Confessions of a sinner

I can be quite obnoxious. Well, thanks to my one-track, one-dimensional, obsessed mind, many of my friends and not-quites may have such an impression. I wont accuse them. There are many things that i like in life, but there is a fewer lot that i love. And i am quite possessive about them, to the extent of being an animal. There have been so many times when my near and dear ones have said that I need psychiatric help. Yes, I do. Maybe, I do to fit the bill of the conventional guy. I am quite conventional, you see but a rare deviati0on from it spells trouble and leads to such a conclusion. It brands me. Yeah, I am impractical, unreasonable, quite selfish, jealous, possessive as earlier mentioned, immatured, uncouth, short-tempered. But that's because i love. Weird? Well that's how it is. These are infrequent occurances but as i said they are of such a degree and such is my luck that they brand me. The other aspects of me are most of the times, overlooked. I complain and then when i find there are no listeners, I gulp it in. I fail to explain to the world that I am unreasonable, impractical and the other adjectives mentioned above, only and ONLY because I love. That's a honest reason. Look, I am not justifying it nor trying to gain a consolation. Just stating facts. yes, people would write it off as a lame one. But i just cant seem to explain people. I can teach kids but cant explain people properly. A phenomenon which has been happening to me from my childhood days. A thing which used to drain me completely, initially but nowadays i am quite used to it when i see that i am not able to explain people what i intend to. Or falling short of my intentions. Partho Mukherjee once said that between your passion and performance falls a shadow, between your dreams and destiny falls a shadow. i am used to this spectre now but it still haunts me. But in conclusion, socially and conventionally speaking, I am a sinner who fails to understand and quite a bit of an immatured prick, maybe. But that is because i love. If you feel you are not able to understand this discourse, I have my reasons for it as stated a few lines above. And if you do, well, God bless poor you.

Thank you...A miracle!

Bari aaye!
eki! kano? ei to elaam
na na aaj taratari aaste hobe...aar na
kano? erom korona...aar kichhukhhon thaakte dao
na
aare! shondeo to hoyni
na baari esho
aare? aami korlaam ta ki? aamar dosh ki?
khub beyaddop hoecho aajkal
aar je aami tomaar kotha shuni
na baari esho bolechi esho bass!
but shonde to hote daao...koto khyala baaki...koto plans nie eshechilam
na na ki hochhe tor theke?
kano?
aka akai to khelchish...koi tor bondhura?
o ora! ora lukieche!aami khujchi
mitthe kotha?
na na...shotti
na onek hoeche...aaye to ebaar.dekhbi bhaalo laagbe ekhaane
bhaalo laagbe hoyto. but aamar ekhaaneo bhaalo laagce
kano?
aare! koto kichu bhebe aachi. koto ki plans
arakdin korbi. akhon aaye
please
na
please please
NA
erom korona please. Thaakte dao...pls
...
ektu doya koro
...
please...aami kotha shunbo...
thik?
Thik thik thik please ektu thaaki
Hm ok
Thank you...

Suddenly...

I have known long enough that life is arbitrary. A moment before I entered the newsroom yesterday at 5 in the morning, little did I realize what was the piece of news that would greet me in the giant 72 inches plasma screen installed a few days back. A train disaster had taken place near Jhargram, possibly triggered by the maoists rampant in the area. A most unfortunate event, where more than 70 were dead. But as I stared blankly at the screen, my mind pondered upon the most literal question- how many more such?- and also something more profound- about the reason behind it all. why would a person sitting or sleeping comfortably on his berth, maybe expecting a business meeting or a family reunion when he reaches Mumbai, be all of a sudden, greeted by an accident, which will take away his life, which will shatter his dreams, which will leave a void in his family, which will bring in a crisis wherein everybody will shake their heads and sympathize and say that whatever happened was too bad...The chill went down my spine. I mean you, the reader, have dreams. I have dreams. We all have dreams. It can be a short term one-like doing a task in a few days time or a long term one-like buying a house or settling my debts or just simply, be happy. So why are these dreams snatched away, all of a sudden? I have always loved to think that i would want to die in my sleep. And that there should be a premonition. It used to hammer me when I heard tales of physical sufferers who died gradually. But now, i guess, they are the lucky ones. Death is not a shock to them. Its a process. But what about the unaware fellow, on whom a rolling stone falls and cracks open his skull, or he meets with an accident, or he slips and fall down a cliff...all of these sudden instances... arbitrary. Why so? And I find no answer. Is life a dream? Are we all in a dream? Are we to 'wake up' and find that the 'real' life exists in death?
I would have accepted the theory but for the engagements, propositions, ideas, plans and love in this world, which are tucked away in a corner of the room filled with grief, misery and helplessness.
Maybe the answer is waiting for us. We shall know it all. In sweet time.

Jhor bole aami saathe
mon er saathe brishti kaande
ki korbo bhebe na paai
jhorer saathe miliye jaai?

(the storm says with you friend
a tear or two, rains lend
I know not what to do
storm take me along too)

How's that?

Whenever i look at the Sports team in my newsroom, I feel a distant longing and an incisive disappointment. Not because of the content that they contribute. But for a different reason. I look at the members and think I could have also been one of them. And I wander to the exciting alleys of my childhood days.

Yes, exciting. I used to be a cricket crazy individual, innocent and adventurous, unassuming and emotional. I loved cricket. But, only cricket. The over hype of the game in our country had roped me as a victim too. So the other sports were completely ignored by the seeds of passions fresh in my mind during those days. And that is a prime reason- my lack of knowledge regarding other sports like football, hockey, the olympics, tennis, badminton etc.- why i am not in their shoes.

But passion and knowledge are different. You can be passionate about something but know well-informed. Yes of course I was well informed but not a cricket buff ( like the way I can say-now- I am a bollywood buff) Records, achievements, career, statistics used to escape my notice. I only used to be mesmerized and thrilled by the very soul of cricket. Whenever the Indian team walked on to the field, whenever I used to look at a photograph of a favourite cricketer on a card which used to come free with a chewing gum once. So the passion did not seep into research and by the time the evening tuitions took away my freedom to go to the field and play the game unchained, and by the time the pressure of studies and other attractions guiled me, the passion towards the game was going afar.

Now i am left with the memories, layman knowledge and the same old lack of remembrance or interest in statistics- the first step that can make you a successful journalist or more so a cricket historian. But, never mind!

3 States

No i am not starting a novel ala chetan bhagat...though I really liked his latest book on love and parents against love and a win finally. I am just getting 'inspired' from the title of his latest novel to write something which is not about love, nor parents, neither about a win really. It's well more about roads and cars and people and lights and cold and sights and sounds and drivers and passengers and waiting and sickness and well...about 3 states.

Yes, three states.Haryana, Delhi(UT), Uttar pradesh. These are the three states which flash against my eyes when I commute to work and a mere suggestion of this travel plan to my colleagues draws such astonishing looks and physical expressions-which is the only thing that lets me gauge the seriousness of my itinerary.

Well I never think of it as a draining distance. great, yes it is but i think the exertion part of it is more mental than physical and it depends too. Like the days when i am looking forward to work helps me a lot to disengage with the hectic travelling. But the days when i am a reluctant employee, it sinks in...and it sinks in hard.

Sights and sounds greet me. Gurgaon's vast and cold roads, the suburban feel to it, with malls and haryanvi attire dotting the region makes it a splendid place to cross by. Delhi's cosmopolitan atmosphere makes me giddy. so does the serpentine traffic jams in the city, but not before enthralling me with the latest skodas and BMWs that zoom past me or the state of the art buses that ply (without going up in flames) or the costumes that people showcase amidst their hurried steps. I still have not found any affinity for Noida. I am more bruised by the dusty roads and the crime graph peaking everytime there. And well office work is not somewhere where you find solace in. But nevertheless.

There used to be a time when I 'travelled' 3 blocks to go to my school and maybe 300 steps to go to my college. That was in Calcutta. Things changed in Chennai where my college was a good 30 kms away.

During my travel here, I read a book or listen to music or simply stare at the roads and a million things crop up in my brain making me numb to the things outside. Almost everyday I spot the mangled remains of a car lying on the sideway. But reaction has ceased to exist.

Sometimes, i get lost but then the driver knows his way or I ask some helpful people who oblige.

Boss with a baggage

I came to know the arbitrary power of a master after I warned my maid to 'lay her off' ( such a popular lingo nowadays) when she misbehaved. The sudden power that I discovered within me came with a rider. And moments after issuing her warning verbal certificate, I felt damned. So this was the power of the boss. I can wish what I want and i have a thousand people under me tending to me desires. And if somebody fails to live up to my expectations, well...I simply fire him! As far as i am concerned I dont have much experience of playing the boss with people but yes a couple of times I have very well come under their supervision, professionally. And like other 'subordinates' i would vouch that having your boss standing right behind your neck and monitoring your proceedings is not a pleasant affair at all. And then of course, you run that risk of not living up to his expectations and just like the boss in Katherine mansfield's 'The Fly', with one blot of an ink he can wipe me off the daily roster.

Speaking of Mansfield and the character of boss in it, I feel that today's bosses are not that lonely. The boss in the short story must have been a little hyper-sensitive who laments for his lost child after realization dawns on him. But today's bosses are an unscrupulous lot. Sensitive, they seldom are and whenever they are, one can plainly recognize that it is nothing but a garb behind which lie some ulterior motive to get a work done or win your confidence. So one boss can delay your payment when you have taken a leave for a deadly virus attack and ask for papers to prove so, another can fire a bureau cameraperson if he fails to get a guest through to a telecast due to some technical error.

You know that when you are a boss there are a thousand people backbiting you and you also know that there are millions other who will praise you with sugar coated tongue once you lay your eyes on them. Girls have an edge here. And pretty ones can relax even more. Just by a turn of your eye or a swish of your shampooed hair you can entice the gentleman in corduroys and win his heart. But yes, you have to maintain your seduction till the time you decide that either he is distasteful or attacking your virginity or the lack of it or you simply decide to take your charms to another boss somewhere else.

Sensitive bosses like me or mansfield's character, by the terms and trends mentioned above, should not play the boss. because after venting out my ire on the maid,for a moment i realized that laying her off would mean that I have to find a new maid and that is not the easiest job on earth. And I dont have abundant wads of money on me.poor boss me!

The amusing melancholia

Aami majhe majhe bhaabi je...

Na ! bhebe ki laabh?

A nip in the air
A slash in the heart
A lump in the throat

I miss you honey...

The Sand and the Sea( Baali aar aami)

Numb, I go
Drenched by the showers of unscrupulous ignominy
Pins and needles
A fit, a rupture
A rupture of cold, gray gloom
Blanketed by some more of it
Entering my soul and paralyzing it

Words stop short
The futility the pain the introspection
The introspection I ignore
For I am a lost soul
Unable to understand myself
Choosing not to
For It knows me. know not me myself

So I live I survive
Amidst the bludgerings and protect my castle
Groping at the sand
Wet by the unceasing and shrewd stream
Propping it up. Admiring it
Only to witness it washed away…again

Only my existence remains as my inspiration


(Obosh ami
Bhije bhije lojjate te, shey paaena lojja
Gaae kaanta
Mrigi fetey fetey beroe
Fetey beroe konkone, kaalo megh
Aar arektu
Shey khuchie dhoke aamar bukey
Aabar obosh

Kotha gulo theme jaae
Haal chhere di koshto te bhetore takaai
Taakieo takaaina
Aami je akta haraano sur
Bujhina nijeke Ma
Chaiona
Kanona Shey chene (taar chenai aashol)

Taai aami thaki aami baachi
Aakromon er maajhe aamar rajprasad taakey aagliye
Baali gulo mutho kore
Bheja baali, joley bheja chalak jok
Aastei thaakey
Durgo baanai Durga
Bhenge jetey dekhi taarpor…aabar

Aamar aami aamar dorpon)

The Big Fun

Yesterday after a long time, I watched an ODI innings on TV. India notched up a series win in the Compaq cup beating rivals Sri Lanka by some 60 or 80 odd runs. India was bowling and Bhajji's superb 5-crucial wickets haul swung the game in our favour after the Lankan tigers fought bravely in their 7th wicket partnership. I even watched the presentation ceremony with full enthusiasm. And memories came back...

I wasnt the conventional cricket freak but yes, I used to be super excited during every India match, whether it be with arch rivals Pakistan or Australia or whether be it seemingly minnows, Zimbabwe or Kenya. It was a huge affair for me every time. Endless discussions with friends about our odds of winning the match usually preceeded them. Many a times I have got onto verbal duels with my friends regarding who is a more competent player in the match, Sachin or Saurav? or will Srinath's in swings be a match decider today? How many runs will Debasish Mohanty go for? Or will Mongia pinch hit today or will Kumble's leg spin do the trick? I am talking about the 1996s and the 1999s and the 2002-03s and a couple of years after that. We lacked spinners. Though he picked up 6 wickets once, I didnt admire Sunil Joshi. The other spinners apart from Kumble and Bhajji were negligible. Among the pacers, Srinath and Prasad ruled the mantle usually at that time, supported by either an abey kuruvilla or a Debasish Mohanty. The openers were a delight-Ramesh or Jaffer or Laxman. The Sehwags and the Gambhirs came much later.

From my childhood days I was notorious of playing cricket at home, alone. How? Well i used to bounce a 'cambis' ball on our wall (spun it usually) and I had a knee long slender wooden bat with which I used to hit it all through out my room. And my Mom used to shout aloud seeing the clumsy white spots on our painted walls. But I didnt use to stop. Till now i have broken showcase glass and glass panes by whacking a ball at them, and all unfortunately in my house. Everyday (during vacations and holidays) my daily regimen would be a cursory study session followed by the cricketing bonanza. I used to maintain a copy where I wrote down serially, the batting order and imagined to be in a wide green stadia, cheered by lakhs of people in the stand and an imaginary commentary also used to take place. Ah those were the days-simple, uncluttered and passionate. I also remember, my dad used to bowl to me while I batted-in our house, with the ball occasionally dropping inside the uncovered utensil on the table full of fish curry or hitting my mother in the kitchen. But nevertheless i didnt use to stop, neither learn.

And then there were the cricket cards which came free with chewing gums like big fun and center fresh. Its bliss to recapitulate those fond memories. how I used to hanker after buying me a gum-big fun, which was extra sugary and bland after the initial chews-but then the card which came along with them, which bore the picture and career details of cricketers were the nadir of possession for me. We used to trade them, possess them, flaunt them, brag about them and routinely go through them in awe and disbelief. I was then, uncorrupted by the television, mobile, computer and other gadgets of modernity. I still treasure those cards, which were a source of delight for me in my younger days.

Who can forget the maniacal possession of cricket mags and the posters which came along with them for free. Many times, have i persuaded my parents to buy me a latest copy of sportstar or sportsworld or cricket samrat or cricket world. Not that I used to read them in details but i just used to glance through them, see the pics, read the scoresheets but unmistakably used to perform three things as rituals-savouring the copy, pulling out the posters, treasuring it and treasuring the copy too.

Nowadays, when i see a tabloid copy of sportstar, i feel sad. The feel of the mag is no more. I was just thinking a few days back-that the unique marketing strategy of luring the kids to buy a gum or a mag by giving a card or a poster free was an unfailing marketing tool too. But sadly, nowadays, youngsters have their own crazes-notably PS2 games, CD Roms, the latest scientific gadget and so on. Television and the internet and the computer games have ensured that those plastic cards and those mega sized posters never come back. But still when I open my treasure trove and rummage my memories or when I watch an India match or read about it in papers, i still feel that pulsating urge to dive back to my past and retrieve those golden bays of untampered joy and passionate existence.

Ya ain't doin' nothin'

There is only one entity that plays fate- Fate, itself.

Mr. Porter in the 21st century?

In the morning I wake up disturbed and impatient, longing to realize the commercial, loving and insensitive world ahead of me.
Consolations work and i enter a deep reverie of immaculate memories peppered with a morbid trance and flustered by the tingling sweat on my back, while the chartered creeps slowly to its destination, not mine.
At work, I am sincere and entertaining. When I am not, I am insecure.
Having lunch is a delight. Afterwards, my stomach feels complete.
As I leave work, I tend to get impatient again. By this time, I become a sinner and look back at those olden days of living and glance at the ones, survival.
In the evening, I seldom control my temper. I shout.
And feel miserable at the end of the day, only to be lulled to sleep by a seemingly inconspicuous solace and only to be woken up at the middle of the night by haunting voices, a distant dream and an empty room...

A fragment within a Copy-Editor and Packaging producer, 21

Drugged

I am what you think. I am not what you think. Thus, I exist

Song 1: Sau Dard (Jaanemann)
Friends were good. Of course, they were. But maybe I wasnt.
Have you ever listened to the tempo before the song "aaja main hawaaon mein..." from 'Yuvraaj' starts? When what sounds like a host of violins break into an orchestrated melody echoing of a distant land, untroubled by the corruption of modern life. That's what I call pure. Ya, Rahman is magic.
I miss a few people in my life. very much, sometimes. Some of them were my friends. Now I dont know what to call them. Its strange. Very strange. When I look back (Well I dont usually lest it spoils my present equilibrium, but still when I do) I dont find anyone in fault. Neither me, nor them. At the next moment, I take on the blame, sport an evil smirk, brush aside my past and switch off the song, which seduces my heart, the deep recesss of my mind, tantalizes me to a old forgotten kingdom and to my utter horror, creaks open the rusty but loyal lid and shows me the glimpse of the lurking worms, which I had thought to be dead long back. Its horrific for me and illogical. I know I am hated, loathed even but loved too.

Song 4: Dilli (Delhi heights)
I have always felt very close to this song.
"Dekhe yahaan kahin mausam badalte hue
Dekhe jazbein kai yahan patthar bante hue..."
Ya I get high on songs. Its like smoking hash or snorting cocaine. I have seen my friends with a lost look in their eyes staring through you. Have you ever felt the joy of being dead? Some songs transport you to a different time zone.The joy grips you and you are free with tears spraying out in confusion and ecstasy shouting out loud, getting transported to the 15th or 16th century Italy miles away from the uprising brewing in the hearts of people. It drugs you, captures you in a moment where you lose yourself in a sunflower field and in a clear moonlit night and I can give you another thousand examples. good ol'bollywood songs. Ya I love'em.

Song 6: O re paakhi( Khoya khoya chaand)
Nowadays, my friends fear that I wont stay in touch with them. Two days back when two of my friends told me to socialize more, to maintain friendship, contact and feared that I might not keep in touch with them, I was surprisingly jolted to such an extent that I could not control my tears. Flashes and scenes fluttered across my eyes, a scary roller coaster ride which I have taken in one gulp. Those sunny mornings, the dew on the grasses, the rolling thunder in the skies, the sodden crevasses of my treasure trove carefully archived in my mind.
I feel blessed to forget.

Songs and a good weather always dismantles me from my stance. As I notice an sms on my mobile, I am hurled back to reality. Fortunately. Usually I prefer not to be explicit in my blog. In fact, half the stiff mentioned above are bullshit and a figment of my imagination. I am not such a dukhi atma also! ha ha! Lolz ;)
(song **: Khwaja mere Khwaja)

Isolation in an urban dystopia

Isolation in an urban dystopia
One of the most disturbing C&H pieces I have come across.

Disturbia

4 president's bodyguards have been convicted of raping a teenager 6 years back. Justice has been delivered really fast. Justice of imprisoning them for life. No, I am not in favour of corporal punishment. But given our notorious law records, I doubt whether the miscreants will be given the maximum blow or not. The average price(sic) that you pay for raping a girl in this country is a jail term of 15 to 20 years, if I am not wrong. The girl can stay tainted. Its just a rape after all...A common practice in society, and specially India, for ages...

4 coaches of a patna bound train have been charred by some ticketless hoodlums who were questioned about their action. The passengers have complained that the officials reached late on the spot, otherwise the reaction could have been averted. Mamata stays mum...

A very reputed private hospital in Delhi charges around 5 to 6 times the cost of a night's admittance in a government hospital in the city. And this doesnt guarantee a foolproof system of treatment in the haloed hospital that Delhiites, mostly the well to dos, visit. A pregnant woman was first reported to be normally treated for the delivery, then announced a caeserian surgery to be conducted, charged high fees, then after a near fatal condition she was saved-more through the grace of God than the mercy of the doctors, then her family was forced to sign on a no-objection-all satisfied document and then released from the hospital. The have-money-will-spends. This is a micro example of the hundreds of private hospitals all around the country charging exorbitantly...

Shocking visuals of Auto union honchos, who called for a 2-day strike in the capital, beating up a driver who dared to defy their orders and brought out their autos on the street, mercilessly, flashed on the TV screen. The person who was beating was looking at the camera, then finding a suitable footage cover and then delivering blows to the poor driver, for whom a day's off would mean no proper meal...

God gave me patience
patience to breath
god give me reasons
to not cry anymore bout anything
(Tristan)

A disturbed Yash, sipping his caustic cup of tea, looking up at the churning of the ceiling fan, doors shut. He is afraid so as to not to collapse. He shouldn't have added these issues in the quagmire of his soggy and bleak mind.

20 Random stuff I 'm thinking about NOW. (part 1)

1) I interviewed a guy high on cocaine today; almost interviewed a girl high on liquor and spoke coolly to a lesbian couple. cool!

2) Losers are the selected ones. They are the real winners, maybe after this life completes.

3) While coming back home today, I missed around 8 to 10 seats on the bus today. The initial ones, I donated to seemingly unfortunates and the later ones were denied to me.

4) Why am I feeling dizzy from yesterday?

5) I hate yellow lights. I love tube lights.

6) I thought Farah Khan would set her show 'Tere mere "beach" mein' on a beach in Goa or Kerala, till I was proved wrong.

7) I think Vasundhara Raje is offered cash and property to step down.

8) Did the lady wanted to plant a kiss on Irrfan Pathan's chheks or...?

9) I just realized that I dont have any friends in Gurgaon.

10) Yesterday I received a 'gift' through mail from a once very close friend of mine. I did not open it. Further questions will not be entertained. Form your opinion (against) me.

11) http://pigcell.blogspot.com/ ...thoroughly impressed.

12) I am confused. I wanted 12 kids for myself. Now it has trickled down. I saw a cutie pie girl kid while coming back.

13) uff Ma pls Tv-r volume ta komaao

14) Arunava, Arka, Siddhartha. I wish they stayed near me.

15) Anushka Sharma. I find you really beautiful. dont expose on screen ever.

16) I predict that Wanted will be a runaway hit and so will Blue. Wake up Sid will flop.

17) I am sure 7 out of 10 persons reading this list will find it curious. rest of them will trash it.

18) Rahul Dravid makes a comeback. But I dont think he will open up against the Kiwis and the Lankans.

19) Another day. another pain. another joy. Another wish. Another prayer. If I could...

20) You actually sat through all this...?? Thanks a million, dude/dudette.

Haan, Tum hi to ho woh

Kya khoob nazaara hai
Yeh husn tumhaara hai
chamakti kanpkapaati palkon taley
sapney tumne jo sanwaarey hai
narmi se, halke se paala hai maine

Khwabon me dekha tha jisey
Haan, tum hi to ho woh

Sunehri subah ki tarah ugte ho tum
mere zindagi mein, har pal
ek waadey ki tarah hi rahoge tum
paas mere
kal, aaj aur kal
dekhoon tujhe to dekhta hi jaaon
thamti hai saari duniya
sajey sur pyaar ka chaaro taraf
hai Rab jaisi yeh khushiyaa

Khwabon me dekha tha jisey
Haan, tum hi to ho woh

Aur kya kahoon main, labs me bol nahi aate
samajh sako to samajh lo
dil ki ye zubaan
ankahi, adhkahi baate
pahuhchtey kai kaano me tumhaare
gehri hai jazbaat aur bhi
aankho ki yeh baate
hai khwahish ki kho jaae hum ishq mein
is nashe me ki dekhe saari duniya
aur hairaan ho
takta hoon raah tumhaara
ki kab haan keh do aur kubool karo meri yeh chaahat
yet deewangi, meri dil ki yeh baat
kyunki

Khwabon me dekha tha jisey
Haan, tum hi to ho woh

I know its cheesy but I daresay its one of the multiple facets that make me up. Love is a beautiful experience.

Introspections in solitude 1

Is there a difference between God and suffering? Maybe not. They both make you feel so very special, so close to them. You learn so many things, new events and their consequences and morals emerge. You pray with the same passion to be in proximity to one and be miles apart from another. Both gives you a sense of satisfaction at the end of an encounter. Both are engaging and all pervasive.

Its difficult to control anger. Specially if you dont want to. The consequences of a fit of anger, especially if its directed towards your loved ones, are damning and leaves you in a lurch, confused and flabbergasted. The pain which one feels after such an outburst is very difficult to explain to others, lest they dont believe you and if if they do, its very valid if they think," then, why the hell?". Something that you yourself, cant think of an answer to. As the horrors crawl at you during sleepless nights, haunting you to a shudder, you feel tired of yourself.

Head n shoulders

Tragedies are personal in nature. No matter how you try to share it with others, or unburden yourself with a sob that leaves you all mushy and self sympathizing (note: self) its for you to bear your own cross. The most people might do is to shake a few heads, voluntarily nowadays, or shed a few tears with you. But can you pass on the pain? maybe you wouldn't want to. can you make them understand? well, you might in some cases. But largely, I believe, it should be dealt with introspection, with contemplation and meditation, not brooding though. How does it help you? well, in most cases, you tend to find an answer, which might not be the solution, but a consolation, if you prefer and a strength to move on and face your infirmities. positive thinking help you a lot. i know, readers might jest at me. Readers who have seen pain enough and wants to give me an earful for being insensitive and callous in my remark. But, in some cases, in cases-adjustable and thought to be adjustable, it helps. it fills you with an energy which the tarot card readers write about in newspapers. That energy is a spurt which makes us practical and kicks us to an action, rather than stopping us on our track (stopping is fine, only in a nearby tea-stall under a shade). Some people should be private in pains.some, not all. the others can resort to the shoulder. But in most situations, the former prevails over the latter and find real consolation. We all try to find consolation and dig out a positive angle from our tragedies. Which can be best dealt with in personal. but unfortunately, we are not so brave and succumb to a display of our sorrow to anchor sympathy. Those who doesn't, triumphs and find solace and a few laughs at their cost.