The Shooting Star.

A lovely book by Shivya Nath. These days I am reading her. What impresses me is her language, her choice of words. The way she narrates her travel story, her journey from being a homely Indian Girl to the Global Girl she is now, touches my heart deeply. I tried to put off that book and start working on mine, but there is a little whisper at the back of my mind which lures me back to read it and by the time I realise, I am already deeply immersed in that book of hers. Her style is so expressive that it makes one experience the feelings she is going through. When the adrenalin running through her veins; circulates in yours, you cannot make out.

Through her writing you can feel the cool breeze rubbing your cheeks. The night sky of the places she’s been to comes alive in your memories. Her fear, her confusion and her anxiety all become your personal experience. Her agony, her joy her friends and above all her experience with the people she met through her journey and people on her personal upfront all seem acquainted to you.

I never found any memoir so inspiring and intriguing that made me cry, cry for the life I am missing, the way I wanted to be. This particular book made me realise that I have wasted my half life doing nothing apart from washing laundry, cooking meals and dusting the cob-webs. No, I am not blaming this book about making me cry but praising it to make me accept the small voice of my heart. From past few months I am longing to lead a nomadic life, somewhere deep inside the far off places. The places which are not yet been explored call me. From the age of adolescent, I’ve been touring places. But I now realise that I don’t want to be a tourist. Actually my heart aches for wandering. I want to be a traveller in the real sense and not merely a tourist.

`The Shooting Stars’ engulfs me so much that at the point I am craving for getting back what my soul is searching for. Infect, I want my life to end up soon and I be born as a wander or have the opportunity to lead a free life.

I want to scale the high mountains, run in the valleys, breathe in the fresh air. I want to feel the nature embracing me. I want the sea waves to giggle under my feet, the warm sand and wind slapping against my face. The rain drops drenching me to the core of my soul and quench my thirst.

There is so much that I have not done and it pricks like a thorn in my heart but the time is not over yet. I still am breathing and walking so I have decided to make up for the lost time. May be I cannot climb summits or paraglide but still I can travel to new places and at least try to track some of the mounts. Meet people who are not yet civilised go, deep in the heart of my country. Learn from the nature sleep under the open sky counting My Shooting Stars!

empathy in writing

Hope you all will agree with me. Not poetry alone but stories are written with empathy too. In fact, it is used in non fiction and creative non fiction, up to some extant.

A scene.

My thoughts and me.

Actually the childhood never leaves you. The body grows with time but the childhood looms back in there. The moment you close your eyes and let your thoughts unwind, woosh! It all comes rushing back, as if it all occured a moment ago.

Every memory, every incident, it all remains so fresh in your mind that you can tell the finest detail. You won’t believe, while writing this, there are so many memories playing in my mind – pushing one another so that they can show up. But you know what, I have to visit all of them by their first appearance in my thought.

The most I love are the ones which involve my parents. When I was a child and used to run to them for every problem, no matter how small or useless it was. I loved the moment when they embraced me. The caring blow from mother on my hurting knee, or a kiss from mother on my forehead which used to take of any pain immediately no matter where it hurt.

Fathers are always unsung heroes. But the love and care they shower, no one can compete. You come to know their love after they are gone and by then it’s too late to hug them or thank them. Though they do not require our thanks but love, yes love, respect and ofcourse the understanding that we do understand and value their fatherly love, no matter they speak or not but we see all that care and affection in their actions. You know fathers are not supposed to cry as they are the strongest of all, but when their child is hurt beyond imagination they are afraid. Sometimes not able to hide their pain and once in a lifetime moment you can see the tears in their eyes. YES! You heard it right, Tears. They too are humans and have feelings which most of them don’t know how to express, but then comes a time when they break down.

Pretend

She’s not between us, that’s pretending.

Short story for Saturday-six-word-story-prompt by thesoulsearchersite

https://thesoulsearchersite.wordpress.com/2019/12/07/saturday-six-word-story-prompt-6wsp-15-december-7-2019/

My Heaven

I don’t know whether it’s TRUE or not but I have heard that they say heaven is here itself where our heart is. After dying we don’t ho anywhere but find our heaven in the place where our heart is.

I’ve even read and saw in movies that souls go to a place, they are fond of. It can be any place they set their heart on, when they were alive. Even their physical condition becomes perfect and they can acquire any look from their past life. This brings me to my point of writing this post. I don’t know why but from some days I am feeling that my dead parents and grandparents, even great grandparents along with my cousin are all having a gala time at our ancestral home. They are waiting for me.

It feels like that if I go there to just have a look at my childhood home, they might give me a sign of their presence. May be my parents didn’t go any where but are just their in that home, living like they used to and watching over us. They are ready to welcome us when it’s our time to leave this body and carry on with our real self.

Even a thought of this gives me a visual that I am missing from years. Infact I am jealous that they all are reunited there and having a beautiful time together. Making all the memories again as in their life time they did. I strongly wish to visit that home once to see them or say, to feel them. Even that house is calling me. I don’t know whether you all get the vibes or not from your child home or ancestral home but I am getting it and it’s like an strong pull from it. An attraction which can not be defined but just felt. I sometimes feel like crying because I am not able to go there.

May be some of you might thi k that iys a call of age that I am feeling this way or that I might be lonely and depressed. Or may be just missing my people badly but I would like to tell you all that it’s not like this. I cannot explain the feeling but when the thought occurs, I am like transported to another level of feeling which, for me is beyond explaining in words. It just can be felt. A vision is created where I can see all of them in same time, when I was a kid with all grandeur of the place.

I feel an urge to go there and smell the time I have spent and meet my family members who are missing from this plane but existing in another. May be some of you infact all of you might think of me as a person who has lost her mind. But frankly speaking I feel this way very strongly from past few days and planning a visit there soon, next year. Bless me all and please pray that I find my peace.

Social Anxiety

I am trying to fight myself. You may wonder, what the heck does that mean? So, before you call me crazy, I’ll clear your doubts. Actually, I suffer from social anxiety. It is like a childhood friend to me. It never left me alone. Never let me wander in the company of other children for long and being social, is an unfulfilled dream.
I missed out on so many things during my growing years. I wanted to do so much but could not pursue. Now when I see young children doing what once I wanted to do or dreamt of doing, I feel at loss. Now sometimes I think, what if I had ignored the feeling and carried on with what I wanted to do? I could have learnt something I love. DId so many things which I regret not doing, now.
Even still one year back, I missed upon enjoying the parties and the merrymaking. But this year it was something different. On the First of Jan. something happened which changed a lot of things for me. First is, I got the approval from publishers, then everything fell in place. Secondly, I am getting a lot of support from my husband. And what is giving me high, is that I learned dance moves and that too without feeling shy for a party. Then performed without hesitation. In fact,I was waiting for my chance. I didn’t feel shy. The audience didn’t give me jitters; I saw and felt only my husband and his company.
I feel now I can do some of the things I missed earlier. Recently, my daughter joined a dance class; and I think I can learn too. There is a gym, in the same building I can join that also. Or join some new class. I want to start driving the car again. And have joined some online writing clubs which hold meetups. I look forward to them and the library meetups, where I can learn something new and talk whatever I have in my mind. This is a totally new experience for me. It’s like I want to spread my colourful wings and explore the world around me.
My social anxiety does exist because I have a feeling that my mind tells me something else then what my heart wants. But I am trying to show a brave face, this time. I still have to face the part where I have to meet my relatives, strangers and have to stay a night away from my home. Attending some family function is the deadliest dream. Ordering something over the phone or talking to hotel reception or room service, going to a salon kills me. I feel anxious while talking over the phone in front of my hubby. Still, have to conquer these. I don’t know, I mean I don’t want it to happen or maybe my mind tells me to wish for this. Whatever at present I want to enjoy the moment I am in.
I wish this feeling to stay on. Even if I have to put on a mask to feel that way I would do it.

My book is available online now.

Hi everyone.

I actually want to shout loudly, like crazy at this moment as my book is finally online. It is published. Like actually published. From past three years I’ve been working on it and you all are witness of my growth. Today is the day for which I prayed and you all blessed me.

Here I am sharing the links…if any one is generois enough to provide me with the review…or any sort of interaction I would love it.

https://www.amazon.in/dp/B07S4BY8TB?ref=myi_title_dp

Fighting With My Inner Demons

https://www.shopclues.com/fighting-with-my-inner-demons-146143933.html

What do you see?…Ray of Hope.

A ray of hope amid the darkness of mind and racing thoughts is just like the thunderbolt amid the stormy and thunderous sky. When appear, make great sound but instantly lighten up the sky even for a small while similarly the hope appears and lightens up the mind and mood instantly. Brightening the chances of betterment. At that moment  normal people appear so common infront of the enthusiasm and energy it fills in us. The showers after that are the talent and ability hidden behind the darkness we never chose to overcome us. But one hope is enough to linger on to prove our worth.

Library

It was 11:00 A.M. when Rehana entered The Central Library as usual. Selected her books from the racks and came back to the reading area.
She looked for a space to sit down. Her usual seat by the window that overlooked the lawn was taken.
She finally settled in a chair empty near the central table. She started to take down her notes and was so engrossed in it that forgot to take her regular breaks. When she got up to leave, she felt a bit breathless and dizzy.
She did not notice that an elderly person was noticing her since the beginning. While Rehana dragged herself out of the building into the lawn, to sit down to take long breaths to ease herself, the grandfatherly figure came out to have his evening tea, in the cafeteria near the lawn. He found her on the verge of passing out.
He got her some water and asked her how she was feeling. ” I am asthmatic and long hours of exertion make me breathless” was Rehana managed to say after sipping some water. The elderly man took out an inhaler from his pocket and offered it to her, ” Here take it. You will feel better”. Rehana looked at him and then at the inhaler and looked away.
“Don’t misunderstand me, I am just an old grandpa trying to help her granddaughter,” he said smilingly.” I am noticing you from the day you joined the library. You remind me of my granddaughter, whom I lost a few months back”. He further continued with tearful eyes ” She too was an asthmatic and that fateful day she left us because…” he trailed off. ” Because what?” Rehana asked inhaling the puff. “….My eyes are blurred from her memories”. After a pause, he continued “…She used to sit at the same spot where you sit…by the window”. He gulped hard on the tear-filled throat… a long pause then he looked at her face and smiled sadly. He continued, ” She had an asthmatic attack that day and no one was there to help her…E-V-E-R-Y One was watching her die”. And he broke into sobs. Rehana was stable by now. She went near the person and kept her palm on his shoulder ” Grandpa, I am sorry to doubt you.” He looked up in silence,
” I must leave now”. He swallowed hard once again and muttered to himself ” To also I will miss my supper”. Started to walk with heavy feet. Rehana stopped him and asked, ” Why do you miss your supper?” ” Since I have joined this library, I have no track of time but these old age home people do not understand anyone’s pain.” The words made tears roll down her cheeks. ” Grandpa, daily you come here to feel closer to your granddaughter? Such an affectionate grandpa you are”, she said with a warm smile on her lips and tears in her eyes.