Life

Tale of a lost quest

 

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It was a horrible day.

Someone told me something that engraved a filthy mark on my soul. Question marks were floating inside my mind. But a fearful instinct was holding me back. Only one sound keep resonating “you can’t handle the truth”.

Heart injured.

Mind incapacitated.

And body tired.

But arousal of morbid curiosity was hard to overcome. I was fearing I may give in and took plunge onto the heap of bitter truth, residing in someone else jurisdiction. Despite all the preventive instincts I gave in.

And some part of me won and some lost that day.

I won because my apprehensions were true. Indeed I was living in delusion. Truth was falling on my feeble soul like debris fall from a collapsed building. How can anyone can keep you like a substitute. How can someone can treat you like a guinea-pig. But it had happened now.

After plethora of awe-struck movements I recalled I have failed the test called life. Then I entered into the cave of my thoughts. The most desirable place for someone who had lost everything. It was a damage beyond repair-I know somehow.

Just around midnight I, with my scattered piece of soul, headed towards a place once called home. The traffic was scarce on the road. Wind was rushing hard, blowing my hair and flurrying my dress. As if wind was trying to take me back to the consciousness. But it failed like I failed that horrible day. A car struck me and shattered my lump of mass into pieces, whose soul was already absconded.

I died wholly.

Now being in a state of limbo I conclude,that I wasn’t life that I had lost that night, what I lost was all the possibilities, the chances, and the opportunities that might struck me later and that might better my life.

Quotes

Sigmund Freud and my dying intellect

Sometimes a moment is enough to extricate the pent up thoughts of a person’s mind. Thoughts―that are somewhat residing in the dormant corner and only need a drive. Same happened when the words of Sigmund Freud invaded the otherwise devastated intellectual state of mine. It added fuel to the my eroding intellect.

However i found them quite relatable.

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Now somehow i had this notion that love enfeebles a person and weakens ones thinking power. The thing is when you know you are being loved then it makes you reckless(which in his words means bold) and contrary to that of one-sided love that cripples oneself and binds one in invisible shackles.

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I couldn’t agree more here. But you can’t simply ignore the person uttering foul words. Many times we give them due attention and ending up self-doubting our-self.

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Human are born like that and there is little one can do about it.

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Only when our struggle is fruitful otherwise it only offers bitterness whenever seen in retrospect.

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Quite true, but the period of this transition―where our weakness becomes our strength is very elusive. Its a period of constant battle within ourselves which ofcoarse not everyone can win.

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The definition of assholes need clarification here.

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Simply love this!!

Life

A Stray Thought

b038e126ffb160af91bcbaf8bf33280fMost of our lives are spent in dreaming. That’s why the moments before the onset of reality are always very exhilarating. We are free to embellish the tapestry of our imagination. Our mind and heart are in unison to produce a landscape in front of our eyes that is charming and very desirable. The more we think the more we are drawn towards it. We go deeper in it and preclude any unwanted outcomes. But when the thing is finally unleashed-snubbing the intuition of ours, we are lost from the moment that we had cherished the most. Then we came to realize that it was just a mirage that punctured your instincts. And then instantly the past become insignificant and future bleak and the only option left is to accept the present.

 

Social Networking

The other side of truth

People usually avoid her because of her don’t-speak-to-me look. She never gives a nod of approval to anyone. She secretly judges others and then brushes an image of them in her mind which never fades off.  Verily she had set not very good records in the realm of friendship. She was not in talking terms with any of her past pals. If anything that distinguishes her from others—it was her sulkiness.6f91610c8fd728dff5e3febf2865628e

She was a mystery box which many gallant lads try to open.  Initially the pursuit did have an element of magnetism but somehow the gallantry wears offs.

Her awkwardness can be traced back to her tormented childhood. She was run-of-the-mill in both her appearance and demeanor. She suffered the pangs of being an average in her early days.  Her past had endowed in her, layers of insecurities which she had failed to tear away.

Today like all the other days she— alone—moseys the cobbled passageways with her signature grumpiness. As she got an early break from her work she decided to do the thing that she loves the most. As she passed, people cast an indifferent look on her and then they move forward.

Accidentally her foot landed on a muddy patch, the dirty water splashes and blotches her dress a bit. People gave half suppressed laugh. Embarrassed she tramped hastily to a quiet place where she always used to sit. She plunged her hand into her pouch and brandished a shining-slim iPhone. She quickly updated her status with a quote,

“Take a deep breathe. It’s just a bad day not a bad life”.

Instantly her status was endowed with dozen of likes and streaming comments. The silent grumpy soul has a bright side to her which—she failed to depict and people failed to discern.

Lesson learnt:

Man is least himself when he talks in his own person. Give him a mask, and he will tell you the truth.  Oscar Wilde

Faith

There is a light at the end of the tunnel

Today I got an answer to a longstanding question.

When I started my quest I was accompanied by hope, will, patience and strength. These were my possessions (at least I thought so). I was deluded that I have the right mix of ingredients to onset any journey. But the most imperative possession a man could ever have is the one most overlooked. Surrounded by sanguine vibes I didn’t know when vanity overcame me. Then with each steps I took to my ultimate destination, my possessions began to dwindle. One by one I lost all of them—which were more than a weapon for me. The evanescent patience was the first one to go and hope was the last. Their defense was lousy in front of their contenders. First doubt and then fear began to haunt me. Fear annihilated my cognition.

Time robbed me of all of my assets and in the end what left of me was a husk. There begin an intriguing journey.

I grumble. I cry. I plead.

And then I become silent. Things didn’t change and time moves on. I didn’t confront more. I only prayed. I noticed a beam of light in the dark labyrinth. I only prayed.

There is light at the end of tunnel
There is light at the end of tunnel

I no longer fear. I begin to restore myself. Somewhere along the line I realized that all my weapons were variables. They are no one’s possession. At that point I searched for the Constant. I rummaged in the dark labyrinth for light. Yes that Omniscient Light, the powerful energy that invigorates all other variables. That is neither conditional nor imperishable.

Yes this constant is Allah Almighty.

Yes, He is always with a man behind a veil yet more near to him than his heart-beat. It’s more than a possession. Relation with Him is stronger than any other relation; His Light is brighter than any light, mighty than any existing structure in the world

Encountering this epiphany, I know this is where my salvation lay. Now if I take one step out of the line and I will end up in a never-ending jumbled web. Trusting the Providence, I started to move on. My possessions were restored accompanied by a divine calmness.

Today I have reached the end of the tunnel. The Light of Allah has overshadowed all the other variables. Now what in the end I got is a lesson that’ll help me all my life, and reward that is far more jubilant.

Fiction

Writing Challenge: The Devil Is In The Details

She was a lean woman in her early twenties. The black hue of her hair was complementing her honey coloured skin. Her sleek strands were barely touching her shoulders. Her red cashmere coat cladded with blue skinny jeans was in perfection from every angle. She had scrupulously matched each accessory of jewellery with her clothes.  Although her opulent persona was insinuating her exquisite taste but her disposition was defying it. She was coy and furtive and was hiding her confused countenance behind a broad smile which was further adding to her oddity. On entering the restaurant, the deft staff exchanged meaningful glances. They had her here for the fifth day in a week. Unlike the other snooty customers of the restaurant she was the least troublesome of all.  It was mid-afternoon. The sun was playing hide and seek with clouds. The influx of customers was few. She surveyed each table as if looking for her object of interest but was disappointed.

As she walked in the wooden floor her boots made squeaking noise. Out of embarrassment she paced tad faster which made several orthodox heads moved in her direction. Some piercing glances made her to stumble but somehow she managed to walk steadily. Despite the cloak of courtliness which she wore to match the superiority of the environment, she felt her crudeness is stark to everyone. She moved to the corner table which she always occupied. Her adjoining table was empty. The decor was as elegant as its customers and it seemed that both are emotionally connected to each other. She felt as outcast as she felt on the first day. She noticed that everything was there like before—the painting in the front wall, dim illumination from twisted wooden crafted lamps, the appetizing yet refreshing aroma and the traditional ballad playing in the background against puritan grey wall paintings. She ordered Breve, apparently the least costly item of the most expensive restaurant. She made sure that it’ll last even after the sunset.

The shine in her green eyes faded as time passes. Her adjoining table was now filled by elderly couple. Her countenance became graver. As clock struck 5, she casted a menacing look in the window panes. The sky was obscured with grey clouds and the daylight was nowhere to be seen. Another day is departing and no avail-she reckoned. The waiters were busy attending other customers. She slurped her Breve at which a couple at the adjoining table eyed her cavalierly. She realized her blunder and tried to retreat it. I can no longer play this devious game, she said to herself. Her mind was overflowing with trepidations and she feared her veil of faux will fall anytime. She looked at her cup; it was half empty by now. She will have to sit for three more hours and this latte will not last for mere another hour. She knew that she hadn’t got an extra buck in her red rhinestone purse after paying for the latte. How she’ll return to her flat she had no idea. She gazed the painting displayed on the front wall, between the abstract layers she saw two eyes vividly glaring her. She moved her eyes away, the couple had gone. The waiters seemed anxious with time, apparently there were privy to her thoughts. A waiter approached her. She fidgeted nervously. The waiter courteously asked for further service, which was timidly declined. With every passing moment her fears were mounting, she knew it was last her chance. She stared in the direction of painting; the eyes were fixed on her. She twitched a little. Another hour passed in the same predicament.

After a while she heard inaudible murmurs from her back. She dared not move her head. She fears that the thing she dreaded has finally going to happen. She moved her hands to coat pockets. It was there. The whispers grew to brisk rustles. A quiver of fear moved down her spine. With trembling hands she peeped into her cup, only last sip of liquid was there. She heard earnest footsteps coming in her direction. She drew the tiny packet out and began to unwrap it. With whole body shaking she poured the contents of packet into the last remain of Brever. She could listen several voices. The footsteps were hardly some inches away, she could discern. She held the cup, saw the picture on the wall, the eyes were still fixed on her. Her whole body was shaking followed by jitters. The voices were agitated. The heavy footsteps perturbed the serene ambiance of the opulent restaurant. In a moment her veil of deception will fall, said a voice in her head. In fits of nervousness, she gulped the liquid. Her head was shaking vigorously. The whole scene was dissolving in her eyes. The footsteps ceased and the voices sank. With last speck of vision remained in her green eyes she can see two men taking the table adjoining her while the three waiters were pacifying them with uber courteous manner. The argument was solved. Her eyes were now closed.

Next day, in the corner of newspaper the death of a female delinquent was printed. Her other hoodlums were still missing. She was reported to have been charged with various delinquencies including shop-lifting, assisting in kidnappings for ransom, pilfering various accessories of her landlady. According to the beginning reports she was died with poison found in her cup at a posh restaurant. But what made her to drink poison was still a lingering mystery.