31-1-2012.

"But I heard sounds today. I was very keen to hear them to avoid my own silence. Jumps, bumps, rickety rattles were speaking volumes to me and I heard every word. The sonorous journey opened up sight after sight, colour after colour, sound after sound, as we made our way through infinite beings, hard at work and hard not at work.

I could've let go. I could've stopped clutching at the seat so that I would have fallen. And I could see myself falling to the floor of the bus with a quiet thud that wouldn't sound quite as loud amidst the noisy traffic. And I would've rolled onto the floor and onto the grey stairs that awaited me solemnly beneath the gaping hole in place of where the door should've been. And in such a pitiful state of no-doorness, I would've landed in the dust, and I would have coughed and spurted and I would have been bewildered for a while. Or a minute, or an hour, or maybe two. But I would've eventually controlled my tears and I would've brushed off the dust and wandered.

Wandered. I would've, could've wandered in those broken down, uproarious streets and I could've joined the ranks of the tea-selling, car-fixing, busy-looking people walking right and left and all around among crowded colours that were blatantly plain in all their dustiness; like someone dimmed down the rainbow. And I would've been part of that picture that no one took and I would have, could have melted into a beautiful scene that no one painted."

A Letter To No One.

Dear You,

I have been in a dilemma of sorts lately, because I do not quite know how to feel. I feel like I could be quiet for the rest of my life and just Look. Just look; stare intently at a motorcycle whooshing by, or carefully observe a man examining a cricket bat right in the middle of a street. And I feel like I could quietly let thoughts consume me, all of me - then I could say a prayer and blow them out into the air; and my thoughts could be blown out petals of a sweet smelling rose, carried by the breeze because I let go of them. I find the courage to let them go, sometimes, you know. Consequently, they let go of me, all of me.

But that does not mean I do not have a million things to smile about. Because I do. You must know that I have been blessed with blessings that I recognize, not simply know. I always find myself in awe of how I feel a fair bit of difference between things I know and things I recognize.  I recognize Baba's footsteps when they approach my room, I recognize the sound of the bell that rings exactly at eight 'o' clock every weekday, bringing in a regular visitor and I recognize the look of amusement playing across Shazra baji's face just before she cracks a ridiculous joke. Oh, to recognize all the little things, to call them mine, to miss them when they are not there and to not simply know them, but to know them by heart. It is all very wonderful, isn't it? It is, it is.

My friend's grandmother told me that winter would stay until March. I hope that she is right. I don't think I could ever hate winter or the silence that it brings. And I have to share a secret with you. You must promise not to laugh at it or think of it as juvenile. But I feel it so strongly, I really do. Dear You, I think I am growing old inside these sweaters and these socks. There, I said it. I don't mind it, really. It's a bit turbulent, but how can I be Great if I do not grow up? So it is quite alright. And I've found that everyone learns to live without things and people they are afraid to leave. Acceptance is kind, and it settles in and shakes your hand solemnly and waits for you to realize that you can, and must embrace it. And you do. It's inevitable, I think.

Every now and then, I hear something from someone that would make a great dialogue in a children's story book. It amazes me how the words that affect me the most, or make me smile, seem so very nonchalant. And I read somewhere how someone thought that all people were poets, and only a few wrote with words, and to tell you the truth, it is wonderful realizing that it is true. That people are walking, talking artists and some even walking, talking poems.

There is good in people, be sure of it. The Man Everybody In My College Screamed For When He Entered told the principal when he was on stage that he was willing to pay for someone who could not afford College education. Which reminds me, I have to tell you about the last dialogue of the Urdu play called 'Saiban' that took place in our auditorium. Bilal, a character who was initially depressed about the condition of the country and had made his decision to go to Canada to pursue his career, changed his decision in the end and said, "Apna saibaan aur apnee chath bhala koi chor kar jata hay?" ("Would anyone (want to) leave their shade and their home?") To which the audience that I was part of replied jubilantly, "Naheen!" It touched my heart. There is good. There is good in me, there is good in my country and its people.

God has been kind to me. Everyday, something comes along and makes me smile and everyday, I am reminded of how my efforts to be nice do not go to waste, however futile they may seem to me. Because God repays me with double the kindness, even if I do not deserve being repaid. And for that? I am infinitely grateful, I am infinitely blessed.

Thank You for listening.

Love,
Me.

underneath the sky we share

tonight i weave, i say a  prayer

from heart to heart; moonlight's kiss

on the crimson lips of dawn..

oh, the heavens hear, the heavens see

and hopes and dreams kneel down with me

to find you somewhere i can reach; the places

love can go

and if the day is kind

and the night benign

you must know..

i wished it just for you

A Letter to God.

Dear You,

I hope this letter turns out out to be all that I want it to be. I know that You know that I am grateful but I am not sure if it is enough.

It is safe to assume, I suppose, that you know how I am feeling. And probably more. And why. I can't believe I am as foolish as I am. I can't believe I forget my purpose, dear God. But you must believe me when I say that I do not mean to. I think You are wonderful to send me a thought or two to whisper to my other thoughts that they must direct themselves elsewhere.

Hope is a good friends to have, dear God. And you created it benign. Because it always lingers, smiling whimsically when I take a wrong turn. To be a friend to Hope is even better a miracle. Dear God, you know that I am capable of surprising myself and the thing about surprises is that they are rather surprising. And I am a confused lullaby of good and unintended bad but You take me as I am. I beg of you to guide me as I am because You know I will need it for as long as I live.

To find You when I cannot find anybody of my own is always a bit selfish of me, but maybe I lose my way to find yours again. Again and again. Each time I find myself more determined and each time the determination dies away. What is this madness, dear God? And here, I must tell myself that my faith is Fragile and a thing of beauty always is. I hope you find me beautiful in all my fragility, dear God.

And lastly, I must tell You and the world that there is a surge of a desire within me to be more brilliant than I have ever been. To parade with all my fears and take the lead and march on toward the End, where ever it is and what ever it is. I trust in where You will lead me, dear God, and I have learnt to trust my trust in You. And to everyone who underestimates the power of their prayers to You, I must tell them once and for all that there are miracles breathing in the air that surrounds them, only waiting to be Found. Because when you learn to find the miracles, you'll find that Dreams aren't quite distant to the One who carefully crafted the people who dream them in the first place. I have faith in the prayer of a heart, dear God, because in all the right moments, the prayer of a heart will find You and only You. And therefore, I believe, You must have no problem finding it in return.

Thank You, dear God, for everything that is and everything that is not. I might not be able to thank You enough, but I hope I keep thanking You all the same.

Thank You for listening.

Love,
Me.

Lady Life;
she whirled and she twirled
and she clicked her grey heels
within cacophonous silence
she pranced and she squealed
and she took your hand nimbly
and she pulled you away;
i looked out of my window and there wasn't a storm
the sun in it's glory was meeting the morn'
and would you believe it (i have too much to say)...
Lady Life, (when she whirled and she twirled and she clicked her grey heels
and when within cacophonous silence, she pranced and she squealed)
she left me amazed, and in quite a bit of daze, and she left me
writing verses on a perfectly good day

i fall into place 

with walking, talking

secrets 

etched into the creases of my skin 

oh, they live and oh, how they live;

until i am my own

whisper

dear london skies

dear london skies

you watch her jet black curls of hair

playing with the wind

and you see her eyes smile

while

they see things 

that people chance to miss;

dear london skies

you see her skip along

the frozen streets;

her quiet giggles seep

into the snow;

her jacket warms her and she

warms it 

dear london skies

do you break down 

with tears and rain and snow

because you think

while her paper boats sink

(into the puddles) how

she'd make a beautiful

rainbow