Skip to main content

Of changing the world and other miss conceptions

Growing old is a good thing. It is like cold steel turning malleable, it is like harsh jagged edges of rocks getting rounded by the consistent onslaught of the seas and the winds. Growing older is about replacing my original beliefs about changing the world with uncomfortable thoughts about my own immortality, my own super stardom. Maybe I am not the only superman walking the earth! Maybe I don't have the kind of time I initially thought I had. Maybe I don't have the credits and bonus points in my kitty to go on fighting monsters and hidden enemies of the world forever.

The years as they pass by lend relevance to what the masters have said before... Maybe some bit of what happens in my life is also because of me. Maybe those who have run away have run away because I am the kind of person who makes them kind of people run away. Maybe those who tag along tag along because there is something in me that glues them to me. I am good for some not good for some.

The rage of youth and the extreme urge to bracket others into good and bad, right and wrong, dumb or bright, poor our rich, educated or illiterate, like me and hence good, unlike me and hence bad etc. is giving way to silent consistent probing about myself.

The years ahead will see me taking on the demons in me more often. I realize that when I hate less...I find that there is more space to love. Love is something that helps make life happier, hatred is like a handheld 3g device, it generates to much heat and drains the batteries lot faster. Love is slower, helps you live longer.

Comments

  1. That's so true: "hate less..." :-)

    ReplyDelete
  2. Important insight. Thanks for this.

    ReplyDelete
  3. Definitely true in my experience that the best approach managing life's ups and downs is loving more and hating as little as possible. Thanks for the poetic way you put it...

    ReplyDelete

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

Hush

You don't have to tell me. I just know. Its that little sniffle that comes through The unexplained pauses The slow responses I know when you call Just because you needed to cry.

That Fluttering of Broken Wings

If you were to cross the road and hurt your toe, I know that I will never know. As we go on to take different roads and move on across different shores, there is something that happens to our relationships. Something that estranges, disconnects, disintegrates. I know that you still think of me. I know this because I find myself thinking about you. And thoughts rarely get seeded on their own. It comes from you to I and from I to you until one of us is alive. Old relationships rarely die. Like broken winged moths, they hang around dark alleys of forgotten memory lanes. Ever so often, I can hear one of them flutter its wings. Not too close but never too far.

Long Winter Chill

If I could do a Neruda, You would have smelt of summer roses And Autumn pine. There would have been sheer love Of the kind that causes our hearts to ache And loneliness bordering the divine. You would have had so many secrets Welling up as in a girly giggle And so few friends who would hear them all. I am no Neruda I can't paint you a Summer breeze Amidst this long winter chill.