our childhood. Those school days. Those ironed white uniforms. Those morning parades. Those tiny trirangas.Those patriotic songs. Those repetitive speeches. And that one packet of seo bundiya. Life was so simple back then. Just like being sad for waking up so early, getting ready, and walking miles. Just like being happy for tracing more red bundiya in your packet than your friend and getting a day off from studies to play a little more. Studies were simple those days. Just like distinguishing the significance of 15th August from that of 26th January. Just like knowing that India got freedom because of that kind man with bald head & round goggles holding a stick, that brave man wearing a green military uniform and that intelligent man pinning a rose in his shirt pocket. Because activities during both of these days used to be very similar. Years got younger. And we got older, with each class, a little more. The list of historical dates and events to remember got longer. Amount of names and contributions of freedom fighters got bulkier. Still, charm of independence day remained unchanged. Infact, with each passing year that pride of being Indian got stronger. Place of patriotism in the heart got wider. All thanks to those thin books of “ମହାପୁରୁଷଙ୍କ ଜୀବନୀ”, those nationalist songs in each prayer class, and those repeated broadcasting of movies like Border & Lagaan. Me being that introverted kid never became able to show my love for India with a heartwarming speech or soul-soothing song, in front of all. All my prepared speeches and mugged-up lyrics never got independence and became martyrs inside my head, everytime. Anyways, my literary and artistic hand used to help me in conveying my love for my motherland infront of a paper.

Our ancestors got freedom on this day after years. This day marks their end to pain and suffering. But every year, independence used to draw a fullstop to our week-long cancellation festival of post recess classes. For parade. For preparation. The parade used to have its own charisma in the celebration. That fortune of having your best friend on your side in the parade lines and feeling no tiredness of walking long while gossipping with her. And that bad luck of being caught by seniors while altering your position in rows for coming close to your group. That irritation when someone steps on your shoes by mistake while parading and those parading heartbeats when you do the same with a quarrelsome girl. That zeal of saying “Jay” after “Bharat maataa ki” & “Mataram” after “Vande”. And that awkward moment of turning right on the command of “bayein mud”. Haha. So stupid, yet so much fun was there. But things got serious after joining NCC. Now no more follower behaviour, fun aspects and discussion about incomplete syllabus of math, Hindi teacher’s accent, most beautiful girl’s new boyfriend were allowed. NCC cadets can’t take parade in a light note. Lifting knees up and down perfectly & walking miles wearing those hard boots was not an easy task. After returning from school, whether to pick Volini or betadine first became a confusion. Whether to bandage the wounds first or to relieve the tendons. But tougher was that unexpected calling of your name to command. For a kid like me with a low voice, giving commands was nothing less than torture on vocal cords. Aaaand in the class, that sacrifice of side seat for seven days continuously. In a school that is more into Indian culture, it is impossible to hide your feminity in cadet uniform from the penetrating eyeballs of those boys classmates interested in you. So altering seats with salwar-wearing benchmates was a wise option or maybe a weapon for own awkwardness. Never realised that with those high jump of classes, time was also running a marathon. But every student feels like the time of 10th class runs a sprint. It just flies. I was no exception. Had completed ten years of schooling, ten years of studying sincerely. Had accumulated some rewards for my efforts and more expectations for the 10th result. When the cost of expectation is high, you weigh our time, effort, and worth way too much, too often. I was doing that too.

15th August was a day away. The scars on my feet which were gifted by my oversized boot during the last republic day were still there. Parade practice was not on the shoulders of the students who belonged to the 10th scholar group due to extra classes. I was one among them. Still, Prabhati Guruma had ordered to come for the parade on independence day. We were not interested. That feeling of being senior. That feeling of not devoting time to this thing, getting tired, and losing one day of study. So juniors should handle the stuff this time. We have already done a lot. We are not coming tomorrow. We should not also. Some of us decided. I had been suffering from a fever for a month at intervals. So one extra reason was there for me. Maybe not a reason, but an excuse.

It was the 14th August night. I was not feeling well. So I decided to sleep early, to wake up early, to read for some hours and to attend the flag hoisting in our colony. Flag hoisting in the colony used to seem more rewarding. No parade. No speech. Just reciting the national anthem and getting a packet from Priya. Too good for a morning tiffin. I planned my schedule for the next day and went to bed. Sleep was not coming to me. A different kind of pain was there. I was experiencing that for the first time. Sibu was asleep. Baba mami were talking about something. Our bed was not too small for four people back then. I was not tossing and turning. I was lying as if I was asleep, really. The pain was increasing. I was unable to bear it. Suddenly I woke up from the bed. Mami asked me what happened. Baba was also asking the same. I didn’t answer and came straight to the drawing room. Mami said to baba- ” Are you seeing! How Ruchi is becoming adamant!” But I didn’t have an answer to her anger. I was standing in the drawing room. Pictures of Ganeshji, Saibaba and Jagannath Balabhadra Subhadra were there. I was looking at them. I was feeling pain. I used to stand there and look at them whenever I face any difficulty. I don’t find any answer. But i question Them. i seek answer from Them. But this time, the pain was different. It was too much, too new. I was unable to decipher it. I sat on the sofa. I was crying. Babamami came and asked me what happened. I said nothing. Pain was growing. Night was growing. Something was traveling inside my left back, my left waist. I was feeling that sensation. Baba was tensed. Mami had kept her hand on my head. Baba called to some hospitals. Whether to consult a medicine specialist or gynic. Whether to go to a private hospital or govt. Amidst the dilemma, it was decided to wait for the morning. The Sun came and saluted the Indian land. Ghosh sound from my school had started coming, loudly. Maybe louder was my groaning in pain. At least I was feeling like that, my parents too. The flag hoisting was going on in our colony. And in that way, I was going to the hospital. When we were coming out of the colony gate, our school parade was just passing by. We found a side way. Pupils were moving in the rhythm of ghosh. Flags in their hands were also flowing in the rhythm of the morning breeze. A mixed sense of feeling was running in my body, in my mind. I was wearing a green and white nightsuit. Just orange was missing.

We reached at capital hospital. Don’t know exactly if my pain had been reduced a bit or my mind had been shifted from my body to those patients, to their sufferings. That accident met guy with many rakhis in his hand. That kid who was crying so loudly with the dose of injection. Those patients and their dear ones in the corridor. That peep-poop-washed corridor. That vomit smell and that vomit-arousing smell. Those eyes of hurt and hope. How these people can take part in this big day of our nation? Is our freedom meant only freedom from those britishers? What is freedom actually when we all are caged in the prison of destiny, at some point in our lives? I was thinking while moving from this department to that.

Baba brought a cake for me. No seo bundiya, no sweets, no priya packet this time. With some injections and medicines, my pain subsided. And from that day, my journey towards unbearable ache in body and unsolvable agony in mind continued for some months. In the most crucial year of my school life, I got the punishment for the sin I had been committing for the last ten years. By suppressing the signal of my urinary bladder. By cracking sarcasm in front of friends saying “ହସାନି ବେ! ମୋ ଟାଙ୍କି ଫୁଲ୍ ଅଛି”. By emptying my water bottle on road, on plants while returning from school. Anyways, I experienced the unexpected. The wrath of destiny. The mercy of the Almighty too.

During our childhood, we never try to decode everything. We accept things, instead and try to solve them. I think that’s the most beautiful thing. But as we become adults, we try to find answers to everything. That’s why we become restless. We become caged in our own thoughts. We aim for financial freedom. We get angry if our parents put any restrictions on us. We wish to break the shackles that society throws on our lives. And in this process, we sometimes forget to unlock our own minds from all the tensions, frustrations, complaints, and from everything that hurts us. I know mind is a monkey. It jumps, jumps and goes anywhere if you don’t chain it. But doesn’t this monkey deserve to taste freedom today? You decide. I hope your monkey is not bad and violent. It must be cute and sensitive who observes a lot, for long, takes away the sweetness(goodness) from everyone’s platter(persona) without harming(hurting) them and makes them smile.

See how I gave freedom to my mind. And instead of writing something exquisite about our freedom struggle, our victory, and our development in every sphere over all these years, it ended up writing a kiddish story. Maybe on this independence day, I am not writing for others to read me, not writing as an adult with high thoughts and heavy vocabs. But as that brave kid who has the power to give some hope to the vulnerable adult writing this. That kid who didn’t blame destiny for showing such harshness in return of her ten years of sincerity. That kid who didn’t answer to those suspicious eyes who were searching for her name in the test exam result fixed on the notice board. That kid who stood strong when everyone in the medhaa class was doubting her potential. That kid who didn’t give up on herself when everyone was moving ahead of her, crossing her. That kid who believed in God firmly and experienced the miracle. Now when this adult is dealing with an existential crisis every single day, only that kid can say to her “If God has saved you during that time, He must have assigned some duty to you. Maybe some big duty. All that you need to do is to give your all to make yourself capable of performing that duty. And to leave rest of the things in the hand of that Almighty.” And lastly, the kid should remind her that the progenies of mother India are never cowards, they fight with dedication till the end.
©ruchiabhisikta

Some fav lines that fit into today’s mood-
//आँखों में कुछ आँसू हैं कुछ सपने हैं
आँसू और सपने दोनों ही अपने हैं
दिल दुखा है लेकिन टूटा तो नहीं है
उम्मीद का दामन छूटा तो नहीं है
हम लोगों को समझ सको तो समझो दिलबर जानी
थोड़ी मजबूरी है लेकिन थोड़ी है मनमानी
थोड़ी तू तू मैं मैं है और थोड़ी खींचातानी
हममें काफ़ी बातें हैं जो लगती हैं दीवानी
फिर भी दिल है हिन्दुस्तानी
फिर भी दिल है हिन्दुस्तानी //

Foam FOMO

The prayer hall of the school is full.
After Ohm shanti shanti shanti, pindrop silence is there. Silence is lingering a little more.
A kid in the corner opens one of her eyes with one eye closed and looks at the kids sitting beside.
Have you ever been that kid in your initial school days?
Can you feel what that innocent kid feels?
Self-doubt.
Anxiety of being left behind.
Fear of missing out.
What if she is continuing her dhyaan longer than others?
What if others have opened their eyes since long?What if she will be the odd one out?
What if her friends will laugh at her?
What if teachers will consider her as stupid?
Flash of a second and so many questions seeking answers.
I don’t know how many of us can understand the vulnerability of that kid’s heart.
But a lot of us, in our adulthood can feel
that sensation of lagging behind
running so fast in our veins,
polluting our blood with self-loathing,
climbing our head, heart, and soul,
disturbing our focus
focus on our own works
focus on our own lives
focus on ourselves
and snatching us from ourselves
bit by bit
day by day
This feeling is very raw, very much real, too much natural
You don’t need to hide this feeling
or feel ashamed of it
You just need to acknowledge this feeling
so that you can hold its appendages,

dissect that into piece by piece
and see how hollow it is inside
which looks so messy
being patched outside
with failure, frustration,
worries worthlessness and whatnot
This feeling doesn’t make you immature
because you are mature enough
to hold so much strength
to embrace life
even when it pricks you too often, too hard
It’s completely okay to doubt your decisions sometimes
But it’s not at all okay to immerse in that doubt
by measuring your present life in the beam balance of others
Your decision holds
the weight of your dreams
And dreams are never right or wrong
Then how dare you doubt yourself
that too by blurring your vision
with the sights of others’ lives
which seems too green, too bright, too lively
I know in this age of poking society and social media
it’s very difficult to stay blindfolded
from the external happenings
from the wedding of your school friends
from the job promotion of your college friends
from your cousins’ get-together
from the parties of your neighbor
from the hifi lifestyle of any stranger
It’s tough to not feel bad about your stagnant life
when anyone and everyone around you
are chilling out
doing fun
traveling far
grooming up
getting hitched
enjoying youth
and crossing milestones of their lives
It’s too tough to protect your
four-chambered pump
from that four-eyed fierce demon
whom people nickname as FOMO
An acronym that sounds so fancy
compels you to see all the ugly sides of your life
and you think
you think again and again
“Why me?”
“Why I am here?”
“What am I doing?”
“Where could I have been?”
“How valueless I am?”
You know what, FOMO is like foam. It doesn’t last. It bursts. You don’t need to try hard to burst that.
You just need to dive into yourself.
Sometimes before that, you just need to halt.
Not trying to feel energetic
Not trying to control emotions
No Ted talks
No longing for dopamine
Nothing
Just breathe.
Breathe in. Hold. Breathe out.
Breathe in deep. Hold. Breathe out.
Breathe in deeper. Hold. Breathe out.
And take a leap of faith in yourself,
in the universe, in the Ruler of the universe.
©ruchiabhisikta

Free-end-sip

Does a gardener grieve when a plant in the garden dies? Does s/he feel like if I could have taken care of it a bit more, it could have lived longer? Does his nurture towards the other plants become better or lesser? You can’t answer. Because you are not the gardener. But tell me will you accept it if the gardener grieves over that dead plant? You can’t normalise his pain. You will say what’s a big issue if one died, another ninety seven are there. A broken friendship is like that. A dead plant. You can’t mourn for that. You can’t express what you feel. You scream inside and smile outside. During the days you vapourise your tears with the scorch of society and in the night your pillow soaks them. You wonder if sound always needs a medium to be transmitted. Because you feel like your scream has become synonymous with silence. Your silence finds different meanings in the dictionaries of others. Some name it arrogance, some attitude. Some call it sadness, some illness. Some nights sleep doesn’t come to you even if you plead. Some nights dreams knock like uninvited guests. Just to wake you up. Just to make you think that what if the parallel universe is not a lie. The name, the face, the human who once made you feel seen and secured amidst the crowd turns into nothing more than another stranger amidst the crowd, nothing less than a trigger warning you fear and want to avoid. See how I wrote, “want to avoid”. Can’t someone be strong enough to just avoid, totally avoid, avoid forever? Someone can. But what if the universe conspires to punish you more, what if the situations become stronger than your strength? What can one do? Other than wearing the mask of maturity to get rid of the smell of carcasses of memories? Other than accepting the past as a fiction, an illusion? What hurts the most about a broken friendship is it doesn’t have a proper closure. Someone moves away like nothing has happened and another one stays there contemplating how unwanted s/he is, counting how many things s/he lacks, calibrating how much her/his worth shows in the scale of nothingness. You try to ask the other person “Who gave you the right to destroy something so beautiful, so pure?” But that remains hanging, in your tongue, in your text. Your conscience debars you to do so. It mocks you again and again saying that you lost a friend whom you always kept above yourself, but s/he lost nobody. Nobody! Nobody I am! You feel humiliated. You feel angry. You feel alone. You feel you don’t deserve anything, anyone. You can’t openly talk about them because none does. Not any musician, not any storyteller. The tune of your hurt doesn’t match with that of Arijit Singh’s “Channa mereya” or Shawn Mendes’s “Stitches“. Does a lover only possess the power to break a heart? Do love & loss, care & dishonor, trust & betrayal fall only in the domain of a romantic relationship? Does friendship give only happiness, always, to everyone? Then what’s that weight your heart is feeling? Isn’t that real? Isn’t that valid? What’s its name? Gham? Zakhm? Bebasii? You question yourself “Am I too sensitive” or “Is this world too insensitive?”. With time we all grow. You accept it. But with time we grow apart. You find it too hard to accept. Because you know what growing apart, that too from a friendship is more of a choice than a game of time. Not all friendships are like that of bird & nest, like that of wave & shore. Some are just like that of bird & cloud, like that of river & bank. Once gone, never returns. But it does take away a part of yourself. Some unadulterated innocence, some foolish promises, some precious trash. And one fine day you decide to end that chapter, good or bad. Then you dare to let the poems sip all your feelings, justified or unjustified. Finally, you do free yourself. That day, you find the name for your hurt – Freeendsip.
Dear readers! Don’t search for this word in your dictionary. You won’t find. Because pain is personal, so does its name🤣🤣🤣
©ruchiabhisikta

Some nights don’t end

Some nights are scary
Scary enough to remind you of all the scars of your heart
which carries the dead cells of your dear dreams
as if they are too adamant to preserve
the fingerprints of your failures
Failure as a daughter
Failure as a sister
Failure as a friend
Failure as a student
Failure for not being good enough at anything
The scars you hide under
the branded attire of “too strong”
throughout the day
plead you to make them bare
to make them breathe
at least at night
night, too dark to notice anything
night, too silent to listen to anything
night, too cruel to push you into the pit of past
You become unable to notice
what song you are listening now
how spotify pampers you or bothers you
You only feel that tingling sensation
when tears trickle down
and spread in the area
where earphones should have reigned
with its musical power
You remember that favourite song
of your childhood
“Chhoti chhoti raatein lambi ho jaati h”
how you used to play that
repeatedly on the tape recorder
to dance so carefree
like “panchhi banke udta h ye dil”
holding that orange chunri
Then you must have never realized
as a grown-up, you have to learn
you have to learn hard
to fly like an eagle
to be like an eagle
before getting manzil to your sapno
by leaving your vulnerability long away
Now that romantic song doesn’t
make you convinced that
short night elongates with love
because the idea of love is written
in such a language
you don’t want to learn anymore
you don’t think of learning that
because you know
what a poor learner you are
who couldn’t learn to love herself
even after spending twenty five summers
1:26 The digits which stare at you like demons
when you open the phone
just to close the siphon of your thoughts
So much time has passed
And even more time to pass
You can’t sleep now
You can’t study now
Now you can’t go out and look at the stars
The only thing you can do is toss and turn
so does your mind
with the whisper of unworthiness now
with the roar of responsibilities a minute later
and everything in between
In between everything
your heart feels light
making your poem & pillow heavy
Maybe your buddu heart starts
accepting that sometimes
a night of nothingness doesn’t end,
it just leads to a day of “being nothing”
compelling you to sign
a peace treaty with patience & perseverance.
©ruchiabhisikta

Salt, sugar, spice & mother

“The curry has become salty.” brother says.
“The kheer is not sweet sufficiently.” I say
“Why roti is not fluffy today?” brother asks.
“Aaan, fried rice! I wish to eat khichdi.” I murmur.
“Oh, my bad! I must have added salt twice by mistake”
“Doesn’t it taste right? Let me mix some sugar.”
“Wait for a minute! I am preparing another one for you.”
“I thought you would like it. But anyways, tomorrow I will make khichdi for you.” Mami replies.
Her replies carry the weight of her guilt. The guilt of not being able to satisfy our tastebuds even after putting in so much effort. But we never try to contemplate the length of our complaints. Complaints for little less sugar, for a bit more salt, for little more oil, for a bit less oil. Doesn’t she deserve compliments for the love, compassion, and efforts she adds abundantly to the dishes everyday? Don’t our grievances for such tiny things give grief to her! Don’t we understand that the words of our mouths can hurt the person who has been feeding us since our birth? What’s the cost of her selflessness? What does she get in return for the years of her life she invests for our happiness, our comfort, our betterment? There is not a day off for her from the kitchen. It doesn’t matter whether it’s a working day or a holiday. She doesn’t need an alarm to wake up in the early morning. Because duty knocks in her conscience so loud that she is bound to respond. Maybe that duty has turned into her habit strong enough to get rid of. The habit of donating all her energies in the process of making us happy. She can’t deny. She can’t afford delay. She has to complete cooking before 9. Because a working woman’s hands are meant to move like the second hand of a clock. Neither she can neglect the work for which she gets paid nor she can leave the luggage of responsibilities she carries being a woman. Sometimes I wonder how much weight of her desire she drops everyday to maintain this work-life balance. Desire to rest, desire to watch movies, desire to read books, desire to spend time with her siblings. Doesn’t she ever feel empty for draining all these desires into oblivion? Maybe that’s why she keeps that radio in the kitchen. Instead of listening to music on her smartphone, she turns on the radio. In that blaring of radio, maybe she time-travels to her youth. That youth when aai used to cook dishes in the choice of her Nina, that youth when aja used to give her money to buy food of her choice, that youth when she used to experiment with the food of her choice, that youth when she used to share dining with her siblings, that youth which was full of dreams and dares, that youth which has now wilted with the scorch of duties and responsibilities. Maybe that radio convinces her that she can still produce the music of her life without craving for sophistication just to fit in this modern era. Baba makes tea after returning from his office and they sip together while gossiping. Baba rolls the roti while she puffs them. Baba cuts the veggies when she fries them. And she never misses a chance to appreciate baba for his help. She considers herself lucky for having him as her husband. She can write a long story about how Baba had prepared food for her in Savitri when she was in Covid hospital. On the days when I help her a bit in the kitchen, she will tell that ten times as if I have moved mountains for her. Her face shines with angry happiness each time his son serves her dishes forcibly. So much gratitude, so much fulfillment she feels for such tiny things we do for her. But why don’t we ever gift her some words of appreciation? Isn’t our “not expressing” too similar to “not acknowledging”? Doesn’t it feel like taking all her efforts for granted? Maybe her grace comes from her act of giving, always. And that grace doesn’t fear to be faded away with her sweat-stricken face, onion-smelling fingers, turmeric-tinted palms and messy saree after working for hours in the kitchen. In the process of learning the art of knowing our food habits and satisfying our stomachs accordingly, she has forgotten what is her favourite. Her likes and her dislikes. While nurturing a family, maybe a woman sheds a part of her previous self everyday. Why do we normalize it when she cooks five dishes for us even during her fasting days? Somedays she cooks something with all her heart, but our hearts order us for some restaurant or roadside food and we obey. How does she feel on those days? We never try to understand her, but we always expect her to understand us. Maybe the strength, selflessness, and sublimity of a mother’s heart are concepts too tough to figure out. But we do understand one thing very clearly-
What’s food without salt, sugar, and spice
What’s life without a mother’s sacrifice!
©ruchiabhisikta

An avenue underrated

How does it feel when the clock inside your head ticks faster than the clock on the wall, but the world sees your life as dormant without movement? Ask this to the students who are seriously preparing for competitive exams. They will smile. Because it is easy to smile, much easier than making others understand their states of mind. Minds that are heavied with the workload of today & uncertainties of tomorrow. Minds that are busy enough to not have time for visiting the zigzag lanes of the past. Books, notes, pdf, and lectures rule their world giving no space for entertainment. Watching movies, hanging out with friends, attending family functions, and surfing the web for long start feeling like crimes for which the future may punish them. Painting a portrait, playing a game, going to a dance class, recording a song don’t seem anymore like hobbies that can be cherished, but those come with the guilt of spending some precious time that can be invested in studying five extra pages. Holidays are not meant for rest anymore, but for lifting the syllabus to more height. The heart of an aspirant holds hope so tightly, but you can see a void in his/her eyes. A void of missing out. When the world outside is busy with partying, traveling, and celebrating life with much pump and show, they have to search for solace near their study table. Who doesn’t need a partner with whom you can enjoy the youth and grow old together? But for them, it’s better to control the hormones than to add some more load of uncertainties to life at this phase. Not completing the target of the day, scoring low in a mock test, and forgetting the concepts taught recently start feeling like mini heartbreaks to them. The sky above their heads is always clouded with anxiety. What if I fail? What if I lag from my friends? What if I don’t reach upto the expectation of my parents? What if the time & money I am investing won’t yield result? A lot of “what ifs” pierce them. But they tolerate that piercing pain and fight back so that they don’t have to deal with the most painful “could have been” in the upcoming time. Because these what-ifs can be proved wrong and turned into a positive outcome in the future. But there is no way back from the regret of not putting in some more effort, for not trying once more, for not taking the chance. Many sleepless nights pass while revising the course. Many favourite festivals pass while giving the tests. Many friends get lost, and many relatives taunt. But they don’t stop, sometimes look back, but don’t walk back. They walk towards their goals each day some miles more even after being bruised and tired. They don’t have the right to complain also because the cost of their big dreams can’t be a small amount. To join a dream college, to grab a seat in the curriculum of choice, to get a desired job, they compete. They fight. They thrive. They grow intellectually and emotionally. They do the adventure of sacrificing many pleasures of youth to crack an exam. But the world doesn’t find it right to call them ambitious or courageous. Instead, they are named droppers. The knowledge they gain in these years doesn’t get acknowledgement until and unless they succeed in that endeavour. But they know success tastes sweeter with struggle and failure doesn’t taste more bitter than the fear of trying. The ones who dream, who try, who hustle, who hope are the real achievers. The achievers whose achievements are not limited to good college, good degree and good job, but they are much beyond that. Not all eyes can visualize the beauty that is stretched towards the avenue of patience, discipline, courage, and optimism.
©ruchiabhisikta

Bhaba ra sahare mora bhaba mandira

The more you grow up, the more you see the shades of the world. The more you see the shades of the world, the clearer becomes your vision towards life each passing day, a little more. But not all days are alike. Somedays your mind gets blinded with some bitter past. Somedays your future looks blurred with clouds of uncertainty. You become unable to focus on your present. Perplexity pinches you. You feel that sensation.
You don’t understand how to pacify yourself on your own. You don’t want to open up yourself infront of anyone. You open your music app with the hope that it will pacify your restless soul. No hiphop, no rock, no jazz, no EDM helps. Romantic lyrics fail to make you smile. Motivational music uses all its power to elevate you, but in vain. And suddenly, your playlist gifts you a song which embraces all your fidgety, and you feel calmness flowing in your veins slowly and slowly replacing the anxiety that was draining your energy some minutes ago. A song that makes you believe that there is someone in this world who knows all your feelings, the feelings you cremate inside your tender heart without letting their smell reach near the sophisticated people all around. That someone with whom you feel a connection, who feels like your own. For we odia people, that someone is our king, our guardian, our comrade, our Jagannath. Our faith in Him is hereditary immersed in our blood since generations unknown. And each bhajan dedicating Him sounds divine enough to tingle the tympanum with the reality of life. One such bhajan that tops my playlist to lower the level of my stress is
“Bhaba ra sahare mora bhaba mandira”

“Bhaba ra sahare mora bhaba mandira
Bhaba dore bandha mora kala thakura
Bhaba ku nikata se ta abhaba ku dura
Simahina akasha se simahina sagara”

A place where violent waves make love with the silent sand. Their susurration penetrates your ears, gets implanted in your heart, and burgeons into something called tranquility. Some distance away from that boundless beauty of the Bay of Bengal, you enter a palace, His palace. The sound of waves gets muted. Music of bells, conches, and chants gets loud. And louder becomes the quiet prayers of thousands of souls filled with pain, complaints, happiness, and gratitude. The palace whose each inch is filled with divinity. The palace above which wind becomes weak enough to make the flag move in its direction. The palace whose air carries the aroma of abadha. The palace from where none returns with an empty heart. The palace where He resides along with God Balabhadra, Maa Subhadra, Maa Laxmi and many other forms of Gods & Goddesses. Sitting there, He rules the whole world. With his big beautiful eyes, He sees everything. Nothing can stay hidden from Him. Without questioning His justice when you surrender yourself infront of Him, you feel so ethereal as if all the weight of your burdens vanishes away. He is the God of feelings, who can understand you like no other. Science bows down before His majestic mysteries. You can’t find Him when you clutch to suspicion, pretence, ego and lies. You will feel Him when you loosen your clutch and shed all these from your heart. How can you sense His presence when your thoughts and your deeds involve such shallow things? Because He is infinite like the sky and unfathomable like the ocean. The only way by which you can keep Him with you is your firm faith.

“Bhaba re budiba jie bhaba re hajiba jie
Bhaba re rasiba jie
Ananda ananda
Papa re budiba jie michha re hajiba jie
Maya re rasiba jie
Bisada bisada”

We belong to a generation where being emotional is considered as a weakness. Because if you gift your true feelings to people, in return you get treated as a fool and you make their judgemental mouths work so actively. So you fear. You fear unwrapping your heart so that none can get a chance to watch what is underneath. But in this attempt of concealing your true emotions from others, you chock your ability to recognize your own emotions. That suffocates you. You wanna channelize those. But you can’t. At that moment, you look into His eyes. You see your world revolving around those. How can you hide things from Him? Se para bhaba ra thakura. You feel light. You feel content. You feel proud for being born in His land. In childhood, we were taught to distinguish between right and wrong. But as we grow up, we tend to normalising wrong as everyone around us does like that. We start taking shelter under the lies to avoid instant hardships. We keep on running behind temporary pleasure by forgetting the reality of life. And ultimately it leads us to grief. Sometimes it becomes too late to have this realisation.

“Bhaba re bhaba re chale abhabi sansara
Ananda bisada bhara e bhaba sagara
Dharama karama sata
Janama marana sata
Atma paramatma sata
Michha e jagata
Dhana jaubana michha
Kutumba sansara michha
Kamana basana michha
Sata mo Jagannatha”

Sometimes we see poor people smiling wholeheartedly and rich ones complaining about their tension-loaded life. Sometimes we see handicapped people praising the Almighty and some getting sad for not having expensive sarees, shoes, and goggles. Have you ever wondered why this happens? Most probably because happiness is a relative concept, not absolute. Happiness can’t be felt even a bit, if pain vanishes from life entirely. We often observe that old people are inclined towards intense devotion the most. Maybe after experiencing all the seasons, in the autumn they realise the deep truth of life- how you have come to this earth alone and how you have to leave alone. The assets you accumulate, the gracefulness of youth, the large friend circle you make, nothing is going to accompany you when your soul changes its address by vacating your body. But what remains is your good deeds. And you can involve yourself in goodness only if you wear your faith in Jagannath as armour. Because when your faith turns into your weapon, you realise that whatever you do right or wrong gets captured in His chakadola.

ShreeJagannath occupies a special place in the heart of each odia people. In Him, we see a lover, a listener, a protector and a pathfinder. What else does one need when s/he has the blessings of Him? Because anything that happens in this universe, happens in His will.

©ruchiabhisikta

Kaushik Sir

Everyone wants to learn
the sorcery of superiority
How ordinariness blooms into
something unique
bigger, stronger and better than before
But none teaches anyone
how to hide your struggle under
butter paper bag
and to wait for God’s mercy
to be dusted over it
What’s the cost of that wait
Many mornings when coffee tastes bitter
like that of hopelessness
Many evenings when your hope sounds like
a prayer in the mouth of an atheist
How skilfully you have to blend efforts with opportunities
How to consistently care for the sustenance
of the result
But he does
with his achievements shown or hidden
with his words spoken or unspoken
He teaches all these
not as a professor of plant breeding & genetics,
he does it as a persona
who holds kaleidoscopes of splendor
so gracefully

Amidst the cobwebbed lights, creaking fans
& dusty blackboards
when half of the heads were carrying
the weight of what ifs
after shedding the feathers
of a future in medical college,
when one-fourth of the hearts were making
paper planes of love
to fly from zero point to infinity,
and when the rest pair of eyes were having
lunch with the moon in the drowsy banquet,
we met him,
an assistant professor who can compete
with first-year college guys
in the game which has a rule of
confining your barefooted age
inside the sack of youth
and to run the race of life
He used to tell us a lot of things
A lot about not caging the career
inside the cabs
and letting it board the flight
A lot about learning the language
of love & loyalty
without caring about the mocking of society
A lot about fighting like Bhagat Singh,
exploring like Vasco da Gama
and painting life with all shades of
Van Gogh’s palette

A teacher he is
Who wants his red ink to cause vital mutation
in the bunch of answer sheets of students
without dripping an iota of lethality,
Who functions like lactose of a lac operon
by fueling the peeps
to synthesize confidence,
Who becomes a molecular chaperon
in the thesis works of many
serving their purpose
without sharing recognition at the end,
Who doesn’t claim codominance
while sharing the same sphere
with that of his teachers,
But along with his students
he prefers to walk as an Okazaki fragment
instead of behaving like
a supreme leading strand,
he prefers to stay
as a metaphasic chromosome
instead of being a mighty centromere
Sometimes his friendliness with students
seems to be in the shape of a balbiani ring
Big
Conspicuous
Misfit in the row of typicals
But the site of active student decrypting

From gifting roses to her
to promising her to turn into maples together
From writing love poems for her
to reading, decoding
and accepting her bit by bit
From roaming together in the mall
to bringing her to a home whose walls
are meant to witness a lovestory,
Crossing many interrogation & exclamation
successfully he settled
as an apostrophe
after the name of Ayesha madam
A husband he is
whose love for madam sings the lyrics
of a vegan romanticizing chicken
whose care for madam tells the tale
of the fine pieces of bone china
someone who respects, supports
and acknowledges her
being saturated with every pinch of her love
Megalith of
ceaseless coherence they are
before, now & beyond

A proud papa he is
celebrating the Almighty’s blessing
and cherishing the tiny tot
sometimes with much grandiose
by making her crown with flowery headbands
by making her dress like a sweet princess
by making her pose like a cute celebrity
and sometimes with much simplicity
just by making her sleep on his shoulder
It’s not just him, but everyone
who comes across
can’t stop adoring
that entire cosmos of cuteness
signatured as Kritisha

The gene of his happiness is pleiotropic
Sometimes looks like
poems & photography
Sometimes travel & guitar
Sometimes sports & drive
The pedigree of his success
is long and lavish
still short and deficient enough
to be added with
Foreign lab
Double doctorate
And a radiant tomorrow for the tiny one
For him, all these are not too much to ask for
not too big to aspire for
Because he builds aquarium
from the pebbles of criticism
that others throw
and he wears the jealousy of others
as a medal of appreciation
And all these words applaud him
for simply being cool & composed Kaushik sir

May the universe deliver to him
lots of love and light
peace and delight
fitness and success
for today and ever…
HAPPY BIRTHDAY SIR🙏

©ruchiabhisikta

Elegantly ordinary love

I have grown up
in a family
where love doesn’t happen
in the way DDLJ’s
Simran hugs Raj
amidst the mustard field
But where love smiles
in the kitchen
when baba helps mami
in household chores
so that they both can
shower punctuality
at their job places.

I have grown up
in a family
where good morning kiss
& good night cuddles
are the luxuries
that my parents can’t afford
and gift to each other publicly
But love crowns their heads
when their feet
tap simultaneously
on a morning walk,
when they doze
in a united rhythm
while sitting on a sofa
late at the night.

I have grown up
in a family
where ‘I love you’ & ‘I miss you’
are the sentences of
foreign language
that my parents don’t know
in fact, they never try to learn
But love sings
an ode for them
when she calls him
to interrogate him
“tiffin khaisarilani?”
when he dials
her number to ask her
“school ru pherilani?”.

I have grown up
in a family
where neither pseudofeminism
threatens my father
nor patriarchy
bothers my mother
But here interdependence
breathes freely
without the pollution
of ego & attitude
when clinging to the culture
she touches his feet every morning
instead of putting a question mark
on the equality norms of society
when smashing the set of masculine rules
he massages her feet every time
she goes to bed after heavy workload.

I have grown up in a family
where my attention while listening
“Kaho naa pyaar hai“
gets disturbed by the
explanatory talks of baba
to make mami understand the things
that she doesn’t know
and then asking her
for suggestions
to lessen his confusion,
where my thoughts while scrolling
the HD-quality lovey-dovey photos
of lovers on Instagram
with hashtag relationshipgoals & blah blah
loaded with dozens of colored hearts
get interrupted by
by the repeated shriek of mami
from the kitchen
to make baba have
his before food medicine in time.

I have grown up in a family
where romantic love doesn’t smell
like that of branded perfume,
where romantic love doesn’t sound
like Ed Sheeran’s “Perfect”,
where romantic love doesn’t look
like aesthetic couple pictures,
where romantic love doesn’t feel
like the petals of fresh red roses,
where I get perplexed
whether to mug up the definition
of romance, of love
that dialogues of movies tell
or to decode the ditty
of romance, of love
that my parents sing silently.
But as I grow up
my perplexity discovered
the flavor of the love between them
romance between them
how it tastes like
the delicious recipes of
paneer pasinda or mushroom munchurian
of fish besara or prawn dopiaza
which are named after
single key ingredient
but incomplete
and completely tasteless
without the salt of support
oil of loyalty
& spices of esteem.
©ruchiabhisikta

The ultimate autumn

Kids complain about heavy homework
Youngsters grieve over heartbreaks
Adults stress about rising responsibilities
For all of them
there are solutions – patience, hope & courage
Because “Things can get better with time, with effort”
But what about yours?
You smile with a sigh
And say “Some things get better only when they end”
“Living 80s is such a thing.”

The woman who used to cook
fifteen dishes to satisfy the tastebuds
of eight members of her family,
now needs someone to serve food to her
The man who used to market
groceries, dresses, toys, books, fruits
after his daylong duty
without an iota of hesitation
just to bring loads of smiles to his tiny family,
now waits for someone to give him medicine
The woman who spread her love and care
The man who struggled to complete his duty
throughout life
now feels like turning into a liability
That feeling makes your heart heavy
as if all the weight of your bones
has been transferred to your heart
You think
“What happens to the bird
who doesn’t trust its wings anymore
after being a friend with the sky for years!”
“Does the bird start unloving the sky
or stop fearing the gunshots of hunter
& breaking of the branch!”

You want someone to listen to you
That someone can be anyone
Because the choice of audience
is a right, a reward, a royalty
meant for good speakers
And good speakers carry volume
in their words, in their talks
Here the wind passing between
those two teeth left in your mouth
makes all your advice & experience
sound too light to be taken seriously
You begin accepting the harshness
of this millennial generation
How the music of ambitions, competitions
merriment & achievements
have become so loud that
your box of stories only
feels like a noise
But is it easy to accept the truth that
the children to whom
you had first taught how to talk
now find difficulty
in understanding your language,
in fact in understanding you!

Your cataract-operated eyes
don’t let you find light & rainbow everywhere
Still, you can read that extra line
that gets drawn on the forehead of your son
when he is tensed
You don’t decode things in one go anymore
until the other person says it aloud repeatedly
With each repetition,
their exasperation expands a lot more
and your curiosity about things, people & places
shrivels a little more
Still, you can hear the silence
of your daughter staying miles away
The word “Future” now makes sense to you
only when it is suffixed with “generation”
All you have is the luggage of past
and some satisfaction & some disappointment
hanging from that luggage
tickling your present

“Life in your 80s” is a beautiful sad poetry
Poetry that bleeds like an open wound
It can be seized
neither with the bandage of hope
nor with antiseptic of intrepidity
It bleeds
It bleeds
until a fullstop finds
the address of your breath
And now you embrace this guest
without shooing it away
without hiding yourself
like you used to do before
maybe now you too wish to settle
in a new home, in a different world
and you know that
the road which can make you reach there
is known only to this guest
And you pray, you wait
every single day
for its arrival
so that you can hold its hand tightly
and depart early
towards a destination,
completely undiscovered till now
but wholeheartedly desired for now
People say autumn ends in November
And you think sometimes spring
doesn’t appear after autumn
You become ready to welcome
the “December of your life”
©ruchiabhisikta

Diwali – The light of hope

The night has come
The night on which stars appear as guests on land
The night on which earth competes with the sky in elegance
The night on which our nation
sleeps a little less
blinks a lot more
just like a beautiful bride
The night on which darkness makes love with light
A more bright, less quiet Knight of nights
The elated Diwali night
Fiesta of illumination and a feast for eyes.

Amidst the aura & boom of this festival
have you ever noticed
how the definition of Diwali
is different
for the people around you?

For some how it’s about switching off the barlights and putting on the fairy lights
But for some, it’s about wishing for bulbs in their houses to replace the candles.

How some dinings are decorated with boxes full of dry fruits and chocolates
And how some kitchens are filled with the aroma of mouth-watering delicacies
Still, some households are the witness
of the waiting of a wife for her husband’s early return from daily wage,
of the love between four siblings sharing a single piece of soanpapdi.

For some kids how Diwali is all about jumping in happiness
with the sound of photkas
with the sparkle of phuljharis
But for some kids, it’s all about smiling broadly
looking at the illuminated building of rich uncles from far
with more jingling of coins in their pots.

How Rainbow lends colours to some clean courtyards to beautify them with rangoli designs
Still, some damp floors dry themselves to embrace borrowed blankets for fast-invading winter.

For some how it’s about sending hundreds of happy Diwali gifs,
updating stories of their celebration on social media
But for some, it’s about saving some extra bucks,
wishing to make a better place for their families in the society.

How some burn firecrackers, fly sky lanterns
with their loved ones
to cherish moments
But some want their despair to fly and the memories to be burnt
remembering their lost ones.

How some convince themselves half-heartedly to celebrate Diwali
with colleagues without families this year
by not getting leave from the job
But some charge & challenge themselves
to celebrate Diwali next year
in their own salaries.

Have you ever realised?
How Diwali is not just about
sweets and fairy lights
crackers and colours
diyas and decorations
for everyone,
For some
it’s all about
appreciation and celebration
of a flickering hope
which has the power
to eradicate all the gloom of life.
©ruchiabhisikta

Wish you a happy and hopeful Diwali🎇

Self-talk

Abhisikta! Some bullets are going to point at your head. You will feel hurt. But you should accept. Because acceptance is the key that unlocks the door to improvement.

1. You are 25 and you don’t have a job. I know that you had a fantasy of higher studies in your favourite subject, so you did. But now don’t let that fantasy overcome the purpose of your life. You realise the value of your life each time you see a poor kid, an abandoned woman, a helpless oldie. You realise how incapable you are from the outside with all your empathy stored inside. But before bandaging the wound of others, you need to heal yourself first. How can you heal yourself when scars are growing day by day? That slap you feel when your younger brother satiates your taste buds with his money. That punch you feel when those aunties and uncles praising your parents for your high scores once upon a time, now ask what their daughter is doing these days. That kick you feel when you return from a shop after choosing a saree for your mother, a gift for your friend and a colourbox for yourself. Abhisikta! First, remove those scars of financial dependency before they start scaring your worth.
2. Nothing goes to your brain when the book is opened infront of you, but your eyes are heavied with sleep or earchords are entertaining you or your mind is digging into the past or exploring the future. Kindly, close the book then. Neither put a question mark on your productivity nor deteriorate the potential of books. This doesn’t mean you will chill every time you don’t feel like studying. Take a break and return to your study table with re-energised zeal.
3. You watch your friends travelling, partying, getting hitched, and getting placed. And here you are still stuck with your studies. That feel of lagging behind is real. And you have every reason to feel that way. But don’t let that feel distract you from your goals. Let that feel boost your discipline & motivation.
4. You are an “all or none” person. You flush all the attitude and ego if you consider a person as your own. You gulp ignorance and silence infront of the persons whom you don’t consider a part of your life. But before giving the medal of your availability to others, you should properly examine their efforts for being in your life. Before turning a blind eye & deaf ear, try to discover the people infront you. I’m not telling you to be a potato and be miscible with everyone. But don’t be a bittergourd for anyone.
5. You don’t want the kid inside you to die. And you shouldn’t also. But dear, after reaching the realm of adulthood, sometimes your childishness becomes synonymous with foolishness. So bless freedom to your inner child only when the surrounding feels like home. Otherwise, wear maturity as your weapon to face this cold world.
6. You are insecure about your looks. Neither you appreciate your genetics nor you know how to apply cosmetics. You don’t think you look beautiful or ugly. But you think why you look like this, not like that. Miss insecure, have you ever counted how many compliments have you received for your eyes, for your tresses, for your figure? Are you taking care of them? Why those dark circles? Why those fallen strands after combing? Why those bulging belly fats? Practise some self-care dear. Don’t take the gifts of God for granted.
7. Being an introvert kills you from the inside when you see extroverts superseding you without having half of your talents, without putting in half of the effort you put. But how much time you have already wasted by thinking that you can’t do certain things for this nature of yours? Introversion is a superpower, not a weakness. It makes you more humane. Just try to come out of the comfort zones one by one which hinders your progress.
8. Stop feeling guilty for not reciprocating the guys who had claimed to love you. They have never loved you in the way you deserve to be loved. You know well how deeply you will love if you will ever love someone. Until you find someone able enough to dive into that depth, stay single and enjoy love songs. And never search for perfection, wish to have someone who can embrace the truckloads of imperfections you carry.
9. Nothing comes to you before your babamami. You never want to disobey them. But you feel that they are not right always. Maybe right from their point of view, but not from that of yours. Then don’t choose a rebellious reaction or an unwilling consent instantly. Cool your nerves and analyse holistically. Your duty towards them & your right on your life are two different aspects, but not antagonistic. Understand it.
10. Hats off to you for having the deadly combo of overthinking and underconfidence! How many chances you have missed by being trapped under its weight? It’s too much, Abhisikta. Find an escape.
11. “Why I couldn’t become a doctor” This wind of regret touches you often. Next time it tries to touch you, just remember that doctors don’t always save lives, but sometimes they fail to do so inspite of how hard they try. Then ask “Does the girl who shivers at the thought of hurting people physically or emotionally deserve to be a doctor?” Destiny didn’t snatch an MBBS seat from you dear. It snatched away quintals of self-guilt that you could have gained by coming to this profession. Now don’t say ‘Huh’ by correlating this with the ‘Grapes & fox’ story. Instead, keep your faith firm in God’s plan for you.
12. Slangs, smoke, booze etc are not cups of your tea. So you should never leave the virtues you have clung till now just to fit into today’s so-called cool generation. You do not need to try these practically. But having theoretical knowledge is not a bad idea. Sometimes it may help you to identify an anonymous word, a coloured liquid, or a distinct smell.
    ©ruchiabhisikta

When you don’t feel like talking to anyone, talk to yourself😛Because selftalk is also a form of healer.

Why so casual?

My generation sees the colour of independence by breaking the rules of nature and ancestors. My generation gets happiness by forgetting morals. My generation tags monogamy as monotonous. My generation calls cool to casual sex. My generation fears commitment. My generation doesn’t want to learn the language of loyalty. My generation considers patience as an act of foolishness. My generation wishes to graduate in sex before getting admitted into the school of love and marriage. My generation is getting modern by embracing hookup culture. My generation is happily letting the radiation of one night stand to invade their conscience. Sometimes I feel like is it wrong to possess an antique soul in this generation. And sometimes I feel like an orthodox granny thinking about what’s wrong with this generation. In today’s era when casual sex has been normalised, staying neutral suffocates me as if I am supporting it and venting my disagreement warns me as if I am judging it. But this contemporary definition of sex gives me a hard gulp. I don’t understand how this form of intimacy can happen between two people before living love and treasuring trust. How can one give access to someone to his/her body before a true heart-to-heart connection! How can a man lock his lips to those of a woman before crowning her forehead with respect! How can a woman hold a man in her embrace passionately when she has never felt a sense of fulfilment by burying her tears in his chest! How can a man lean on a woman when she has never told him how protected she feels while holding his hand! How can a woman let a man undress her before he succeeds to discover the emotions hidden in her heart! How can one negotiate with her/his long-accumulated dignity and devotion for the sake of temporary pleasure! And what kind of pleasure this is! The pleasure you are buying for your body at the cost of the permanence of your soul! Still, you become ready without any guilt because life is short and it should be enjoyed in the moment itself. It happens because porn has made you believe that sex is something dirty. Movies have shown you that casual sex is a fun ride. Novels have told you that sex without emotions is an escape from heartbreak. But tell me! What’s the meaning of physical mingling with someone before all your senses become saturated with the love of that person? And once your heart, your soul, your senses become saturated with the love of someone, you become immiscible to any other being. If you think that life is too short to wait for your special someone and to promise your emotional and physical possession to a single person, then dear remember that life is not too long for hopping from one person to another and losing a part of yours each time. Because in the end, you may find yourself standing at the opposite pole of love and loyalty from where there is no way back. How much the world may advance, something shouldn’t be replaced in the name of modernity because they are most beautiful in the traditional way. Making love is one such thing. Traditional means I’m not saying about marrying a stranger and getting naked on the fourth night itself. I mean to say not leaving your values, keeping things slow, having faith in the process and not allowing your fidelity to slip away. If you gaze at a newborn baby deeply, you will realise how nature gifts to two people in love and why you shouldn’t treat your body and that of others so casually without being really in love with other. Contraceptives are meant to prevent population, not to hide the deeds you do in the veil of freedom. Now some will say that sex just happens. Maybe, you are right. But if it happens with multiple persons randomly, then you don’t deserve to be categorised under the most intelligent creation of God. Physical attraction is real and sex is a need. But these things shouldn’t be arbitrary. Kisses, cuddles and coitus shouldn’t be random. Because sex is not dirty. Your love restores your sanctity while losing your virginity. Sex is not just for fun. It brings a sense of responsibility in you. Sex is something hollow or nothing at all if it happens without promising all the romanticism of your heart to that person, without opening the sanctum sanctorum of your soul for that person. Adulting boosts you with the power to distinguish between what is wrong and what is right. Still in life, you meet some people in the field out beyond the idea of right doing and wrong doing. That is when, you should decide how long to stay and how long to travel. Because social and ethical boundaries are not always meant to cage you, but are sometimes meant to give you a chance to halt, observe and move in the right direction.
©ruchiabhisikta

I just wrote what I feel. You may disagree because views vary from person to person.

Periods

How period feels like-

1. For 2-3 days you are feeling weird physically and mentally. Suddenly you feel like you don’t deserve anything, none loves you, your life is nothing more than pain. And a minute later you feel like success is coming close to you, love and romance revolve around you, life is beautiful and magical. You feel a sharp pain in your stomach instantly. And after sometime a tingling sensation flutters in your lower half. You don’t understand what is happening to you. You question yourself about the contradictory state of your mind. You go to the toilet for a pee. Your eyes detect something on your underwear. Now you understand everything. Your question gets answered like “Oo, thatswhy”.

2. Some months you don’t ignore the signals your body gives you and direct your mind to have a look at the calender. So to get rid of the stains on your clean clothes and bedsheets, you take precautionary measures. When that measure yields result, you give a pat on your back thinking yourself wise and thanking destiny. And in some months, luck slaps you hard for not keeping a count on the rotation of the earth. When you wake up after seeing a dream by sleeping in bed, after enjoying a movie by lying on the sofa, after completing a task by sitting on the chair, you realise that the volcano has already erupted. And you become ready to spend some energy and time in the washroom to erase the marks.

3. As the flood under and storm inside begin to happen, you feel that Almighty has given all the disasters to women and celebrations to men. You feel like a male gets (12×5=60 days=2 months) more every year to study properly, to travel properly, to party properly, to eat properly and to live properly than that of a female. You feel victimised by the partiality of God. You ask why God why. You know the answer to that why. But the pain you go through during that time doesn’t let you remember the answer and smile.

4. You feel like a tractor ploughing your abdomen and a ridger moving on your thighs. Bending your limbs, squeezing your belly, you try every possible position that your body can make so that cramps can be curtailed a bit. Sometimes you feel like it is better to cut the lower half and throw it away rather than bearing the pierce of thousand needles on it.

5. In tv ads, you watch girls on their periods dancing, climbing, and playing so happily. You think that are those girls fortunate or you are unfortunate. Then you recall that the tint on their pads is blue and in yours it is red. You realise that Whisper can’t define how your body yells during this time, Stayfree can’t understand how fettered you feel during these days, Sofy can’t estimate how tough this period is and Paree can’t bring you wings to fly in this low phase.

6. When your body gives you the sensation of hell and you want an escape from that, you try to find some pleasure by watching comedy or cracking fun. But that too comes with another strange happening. The more you laugh, the more bubbles burst underneath. With every vibration in your body be it due to laughter, sneeze, coughing or hiccup, your pad weighs a little more.

7. The societal taboo regarding periods has also invaded our minds. Each time you are on your periods, you fear what if your dress gets tinted when you are in a public place. You remind yourself again and again not to wear light-coloured clothes. You ask your girlfriends to check everytime you stand up. In this 21st century, you still fear of being a matter of discussion, a subject of humiliation due to the blood on your dress.

8. How much emotionally stable and mentally matured girl you are, your mood becomes a pendulum during this period. You laugh, you cry. You push people away, you need them by your side. You wanna eat the whole world, you don’t wanna touch food. You don’t wanna talk, you wanna argue over silly things. You want to let out each bit of feelings that your heart holds, be it love, hatred, care, anger, frustration, everything. And you wish the other person to understand. Deep inside, you think that none understands actually. So you avoid interaction during this period. And the people who know you for long can sense a change in you these days.

9. Sometimes it feels like the most unbearable , yet unavoidable thing is having periods during your exam days. Even when your body feels like crumbling down and your mood swing is at its peak, you have to sit straight, study hard and write paper for hours. What hurts more is you can’t share this with others because they will consider it as the hype. Only you know your suffering and only you have to handle that. You feel like God is examining your strength and patience along with the academic exams.

10. You plan a vacation for some adventure and enjoyment. You plan to wear this and party like this for family function or college fest. You plan to celebrate a pooja fully. Theeeeeennnnnn….then this villain arrives along with its henchmen- pimples, cramps, badmood, weakness, social and religious restrictions. And now all your plans get destructed. You can’t delay the arrival of this villain also. Because you know that if you do so, then it will become more fierce in the coming months.

11. Sometimes on the 4th day, you see that redness in your pad decreasing in intensity and area. On the 5th day, you see your pad crinkling without any significant stain. So you pack the pads and keep them for next month. And on the 6th day when you go to the toilet, you feel like being deceived and fooled. Another process of washing, changing and affixing goes on.

12. When you are single, periods feel a lot like an uninvited guest. A guest who doesn’t fail to knock on the door on time, a guest whom you don’t want to intrude in your daily life. But the case flips when you are in a romantic relationship and you people make love. Then you sigh in relief on the timely arrival of this guest. Because now its presence stamps a confirmation and its absence indicates congratulation.

©ruchiabhisikta
Picture credits go to their creators.

Maa Upulei

My village deity🙏

Maa Upulei,
Before being aware of the glory of the Almighty, I had seen you and trusted you. If today I believe in superpowers, then this is because of the sanctity which you had sprinkled over that innocent heart who never knew how the world actually looked like. Change is an inherent property of time. Following that, you turned your oval face into a round one and made me turn into a big girl from a tiny tot. But in all these years, what had not changed at all is my firm faith in you. Till today, you feel like home to whom my thoughts return after being bruised and battered, after being triumphant and thriving. In childhood my heart accepted you as home because I used to think that some deities appear as guests in festivals, to some I visit on holidays and some reside so distant that only their photos are within my reach, but you were the one who always remained close without leaving. I still remember the days when before going to school, praying to you in front of the temple was a spontaneous routine and visiting your temple in the evening was a not-to-miss event. Not leaving a single flower unplucked in the plant just to elongate the garland for you a bit more was another level of satisfaction. Ringing your bell by jumping again and again was also a domain of happiness. Waiting for the mahastami feast throughout the year was a test of patience. Good marks were the best proof that you listened to my prayer “Bhala patha, bhala bidya, bhala budhhi dia”. With time, the distance came between my wish to see you and your appearance, but not between my devotion and your blessings.Telling bou to light a dia infront of you in my exam days was a customary ritual and you never let my faith in you extinguish. Then life threw many instances when my faith was put to test. From asking you those mugged-up wishes to standing in front of you blankly, life evolved and is still evolving. Sometimes it feels like you don’t listen to me anymore. It feels like you don’t consider me as your own child anymore. It feels like you are ignoring me as if I have done anything wrong. But everyday when I see you in my favourite gallery before sleeping and after waking up, it feels like you know everything about me, you are there with me always, and you won’t abandon me at any cost. I have not yet become able enough to gift you costly things like your other children do. But don’t you acknowledge my love, my devotion and my faith in you when I keep a flower for you, when I treasure you in my password, when I open your photo, when I take your name daily? If you do, then why don’t you reciprocate like before? Maa, you always give me confidence & courage with your vermilion and hope reaches my heart each time I see you, think of you and pray before you. I need your blessings everytime, maa. Can’t you give your child this much?

From,
A kid who seeks your presence by her side always
©ruchiabhisikta

Daddy’s little girl

Stars stop twinkling and the moon starts drowning in the ocean of emptiness
With the vanishing darkness, the sun rises

The whole city is wrapped with anxiety, delectation and cheer
As the most awaited festival Dussehra is one day near

The day which will burn all the sin, sorrow and pain
Life will be delighted with good health, wealth and happiness gain
With a golden opportunity to restart again

But after a sleepless night, that little girl is still sitting near the window of the clinic
With agony clogged mind tear flooded eyes & heart heavied with unending panic

Fully immersed in analysing-

If there is always victory of God over the devil
And good over evil
Then what is the mistake of her innocent soul
For which she is being dragged deeper and deeper into the suffering hole

Why so many obstacles in her mission to dream college!
Why is she being snatched away with all her confidence and courage!
Why the ten year long forecasted success now seems only as a mirage!

Ssssshhhh……halt to her dwelling in the past present future
When she only she is compelled to enter the operation theatre
Without her permanent armour, her mother and father

With the trembling first step on the o.t floor
Out of chocked tear conflated with fear her entire body starts to shiver

Within no minutes anaesthesia clothes her whole body
Because the doctor knows she can not see herself bloody

Now she becomes stagnant and feeling less
The only thing she perceives is swirling black lace around her face
For her is it Goddess Durga’s grace !!!???

After a long time, she listens doctor saying-
It is Almighty’s glory
Operation successful and now nothing to worry

When she opens her eyes
She sees a blend of joy and tears
In the face of her beloved father
Which she had never seen before
She promises at the moment at any cost not to hurt him further

The way the little girl loves her father and he values her
Defines the sacred relation between father and daughter
©ruchiabhisikta

Garbage gift

I don’t want to write it
because my brain is warning
my timid heart
not to travel back to the time
which still haunts me every night
which still mocks at me
pointing me as a fool,
not to remember that person
who don’t know the language of loyalty
for whom friendship is a tissue paper
destined to be used & thrown away
And I am listening to my brain
a lot nowadays
as if it is my sole guardian
which can make me smile again
concealing the cracks in my heart
The heart which has lost its power
to feel anything anymore
since the day he left
Still that shattered heart
is urging to visit
that dark forest of memories
meeting this prompt of today in Mirakee
which seems a lot like
an unwanted guest
to whom my brain is not
allowing me to open the door
But how can I stop myself
when the sound in my head
is getting louder each passing second
since this guest of Mirakee is standing
in front of the door of my conscience.
It was 18th December 2019
The day which was meant to be celebrated
as the mark of his first day of infancy
He was not my lover
He was the human
whom I wished to check & confirm me
if a person is right or wrong for me
to fall in love with,
whom I wished to share with me
each detail of his love story
He was the human who
made me feel like
none can understand me
better than him
& none understands him
better than me.
He was not my brother
He was the human
who compelled me to realise that
the words ‘care’, ‘protect’ & ‘trust’
are not limited to family only,
because of whom
I started believing that
friendship between a boy and girl
can be clear, forever & ethereal.
What’s the need for introducing
this person now
when my present is a world apart
from that of his
& he is no more a friend
not even a human in the dictionary of mine
but still, I keep his identity
safe as the scratch of my past
It was his first birthday
since the day when his presence
started elucidating my existence.
I was waiting for that day
the way a child waits for holi
the way a girl waits for raja
the way a student waits for Ganesh puja
the way a bride waits for karva chauth
the way a farmer waits for nuakhai.
No festival, no function has never been
so significant to me before
& then my excitement
of the preparation for his birthday
was no less than the way
a father’s energy in her daughter’s marriage
I betrayed my sleep for many nights
to adorn our memories
happy and sad
in tiny yellow papers
I used to pour my heart out
to colour those yellows with greens
The green which was the colour
of the emotions, he gifted me daily.
18th January 2019 was the day
when he invaded my little world
which rarely let any stranger enter
Those yellow papers were the
brave soldiers which protect
the thoughts about him every day
every day for exactly eleven months
without skipping a single day by fault
The pack of my papa’s Samsung mobile
turned out to be a boon
to my innovative mind for filling that
with the handwriting of my heart
& embellishing that with three layers
of coloured fancy papers
I waited for the sun to appear
instead of midnight wish,
to do my duty as a friend
without losing my tag of sanskari girl.
Finally, I gifted my treasure of eleven-month
to the person who was seeming a lot like
gift for me from the Almighty
This was not a mere gift
this was the garland of my gratitude for him
which I wanted him to wear
for the rest of his life
to know, to understand & to realise
how special he is on this earth
that every bit of his talk
every inch of his behaviour
is treasured in the box of infinity,
how indebted I am
for his every second
that he had spent
to listen to my rants
to share those of his.
I still remember he said
“You are such a bewitching devil.
I liked it.”
He gifted me a smile in return.
What could be a greater reward
than his smile
for all the efforts I had put
all these months!
Last year on his birthday
there was a 300 km distance between us
maybe 300000km distance
between his heart & that of mine
Gifting was no more an option
to elevate our bond then
Still, his birthday was
no less sacred & special
I went to the temple of Saibaba
to light a dia & devote a rose
wishing his happy life
& that night the candle of my trust
extinguished for the eternity
with the wind of his infidelity
My fingers can type nomore
because the water in my eyes
is capturing my phone screen now.
I used to write 5 feet long posts sometimes
& sometimes two-line quote
but every time the words were
worshipping him devotedly
I used to post them on Mirakee
when the world sleeps under the blanket of stars,
furnish them with slanted fonts
& tinted background.
I used to save them in my gallery,
delete before any other eyes trace them,
send them to him
& wait to be blessed with
his dandelions of appreciation
which were more valuable than
bouquet of compliments
that I might have received
if my words were read
by the thousand other eyes.
For two years I hid
the naive & unadulterated
progenies of my heart
And the pure & precious
gems of my intellect
from the whole world
& considered him as the
sole custodian of those possessions
I didn’t leave the writer in me
when I found him.
But when he left me
I found that writer, again
injured, yet indomitable.
©ruchiabhisikta

#I had written this piece 76 weeks back for a prompt on gifts. Read it again today and felt like posting here. I realised why do people often gift expensive watches. Because watches keep us in present and guide us for future. How dumb I was to think of gifting such a cheap useless gift and putting so much effort in it which was nothing more than a garbage! Today he asked me “Aren’t we friends anymore?”. I had a straight one-word answer to his question, but I didn’t answer. And today I was again questioned by others that why I had gifted that to him. I had a long answer ready to such a question, but I didn’t wanna answer.

Is it adulting!

My voice cracks, fumbling holds me back each time I tell her a lie
Amazon and Nile flow on my cheeks each time I want to hide, yet try to tell everything to him
That moment,
they know that I am not feeling well.
and I know that they are not feeling any better than me, just because of me.
Still, sometimes I can’t tell everything truth to her, sometimes I have to stay without saying him what I feel inside.
It’s a two-way perplexity.
They are in a place where all they can see is I’m still that kid whom they once taught to speak, to walk, to behave, to adapt the way of living.
And I am in a place where all I can think is “They can’t understand”, “It isn’t right to give any tension to them”
But it’s a fact that if I pluck all the problems from my mind and give it to them, all I will receive in return is a garland of solutions knitted in the thread of love.
But I always stand in between the “I should” and “I shouldn’t”
And I end up in hating myself a bit more for being a bloody immature who can’t handle her stuff by own by inhaling patience and exhaling  stress
& in loving myself a bit more for being born as their daughter
& in loving them much more for always treating their imperfect daughter as Abhisikta…
©ruchiabhisikta

Adulting comes with the caution of keeping things to yourself, away from your parents…

Aaj din chadheya

You are afraid of confessing your love to your special someone directly. And you also don’t want to tell indirectly through others. Your feelings are trapped inside your heart. Your throat gets choked with unsaid words. You feel helpless. You feel hopeless. You feel restless. You don’t find a way out to channelize those emotions that flood your heart, brain, soul, in fact your entire being. That is the moment when you remember & pray to the only one who has been your hope in the darkest of days, who has been helping you in the toughest of situations, in whom you have been seeking peace since time unknown – God. You pour your heart out infront of Him. “Aaj din chadheya” is that pouring, completely pure without an iota of adulteration.

//Aaj din chadheya Tere rang warga
Phul sa hai khila aaj din
Rabba mere din yeh na dhale
Woh jo mujhe khawab mein mile
Use tu lagade abb gale

Tenu dil da vasta
Rabba aaya dar digar ke
Sara jahan chhod chhad ke
Mere sapne sawar de Tennu dil da vasta //

When you love someone truly, your heart becomes a sacred place from where you start seeing beauty in small simple things. You start appreciating the creations of God a lot more than before. Now each morning brings color of hope for you. Your days bloom like flowers worshipping the glory of God. Your days become the amalgamation of moments, moments filled with the thought of your special someone. With love, automatically comes longing. Longing to be with your lover for a lifetime. You start dreaming of a life with him. You meet him in your thoughts. You talk to him inside your head. Spending hours imagining moments with him becomes your guilty pleasure. But you become unable to free the progenies of your heart. You surrender infront of the Almighty. Leaving the world behind, you come and knock on His door with the hope that he will manifest your dream into reality.

//Baksha gunaho ko Sun ke duaaon ko
Rabba pyaar hai
Tune sab ko hi de diya
Meri v aahon ko Sun le duaaon ko
Mujhko woh dila maine jisko hai dil diya//

How can a complaint sound so cute! You complain to God for doing justice to everyone except you. You see people committing thousand wrong deeds, still being blessed with the love of their lives. You wonder what’s sin of you. You have waited so long for someone. You have dedicated each inch of your heart to that someone. Still, God is not granting you what your heart desires. You question if love is for everyone, then why you are falling apart. You ask for justice. You plead. You plead to God to listen to your sigh, your prayer which reverberates in the name of that someone.

//Manga jo mera hai
Jata kya tera hai
Maine koun si
Tujhse jannat manga li
Kaisa khuda hai tu
Bas naam ka hai tu
Rabba jo teri itni si bhi na chali//

You will lie if you say that you don’t smile while listening to this stanza. You will lie if you say that you don’t feel a different kinda sensation while singing these lines. Love makes a person an innocent rebel. And this stanza reflects this statement the best. As we grow up, we tend to weigh our questions before asking them, we check the validity of our complaints before putting them infront of others. But can you do this infront of the Lord! You can bare your heart infront of Him without fear of getting judged. Because he listens to you even when you don’t say anything. So you don’t need to fake what you feel inside. The whole world is ruled by the supreme power of God. But now your innocence doesn’t stop you from blaming Him for not giving you your tiny share of happiness. The rebellious child inside you questions Him why He is reluctant to bless you with the person who is actually yours. You just want to unite with the person you love wholeheartedly. Is it too much to ask for! Is it too difficult to be bestowed by the supremo of the universe! You wonder.

//Chahiye jo mujhe
Kar de tu mujhko ata
Jeeti rahi saltanat teri
Jeeti rahe aashiqui meri
Dede mujhe zindagi meri
Tenu dil da vasta//

Do you pray to God before appearing an exam? Do you wish to be rewarded with good grades for your effort? Do you promise to God to offer Him garland, coconut or lightened diya if your wishes get fulfilled? At some point of life, every believer does this. And this is not bribe(laughs). This is all about faith, hope and gratitude. With each of our fulfilled wishes, our belief in God becomes stronger. With time, you become an adult from a kid. And when your heart finds home in someone, when it begins beating for someone, when you feel like you are totally into someone, all you wish for is your love to be reciprocated. Because you feel fortunate when the person you love, loves you back equally. Once you fall in love, you zoom the presence of your lover in your life and blur others. Eventually, you consider him as your lifeline and your life becomes synonymous with his companionship. His happiness, his sadness, his achievements, and his failures become yours also. You pray to God to bless you an eternity with that special person. And somewhere inside your heart, you know that God will answer your prayer oneday.

This song has the divinity to evacuate all the complaints from your heavy heart making it light and sparks a sense of belief in love, life & Lord. Each time you will listen to it, you can feel the purity of its lyrics a little more.
Hats off to everyone who has contributed to make this song soulful to a height immeasurable…
©ruchiabhisikta

Beautiful, yet scary

Feeling emotionally connected with someone is one of the most beautiful, yet scary thing one can ever experience in life. Be it with a friend, a colleague, a family member, a neighbour or lover. If you are a person whose mind is very flexible, then emotional connections are never burdening for you. Because the quote ” The only constant in life is to change” feels so light to you. But if you are a person with a sensitive heart, then the emotional connection is not just a two-word term for you. It’s the heaviest feeling that your heart is too afraid to carry. Because it knows it has to carry their weight for a lifetime even when they hurt like hell, it can not shed them completely just like the cool hearts & chilled minds do. And once an emotional connection is damaged, you build the wall around your heart taller than before. The courage you once showed by opening up your heart in front of someone, exposing your vulnerable side, and sharing your secrets has eventually made you too weak, too coward. The world perceives you as strong & brave because you handle all your problems on your own. Even sometimes you feel proud of yourself that you have become emotionally independent and none has any idea about what you are going through. But have you ever thought about how much cowardice you have accumulated inside by faking yourself brave outside! Have you ever thought about how long will you keep your feelings to yourself without sharing anything with anybody! Have you ever thought about how long can you keep your heart shut for everyone because of your bitter experience! Have you ever thought about how much injustice you are doing to yourself! I know you too want to be like those cool & chilled personalities and you hate that emotional sensitive side of yours. You want to run ahead. You want to meet new people. You want to connect to them. You want to listen to their stories & tell yours. But you become unable. You become unable how hard you may try. That pain of past buzzes in your head & pulls your heart back. That pain you felt when the friendship, the bond you had thought would last for a lifetime had broken to pieces. How can you forget those days when everything felt like an illusion! How can you forget those days when you were rewarded with brutal infidelity for your unquestionable trust! How can you forget those days when only pillow was there for giving you warmth & the shower for chill! How can you again believe that the world is good & humans are not bad! It is difficult. Infact it feels near to impossible. Because some days you feel like you had lost all your softness. And some days you backstep to connect to people with the fear of repeating the mistake. Isn’t this feeling contradictory? How can you be hurt if you think that you have turned into a boulder? The thing is that what you think of yourself is not right. You have not lost all your softness. You have not turned less humane. Dear, you have just transformed into someone better. But the best is yet to come. And for that, you have to learn from the past instead of grieving for that. Emotional connections are beautiful. They are really beautiful. You make them ugly, you name them scary, and you blame them just because of a bad experience or two. And in their shadow you forget to notice many other beautiful emotional connections because of whom you laugh, you cry, you feel alive. Life is a journey where you are meant to bump into people. But only with some, you will feel connected. Among them, some will stay & some will leave. So in anticipation of losing those who will leave, you shouldn’t lose those who want to stay, whom you want to stay. And dear, in this process of growing up, don’t evolve into someone who you are not originally. I mean to say, don’t be ashamed of your sensitive side, don’t try hard to crush it. Just be attentive & wise enough to not let anyone crush your dignity & peace.
©ruchiabhisikta

A grey childhood

That was the day
When my childhood
had seen the last rays of the sun
And that was the night
which buried my childhood
in the depth of darkness.
Today when my grandchildren
are playing patriotic songs
in high volume
wearing orange white & green dresses
my mind has become
the tape recorder
replaying the cassette of
that dreadful day &
nonplus night
And the photometry
of those eerie events
is flashing before
my eighty-five-year-old eyes
making them feel more helpless.

The clock was ticking at twelve
and maa was shouting at me
to have lunch,
but her voice
had no power
to make me run inside
and to stop me
from playing with my best friend Zarina
in the courtyard of our house
that red-bricked house
which was the tallest among
all the houses in our village.
My father who used to
call meetings often
& solve many disputes
on a cool note
was looking tensed that day
The sweats on his forehead
was completely in sync
with the anticipation in his voice
The paleness in the faces
of other villagers
were telling the tale
of some kind of anxiety
The discussion was sounding heavy
without any halt
like that of the atmosphere
during listening to a thriller
and forecasting the next twist.
Suddenly everyone got muted
when the radio started blaring
“India has been partitioned
into two nations.
Some parts of Punjab & Bengal
will fall in Pakistan.”
Although unable to understand anything
the eight-year-old kid in me
assumed everything
from the talks of the elders
that I was not going
play with Zarina again.
That evening,
the pond near our field
where I used to swim
bid me a goodbye
the banyan tree
in which I used to swing
was looking at me with teary eyes
until along with other elders
I disappeared from the land
which taught me to laugh while crying
to speak while fumbling
to walk while stumbling.
The refugee camp of Amritsar
became our destination
compelling us to begin our journey
in the path of uncertainty
tearing the darkness of night.
Maa, nani, chachi, didi
were walking slow
wearing the weight of
coins & jewellery stitched
in their blouses & petticoats
Papa, nanaji, chacha & bhai
were forwarding fast
being loaded with
swords & machetes.
Suddenly the sound of screams
penetrated my ears
and my eyes got stuck on
a gang of hooligans
approaching towards us
like a swarm of bees.
Before I could think anything
my mind became a black hole
listening to the shrill sound
emanating from nanaji’s mouth,
seeing the separated heads of people
who used to bring me candies
who used to feed me in their hands
who used to carry me on their shoulders
who used to squeeze my cheeks
to whom I used to meet daily
to whom I was listening a moment back.
Before that black hole in my mind
could have got filled with any thought
my ears heard some footsteps
coming closer
Imagining myself
being killed
those barbarous ruffians
I shivered inside,
but controlled my body.
I laid on the ground like dead
until those goons returned back
considering me dead
I was breathing faintly,
Faint enough to wake up
Waking up had no purpose
for me then
The child inside me was dead
Dead because there was none alive
who would pamper me like a child
The matured woman in me
bloomed that night at the age of ten
whose childhood was snatched away
in the soil smudged with
the blood
of her beloved ones…
©ruchiabhisikta

Bowing down before those brave souls because of whom today we are celebrating “Azadi Ka Amrit Mahotsav”🇮🇳🇮🇳🇮🇳🇮🇳🇮🇳

But we can never feel the pain of those who lost some precious parts of their lives due to the migration during partition of India. They may not feel the same excitement that we feel on 15th August. Because freedom is a word for which they have paid a price, immeasurable.

Makeup wala mukhda

When it comes to looks
Mirror measures the degree of your insecurity
But criticism tests the level of your confidence
To check the validity of the first statement, I have got ample time.
The 25-year-old mirror of our dressing table calls me pretty only on the days when the room is blessed with a new bar light. The mirror in the bathroom calls me prettier when I smile after soaking my tears. The mirror near the basin calls me the prettiest when I wash my face to discard sleepiness for performing my duty as a student. On the days when my vision collides with those beauty queens reigning over social media, I debar myself from facing the mirror. Because I don’t want to hate the design gifted to me by God. Sometimes compliments from friends, constant staring of boys, and kala tika of wellwishers try to eradicate that deep-seated insecurity from my mind, but they fail.
But insecurity is not synonymous to underconfidence. I realised it that day. I have been insecure about my looks since long, but that has never stolen the crown of Abhisikta. Because I strongly believe that dignity is something which is much beyond physical beauty. It comes from within. It comes when you restrict yourself from adopting vices, when you do things for the smile of others, when you breathe gratitude for the things you have in your life. And I am always happy that my babamami have instilled these things in my mind along with those genes contributing to my appearance. In the views of almost all my relatives, I am a well-mannered kid. Even some of those who haven’t interacted with me much consider me good just by weighing me as per the values of my babamami although I don’t have half of the goodness that they both possess. But that night concepts of some regarding me must have changed. That was the reception night of Dipuna bhai, my cousin brother. Leave about others, I had turned ill-mannered in the eyes of mine. I was unable to receive the guests with a customary pranam. I was unable to ask them “how are you?”. I was unable to express my happiness after seeing them after long. Infact I was unable to face them. I was not feeling like myself. The scolding I had heard & the criticism I had received from dear ones were more than enough to snatch away all the confidence from myself. Holding a smile on my face I was cussing myself for the decision I had made. The decision of trying to enhance my beauty with the skill of a makeup artist. The girl who doesn’t even wear kajal & lipstick had decided to experiment with herself by a makeup artist who beautifies many models & heroines. My decision was not irrational also when I had made it initially. Because I always feel inferior in functions looking at those gorgeous girls with sophisticated makeup when my adornment never cross beyond powder, babylips & bindi. And the frustration of not attending his wedding due to my exams had increased my excitement for his reception. That excitement had started fading with the repeated anger-filled calls of elders for getting ready quickly. The makeup of my newly married sister-in-law was not complete by then. And mine had not started at all. Still, the fool in me had a hope that he(MUA) would make me look beautiful with those branded beauty product he had brought. I don’t know what colours he & his sister-cum-assistant painted on my face. But in the end, he hyped that I was looking like a heroine & everyone would love my look. I looked at the mirror and the mirror looked at a dayan. It was already too late and I didn’t have time to interact with the mirror. But in that one-minute interaction, it told me “This girl is not you.” Still with courage(infact with no option & time left), I entered the venue. Mami asked me to wipe out my face as soon as possible. Baba had already told me in anger that I had no need to come there so late. Sibu mocked me saying that my face was looking like the buttock of an ape. Dila bhai commented that I could compete with a ghost. Some dear ones were asking me who had stained my fair face. Some near ones were asking me why had I applied those blue brown red stains on my face. Some known ones were just looking at me as if I was an alien. Dipuna bhai, Sunu bhai & Bapi bhai were assuring me that I was looking good & my discomfort was just because I didn’t have experience with makeup. Whatever it maybe, I was feeling so weird. My mood had turned completely off. Just to escape from people, I was pretending to be busy in my duty of being a cashier. I was unable to behave like who I am actually. In the end, I ate something & my mood lifted a bit. I did a video call to my bestie and she added her share of mocking by giving me a new name. The day ended with lots of realisations. Simplicity is the ultimate sophistication and a way better than makeup wala mukhda. I don’t understand how some people feel so comfortable & confident by dabbing so much makeup everyday. I was feeling extremely suffocated that night as if I had lost my originality somewhere. Anyways I experimented on myself, but it didn’t yield the desired result. And it will remain as a bad experience in my memory.
©ruchiabhisikta

Manasi ma’am

The no of times she made me admire her, a little more-

1. The no. of times she feels like the ray of sunshine piercing the darkness of a room:
   On the day of orientation when I had no idea that she is a professor was the first day my admiration for her burgeoned. By halting her work, she had come to show me the hall where the programme was going on. From that day to today, she had made me indebted multiple times with her generosity. Whatever may be the situation, students rush to her for suggestions. Being the guardian angel of the department, she always gives students courage, assurance & solutions by taking away their fears, anxiety & problems.
2. The no. of times she feels like a warm rug in winter:
   From attending online seminars of seniors to participating in the seminar of our batch, I fell in love with the way she defends her students by voicing out for them & by taking their mistakes on her shoulder.
3. The no. of times she feels like a wall clock:
   I have seen teachers flaunting their achievements and I agree that those things indeed inspire the students. But her way of inspiring is different. I have never listened to her talking about her own success. Instead, she talks about how her students are succeeding in their lives. Students may follow or not, but she never retires from her duty of providing books, notes & online resources.
4. The no. of times she feels like an evening prayer got answered:
   During last teachers’ day, I had written that we wish to be taught by her from four feet distance instead of the online class. But destiny had planned something better. To learn the core of genetics by sitting a few inches away from her was the best of knowledge I grabbed in postgrad. Being an introvert, I always find it difficult to lighten my doubts-loaded-head amidst the class. But in her lectures, she made it easy for me with her kindness, patience & intelligence.
5. The no. of times she feels like the sky one can look up to:
   She is a teacher who says not to stress about exams. She is a teacher who also checks the assignments too meticulously. Because she is the teacher who knows the thin line between strictness & discipline. She applauds for the effort of students openly. On the other hand, she also analyses the reason behind the students’ back door entry. She is a teacher who knows how to be student-friendly without crossing the line of official decorum.
6. The no. of times she feels a lot like maa Parvati & a lot more like maa Lakshmi:
   Her bangles & bindi tell the tale of how proudly she carries the grace of a married woman. But I admire the way she thinks that a woman’s individuality shouldn’t be pressed under the weight of patriarchy. When she explained that there shouldn’t be mention of Mrs. after Dr., I got to realise how loving to hang as an apostrophe after the name of your beloved person & living with own identity can be complementary, not contradictory as society misinterprets.
7. The no. of times she feels like a synonym of responsibility:
   Her cuteness flourishes a lot more when she does braid in her short hair and each time she wears a new dress, her beauty enhances like a fresh bud. But the day we complimented her for that, she told us how she had toiled for the entire day due to official work & how someone’s face glows with the satisfaction of doing her work properly.
8. The no. of times she feels like a podcast having content for all moods:
   Be it a lecture on genetics or gyan on life, her voice can cast a soothing spell on the soul. Stuffed with so much sweetness, her words seem plumper with knowledge. And they stay in the mind of students for a long. But when students are in a mood to chill, she never denies to cancel the class.
9. The no. of times she feels like a toddler in her fifties:
   In a meeting, if you offer her tea, then she indicates you to treat other teachers first. In her chamber, she makes sure not to enjoy the cup of refreshment alone, but convinces her students to sip some. But this lady who is filled up to the brim with maturity, sometimes lets the kid in her come out. The day when she told us her love affairs with rain & tea, when she expressed her joy on getting an extra tea just like a kid turns overhappy with an additional toffee than expected, she made us realise how a tiny teacup of ten bucks can extract her million dollar smile.
10. The no. of times she feels like the colour of ruby, blood & fire:
    Her face is home to her beautiful smile. But sometimes frown also visits as a guest. Unadulterated emotions reflect on her face & voice so clearly that one can draw the picture of her mood instantly. She advises us to give liberty & to control emotions according to situations. Her persona is a bowl of kheer in which you can also come across cardamom sometimes.
11. The no. of times she feels like an equal sign validating & normalising emotional outburst as a human nature:
    Others watch the tears in eyes & break in voice. Mothers notice movement of eyes & motion of throat. She is a mother. She masters this art & her art reflects even in front of the children who call her ma’am. I get astonished at how magically she understands the storm before rain & the silence before thunder.
12. The no. of times she feels like a moment yet to cherish & memory with no expiry date:
    There are many times when she had made me remember my favourite miss & favourite guruma of school days for whom I used to make the best greeting card, to whom I used to present the best pen.

I am not that school-going Abhisikta anymore. But I am still that Abhisikta who has a lot of things to say, but often fails to express them. So this is a draft to save all those realisations Manasi maam had gifted me all these days.
©ruchiabhisikta

O sayyoni

The most beautiful part of love is trying to unwrap every layer of each other’s personality and accepting each other completely. The excitement that flutters inside the heart to discover the shades of your special person is something that makes you impatient. Knowing and understanding someone inside out is the point where love burgeons and it has no endpoint. The more time you spend with a person, the better you know him/her. You crave that more time, yet your curiosity compels you to seek an instant answer. “O sayyoni” describes the concealed beauty of asking questions of your heart and seeking answers from the mouth of your beloved, the answer you already knew a bit and wish to find it entirely on your own.

Puchh rahi hai meri justazoo
Kya hai tu
O sayyoni o mitwa
O sohneya o mitwa
O sayyoni o mitwa

How do you feel when someone says “Hi beautiful” or “Hi handsome”! I think you blow that in the wind of laughter. But tell me… Don’t you blush & smile unknowingly when your special someone addresses you like that? You do. It happens because compliments from others may sound cliche to you, but the same words from your beloved reverberate in your mind for the umpteenth time. Soulmate, sweetheart, darling, lifepartner are the words you find too fancy until a person makes you feel like these with his/her simple act of love, respect & care. Words from the mouth of your beloved go straight to your heart.

Tu hai jaise koi paheli
Jo na suljha paaye dil
Aaj hoke mujhse rubaru
Bata bata bata kya hai tu

Every person in this world is a paradox. And you are not an exception. Your set of behaviour is also a puzzle. But not all will see it and the majority of those who see it won’t try to solve it. Because you don’t show all of your being infront of everyone. You fear of being judged. You fear of being misunderstood. And one day a person comes in your life who puts all the effort to explore each nook & corner of your heart. You may look sorted from outside to everyone. But that person will notice how messed up you are from inside. That person will want to walk miles holding your hand, to gaze at stars sitting by your side, to stand with you in all highs & lows so that s/he can gather each bit of you & accept the whole you. S/he has all the patience to do all these. Still, S/he will ask you about you innocently & impatiently “Bata bata bata kya hai tu”

Tu kabhi sonpari
Tu kabhi desi girl
Tu kabhi teekhi miri
Tu kabhi meethi honey
Bata bata bata kya hai tu

Who doesn’t love fairytales! I think many of us do. And most of the girls may say it or not, but secretly they crave to be treated as fairies. At a moment she wishes to wear a long fluffy gown, to fly in the sky of freedom, to do whatever her heart desires. But next moment she turns into a desi girl who is much more comfortable in her dailywear, who is ready to sacrifice her freedom for the sake of her family, who puts the happiness of her beloved ones above herself. A girl knows well how to behave according to the situation. Sometimes she tells you all the harsh words & makes you feel like the victim of her anger. Sometimes she evacuates all the love of her heart & gives that to you without any condition, without any expectation. Hot pepper tastes meagre in front of the anger of a woman & honey can’t compete with the sweetness a woman’s heart holds. Observe a woman minutely. You will know.

Tu kabhi mast magan
Tu kabhi chhaila sajan
Tu kabhi tezz hawa
Tu kabhi mehka pawan
Bata bata bata kya hai tu

When a man is in love with you, he will be the happiest when you are around him. Because your presence elucidates his existence. When any other guy stares at you for long, compliments you too much, proposes to you, tries to impress you, you name it flirting and try to avoid. But when he does the same, it becomes a bouquet of happiness for you which makes you crave more and more. A man in love sometimes behaves so unpredictable to do anything out of blue just to surprise you. Sometimes his actions feel like a strong wind that can blow away all the dust from your mind & can also gather all the dust in your mind. But sometimes he feels like a fragrant breeze which soothes the heart and soul to the core. You will get perplexed over his personality & will fall in love with him more.

Baadal mein chand jaise pyara lage
Vaise pyara mujhe yaar lagta hai tu
Pyari mujhe bhi lagti hai tu
Lekin badi tezz taraari hai tu

If your girl is a selenophile, then be assured that she will love you with all your ups & downs. She will handle all your mood swings. She will accept your flaws. Amidst the crowd, she will choose you everyday. Because she has already loved the moon before. And she knows how much the moon may change its attire, it will never stop giving her its compassion & coolness. Among the floating clouds, she sees the beauty of the moon which is synonymous with permanence for her. Beauty of a woman enhances manifold when it gets complemented with wisdom. Because today’s era demands a woman to become wise. A woman understands the thin line between being emotional & being fool. So when you praise a woman for the beauty of her face, figure & heart, then don’t forget that she has a brain also.

Tu kabhi gudd ki dali
Tu kabhi neem chadhi
Tu kabhi khilta kanwal
Tu kabhi kachchi kali
Bata bata bata kya hai tu

When you love a woman, then be ready to dip in her sweet talks sometimes & to swallow her bitter words sometimes. In her painful days when the moodswing is at its peak, then gift her some chocolates to balance the bitterness she throws at you. Adjectives may seem superficial. But metaphors are a deep way of appreciating someone. Using a metaphor for someone tells how that person invades your thought even when you look at other things. When a woman truly loves you, you can see her both soft & strong side. Sometimes she becomes a kid infront of you making you tolerate all her mischief. And sometimes she becomes an age-old granny giving you gyaan about life. But you will fall in love with both of her sides. Because be it an open lotus or a raw bud, both are beautiful in their own way, in their own time.

Tera mera silsila hai ghazab
Jaane kahaan humko le jayega
Yeh to jahaan bhi le jayega
Lekin deewana humko kar jayega

Many times we feel like nomads being unaware of our final destination. But when love flourishes in your heart, you become a traveller enjoying the journey. Thousands of fears jingle inside your mind. The fear of falling out of love, the fear of not being accepted by society, the fear of being a victim of cruel destiny, and the fear of not being together till the end. You don’t know what the future has in store for you both. But the only thing you know is that this love will make you learn how to live. You may end up being together or not, but this journey will tag you as a lover, a person who has the courage to share the precious emotion of heart with someone.

Tu kabhi sapna lage
Tu kabhi apna lage
Tu kabhi laad kare
Tu kabhi mujhse lade
Bata bata bata kya hai tu

Have you ever felt condradictory emotions for the same person? I mean while talking to that person, you feel like you have known each other for ages. You feel a special kind of connection. That person feels like an inseparable part of your own. But sometimes the same person feels like a dream with whom you have no relation in reality. The person who feels the closest at a time, seems too distant sometimes that you feel like you can not reach that level. Pampering and fighting are the ingredients of love. But one should realize which is needed in what proportion. A person seems caring when he pampers you. But you name the same person as rude when he fights with you. And you get confused regarding the true shade of his personality.

Arrey ab to bata kya hai tu
Tera aashiq aur tu
Arrey woh to baad mein bataungi

This is the cutest part of this song. When a man gives single one word answer to all the subjective questions of a woman & seeks answers from her, then she climbs another stair of playfulness. Because she wants to see his desperation and patience at the same time. She makes him wait for more. She doesn’t answer because she wants him to uncover her heart layer by layer on his own and she never gives that chance to everyone.
Pawandeep & Arunita have stuffed so much magic in this song that you can’t stop yourself from replaying it again & again.

©ruchiabhisikta

Mami for baba

Contribution of Mami in the life of Baba

1. He gifted her vermilion & she made him God. She became his ardhanginee & he turned her pati parameswar. How it feels to be God for your special one & an ordinary human for the rest of the world!

2. Accepting his mother as own mother, his brothers as own brothers, his sisters as own sisters, his family as own family must not be an easy task for Mami. But the ways she does everything for his family by treating them as own blood shows how much she loves baba to protect his dignity in front of others.

3. If being a father is a proud feeling for manhood, then Mami stamped him with this pride.

4. If his job is pizza, then her job is topping. Being a working woman, she assists her man in feeding the family.

5. She brews sugarless tea. She fries veggies with almost no oil. She puts less salt in curries. Because for her, his health is more important than his compliment. Her love is the secret ingredient that makes food tasty & makes him finish the plates.

6. From serving him food in time to preparing tiffin for his office, from washing his clothes to ironing them, from colouring his hair to massaging oil on his shoulder, she never retires from her duty of taking care of him.

7. Her fidelity makes him discuss every matter with her without any second thought. Her opinion makes him reach the point of the correct decision.

8. She waits a lot, she waits too long for him. Her patience dazzles with her devotion for him when she waits for him to come home to sip tea together even if tiredness flutters in her body & mind, when she doesn’t sit in the dining until he comes to eat after calling for ten times.

9. Mami always says to me & Sibu that it’s ok if we hurt her. But she warns us to never hurt baba. These are not mere words of her, these are the beads of her reverence for him.

10. From reminding him to take mobile before coming out to reminding him to take medicine before going to bed, She acts as a reminder that buzzes in his ears from time to time.

©ruchiabhisikta

Priceless P.G.N

P.G.N PUBLIC SCHOOL

Sometimes I get too tired.
Too tired of learning the language of maturity
Of counting the hours, days, months & years to reach my goal
Of drawing the graphs of my success & failure
Of understanding the science behind how strong efforts get subsided by mere luck
Of squeezing by wings just to fit into the society.
Too tired to organize my perplexed present
Too tired to foresee my fancy future.
Then I just go back to the point where I had started.
That point when all I wished in my life is not to go to school.
But that wish faded gradually, happily & fortunately. And Maa Upulei(my village deity) answered the prayer of my parents. I started going to school without the application of any physical & mental force. How many teachers may come into my life, the teacher who still tops the list & pops in my mind first on teachers’ day is Jublee nana( Kalpana miss). My mother says if Jublee nana was not there, then my feet might not have touched the soil of educational institutions. I wish I could tell her this when last year Jublee nana asked me till when I will send gifts to her on teachers’ day. Gratitude for the first formal teacher of your life can never end and she was my first.
For the initial two years, my academics was moving so slow. How much my score might have soared in other subjects, drawing used to pull me down as much as it could. Later when people started appreciating my art & tagged my hand as artistic, remembering those days of my life always gave me a reason to never take credits on my own, but to give all those to Maa Saraswati & Chai nani.
After standard 1, the sincere student in me got birth. The result of listening in the class with full attention & completing homework with high interest started reflecting in the progress report. Success in scholarships & class exams used to water my love for studies. How good were the days when studies were more about reading, writing & enjoying and less about revising, analysing & memorising! Sometimes a memory of the class 3 scholarship exam pops up in my mind to make me realise what a poor student I was in the veil of a topper. Amidst that exam, I had come outside the hall to attend nature’s call. Bidu miss was standing there & asked me if there was any question which I didn’t know. I asked her “Which organism is known as a farmer’s friend?” Now whenever I mug up the fertilizer names & doses, my mind travels back to that incident. From going to school in baba’s scooter to returning home in overloaded Ramesh uncle’s auto, time flew so fast.
Today when I have become excessively choosy about allowing someone to enter into the friendship chamber of my heart, some kids are still staying there effortlessly without exiting. Those kids, to whom I can proudly & confidently call baspan ka dost. Mama, Sona, Kittie, Bitu, Tanu.
I don’t know how that tall girl got an easy entry into my tiny world. From sitting together in class to going for pee together, from gifting the best greeting card to her on the new year to saving her photos in my album, from attending her uncle’s wedding to her visits to our home, from sharing secrets with her to using her green gel pens, I never realized when I tagged Mama as the first best friend of my life.
Nowadays when I & Sona discuss complex life happenings in a low voice so that no other ears can listen, then the days when we used to gossip endlessly in the auto while travelling, when we used to play bride groom game for hours on the terrace flash before my eyes.
Sometimes when Kittie comes to our village, our front yard becomes the kitchen where we used to play with our toy cooking kits. Once I was trying to taste the ketchup manufactured by my nose & from the side she shouted “Ehhheee”. The awkwardness of that moment is now a memory that always makes me laugh.
Once upon a time, I had let a lefty guy sign first although his serial was in second. That day I learnt signature means writing your name, not drawing those difficult curves in red pen like the teachers. Bitu was that jealous guy mocking me when I was distributing chocolates after scholarship results. He was that kanjoos guy who used to come with a small number of toffees on his birthday. I have seen his innocent avtar in PGN to flirter avtar in BJB. But whenever I talk to him, no sense of discomfort is felt. Maybe in him, I still see that kid with a white shirt & maroon half pant singing Radha sundar ki Meera sundar.
From running after him with Sona to make him sit between us to hating him for his good scores earned with the help of copy & partiality, I must have understood the concept of Tanwir Alam Khan. Maybe thatswhy, I have not yet forgotten the cuteness of that face & voice although it has been more than a decade of not meeting him. But from people, I listen that the old concept of Tanu has been changed since long.
I remember Ashirbad as the kid who knew about the neighbouring countries of India better than me. Maybe, since that day I had developed the bad habit of referring to multiple books for a single thing, the habit of which I am still trying to get rid of.
Those moments of sharing the tiffin box with him & revising the syllabus with our moms during midbreak in the time of the 5th class scholarship exam have been wilted a lot in my conscience, but they can never be dead. Because Chandra is meant to wax & wane, but never vanishes completely.
Lisa remains in my PGN diary as that villain girl who used to snatch all the mysore pak & dates of my tiffinbox. Lemme tell one encounter with her which still makes me think how evilness was not an antonym of innocence during childhood. Once she had given me a 50 paisa greeting card in which the portrait of a heroine was there. Seeing that, I had drawn a similar portrait on a paper. After that, we had a fight due to some reason. Then she had asked me to return her that greeting card & to tear the portrait that I had drawn claiming that as her property. What a cute kinda evil she was!
Sometimes the faces of that chubby kid Jyotiska, naughty kid Omkar, dropping eyed kid Aswin, shy kid Abhishek, romeo kid Kamal, girlish kid Chandu, dormant kid Bichitra, tall kid Rajkishor, silent kid Aditya & not-much-known kid Manoj & Nishikant appear & disappear in my memory canvas in a flash to make me realise that strangers are not always the people whom we have never met before. It becomes tough to believe that the complaining girl from hospital, Sai & the brown haired girl from UP, Khusboo have become too big to take the responsibility of vermilion. The names, Rupali, Barsha, and Pooja feel like those dusted furniture in the storeroom which you have not used since time immemorial, still, you don’t discard them.
I miss the time when extra hours of study don’t feel like a burden. The memories of those extra classes during summer when we used to make bouquets out of leaves to gift miss, when we used to play that doodle & identify game, when we used to give our all to finish a math fast, when we used to search for cashewnuts in the nearby orchard when we used to see each other in casual dresses, still smell so serene. And I think that aroma will linger longer.

From misinterpreting Sunita miss as a serious coldblooded teacher to hiding my tears on her last day in school, I must mention her as the first favourite teacher of my life, the teacher for whom I had developed a soft corner for science.
I still smile remembering the times when I used to feel so happy after getting more love & attention from Minakshi miss, when I used to crave a crisscross knotted sandal like that of Mamta miss, when I used hate Mandakini miss for punishing me so hard for not bringing handwriting copy.
An ear to ear curve gets painted on my face when I remember the time when I used to think that Kaali miss loves my brother more than she loves me. Because she used to paint on his forehead, but never on mine. Maybe I can never forget that happiness of meeting her & getting toffees from her on the day she visited school after marriage!
I don’t know how they must have been looking now. I don’t know if age would have cast its spell on their appearance or not. All I know is Jullie miss will always remain as beautiful, Maami miss as cute, Tilottama miss as active & Bidu miss as lean in my conscience. Days with Mita miss, Mami miss & Ranjan sir were too low, but I used to consider them as mamughar wala miss & sir.
How can I dare not remember about that old man with bald head & white uniform! The man who made me mug up the definition of science & taught the cursives. And when it comes to him, how can I turn a blind eye to his left hand, Purna sir!
Sometimes instead of gratitude, hatred develop in our mind for the persons who do a lot for us. And we realise that thing later. Guni aunty is such a person to me. I used to think her as an evil witch. Then, I had never appreciated her small acts of kindness, how she used to stuff my mouth with food despite my unwillingness, and how she used to clean my vomiting multiple times. Maybe it was her duty & she got paid for that. But somewhere I felt that she must not have done these for me with so much care if she didn’t have love for me in her heart. Anyways, Nirupama aunty was a sweet lady.
Annual function during that time was all about putting loads of powder on the face, wearing a cute costume & performing some crammed dance steps. The best part of sports day was to compete for more Glucon-D & to squeeze orange peels on the eyes of friends. Saraswati pooja was revolving around bhoji & independence day was a synonym of seobundiaa.
How much I might have blamed the school for not having a good toilet, but I must say that searching for dry sand & investing the surrounding before peeing was a different kind experience. Those cravings to occupy the playground slide & swing were never satiable to the full extent. And being a silent kid, I used to struggle more than others to get a chance. I still visualise that garden in middle, that connecting slope, that gate, those stairs, and those classrooms, each time I walk down the memory lane.

Sometimes that last day in PGN knocks on my conscience. Even today, I can literally hear Ranjan sir saying “Kuade jibu ba tu?”(Where are you going?) & Bidu miss saying “Haire kanduchu na kan?”(Hey, Are you crying?). Six years in that school & fifteen years of not visiting that again. But nothing doesn’t seem too much distant, too much old about PGN till today. Whenever I cross that road, I do a futile attempt to peep into the school. And if some new people are there with me, I never forget to tell them that my first school is here.

I wanted to recollect the point where I had started studying. And look, I ended up writing this long. Anyways, nostalgia is real & beautiful.
©ruchiabhisikta

Ek chutki sindoor

His fingers painted dawn
on the night of her scalp
Redness embellished her mid parted hairs
& a forever got written on their foreheads
The destiny sang
From the moment on…
His gaze will be her grace
Her smile will be his sustenance
His arms will be her waistband
Her heart will be his weapon
He will pair her strength
She will repair his weakness
She will be known by him
He will be owned by her
She will be his lady in love
He will be her partner for life
They will walk together
for eternity & beyond.

Bestie with boyfriend

Things that come to mind when I see my best friend with her boyfriend-

1. They look adorable together. May their togetherness emit elegance like this when her face will become a canvas for wrinkles & the canopy above his head will undergo autumn.

2. Gone are the days when I used to top her priority list. I fear one day even my “best friend” tag will be snatched away from me & will be affixed beside his name. I fear one day she will confuse her boyfriend as a synonym of best friend.

3. A gap has been formed between what she feels, what she says & what I understand. My zero practical experience in bf gf kinda relationship isn’t letting me completely see her as the girlfriend of someone. Sometimes my idea bank is deficient enough to decode her choked throat, muted lips, swinging mood & raining eyes.

4. Being a lover of permanence, my mind dangles with lots of what-ifs. What if his love is a whiff meant to evanesce one day, what if her devotion, her faith will be hammered one day, what if their families won’t embrace their love with open arms, what if destiny will play a devil role, what if this love will leave my best friend broken one day!

5. Now my conscience denies me to crack jokes at cosy couples in front of her, to share memes regarding nibbas nibbis with her. I dread if she will mistake my humour for sarcasm & will get connected to it.

6. He loves her Priti for the way he breathes. But their love story isn’t “Kabir Singh” meant to be shown, their love story is named “Pripta” meant to be lived.

7. Medical college is the temple where they worship their profession as well as love. People will see Gods in them as well as bless them. May they gather so much blessings that they will be always able to cure each other’s wounds that world can’t visualise.

8. Thoughts. Thoughts. Go away. Let me imagine their marriage. Let me plan what to gift them. Let me browse the things that will make me look the prettiest when my bestie will become the bride.
©ruchiabhisikta

Word & Punctuation

The world calls me caring
when I continue as a comma

The world calls me possessive
when I hang as an apostrophe

The world calls me decisive
when I stand as a full stop

The world calls me shy
when I wear an ellipsis

The world calls me wise
when I blink as a semicolon

~Punctuation

People name me metaphor
when I make the replacement alluring

People name me simile
when beautifying a comparison becomes my passion

People name me oxymoron
when I join the east with the west

People name me personification
when I love to humanize anything & everything

People name me hyperbole
when I get adorned with exaggeration

~Word
©ruchiabhisikta

Smearing yoghurt

Saga of my interaction with that semi-known stranger was something like this.

1. The night before I texted him, my mind had turned into a pendulum oscillating between should & shouldn’ts. Some Quora solutions were dragging me towards the north & some towards the south. Suggestions of Nirlipta, Ellora, Tanisha, Sweta didi & Banaja were dipping me in the pool of perplexity. Even my nervousness projected me to the height of horoscope. In the morning, I chanted the names of all the deities I worship & the mantras I know. Finally putting a fullstop to my confusion & without drawing more question marks on my decision-making ability, my thumb did an adventure on the land of the keyboard.
2. I know that appearance is deceptive. But when you try to defend yourself by searching for faults in other person, you definitely find some. Maybe that was the case when I had seen his photos for the first time. His pose & his expression had already made him a tempered & serious man inside my head. But this time his speed of accepting my friend request & the humour in his comment box made me somewhat convinced that my interpretation might be wrong then. This gave me some courage to do what I wanted to do at the moment, by closing the guidebook of right & wrongdoing for sometime.
3. I wanted to irritate him so that I could know the threshold of his coolness & weight of his ego. But he was smart enough to deal with my absurd criticism. Neither he bowed down nor he argued. Instead, he exposed my Instagram illiteracy. But that didn’t feel like an insult. He conveyed that in a familiar manner, just in the way a friend makes fun & a brother teases. My idea of censuring him acted as a boomerang.
4. I don’t know if mami was an ardent fan of him or she was trying to lure me. But she used to praise him a lot as if she had known him for ages. That had sown some anger in my mind. But that anger had never burgeoned into my anxiety. That just remained dormant for a year & half. But now all I wanted to do is to prove mami wrong. An evil idea struck in my head at a point of time. I thought to take screenshot of the photos where he had sat cosily amidst girls. So that they can be used as evidence when mami will tell me about any guy. Then I can tell her that you are choosing such people for me & describing them as good. Later I realized that this thought was not my wickedness, but my foolishness. Because if I do so, I will be questioned how I recognised this guy as mami had never shown me his photos. But I came across them by chance while scrolling her phone.
5. After talking to him as a stranger, fear & guilt invaded me so much that I was unable to sit near my study table. I was immersed in hundreds of what-ifs. What if he also knows me the way I know him! What if he will know about it one day!What if one day someone will do the same thing with me that I did with him! But telling him the truth had more danger associated. What if he will think that I sent him request to stalk his profile! What if he will assume that I am interested in him! What if he will consider me as a badass! What if he will tell these to others! What if babamami will know about it someday! A feeling of shiver. An end to all the anticipations. And the conclusion was that there is no need to tell the truth to a person whom I don’t know properly.
6. Next day the storm of guilt hit me again. I opened the notes & wrote whatever was there in my mind. I told him everything. I was expecting that a stranger would keep this secret safe & would not judge me. I liked the way he understood this normalcy of the human psyche. But he must have got annoyed with my ignorance towards his questions. I had already said him many things for the sake of lightening the burden of guilt from my head. And I didn’t want to disclose anything more. At that moment, I just wanted to block him & end this thing there itself with the hope that God will save me.
7. After all these things happened, a slight change in the behaviour of babamami started scaring me & bombarded me with many suspicions. But somewhere my instinct had a belief that he was not that cold-blooded to put me in trouble. Still one day another surge of fear crashed me & made me crave a confirmation that he had not told anyone anything. This time, he didn’t respond even after my pleading, asking & apologizing. My trick of ignoring his questions backfired me. I had no option other than vomiting the answers one by one. Anyways, his assuring words lessened my panic a bit.
8. Somewhere I had listened that he is a relative of Kittie. But I was not sure about the exact bond between them. And this thought had not struck in my conscience before talking to him. When he said that Kittie is his sister-in-law & he could have asked her regarding me if he wished to, I was like whaaaaat. I was interrogating myself if there is a way back from this point. Although I was neck dipped in nervousness, curiosity & naivety took a toll on me. And made me ask & tell him some more idiotic things.
9. We often see that handwriting of doctors are the inked curves which are too tough to be traced back. But he just types the texts so clear without any abbreviation. Even he elongates the ellipsis, a little more.
10. Today when I was introspecting if I actually committed a blunder by talking to him, I didn’t find what was wrong with it. It was all about my fears, fear of being judged, fear of being blamed, fear of lowering the prestige of my parents. Nothing more, nothing less. In fact, I found some kindness in that person with crossed arms & serious no smile face. I got to know that the person who looks like a roadside robber wearing red shirt & black goggles also looks like a gentle human in black and blue. Before, I had remembered him as a nasty guy for whom my baba had once got angry with me & my mami had not talked to me for a day or two. Now I can call him a known-cum-unknown person with whom I had a conversation once upon a time.
    ©ruchiabhisikta

I have titled this post “Smearing yoghurt” because talking to him glossed my audacity just the way smearing yoghurt on the face cleanses it.
Hehe. Just kidding.
I picked up this title so that I can remember his complex name as long as my tibia fibula stay strong.

🤐The beautiful compliments he gifted me are-

“I have seen many deaths. But I am unable to see a ghost till date. Maybe that gap will be filled if I see you.”

“Your maturity level has not even attended nursery. Inorder to prove your parents wrong, you are playing cheap little nasty tricks on me. You are on a whole new different level in assassinating my character. You have a sick mentality. You are a nibbi. You always seek acknowledgement.”