AN OCEAN IN A DROP

As a child, I loved running behind butterflies. I wanted to keep them close to me, so I would capture them between my fingers, and we know that doesn't end well for the butterflies. This little wish of mine cost many butterflies their lives. Coming back to the present moment, I am kind of grown up now. I no longer run after butterflies. Instead, I go to work, come home, feed myself properly, and try to hit my protein goals. ( This is a conversation for another day) Back to the dead butterflies, another summer is here with all its majestic and vibrant beauty. On every walk I take outside, I encounter beautiful flowers, butterflies, and children licking ice cream cones. In some ways, I am still the same little girl oblivious of the violence caused by my desires. Just like the younger me who captured butterflies, the present version of myself longs to run into a field full of daisies and gather a bouquet to take home. Every lily of the valley that mesmerizes me awakens that same old s...

I do not remember the first time I heard the word death . I do not remember what questions I asked my parents about what it means to die, to be dead, or where we go when we die. But I remember very clearly the moment I met Death for the first time.  I know how ruthlessly, it broke my little heart. I was playing with my dolls when I heard her arrival. I do not remember exactly what it was like, maybe a thak or a tak . But I remember watching a bird fall after striking the ceiling fan of our veranda, and running to pick it up. I watched it die in my little hands. I failed to notice then, but now that I think of that little bird, she was smaller than both my hands put together. Every time I revisit that moment, I know I would have done anything to watch it come alive and reunite with its bird friend, who kept coming back to our veranda for days, searching. This was my first encounter with Death. Since then, it has interrupted many of my days, looked me in the eye, smiled, and snatc...

Life has been passing by while I try to put out one fire after another. And yet, I have never felt this close to the little version of myself. Reminiscing about the old days centers me. I don’t remember much, but I’m sure the parts I do remember are the ones that matter most. I remember the mulberry tree in the backyard of our rented one-room home, where every spring filled me with excitement at the promise of juicy black mulberries. I remember the cutest doll someone gave my mother for me, the doll I named Analisa. When I lost her, I had a fever for three days. I remember the bird that died in my arms after hitting the ceiling fan in our veranda. And I remember little me not turning that fan on, even during June, so no other bird would suffer the same fate. I have a vivid memory of the touch-me-not herbs my father planted near our door, and the leaves that every child came to touch. I don’t remember much. It’s been a while, and everything feels like a different life now. But the m...

I am deep cleaning my home because Diwali is almost here. Although I might not live anywhere near my homeland, my homeland continues to live here through me. While I have nearly finished cleaning the kitchen, I have also found a pink building block in the far corner of the bottom of the stovetop. My hand reached for this little pink building block and everything had to come to a standstill for it. A million questions arise in my silly little head. This Pink Building block  Does it belong to a girl because it is pink  Or a boy who was born in a household where he was allowed to like pink  Or did it not make a difference if it was pink? Did the child know how to say the word pink Or has he had to learn it yet? Did he try to reach for it when it fell and had to be stopped Was he sad when he lost it? Or he simply thought, "Oh! the fairies took it because they liked it!" Did he wonder for months about its whereabouts  Or forgot in a day because he had many blocks in his t...

 Darwish says, "  And if happiness should surprise you again, do not mention its previous betrayal.  Enter into the happiness, and burst."  And I add, '' If on a random Friday,  Grief knocks at your door.  Do not abandon him,  welcome him in and nurture him  until he thanks you for acceptance. If you find Anger,  sitting next to you on the couch, do not frown at him. make one extra cup of tea, until he gets up, smiles and says a transient goodbye. If tears stroll down your cheeks, right where there was a lovely smile  only a few moments ago,  Let them flow. Let them flow. Until they cleanse you of your heartbreak." -Anshu Rajput

 "Who am I? Where am I? Where shall I go? Ask yourself these three questions every day." This is the advice I got when I asked someone for advice regarding spirituality. Over time I started asking myself more questions. But one question I ask daily is, "Who am I?". The answer I get is half-cooked, incomplete, and yet better than yesterday.  I am bits and pieces of everyone who touched my life for better or worse. I am the lessons I learned from the mistakes of my mentors. It's almost like I am no longer one person but many in one. I am every book I have ever read, every leaf I have touched. I am also the sensation of sand that I hate so dearly. I am also my fear of letting my thoughts out in the world by writing this.  I am my ability to hold two contradictory thoughts in my head at the same time without going insane. I am my sensitivity that irritates some and fascinates others. What makes a person them? their thoughts? their behaviours? their intentions? their...

 When I was eight and still learning about the ways of this planet, I read somewhere that plants needed a warm and humid environment to grow. Being a smart child with an incredible memory, I remembered it when I saw a tub of hot water. Naturally, my little brain went, "Ooh, this will make my dad's plants grow faster." There I went, ran to my dad's garden with a mug full of scalding hot water and poured it into the nearest plant. My dad, who was watching all this, gasped in total stupor. Unfortunately,  I was too fast to give my old man enough time to respond. (hehe, proud troublemaker smile on my face right now)  While I watched him freak out at my attempted plant murder and ask me what the hell I did, I spoke with my sparkly cheerful eyes, "Papa, I read that plants need a hot and humid environment to grow!" " Budhhu," I heard behind his confused sad face, "Warm! Not hot!" ( He probably regretted sending me to school at this point).  Befo...

 Going to work in public transit is an adventure in itself. In a small city like I live in, you have the sweet privilege of taking the same two buses to work, sitting on the same seats and starting the day with familiar faces of passengers. However, If you are someone like me who sometimes gets late, ( let's say 'sometimes' here.. to make me look good in front of you all) are used to watching the routine break which has the power of either derailing the day or making it even better. On today's episode of Anshu Rajput blabbering her life story, we will hear about one such day.   This week, I missed my second bus. More or less, I saw it leaving in front of my eyes while I ran for it. At times like this, even my Transit card feels abandoned.  Alright, I was prepared with another route which will make me 26 minutes late but hey! At least,  I will make it to the Lab before five! Important information, I have to take one more bus along the way. It's alright! It happen...

 This is the story of a woman who takes a leap of faith and decides to move to a completely unknown city far away from her comfort zone. This is my story. I have recently moved to a city in a French-speaking region of Canada. I should also mention I do not speak French. Yet. ( Editor's Note: This particular piece of information is needed to comprehend the incident the author is about to share with you. Now, you are all buckled up. ;)  I arrived in the city and could not read a thing. Could not read the signboards. Didn't know how to pronounce where I lived. Didn't know how to carry on a conversation after saying Bonjour. I am learning but I still am not quite there yet. Suddenly, I find myself in a world where I can't do one thing that comes naturally to me. I can not read. Is it difficult? Yes. Is it exhilarating? YES. Have I learnt a thing or two from this exciting struggle? YES ( Wish there was a way to write a YES more capital than the previous one.)   I took a t...

I burnt a pan today. Let me correct myself,  I burnt another pan today. But with a difference,  No one mocked  my incompetence, or yelled at me for a burnt pan. The pan and I smiled at each other and a half an hour long ordeal began. A quest to clean it or to come clean to myself. Maybe all this time,  I was looking for a place  where I could burn my pans in peace and call it Home. -Anshu Rajput

For years I have been hearing “ Beauty lies in the eyes of the beholder”. Makes me wonder.. Is it my own beauty that I see around me.. or is the world truly this beautiful? Can I take the “me” out of my experience of Life. For once, I would like to observe the cosmos without being the observer. Is my experience of the world tainted because I exist.. or Is it augmented because of the same. If my existence is dissolved into nothingness before I look at them, would the flowers be as beautiful as they are right now? I think, perhaps, even more magnificent. My experience as a human is limited to what I can perceive and what I can not.  What would you observe if you take the observer out of the equation? - Anshu Rajput

 I was obsessed with helium balloons in my childhood. I used to get excited about buying helium balloons in Melas of my village. Once a balloon was in my hand, my whole world used to revolve around my balloon. That little thing used to be my Sun. It used to light me up. My little miracle. I used to buy a new color every time. Red. Yellow. White. But strangely, all the colors used to make me equally happy. I never got tired of holding a balloon tightly to stop it from flying away. Sadly, despite holding it, tying it to my finger or wrist, and keeping it close to me in the hope that it would stay forever, it still used to slip through my hands. The pain it gave me to see it leave my captivity used to be enough to make me cry. And yet, the beauty it offered in watching it rise in the sky was ineffable. Painful and Beautiful. I used to sit on the terrace and watch it rise until it was invisible. My Baloon! It left me, but it got to fly high, which I didn't get to. At last, I used to ac...

 Hey there! Today I wish to write about all the things gone unsaid in my Samsung notes waiting to be let out. I call it unsaid words to my beloved. I, like most humans, struggle with self-expression but hey... I have this blog. And today I am going to dump all of it here. There it goes-- Hearing a hello from you is like a beautiful happy ending to a very sad movie. I waited for a long time for your love and now I know nothing is impossible. And if anyone suggests otherwise Love, then they don't know the power of Love. You are the person I think of when I watch a sunset. You are my home and I will keep returning to you after a long tiring day. I am with them and yet I feel alone. I am at the right place only when I am with you. I don't know how to tell you how much I have destroyed myself for your memory to survive. I can be anywhere in this world and still be homesick for your arms. Isn't it beautiful what we have or what I have for you? I love you to a point it breaks me.....

I am a mental health advocate and I have a million and very legit reasons to be one. Because why shouldn't one be supporting mental wellness along with physical wellness as a concept of health. I am a mental health advocate because a person acting unhappy and sensitive is called unstable in my society without giving a single thought to the words being said.  I am a mental health advocate because a psychiatrist is called "a doctor for crazy people".  I am a mental health advocate because most of us don't understand that a bipolar isn't something you are, it is something you have.  I am a mental health advocate because a child is the father of the man and sometimes the making of little human is tainted because we don't understand how important every action and every word towards that little human is. I am a mental health advocate because we expect the men of our house to protect and provide and women of our house to nurture the family 24*7, 365 days without losi...

What is in me that hurts so much?' What is it that hurt so much  like a thousand knives stabbing my heart. like a thousand little hands choking my neck. Like a thousand bullets piercing my lungs. Like a thousand canons targeting me and only me. Like a thousand grenades blowing my head off. Like a thousand swords stuck in my heart.  What is it? And How do I fight it?

Virah-The realization of Love through Separation. Yes, I am back with yet another writing about an emotion I love and value the most-Love. Is it the Love or the Lover that has the value? Is it the Separation or the Union that becomes the catalyst for the realization of Love? Dear Reader, if you are smiling right now, congratulations!!! There is a possibility that the most beautiful and incurable disease called Love has made you its prey. Each Subject has their own symptoms... and yet very similar. Anyways, We were talking about Virah... right? Yeah so. I am using a hindi word because one language can never be enough to express everything. I can bet my life on the fact that words can never be enough to say how Love acts through you.  In the absence of your beloved, would you wallow and cry asking and preying for them? A million times yes. But there comes a stage when you will not feel separated. Even in their absence, there is a presence so stronger and so ecstatic that it is more t...

 Things have been wildly lately. Yet I have continued to fall in love with life. Today I am here to tell the world about how dumb a sapiosexual can get. (Double standards) It was a Saturday and I had to travel to a city to meet my therapist and rant about my life in general. I happened to start an argument with the people I live with. Until then I was pissed. I took the bus, put some headphones on. After a few minutes, the bus reached a point where it had to take a left turn. Instead, it kept going straight and my so very analytical mind started calculating to find some route to my town unknown to me which the bus was about to take. And then it hit me.. I AM ON THE WRONG BUS. And I, acting like a person who has basically given up on life, asked the conductor to drop me at the next stop which btw was 8 km away simply because my lazy ass didn't feel like standing up and leaving......  I reached there..... had to wait for 20 minutes for the bus to come back. Alright, I said to my...

 There is always some madness in love. -Frederich Nietzsche True that... When we love, we love like Gods who own this world and who can burn it down just for the sake of their beloved or make it a better place just because our beloved lives here. On the flip side, we are humane, full of errors. The reason we lose our love is that we are lost. In our quest to find ourselves, we can finally get the divine sight to see our love in its divinity.  We take our people for granted, we take our lives, moments, smiles, laughter, a cup of tea for granted. Before we notice, love slips by our hand like the sand.  And in the end, we regret every decision we make, every confession we didn't make. So here is a piece of mad advice from a madwoman, Relax, It's not about Love. just kidding it is.. Irony. A bit of love advice from a woman who failed at love. Whenever you love, do not the course of this world decide your pace and intensity, do not let love weigh your shoulders. Keep in your h...

What is the topmost instinct of a human being? Are we just another species on this planet or sacred after God? I believe we are species fortunate enough to feel love and compassion for our fellow beings. I believe we are species not here just to eat, work and sleep. I believe humans together, can create paradise on earth. But hey, I think our home is already a paradise we have forgotten. I can not sleep while I know that somewhere a woman is losing her dignity. I can not breathe while I know that somewhere a child just lost his father to a war caused by a handful of people who believe oppression is the only way they can win. I can not smile while I know that somewhere a patriot is shedding tears while watching his homeland being taken away. I can not hold and smell a rose knowing that someone is pointing a gun at an innocent's head. The human in me can not turn blind to what my brothers are doing instead of what they should be doing. What do I do with my right to freedom when other...

 It is hard for an empath to survive in this world, to notice the suffering, witness all the violence and hear all these screams of people crying for help and not fall apart. it is tough to not shed a tear, knowing of the terrorism bombing Syria, the wildfires killing animals who couldn't even scream when the flames burnt their skin. But it's courageous to wake up, keep living but knowing someone may have lost their loved ones to violence, someone may not have had a meal or fed their children, someone may be trying to fight with the odds and not end their lives, someone may have lost his only hope to keep himself going ahead in life. But the toughest part is - Life goes on. No matter how much it kills you to be emotional never choose to be emotionless. These emotions make you who you are. This is your true self. Never turn your back on your true self.