This too shall pass..........

Hi there to everyyyyyyyyybody............ This blog if you have noticed the date off the first blog you will realise has turned a month old........ I wasn't sure I'd be motivated enough to keep writing for even a week... Let alone a month!!!!!!!! Thanks anyways guys.. For following and supporting me...........

This post is a special one going out to my dad who celebrates his birthday today! And my bro SRjr who will celebrate his this thursday... Love you both.... Love you always....... This also goes out to my FAV aunt  and 3 of my uncles 2 of whom celebrate their birthday this month too. I hope you always think of me as sugar sweet!!!..............And one of my FAV male singers. Figure who that is yourselves! Good God!!! My life is full of virgoes!!!!!!!!!
Birthdays remind us of the precious time gone by and precious time left..........
This  birthday special goes out to alllllll of you guys sooo busy that you forget to take a breath and relax! So have fun enjoy the message { a rather long one}below!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!







I am always doing two things at a time. One of the two always remains constant through out the day. My second set of actions keeps changing. It changes according to what people require off me. It repeats itself like the hands of clock. Twice in twenty four hours it ends up in the exact same spot. As long as the battery is intact this happens. The days it gives up so will the rhythmic ticking.




My first set of action is well, not a set exactly but a single action. It’s been there since I have come into being. It isn’t like breathing, I can alter breathing. It’s more like staying alive, just being alive. You can’t will it to stop. This action is thinking. Not the thinking over schedules to keep up to, assignments to complete or trains to catch.


Its thinking about the people that pass me by, weaving stories about them around the snippets of their conversations I hear, looking around me, not analysing or calculating, just soaking up the things around me the way they are.




Even thinking is like the ticking of the clock. The clock isn’t just a metaphor for mundane or monotonous routines. It changes. It can be eight in the morning or eight in the evening. It is a question of AM or PM but it matters a great deal. Thinking also changes like the changes in day and night. It is perspective that changes the essence of thought, but unlike the tic -toc that urges you to hurry the rhythm of thought is like a lullaby. It soothes you and slowly envelopes you in a secret world, a cocoon that is only protective and not suffocating.




Thought and silence come hand in hand. I have always believed that silence is golden and I still do. I prefer being the “silent spectator” like my friends fancy calling me. They feel silence is discomfiture, rudeness and the complete opposite of what etiquette calls for. They haven’t experienced the pleasure of observing, of listening, of dreaming. It is like lying on a soft downy bed after a hard day’s work. It’s like olives; you have to acquire a taste for it.


The mind is like a personal den. It offers you all the comforts of a bean bag, a deep soft rug to sink your cold legs into and a mug of coffee to warm you without actually providing the same.


To be lost in one’s own world is to be in fools paradise is what people say.


I will not contradict them but isn’t giving up something like the inexplicable beauty of the entire world which resides in the most composite form of happiness within you being in the most foolish fool’s hell?


We always do what others expect of us, playing a part in the obscure rigmarole called “normal life”. It is but a roof that stands on the four walls called ambition, drive, ruthlessness and energy.


But what most of us forget is that while building up these walls we put in so much of what we possess into its construction that there is nothing left for the walls to shelter, no one, not even yourself.


And what do empty and uncared houses do? They haunt……. They weep in silence until their own tears inundate them... But again who has the time to ponder over emptiness, a lack of some comfort is always pushing us over the edge to better ourselves. But it is always about things that can be seen and sensed, it’s the tangible that makes a difference. We never value things that can be only felt.


I am driven by what I feel, but what I must do creates a barricade that holds my feelings prisoner. My feelings are strong; they won’t give up without a fight. They beat with their little fists on the heavy, sturdy, constant walls until a crack appears somewhere. It isn’t easy to break these fortifications. They are the notions of other people regarding who I should be… it takes time. The fists of my feelings turn bloody, locked up within me they pace up and down varying from anger, melancholy to depression.


However we push them aside, nicknaming them as mood swings and vagaries of the human temperament. We let the feelings die when imprisoned, not even giving them a chance to appeal…….. We move on letting the creators of the barricade dictate terms to us. Never once thinking about the past, never once looking back.


Sometimes to go ahead you need to sift through sands of the past. When the dust is cleared you might find a precious shell that can add strength, spirit and splendour to the sand castle of your future. The future is nothing but a sand castle that the waters of time will wash away… it’s only the creation of something so elegant that make up memories. And the present becomes valuable just doing what your heart tells you to.


We always set standards or conditions and erase the beauty of most simple things. We assign to poetry figures of speech, paradoxes, rhyme schemes and kill the wonder the words evoke through constant analysis. Poetry lies in the beauty of the thought, the manner in which it is contemplated. Not in the realistic message that it is supposed to give. Not everything has a cause or reason. Certain things must be done or just have to happen, like writing down the words that flow through your heart and head.


What did the poet feel when he was writing isn’t the question. What are you feeling as you are reading it is what matters. Does it touch that part of you that you seldom realise is hidden there? Only then does it serve its purpose.


I eat because I am told to. I eat what is there. No one understands the marvel of eating what your senses crave for…..they do not comprehend the sharpness of the salt or the lingering aftertaste of sugar when you satisfy a craving…


I read books and listen to music together, both actions never reaching completion. But I have to. I am in a race against time striving to do all I want to but enjoying none in the process.


I prefer the cold… I enjoy it; because I feel cold I revel in the warmth I experience later. I can’t do justice to one without the other. I get hurt too.


Pain locks up our true self. I hadn’t written for a long time. I would come close to it but a curt word, a sharp reprimand would crush the inspiration that dared to bud.


But the pain at times feeds the seed of inspiration urging it to grow into a beautiful tree. Pain can also unlock talent; it can unlock our true selves. The only the realisation of the simple fact that doing what you want to do will make you happy is important… read a book; live the book… watch a movie if you feel like; enjoy in the splendour of someone’s creativity. Look outside, look at nature. Absorb the divinity of all the loveliness around you. Once in a while snuggle up in bed for 5 extra minutes if you want to. Maybe you might not find time for it ever again. Listen to music, live the lyrics. Songs are naught but poetry with a tune. Sing out loud it doesn’t matter if you sound like a donkey braying. Write a song; its all about writing what you feel and give it to someone you love! Cook, Create something that is appetizing to your nose, eyes and taste buds. Let your eyes feast on it before your mouth does…… maybe you might burn down the kitchen but you sure will have fun! Wear what makes you feel good, cosy and nice, even if it is a bathrobe.


Be silent if you wish to. Loquaciousness is overrated. What matters is what you feel about yourself not what others feel.


Pain and hurt and tension and all others things that are not nice are like dawn. It sheds light on all the things that we don’t want to see or go through again. But I stay content in the knowledge that this dawn will end in dusk where everything will slow down, where darkness will blanket and dull the jarring impact of reality, where we can give way to sleep and let our body indulge in peace that is felt when dreams illuminate the unknown joy hidden in the silence of night.


For then I know that I survived the ticking clock’s nagging reminders. That I have tried my best to be perfect and good and make others happy and like the glaring hot light of the day unhappiness shall make way for cosy and happy dusks….. That this too shall pass…

Yours thoughtfully

Falak