Life

We all love our parents don't we? And of course, our parents loved their parents didn't they? Then I have one question; why were old age homes invented?

Sure everything revolves around money today. That's a fact. Fact fact fact. Am sure Mr Gradgrind from Charles Dickens' 'Hard Times' would be so proud of me for saying this. No emotions involved...just a mechanical life: Go to work, make money, come home, eat, shit, sleep, wake up the next day and do it all over again.

Has it never occurred to the kids who dump their parents in old age homes that their parents could have dumped them in an orphanage as well? Or left them on the streets? But they didn't! They took care of you; when you lied, they scolded you; when you were down, they encouraged you; when you hurt yourself, they took care of you. How do you have the heart to dump someone who gave birth to you? Who brought you into this world? Who made you who you are today?

Life is too short to live mechanically. It's the small things in life we need to appreciate. It's the people in our lives who make a difference. I learned recently:

"One day, you need to have someone with
whom you can look back at these memories..."
Photograph by: Tanushree Dwivedi

It took time, but I learnt to live.

However be the days, I have learnt to live,

Now I have known this, what's happiness and what's sorrow;

Both are weathers of two moments;

Neither they wait nor stay.

Life gets made of two colours, 

Now angry, now placated.

This, this is here...

- Der lagi lekin maine ab hai jeena seekh liya, Zindagi Na Milegi Dobara.

Learn to live, yes. Seize the moment, yes. Make memories, yes. But never do these things alone. One day, you need to have someone with whom you can look back at these memories. Family, friends, strangers, lovers...everyone means something at some point in your life. 

Aging

A few more months and it’s all over,

I am so young, so sober.

Everyone around me dances and sings,

With alcohol in their systems,

Unaware of the danger it brings.

I looked around at my tidy room,

Everything had its own place; Even the tiny broom.

When did everything run by so quickly?

It seemed just like yesterday,

When my mother used to do things for me,

As I sat there, looking sickly.

An immature kid I was.

Running around like there was no such thing as danger.

Today I sit at a desk,

With pen and paper,

Writing this ridiculous poem,

About something that is yet to come.

3 more months; the countdown begins.

This is so nerve wrecking!

People say, “Age is just a number”

And to them I say, “Well, you couldn't get any dumber!”

3 more months, I will no longer be a teenager.

Oh well, let the mature shit begin.