Tangent

 

The sun outside has taken shelter behind a thick sheet of dark grey clouds. It's raining like it hasn't rained all year. What am I doing? I am here, staring out of the window, reminiscing about my today's physics class, thinking about a lot of things-the jokes, inertia, test, and most of all-mud.

Yes, I am spending my Saturday night thinking and writing about mud. Mud, something we often dislike. Who likes mud after all except little kids who find it soft and like to jump on it with their friends to stain each other's clothes.

Kids are brighter than us. Mud isn't all bad.

I look as the wheels of the cars cause water to splash at the passer-bys and the other people on two-wheelers. I can see them annoyed by the mud and water. But is it the mud's fault?

When the car drives over the mud, the mud wants to get attached to the wheel. And the wheel also wants the mud to get stuck with it. So, it tries, and there is a centripetal force of attraction acting on the mud from the wheel that allows it to stay connected with the wheel for a while.

But that's it. It's just for a while.

The wheel tries but has no other option than to let go.

So, it does.

The mud flies in a straight line, tangent, towards whatever there is in front of it. And we curse at it. But it's not its fault. It just wanted to stay with the wheel. And the wheel just wanted to stay with it. But they couldn't stay together, the pull wasn't strong enough to let them. And the mud flies towards us.

Just like some people in our lives with baggage. We find them like that and blame them, but is it their fault? Perhaps their wheel was a person, a thing, a hobby, anything.

It's not the mud's fault.

Nor is it the wheel's fault.

But then, whose fault is it?

Divulging Facade

 

As I laid with my head on the pillow,

Staring at the fiery sun, and the beautiful willow,

With mugged up thoughts crammed inside my mind,

And Lucifer whispering at my side,

One after the other, fell my dreams like petals from a flower,

And the tears escaped the cage of my lashes, making my sweet mouth sour.

Self-told words had now proven to be lies,

And the fake façade had come with a price.

No longer could I make believe,

No longer could I just live.

Bounds were unbreakable,

But my imagination had turned out to be killable.

And as it took its dying breath,

It planted one last seed in my head,

Told me it wasn’t the boundaries,

The true Devil was the lies.

It wasn’t bound by any line,

Imagination wasn’t made to falsify.

I rose and fell,

Over the chime of bell.

I had trouble standing,

But was it the costume I wore that led to my crash-landing?

Soon, the Angel reappeared at my shoulder,

And I felt a little less colder.

The realization hit, the illusion divulged,

The mask dropped,

And I saw my face,

Just as pretty, but no longer hidden behind a veil.

The Forgotten

 Legends often become myths. But one good thing about them is that even as myths they are remembered. In storms, earthquakes, calamities, the working class is usually forgotten. The working class means the class of poor people. It doesn’t just comprise of one, two or a dozen people. Around 54% of India comprises of working-class, that is, the poor people. Shocked? Now imagine, them all being forgotten.

Scientifically, people are born, they grow old and they die. No spirits, no reincarnation, nothing. Then how do we live after we die? Most of us would be “forgotten” a hundred years from now. What happens after that? We are the forgotten. Burned and just simply, forgotten. Why? Because we are have not made an impact. Paint a piece of metal. After years, it will wear off, and then one day, it will seem as though it was never there. Forgotten. But now, make a big dent on a piece of metal. It will stay there, no matter how much you try to undo it, it will stay there, forever. Like a legend. That song, Legends Never Die, what does it mean? It obviously does not mean that the people in legends would live forever, or does it mean that. Maybe. Yes. It does mean that. Physically, everyone dies. But their soul lives through words written by them, for them, forever. Einstein. Existed 150 years ago, we still know him. Didn’t he accomplish the purpose of living? I mean, what is the purpose of living if you are just gonna be forgotten after a hundred years or maybe less?

We are born, we grow old and then we die. But what if, we can live even after dying. Through people’s heart, their minds, through words. We could live forever. Then why not live forever? Then why not do something, that makes us remembered? Then why not make a dent on metal than paint it? You know death does not scare me, but being forgotten really does. Some people think that it is superstition, that it is impossible, but maybe it isn’t. I mean we remember the ancient kings and queens and them all.  Why can’t we make ourselves remembered like them?

There are rich people owing big factories and all that. But even most of them would be forgotten. Because being rich does not ensure your placement in everybody’s memory, being something does that. Then why don’t we set the goal of our life to be remembered for at least 50 more years than we are most likely to?

Not Everything Can Be Fixed

 I have a pair of spectacles. Two pairs, actually. The old one’s broken. So, my mom got me a new one. I would fix the old one again and again, and it would keep breaking. I am very attached to the old ones. So, I can’t actually let them go.

I have a friend. Actually only one friend. After publishing my first book, I started losing my friends. One by one. But that one, I’ll call her Berry here, she was there, always. We would fight, and then I would apologise and fix our friendship, scared to lose my one friend. It happened again and again.

In our chat, I said I would choose her over my other friend, a new friend, the one who I have been talked to only a couple times. Let’s name him Apple. Apple and Berry are enemies. So, I didn’t get too close with Apple. And Berry said I didn’t have to choose. And then she said that she was selfish and that she would choose herself, always. I was confused and then she said that, As long as there a remote part of Apple in her life, she would be screwed. I was taken aback. I asked her if she was breaking our friendship. She said she was.

I think it’s time I put away my old spectacles and try my new ones, and hope that they’ll be different.  

Lonely

 

You all ask me,

'Who am I ?',
Not 'How am I?'.

You just see my face,
Not my hobbies.

With a tear in my eye,
I went to hear,
The chirp of my bird,
Who flew above me,
Ignoring me.

Today I realised,
I was lonely,
I am lonely,
But maybe I can change my future.

Hear everybody,
"You didn't reject me,
I rejected you.
You didn't make me lonely,
I made myself lonely.
You invited me to play at night,
But I stared at the shimmering stars bright.
And we'll see who will be,
how much successful in the future,

And at that time,
You'll all ask me how am I,
Not who am I."

~Janushi Raichura

Author of the book series Ventures of Gem Land

Truth

 Sometimes the truth can be harsher than uncovered lies...

~Janushi Raichura

Author of the book series Ventures of Gem Land