The futile search for new beginnings

Everybody wants a new beginning. We all make mistakes, big and small, and then want to start over. Turn the page. Change the course. Turn over a new leaf.

But what we are forgetting here is that there can never be a 'new' beginning. New beginnings do not exist. It is practically impossible. We will always carry with us bits of stories we have played a role in; people we have met, relations we have fostered, experiences that have enriched our lives.

So how then can we wipe the slate clean? Can we really ignore the past? Can we unfeel the things we have once felt, unsee, unhear, unthink what we have seen, heard, thought? That would be denial, wouldn't it?

What we can do instead is acknowledge our mistakes and try to rectify them as early as possible.

So this time around, how about we take all the lessons from our journey so far, old beginnings et al, review, retrospect, accept responsibility and finally take charge in order to   change the narrative of our story?

In place of the futile search for a new  beginning, why don't we try to reach a new ending...a better ending instead?

The one that got away

Ant(I)social did not want to be a slave for the rest of his life. He believed he was meant for bigger things...better pursuits, if only he could break from this hegemony and explore his true potential.
However, the social hierarchy prevented him from breaking this chain. The rigid rigmarole of daily life demanded that he slaved, while the upper echelons got served.
Every time he tried to struggle his way up in the colony, he got pushed down, shoved aside brutally by those above him.
And then one day, his eyes fell upon her, Gyne...
He knew immediately he was in love. But how could a slave dream of a beloved of royal lineage? Gyne was the queen ant and hardly mingled with the worker ants of his class. Although carefully camouflaged as an eusocial species, the social division in a colony of ants was as bigoted as that in man.

This being his first time in love, Ant(i)social tried to seek his superior’s help in the matter. However, when they paid a deaf ear to his concern, he decided to address the matter by speaking straight with his lady love.

Always believing in black and white and never treading on grey, Ant(i)social now faced the worst dilemmas of adult life. He knew he had the courage to profess his love to the queen. But those belonging to the lower echelons were not allowed to venture close.
“The only way I can speak to her is by getting promoted and making myself worthy of her notice,” he thought.

Day by day, Ant(I)social started putting in extra hours of work. Even when his comrades were asleep, he would continue to work with utmost earnest and diligence.
A month passed. The ants of the upper echelons who initially ignored him now started taking notice. Looking at Ant(i)social toil night and day, their curiosity piqued.

“Hey, you, yes you, worker no 127,” the chief hollered. “I see you slogging incessantly without even as much as a work break. What is the matter with you, I say!?”

“Yes Sire, I know no other way to reach Gyne, my queen.”

The chief was shocked.
“And pray why do you want to reach her?” he scoffed.

Ant(i)social blushed. “I...I...am ..in love with her. And want to make...myself..w..worthy...”

Hearing this, the chief and his colleagues guffawed. Their laughter resonated all around.
“Stop dreaming, slave,” the chief ant bellowed. There is social hierarchy for a reason. The duties are assigned as per where you lie in the work pyramid. You may have the courage of a lion, but that will not make you a soldier. Remember, you are a mere worker, and no amount of slogging will get you the queen’s attention, leave alone her love.”

Broken hearted, Ant(i)social wondered about the unfairness of this social system, of how it did not allow even the most diligent to step up outside his designated level. Why wasn’t anybody revolting against the injustice? Complacency or subjugation...could he provoke the other workers to join him in a rebellion?

That night, Ant(I)social gathered all his worker class fellow mates and told them about his plan. At first, there was silence. Then one by one, the excuses started pouring in.

“But what if we cannot manage on our own?”

“This division of labour has been going on since ages. What makes you think we can bring about change now?”

“I am a family man. I join you and my family starves to death.”

They nodded in unison, not seeing sense in rebelling against an age old hierarchy that they had finally learned to become comfortable with. Nobody dared to usurp the order that had already been laid out. Why bring about unnecessary anarchy, when chaos is all it will cause, they thought.
A couple of worker ants could not make up their minds but they were soon convinced by the majority.

After the gathered congregation retreated to their respective sand-dunes, Ant(I)social sat awake looking at the starry night sky. The wise old maxim came to mind, “When ignorance is bliss,it is folly to be wise.”

At the crack of dawn, with a heart full of courage and fortitude, Ant(i)social set out all alone into the wilderness. As he bid a silent adieu to a sleeping Gyne, his queen ant, he cast a envious glance at the undeserving troop of soldiers that lay half asleep in the sand barracks protecting her.

Nobody had been convinced he would make it out alive. But in his heart, he knew this was not the life he had wanted to lead...the life of a slave. If he stayed on, he knew he would be just one among the many.
Going out into the unknown would mean meeting with adventure, seeing a different world, encountering different experiences, or perhaps getting trampled in the process. He’d have to be the captain of his ship and weather every storm life lay his way. There’d be no security blanket but there would be no one to serve as well. He would have to forage for his own food but that also included the risk of going hungry. It was a tough call to make but Ant(I)social knew he had to take his chances.

Before the ants were up, he was gone...

One worker less, the colony barely noticed his absence. The hierarchy continued as usual with the workers slaving, and the soldiers protecting. But ever so often, he was remembered fondly by Gyne, as the slave who had chosen to become the master of his soul.

(Gyne* - the queen ant in an ant colony is also called Gyne. Have played with the nomenclature a little.
A typical ant colony is divided neatly into worker ants, fertile drones, soldier ants, and Gynes.
And sometimes, just sometimes, an Ant(i)social 😊 )

#ShortStory: 'The final crossover'

She owned this blanket with cherry blossoms that she adored. You would think it had some sentimental value; maybe it was a gift from a loved one, or a prize perhaps, or perhaps a distant memory of a romantic liaison that got too close before it disappeared.

However, the truth was far from it. In actuality, this blanket helped her crossover from one world to another...from fact to fiction. She had first discovered its magic when the cherry blossoms on the fabric had teleported her to springtime in Japan. It had taken a few seconds to realize it had been just a dream. Never had she slept so soundly; it had almost felt like she was traveling through a different time frame.

Since then the blanket had become her favorite. It was a magic carpet and dream catcher rolled in one. As she lay in her bed, she would swaddle herself up head to toe in it...and never realize when the whole day’s exhaustion would sweep her away.
As she drifted off to sleep, the blanket would then start its job...of dream travel, take her to places she had only read about but never seen, show her things she could have only imagined.

Until one day, something unexpected happened. She was beside herself with grief. There was this huge tear in the center of the blanket. Something sharp had ripped a hole right across it.

As night fell, she became more and more distraught. No matter how she folded it, the rip in the blanket no longer allowed her to envelope herself in it.

“How could I have let this happen?” she wept herself to an adventure-less sleep, clutching a corner of the cherry blossom designed duvet.

She brought out her sewing kit and tried to approximate the edges of the rip, only to find her frustration grow exponentially with every pull and tug.
The rip had created a huge gap that was too large to be tacked. Her lovely blanket had been ruined. And she feared, so was the magic it had once possessed.
Heart broken, she stared at the huge hole mimicking the gaping wound she felt inside of her.

Soon enough, she confined herself to her home. She’d spend all day thinking how to mend the damaged 'cherry blossom' blanket. Her nights too went tense and sleepless. She missed the adventure the blanket provided.  The comfort, the security that she felt was now lost. And as time went by, she became increasingly convinced that they were never coming back.

The cherry blossoms were fading, drifting her away from the magical realm of her escapades, her rendezvous, her imaginings. Not allowing her to reach them from the confines of her bedroom window.

It was a cold wintry night, when an unusual sort of notion crept in her head. She could no longer bear to see the ripped off cherry blossoms on her blanket. She had to make sure they stayed intact in her mind forever. She picked up her sewing kit in one hand and clutched her blanket in the other, and for the first time in weeks made her way outside.

No sooner had she stepped out, a cold wind blew through her hair, raising a chill through her frail body. It was as if the world had changed while she was brooding.
As she dusted the blanket, she noticed in its upward motion, something she had never observed before. Her heart was no longer sulking at the hole in the blanket. Instead, it was beating faster at the breath taking sight through it...the mesmerizing canopy of a diamond studded sky.

Next morning, it was passing pedestrians who spotted her stiff and lifeless in the cold, her skin pale, her lips blue. She wasn't breathing.

“Who, in their right mind, sleeps under the stars in this kind of weather?” they scolded nobody in particular, like all witnesses to tragedies, who mean well and think they know better. “The woman should have been careful.”

Shocked bystanders speculated on her state of mind. But there weren’t many who could deny she looked happy.

As she lay there in peace, head resting on crossed palms, she appeared to be gazing at something she couldn’t tear her eyes away from. Rigor mortis had set in. But the smile on her face added to her otherwise tranquil countenance. The sewing box sat beside her, unopened.

It was a terribly windy morning. As people held on tightly to their billowing hats and coats, they found it impossible to fathom how a tattered fabric could hang still from a nearby branch..as if offended at being discarded just before the final crossover!


-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 ‘This post is a part of Write Over the Weekend, an initiative for Indian Bloggers by BlogAdda.’ 

Winning post for the weekend of 8 - 10 Feb 2019

Life in collaboration

Life is like a blank canvas and our mind a  paintbrush. We dip it in hues of varied emotions; the red of anger, the crimson of blush, a gloomy blue, a sunny yellow, a refreshing green and a million others.

However, the same colour can have different interpretations for different people. For example, red can mean passion to you, but to me it can mean aggressiveness or wrath. I may associate blue to gloom, but you may relate it to the serenity of the pristine ocean or the clear sky. Green may remind me of a lush verdant countryside mood, but you may call it the shade of envy.
No matter what colours we choose to use, each of us will create art that has it's own unique meaning.
And that is exactly what make life so beautiful.

The final artwork is not based on our experiences alone but more importantly on how we perceive them. That's what makes each one of us so similar and yet so unique.

Learn to exchange stories. Communicate effectively and interact intensely.  Sharing views can only enrich your creative experience, it will never snatch away your exclusivity.
So keep aside your ego, and express your colours as freely and intimately as possible.

Your masterpiece is in the making!

#OpenNTalk: That's the way the cookie crumbles

Imagine this enticingly gorgeous Black-Forest cake (complete with dark chocolate glaze dripping et al) sitting coyly in your fridge, waiting to be devoured. You have recently discovered and confessed your love for Black-Forest, and your possessiveness is at its zenith, forbidding everyone else from enjoying it, because, well, you’re a crazy cookie who tends to go bat-shit-obsessive in love.
Anyway, moving on...

Days turn into weeks. Everyday, you have a slice of that sinfully delicious cake. Every night you remind yourself how lucky you are to have such a decadent treat all to yourself. Every time you see your friends in confusion on which pastry to pick, you convince yourself how lucky you are to love something without a doubt. Then you go home and have that customary bite of your Black-Forest (BF) cake in the fridge. The cake that is always there...

Weeks turn into months.  By now, everyone is convinced of your sheer love and loyalty towards BF. Your friends and family never miss on getting it along whenever you join them. It’s amusing (and mildly irritating too), you think, how wherever you go, BF tends to follow...

And then, one fine morning you wake up. Brush your teeth as usual. Perform your daily ablutions as usual. Check your email, read the news, get dressed,  as usual. And just before leaving for work, you open the fridge, expecting your black forest cake to be there, waiting for you like always.
And bammm!! It’s gone! Vanished without a trace.

However, instead of feeling shock and remorse, you are actually happy. You feel liberated of the pressure of having to keep up with your alleged passion for BF. So glad are you, that you don't even bother finding out what happened. Maybe someone got tempted and ate it without your knowledge, or maybe it sprung feet and walked out of the fridge all by itself.
"It was time for a detox anyway," you say to yourself, experiencing a strange sort of relief.

And that, my friends, is exactly how falling out of love feels like...

--------------------------------------------------------------------------

This post is published for #OpenNTalk Blogger's League hosted by Dipika Singh of Gleefulblogger
Ruchie Verma - Wigglingpen in association with SummerBarn, Vedantika Herbals, Nyassa, Explore Kids World.

#OpenNTalk is a bloggers league wherein forty selected bloggers are divided into eight teams. Each team has five members, who will blog on varied topics during the month of June. Each blogger will post a series of four posts, one post every week. 

My team for the Bloggers League is #CrossBorderSisters, and blogging with me are four other wonderful bloggers. 
1: Aditi:  Blog| Facebook | Twitter | Instagram

2: Manisha: Blog| Facebook | Twitter | Instagram
3. Anagha: Blog| Facebook | Twitter | Instagram
4: Bhawna: Blog| Facebook | Twitter | Instagram

Random

You never realize when or how it slips in. But by the time it makes itself evident, it's almost always too late. It has embroiled itself into your life, made its way through the labyrinth of your thoughts, and depending on how it shapes, is destined to liberate or destroy you. You attempt to ignore it, perhaps even succeed for a while. But then it comes right back, gnawing at your neurons, demanding your attention, distracting you off the imperative in your life until you allow it to hold you by the hand and lead the way. Even then it is seldom satisfied. It does not rest until it has consumed you completely. You are tempted to give in. Tempted to see where it will take you. But you resist. Moments of incertitude and self-doubt begin to creep in. Should you or shouldn't you?

Eventually you learn. It teaches you to channelize, focus, and finally surrender. Fighting it is futile. It's not leaving, and that only means it's meant to stay.

You cannot kill an idea once it has made a home in your head!

W for 'Wastrel proceedings'

I tried to cheat time by breaking the hour glass. I wanted to lock every moment, feel every memory in the palm of my hand, hold it, relive it, immortalise it and never let it go.
Carefully, I emptied the contents of the hour glass; golden dust of a magical past that I yearned to safeguard. But every time I closed my fist in an attempt to tighten my grasp over it, the grains of sand would slip from the gaps between my fingers.

As my gaze fell over the broken hour glass, I realised what I'd done. In my vain attempt to control time, I'd lost my chance of turning the hourglass over and starting anew. Desperately, I tried to collect the sand that had slipped onto the ground. But it was too late. My past, had taken along with it, my present and future and mingled with the dust.
And I could do nothing but watch...

------------------------------------------
W for 'Wastrel proceedings' is the twenty-third post in the 'A-Z Series' of posts, a chain of scribbles by me on topics starting with each alphabet of the English language. Read back and forth for the other posts, and please feel free to contribute your thoughts on the subject.

A free bird

The door of the golden cage was kept open until the bird with clipped wings expressed her desire to fly...as it was only then that the world realised that she was capable of dreaming.

But how had she dared to commit such a blasphemous  crime? The foolish creature had taken undue advantage of the privilege bestowed upon her---she had dared to fall in love with the sky.
The Gods were now fuming with anger. She had left them with no other choice. They had to act immediately. And that's what they did.

Soon enough, the dice was cast. Her fate was sealed. The door of the golden cage would stay shut until the day she'd lose her will to soar....unil the day she'd gaze blankly at the open door and choose the comfort of the golden cage...until the day she'd laugh at the memory of the silly dream she'd once dared to dream, of a brilliant blue sky that she'd once wished to venture.

However, the bird with the clipped wings was resilient. She refused to resign to her fate and continued to dream. Every day, she'd watch the sky through the bars of the golden cage. She'd pray for the door to open. But the Gods paid a deaf ear to her pleas. Afterall, some rules could never be broken---birds with clipped wings should not dream of flying.

And so life went on, as it always did. The door stayed shut. Grief stricken, the broken hearted bird kept dreaming and humming her melancholic tunes from the golden cage. 

Until one day, she finally gave up and died.

That was when the door opened. As her soul escaped her body, the cage was cleaned. She was now free to make love to the open sky. Her clipped wings didn't matter anymore. She was finally a free bird.

Cryptic thought #38

Should the friend of the enemy be considered an enemy too?
Some times, taking sides is important. It helps to know where one stands in an otherwise convenient equation where loyalties are not questioned.

Today made me wonder---are independent relations really even possible??
What does your experience say?

Cryptic Thoughts #37

The night had always been a loyal friend, the burning sun, simply an acquaintance. But sometimes, all it takes, is a ray of light at the break of dawn, to change the whole situation over.

 If you want to know how an impression changes, add a drop of ink to a bowl of water...

In wax and stone lies a story known...

"I cannot take it anymore.You are selfish and cold and will never understand my love," cried the wax statue as it melted into a hot pool of droplets.

Its stone counterpart stared in silence as the world around mocked at it being so unyielding to emotions. As it was kicked around with scornful words and hurtful taunts, nobody noticed it was slowly getting chipped---the heartless one was made of stone after all, they thought.

As time went by, the winds of change blew again. The wax statue was remodeled into an exquisite design once again, by the artistic hands of a talented craftsman. Being made of wax, it molded itsself smoothly to the flame of love and passion, and soon enough the world was captivated by its breath taking beauty.

The stone sculpture that once was, however refused to adapt to the breeze of love---for it had already known its brunt.
Being made of stone, it had silently stepped into remorse and self destruction---neither uttering a cry nor offering any explanation, the grief gnawed its way to reach its core. So disintegrated became its personality, that no artist in the world could change it into anything akin to its original self, leave alone something better. The flame of love and passion could only make it hold its self for a while---always until old memories swept in and then it would crumble again to bits, taking down unexpressed hopes and hearts along with it.

The hurtful words of a loved one had slowly chipped it off its strength and splendor.The isolation from someone it considered no different than its own self had eaten away the very essence of its existence, which was once the very reason it stood proud and tall.
The misunderstanding had chiseled out an abyss of pain beneath its tough exterior.

While the wax statue was surrounded by applause and accolades, its stone counterpart had transmogrified into a good-for-nothing pile of grit confined to one end of a dilapidated construction site.
Soon the quarry workers would decide its future.But either way it was doomed.

However, there lied a strange kind of solace.
At least now, no one was complaining...

Cryptic thoughts #36

There is a song for every mind frame. So, the next time you feel excessively boastful or (conversely) extremely depressed about something, switch on some music. Stay balanced, because there is nothing unique happening to anybody. Perhaps, someone somewhere has been at that exact same point before.

It's not you, it's just life!

Cryptic thoughts #35

Sometimes all we want at the end of the rainbow is another rainbow to walk on.
The pot of gold would herald the end of the journey, and most of the times, that is exactly what we aren't looking for!

Cyptic thoughts # 34

Sometimes, leaving someone alone is the best thing we can do to make them feel better.

Sometimes, no amount of concern or care can help heal a breaking heart.
Sometimes, no matter however much we try, some issues cannot be fixed.

Everyone needs some time on their own---time to recuperate, time to recover, time to introspect, to heal, to breathe...and nothing you do can speed up the proces for them.

Even the best of friendships are put to test under stressful situations, and no amount of 'wanting' to help actually helps.
Sometimes we just got to realise this and leave before we are told to leave.
We got to be around for those who matter, only when they want us to be around.

...because sometimes, only 'space' is therapy.

Cryptic thoughts #33

Innocent faces sometimes prove out to be wearing the most treacherous masks.



Some people wear disguises to hide their pain and some to conceal their dark soul.
Either way, when the masks come off, I'm always left feeling a little 'less' alive.

If only these masquerade parties would come with a prior invite, instead of being an unexpected on-the-spot show that they normally are.
That way, at least I would have the option of not showing up to witness the event.

cryptic thoughts #32

How do you catch up with the past to let it know that you are moving towards the future when you are rather sure it has moved on already, and is perhaps a lot ahead of you?
Is it the respect you once had, that is making you feel obliged for all those memories which will perhaps never leave your side, even as you walk towards a new future?
or is it a deep sense of responsibility urging you to complete a story half finished?

You feel you cant move ahead without taking along that piece of your soul which you left behind...
and then again, in the pursuit of retrieving what is left behind, are you totally convinced that the past wont suck you back in its endless abyss?

Feeling stuck between everything and nothing as a strange kinda 'dead-weight inertia tugs at me, refusing to let go.

Is silence the only option or is it just an easy way out?

cryptic thoughts #31

You are living in your world of assumptions---the one you keep building brick by brick...floor by floor, ignoring and paying no heed to the walls of incomplete stories and half shared secrets that have always been enveloping it.

Someday this world you are building is bound to crumble and these walls of concrete realities will close in on you, making you smile for having missed the obvious, in the never ending pursuit to straighten out the creases in the details, all your life...

Hopefully that day, realisation will dawn on how some cracks always showed and how you who were too engrossed living in your world of assumptions, always ignored them...

Hopefully that day, you would stop and actually see things from a different perspective rather than complaining that no one saw it from yours...

till then, enjoy the view!!!

cryptic thoughts #30

Sometimes when you are faced with too many choices, its only wise to choose none and wait to see which of them would still choose to choose you...

sometimes, destiny ought to be given a chance to express itself!!!

the power of love

She lies awake thinking of her love...the rain drops caressing her face, as the stars are tempted to reach out & touch her.
She gazes into the open expanse wondering about the play of destiny---the destiny which makes her always yearn for a love so out of reach that her expectations almost seems juvenile..
"why does she keep testing fate all the time? why cant she wish for something simple?" she hears the trees whispering as the amused wind lashes out waves of laughter at them.

She has done it again--
given her heart to the impossible..
prepared herself for the inevitable..
learnt to fight the unacceptable...
& ultimately agreed to reason and submit to her stubborn conscience which simply refuses to let go.

She lies awake thinking of what lies ahead..fully aware of the forces of nature chiding her, warning her of the storm that is just around the corner, capable of shattering her into a million pieces.

Smiling at the skies, "i care not of the days to come" she responds, "ive fallen in love with the night, this time...ive fallen in love with the night!!"


As the hours pass by, the rain stops singing, but her soul continues to hum the tune of love..
the trees stop swaying, but her heart continues to dance to the rhythm of delight.
the wind stops blowing, but her mind continues to lash out visions of happy memories.
the stars stop shining, but her eyes continue to twinkle in anticipation of the future
...
......
..........
...............
....................
............
......
...
and when the new dawn arises, the first rays of the morning sun tap gently on the window pane, only to see a half sleepy lover, peeping from behind a blanket of dreams, silently hoping, for the unseen, untold, unexpressed and yet, much awaited moment...the moment when the night would prove the world wrong and her love would triumph!!



disclaimer---this is purely a work of fiction inspired by the rains, i guess...
the author is otherwise mostly a skeptic at heart!! ;)

cryptic thoughts #29

In the book of life, we should all have chapters with unsure beginnings and strong endings...the former opens up scope for new possibilities and the latter, proves that it was worth all the 'growing up' in the process!