SHAJ

I am not your hero

I am not your hero
Can’t you see?
Or have you shut your eyes too?
Can’t you see the weakness in my knees?
Or have you looked away from those closed doors?
What you call – this passion,
this fury of youth.
Are just fantasies
of a world I do not know.

I am not your hero.
I am just freshly sculpted.
I look radiant,
because I was just decorated.
The fire in my eyes, so comforting,
looks like hope to you.
But I am still made of mud,
I harden only to crumble.

You have known my strength
like no man ever could
You have embraced my weakness
like its worth to you.
But, I am not your hero.

You put me up on a spot so high
Can’t you see am scared of heights?
Its not the falling that makes me anxious,
Its the letting go of you, that does.
So, No. I am not your hero.
Because I love so stupidly.
And if there were other ways to do so,
I would still love you this madly.
Can’t you see I am weak?
Hopelessly stabbing myself
with the knife I made.
Tearing myself out
from the wounds I saved.

Trust me,
I am not your hero.
My passion is only my fuel.
It will wear out someday.
My ideas might look like spring
but winter will soon be on its way.

No, I am not pessimistic.
I might believe in utopia
but I am not a unrealist.
Cos, I am not the wall you look for support,
I am such a sponge underneath.
I am not the belief you think I am,
That’s just yours reflecting on a mirror beneath
these array of aspirations
and dreams of you, of all you could and could not be.

I am not your hero, love..
Can you see it now?
So, please do not love me
for who I am not.
And later wonder
what went wrong.
I am not your hero.
No, I am not your hero..

To, the lovers

No matter what we believe our life could be
No matter how carefully we tread
for odds to be on our side of the court.
No matter what we do.
There will always be twists unexpected,
waiting carefully, camouflaged at the door.

So, here is a little advice
for the lovers gone insane.
With hearts made of glass
and now brimming with pain.
I beg you to look ahead
and not close the door yet.
‘cos no matter how much we play safe,
it could be a room full of regret.

And no matter what the light outside says,
coming home might be all that’s left to stay.

Vogue Empower My Choice: What the criticism actually did to feminism

shalinijena:

The best shit ever.
Shaj is floored.

Originally posted on This Is My Truth:

Update dt 5-Apr-2015: This blog has gone viral, reaching a total of 2.20 lac people through Facebook, over 70,000 page views and over 10,000 Shares. I’ve been blogging for 10 years, and this week all records broke when it received 32,541 page views on a single day. That’s 22 page views every minute. Thank you everybody who shared this post and made it a viral. Special mention of film maker Anurag Kashyap and actor Atul Kulkarni both shared the link on their Facebook pages.

The Vogue Empower video titled ‘My Choice’ featuring Deepika Padukone and 99 other women, from different walks of life, has already taken way too much space than it deserved. And yet, I feel the need to defend it. Allow me to explain why.

My first reaction:

The video was released on Saturday and when I first saw someone sharing it, I didn’t even bother to open, just…

View original 1,467 more words

Tiny tales part 2 – the beginning

The night had different stories to tell. Different stories of a love so naive, of newfound experiences, of old trash in the can. The night was young and the stories had just started to make sense.

‘I love this song! It just gives me the creeps.’

New slang from the shins was playing in the background. Dawn breaks like a bull through the hall, Never should have called, But my head’s to the wall and I’m lonely… ♪

‘Creeps? Why?’

‘Cos its like a happy song, but its actually not.’

‘But it is a happy song. There is happiness in sadness. I mean, look at us.’ He laughed. ‘I mean, seriously, look at us..’

She moved away from him.
‘Every guy I have ever been with tells me that I am the harmless kind. Is that why its so easy to run all over me?’

He knew it was not a question. He almost felt accused and kissed her forehead lightly with a slight smile on his lips. She, wrapped around him like a snake, snuggled even closer, her arms around his waist, her warm skin against his warm skin. He felt her smooth dark hands, her shoulders, the extra fat in her back that she tried to straighten by stretching her body once in a while. He took her face in his hands and kissed her again.

‘Your beautiful’

♪ God speed all the bakers at dawn, May they all cut their thumbs, And bleed into their buns till they melt away… ♪

They looked at each other, nonchalantly at first, then with a subconscious stare and after minutes, he blushed and she propped up on the pillow to kiss his face.

‘You are so kind’, he said.

‘And harmless?’, she asked, almost accusingly again.

‘No. In fact, you are just the opposite’

As their eyes met in silence, for a couple of minutes all the baggage was lost, faded in the deep tresses of a fog blinding them both. Its true? Isn’t it? Its happening, isn’t it? There is no control. There is no control.

♪  Without a trust or flaming fields am i too dumb to refine? And if you’d ‘a took to me like, i’d ‘a danced like the queen of the eyesores’, And the rest of our lives would’ve fared well.

Tiny tales part 1 – an intro

All logic is lost. Its that feeling all over again. The feeling of ultimate doom. 

It must be love, she said.

‘I don’t think so’. He contradicted her, as always.

What is this then, was her next question.

‘I am just an option for you.’

Propped against her pillow, she studied his sculpted face, his eyes staring at the ceiling. Then she looked away. And both breathing in silence, listening to the fan creaking, not a whisper of the soul.

So what now, she asked.

There was nothing he could have said that would have made this better or maybe he didn’t even want to. He turned to look at her, her black eyes, her soft lips, her perfect cheekbone. There was so much to say and yet so many words were just not enough.

‘I don’t want to own you’, he admitted, almost generously and smiled. ‘I have done it before, I won’t do it again.’

Will you go away, she whispered. And snuggled closer to him as he let her do so. ‘Please don’t..’

He lay there, not justifying, not knowing what to say. As he waited for all the numbness in his heart to inflame its passion again, he thought of all the things that would go wrong. He closed his eyes and tried to grasp the last of all logic left and kissed her.

The time stretched and they both lived enough for the night as the dawn came and they knew it was over.

Flow like a river, whispers the lake

Its tiring. This pursuit of happiness.
Somewhere in the deep tresses of logic and practicality,
it seems to have lost all meaning.
And yet its not all sad and its not all happy.
Its nice and yet its not, cos its addictive.
One might wonder how is that something to be sad about?
Addiction to something we like which tends to be good for the ‘much later’
how can somebody crib at that.

Perhaps.

Somehow I have come to realize that
true happiness can only be achieved with no baggage,
no attachment and when there is nothing to lose.
Once we enrol ourselves in the routine of the world,
of the perfect poster lives we think of belonging to –
– there is just so much to let go of..

its easier to introspect, even easier to come to a conclusion..
but, satisfaction –
– I don’t even think I know what it means anymore.

What is this restlessness?
This hunger for greatness.
So binding, so compelling and yet so fake.
It makes me want to throw up at times,
thinking of all that I have become and that only I know of it.
What could the reasons be
and even if the reasons to be, have a soul to talk to.
I don’t know who to and who not to.

Let there be some more hope,
hope or illusion to call
but to just smile sometimes about
If a life to live
Is a life to die for
Perhaps there is something to gain
and yet not much to lose.

Day 10 : Its never-ending

Sometimes I feel like I have this intense desire to mess things up, just so I can fix them all over again. Its a demon in my head. Everything is so perfect, almost surreal. I have all I want. Not only that – I also have the attitude where I know its probably not forever. I feel good, even if at times ‘the health’ fails, I think I am holding up good. And now, sitting on my comfy chair, in a room all to myself, doing what I love (and that is editing, just in case your new), I feel strange. And am scared, because I am pretty soon gonna be doing things I will probably regret later. One side of me asks to let go cos its one life to live and the other side is sort of testing me, silently watching, observing and probably even judging.

A month back I had lost my precious diary and that too in office. I got it back a few weeks later, but I was too embarrassed to even read it, because I knew someone probably must have. My first page says – ‘Love. Lust. Life.’ Lust, yes. Imagine what people would imagine in a place like India when they read that. And worse, my last page was about how dumb struck I was when Vinod Chopra acknowledged me for the first time. Its a different thing that recently I got to know that the recognition was probably only for a day, cos he remembers me as ‘the girl with specs’ and doesn’t even what I exactly do in here.

Well.

The whole point of the grammatically weak and obnoxious writing was – I feel confused. Again.

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