The body that was taken for granted.

It’s 3 am in the morning. While the world is still shrouded in twilight, while humans in this part of the world are still in slumber, in one room a bell rings.

That sound in another house could probably mean nothing, but in this house the sound could be a sign of impending doom.

In this house there is an old lady who no longer has much control over her body.

It’s been a long day for everyone in this household. The sound of the bell does not pierce their fitful sleep initially, but its insistent ringing finally does.

The mother is the first one to awake. She wakes up to go see what it is, because often its just the old lady unable to sleep, unable to distinguish between night and day.

But today was different. Today was a day we would all understand how much we take our body for granted.

She enters the room, the room from which the scent of sickness never fades no matter how much we try.

She sees the old lady, lying in her own piss, unable to get up from the floor, unable to will her body to obey her command.

She turns hysterical when the mother goes close to her. Screaming someone tried to kidnap her and then left her on the floor.

The mother calls her husband and daughter, to help pick the old lady up. 90 kgs is a lot of dead weight for even three people to carry. We learnt that the hard way that day.

Our inability to pick her up, hers to control her body, the stench of the room, of her clothes drenched in her own piss lead me to realize a million things at once.

Yes, it is true that you only live once.
Yes, it is true that there are medications to cure practically all the diseases out there.
But there is one thing that we seem to forget.
That if your body starts to get disintegrate from the inside, if your excessive indulgence is too much for the body to sustain, even if you give it medicines, its going to slowly steadily give up on you.

And that one thing which you took for granted, independence, the ability to look after yourself will slowly turn to dependence.

So much so that you become like a new born child, making up stories, depending on your children to feed, cloth and clean you. Life completing an entire circle.

My point through this blog is not that one does not enjoy the pleasure life has to offer. You truly only live once.
But that does not mean you live a life of excesses, taking your body for granted at every step. Treat it with love and consideration, the same way you treat your memories and relations. And I promise you, you will be able to enjoy your life till the end of days. Rather than experiencing the same fate of the old lady, ringing the bell at 3am, depending on someone else to pick her up, while the rest of the world was in slumber.

Yes, it is true that you only live once. Yes, it is true that there are medications to cure practically all the diseases out there. But there is one thing that we seem to forget. That if your body starts to get disintegrate from the inside, if your excessive indulgence is too much for the body to sustain, even if you give it medicines, its going to slowly steadily give up on you.

The body that was taken for granted.

Photocredit: Unknown. I tried looking for the name of the photographer who took this brilliant image but couldn’t find it. If you do, tell me the name in the comments.

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Doing more only to do less – do we glorify busy?

Its time for a change.

Campari and Sofa

Stop the glorification of busy.My friend Gavin was telling me about a conversation he had with some Dutch colleagues. Gavin, and his compadre Georgina, find that the sheer volume of work they are confronted with on a weekly basis is just un-doable within the confines of a normal 8-hour work day. So they regularly put in 10-hour days at the office. And another couple of hours at home picking up emails. This causes all sorts of problems: they’re tired all the time, their spouses feel ignored, they don’t want to go out at night or over the weekend and they lose touch with friends.

Hmmfff…”, said their pals, “In Holland, if you were to work like that we would think you were not coping.”

“Am I”, he wondered, “not coping? Or am I doing more than I should? And if I am doing more than I should –  what should I stop doing? And…

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Pain: The Palpable Force

Pain is a palpable thing.
It ooze’s, pulses out of you when you least expect it.
It exposes itself to people in those pensive moments,
When you are lost in a world of thoughts which get you nowhere,
Where you think you are all alone, but you aren’t.

Its when I see someone having such a moment I realize the real meaning of these beautiful lines I had once read.

It’s easy to look at people and make quick judgments about them, their past and their present, but you’d be amazed at the tears a single smile hides.
What the person shows to the world is just one tiny facet of the iceberg hidden from sight.
And more often then not, it is lined with cracks and scars that go all the way to the foundation of their soul.

It is these moments when you need to reach out to that person.
Offer him a patient ear, or hold his hand.
Hug him tight and be there for him.
You might not be able to solve his problem, but you can definitely alleviate his pain, if only for a moment.
And that will be enough.

The truth is that the pain will pass.
Or it might not, but the intensity of it will definitely diminish.
That’s the beauty of being human.
Pain can make you or break you,
It can turn you into a brilliant human being or turn you into a monster who causes pain.
The choice of how you deal with it at the end of the day is yours.

Because the truth is..
This too, shall pass

After all you feel alone because you are: Writing as Compulsion

“Remember what it was to be me: that is always the point,” writes Didion.

Djelloul Marbrook: The Body Language of Poetry

The great poem escapes itself, like fume from an alembic. It hangs around to haunt, but it cannot be put back into the bottle.

Vox Populi

Don’t gesticulate with your hands or make faces when speaking, the teachers at my British boarding school told me. It’s vulgar. I’m sure that this enjoinder at such an impressionable age imbued my poems with reticence and austerity.

But poetry has a body language. The poet’s way of breathing supplies oxygen to the body and to the poem. The poet’s way of walking and talking is inherent in the poem. I knew a poet who walked like the prow of a ship cutting through waves, the bone in its teeth, as sailors say, and that how her poems walked and talked.

The body language of a poem is also shaped by the script used in its writing. If it was first written by hand the poet’s hand, the stops and starts, the way I’s are dotted and t’s crossed, lives in the poem. If the poem was first typed, the…

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What we talk about in our twenties

Things change. Things stay the same.

And when we talk, we make the words matter.

write meg!

Sunset

Over the weekend, I had an interesting chat about chatting.

What we talk about with others.

How we handle social situations.

I’ll admit to getting a little anxious in big groups, and sometimes I feel like I have “nothing to say” — or nothing interesting to say, anyway. Because I write a personal newspaper column, most of my “good” stories become fodder for my work. It may not seem tough to write a measly 450 words twice a week, y’all, but trust me: it gets challenging.

Sometimes I sit around in my pajamas and eat cookie butter out of a jar. Other times Spencer and I watch “Manhattan” and surf eBay and hang around drinking coffee, then do some laundry or pull weeds or whatever. All necessary tasks — but not exactly compelling.

When my sister and I had the chaos of planning two weddings last year, we always

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Thank you mom!

When you read something and all you can do is sigh, that is a well written piece.

*sigh*

The Cipher story

People, who think all they have achieved in life is only due to their own hard work and determination, lie. Of course, it is important you work hard and believe in yourself but it is almost impossible to achieve great things without the help of others. Preparing for Indian Institute of Technology’s Joint entrance Exam (IIT-JEE), has been one of my biggest achievements in life and it was just a dream which seemed rather impossible when I set out for it. Now, when I am about to complete my degree in engineering from an IIT, I feel really lucky and grateful to the people who helped me reach here and the most important person among them is my mother. Had it not been for her love, support and belief in me, I would have never cleared IIT-JEE and would never become the person I am today. As an average student…

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Ghost

"...Meanwhile in my head, I am undergoing open-heart surgery......." --Anne Sexton

The Cipher story

Nothing is absolute, not even the truth! Here is my view point on everything around me.

Amanda Trusty Says

it's time to shed some bright ass light on emotional eating, body love, and the roar we wish to see in this world.

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