Pamphlets of ceased thoughts!

I always thought people watching as a hobby was fascinating. Yet, when the question of interaction is in the picture, who would I choose? A common man or an self-proclaimed intellectual man? i think Gramsci find his relevance in this choice.

An interaction with a common man:

I took a cab to ahmedabad and a confusion over dysfunctional traffic signal got us talking to each other. Today, however, i found a mere conversation compelling. He shared his opinion on the heat, climate change, Iran war, Pakistan economy, corruption and shaitaan worship. A riveting dialogue, I must say, under a terrorising sun.

An interaction with a self-proclaimed intellectual:

I walk into the cabin and the discussion with the professor proceeds with his advice to his newly married student. I think it should have stopped there but, as usual, it doesn't. He claims that varna system (different from caste system) is a necessary structure for society. When I shook my head, he said: then we won't have maids. He says access to scriptures is not an issue because the guardians of the scriptures have propelled the requisite message of god already?

Cold-brewed coffee blessed me; thus, looming thoughts:

As my body was thrusted ghastly multiple times,

I was shook by the soul-sucking goblin in my life.

Long story short, I was stuck in a malfunctioning lift for a few mins.

At first, I hoped it would a few seconds of discomfort. I was wrong.

Instead, I was in a horror movie. Wifi disconnected. Sim cards disabled.

he lights went off, alarm sound rang through the cuboid and emergency button on the panel useless.

And the lift drops, the panel reads 2 and the panel reads 0.

It goes higher up, and drops. Repeatedly!

I crouched to a corner and clutching my phone close to my heart.

My emergency texts to my friends were queued and not sent.

All screams caught in the throat, no prayers intended.

No one knew I was inside that box; sweating and breathless.

But since I was summoned by the evil monster, I was unharmed.

When the devil demands, the universe presents him his prey.

Is there a demon slayer to challenge this wretch?

Or should I waltz into the cabin as Empusa?

I was tired. I was torn. I was happy.

I don't remember the dream. I was caught in a spell. My skin felt bodacious. My heart felt enchanted. It was that face. a fine magic, that smile. I was wrapped in warmth.

Yet again, I was awakened from sleep. Serenity seemed to evaporate into nothingness.

I was teased for my loud and rough voice all through school.

Fictional accounts and creative imaginations conspiring towards a convergent rationale. Why does she sound unfeminine and hoarse?

I neither shrieked nor screeched. Neither howled nor squawked.

But I roared and bellowed thunderously. I confronted every taunt and I defied every bully.

yet, now I am fatigued with the cacophony.

Alas, I am inaudible.

To my family. To the people I promised my love.

Pinned and laid bare for all to see. Scars, gaze and comments alike.

Constant voices that say horrible things. Breaking the pieces I carefully put together.

People ask why I am exhausted or anxious. How can I tell them? I yearn and want. love and respect is all.

All accumulation of overwhelming emotions! Yet, no single soul to share it with.

More or less, i have some answers for "who am I". Yet, a loud unanswered variant endures:

What am I? a basic woman? a scanty citizen? a paltry scholar? a sickly body? a broken soul? No, misleading and untrue propositions.

Then, logically, What am I? I am inadequate for their brag-worthy opposites. Always.

Spotify recognizes me as an octogenarian 😳 Regardless, my nephews argue: I am an animated adolescent 🫠

My extended family would believe that I am a spinster 🤕 Nevertheless, my kindle app certifies: I am a Jane Austen Heroine🫣

My friends question: "am I a geriatric woman trapped in a vicenarian body?" 😷 but for my younger sister, I am a "wise supercentenarian living through adulthood" 🤭

None of these are conclusive age markers. I don't fancy them.

I read that the term for pride you feel from the scars on your body that reminds you of something experienced is scabulous. The writer draws a parallel with an autograph. We all have a few from learning to ride a bike, learning to jump over a hurdle on the athletic track, the incident when you crash landed after whacking a hockey ball to your team for a perfect goal, a random fight in your adolescent years that left a deep cut on your arms. All faded but yet visible like a crated and rugged terrain on the moon.

Nevertheless, there are other kind of scars; invisible to human eyes.

They are the scars that no autopsy or scan or electromagnetic radiation created images can detect. They are marks left in the realm of beingness. It is left by a untranslatable longing, a feeling of loss that remains as a state of blankness. One might bear them with all the heaviness.

Every recognition of these scars poses the question: what am i to do?

And do we know the answer? Embrace. Love.

I never force anyone to choose me. If you think you can find something better elsewhere then go ahead. I am not holding you back. Life is too short to hang on to someone who doesn't want to stay. I believe in freedom and in the truth of feelings. When i had wanted you to come back, it should have only been because your heart tells you this is where you belong and not because I asked you to. I deserve someone who sees my value and who understands what I bring to their life. I don't want someone who sticks around because of habit or fear or loneliness. I want someone as my partner who cannot imagine living their life without me. I want someone who is attracted to me beyond my body; I want someone who loves my thoughts, my care despite my misgivings. I don't want to be taken for granted and I want someone who appreciates my efforts. I want to be the one and not just another person in their life. I will accept nothing less. I deserve someone who loves me as much as I have given and I would.

For once, I want to be loved on purpose. I want to be loved responsibly. Conditionally. With intention and expectations. I want to be a choice, a calculated decision. Not some random bimbo who showed skin and teeth. I want to be loved with curiosity, with assurance and showered with patience. I want to be loved like it is the most natural thing to do. Nothing less. I want someone who respects me and does not label. I want someone who recognizes that I am enough for them. Not because they are not good enough for better but because I am all they want.

Tiger broke the house rule to enter the bedroom and onto the bed waking me up with a paw-slap. We enjoyed the birds singing after a long time together. Gentle and exciting. With a cup of coffee in my hand and a bowl of milk for himself. It was a sweet beginning for the day that followed.

We chose a room, left the windows to the neem tree open, and we slept, nothing would jolt us awake. The evening breeze woke the both of us to witness the sunset, orange and cool. He is ready to stay up all night but I, on the other hand, ready to fight the residue exhaustion with another round of drugged sleep.

It almost didn't matter where you started the story: it was always there.

but it did start somewhere …

Oh, my dear kalla kadhali, I can't compare thee to a summer's day, For there are no matching lovely blooming flowers of summer And neither are you like the scorching heat of our known summer.

You are like the first drizzle that reminds you the rains are almost here, and so hold on. You are like the whispering warmth of a woolen rug against the rough cold winds of the mountains. You are like the lighthouse that guides sailors and the lost to the shore.

Nothing can silence you; neither the agonizing spasms of existence, nor the shrieking cacophony of the material world, And that is the mesmerizing beauty of you. Me***, who enchants everyone like the gorgeous pearls in the deep sea.

-- Arati Kumar Rao; Marginlands

This is the principle of percolation wells such as beri in the Indian desert.

Isn't this also a philosophical lesson in Indian Tradition- attachment leads to unhappiness and the default state of being for an individual is happiness.

Being true to nature , isn't?

What other lessons hide in blind sight? Why don't we recognize them?