Be the memory

Note: The following work is purely non-fictional and the message is purely intentional to a certain person.



Be the memory
That I cherish deep in my heart
That smile that makes me smile

Be the memory
Of the charming man I met
Of the stupid pranks you played

Be the memory
Of a thousand and hundred days
Of an incomplete 365 days

Be the memory
Of a reflected sunshine
Of the Gothic hatred

Be the memory
Of stolen kisses and hugs
And intertwined hands

Be the memory
That's unstained by lie
That's untouched by loathing

Be the memory
Of a charming lie, if it
wasn't exactly meant to be

Be the memory
Of a yellow teddy bear
And of its silly removed heart

Be the memory
Of making me a better person
Of loving me despite my many faults

Be the memory
Of desperate phonecalls
And of my stupid fears

Be the memory
Of a beautiful trial
Although it didn't quite succeed

Be the memory
Of someone who made me laugh
Each time my eyes leaked

Be the memory
The way I want it to be
The way it actually was..

Beautiful.

Motivation

On all straight roads
and all curvy bends,
It's the silent determination
that man's mind lends

A sleep of four hours
tires the muscle well
But mind's awake and alert
you sure can tell

The stomach churns and
an acidic burp rises
No! That won't stop you
if you want the prizes

The sleep that lured
just a minute before
Seems unsuccessful now
for aplenty hours more

You want it, and
you want it real bad
You simply don't stop
if it's your to be had

Daddy, music and sleep

The little girl waited on the doorstep

A mere kid of two

Her mother cooking inside,

Awaiting daddy's arrival..

First came the buzz

Of his white scooter

When the familiar double horn

Then came into sight

His yellow engineer's helmet

Then the watchman moved

And opened the gate..

In came daddy, and she yelled,

"Mommy, Daddy's home!"

His tired shoulders

Suddenly rejuvenated,

He picked her joyfully and

Whirled into the sky..

Mother at doorstep smiled,

At this daily evening ritual..

Dinner would follow now

And then a story 

To their little one..

Each night
The little girl's ears would 

Hurt due to some problem

And she wasn't ever able to sleep..

Daddy's strong arms carried her,

Trying to let the wind soothe her,

The chirpy night to distract her..

But the ears hurt bad,

And she'd cry all night..

Finally he'd turn to his last resort

Taking out a cassette

Turning on the calm music

Patting his dear child

Watching his baby

Slowly fall asleep..

Twenty years later

And distant miles apart,

Cassettes have long gone

And world has changed

The girl still couldn't sleep every night

And she searched that music

In every nook and corner

She upturned shelves

And exhausted youtube

Google disappointed her as well

And on an anonymous day,

She found it one afternoon..

Her joy knowing no bounds,

She waited for the night to come..

For the reunion of twenty years..

That night, she closed her eyes

And plugged in her earphones..

The moment it started,

Her soul seemed rested..

With satisfaction..

Teared welled up in her eyes,

As she transformed back 

Into the little girl,

Whose daddy was patting her off to sleep..

That night she slept,

Even before the music was over..

Strangers

She was driving her moped, a scarf loosely tied around her head. Taking a swift right, she saw the cake shop. Her favorite cake shop in the city.

The last time she was with him, they had passed that shop, newly opened then, wanting to go inside. We'll go there when I come the next time he had promised. The next time he had come to the city, he hadn't called her. I can't sit across a table sipping coffee while knowing you're not mine, like two stranger friends, that's what he said when he texted her later, telling her that he had come to the city but was now gone.

Don't think about it now, it's of no use. She found a parking place, and took off the scarf. She daintily arranged it around her neck and peeped into the mirror once. Girls!

Carelessly fiddling with her keychains, she entered the shop. The pastries always looked so beautiful, she started lovingly at them. The salesboy smiled at her courteously.

"Yes ma'am?"

"Is that all the bakery stuff you've got today?"

"Uhmm.. Ma'am.. Can you wait for a minute please?"

The boy disappeared into another room. She stared dreamily at the cakes. Seeing something white in her peripheral vision, she turned to her left. She saw a glass cabin, and a man behind it just shifted a round cake onto the rotating disc. The man saw her staring at him pointedly.

"Ma'am.."

She turned and looked at the salesboy, having no idea when he had come back.

"Ma'am, can you please wait for a few more minutes, our bakery stock is just out of the oven. They'll transfer it downstairs in a few more minutes. Is that alright, Ma'am?"

She nodded, and turned her attention at the man who was making the cake. He had finished applying a layer of cream. He looked at her again.

He was around 40, with a belly. His cheap light green flannel shirt disfigured him even more. His hair dishevelled and his white teeth shining against his dark skin, his nose was equally blunt. His hand skillfully polished the cream layer.

He looked up at her. He could see a young woman of 20, admiring his work. He smiled.

She smiled back.

The microwave bell rang. He hurried to get the molten chocolate out and back at his revolving disc. He looked at her again, partially relieved that she was still there. He transferred the molten chocolate into another container. She looked at the passion with which she looked at all his actions.

He looked at her again, and smiled. She smiled back. The smile exchange remained something beyond any words they could have exchanged, as if there was some far deeper understanding between the two of them, something that can develop only through the years.

She took a step closer.

"Ma'am, the bakery products are here."

She again absent-mindedly looked at the salesboy who had appeared out of thin air once more. She hurriedly asked a sandwich and a roll to be parcelled, while keeping one eye on the cake maker. She took the parcel from the salesboy and stood in front of the glass cabin.

He smiled at her again. Feeling encouraged, she asked, "How do you transfer in onto the base?"

He pointed at his long knife and said, "Using this."

"This?! Knife?!"

He wordlessly went back to spreading the chocolate on the cake. She kept standing there.

She had no idea that the salesboy and the cashier were both ogling at her. He didn't like it.

Rubbing of the excess chocolate, he went across the room and came back to the rotating disc with a cardboard base in his hand. He looked at her.

With two careful swipes, he loosened the cake. He looked at her again. He had all her attention.

With one swift motion, he transferred the cake from the disc to the base. He looked at her again. She nodded at him, with a satisfied knowledgeable smile visible only to him. He nodded back.

Clutching the parcel and rummaging among the keys for the right one, she walked back to her moped.

She had just met a friend in a stranger.

Mind

Mind is trapped in myriad actions, some slight and some deep emotions.

A part is entangled is guilt, a part in motivation, a part in regret, a part in greed for some lost lust, a part egotist, a part satisfied with success, a part crushed in shame and humiliation, a part yielding self-pity, a part of hateful contempt and an empty part of solace.

The mind works in deceitful ways. It sends some to temples and makes some break. It makes some altruistic and forces some to its own whim. It addicts some to intoxication and brings some home. It liberates souls and unifies bodies. It lends men their furred brow and women that unending supply of forgiveness in their bosom.

Mind is sometimes scared, and when it is showered the care, the attention and the protection it craves, mind seeks solace in the eyes of its savior.

Mind sometimes is blinded with lust, and when love comes down in violent torrents of passion, it seeks solace in passive submission to the lover.

When the body tires of the wind and the rain and the cold, or the hard lash of the workplace, the mind tires too. Just a cup of hot tea and a warm bed is where it finds its peace.

Mind plays its many acts, in its myriad skins It morphs from a snake's poisonous fang to a butterfly's colourful wing to the fish's useful fin, without provocation or measure. It stores and computes and pukes action, or alternatively inaction, as mind itself may please. It will christen a deed as beneficial or treacherous or naughty of hateful, but it will render the deed the recognition it deserves.

One might wonder about the only thing closest to mind- the concept of God. It makes one question what is God? And what is mind?

Is God a manifestation of mind? Or is mind the creation of God?
Or is it a completely incomprehensive entity from an unknown dimension?

Is mind God, or is God mind? Or is it the one and the same, possessing duality of nature, just as light does? Or is it interconvertible like mass and energy? Is there an Einstein who can give an equation to relation the two?

How long should the mind wander in pursuit of these answers? Is it the God's plan that mind should pursue God, using the mind's unique energy of thinking?

If it all comes to that, why does the mind run after material paraphernalia? To seek solace? Of the mind? To find it's God? By harnessing energy? To obtain material benefit?

" कर्मण्येवाधिकारस्ते मा फलेषु कदाचन
मा कर्मफलहेतुर्भु मा ते संगोत्स्वकर्मणि "