Category: Literature

Categories
Literature

You

by Achala Parashar, 1st MPTh

You.

Who can’t figure what, but can’t think not of what is bothering you.

Who can’t feel the new year, new you.  Who wishes when someone says, “what is it? let’s talk”, you knew, oh how you wish you knew. You need saving and loving and that seems so much to ask for and no one to ask from, even with hands of assurance all around you. 

Hey you, saving lives without knowing. Easing pain with warm towels and ice bottles. Breaking down less, and ever so often. Let me let you speak, of your pain and how you’re breathing lately. How your sleep has been changing, how food doesn’t seem to be helping you.    

Second guessing, if the hand of assurance, loving and forgiving you’re awaiting, is of you.  

  Wondering if while learning to be a physical therapist, it is worth having a kit of tools and a set of skills that can save you. A warm conversational hot pack that breaks the pain- mind spasm cycle. An emo-meter helping you express where you are or mental mobilization when thoughts and feelings grip you. Why are we hesitant? Along with learning professionalism and cooking, “Tamara matha kharab hoye toh su karvanu che?” is worth addressing. “Mala koni prem karat nahi,” vaatlyavar knowing what to feel next can come in handy. Half asleep and half anxious almost adults have come together and are calling you. We are willing to make ourselves healthier and for god’s sake, happy. We are refreshing the memory of “neeehaaaa khelne aa rahi haaii??” realising it has got to be “Nehaaaa want to be working on your mental health and emotion? Come lets go!” Look outside. The corona and NRC, an impending nuclear war, broken marriages and the strangest atrocities, why does it look like the inside of my mind before a deadline?

 And how long am I willing to get knocked over by every breeze of change or challenge? It looks like it’s time for reconstruction. Of governments and policies, foundations of nations and relations and of you. It’s a good time you know, to let go, of the temporary fixes, and empty assurances because whether you like it or not,  inqulab ki dastak har darwaze par hai, how can we escape this one, this internal revolution? Let’s see it through this time.

Categories
Literature

Flock

by Nikita Balachandran, Intern

“Come every winter the flock flies,
Every feather the same colour, everyone matching speed, every wing flap synchronised,
No guilt accompanies the kite who breaks rank from the flock,
To give itself the desired view and a warmer dock
To soar across the Mediterranean till its wings grow sore;
Its own nest, its own route it will explore,
On realising the relative definitions of infinity,
Is when he will begin to use his inimitability.”

Categories
Literature

Little Things

by Maithili Ghule, 2nd BPTh

A cup of hot coffee and your favourite read in the rain,

an unexpected smile while walking through the lane.

The rejuvenating dew on lush-green leaves at dawn,

Admiring nature’s best creation each time a toddler is born.

Those unapologetic sun tans on a breezy coast,

Little things matter the most!

Bursting into laughter till you can no more breathe

Relating to lines of a song with feelings lying underneath.

Curiosity of wrapped gifts on special occasions,

skies  transforming colours with the changing seasons.

An overloaded  chocolate dessert,

Hitting the party in your favourite skirt.

Dozing off on the corner bench going unnoticed almost,

Little things matter the most!

Building new relations,

catching up with old ones in some weird situations

A little messy, a little sweet

Towards perfection, yet incomplete.

Thinking (all of this) out loud, to someone in the middle of the night ; under the lamppost,

Little things do matter the most!

Categories
Literature

Ashore

by Rucha Gadgil, 2nd MPTh

A child asked his mother,

“How was I born?”

“Was I your wish or a gift from God?”

Closing her eyes, gathering him close

She smiled and said, “You are a part of my soul.”

Tears pricking her eyes, she put him to sleep

Hoping he would understand why she was taking this leap

Gathering her courage she sat at the bay

Looking at the child that in her arms lay

‘Destiny is weird’ she thought to herself

She wiped a tear that from her eyes escaped

Lights buzzing, a sea of cars swarming by

She sat with the baby as the world rushed by

Lashed of hope and burnt by faith

Heart broken, she walked to the last gate

Gazing at her prince, holding him by her bosom

Smiling at him ,memorizing  his features

She laid him down , kissed him her goodbyes

Turning around, she disappeared into the night with tears in her eyes

A part of her soul broken, left at the door

She wandered in the sea, never coming back ashore.

Categories
Literature

MySpace

by Achala Parashar, 1st MPTh

As I rolled up my sleeve to take the third injection against rabies after a recent dog bite, a friend asked, “I don’t get this. Are you sure you did nothing?” And I rolled my eyes as I half-heartedly took this opportunity for redemption. “Yeah, I mean I just winked at it” I muttered. And this morning as I happened to waltz through the garden with hands all over the place I suddenly realised I invaded this dog’s space again. I swear to you, it turned with such angst as it jolted on, it was threatening to get me arrested.  I wondered if some offenders were simply perky and how if I was to be convicted for strange behaviour, I’d rather have a psychiatrist of choice, asking him not to tie me up.

 I would ask for my space.

 Oh? Is that why he hasn’t called back yet? Am I taking too much space?

What is this space business? You know, if the nucleus of an atom was the size of a marble, the orbit of the first electron is as large as a football field. The rest of it is empty!  So if we were to remove all of this space, hypothetically, all 7 billion of us would fit in a matchbox. That makes me question everything.

      However, have you seen something in nature take its space? Apart from the leg space of the other 3 ladies when you’re on the 4th seat, most things in nature seem to poetically converse in spaces. The ones between your breaths when you’re feeling content, or those between your heart beats and fingers and shoulders and tears. Blades of grass, legs of storks, petals of a lotus, ends of lips in playful smiles, or the gracefully stretching dog that bit me, seems like authenticity is perceived through how these things take their space.  

   The fifth element, making most of who I am, is this emptiness. It’s best to make friends with it for as I said, it is a great conversationalist. Speaking in silences, leaving you in tears of all kinds, it can show you the hollowness of nihilism, belittle the existence of anything you can identify with, leave you feeling all by yourself, connected with everything perceivable.    

    I wonder what nature had in mind when it said, this, this human species, is my masterpiece. Birds flying with radar systems, fishes on in-built SONAR, bees carrying blueprints and maps in a brain the size of a grain of sand, a seed carrying the capacity to repopulate the flora on this planet, unafraid to lose its identity as it bursts into a radicle and plumule and then there is me, struggling to find the K-lab cupboard keys because that’s so much extra work. I’m at the top of this evolutionary chain.    

   You know what my best shot at guessing the (un)obvious update that we are carrying is? I think our super feature is choice. You can choose to tell me why your shoulders are droopy and that leg shaking. Why you’re making fists of your palms as you are mindlessly biting your lip. I can choose the rhythm of life. How I sit, breathe, write sonnets or belt rap songs with my heart beats, embrace you or hold your hand as we strut into failing and trying again at skillfully maneuvering our share of the emptiness of this universe.

Categories
Literature

Best Days of My life

by Kripa Zatakia, Intern

Today when I look back to my school and college days, I can hardly recollect anything from the lectures.
What I remember goes like this-
The different ways my friends sitting behind would trouble me
That whispering to my bench partner during class, and being caught red handed by the teacher
That peaceful sleep during long lectures
The last page of my notebooks- filled with signature practice, X and O, Mehendi designs and FLAMES, everything except the notes
Those loud sneezes and funny ringtones from hidden silenced mobile phones
Undoubtedly, those were the best days of my life.  

Categories
Literature

Shayari – Ek Sunhera Sapna

by Nilav Jadhav, 1st BPTh

Tumhara phir se laut ke aana,
Mujh me ek nayi umeed laayi hai,
Ek naya khwaab sa jagayi hai,
Meri berang zindagi mei raango ki baahar laayi hai,
Phir ek baar naya ehsaas jagayi hai,
Mujhe phir se jeene ki wajah dilayi hai,

Par phir har roz ki tarah mera yeh sunhera sapna tootta hai,
Meri aankh khulti hai,
Aur tu sirf meri khwaabo mei banke reh jaati hai

Par phir har roz issi ummed mei sota hu,
Ki tumhe sapno mei toh dekh saku,
Haqiqat mei naa saahi sapno mei hii tujhe haasil kar saku

Par taqdeer toh dekhiye meri,
Naa toh haqiqat mei aur naa hii sapno mei,
Tujhe haasil kar paya,
Tu mera sirf ek sunhera khwaab ban kar meri yaado mei reh gaayi

Categories
Literature

Pause

by Nikita Balachandran, Intern

Every day, I have a routine.

Every few years, I have a goal.

Every now and again, I want to fast-forward; to a better time, to a better day 

And wish I could play a different role.

“It fits!,” They will scream blind,

 Just because you are good at the grind

 With no reason for you to think you don’t belong 

How do they know what piece of the jigsaw I resemble? 

Being good at something isn’t equivalent to feeling one with the throng.

Every now and again, I would rewind, to the day I set off on a path.

Not regretting the journey, no! But the ignorance behind it,

the comfort that kept me chained with no heart to fight it.

Remember, however, you always have the choice to make another attempt,

Why can’t we let go of our chase for a familiar life of security? 

From what I have heard, familiarity breeds contempt.

Every now and again, I am terrified the choosen path will reach an end, for then the crossroads will arrive concurrent and sharp.

“You will grow here too,” They will scream blind, 

Just because it’s not the one with the steeper climb

With no reason for you to not take the well-trodden path, 

But how do they know my dreams involve a terrain leading to a different visual? 

Growing is subjective & you shouldn’t feel guilty for not performing it like a ritual.

Every now and again, I pause, 

Reflect, revaluate and restart.

Every day you work without a purpose remember,

Stagnancy digs a grave deeper than sunlight can ever reach,

And it is the dead who don’t feel, grow or persevere,

Alive, you are an amalgamation of each day’s strife,

When you need to be an anvil, you bear.

When you need to be a hammer, you strike.

Pause when you do not know exactly where to head, 

Pause when you do not know what would be the sequel to the ongoing part,

Pause so you know where you want to be in the end, 

Knowing what you don’t want seems like a good place to start.     

Categories
Literature

One Last Time

by Keerti K Udasi, 1st BPTh

Crying, I entered the building

Unaware of everything

Not knowing what fate had for me,

I went on to give my best

That building gave me knowledge,

Imbibed humanity in me,

Gave me the strength and

a will to face the world

Oh! How beautifully the friendships brewed

poking fun at teachers,

teasing friends by their crushes,

We shared a bond as strong as family.

Today, as I leave the school building for one last time,

I feel lost

The walls of this building have heard me cry,

witnessed my happiness,

saw me grow up.

Weird is the school life,

you cry when you enter-

you cry harder when you leave.

Categories
Literature

Sunshine

by Prisha Mehta, 2nd BPTh

In the blow of  a candle, the fire looses. 

The blue flower falls weak in front of the red. 

The mighty sun comes down at night, 

The stars need the dark board to caste it’s shine. 

The tall trees bow down to the blow of the wind. 

We all lose somewhere, fall weak somewhere, 

We all fall short somewhere, 

Because we’re full of flaws, flaws that make of us.

We all are broken, broken in ways we don’t even know. 

We’re Lost, lost in ways that can’t be found. 

We’re full of insecurities, insecurities that tear us apart. 

We’re all scared, petrified, lost, hopeless and vulnerable, in ways that aren’t common. 

But it’s what it is, 

The bare raw truth,

Nobody is perfect, nothing is perfect. 

But then, 

It’s just a phase, they say. 

The clouds are gray, huge and fat, let them pour n pass and bluer brighter skies will come,

The sun will bloom it’s light, again through the holes and cracks, within your body, mind n soul. 

All we need to Remember is 

To hold onto, 

tight, 

and stick onto 

Safe places and people. 

People who will heal us, Who will hold us. 

People who will love us, love us besides the imperfections we have. 

Hold our hands, walk us through the storm. 

And remind us, 

Everything right will happen. 

Because, 

What’s meant to be will, 

what not will not. 

Trust, 

and have faith. 

Good things come. 

They do come, 

all we need to do is wait. 

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