Myriad Musings

Meeting monsters

 

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I seem to have an inexplicable desire for pain.

More than curiosity. More than fascination. A strange craving, almost.

The way you’d try your hand at a spicier cuisine or experiment with a new hobby, to test your limits.

Perhaps, it’s my ardent interest in Psychology (one of my majors).

Maybe it stems from my belief that I am truly alive when I experience the A-Z of emotions in palpable intensities.

Or is the source subconscious guilt which makes pain feel right, even relieving?

I play with pain, the way a child blows air into balloons until the loud pop!

I am my own rubber band. I fiddle, pull and observe to see how far I can stretch, until the snap.

The breaking point is yet to be found.

Maybe, the reward is in that after feeling gutted, tortured, confused, I can surface up and claim, “That wasn’t so bad.”

We treat certain parts of ourselves as inner graveyards, with unimaginable ghosts.

Meant for paying an occasional, wary visit.

It is freeing to know that the darkness in me is tame in comparison to the illusory demons I suspect I will discover.

Maybe it’s time to invite the monsters under the bed to lay next to us and start a conversation.

You never know. You might just sleep better at night.

Copyright © Roshni Ramanan

 

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Poetry

Tangled: Poem

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I’m intrigued by webs

broken strings, a tangled mess

Rope me in to resolve

unveil or just understand

I’m cynical of dreams

about simple linear threads

Foggy figments of imagination

habitants of dull landscapes

Concentric circles

are tiresome but true

complex, self-aware, curious,

elaborate yet exciting

Cloak me in a cluttered quagmire

rather than

soak me in singular strands

Copyright © Roshni Ramanan

 

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Poetry

A doll’s world: Poem

I am a doll
I’m full of life

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I’m arranged on racks
during navratri*
A symbol of traditions
A narrator of culture

 

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I’m used as a puppet
The face of another’s tale
Man, animal or myth
A tool to counsel,
educate or entertain

 

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I’m used for voodoo
Pins poke into my body
meant to unmake witches
I bear the curser’s wrath,
the pain of the cursed

 

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I feel the safest
in a child’s hand
A metaphor for dreams
A voice to worldviews
Companion, confidante
Cared for, precious

But, most of all,
I love children for
recognising that
I’m a person,
not a prop.

*Navratri (Sankskrit) translates to nine nights and is an annual Indian festival.
Copyright © Roshni Ramanan

 

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Myriad Musings

New Year is a myth

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I’m all for burying the old and heralding the new.

Any reason for hope and celebration? Count me in!

Yet, as an Indian, it baffles me that we privilege the Western construct of the New Year over the different dates and traditions indicated by our cultures.

I’m also stumped by the naivete that one can truly expect Jan 1 to be different from Dec 31, the previous day. 2018 and 2019 are mere numbers unless we make it different.

What also bewilders me is that it takes a ‘construct’ to trigger man’s inner clock to pause and take a good, hard look at his own life.

I don’t look at the date and decide whether or not to evaluate where I’m at and take the necessary steps to move forward.

Here’s my year-long loop: Mark a habit, mind map a routine, evaluate, modify, try again.

I agree that we cannot be on at all times but it’s key to work towards the changes we really require a lot more frequently. I’d argue that self-reflection works miracles if it’s at least weekly, if not daily.

Becoming better is a constant; it is a state of mind and not a point in time. 

Let us determine to live consciously, with intention and awareness, and create a New year for ourselves.

Best of luck. I have faith in you. Time to make a happy 2019.

Copyright © Roshni Ramanan

 

 

 

 

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Myriad Musings

Travel

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I never understood why travel was so hep. Is it hip? Whatever the kids are calling it nowadays.

Don’t get me wrong. I relish new experiences to the core. But, I don’t need travel to feel that high.

Learning a skillset that takes five minutes, fondly gazing at the patterns the sun makes on the greenery and creating art give me that high.

Accomplishing a goal and hearing a refreshing perspective puts me on cloud nine. Maybe I’m easy to please.

Travel is associated with exoticism. Nature and culture can be found closer to home if you watch with a painter’s gaze and a poet’s soul.

The most precious thing about travel to me is uninterrupted time with your friends or family. This, I agree with, if you commit to going Wi-Fi free.

My concern is that most people I’ve spoken to, seem to equate travel with an escape. I think time, energy and money are better spent fixing your day-to-day life over planning fancy vacations.

I’d take an escape if my world would turn topsy-turvy while I’m away. But, when I return, my mess is still mine to clean up and I find that nothing has changed.

While weekends are precious, let’s create Monday mornings that make us look forward to the wonders weekdays can bring.

So, the next time you travel, ensure that you soak in that novel adventure, without worrying about being insta perfect.

The next time you long for travel, remember that there are multiple adventures hovering around you waiting to be experienced.

Copyright © Roshni Ramanan

 

 

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Poetry

Morning miracle: Poem

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The sky blinks back dregs of sleep

Clouds stretch to the call of dawn

Rocks join hands in prayer

Waves link arms in anticipation

They wait, with bated breath

for the bringer of rapture

The sun arrives amidst fanfare

Spreads out its wings with grace

A salute to its awestruck watchers

A lone man in a distant terrace

behind the lens of his eyes

wonders why there’s none

to witness this miracle

If only he knew the truth

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