Are you looking for beauty or finding faults?

Love is a very simple thing, and we tend to complicate the simplest of things. It’s unnecessary to go in the details of everything, to discover its chemical basis, its origin… the first story. I don’t feel the need to do any such thing. Even though love can be quite vast in its meaning, it’s really not that difficult. We make it difficult though, categorizing it and sizing it up. Why? What’s the point of falling in love with a single person when you can fall in love with so many things, over and over again?

We’ve all heard the about the difference of loving and being in love. Why? Why can’t we fall in love with everything? Why can’t we sincerely like all the things that we want to? We can, but we don’t. We don’t because there is this general hype about falling in love with one beautiful person.

I do not believe it. I fall in love with so many things, people, deeds etcetera. Not love them, but fall in love with them. I fall in love with words; random words scrawled on walls, on paper, on blogs, on social sites, by people I don’t know and I might not ever know and I fall in love with them.

I fall in love with poetry, not necessarily famous poets, like Whitman, Plath, Yeats… no, everybody loves them. I fall in love with poetic verses that bloom out of nowhere in the minds of random people all across the globe. They jot them down and forget, but so many people fall in love with them.

I fall in love with deeds; a tiny gesture, a smile. A stranger smiling at a stranger, a scene I only witness, a scene I am not even a part of and I fall in love with it.

I fall in love when I see two people falling in love. I fall in love with their love. I look at them, once practically strangers and know so close and dear to one another. How can I not fall in love?

I fall in love with the nature; clouds, a sunrise, a glimpse of the dark sky where only a single star gleams, an eclipse, the expanse of water stretching out till the ends whilst I float in the middle of it, the promise of land beyond. I fall in love with them even though I know that they won’t come again as themselves. The next sunrise would be different, the sea will be taken by a tide, and the clouds will change form. Everything will become a new something to fall in love with, only to change again.

I fall in love with art. All sorts; decorating the corners of a notebook, painted on walls, an incoherent mix of color in an adolescent’s sketch-pad. I fall in love with laughter, echoing from the house next door, the table beyond ours; people reveling in their own personal and private jokes with laughter echoing out as one.

I fall in love with so much more, and each time I do, I fall slightly in love with the people associated with it. And you do, too. You are falling in love, too, not just once but over and over again, with people you don’t know, things you don’t understand, stories you haven’t read… you are falling without categorizing, you are falling in love genuinely without thinking about the consequences.

The world, you see, is a beautiful place. And it’s filled with so much love that if we consider it, we can take over the hate. Fall in love with it.

-Momina.

Crazy Rambling #10

Lately I’ve been finding extreme fascination in withering flowers, roses, to be specific. I pluck them off from our garden a little before they are about to shed their petals, and arrange them into an oasis. Eventually they become limp and flaccid and dry out in their dropped posture. They are incredibly fascinating if you take your time to look at them, to really see them, not just a glance. They are untold stories, incomplete, yet they hold a charm far more precious than all the finished stories, all the happy endings. Even though they dry out, they are pretty, worth saving. 

I've never understood why people press roses between the pages of a book; there is little beauty in something you are forcing to die. And personally, I find nothing interesting in looking at a rose flower that is pressed until it’s flimsy and lean. It’s a full blown rose that darkens in color, that closes upon itself as it dies and dries that holds my attention. It’s beautiful, still intact. Somehow still living and fragrant. It’s the incomplete story of those roses that fascinates me, and I've always been a sucker for unfinished stories.

-Momina.

Faceless Existence

She gazed back at me dryly with a piercing gaze that seemed to penetrate right through mine. Everything about her appearance was flawed; her weary eyes, dirty clothes that were badly creased, bits of nail varnish stuck to her nails, most of which had been chipped off. Her long tresses had once been in what looked like a braid, her cheeks were stained and swollen red. She stumbled on her tiny steps but her eyes were as piercing as before, unfaltering. The disturbing thing was that her eyes were as powerful as they were empty, there was nothing in them, no pain, no fear… no hope.

So I didn't knew why they had me smiling, we were like two strangely different people, connected in the crowd of unseen faces, through dots. No, I didn't know her, neither did she know me. We were strangers, unrelated yet somehow linked, something put us apart…together, but distant. As I smiled at her, a faint smile touched her dried lips, only for split second, after which it turned into a grimace; her eye brows knotted together in worry, her face distorted into anger. And within that very second she ducked her head and disappeared into the throngs of people.

She left me there, though, paused and alone while strangers blurred past. They were faceless, for me. I didn't search for her in that crowed space, but I stood there and wondered what I hadn't before, in the sole minute that I had felt a connection with her. I pondered about her unknown past and future as I stood there, alone, while she blurred past me. This time unknown. 

-Momina.

The Bigger Picture

When among all the rights you do, a tiny bad thing done by you doesn't matters. But it does, not to you of course, for you think it's only fair that you attempt a tiny bad thing in your otherwise pious atempts but it's wrong and unfair to the one unfortunate person that is losing something. It's unjust to them. And it break them inside that you'd do the right with everyone, but wrong with them.

The thing about us is that we categorize. We favor. And we do it without taking in account the consequences. Without going in details, favoring the big picture. But that very picture is incomplete without the details. Stare a little longer and you'll see the missing patterns, the place where you missed it. The wonderful picture suddenly looks very very ugly. And that detail that you missed is often the reason some people break down deep inside. You become the reason, because you don't value. You value yourself. We can stop entertaining people for a material thing but we think a thousand times before we acknowledge a person over material thing.

We need to look at the bigger picture, not just a sweeping glance, but really look at it, taking in details before you act or add.

-Momina.

The Magic We Make.

Picture source: Waliya Najib Photography

I like cliff-hangers. They leave so much more to be desired, to be imagined... to be created. It gives you a sense of reality and creativity in a mix, an unpredictable outcome. It's the perfect blend. But every now and then (mostly now) expectations have disappointments to follow and so the perfect blend forms in our minds but it does not happens. And of course not, didn't we all learn eventually in life that there was no such thing as magic and it was all tricks. So life plays a trick, it all just ends right there in our heads, and as we face time and life, in the back of our mind, the out come to that cliff-hanger keeps altering, forming and deforming. But it's not pointless. Magic might just be an illusion but the real play, the trick, it can result in lots of good; it can lead us to faith even if for only a while, it enchants us and puts a smile on several faces and for a moment, a tiny moment we imagine ourselves standing right there up on the stage awestrucking people with the magic we make.

-Momina.

Sun-drenched In Winter Rain

I am sitting outside in the severe cold, in the shade of the porch while the rain beats down heavily around me. The winter rain has left everything looking gloomy and the sky is a dirty blue. The sound of the rain varies as it falls; sometimes falling in lights drizzles and the next minute it's pelting down heavy with utmost noise and clamour. The cup of tea besides me_only been consumed half_ has gone cold and the music ringing through my ear-phones faintly is lost somewhere among the sound of the rain. The only sound is that of rain, distinct and clear, and the occasional thunder when the clouds strike. Like the sound and velocity of the rain, the scene varies; switching between  bleakness and streaks of sunlight. The cool breeze wafts the rain towards me and it dampens my feet and my face as I lean towards it. The rain diverts its direction and the naked wind strikes my face, stinging. I don't move.

My face is numb and I can't feel my body. Thoughts run through my head, unstoppable but my mind's too occupied by the rain; they run like the background noise, trying to lure me towards them but I pay them no heed. They still flip constantly, though, one after the other and never skipping a beat.

My eyes are closed, my mind numb; the sound and smell of rain over-taking me. It's utter chaos yet there's a calmness that can never escape. It's the war of peace. I hug myself, trying fruitlessly to protect myself agaist the wind whipping around me, I could easily walk five steps, go inside, make a fresh cup of tea and sit besides the heater. But I don't... I won't. Realisation strikes when it rains, and getting me inside while it beats down is impossible. I pluck out my ear phone, stuffing them in my pocket. I suppose nothing can chill me further now and with that thought I step out in the open, out in the rain. I look down at the water flooding and clashing around my feet and then upwards as the sun breaks through the clouds, strokes of it coloring everything around. The rain descends still, not bothered by any hinderence and so I stand as rain drenches me. I stand there, paused till the last drop hits my face.

-Momina.

Packets Of Inspiration

You know what’s a weird combination? Cheese Parathas and Hot Chocolate.

Life is full of these weird arrangements, and these are the very thing that make life complete. The every now or then shocks at how perfectly or poorly two odd things fit together. Life filled with such and other queer analogies of life.But I know how often we encounter these tiny things that bear resembles to everyday life and this is not about that, or any other analogy of life. This is about how important they are, and how realization linked to them is essential.

At times we are so lost in life after a tragic incident that we forget what we really are, isolating ourselves we look for both, a piece of mind and peace of mind. We extract ourselves from our everyday life and fall into a trance of sorrow. But we forget, we overlook the fact that piece of mind and peace of mind are both what comes to us from out mere daily life.

Our every little action is a piece of mind for us; everywhere we look there are examples surrounding us. All we need to do is see them, really look at them, absorb them and they’ll imply themselves. They are tiny packets of inspiration overlooked on a daily basis. They are reminders of what will become of us if we rose too high, too close to the sun. They are tokens to tell us that however much we differentiate ourselves inside we are all the same and we all have the same place to return to.

Dividing one’s self does us no good, interaction makes us wise. Imposing certain limits doesn’t hurts, it does you good. Shutting up your past maims you deep inside; learning from it facilitates you a lot. Weird combinations are often the very answers we want.

-Momina.

Confetti

A thank you, a post and some tags are in order.

Vimal, at Between poles has very kindly awarded me with the beautiful blogger award!

 Insert celebratory noises and confetti! 

I am extremely honored to receive the award and to know that fellow reader and writers think

my talent is worth the awards. It's utterly kind of you, I am overwhelmed, honestly.

Appreciation is always one of the things that make you thrive towards betterment.

I am not a very open person and have already listed eleven fact about myself, so I'll list three this time. Besides listing facts about myself is one of the hardest jobs for me.

1. Many of my pieces are based on a single sentence that I happened to come across while reading.

2. I am not good with compliments, I keep questioning myself over them.

3. I believe that happiness comes from little things that's why I get excited at tiny things.

I'd like to tag some very worthy people for the 'Beautiful Blogger Award'

Cascading Thoughts

Imaginative Spiral

When It Rains

Writing For Life

willowdot21

Exposed.

The colors are blinding and binding at the same time, the black more pronounced and inviting, drawing me in while I try to open my eyes wide and take in as much of the other colors as possible. It’s like trying to breathe while the air is slowly filing out. I drag my eyes as the blue hues drape my vision. I thrash around in agony as I try to make my way to the center of the swirl of colors.  A sound so high pitched ring in my ears that I leave my grasp and go spinning back to the black edge; I look regretfully back to the rainbow as I am swallowed by the darkness. The obscurity prevails while I am suspended there, as if in still air, there is nothing around; I am sure it’s the end of me yet there is a calmness that surrounds me. Light, so harshly white that I want to be suspended back in the black; I feel exposed as I walk through it, it’s as if a sketch is coming back to life. I have the sudden urge to weep. To sit down there on the white silkiness and cry out my fears, my pains. I feel pain, excruciating pain that haunts me. The white is too much to bear. I feel the tears spring out my eyes, they are red. The red amongst the white seems so vividly alive as it creeps towards me while turning into a deep orange that fades to nothing while the white dims. It’s nothing.

-Momina.

Crazy Ramblings #2

Sometimes when I get too angry or tired or sad or just unsatisfied, I go in the kitchen and I open the door of the freezer and stand in front of it. I just stand there and make an effort to not think and concentrate on breathing. And at one point I realize that breathing in the cold freezer air is difficult because it hits your throat in a weird way. I don’t know why but it happens every time and the thought just hits me. Even when I know it's going to pop into my mind when I stand in front of the freezer, it still strikes me. And when we are angry or tired or sad or just unsatisfied, we just need these type of weird thoughts to tell us that it doesn’t matter. Everything is a random silly thing that somehow makes sense and it isn’t really important to understand it. I think I get high on the cold freezer air. I am probably crazy. I know I am.

Momina.

Crazy Ramblings #1

If you stare at the clouds long enough you'll realize they are moving. But they do move and everybody knows that right? No, everyone knows that they move but not everyone wants to watch them move. But if you sit quietly outside sometime of the day or night and look at those cotton like wisps of clouds for a certain interval you will see them move, and then your eyes will follow them; sometimes patiently and sometimes edgily. But at one point they'll be moving and you'll be watching them move and then you'll feel all this peace and tranquility inside you; because at that moment you'll know that it has to move, everything, everyone, so that you are filled with the peace at times. Sometimes when there are no clouds I crave for these serene moments. I am probably crazy. I know I am.


Momina.

I cried...

We have a high roof in the lounge, higher than that in other rooms, so sometimes I lie down and stare at it, and I think. Last night, I stared at it because sleep wouldn’t come to me and I cried. I cried because I had lost friends. I cried because I knew I was losing the rest. I cried because I had no idea what was going on. I cried because I didn’t know the path of my future. I cried because I forgot what went on in the past. I cried because at that moment I forgot everything and I cried because I was lost, not known when to be found again. I cried because I was unhappy. I cried because my unhappiness made others unhappy. I cried because some people suddenly just stop. I cried because I wasn’t sure if they trusted me that moment. I cried because I was alone, because I was sad and for some reason guilty. I cried because sometimes nobody understands. And I cried because sometimes they understand too much. I cried because I misinterpreted people. I cried because everything is just an illusion. I cried because there really is no perfection. I cried because the end is always too close. I cried because it all made sense but then I cried because I was confused. I cried and cried and then I fell into an uneasy slumber. I hope nobody cries like that.

Momina.

showers from heavens.

Rain. It's incredible. I love rain and everything about it; the wonderful smell of it when it hits the ground, the tingly feeling when it hits your skin, the light breeze that seems to throw it from so many different angles.  Some days I stand in the rain and just feel it, letting it douse me, letting the wind ruffle around creating an aura of distinct happy bubble around me. It makes me feel cleansed, exotic; close to nature… frankly I don’t even have the words to explain. There's nothing quite like rain either. Imagine standing in the rain in the summers, at night, you can hear it beat down all around you, you can smell the exquisite smell of it, you can feel it, the freshness of it. You can hear the faint sounds of the kids splashing around in it and your mother calling you inside angrily with a towel and warm tea in her hands but along with all that you can sense the serenity and silence the rain leaves. May it be a light drizzle, a heavy downpour or just a normal shower there's always something different. Can't you picture sitting in your car with windows all fogged up and those raindrops making the most beautiful sounds? Envision walking around on wet grass while it rains, isn’t it the most refreshing? Like waking up after a perfect sleep, not drowsy or complaining. Picture all those beautiful moments enjoyed in the rain; a cup of hot cocoa while feeling the rain spray on your face, jumping in water puddles and laughing loudly not caring what people think, watching the cars go by just a splash of color, the blurred lights, being late for an occasion because of the rain. Beautiful, whether spent alone or with company. Ah yes I know what you'd be wondering! How can I forget waiting desperately for the sun to come out after the rain so you can see the rainbow? So simple yet amazing, ever considered how much happiness it brings to see those colours in the cloudless blue sky. 

Momina.

In The Middle Of Nowhere

I am not asleep but then I am not awake either. I am hanging somewhere in the middle of it all waiting for either one to envelop me so I can pursue something of use. Either go drowning in the world of my dreams or wake enough to manage to do something productive.  The conversation around me is hushed to murmurs yet at times it's so loud I can make out whole pieces of gossip. I weave in my own scenarios with every new piece of conversation beading a very long story, of course I cannot make head or tails out of it but it's just there; something I can hold on to while I tumble between consciousness and unconsciousness. Back and forth. And back and forth…

I can perceive that I am not getting anywhere with this state of coma but I am senseless; I can feel thoughts surround me in a haphazard fashion but I don’t have the energy to worry about them, or do they just flip out of my grip? The lights around my eyes blink in contrast until I am pretty sure they'd blind me. I have lost that absurd story of mine to hold on to and I might be rolling towards one of my goals though the ride seems endless I will get there eventually, hopefully in my right mind but till then I am useless and in the middle of nowhere (and just to make sure I am alone, there is no Muriel or courage the dog or even Eustace.)

Momina.

Realisation strikes.

'She is scared. Yes. She shudders thinking about the near future, she cries silently in the darkness of the late nights…'

I stop and stare at the words I have written. My words. Words describing my feelings yet I make them anonymous.

"You are a coward" a voice from deep within my mind rumbles.

I shrug; I know so, of course.

"A COWARD" the voice is much more blunt and stabbing this time.

Despite myself I quiver suddenly with fear. I know I am one.

"What are you afraid of? That your friends might read this? They are friends! They'll know it! There is nothing to be afraid of, leave that hiding place of yours. Come up front, show yourself, there is more to you than you think, let people know. Come out! " 

I don’t know if it was a lecture, an order or a mere speech. I sigh, I feel something, a little confidence.

"Believe! Start over!"

I do as told. I write again, once more.

'I am scared. Yes. I shudder thinking about the near future, I cry silently in the darkness of the late nights… I am not sure if I walk alone or are all those I love beside me. I am not sure if my steps are steadfast, I do not want to stumble I know I'll bruise. I want support; I want them around me together, because together we'll manage. I know so.'

I can! I smile, I write on. It's me this time.

Momina.

Unsaid

Mind if I tell you something?

Mind if I spill it all,

I do have shoulders to cry on,

I do have friends to call.

But I rather not answer their questions.

The piercing reality of all,

Secrets left hidden,

Are sometimes best untold.

Momina.

Pondering over the incredible.

This world amazes and it continues to after seventeen years, and I have a feeling it will keep on doing it. It's like playing a mystery game. I never gave it much thought before but it's really… incredible. It holds so so many people within with so many different opinions and yet still they live here, together. Whereas, even when one fights with two sides of himself he eventually looses to one, people with big hearts and little knowledge, people with big wallets and shallow hearts, people on their own, people who live for others, people so unlike one another. Incredible! Apart from the people there is much to contemplate about. Like, the world is round so there might be people living right beneath us, after we cross all those rocks and magma and what not, but they will be there but, we never know we might be the ones hanging down without knowing! Imagine what will happen if suddenly gravity is switched off! We wouldn’t just be floating around in our house, we'd soon be floating up up and away, away from our protected atmosphere right into the sharp claws of vacuum, space! And we wouldn’t be having all that equipment and glass (or are they plastic?) helmets like astronauts! Point to ponder, right? And what about all those huge glaciers, oceans, volcanoes and every other enormous and amazing things created by god, that’s becoming right up after us, in space? Ever wondered that how many incredible galaxies are around us? Holding as many creatures as us who might be exploring this universe just like humans are? Ever considered how the very things we rely on will cause our defeat?  Imagine how much more threatening our creations are to us than a mere human who is just like us! The world is great, majestic, magnificent and enigmatic! There's a lot more to it then we realize and every time it will open a new surprise to us. Incredible, isn’t it?

Momina.

picture from: http://www.facebook.com/Urbah.V.Photography