Humans and love.

 

hearts-e1518506861292.jpg

That is the thing, it is about what you very well know you won’t be able to handle, and you go for it anyway. If that isn’t what remotely fits into the idea of love, then I don’t know what does. And this being just one of the mere, still very vague definitions of love. Why do we crave to define this term, anyway? Why does there have to be one or two and not one thousand or two thousand ways of looking at it? Self love being the most underrated of all, and materialistic love being the most overrated, of course.

“What did he get you on your birthday? Just a flower?”

Us humans are so hung up on tangible things, we barely even care about noticing the intangible and how it is something that makes us what we are today, how what is on the inside is something that helps us to survive in this world where everyone just gives a fuck about beautiful faces. Nowadays, things always mean more to us than a good heart does.

Talking about self love and the fact that it has almost vanished, and the little that is left is frowned upon. The most underrated love of all time. How hard could it be? Understanding that the world needs most of it?

But we never fail to let each other down, do we?

The day we fall for hearts and not faces,

the day we crave for sitting in silence and not sex,

the day we choose the depth in the eyes and not the beauty on the outside,

the day we understand the importance of loving ourselves as much as loving them and hold on to it,

That is the day when everything will work in our favour and we’ll realise how it could’ve been that way long ago, only if we had tried to make good hearts our identities, instead of good faces.

‘Love’ is probably still going to remain undefined, till that day too,

but at least out of the one thousand or two thousand rough definitions,

most are going to make this world a better place.

~Jhalak Ubhriyani.

 

Advertisements

Broken hearts.

02f54e44a782ecd9184ab58a88e7fde7.jpg

I’ve heard debates about people having good hearts and about people not having good hearts. Is that even a thing?

I personally think that everybody has a good heart, in fact, the ones who are talked about not having a good heart are the ones who got it broken, but are struggling to fix it, struggling to make it as beautiful as it was, before someone walked over it. They got it broken in a way that they lost themselves in the process. They got it broken in a way that they don’t know if they have the energy to fix it.

And talk about the ones with good hearts, they are the ones that were broken too, you know?

They are the ones who would move every mountain in their capacity to make sure nobody has to go through a bad phase in their lives. They are the ones with their hearts full of love, and every bit of that love is for others. They wear their smiles in a way that could brighten up dark skies, their souls are as graceful as a peacock dancing in the rain.

It is strange how a broken heart can still be filled with love, and kindness. The sort of kindness that attracts, the sort of kindness that makes you want to live every day to the fullest, the sort of kindness that makes you want to celebrate the little things in life.

I hope, I hope you meet a person with a heart that has got broken once, because sometimes, broken hearts shape a person’s soul in the most beautiful way. And they create a divine form of kindness, the one the world needs to have.

So is it really about people with good hearts and the people without?

Or is it about hearts that have been broken that give love in the process of trying to look for some?

~Jhalak Ubhriyani.

The vanishing optimism.

blog.jpg

I remember the dreams I had since I was a four year old. I hardly knew what the word ‘ambition’ meant and trust me, it changed every two months. I used to wake up some day discovering my sudden love for dancing, I used to go running to mom telling her how I had decided to be a dancer, the best one the world had ever seen. New month, new dreams. Yet again suddenly, stars and galaxies and telescopes and the curiosity about space convinced my naive heart that I wanted to be nothing but an astronaut. I mean, no one told me dreaming would cost me any money! But wait, I valued cookies more than money back then, so yeah, I never had to share my cookies for dreaming to become something amazing every month so I thought it wasn’t a bad idea afterall.

My never ending love for dresses and patterns made me believe that fashion is what I wanted to fall in love with. Then a month when colours made me so happy that I wanted to paint my world with them. A new artist had settled inside me that month. Becoming a scientist, a chef, a pilot and what not, as if every month was assigned with some or the other one.

Then came a…’process’, and this process was a big deal. It was called growing up, they said. Hardly seventeen and everyone around me started acting as if what I loved to do was suddenly supposed to be only one thing. And they wanted to make sure I choose being a doctor or an engineer, even though I wasn’t interested in learning how to even spell those words, for all I know. Some numbers were given a level of importance that defined who I was. It started fading, and before I realised, it stopped. The only thing that mattered to the world was me scoring a two digit number that is more than 80, sometimes 85. I still wanted to dance, I still wanted to explore the milky way, I still wanted to design dresses. But turns out, we are who we are supposed to be and not who we want to be. Before I knew, the months were just months, no new ambitions, no new dreams. Amid the race of getting the best two digit number on most of my sheets, I discovered how I had lost the optimism. I don’t know how it just vanishes, one day you set out to paint the sky green and the land blue because that is how you like it, but the fear of how it is supposed to be kills the zeal.

Why can’t I still dream without sharing my cookies? Can I? Please?

~Jhalak Ubhriyani.

Tired.

tumblr_okjwmb03QU1vqy2kso1_500

I guess everyone gets tired, at some point, the sensitive nerve gets triggered, you react, and you do not understand yourself. You sometimes lack the understanding of why exactly are you tired. A tired, drained teenager who tries her best to reach everyone possible, whoever needs her, whoever calls out for help. Still no sign of getting anything amazing in return? Thought so. Speaking of which, she doesn’t be there for people because she expects something in return. But let’s face it, we live in a world where hypocrisy is  god damn hobby. From feminists to the ones who talk about free will, go out there and make changes instead of being a bunch curious fuckers. So no matter how much you say you did it selflessly, reality demands you to settle on the fact that you do need a shoulder too. Well, a teenager’s life could be one of the two things; either really happening, or completely fucked up. Sometimes, both.

Those weeks when your parents just don’t get you. You get along a stuffed toy better than any alive human on the entire planet. Turns out, that could clearly be a sign of you being tired. It was happening to her too, somehow, bad weeks, drained, completely drained of being there for everyone at any time of the day. She, perhaps, would do just fine with a little understanding, or a little company and for someone to hug her and tell her how much whatever she does is appreciated.

The positive rush and the carefree child in her had seemed to fade away, as each day passed by. She started concentrating on breathing, rather than living. It started getting darker, no sunshine seemed to seek through her window even though the town was witnessing the brightest day. Was it all going to be this hard for another forever? Or was it going to change the next minute? All the typical questions probably every teenager comes across, almost everyday. Maybe some change of perspective was required, or it was just the others who were at fault. She was the sweetest soul, exactly the one you would want around for making the air fresher, and soulful. But, she was tired.

One morning, she figured it all out; She was just tired of being full of energy and soul, she was just a tired teenager. The walk was hard, but this time, the sunrays touched her face and she knew she could get through.

She realised how being tired was just fine.

~Jhalak Ubhriyani.

Let’s be kids? 


Let’s be little kids,

Shout until our throat hurts,

Then fart and laugh 

to cover up. 
Let’s not know how to 

hold the paintbrushes,

But still have the want to paint our worlds. 
Let’s dance in the rain

Or in the happy sun,

Let’s accept our mistakes,

And help ourselves learn. 
Let’s fall in love

for the first time, 

Let’s not worry about our heart getting broken. 
Let’s allow confetti to make our day,

Make animal sounds

Use every penny on candies and toffees, 

Here’s the idea, 

Let’s learn to be grateful

and to love. 
Let’s wear different socks

and embarrassing shorts,

Let’s fall in love

with cakes and icecreams, 

Let’s not worry

about passing the exams. 
Let’s go back to school

and live the moments we’ve lost,

Let’s fight over erasers and pencils

and who has a better lunch box. 
Let’s trouble our parents,

Let’s cry over a puppy getting hurt,

Let’s love endlessly

without expecting it back in return. 
Let’s use our fingers to count, 

and sing the alphabets

unclear but still loud. 

Let’s make new friends and

have no regrets,

Let’s be little kids

and not care if we’re not the best. 
Let’s play in water

and not let the fear of drowning take over the fun,

Let’s live each day 

as if life has just begun. 

~Jhalak Ubhriyani. 

Just another day. 


It was just another day,

When I was counting love instead of hate,

It didn’t seem that difficult,

Love clearly won the debate. 
There was so much to be thankful for,

The curious future was coming and the unwanted past was gone. 
The puzzle pieces that were lost seemed to come together that day,

Heart beats were faster,

Sunlight was brighter,

Little burdens of hate when replaced with love

seemed much lighter. 
I was looking at people as some 

beautiful flowers dancing happily in the sun,

Well the happy season had finally begun. 
Chirpy birds and pretty butterflies were talking to me,

Every spot was shining in 

its own glee. 
The paths which I was supposed to take got clearer,

The vision was way better than blurred,

The fire turned the scenario wild,

And passion started growing like a whole new child. 
Well now this passion just needed love and care,

Well it made me realise,

The days I counted hate were just challenges in disguise. 

~Jhalak Ubhriyani. 

Interview. 


Imagine being interviewed by someone up there,
By God or by the people who we believe are angels,

Your points would decide if you’re allowed to live in this world,

Being capable enough and getting approved, wouldn’t that be the best gift you’ll earn?
Some would prepare even without the syllabus being known,

Some would be honest and some would use filters,

It won’t depend on you, nothing, not even the colours that need to be shown. 
Would you want to come into this world if you had already seen what it will be like?

Imagine having such a competition for getting a chance to live, imagine having the want to fight. 
You wouldn’t hate your life if you worked hard to live it, 

You wouldn’t try to end it, hard days would be important to you,

Which,

With every memory you’d visit. 
I wonder if you’d have your friends to help you out if you get stuck,

It would be for the ones who deserve and not for the ones who just tried their luck. 
Well, this was a part of my imagination which I never thought will be true, 

It will happen somewhere up there, who knew?
Yes, someone up there declared the idea of taking interviews,

There won’t be a syllabus or any specific course,

Everyone stood petrified, 

The news was shocking even more than Modi’s ban on the notes. 
~Jhalak Ubhriyani.