The Ballad Of A Grieving Man

Its been seven years since we spiralled out of control,

The image of the glass shards still vivid in my mind,

I woke up to blinding light,

The whiteness felt like bliss,

The bliss that made the physical pain go away,

The bliss that hid the pains to come,

Blackness engulfed me once again.

I woke up in a rainy afternoon,

They told me I had slept for two long days,

That I barely survived,

My two passengers were not so lucky,

They had left me behind,

The engulfing black was heaven's gates closing,

I had a rain of my own inside,

A rain of salty tears.

Father,Mother,friends,cousins-they all came,

They offered a shoulder to cry on,

From their mouths escaped words of consolation,

Words that they knew went to deaf ears,

I wanted to tear myself apart,

For not having said goodbye.

Julia and I fought on the downward slope,

My anger literally made me blind,

And now,they both were buried without my presence,

The funeral was on that rainy afternoon.

I asked my best friend to describe it,

Julia had a long black coffin, the usual,

And my beautiful Sarah had the little one,

The one that would melt the coldest heart,

Everyone reassured me that everything was beyond my control.

I begged to differ,

Silently I returned back home.

The big hall was eerily empty,

Sarah's piercing laughter gone,

I entered my baby girl's room,

Her little bed still had her smell,

I noticed her table, it had her books,

I saw her childish handwriting,

"Mummy and Daddy,the best in the world",

I clutched the book and walked upstairs.

I locked away the book in my drawer,

Then i looked at a small cube like box,

It had a large diamond ring,

The ring Julia had wanted to buy six years ago,

But we couldn't afford it then,

This was supposed to be my gift to her.

I fetched my diary and began to read,

The day I got married to Julia,

Her overflowing white dress,

The silent chapel, her glowing white face,

Pink with blush, eyes shining with eagerness,

Her long black hair open, adding to her magnificent visage,

She held my hand tightly, surrendering to my protection,

I swore to keep her safe,

I broke my oath.

The years of waiting,

Until one day, Julia put my palm on her soft belly,

I knew we would have a daughter,

She was born on a sunny Sunday,

I felt the whole world echoed my joy,

Her baby cries, her first wobbly steps,

Her face resembling her beautiful mother,

Her first word,"Mama",her learning to talk,

 Her tiny hands, soft skin, and her limp lifeless body came back.

I clutched my diary and weeped,

Weeped like never before,

Weeped ever long,

Until my tired body could take no more,

I tried to remember why I was angry, why we fought,

I wished the reasons were good and not pathetic.

I swore to punish myself for taking away,

Two kind and beautiful souls,

I drank, I worked, and drank again,

Erasing everyone who mattered,

I said hurtful things, they condemned me,

It was all part of my sentence.

I lost my job, there was only so much they could tolerate,

I allowed people to pity me,

I took a knife and cut myself,

Just to see if I bled,

Just to see if I was in a dream,

Red drops of sorrow did escape,

I was wide awake.

Now I look in the mirror,

Those lines, white hair, tiredness and pain,

They all show on my face,

Seven years of punishment, well deserved,

But any more I cannot take.

Maybe they would hate me for who I am,

Maybe Julia would no longer find me handsome,

Maybe Sarah would look at me and run away afraid,

Unbearable thoughts flashed, but it didn't matter,

They were all gone.

I have patiently paid my price,

Seven years of  self induced punishment,

Now I perform the last rites,

I open the locked drawer, take out the ring,

I take out Sarah's book,

I lock everything and walk out, not looking back.

I go to their graves, one big gravestone and one tiny,

I place the ring, the book and my diary,

I whisper, "I should've been here",

And I walk towards my final destination.

I stand on top of the bridge,

The sea beneath foaming in its angry waves,

I decide to end my punishment,

I want to see my beautiful ladies,

I jump, there are no onlookers,

The cold water enters my lungs,

I see a white light,

I wonder if its heaven's doors,

The same doors that closed seven years ago,

But now I surround it with my own blackness,

As my heart squeezes out one last red tear,

I end this ballad of a grieving soul.

Now that was long,its just a story I thought up,but since there was hardly enough material to make it into a proper story,I found it better to make it a poem.Sorry for boring you with something so long.....

My Love For You Dear

I feel me sinking deep into the quicksand,

I wish you were here to hold my hand,

I can't think of the knee deep doom,

I can't think of my approaching tomb,

All I can think of is what got me here,

And it is my love for you dear.

We were fourteen when we first met,

You and I belonged in our own separate set,

Unbeknownst to me,the sentence had been proclaimed,

And it was decided what would be my fate,

All I could think about was giving you my heart,

All because of my love for you dear.

Some days,I'd be madly in love with you,

Some days,I'd ask myself,"Is this true?",

I was like two separate beings,

Both wanting two different things,

But I ignored my other half,

All because of my love for you dear.

Writing and reading was a great passion,

But I let them go,to be in your fashion,

So that I could be closer,

So that I could keep you happy and hold you near,

I threw my other half's love away,

All because of my love for you dear.

Alienated by half my mind,

Facing rivalry from another of my kind,

Success was unsure,failure was imminent,

But you beautiful visage kept me persistent,

I risked losing everything,

All because of my love for you dear.

Every living day was hell,

Dreams crumbled as trees fell,

Then you came and said "Yes",

As bliss overcame,God Bless,

It made the pain worthwhile,

All because of my love for you dear.

As days moved forward,the harsh realisation hit,

I would never be as special as him,or an equal fit,

Our relationship was strained,

My other half knew a little was feigned,

It was something I ignored,

All because of my love for you dear.

It was a dream I was living in,

A dream ending in my sin,

Breaking your heart and shattering it to pieces,

Never stopping to pick up my own heart's little pieces,

I sat broken,pained and patient,

All because of my love for you dear.

Years later,I realised the truth in your "I'd Go",

My other half loved saying "I told you so",

I jolted awake from my dream,

Life had moved on while I was stuck,it seemed,

Below my feet,I found quicksand,

All because of my love for you.

It was the half life I was satisfied with,

Half your affection,half my mind's love,

Half my mind's craving to be acknowledged its worth,

The other half crying that its dreams were lost,

Now the sand waist deep,

I know there is no escape,

So I close my eyes and imagine,

You coming and holding my hand,

And me telling my other half its favourite line,

As I let you take my soul away,

I close my eyes and die,

Long before the sand swallows my shadow,

All because of my love for you dear....

Why I Love Going To The Theatres

I just returned home after watching what I consider the best movie known to mankind-Inception.Anyway,that's not why I'm writing.As I was returning home in my father;s car,at around 8:30 in the night,exhausted and entertained,with a steaming hot pizza on my hand,I had what Dream Theater calls "A Train Of Thought".I was filled with joy that I was blessed enough to see such a wonderful movie. But then, the word "blessed" stuck around. On my way back, in this lovely city of Mumbai, I witnessed people going home after their everyday hard work finished. I saw their tired bodies yearning for rest, I also saw their bony chests heave. I also saw people still working, beads of sweat pouring out of their foreheads at the late hour. I was wondering, what's the point in enjoying a movie and eating expensive food, while people work day and night to give their family the next day's bread. This is a common thought, one that I have put up in my blog many times. But what's so special about this night, is that I had a realisation. All these days, I used to be under the illusion that film-making was my goal. But after what I saw, after what I thought, I realised that film making shouldn't be my goal. Films are optional, they aren't a necessity. What is necessary however, is a way to make the world an easier place to live for others. What is necessary is to do something worthwhile of my life. There will be countless opportunities for me to keep myself happy, like say, marrying the girl of my dreams, having loving children, being a loving son, being a good father, so on and so forth. But there are very few opportunities in life where you can make others happy. There are few moments in life where you can put a smile on others' faces, and also do something very worthwhile. I decided to abandon my thoughts of film making, and focus on becoming a doc. There is nothing greater than easing the pain of a fellow human being, a desperate human being. All those people who work days and nights, including weekends, they do it to take care of their families, and they too need to be taken care of. Movies-I'm happy to watch and enjoy them, I'm even happy to brainstorm the movie's plot, but I've decided that my life's goal is to help. And all this became reality only because I went to watch a movie in the theatre.No wonder I truly love the theatres!!!!!

The Lone Butterfly

Okay dear reader,this is another one of my poems.I was inspired to write this only today morning,early morning to be exact.I woke up,and I found a butterfly lying dead just beside me on my bed.I was touched by this,I couldn't stop thinking about it,and hence,I wrote my thoughts in the form of this poem.If it's not scientifically accurate,please forgive me,I just wrote what was in my mind.And finally,enjoy,and please do give me the feedback!!!

I was born a weakling,
A small, green and crawling thing,
My mother gave me honey,
For in my world, it is as good as money.


I learnt to crawl the day I was born,
I had no siblings to look with love or scorn,
In the world so big, I heard my mother sing,
I also wondered who was the king.


I woke up the next day to find my mother asleep,
She wouldn't wake up, I knew I couldn't keep
My calm, my smile; I was alone,
And fear rippled through my bones.


I wandered in the big and cruel world,
All night, I would lay by myself curled,
But one day, I was locked in a prison,
Unable to see the sun, beautifully crimson.


In my prison, I gave thought,
To all the reasons, to why everyone fought,
I thought of my mother who had died,
And all the time, I wondered why I didn't cry.


I thought of my reflection from a river,
An image that made me shiver,
I thought about how I had looked,
Something small, green and crooked.


Before I knew it, blinding light came through,
As I fell from my prison, I flew,
And now from a great height I could see,
The same world, which yesterday I saw, on my knees.


I went to the same river from where I saw,
My reflection and thought myself flawed,
But from what I saw then, I was in doubt,
Whether it was my mother's reflection that I had found.


I had wings filled with dots,
And my mind was filled with thoughts,
I flew again in the air,
My joy I only wanted to share.


Many like me I met on the way,
We had so many things to say,
We drank the nectar sweeter than bliss,
And with our lips, the river water we kissed.


Later in the evening, I started feeling weak,
So I decided to go back and sleep,
Little did I know the sleep would be my last,
Before I leave and forget the past.


I sat down by a rock, my wings refused to move,
A whisper told me I had reached my tomb,
I thought of my very short life,
One with sorrow, retrospect, joy and strife.


I took my last few breaths in peace,
I refused to allow any thoughts to crease,
I said to the large world my last goodbye,
And died a lone butterfly.......


So,how was it?I know,its mostly stupid,but like I said before,what the hell,this is my blog!!!Thanks for reading this,dear reader.Have a good night :)

A Short Story I Wrote

Okay,it's been a while.I haven't found anything much to write.Well,this post is actually a short story that I wrote during my English Language class.The topic for the essay/story was that I should end it with the following sentence:"The tears came crashing down". This is my product,give your


Timothy dressed solemnly on that fateful Friday. He wore a black jacket, black tie, white shirt and a pair of black trousers. He pushed the towering black gates open. He felt the rust on his palm. On his right hand, he held a bouquet of white orchids. He walked slowly towards the grave. The long line of graves seemed like guards guarding the path to the dead.A gust of wind blew away his hat, but he moved on.As he reached the grave, he noticed that the ground had been freshly covered. He thought to himself, "The funeral must have finished only a couple of hours ago". He looked at the gravestone. It read, "A hero, forever loyal to the flames of war and liberty". The grave did not even have a name, but Timothy knew the name very well. He slowly, solemnly and respectfully kept the bouquet in front of the gravestone. He struggled to hold his calm, but he felt a huge lump form inside his throat. There was nothing in front of the grave except his own bouquet. Just then, a lone maple tree leaf fell on Timothy's bouquet. It was then that Timothy remembered about another maple tree leaf that led him here. Timothy remembered about every incident that led him to stand in front of this nameless grave.


Timothy was just twenty-two years old when he got his first job as a nurse in the local Cancer Centre. Timothy saw sadness and tragedy every single day of his life. The dark green colour that prevailed in the Cancer Centre never got on his nerves. Strangely, he had the gift of not getting emotionally involved or affected. Two months into his job, on a warm Monday morning, the first incident which would form a part of a chain of events that would lead Timothy to that grave took place. A new patient, by the name of Christian Lewis, was wheeled into the Cancer Centre. Timothy took little notice of Christian, except for the usual curiosity about who the new patient was. As fate would have it, Timothy was given the duty of going to Christian's room every evening at six, to check the drip and give Christian his medicines. Timothy was punctual, he never got late. Two weeks into this monotonous exercise, Timothy could not suppress his curiosity. That particular day, a windy Tuesday, during one of his usual evening visits, Timothy decided to make conversation with Christian. He first made small talk, asking how Christian was. He got a strange reply. "I would say I'm fine, but then, you and I both know that I would be lying". Timothy was surprised, this was not the answer he had expected. He was silent. Then, after a moment's hesitation, he asked, "How come you don't have any visitors? You know, right, that one relative is permitted to stay?" Christian was silent, and he closed his eyes. Timothy, thinking that Christian was asleep, quietly left the room.


The next evening, Timothy asked the same question, and received the same reaction. Timothy was strangely not willing to give up. After a whole month, on a rainy Wednesday, when Timothy asked yet again, Christian replied with a question. "Why are you interested in me, son? There are so many intriguing people in this world, what have I done to deserve your curiosity?" There was a hint of sarcasm in his voice. Timothy replied, "Sir, you came in wheeled by army officers. You have inoperable frontal lobe tumour, and you are alone. Cancer is torture, sir, believe me when I say it. But Cancer becomes pure agony if when forced to face it alone. That is why I am asking you if you had any family. I have not seen you with any visitors".  Christian again lapsed into silence. After a moment's thought, he replied, "I have no family son". It was then that Timothy took notice of Christian calling him "son". Timothy suddenly took notice of Christian's age-fifty six. Timothy then did something that no nurse would ever do-he offered to keep company, and stay throughout the night. He got no reply. Christian simply closed his eyes. Timothy took this as a yes, and so he stayed by the fifty-six year old stranger's side. Funny how the human mind works.


This continued for a whole two weeks, until on one clear Thursday, Christian finally opened up. "My family is my country, son. I enlisted to serve my family when I was eighteen. I have fought, served and sacrificed everything, because my country, your country, is my spouse, my parent, my sibling, and my child. I am just one soldier who is sick. My country has a lot more to deal with. I do not want any special treatment, son. I want to be just like every other servant of the nation". Timothy was speechless. The resignation, the calm, the patriotism and the love, it all puzzled Timothy. But more than puzzled, he was amazed. He did not say anything. Just when he was about to leave, Christian said something unexpected. "You know, son? I was born today". Once again, Timothy was puzzled. He could not tell why Christian had told him this. But he simply smiled and left.


Two hours later, Timothy came back to Christian's room. He said, "Do not ask questions, Christian, just come with me". Christian was used to following other people's instructions. Being a simple man, he wordlessly followed Timothy. Timothy led Christian to the cold outside. They both sat on a small wooden bench painted white. Timothy reached underneath, and pulled out two bottles of beer,ice cold. He opened them, and gave one to Christian. Christian smiled, cold beer could make even a hardened veteran smile. "To Christian", said Timothy, and both raised their bottles. They both drank, and enjoyed their little private time. All this time, Christian said little, but the contentment could be seen on his face. He enjoyed the beer, cherishing every sip.His eyes remained calmly fixed on Timothy. The hardened veteran permitted a slight curve on his scarred lips, a smile that said a thousand words. Timothy thought to himself, "Only when you know that life's clock will soon stop ticking, will you truly appreciate its simple pleasures". Timothy led the silent, but happy Christian back to his room.


After the celebration was over, and silent Christian was put to bed, Timothy stayed back to clean the messy reception area. After finishing the job, he went to check on Christian. Christian was sound asleep. The window was open, and cold breeze was coming into the room. Timothy decided to close the window. He noticed dark clouds forming in the sky. A storm was coming. As Timothy closed the window, a lone maple tree leaf managed to get into the room. It slowly settled down on Christian's open palm. Timothy went to pick it up, but as his flesh touched Christian's, Timothy felt the same eerie cold that surrounds the dead. He checked for a pulse which wasn't there. Christian had died in peace. He had died a happy man. A fitting end for the servant of the nation.


As the flood of memories receded on the dreary Friday morning, Timothy started to think. Why should a selfless man like Christian suffer? What was the limit to patriotism? He began to question Heaven, Hell and Karma. He looked at the nameless gravestone once again. "A hero, forever loyal to the flames of war and liberty". It was his own decision to keep the grave nameless. "I want to be just like every other servant of the nation", Christian had said before. Timothy felt it fitting that the grave remain nameless, for names and faces are forgotten, but deeds and personalities are not. That was the least he could do for the old man who made him feel emotionally attached to someone, the man who gave the depressing Cancer Centre a happy night. The irony never ceased to amaze Timothy. Christian was a decorated veteran, who dodged bullets and bombs, yet it was his own body that caused his death. Timothy thought about the chain of events-his meeting Christian on a Monday, his first conversation with Christian on a Tuesday, his staying by Christian's side on Wednesday,, Christian's birthday on a Thursday, and Christian's death on Friday. Timothy gave one last look at his bouquet, and at the single maple tree leaf on top of it. He turned around and walked towards the towering Cemetery gates. He bent down to pick up his fallen hat. He held it in his palms, and continued to walk. The Gray guards to the path of the dead were left behind. He reached for the same towering rusting black  gate. He pushed it open, and stepped outside. He felt great emptiness, as if he had left something behind, just like how he felt when his beloved aunt died ten years ago. He stepped out. As the doors closed behind him, the tears came crashing down.


Okay,this is the story.what do ya think??? By the way, the characters are fictitious, and not a reference to anyone in this world. Also,the note on the gravestone isn't my own creation,it is taken from the video game titled "Metal Gear Solid 4:Guns Of The Patriots",as a sign of my love and respect for that game. Well,that's that,and the show's over.Goodnight dear reader :)

War Inside My Head

Cancer. It’s a disease, one of the worst at that. It proves that the ticking clock of life has a deadline. The lucky ones have the luxury of not knowing how, when and where they will die, the unlucky ones whom this dirty disease catches hold of, they don’t have that luxury. When you know how long you have until you tae in your last breath, everything changes. Those who love you look at you differently, they become more tolerant. You look at things differently, smell things differently, you repent for the past, and you also become an involuntary magnet for pity.


But that is not the worst part. The worst part is what those who love the cancer victim feel. They will know that their loved one will die soon, and suddenly, a host of thoughts and ideas, along with millions of things to do with that person comes into their mind. The worst, however, is surprisingly not the countdown of every passing second, but the feeling of helplessness, that you can’t do anything but sit and watch, and pray, that the cancer vanishes and never comes back. That pain, the wait-they’re all part of the deal, part of the package.

This has been something that has been disturbing my thoughts. I am close to making a decision that will plot the course of my future-which subject to study during my eleventh and twelfth grade as the optional subject. My choices lie between computer applications, and biology. If you have read many of my previous posts, you would know that despite overspending on unnecessary items, I do generally care about people’s well being. It’s also my wish that I do something worthwhile in my life. With this thought in my mind, I tried to think about how the future will be in each of the two subjects. If I take computer applications, then I can attend an engineering college, get a job, do my masters, maybe doctorate, and then work on some irrelevant project until retirement, all the while making piles of cash and living the luxurious life I’ve always dreamed of. The latter, biology, however, opens up a totally different window. In addition to engineering, I’ll be able to study Medicine, and be a doctor, and at the same time, try engineering too. The reason I wrote about Cancer above is because I feel it’s the worst disease a human being can have, and its sort of my wish that I can be an oncologist, and help treat cancer.

Like all options, this too has its uncertainties. The future is not clear. I may not get into a good college. I’m not too good in biology too, but I am willing to work hard, if I can do something good with my life, something beneficial to others, once I grow up. But if I don’t get into a good college, what good is that going to do? Secondly, if I become an oncologist, the emotional stress may be too much for a sissy like me to handle. Who knows how many years can I handle before I break down? Third, what if, after becoming an oncologist, I misdiagnose a patient, and as a result, cause his or her death? Fourth, what will happen to my personal life if I become a doctor, spending most of my time with patients? And finally, what will my financial situation be? I’m sure it won’t be the same as it would be if I were an engineer. All these questions try to pull me away from choosing Biology as my subject. At the same time, the unnamed and unidentified feeling, which creeps up into my conscience is telling me that Biology is what I should take. Logic vs. Faith…….

This big question mark in me needs to be erased as soon as possible, because the day I give my final decision edges ever closer. Right now, the fear of not making a choice has overcome the fear of whether or not I’ll make the right one. Dear Reader, if you have any suggestion, any at all, please take the time to comment, so that I may be clear about the choice I need to make, the choice that will plot my future……….

Pride And Charity (And Some Prejudice Too)

We all talk about charity. Most of us would look up to those who practice. But we never question the motives behind the charity. I had some time to think things through, and here are my thoughts.

As you might already know, I’m just a sixteen year old guy, who just passed out from his tenth grade. My heart does bleed for the poor, and I do wish, and try, and sometimes practice charity. A good friend of mine, Titus, told me that it is wrong for a person of my age to give to charity, as we don’t earn money, so its not our right to give that which is not ours. To a certain extent, that’s true. But then, when I talked about this to my other good friend, Hari, he told me that even if we donate money that’s not ours, somebody stands to benefit from it just the same. These two arguments keep pestering me whenever I think about donating, and many times, the devil in me convinces my inner self to go with the first choice, just so that I have more money to spend for myself. But after much thought, by myself this time, I was able to bring Pride into this issue.

You might wonder how pride gets entangled into all this. Well, let me tell you how. First and foremost, although the deed of giving to charity is commendable, the motives behind it matters. After lots of thought, I came to the conclusion that people give to charity for two reasons basically. One is the obvious one-to help other less fortunate people. The second one, although one which we all tend to deny, can be disturbingly true. The second reason for donating is purely selfish, I might add. Many times, we donate just so that we feel good, or maybe just so that we can pacify a guilt that could’ve arisen from a past wrong deed. Isn’t that a selfish reason? Doesn’t pride play a role here? Well, it does, because some people, just to feel proud of themselves, just to show everybody that they have a big heart, donate to charity. This is exactly where pride comes in. To some extent, prejudice too.

I was suddenly reminded of another disturbing, yet true thought which my good friend, Sarvesh told me. He said that charity, albeit noble, can sometimes offend. Think about it, if a kid like me walks up to a grownup who’s in need of help, and offers financial assistance, how would that person feel? Wouldn’t he feel hurt? Wouldn’t he feel reduced? Wouldn’t his self esteem go down the drain? Wouldn’t his pride crumble like dominoes?

I must confess, many times when I feel sad for some person in need, when I feel the need to extend a helping hand, I myself do not know why I feel the way I feel. I don’t know if it’s a selfish reason, whether it’s a charitable and noble reason. I even feel that the charitableness that I feel sometimes is just an empty feeling, because in the end, I do not act charitable. So, in the end, I ask myself, is it pride? Is it prejudice? Is it nobility? Or is it just another one of those feelings that randomly come like winter breeze? I do have the fear that if I do find the right reason for the charitableness in men, perhaps the truth would be so disturbing, perhaps the revelation that only pride causes a person to donate or not donate, that would crush me, and would prove that humanity has a heart of stone. Of course, no one till now has found the reason for feeling charitable. Maybe if we find out the truth, then the whole act of charity will cease to be charitable. But like a candle in a dark room, hope springs eternal, as great people like Mother Theresa come flooding into my memories. There is still hope. There is still the unanswered question, and we can still pray that selfishness has not taken over charity, that pride will not prevent us from being charitable, that pride will not give us guilt after being charitable. God, what kind of thoughts do I get in this long and boring vacation?????