Needs V/S Wants

Get your needs and wants right.
When your wants meet your needs, it's worthy.
Vice versa, it's going to be unnecessary, temporary and hurtful.

You might want it, but not need it.
Not one bit.

I LIE

Up she goes, down she comes
Giggling aloud while she’d sway
Battered by my envy, she stumbles
Maa shrieks, I lie, a guilty day

Beginning to indulge in enticing sins
Puffing all the pressure by peer
As the hour dies, I write nothing
Paa enquires, I lie, a guilty year

When love turned to pitiful fate
Serene and unjust, it did fade
Dusting out those letters of deceit
Jaan weeps, I lie, a guilty decade

Sinking solitude into history’s dire
I bought bullets and its prior
“You’re gonna be fine, Dad” She called
I nod, I lie, a guilty fire

Uttering few lifeless words
I grasp upon an unknown shoulder
“Welcome to paradise, Shorty”
I try, I can’t, I let go of my moulder

I sincerely let go of my decaying moulder.
And I lie there forever.

- Adarsh Munjal
[5th November, 2009]

My life according to Coldplay.

I took this quiz on Facebook recently and found the outcome interesting.
Thus, posting it here.
Enjoy!

Using song names by ONE ARTIST ONLY, cleverly answer these questions.

Pick Your Artist:
Coldplay

Are you a male or female?
Animal(s)

Describe yourself:
Bigger stronger

How do you feel:
Low

Describe where you currently live:
In my place

If you could go anywhere, where would you go?
Violet Hill

Your favorite form of transportation:
Strawberry Swing

Your best friend is:
The Scientist

What's the weather like:
Yellow

If your life was a TV show, what would it be called:
Life in Technicolor

What is life to you:
Trouble

Your current relationship:
A rush of blood to the head

Breaking up:
The Hardest Part

Looking for:
Daylight

Wouldn’t mind:
Amsterdam

Your fear:
Cemeteries of London

What is the best advice you have to give:
God put a smile upon your face

If you could change your name, you would change it to:
A message (Sandesh - if it's ought to be an Indian name. LOL. :P)

Thought for the Day:
"Now My Feet Won't Touch the Ground"

How would I love To Die :
Gravity

My motto:
Viva la Vida (Live the life)

- Adarsh Munjal

The Wealthy Truth

You know what they say,
When you’ve not laughed at all
It’s the most wasted day
I see it, I’ll try, I shall

The way it’s trickling on me
It’s more than blood, much more
Happy is all I’m trying to be
I feel it, I’ll try, I lore

I’m eloping out of nothing
Stuck beneath the wrong right
If you can hear me, do something
‘Cuz I hear it, I’ll try, I fight

How could it surmount my soul?
Isn’t a thought an uninitiated deed?
I can’t find the water in my bowl
I can survive it, I’ll try, I feed

Eminent, loved and spirited – I was
Blind, numb, hungry and deaf – I am
Wealthy, wealthier, wealthiest – I was
Unfortunate, pitiable and worthy – I am

You know what they say, is true
The greed living, the man dying
And he has wasted many, many days
Oh, it’s true

It’s true.

- Adarsh Munjal
[0408 hours
19.09.09]

The Inner Voice

Descending into the silence
I can hear the clock ticking
As I sit across the bathtub fence
My inner voice starts pricking

An unknown rage begins to rise
How can she do that – I think
Is this the negative me or the wise?
I drown my head into the sink

Staring at my own reflection
Noticing black spots on the mirror
I begin to initiate an undue notion
Now those thoughts, fated to be fewer

Placing the phone on my ear
I start cursing my heart out
You’re such a slut! – I tell her
I wrath, I hate, I cry and I shout

Punching into the brittleness
My blood soaks into the water
No voice now, just the quietness
It does, it definitely does matter

Now the mirror is spot-free
What did I lose or rather gain?
No, tell me, is this the negative me?
Here, the inner voice is back again

- Adarsh Munjal

Escalating

The city possess two traits,
One on the road, other on the rise
With contrasting fates.

Each playing upon life’s dice
Protecting themselves with barricades,
From shabby cots of jute
To sharp metal gates

High, refined, wealthy and peaking
Still escalating for a further height.
Low, earthy, deprived and seeking
But escalating, to grab a bite.

Still escalating, to grab that daily bite...

The Death of a Dead Woman

She had died.

She now lay on her back in bed, with closed eyes and calm features, and her white hair tied carefully in a knot, as if she had groomed it just five minutes ago. She had encountered death without any pain and regret, as she was a woman whose life was sacred and spotless. She was a nun serving the neighborhood church for decades, extending the learning of God. Her pale existence in the room was so peaceful that one could still feel that sweet soul which dealt in her body.

Two of her children sat besides the bed, on their knees, weeping over this unacceptable and unfortunate incident. Her son, Leonard, was a lawyer by profession and her daughter, Sister Emily, had followed her mother’s holy footsteps.

Their mother, from time of their childhood, had fortified them with firm morality, a religion without weakness and a sense of duty without any compromise. At present, the son possessing the weapon of law punished the weak and happily stuffed notes of corruption into his pockets, indulging into unforgivable mistakes in her mother’s opinion. While the daughter lived with the virtue that bathed her in this holy family, and also had become the spouse of God, through severe disgust with men of course.

The children barely knew their father except the fact that he left them when they were mere toddlers, increasing the amount of unhappiness in their mother’s life. The nun passionately kissed one hand of her dead mother, which hung down lifelessly, a hand of ivory like that of Jesus Christ in the church. While the son unfolded the other hand which was found grasping the bed sheet into a crumble, leaving behind small creases as a memento of those last moments before she slipped into motionlessness.

A few light footsteps at the door caused them to look up as the Priest entered the apartment. He had got the news just a few minutes ago while he finished his dinner, with a dash of Irish whisky poured into his coffee to vanish the fatigue, which unfortunately still escaped his breath into the air of the apartment. But he seemed to be really unhappy over this incident, unlike the usual-generated-sadness of the Priest for whom death is a livelihood.

He too sat besides the bed, made signs of the cross and chanted holy prayers in a very soft whisper-like tone. After commencing his professional gestures he said: “My poor children, I have come here to pass these mournful hours with you.”

But Sister Emily rose up and replied: “Thank you, Father. But I guess, it would be nice of you to let us spend these last moments with her, only the three-of-us. Just like the good old days, when…” A flood of tears had conquered her face and the sobs choking her, making her unable to complete the sentence.

The priest bowed down again and chanted a few prayers followed up with the cross-signs, but with an uncanny drowsy look on his face as he was thinking about his own bed.

“Just as you please, my child” he said.

And he rose and gently walked away, murmuring before stepping out:

“She was a saint. God bless her soul.”

The lawyer was still kneeled down with his head pressed against the bed sheet, in a very muffled and heartbroken voice he exclaimed: “Maa! Oh, Mamma! Say something Maa!” His sister was on her knees again, slightly banging her head on the wooden leg of the bed while they both slipped into a sorrowful fit of shrieks – “Jesus, Mamma – Jesus – Maa – Mamma!”

And both of them after being shaken by the storm of grief, huffed with an unsettling in their throats as the fit gradually seemed to subside. They now wept in a less violent manner.

They both went down the memory lane, recollecting all those sweet, benchmarking and special moments shared with her. They recalled various words, smiles, a few typical phrases she used and also this one movement of hand, peculiar to her when she spoke. By the end of it, they realized how close they were to her and they developed a feeling of love for her like never before.

After a while of soft-hearted silence, Emily stood up, placed her hands on her brother’s shoulders and said: “You know, Mamma used to always read her old letters. I think they’re all accumulated in that desk. Shall we read them, to refresh her life this night by her side? It would be kind of a road of the cross, like making the acquaintance to her journey of life.”

They withdrew a bunch of tiny packets of yellow envelopes which were placed together in the drawer. They scattered all these envelopes on the bed and started opening those envelopes, which had various titles engraved on the letters inside, such as: ‘My dear child’; ‘My beautiful little girl’; ‘My dear daughter’; etc.

The nun, Emily, began reading aloud the history of her dead mother while Leonard listened carefully with tearful eyes glued on her mother’s face. And the motionless face suddenly seemed happy and smiling.

After read a few letters, Emily got into an odd thrill and exclaimed: “We must put these envelopes in the grave with her! This is so pleasant and touching!” And then she picked up another envelope with no address or rather not a single word written on it. She removed the letter hastily and began reading it loudly.

“My darling”

The siblings exchanged a quick glare at each other.

“My adorable little sweetheart, I wish the amount of love I possess for you could be express in words. I know it was just yesterday when we met, but I simply could not resist writing to you. Since the time you’re gone, I’ve been in this turmoil of impatience and dullness, enforcing the craving for having you besides me even further. I can still feel the warmth of your breath, the passion of your eyes stuck on mine and I still have kept the taste of your kisses in my mouth. You’ve made me go mad! I love you! I love you! I…”

The lawyer rose up and his sister stopped reading. He snatched the letter from her hand and turned it over to seek for the signature at the end of it.

“He who adores you,
George.”

Their father’s name was Hector. He definitely was not the same man. Then the son, with a rush of blood by anger, rapidly explored that particular packet of envelopes and letters. He opened a few others which had titles like:

‘I miss you more than you can imagine’

‘I can’t live without you any longer’

‘You’re the best thing that ever happened to me’

Leonard crushed these sheets of paper, and stood up like a judge does, after passing sentence on a criminal and gazed at his sister’s face in a rage. Then he crossed the bed where her mother lay lifelessly, slowly reached the window, drew open the curtains and gazed outside thoughtfully while sunlight beamed into the room.

“Our mother is dead.” He said.

“Let us leave now, Emmy.”

[End]

*The following piece has been reframed.
Original source: 101 French Short Stories*

- Adarsh Munjal