This Thing – Called Loneliness . . .

Courtsey: pinterest

Courtsey: pinterest

One word that has always been my companion – loneliness. Yes, it is true; I could never find one single man who could be my man. And every time I tried to force myself to believe that I had finally found one, I was forced after a set of sad experiences, to accept that no – he is not the one. With a potent desire in me to love and to be loved and a mortal fear of loneliness, I stepped into your world – the world of grown up and wise men and women. As I turn back and look at what I was some 15 years back – I find a lean girl with deep, dark and eager eyes and an enormous heart. I find a tender half-bloomed flower eager to embrace life and its celebrations, its rituals, its colors and its joy – waiting for its share of sunshine, waiting for a man who would one day come rushing into her life and make her complete.

It is true, I confess, I grew up with books and romances and adventure tales in a family that gave me in inheritance a world of dreams and high ideals and values. As years rolled by, the sadness, the void, the unbroken silence was the only thing that remained unchanged.

 I regret the loss. Fifteen years of futile quest – fifteen years all gone, gone . . . but not in vain. It was last year that I made my last effort and its failure brought me face to face once again with the most dreaded thing – that thing called loneliness. 

courtesy: pinterest

And it was last year that I decided to face it – to face this dark void inside me and to fight for my share of happiness. And today I stand – single and happy and upright. I have decided to remain single for the rest of my life.

Why did I not marry? Because I could not find someone who could be my man and I cannot accept someone for whom my soul does not stoop with respect and regard. Yes – love is all about respect and restraint, which make it dignified and humane. Love without them is nothing but a mere animal passion and is destined to meet the fate  of an empty useless wine bottle after its fulfillment.

My man? Well, I am sorry to utter the bitter truth, but I have so far failed to came across someone I can marry, someone who is truly a man – he who knows how to keep his head high, whose resolute fists tighten for a tough fight against all wrongs, whose heart swells with love and pity and compassion for the helpless people of my wretched land, whose love knows no bounds, who can embrace like a father, a son, a brother all who need strength and support. He – whose love would never be confined to me, whose bosom receives the tears of all who suffer, who is actually a fighter. Yes, a man whose strength does not rob him of his meekness, whose strong hands know how to touch the fragile petal, whose heart kneels only before beauty and truth, and who knows how to protect them – yes, he is my man.

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courtesy: flicker

         But look at your world. I am sorry to say – I find it full of dwarfs and cowards and boneless beings who do not know how to live, how to love, how to cross their arms in a deep beautiful silence and restrain the rising surge of emotion inside, who don’t have the strength not to fall on my feet for the gratification of their thirst. They cannot handle me – the destructive storm that rages inside me, they cannot fulfill the undying thirst inside me for life and beauty and knowledge. Yes, I am a fighter, fighting for my motherland; I am a soldier, and only a soldier can be my man. Someone who would never ask for my freedom in return for his love, who would take me to the last rock of the wild sea and to the dangerous thousand feet high mountain edge; someone who would be able to keep pace with me when I fly like a storm and hold his breath when I lie motionless like the quiet starry sky high above.


On solitude: why i was absent from your world of facebook and twitter?


Have you read The Tempest? Do you remember the solitary Miranda who has never known any man but her Godlike father? Growing up in blissful innocence far far away from the cunning intrigues of man’s world on a forlorn island that has never known human pollution and has never heard of the endless sad tales of deception, that has never felt the pain of heartbreak, Miranda is as innocent as the island itself. John-William-Waterhouse-Miranda-The-TempestOn the humanless shores, she watches the waves come and roar and splash like a ceaseless, boundless, everlasting solitary song but her eyes everyday look in an unfading expectation for a faint sight of a ship on the faraway horizon beyond which she knows is the glittering, throbbing, pulsating world of her fellow human beings.

4f5ced92ccc6c9e3026c5bce97398ccbWhy do I tell you all this? Well, because I reopened the doors of the cyber social life yesterday and felt something, which reminded me of the Tempest. I must admit that it disturbed me and i found its teeming streets suffocating. I want to share with you my last experience. — years back, after a set of saddening experiences, when I was at the height of my feverish involvement with this alluring and glamorous world, I suddenly snapped all my contacts with this delirious virtual world that had started dragging me into its heartless, deceptive depths. I do not like to remember that frenzied stormy time anymore. I had entered that world with all the best intentions – to find good friends, revive contacts, and build up a pleasant social circle. But that sudden break off told me everything – about its futility, its cruelty, its unreality. And I understood that all my friends, with scores of friends on their friends’ list, were all equally friendless, lonely and self-deceived. This unpleasant experience made me understand what I always knew – the bitter, undeniable truth of the modern civilization – loneliness and alienation. Each one of us is growing even more lonely with all the modern communication technologies the owners of which claims that it is “bringing people closer.” People come close when they offer their steady hand of friendship, solidarity and help, rather than when they click on the button “accept friendship request.”d6efbf4050839cf00d46f5b07b381b8a 1

It is, I tell you, and pardon me for this, nothing but fooling yourself. For months, I felt like an abandoned house. But tender saplings soon started smiling again on my wan land. I regained my peace and harmony of mind and plunged into the real tangible world of colossal human sufferings and pain and struggle, to reach out to people who needed help, who needed a friend, a sister, a comrade. 0ec38d7e6bb16ce0479c00c8b2ce9731.jpgMy wounds healed. I forgot what I had left behind and embraced the new life.

Away, away, far far away from ‘the frenzy, the fever and the fret’ of this noisy and colorful world I lived quietly. No one to drop an easy message, “hi! What’s up?”, no one to rent the virtual air with impotent anger on some political scandal or social injustice, no one crying his heartless heart out for sympathy. Just silence, solitude, an eremitic peace. And believe me – it was beautiful. I would never in my life like to exchange it for anything on earth. On the dim shores of that far-off world I had left behind, I sometimes heard a dull uproar, saw joyous fireworks, and strange clamors that I had once known so well, and I would find myself smiling. 

Yes, I lived like Miranda ignorant of all that everyday happened in that glimmering city of lights and sounds. I made contacts with real people who are not posting bombastic pieces on their walls on social issues that fall on the deaf ears of men who do not exist. Man – real man – who is he then?


If your feelings, your sense of right and wrong, compel you to act, to contribute with sincerity towards changing the state of affairs that you find wrong, if you don’t shout aloud and accept in the end by your very inaction like a coward the things against which you had raised you voice, if they compel you to wipe out tears from sorrowful eyes, and shoulder the responsibilities of a hapless father, if your anger makes your tighten your fist for a real fight – I consider you a real man – my real friend and compatriot, I welcome you to my little circle  of friends who have pledged to live and die together.


Memories of a Spring morning in Delhi



I recall the last spring. I was in Delhi at that time. And Delhi is awesome in spring. Few, I know have eyes to see that. Beyond the sky-soaring skyscrapers of this godless city that stands today on piles of dirty money and innocent human blood there is something that still stands beyond the reach of soiled hands of this national capital of crimes, consumerism, and what I call, cannibalism. Delhi is, believe me friends, an impious city, a dehumanizing city that devours all goodness, a city more horrific today than your worst dreams. But at the heart of this heartless city still lives untouched an unapproachable spirit that is too strong, too old, too big for the modern marauding tribes of profiteers and criminals to plunder and mutilate. The story of Delhi is a tragic story of deception; it is a plundered city that had once hosted the elegance of Galib and Meer.


It was a long and beautiful spring morning. As I sat in the open cafeteria of a Girls’ college sipping my coffee, I observed keenly the language and grammar of a new and uprooted generation that seemed so alien to the soul of what was once ‘Delhi’. No wonder, my notebook and pen beckoned me over to say something. It is a delight to look back and recall the wind-swept (or should I say “spring-swept”) streams of thoughts that had kept me busy as I watched that fine gusty spring morning turn into a lazy afternoon:

6th April ’13, 11.03 a.m.,

—————- College,

New Delhi.


It is again spring in Delhi – deep, blue, and breezy – serenading newborn leaves that jingle with daylong carefree laughter.  I am sitting in the College canteen under shady trees and watching the ripening sun play hide and seek with sun-yellow leaves and . . . I am happy – full of dreams, full of life, full of sunny happiness, inside which glassy peace lies outstretched like a quiet river that sometimes on a summer afternoon seems to lie dozing softly under big old shady Bunyan trees. I visited Gandhi Ashram yesterday and liked the noble concept of plain living, high thinking, and dignity of human labor. On my way back, I looked intently at what was simply dazzling in its grandeur . . . and it is a treat to watch that – it is spring everywhere – and look at me – new ideas, new dreams, new visions and thoughts are burgeoning inside me. I am full – full of life; ready to embrace life that is beckoning me. I am shedding one by one all my past inhibitions and fears and gathering strength to accept it. To work hard, to live for others, to stand against the rising tide of lies and injustice – how compelling have always been these ideas and yet so difficult and inaccessible in reality. But today the road lies long, uneven, meandering and entreating right in front of me. Am I ready?

Yes, I am all set – set for a long and determined fight against myself. I am going to destroy myself to create the new human – the human of tomorrow. I am going to live to the fullest and no one can stop me – not even me.Image




Life without principles is unacceptable to me. i have an indomitable rebellious soul that never submits to defeats. I have learnt to keep my head high and bow down only before truth and beauty. I am a person with unending thirst for knowledge and beauty and goodness. these are dark and gloomy and insane times but I have decided not to submit before the dehumanising compulsions placed by time. I want to make my little contribution to life and my world to which I owe so much before I am lost in the oblivion of time.