Curiosity made best friends

“Ask me questions. I love your questions.” he said.

And he loves answering them. Especially when they are about the universe, about the stars and the planets, about evolution and everyday science.

I’m baffled, most of the times. I find that I know very little about this world after all. Things that seem so obvious to me, are not so obvious.

His revelations amaze me, and sometimes, I so want to stick to my beliefs, and he so wants to stick to the facts, that we have an argument, a fight. Over science. That’s right.

But whether it leaves me amazed or mad, I learn something.

Maybe sometimes he does, too, when he asks me about non-science stuff.

And that’s how our conversations have grown. That’s how we got interested to talk more and more to each other. Questions. Answers. Amazement. Admiration.

We’ve been the best of friends a long time.

 

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Freedom From…Perfection

Picked white flowers fallen on the rain-soaked road on a breezy post-shower evening.

Walked all alone with myself, breathed in the sweet smell of wet mud, and sighed.

As the skies got darker, and so did all the colours of nature around me, I saw the miracle and the life that exists in that changing.

Life exists in changing.

I was alone, and I felt safe in my arms and in my mind.

I looked around, and for a moment, I felt like an invisible particle of the universe, something that existed only to observe and rejoice in the observation.

Then when I closed my eyes and looked nowhere, I felt that what was inside me was the centre of the universe.

I held those flowers together in my muddy hands. I felt the graininess of the moist soil on my fingers. The graininess, that which I came from.

I saw with magnifying eyes, traces of earth, black and brown, sprinkled and smeared across those pretty little whitelings.

What beauty in imperfection! I thought.

I caressed their petals, as the thought caressed my soul.

What I learnt about Love from Maya Angelou

Giving unconditionally.

Knowing that we are all the children of God, beyond age, race or creed.

Protecting, but liberating from protection.

Nurturing, but also a offering a free mould from the nurturing.

Not judging nor classifying as deserving or undeserving.

Not expecting it to be returned.

Forgiving, and accepting completely of having forgiven.

Love is: I love you if you are in the next room, I love you if you are in China, I love you if you are on a different hemisphere. And I’d love you even if you weren’t around anymore.

Love is: I love you for the soul that you are, that cannot be touched, only experienced. I’d love you even if you were a janitor.

Love is: I love you and what you have done to me doesn’t change that. I have forgiven you, and you shouldn’t feel indebted, you should feel loved.

Love is: I raised you, and I did it with more love than sense of duty. I’d like to fiercely protect you and treat you as my responsibility till I die, and I’d like to see you happy and hear you say I did good things for you always. But when you must go, and you ought to, because it is a beautiful world for you to explore, and your explorations will be unique and different from mine. I want you to be happy, and find your own happiness. And you can always come home. I love you. Go.

Love is: I love the human form you gave me, and everything else you gave me ever since. You steered through tough times and made sacrifices, many of which I wasn’t even aware of it. And you taught me that all I want I must work to get. There are still a lot of things to find, a lot of truths to seek. I will find them, but never impose them on you, or try to change you. Because I love you and how you liberated me. And you shall never be forgotten. And your life shall truly be your message. And your child shall be a blessing to the world.

Love is: I love my spirit, and I embrace the mind and body it came with. I love how close I am to the universe, and I can make choices in life every day. I love every bit of my life, and every moment, and every face, and every colour and landscape I see. Because I am empty of everything. But love.

Why so kinky?

Day in, day out, I see women who treat themselves like a mannequin that has to be displayed outside a kinky dress shop.

They put on clothes that they know don’t complement the workplace nor their own personalities. I see certain women wearing bridal sarees to work every day, and some certain others look like there’s a disco area on their floor.

The multi-layered ‘twilight-white’ make-up, the unruly open hair. Such folks can’t seem to step off from before the mirror; and they derive assurance of their beauty from the looks people throw at them, and from the sweet lies of their submissive friends.

I wonder why women treat themselves this way. Why they throw themselves over to get attention. Why they don’t give themselves, their natural, unpainted, unpolished selves, a chance.

I’m sure most of these certain women would look beautiful if they did. At least they would hurt the human eye a little less.

In 50 or less: post 5: sleep

The lover grieves a broken dream.

The parent counts his worries.

The young girl tries to solve her wonderments.

Their eyes want to draw in.

The mind won’t stop ticking.

And the night passes, unappreciated.

And the morning sun shines with little effect over our sleep and wake.

In 50 words: Post 4: Love

We all live but for love. And love is our greatest survivor.

We live because there is love breathing beneath every strife, every sin, every act of kindness and every thin ray of hope.

Love is never truly proposed or denied. It can only be given, subtly, selflessly, silently and unconditionally.

In 50 words: Post 2: Woman

Life is war. You wake up, and raise your shield against the world.

Protect yourself from every man you see. Trust no one. Carry pepper spray.

Watch the gory news. Be scared. Overdress. Look serious and suspecting. Get home early. Cook.

Woman, you change. You adapt. Yet you bleed unnoticed.