Crying!

Yesterday, I cried my self to sleep!

I guess I was just feeling lonely…..

Crying is a weakness I generally wouldn’t wanna confess about.

But if you know me even a little then you’d know; if I don’t wanna talk about something

I usually end up writing about it! I pretty much always do.

There are times when I cry my heart out!

The whole works, blood spilling n all!

No one can claim to have seen such a sight and live to tell.

The reason for these spells as like to call them is always SELFPITY!

And these bouts are without fail always behind the closed doors of my shower( with it running).

Those are the times I feel hallow inside as if nothings gonna get better.

After all this happens… for example, me vowing to change my life drastically, hating someone I wanna kill them , all the while that degrading self pity and loathing…..

What amuses me most is that I go to sleep as if a sleep deprived child!

And when I wake up all this decisions are in the back of my mind somewhere…

I am back to the exact same pitiable self that I was just before crying!

Other times I deliberately try to cry!

Don’t think bad of my, these are very (very) rare.

And I tell you that I can count these episodes on the fingers( don’t count the thumb)

of one hand!

They always leave me guilty as if I’ve snatched a lollipop out of a child’s hand.

The last one I remember was when I asked my dad to drop me to my tuition. And after going 10 km out of his way to drop me he wouldn’t go on another signal!

Let me tell you a secret…” I am absolutely and bone tremblingly terrified of crossing huge “ CHAURAHA’s”. I have to have my hands held secure in someone else’s to cross it. Then too I tend to freeze smack in the middle of the road!

Don’t laugh…. I CAN handle small one’s though.

You wouldn’t believe how I much I willed those tears to come out that day, and at that instance.

When they did and he took me upto the steps I was happy.

Then I was guilty that I was happy. So I cried some more(rally this time) thinking how pathetic I am!

The most I am afraid about are the times when it sneaks up on me!

I mean I there is no reason for me to cry….so when the urge to do so comes out of no where, it leaves me with my mind on everything other than the thing its supposed to be on.

I waste my time in figuring out the reason why I cried!

And most often than not I come up blank. As if I hallucinated my self crying!

Today it was coz of a song I heard on the radio!

I was humming it along and the next thing I know I was creating a full blown ruckus…

My brother standing not too far away saw this and became so flustered he forgot that I am not an alien and talked to me and actually soothed me!

Behold the miracle! Hehehe

Well what would you expect out of a mouse when he see’s a wildcat crying for a hurt squirrel!

He expects me to be stark raving mad and spitting angry everytime I talk to him.

Wouldn’t know what happened if I talked politely!

So to get back on the topic at hand… I find these bastard getting past my defenses these days.

And I don’t like it one bit.

There was a time when i usually cried myself to sleep every night.

I hated it!

And I hate it more than THAT!

I don’t know what to do, I am my wits end!

What can you do if an empty park makes you cry or if you see a bird soar, you wanna cry?

What can you do if a bright color makes you cry or if you see starved muscle’s rippling on a workers back when he talks to a man who( is bald) has a belly and cant digest half the food he eats, and throws out the other half!

What can you do?

P.S.- I don’t like people who cry, I guess its because I cant handle them myself!

I am sorry!

Millions of years ago, some super power, some force or God or Nature or whatever it

is, began it's work; Stars started burning, Galaxies started

forming and solar systems set themselves up. And among all these stars and their

planets, Earth was picked up and decorated over another million

years with animals of all shapes and sizes, and plants and all sorts of things. It had

interesting types of soils and sands and rock formations. It had

water; as water, as steam and as ice. It had sandy, golden beaches and thick, lush

forests and breathtakingly beautiful snow covered peaks and

heartstoppingly vast deserts. A mad, wild wind roared over the oceans and ran

abandoned through the forests often caressing his beloved Earth with

a gentle, loving breeze. The waves loved the land; through the endless tranquil beaches

and the rough, angry cliffs, and the land loved it back,

promising to be with it forever. The birds sang the Sun to sleep every evening as He

settled in his bed of waves and then again, woke him every

morning too. The moon kept company through the night, least the darkness got scary

and the stars arranged themselves into pictures so the

dreams could be good. And it was a gorgeous, beautiful world.

And then, like two parents would place their first new born in a crib for the first time,

in a room they've spent months in preparing for their baby,

Man was gently placed in this crib. He got love and affection and so many things to

hold his attention for years at end. But that is where

everything started to go wrong.... Man grew up and grew so much, that he forgot

himself...

I look around me today... and what I see, makes me cry....

Hatred, fear, blood......

Not only has man killed other life forms, but is also killing his own people! And for

what? Because someone's skin colour is not like his; someone

doesn't call God by the same name as he does; or just for a little more land to make a

few more buildings, or a little more money...

Infanticide! Dowry deaths! Murders! Rapes! Crusades! Wars! Terrorism! Preventive

measures to stop terrorism!

Each minute, another head falls off as humanity inches away from mankind.

Hundreds, Thousands, Lakhs and now Millions... and the toll is only

rising... What is happening? I ask myself... Where are we going? Is there no way to

stop this wheel of destruction? Why doesn't a tear moisten

one's eye when he thinks of being inhuman to anyone... or anything for that matter? so

much hatred, it is only pushing more people over the edge

to become the monsters they were not supposed to be...

Why is everyone now a Hindu or a Muslim or a Christian, or a Pakistani or an

American or an Iraqi, or a Black or a White or a Chinki, or a Man

or a Woman, or a Capitalist or a Marxist?

Why??

Whatever happened to being a 'Human Being'?

And a ringing silence meets my plea for an answer...

And somewhere, deep within me, I realize that the end is near. I don't know if it will be

a Nuclear war or an ice age or a solar expansion that will

end the world as we know it or if the earth will churn to extinguish everything and start

new again. I don't know if it will be tomorrow or after

another thousand years. All I know is that the end is near. Like someone with a fatal

disease, I know there is a very slim chance out.... VERY slim.

And in this moment of realization, I think of all the damage that my kind have done;

there are more blood stains on this planet than trees. So

many species have vanished. So many souls have been troubled...

and like a man atoning for his sins, I fall to my knees, join my hands, close my eyes

and bow my head... and I think of all those spirits which have

been hurt or broken throughout these centuries blotched by human errors... and very

sincerely, from the core of my being I say to them.....

I'm Sorry.......

Writers

Someone asked me today if I'm a writer. I said I write as a hobby

and the conversation moved to other channels, but left my mind

lingering on a thought...

Writers... who are these people? (And I'm not including myself in

this category as yet) yeah,I know the obvious answer: people who

write.

But what exactly is it about their 'writing' that separates them

from other people who 'write'?

they write better? what does one imply when one says 'better'?

Being an english teacher's granddaughter makes T. S. Elliot, O.Henry,

and G.B. Shaw members of your immediate conversational family

and so I recalled all the works I'd read and liked over the years.

Exquisite poetry. Exemplary plays. Extraordinary short stories.

Each piece, each writer had left an image in my mind and

examining these images could help one understand what exactly

makes a writer, A Writer.

They don't merely put pen to paper and utilize ink. They weave

pictures after pictures on paper with the sibilance of the nib. They

don't stay up nights; they burn the mid night oil.

They pick up destitute Thoughts and tend to them, feed them and

transform them into Princes. They drape them in the garments of

the finest words. They structure them with the most precise

sentence formations.

They can make the reader see what they do in their mind's eye.

They liberate emotions from the cage of the heart and give them

the wings to fly free. They sharpen the blade of anger and spark

the fire of passion with the expertise of true wordsmiths.

A thousand soldiers must have died on battlefields, away from the

love of their lives. But only a Writer can make one sob and cry as

if it is one's own who's perished in another needless manifestation

of man's greed.

A million daffodil fields may have blossomed but only a Writer can

take you by the hand through one and leave you with stars in your

eyes and an instant wish to witness this heaven on earth for

yourself.

A countless number of people may have been back stabbed by

their most trusted friends but only a Writer can make you want to

reach for the dagger and bring justice.

And lord alone knows how many people must have fallen in love

and proposed to their partner but only a Writer can gladden your

heart with the joy of loving and of being loved.

The world as it exists already had several layers and dimensions.

But only a Writer can pick you up bodily from all this tangled

mess and transport you to another world altogether...

There are two kinds of writer: those that make you think, and those that make you wonder.

I wonder which one am I?

a great writer once said.......

Write from the soul, not from some notion what you think the marketplace wants. The market is fickle; the soul is eternal.

generally i don't follow any rule with what i write..... but still it matters a great deal to me what the person who is reading my work thinks about it!

well its helps to practice your CRAFT... that's what i think of writing as.

Practice, practice, practice writing. Writing is a craft that requires both talent and acquired skills. You learn by doing, by making mistakes and then seeing where you went wrong.

A writer needs three things, experience, observation, and imagination, any two of which, at times any one of which, can supply the lack of the others.

Writers aren't exactly people.... they're a whole bunch of people trying to be one person.

Words are the most powerful drug used by mankind.

i know this because when ever i feel depressed or sick of the life i live........ i borrow someone else's for a while.... i cry when it cries... i laugh when it wants me to laugh.

reading numbs me for a while from all other emotions other than those in the book!

i am just an amature writer... i deal with ordinary things.....

but an advice to fellow writers-Be yourself. Above all, let who you are, what you are, what you believe, shine through every sentence you write, every piece you finish.

The role of the writer is not to say what we can all say but what we are unable to say.

And it takes a great deal of talent to write what everyone is thinking but cant write.

In a sense writers are like artist...When I say artist I don’t mean in the narrow sense of the word—but the man who is building things—creating molding the earth—whether it be the plains of the west—or the iron ore of Penn. It’s all a big game of construction—some with a brush—some with a shovel—some choose a pen.

well i work well with brush and pen both. But a senario i paint with pen is better than the ones i try to paint with brush!

I write entirely to find out what i am thinking, what i am looking at,what i see and what it means!

what I want and what I fear!

All in all the only thing relevent for a writer is to be themselves.above all let who you are, what you are,what you belive, shine through every sentence you write,every peice you finish!

so what are you waiting for........ go write.

chop chop!