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richasmukherjee.com

love, laughter, pain, joy, life and its lessons, one word at a time

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There’s today


Life is a constant and unrelenting pursuit.

Of dreams, of destinations, of meaning , of purpose.

What am I doing? How can I do this better? Is this enough?

I sometimes think no one is happy with where they are.

It’s like being on a train journey, always anxious, in anticipation of the next stop
.

Instead of enjoying that mild sedatory rocking motion, that numbing of the nose while sticking it out of the window in the cold nippy night, fighting sleep to crack that murder mystery you’ve carried along as a perfect companion.

Who says striving is bad?

It has tremendous power.It powers us to do more, to do better,to not give up.

But if God intended us to be constant strivers, he would have delivered us as robots.

It’s our imperfections, our pace, our need to slow down that makes us real.

Tomorrow is great but today is amazing.

That picture looks great but put down that camera and let your eyes behold real beauty.

You might not have finished 3 lucrative assignments but you finished that little dollhouse project today.

You never made it for the fancy holiday your friends are on, but you had a piping hot cup of coffee watching the sun set with your head resting against the only shoulder that matters.

You’ll never make everyone happy.

You’ll never have everything to desire.

You’ll never make all your dreams come true.

But look around, take a deep breath, and know that today, you’re already part of an amazing one.

Passage

They are restless, simmering, bubbling, they will come

They are forgotten, buried, snowed under, they will breach the surface , they will come

They are prisoners of time, daily rigours and chores, but they will come

They are burdened with doubt and fear and restraint, the shackles will fall, they will come

Amidst the noise, the chaos, the walls closing in, a tiny clear voice will emerge, they will come

Like the torrential rain, like a searing unstoppable pain

Like a dead even bloody bout where there’s no loss or gain

In an impenetrable wordless darkness where not one shard of light can prick through

My resilient nameless army of words will march, they will come.

A life cycle of words


Born with a meaning and sometimes for no reason at all, words remind me of a journey much like ours.Like a little infant, mewling in it’s mother’s arms, they are born.

With the power to make us chuckle or despair with their foolish callousness.

Carefully crafted and nurtured by many, they stumble, they fall, but start becoming whole, day by day.

Sometimes brilliant, sometimes unsure, but steadily becoming a reflection of a growing mind.

At times they simmer, deep inside, without being delivered, pouring out wordlessly through a tormented teenager’s eyes.

Suddenly they are all grown up, striding confidently into the world, sharing thoughts, opinions, ideologies.

Rendered to sweet nothings whispered into a loved ones ears.

Then cooing and gurgling incoherent tales into tiny ears set outside tiny trusting brown eyes of a miniature you.

They stand by you with resolve, as your admonishments fall on reckless, irreverent, adolescent ears, trying to guide them through their young lives.

There comes a time when slowly, but surely, the words start to fade, replaced by cobwebs, replaced by a second childishness and silver streaks.

A time when you have much to say but no one to say those words to.

The words that will linger and waft through the air, like a faithful legacy, long after you’re gone.

Release me..


I could always tell when you were unwell, even when I was in another city.

I always knew when your heart was broken, you didn’t say much but I heard the tiny cracking sound it made.

I felt your nervousness, every time you were preparing for an exam, whether inside the classroom or outside.

Every time you stumbled, every time you picked yourself up, I danced with delight.

Will you forsake me now, only because you can’t see me?

Can you not feel my misery every time you push that plate of food away?

Don’t you feel my tears mixing with yours as you cry into the night?

Haven’t you heard my silent scream every time you say you cannot go on?

Can’t you hear me struggling to breathe when you shut the world out?

What pains me more than my empty lap is seeing you fight life everyday.

I am gone, but why do want to join me now, is there no other way?

Live my dreams, live my life, live my happiness and sorrows.

If you can’t find happiness inside, learn to steal, learn to borrow.

They say I can’t feel much but I die a thousand deaths seeing you suffer.

Release me my little one, tomorrow is a new day, and then there will be another..

Bare


What if you were asked to show your real self? Express your true feelings. Be who you really are. 
Without any masks, without any make up, without any excuses.

Isin’t it scary?

That when every layer is peeled away, like an onion, what you might be left with, could be something pungent and not pleasant.

That when the veneers are gone, you might not even recognise yourself.

They say truth is liberating.

But sometimes it shackles you to the ground. You want to hope, you want to gallop but no matter how hard you pull away, you are what you are.

What will he think? Will I be slotted a fool? Or worse, will I be ostracised?

The truth is they will never know.

Because we do a fantastic job of cloaking ourselves.

Because the world outside the cloak is unknown and too scary.

Manners, social lies, sarcasm,excuses, take a pick and call them what you may

I am certainly no one to preach , but in some eyes, I have seen the serenity of a deveined and de shelled world, that doesn’t have to keep up appearances.

Certainly looks like a peaceful, tranquil place to be.

Is there some such tranquility in store for me?

Only time will tell.

Wings

One foot in front of the other. 

And the race begins.

They are racing each other, time, the phone calls, the appointments and the chaos that I’m leaving behind.

There is no finish line, and I don’t care if I come back.

All they know is that they are the wind that will lift me and take me far away.

The adrenaline pulses,keeping time with my throbbing temples.

The tributaries of sweat, charting a new course every few minutes.

My heart beats drum into my ears, drowning out the rest of the world.

My hair billowing in the breeze, trailing behind me like my very own superhero cape.

I really do feel like a hero right now.

I’ve conquered hunger, pebbles, potholes, rain, grime, sweat and pain.

I’ll feel like giving up a million times, but I know in a heartbeat I could do it all again.

My legs will find me a new world everyday.

I don’t need a map,

A road,

A compass to steer me,

Today, every obstacle will stay out of my way.

Noise


I feel like a misfit sometimes.

Like I’m a pair of trousers one size too large or a glove too tiny.

In this world full of strong and heavy opinions, so many of them, of all shapes sizes and textures, where do my ambivalent, amorphous, wafting thoughts and ideas stand ?

I think these opinions stalk me.

I wake up and open the newspaper, there they are.

I’m making my hearty breakfast and they come floating in through the window from the neighbours yard, right above my crispy bacon.

I switch on the television and they fill my nostrils.

God forbid if I ever pause at the coffee machine at work for more than a second, they’ll hunt me down.

Without even being mine they weigh me down,crowd my mind.

Everyone else seems so decided on just about everything that moves on this planet.

Why must I remain fluid then?

Maybe I still have more to learn.

Maybe I still have more to see.

Maybe I still have more to hear.

A time will come, when my mind has all the answers I seek, even as I sit aimlessly, perched by the windowsill.

A wise man once said that a glass half empty is much better than when it is too full.

Dark Skies


There is something that brings out the melancholy when it rainsIn the sheets of blinding rain I see faces, of people loved and lost.

Pouring onto my window pane, questioning, thundering, complaining, how life flowed along like an ebullient little river, without them.

Wasted sinuous streams find their way to the gutters, gushing out of sight like the trips and plans that never materialised.

Pregnant, voluptuous waves crashing onto the shores, frothing, seething, venting a nameless rage.

Blinding lightning stokes unknown fires buried deep in the dark shadowy recesses of my heart.

The pitter patter on the porch through the night, competing with the ticking clock on the mantel, a constant reminder of the never ending race against time.

Tick tock. Tick tock.Tick tock.

But then the next morning a cool breeze hits my face, the clouds turn white, the slight drizzle is like a warm embrace.

I breathe deep and fill my lungs with a beautiful, bright day,

Oh I know you’re there, rumbling in the distance, but you’re still some miles away.

Hush…


Honking Horns, roaring machines, angry screams and a frustrated shout.

Welcome to the city, noise is what it’s all about.

Sometimes I think, to let my own thoughts in,

I need to drown out the world and lose the crowds.

Once upon a time there lived a little girl.

Who told many tales to a murmuring brook.

The whistling wind in the willows heard her secret.

The chirping birds listened intently, but knew all too well how to keep it.

She played with her friends in the tall grass, filling the air with chortles and laughter.

The owl hooted a lullaby every night while she dreamed of a happy ever after.

The brook is parched, it’s dead and gone.

It won’t speak to her anymore, her childhood stories lie waiting and forlorn.

The wind has dissipated lost amid tall towers.

The chirping birds drowned out, they’ve lost their power.

The owl wails a melancholy song of the times that have been shown the door.

The sound of silence, the sound of happiness is no more.

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