Redistributing love

She would have been 65-70 years old.
Perhaps, in a parallel universe, she could have been resting on a cot that was placed in a corner of her daughter's 2BHK flat, and could have been immersed in a tele-serial brimming with sadness.
But the present universe did not seem to be so generous. It was working towards making her reality sad, and not her pastime.
She slowly walked around the bus stand asking for alms.
All the people were willing to offer their 'No's but not their money. I wished for a new nation to be formed that accepted people's denials as a currency. Wouldn't it be a paradise for beggars and one-sided lovers?

She slowly walked around the bus stand asking for alms. Receiving a handful of 'No's, she then slowly walked towards a roadside eatery. The owner of the eatery looked at her empty hands. He then turned to look at us, the people crowded at the bus stand. Maybe he understood that the old woman's plight was not just her fault. He handed her a plate with a few scoops of rice.

The old woman walked towards the bus stand with her food and sat before us. She then took a handful of rice and turned to look at us. Spotting a small girl amongst us, she called out to the girl and offered her the food.
The girl's mother held the girl's hand firmly, scared that she might step forward and accept the offer of selfless love. The old woman called out again with an affectionate smile. But the crowd that was not willing to offer was also not willing to receive.

Looking at the happenings, I longed for a communist movement to be started, not for the 'redistribution of wealth' but for the 'redistribution of love'.
How beautiful and fair would the world be if every person could receive the same amount of love he was willing to offer!

May I borrow your life?

I am seated in an air-conditioned Volvo bus, on my way to office. My life and my day have shaped up the exact way I had promised myself not to pursue 3 years ago.

With an hour-wise planned day ahead, and with very little elements that might surprise me, I stare outside the window. An old man is asking for alms on the other side of the road and the cold air that blows out of the air-conditioning vent angers the communist in me.
I then notice a cyclist riding his bicycle at a leisurely pace, earphones plugged in, and a peaceful smile spread out. He seems to be living life at his own pace, letting in only the music he wants to be affected by. 

Would he still pay attention to the hungry wails of a labourer's child, the angry honking sound of a middle-class motorcyclist, the cries of help from an old man seeking alms?
Maybe he would. Maybe he would not.
But looking at the cyclist and the languid pace at which he is traveling, I want to borrow his ride. Perhaps, even his life. For a few hours.
And then, I wonder if he would be willing to borrow mine. How would I sell my life to him if I had to convince him to borrow mine?
"Hmm.... A slightly bumpy childhood but you would get to have the most amazing mother.. A short, dark phase at the end of school and college days but you would get to have the best friends life could offer..."
As I frame sentence after sentence trying to package my life in a pleasant way, I realize that I do have a pleasant life.
Agreed that I am not riding a bicycle at a leisurely pace. Agreed that my day is well planned with very few surprises, at least on the creative front. Agreed that life sometimes gets difficult enough to dole out poems like this. But all said and done, I realize that I cannot bring about myself to lend or replace the people in my life, even for a mere few hours. 

What if my mother wants to recharge her mobile number? There is no way I am going to let some other person accomplish that divine task.
What if my dear brother wants to discuss about a great documentary he has seen recently? I would rather get into a gladiatorial fight before I let anyone else replace me in that discussion.
What if my friends at office want to get together for dinner at the office cafeteria just to make fun of my philosophical outlook? Sorry, mister. The spot has already been taken. 

My people. My childishly possessive life.

As these thought waves crash on my conscious shore and slowly recede to the subconscious ocean, I am hit again by the cold air blowing out of the air-conditioning vent in the bus.
"Some of the essays on your blog are good but your blog description sucks," a dear friend had told me once. I wish that I had also attempted to put out a life description so that I would have gotten to enjoy the bus ride from its start.
Still, better late than never. The Bangalore traffic always lets you enjoy the ride a bit longer.

Life vs Me

Life landed a hard blow on my right chin
My vision blurred, my ears started ringing
My body wanted to give up
But my heart refused
I shook my head vigorously
Splattering my sweat and blood all around
And looked at life with a triumphant grin
Life was visibly angry
It landed a hard blow on my left chin this time
I could feel blood running down my face
The pain was intolerable
My left hand was fractured
My right knee was seriously injured
My nose would not stop bleeding
My left eye was turning blind
I had already urinated on myself
There was no more need to go on
But my heart refused
I wiped my blood and balanced myself again
I taunted at life to land another blow
Life looked extremely irritated
"Why wouldn't you just give up?" It asked me
My left eye went completely blind
But I could still muster up a smile
"Why wouldn't you just give up?" It repeated angrily
And landed a hard punch on my chest
My heart stopped briefly
My body turned cold
I fell down on my knees, my right knee paining excruciatingly
When my heart started beating again
Its rhythm was inconsistent
But it would not give in easily to life's blow
Slowly, rising to my feet again
I faced life
"How do you expect to break me....
....when you were the one who made me?"
I asked, and I spit out blood that had collected in my mouth
I taunted at life to hit me again
I had an unconquerable heart
And liters of blood to spare
The fight had just begun.

A long-lost love

It happened one fine day
It had been impending for quite some time
Like the sunrise that awaits a lonely night
The walls in their house turned into pages
The clothes in their closet turned into parables
The flowers from their plants turned into poems
The house smelled like an old, forgotten book
Only that its writer
Was not the husband or the wife..
The wife lived every day painfully
But she held her pain as close to her heart
As she had held his gifts from the past
After all, her pain was also a gift from him..
The husband lived every day painfully
But he held his pain as close to his heart
As he had always wanted to embrace her
After all, his pain was also an embrace from her..
The wife and the husband were always close to each other
And also courteous and compassionate
But they failed to realize
That a relationship had to be good, not nice..
And so, their silence exploded one fine day
The silence of their pain
It had been impending for quite some time
Like the tears that await a hopeful human
The walls in their house turned into pages
The clothes in their closet turned into parables
The flowers from their plants turned into poems
The house smelled like an old forgotten book
All the unsaid words were out
And hidden somewhere among those words
Rested a long-lost love.