Creative Handcuff

"Where the mind is without fear and head is held high,
Where knowledge is free,
Where the world has not been broken up, into fragments,
by narrow domestic walls
Where words come out, from the depth of truth
Where tireless striving stretches its arms, towards perfection
Where the clear stream of new reason has not lost its way
Into the dreary desert sand, of dead habit
Where the mind is led forward by thee
into ever widening, thought and action
Into that heaven of freedom, my father
Let my country awake"

Rabindranath Tagore

Ever Since I was 5, I have been an enthusiastic movie buff. I am an Indian, hence this trait as I call it, is completely natural and is something that links everybody in this multi cultural nation.

Ever Since I was 9, I have been following blogs, articles of independent thinkers, whose ideas have greatly shaped the way I see the world. I have read varied views, from revolutionary, to diplomatic and from violence to peace, and they have helped me big time.

The purpose of this pre- soft drama is to show you how these instruments of mass multimedia have played an integral role in what I am now.

I, myself am an occasional blogger, blogging stuff whenever I get time. I write poems, articles so that people can read, like and share them. I like to write, and I make sure everybody knows about it.

While I enjoy each comment that praises me and my views, I am even more thankful to people who criticize and suggest improvements, which make me a better blogger, and perhaps a person with an evolving brain.

I truly respect each piece of criticism, though I might not show it, or be a bit less receptive in the beginning, I accept it in the long run, because I know I am helping myself and being a good citizen and respecting fundamental rights of people. And I am sure that all artists and creative people also do the same.

But today, I can feel a shift to a different ecosystem altogether. The above mentioned respect is still existent, but people criticizing and suggesting changes have undertaken a different approach in not only suggesting changes, rather limiting our creativity to a whole new level.

I believe that the respect of all artists is backfiring. We can see pointless resistance to issues pertaining to creativity, whose base is virtually not even present. I mean, due to such issues why are people being criticized for one project they have put their hearts and souls into. Hard-work, dedication and expertise, all are very rarely found, and once they are, people generally respect them, not kill the people who possess the same.

I read such instances and threats, perhaps daily in newspapers. I feel resentful, that people are getting these threats, but at the same time am thankful, that I have kept mum and probably, alive.

As I think about this issue, I ask myself, "Can I even condemn these threats on media?". I am sorry but this is the reality. You would not believe how my hands are shivering. I can't help it, I have to respect the critics, but I guess not many people know that the constitution has given me right to express my views, fearlessly and boldly, and I will not succumb to any threat, penalty or even predators after my life.

Journalism WAS one of my career alternatives. But, I don't really feel like thinking about it anymore, you know, death and stuff.

The point I am trying to put across is that, people who are trying to help us, gain knowledge, raise issues that are important for us in our society, bring a change everyone is long awaiting. Changes are tough, undoubtedly, and even worse for certain sections. But that is the true spirit of being a family. I have a different opinion, you have a different one, still we are Indians and we should be one, happy, big, fat family, and better each other. NOT kill.

I am sure this will bring raised eyebrows, and I am even more confident that this is not my best work to voice my opinion. But please, just try to decipher the intentions before judging me.

इस कलम की वजह से जब तक हमारे गले पर तलवार लटकती रहेगी, तब तक उन लोगों की जीत होगी जिन्होनें अभी तक सिर्फ़ भेड़ियों के सहारे ताकत देखी है

Regret.

Memories, feelings and sorrow;

Are not for sale; not to borrow;

In the bazaar called life,

Where my heart is for sale;

My heart would shout

“Hey! At least hear my tale”

When I was young, made mistakes,

Never did it right, after many takes;

I would be sad, angry and mad;

I would cry all day long;

After all, it was my bad.

I am a teen now; expected to work hard,

I am a grown up now; bearded like a pard;

As I progress with my life, I feel like a prisoner;

A prisoner in his own home; with no air; no food.

I am unable to judge; is it any good?

I might be jolly on my face,

But sleep meets me after a race;

A race between me and my thoughts.

Thoughts that are deliberate; immediate and aimless.

Providing these thoughts a home; is not painless;

Thoughts that are hard; uneasy and make me

Regret…

Regret my growing up in this world of pain;

I do not find it worth, growing out of pain.

Regret my nature; NATURAL to me;

I am a small pawn; trying hard to be.

Regret my feelings; on which I have no control.

Can’t find a way out of this field,

I am injured. Still asked to score a goal.

Regret my choices. My choice to be;

Someone I admire, which is, ME.

If My Handwriting was My Self-Respect

What if my writing, was my self-respect.

Would it be horrid, or would it be musing,

I am no one to select, you do the choosing.

My s’s are good, my l’s fine.

I struggle with A’s, coz I never drew a line.

Considering my words, tiny and small,

My peers won’t notice, me in a hall.

I would not be anyone, nobody to ponder over,

Though I would be someone; someone to trod over;

People hate my writing, call it atrocious,

They know not, that they are calling my esteem, vicious.

I do not write neatly; clearly and properly,

My letters are struck together, timidly, tightly.

Numbers and symbols,

Commas are the ones,

Over which I, tumble.

They know little, they are abusing my self-respect indeed,

Is it their criticism, concern or mere greed?

Whatever it is, my self-respect is hurt,

There is no excuse, no if no but.

Sometimes I think, Sometimes I feel.

Isn’t my content, enough to heal,

The harm that made, me colourful life teal.

What if the critics, just would have pondered,

On my usage and expression

They would have wanted to see,

How my self-respect, humiliated, had wandered.

What if my concept, would have been analysed.

Would my writing, still be penalised?

My self-respect has been suppressed,

Marked upon, counselled and made depressed.

I am pretty modest, still trying to be,

But unfortunately I have,

Lost my identity, my inner me.

Why do you come, Depression?

"Stars can't shine without darkness"

- D.H. Sidebottom

Dear all,

Thank you for sparing a glimpse at this small blog written by an introvert. I feel immense pleasure and happiness in having you as my visitor. On the Contrary, I also feel that the message, I intend to convey cannot be delivered to you wholeheartedly without your precious eyes and other important senses. Also, I truly respect your point of view and wait eagerly for your ' golden ' comments, as I interpret.

Not deviating from my topic, I would like to start my first blog with a simple question :

What is Depression?

Depression, is a huge word, both ways. By depth and by length. By length, It consists of the repeating E's and S' and I and other important stuff. By depth, it is far deeper. To some, it means a way of enchanting unwanted sympathy, some have experienced it as a word, which has cost them a mark or so in their Weekly Spell test. But seriously, it is the feeling, that comes unwanted. It comes as those typical Indian guests, who come whenever, even without reason. How Pathetic. It may arrive anytime, anywhere, at anyone. If I try to summarize it scientifically, It is that particular series of unwanted events, that accumulate as Sadness, and haunt us for a particular time being.

Now having experienced depression, a question arises in my mind : Why does it come?

Why does it haunt? For a teenager, who aims to become a successful, salaried person at a reputed firm, who is reluctant to talk to girls, who has a small set of friends, whom backbenchers interpret as a teacher's pet gets depression from a different angle? Why does his parents fight at home? Why does his mother cry whole night, and asks his son to put eye drops in her eyes
? Why does she get emotionally so hurt, that cannot even say something, without stammering? It must have felt bad to that young, neophyte, who in is initial years, experiences such sort of mental pressure and Perplexed Mind and life. Why does he take to drugs at a tender age like this? Why does he cannot concentrate?

Don't these questions make you feel resentful? It doesn't make anyone happy, but it does feel bad and often want to sympathize the adolescent experiencing it. I, have not yet received the answer, that my topic suggests, but do think that the intellectual and eager readers of this small blog know this answer. Please do not let this momentary depression  affect you and your life. Overcome, Beat it till it dies and do not let it come. It feels bad and helpless when you cant even touch depression.