Forgiving- An Art?

Before I get down to the core of what I am about to discuss here, I’d like to draw a small analogy narrated to me by someone.

The teeth and the tongue reside in the same mouth. Sometimes the tooth bites the tongue. Yet, the tongue does not retaliate, and the two continue to dwell harmoniously in the same mouth. That’s the art of forgiveness.

Talk about forgiving, and what’s the first thing that jumps to the minds of those of us who love to hold onto our grudges? It’s the supposedly intelligent argument that “I won’t allow the other person to live in the blissful thought that they have been forgiven.”

Why?

Because according to us, its equivalent to allowing a criminal walk scott-free. But we’re so busy focusing on what the other person derives out of being forgiven, that we forget ourselves in the process.

Do you or do you not gain something by forgiving someone?

The above argument portrays a very narrow scope of thought. And it is this misconception that I’m attempting to dispel. It’s not your self-respect that you’re holding in place by employing this argument; it’s your ego. And it’s the very thing that’s holding you down, not propelling you forwards towards a better tomorrow. By not forgiving someone, are we or are we not holding back a part of ourselves as well in the process? And if we’re not here to get on and get ahead, then why are we here? And in the process of getting ahead, what is it that stops you from spreading a little cheer and exercising a little forgiveness every once in a while?

Smiles are meant to be shared and spread, not kept to oneself like a jar of cookies.

Getting back to the part about there being something for you in the process of forgiving someone – why does it matter that the other person derives the pleasure of knowing that he/she is forgiven when there’s just as much pleasure, if not more, to be enjoyed by you as well? Pleasure in the form of peace of mind and the knowledge that you’ve made someone smile…it’s something similar to that miniature dose of ecstasy that you derive by feeding that beggar on the street and seeing him smiling at you in gratitude.  

Why focus on the other person and miss out on your share of fun?

Think of yourself sometimes.

They say “daag acche hote hain” (Some stain/mark is good sometimes) …I say it’s good to be selfish sometimes.

And yes, to the one I'm thinking about- I forgive you! And to the one's whom I've hurt, I'm sorry, please forgive me! 

A Letter I'd Never Send.

Dear Whomsoeverthismayconcern,

I wouldn't know how to start this no matter how hard I thought, because this is so important to me. Why, you may ask? I'd like to start explaining a certain philosophy if I may call it, that I was told once. Scientific theories, technical glitches can all be explained, but there's one thing that cannot be explained sometimes not matter how hard you try and that is emotions.We feel so many things. We have so many emotions. We develop a million prejudices. I want to tell you about emotions, about our society, about what I've understood, and about what I'm yet to understand.

We all phase problems. All of you have gone through this phase in your life where you felt very down because of someone or something. Its only natural. But have you ever felt that this particular issue builds up on you and just over powers you? It begins to creep on you and rule your world? Happens. You feel agitated, irritated and more like punching someone so hard. It all just happens. But this stupid overpowering thing, should be nipped when its still not fully grown. Kill it, cut it, get rid of it. Show it that you are stronger.

This world is a male dominant one. Men are utmost important. In our society, a widow or a divorcee is always looked down upon. People don't consider what happens to a woman when she is put through so much torture. When she is looked down upon by the society. Men, get away with all the mistakes they make only because no one cares. Do they ever see, what it has taken the women to get justice? Do they try to understand why she did  what she did? No. Of course not. What if a lady makes the same mistakes? She'd be punished severely. That is the state of our society. And it always has been, it'll change, provided 'miracles happen'. 

Whomsoeveritmayconcern, I'm telling you, this world is a confused place. It is so damn confusing that one day you might wonder what your doing here. Everyone is selfish. Everyone is self centered in our world. People only care about themselves. But there is one person, I can tell you, who you CAN trust. She will love you to her hearts extent, she'll give you all that she has and still not want anything. She's your mother. Honestly, mothers are like a form of God on earth. They are probably the only politically right people as you may call it. You might say she loves your sibling more, or whatever, but actually she is capable of giving equal love to everyone. Value her. 

Recently a friend of mine, her mother passed away. And believe me, it was rather sudden. No one expected it. Its rather shocking. I had tears in my eyes when I heard the news. What I wondered was, how on earth would my friend be able to stand straight? How on earth would she be able to breathe when her mom isn't? I can't imagine. Its the world's saddest thing, and people who make it through are the strongest ones. Hats off. 

Okay, this letter wasn't meant to scare you away or anything. Nor is it depressing, its just facts. And things I wanted to tell you Whomsoeveritmayconcern. Its just how the world tends to be when you look through a magnifying glass. 

There are other sides to the world too. Happy ones. Sometimes it gives you all that you want. You feel overwhelmed, joyous, like the happiest person alive. For a kid, a candy makes her feel that happiness, for you it may be love and for some others it might be material. Happiness is subjective. What I may find happy might not make you happy. Just how in economics they say, what 'goods' I find harmful, you may find useful.

Now, how to achieve happiness. 

I've learnt, there are two types of happiness. 

-The small happiness

-The big happiness.

Explaining in detail, the small happiness is basically the momentary or short period of time wala happiness. It lasts for a small time. This type of happiness can be : the happiness we get when we buy a phone or when we eat our favourite food.

The big happiness on the other hand is this particular thing that gives you 'happy' (like its a medicine or something) so much that your world is made. Its like achieving this happiness is tough. Trust me discovering what can give you this itself takes ages, getting to it will take a few more ages. But its all worth it. Let me tell you a secret, we were all born to find this thing that makes us super happy and our aim in life is actually to achieve it. 

There are certain people that have achieved this happy, but are still not happy. Now lets not talk about such people.

So let me conclude this letter by saying the world is a confused place. An this was just the beginning. There's a hell lot more I'd like to say. We'll see about that in the next letter to come.

Till next time.

Lots of Love,

Yours truly,

Lyana. 

Lost Music, Found Lyrics.

"Show is over close the storybook, 

There will be no encore."

-The Verve Pipe

What happens when all your life you've chased after something and it's always eluded you? Does it lose it's charm and luster in your eyes, with time? Or does it become that much more coveted and irreplaceable? You're doomed if it's the latter. 

Love. Boy, I hate that word. 

The one thing we want more than anything else. The one thing we wish were permanent and is the least of all things permanent. Is not to love. It's to be loved. And how hard could it be right? You can love. So why can't he? You talk to him about his passions, fears, ambitions (or the lack thereof). About his football and how he once had a serious injury. About how he likes his food bland. About parallel lives and parallel worlds. Of dreams, attainable and attain-ably-unattainable. About Blood Diamond and how you've never seen it. About music you don't understand. About pseudo intellects. About drugs and foolish theories. About tobacco and quiet nights. About loving 500 Days of Summer and never wanting it for yourself. And you listen too. 

You look absolutely gorgeous when you put on a dress and dapper heels. You match him step by step and just stop short of overstepping your femininity. He loves that. You take his breath away each time you choose to flash your wit or let down your hair. He loves that too. Then why can't he love you? 

Tricky isn't it? Beautiful, subtle, passionate, crazy, smart, funny, and everything just a fortnight ago he told you he saw in you and loved. But he just didn't love you. I don't get it either. I don't get what twisted, cruel act of fate makes you put yourself and your heart right out on the line each time and then have it lashed at with such fury that it takes aeons for it to revive and rekindle even one-fourth of its warmth back into you. 

I stay up late mugging up lines about the Malaysian increasing crime rates and straining to see the lace details of the latest Dior booties, at the same time, and somewhere in the middle, it hits me like a punch in the belly and almost laughs at me while it watches me reeling under the pain for some ten endless minutes of excruciating torture. This love. 

I'm still running the treasure-hunt marathon. Just taking a time-out to submerge myself in this city, its odor, to make it's eccentric life run through my veins (precaution: side-effects may include erratic bleeding), and to forge a lifelong sisterhood and super-fluousness. 

So maybe I'll find the lyrics to my music. Maybe it'll add meaning and depth to some wordless tunes. Maybe it'll make something only shiny plastic, actually beautiful.

Keep running girls. And watch out for the speed-breakers. 

The Fan Keeps Running

It's night time. I enter my room; things just the way I left them - dried clothes on the chair, my computer downloading movies, an empty water bottle on the floor, the smell of my 'Tresor" still lingering in the air and my messed up bed. The fan, running. Ahh, this is the life. 

No matter how I leave my room, I never switch off my fan. Why? Well because it keeps up the ventilation, gets my wet towel dry and moreover, gives me a nice gush of air the moment I enter my room baked in the outdoor weather. 

I plug my smart phone to the charger, put my bag away, change into something more comfortable for the night, fix up something to eat, play some good music and relax. Friend's visit, we talk and laugh. Some complain, some entertain, some gossip and some just like to drop in to say hi.
The fan keeps running. 

I think about them, their issues, contemplating on what I would've done. I talk to them, try to help them. How much importance do we tend to give to trivial things in life? A broken heart, a heated argument, jealousy, materialism, a men's male ego and a female's envy. Hours pass by and nothing seems to be done. Just another talk session. The fan keeps running. 

Morning follows; the usual routine. Some random plans once in a while. Good food even less. Library, coffee, books. Alas, my room again.
The fan still running. 

I hear the fan running. Reminds me how things don't always happen smoothly. How people around you can make you miserable. How friends turn into enemies. How you can badly miss a hug from mum and dad and can do nothing about it. How you miss giggling around with the brothers and you feel tears trickling down the cheeks in matter of seconds. I miss everything. 

Its an irony how people whom hurts you the most teaches you the greatest lesson in life. Yes, they taught me. 

I hear the fan running. This time it made an unusual, "krikkk" sound. Aligning to my feelings, I presumed. Weird the world is. People judge you based on who your group of companies are, who you have your lunch with maybe even whom you go to the toilet to. You lower your ego to the pit, apologize for what's not your mistake, only to be labeled for "Friends with a bitch." You be friends with girls, you're a brat. You hang out with guys, you're a slut. 

I laughed at myself. Who are we trying to satisfy? The society, the friend or the very own self?

Probably a question, which many has been faking for years. Or even over their life.

Sometimes I sit and think about the good old days, old friends, true relations. Silence surrounds me. Only the sound of the running fan. Everything just happens so fast. So far away from home, I wonder if I really have people to whom matters to me. Friends who I assume to be close. Those who if asked to do something, don't question. Those, to whom I can bare my soul and still know that they would remain the same. 

I trust too much. I fall. I get up, stabilize and then I fall again. I learn. I smile. I laugh. The thing with coming to any conclusion is that it always has the potential to change. I smirk. I remain optimistic. The fan keeps running. 

Apart from only a select few, all are the same. Feels bad to judge and to part from people you once loved. But moving on is a necessity. Those who don't understand me now, can never understand me later. I wipe that tear drop and switch off the light.

The fan keeps running, my life keeps on moving.

All I Sought Was A Friendship.

All I sought was friendship. I had it, a beautiful relationship, that a lot of time was invested in, I was glad, the laughter, the waiting for a message, the small exchanges of personal information, the guesses and longing to spend time together, it was beautiful. Just beautiful.

I was so happy and content. Nature was in full bloom.

Doomed and damned that I am, I lost it, I still have to unravel the reason why? I am slow to understand, it was probably my exuberance, my insistence, my jealousy, that stifled you. My consistent banter that threw you off.

All I wanted was your friendship, wanted to care for you, something that I wanted to do, for the rest of your life.

All I wanted to be, was a part of your life. Stand in your shadow, unseen, observe your Highs and Lows. Offer my shoulder to lean and cry upon, in the time of need. Applaud your achievements silently.

But it all went awry.

Now there is no way to contact you. The bridges have all been burnt. The bitterness, probably in you, is vile. Rightfully so. I accept that too.

I bear no malice, I bear no ill, I am just the same, though a little low. I leave you to your space, because, I feel you wanted it that way. Your feelings and desires are paramount.

But I remain steadfast, and have reached where I wanted to be, in your shadows. Observing, waiting for your call, you just have to reach out and you will find me there by your side as a true friend. In all the turbulent times that you go through, face them, firmly and with strength, for you will not be alone, I shall be there to support you.

In the manner that we have gone apart. There is nothing that you have lost - you have gained a support. A firm pillar, which time will tell. I will be there always, irrespective....

Of Love and Words.

You should date a girl who reads.

Date a girl who reads. Date a girl who spends her money on books instead of clothes, who has problems with closet space because she has too many books. Date a girl who has a list of books she wants to read, who has had a library card since she was twelve.

Find a girl who reads. You’ll know that she does because she will always have an unread book in her bag. She’s the one lovingly looking over the shelves in the bookstore, the one who quietly cries out when she has found the book she wants. You see that weird chick sniffing the pages of an old book in a secondhand book shop? That’s the reader. They can never resist smelling the pages, especially when they are yellow and worn.

She’s the girl reading while waiting in that coffee shop down the street. If you take a peek at her mug, the non-dairy creamer is floating on top because she’s kind of engrossed already. Lost in a world of the author’s making. Sit down. She might give you a glare, as most girls who read do not like to be interrupted. Ask her if she likes the book.

Buy her another cup of coffee.

Let her know what you really think of Murakami. See if she got through the first chapter of Fellowship. Understand that if she says she understood James Joyce’s Ulysses she’s just saying that to sound intelligent. Ask her if she loves Alice or she would like to be Alice.

It’s easy to date a girl who reads. Give her books for her birthday, for Christmas, for anniversaries. Give her the gift of words, in poetry and in song. Give her Neruda, Pound, Sexton, Cummings. Let her know that you understand that words are love. Understand that she knows the difference between books and reality but by god, she’s going to try to make her life a little like her favorite book. It will never be your fault if she does.

She has to give it a shot somehow.

Lie to her. If she understands syntax, she will understand your need to lie. Behind words are other things: motivation, value, nuance, dialogue. It will not be the end of the world.

Fail her. Because a girl who reads knows that failure always leads up to the climax. Because girls who read understand that all things must come to end, but that you can always write a sequel. That you can begin again and again and still be the hero. That life is meant to have a villain or two.

Why be frightened of everything that you are not? Girls who read understand that people, like characters, develop. Except in the Twilight series.

If you find a girl who reads, keep her close. When you find her up at 2 AM clutching a book to her chest and weeping, make her a cup of tea and hold her. You may lose her for a couple of hoursbut she will always come back to you. She’ll talk as if the characters in the book are real, because for a while, they always are.

You will propose on a hot air balloon. Or during a rock concert. Or very casually next time she’s sick. Over Skype.

You will smile so hard you will wonder why your heart hasn’t burst and bled out all over your chest yet. You will write the story of your lives, have kids with strange names and even stranger tastes. She will introduce your children to the Cat in the Hat and Aslan, maybe in the same day. You will walk the winters of your old age together and she will recite Keats under her breath while you shake the snow off your boots.

Date a girl who reads because you deserve it. You deserve a girl who can give you the most colorful life imaginable. If you can only give her monotony, and stale hours and half-baked proposals, then you’re better off alone. If you want the world and the worlds beyond it, date a girl who reads.

Or better yet, date a girl who writes.

Inside you is an Ugly Betty

Inside you is an Ugly Betty, an Elle Woods or a Desperate Housewife. A flawed woman, an imperfect woman eager to make herself more perfect for someone else, to be what someone else thinks of them, someone who is sometimes overwhelmed by the things she doesn’t have but wants to live a happier life and feel more complete. So often as a woman we live our life constantly battling what is expected of us and what we expect of ourselves. But most of the times I have learnt to appreciate the imperfectness that makes me a woman. There is something raw, pure and sublime about accepting the flaws that make you who you are. But its even more empowering to stop trying to be perfect; to stop measuring yourself with the yardsticks of another woman’s beauty, body, success, fame, money, popularity or peace.  Being an imperfect woman is living a full life, it is dipping your hands deep into the jar of life and licking each emotion off, one finger at a time. Its tolerating the taste of bitterness, savoring the flavor of peace, resisting the taste of jealousy, teasing yourself with the smells of success, relishing the bursts of selflessness, swallowing the seeds of fears, biting down the bits of impatience. 

 I am an imperfect woman and I don’t always handle myself with aplomb. I err, I cry, I laugh and I fight and I am happy accepting that. Because its all these imperfections bundled together that makes me, the unique me.