Meraki Blots

Love isn't cruel, we make it cruel. By making a sport of it, turning it into a game, a pastime. We make love cruel, sad, adjusting and in the end, heartbreaking.

For some of us, books are as important as almost anything else on the planet. What a miracle it is that out of these small, flat, rigid squares of papers, unfolds world after world after world, worlds that sing to you, comfort and quiet or excite you. Books help us understand who we are and how we are to behave. They show us what community and friendship mean, when to let our guard down and when to barricade our minds, they show us how to live and die.

You wish you could’ve learned to play piano. You wish you could’ve started painting when you were young. You wish you could’ve figured out who you wanted to be before you graduated college. You wish you could’ve learned to love yourself sooner. Well you know what? You didn’t. And that’s just something you’re going to have to learn to deal with. But just because you didn’t do it sooner, doesn’t mean you can’t start now. Um... So what are you waiting for?

Stop saying “uneducated” when you mean bigoted. Stop saying “uneducated” when you mean racist, homophobic, transphobic, ableist. Stop saying “uneducated” when you mean that somebody holds regressive beliefs. You can find bigots in mansions, trailer parks, suburbs, houses, and apartments. You can find bigots in ivy league universities, liberal arts colleges, vocational programs, and jobs. Bigotry of all kinds exists at all levels of our society and to pass off our structural inequalities and learned intolerances as simply a matter of poor education is to imply that the wealthy are more compassionate, more egalitarian, more valuable people.  

“Please don’t leave me,” tumbles from my lips before I can stop myself. “Never. I promise I’ll never leave you,” you reassure and I feel your lips brush my forehead. We’re so young right now though. The lump in my throat rises with the knowledge that your promise is almost sure to be broken, but I can’t bring myself to tell you right now. Not as I lean into you, head on your chest listening to your heartbeat, so I tighten our laced fingers and pretend to believe.

दिल के पास अगर दिमाग होताना, वो कबका हार चूका होता | और अगर उल्टा होके, दिमाग के पास दिल रेहता, तो वो भी हारता | लेखिन, जब दिल और दिमाग, दोनो एक साथ फैसला लेते हे, तब वो जाके बनते हे, एक अस्ली और मज़भूत फैस्ला |

The space. A tapestry of glittering stars, constellations. Orion, Lyra and Aquila adorn the watercolour canvas of the sky. A unique masterpiece. One of a kind. One in a thousand million. The sky is infinite; deep blues and pale lavenders streak across the sky, enveloped by inky blue black. The colour of the unknown. Of possibilities. Of wonder. 

An oasis. A glittering pool of water in a vast, arid desert. Shining like a star, a mirage in an ashen sky. It's glamour and allure draws many from the world, attracted them into a life that could be, like a immense magnetic force. Beautiful and fleeting. Isolated yet all encompassing. Reclusive yet refreshing. Hope in the form of earthly elements.

Books piled up creating towers and fortresses. Pens of all colours, scratching on paper. Ink stains on fingers and hands that are red and raw from work. The smell of old textbooks and the musty air of old libraries. Heavy, humid and enough to lull anyone into slumber. Coffee and chocolate wrappers and lamps burning slowly into the small hours of the morning. Students with bags under their eyes and bags on their shoulders. 

The sun is shining brightly. The leaves bright green, wave gently in the breeze that flits in and out the tree, teasing it. They rustle, and make dappled patterns on the soft brown earth. The luscious fruits swing temptingly on the bowed branches. The pepperpot squirrel runs after her husband chattering aloud his outrages. The cuckoo is cooing to woo his new mate. The mynah sidling upto her only mate for life, quirking her head funnily whenever he chirped. The purry cat watching them from her spot on the wall, is too lazy to bother to chase them. The puppy playfully tries his best to catch his own tail, but fails each time. Birds chirping and twittering, the breeze calm and soothing, the white cotton candy clouds contrasting sharply with the azure blue sky stretching out in all directions. The red roses are blooming in abundance. And the jasmines give off their heavenly scent. As the sky changes from azure to orange and then takes on a pinkish tint, sitting on the swing under the branches of the wizened yet stout old mango tree, I look at the pretty scene painted before my eyes with quiet content. If my eyes had ever been hungry in life, they just had had the biggest spread ever. I look at the red sun shining softly, splashing the sky with shades of pink, a warm orange and even lilac and smile, in pure bliss.