It’s said, an art is best done when the you really feel about something. A guitarist plays his best notes, an artist paints his best painting or a singer composes his best song when he is strongly motivated by something. Love. What word is it? A simple four letter word which brings out the best of emotions in you. When I used to write earlier, I didn’t have to think much. And today, it’s hard to even think about a topic. I have to stop after each and every sentence. It’s like a a person who stammers at his words. He knows what to say, but he is unable to express it.

When people are in love, everything is different. A friend of mine used to hate my writing because each piece was about one single person. But, somehow, writing used to give me a different sense of pleasure. Poems, stories, articles, you name it, and it didn’t seem a difficult task. Today, it’s cumbersome to even think of writing. Somehow, I am clinging to keep the dying spirit alive.

It is the sense of freedom that I have long lost. The feeling is gone and I am here writing shitty, random things. Maybe it doesn’t matter or maybe it does. How does one justify it? When you are in love, you are motivated by everything what the person does. You want to keep listening to them, remembering the memories again and again. You love everything about them. The good things. The bad ones. You love being cared by them. The feeling that someone is there by your side. Listening to you. Caring about you. Thinking about you.

Somewhere, I lost that feeling. All that is left is a void. People say I have become emotionless. And so have my writings too. I used to enjoy writing. The feeling is gone. I rarely get sad or happy now. And, as a matter of fact, I can’t help it. But then I meet someone someday and the same feelings come rushing by (life_fucked). The fear of going through everything is so overwhelming that I start running away from them. I am even afraid to be honest to myself.

I realise, I really need to stop writing. Putting random thoughts does injustice to what writing meant for me. Maybe someday, the motivation will be there again. To feel for someone, to overcome the fear. For the time being, you have to bear with my random thoughts.

That’s how life is. 🙂


A familiar road?

I rose up to see the morning sun,
Somehow the rays didn’t feel bright the way they used to,
The evening breeze couldn’t force the calm as usual,
Rains somehow failed to show some magic new

A face kept lingering in memories,
When I had thought it was too old to remember,
A pain kept coming rushing by,
With its echoes becoming less dimmer

With a vow to find a happy place, I left,
Never to fall on the roads I had long ago embraced,
The spirit got stronger and so did the promises,
Some memories flew down and some got erased

But fate has a way to mock the vows,
When promises don’t matter and neither do the pain,
Somehow the road I feared to tread, met me,
And I fell, once again.

5 states

I have been living away from home for more than 7 years. I was 16 went I left for Kota, a coaching hub for engineering entrance exams. Since then, Telangana is the fifth state where I would be going to stay. I stayed in Rajashthan for 2 years, Jharkhand for an year, Goa for four years and Karnataka for around six months.

Every place taught me a different thing. And every thing has added to a set of experiences. Each have been great in its own way. Today I had one such experience, though small, but one that I will surely remember.

It has been 5 days since I came to Hyderabad for my first job. I met my friends today and it got late while coming back to the place where I am staying. I took an auto and when I reached the place, I asked him how much I should give him. He said ‘Bhaiya jo aap sahi samjho.’ I have had bad experiences with cabs and autos overcharging people. But somehow this guy was different. It was 11 in the night and it was a shared auto, so I thought 20 bucks would do it. I gave him a 50 rupees note and instead of returning me 30 bucks, he accidentally gave me a 50 rs note instead of a 10 rs note. It was dark and by the time I realised he had given me the wrong note he had started his auto and moved a bit ahead. I went running to him and returned him the note.

It was a small thing for me, but I realised how much it mattered to the auto guy. He couldn’t stop thanking. I said it was his money, why he should thank me. He thanked me one last time, and gave me his number and asked me to call me if I needed help here.

I realised how they work all day to earn and how even losing a penny affects them so much. The relief on the auto guy was more than enough to bring a smile. Somehow, these small things give so much of happiness.

Hyderabad, finally feeling home.
I will survive. 🙂