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Itvaar (Sunday) | Hindi Video Poetry
Itvaar (Sunday) | Hindi Video Poetry
Do you remember how you enjoyed Sunday in your childhood?
Is your Sunday still the same?
Are you connected to your colleagues the way you were to your childhood friends?
Do you love people the same way today, like you used to back then?
Probably No.
We do have good friends and nice cordial relations but nothing can match to the ones during our childhood. The same way it is difficult to love people like the old days. And similarly, we do miss the old Sundays.
This poem is a nostalgic take on love, emotions and friendship which have been diluted with time.
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Itvaar (Sunday) | Hindi Video Poetry
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College Memories | English Poetry
College Memories | English Poetry
All the miscalls will be gone,
Direct The phone calls will be on.No more chatting with the Friends
Long-lasting meetings will lead to the Day End.Leaving Aside The Exam Paper,
Life will be engulfed in the daily newspaper.Years will be gone, seeing your friends Look,
It will Just be seen on Facebook.The Birthday treats will be over,
And that special day will end with a good night and shower.The shopping will cease,
The roaming will be freeze.The gossips will get lower
The small fights will get over.All things will change
Only the names of the people will remain the same,And one thing which always will Exist Are
“MEMORIES”
College Memories | English Poetry
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An Open Letter | “Why Don’t You Call Nowadays?” | Life Blog
An Open Letter | “Why Don’t You Call Nowadays?” | Life Blog
Backdrop..
There is a nameplate hanging outside my home which has my parents’ name on it. This place is safe, surrounded by love and trust and there is a feeling of contentment. It has an aura that drives away fear, divine power in it. It entrusts me with the confidence that if everything in this world were to go wrong, this place would never let anything happen to me. My family, these are the people who knowingly or unknowingly have shaped who I am. They have totally dedicated their lives to my upbringing and betterment. We might call it ‘responsibility’ that every parent carries but that too comes out of concern, and such concern comes out of love.
As I grew up, I began to connect with others. I moved out, met new people, understood new things and experienced a different world. Once we start thinking for ourselves, things can’t remain the same; they have to change. I too started realizing what is right and useful for me. My family also supported my views and helped me make decisions that would boost my future. With a practical approach in mind, I moved out to climb the ladders of success in life.
I left this safe and secure dream world, my world, and entered into a world which I never imagined would be so big and so different from mine. From the safe confines of my private walls, I moved to this labyrinth where it’s easy to get lost. I moved to a different state and a brand new educational experience. This world was filled with new experiences, and I faced new circumstances every day; some even challenging. I made many new connections; a plethora of information blew in my face like a strong wind.
New Beginnings
The beginnings are always difficult as I missed everyone back home. It took some getting used to, for me to moved ahead. My best friends called me every day, and I called them back too. My parents called me every evening and would emotional. They’d ask even the minute details of how I spent the day and I obliged them with it. I’d asked them about life at their end, and they talked about things familiar to me, making me feel at home even in this strange new place. I took to the social media more than before to keep in touch with my kin and friends.
Alas! The constant nature of change is what tends to work against these connections. Change tends to break them, but this is involuntary. When one has taken the effort of coming out of the comfort zone, one tends to focus more on this effort, and this may us lead to a disconnect. We get lost in understanding and deciphering this novelty of a world that we’ve entered. The phone calls we made every day are now less in frequency. And this happens from both ends; mine and theirs.
We expect that they will contact us while people back home expect me to make the effort, but we both lose it. My father calls and asks “why don’t you call nowadays?” And I don’t have an answer to it. Even my friends and loved one’s message saying “Dude! You have changed a lot. You don’t even text or reply on time”, and again I don’t have an answer to it. When this happens, one tends to become an outsider.
But the truth is “I am not an outsider”.
It is not that I want to behave the way I behave, it is the environment and the thoughts that separate me from what I was and what I am about to become. It is not always the work or hectic schedule of mine that keeps me away from talking to my family and old friends. In a way, this is newfound freedom and I am busy utilizing it. I prioritize indulging into this freedom more than the constant need to keep in touch. The occasional drink, the rare indulgence in smoke, and of course there is the workload. Why shouldn’t I explore this freedom? I do remember them, but by the time I want to call them, it’s too late in the night and then it’s not an appropriate time, and people think I have changed.
But I have not. I have only taken charge of my life. After living in security for so long, I have come out and taken the charge of securing myself. I am dependent on “ME”. My mother’s not here to ask me what to have for dinner, nor is my father here to ask me what to bring while returning home and nor do I have any siblings here who will help me with my work. I am an individual who has come to create his own identity. I have an agenda here; this keeps me occupied. I may forget about them now and then, but do miss them.
I am still the same insider.
At times, I do miss them and get frustrated being alone but these feelings rise and die within the confines of my new, temporary accommodation. Nostalgia keeps me from even listening to their voices sometimes. This dependency on my parents who raised me, the friends who were always there, that girl who always spoke to me for hours but it seemed like minutes; this dependency is what I’m trying to end. Of course, I am desperate to see them again, be home for the festivals and during the holidays.
Who doesn’t?
But you change. You get used to living alone to the point that you actually prefer it. I prefer the solitude the crown has to offer. No one comes to talk to you if you’re not “alone”. I have tried to purge emotions so that it gets easier for me. And then I asked myself a question. Who am I without my parents, friends and that one girl? I got busier trying to find my identity, and it all soon became easy and found myself. I had to dissociate first to find myself and in this process, I became an outsider. Well, better the real me outside than this shadow of a person I was inside.
The truth is that in this self-discovery. I have realized that I just have different sides to the same person who lived in that place with his parents’ name plates on it.
@ramta jogi
Published in Youth ki awaaz
An Open Letter | “Why Don’t You Call Nowadays?” | Life Blog
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For more poetry, @ Ramta Jogi Poetry
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Childhood | English Poetry
Childhood | English Poetry
The Time was odd,
The people were even
We were born,
From womb to heaven,
With small fingers, cute face;
We came in the world by god’s grace.
We learnt to walk, then to talk,
Then to hear and later to bear,
Surrounded by toys And hampers,
We were loved, we were pampered.
Life was good, life was going,
And there were we, totally enjoying
Nice clothes, tidy hair,
Tightened boots, roaming here and there,
We slept when we wished,
We ate at our own risk,
No thinking of what doing next,
No tension to make the present perfect
The time was good,
The mind was free.
The life was going as we destined it to be.
That was what childhood meant to me
@ramta jogi
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Childhood | English Poetry
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The smile that lasted | Life Blog | Youth Ki Awaaz
The smile that lasted | Youth Ki Awaaz
“Sometimes LOVE has no words, it has just SMILE”
In Youth Ki Awaaz comes my latest article.A story of love, loss, grief and smile.
Beginning
I met Anant when I was in 6th grade. A very smart person with decent looks, Anant made for a talkative, naughty and charming classmate. He had a smile which impressed many and helped him make quite a few friends. With each passing grade, we became the best of buddies.
However, when college started, I moved to a different city and phone became the only way to stay connected with my childhood friend. During his college days, he met a girl named Tia – his good looking and charming classmate. Their relationship started with a close friendship and progressed to love. And within the second year of their course, the two of them were in a committed relationship. Whenever I visited my hometown, I would make it a point to meet the two of them. Somehow, I always felt that Anant’s smile was what kept them glued together.
Time passed, and we had reached what you could call the marriageable age. Anant and Tia now had 6 years of togetherness to fall back on. In a generation which has the power to end relations by simply sending a message; where people change with the blink of an eye, here I was witnessing two amateurs who were still dedicatedly in love. They knew each other inside out. Whether it was the happy side of the miserable one, their understanding of each other was what made their bond so extraordinary.
They spoke to their parents about getting married – argued and fought but stayed adamant in not letting go of each other. Somehow they knew that love is something which can be and should be fought for. Before I knew it, I was preparing the invitation cards for the guests. A day I wanted to witness since so long had finally arrived.
The middle
In the midst of happiness what we forget is the temporarily of our emotions. Nothing lasts longer than it is destined to. We are animals of hope, and that’s what keeps us going. One and a half years after Anant and Tia’s wedding, I got a call. Waking me up from an afternoon nap, I picked up Anant’s call only to have an unknown voice speak to me –
“Hi, Brother. This is Raj. Our sister in law Tia is no more. Her rituals are to be performed at 11:30 today.”
The phone left me in a state of shock. I was not sure what and how to react. Sitting isolated in my dorm in a different city so far away, I felt incapable of doing anything that would make things better. I called my parents and friends and asked them to reach Anant’s place at the earliest.
And then I was crying. Only to try and hold back my tears and be strong the next moment. All those 6 years of knowing Tia was running through my mind. All the short and sweet memories I had with her and, moreover, with them will now be permanently stained with the sorrow of death.
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It took me hours to realize what Anant might be going through. People asked me to talk to him, but it was just not possible for me to do so. Maybe I was scared of witnessing the pain and harsh reality in his voice. I never understood why people often try to console and stop others from crying during such situations. One must shed their share of tears before the wound heals. I didn’t call him for many days. I couldn’t.
My parents told me that Tia had been suffering from a lung infection. And as fate would have it, Anant had to move to a different city for his work at around the same time. He would return to the city only on weekends to meet Tia. During the last week when things got worse and she was admitted to the hospital, he could only return by the time she had permanently made peace with his absence.
My parents said they found it overwhelmingly difficult to face Anant at his home. His eyes were swollen with the constant crying. He was not able to carry himself without the support of others. My mother also cried seeing his plight; pitying his loss at such an early age.
Conclusion
I was not able to imagine what Anant might have felt seeing his companion lying lifeless on the hospital bed, not opening her eyes one last time. I blamed fate, destiny and life and never understood what mistake that 25-year-old girl could have committed?
And what about Anant? Wasn’t this when he was supposed to enjoy life with his love instead of losing everything like this? I cried for days, feeling sorry for all that had happened. I felt sorry that Anant had lost the love which had held him together in times of sorrow and pain; the love which cheered him in his success. The one who was the reason for him to grow and achieve more was now no more. These past 7 years, Anant and Tia had created memories and lived a life of dreams that suddenly all ended in ashes.
3 weeks later, I returned to the city deciding to meet Anant that very night. We sat facing each other, barely talking; not once daring to mention Tia. We exchanged an awkward smile aware more than ever of the huge void she had left behind her. A void that was now filled rather oddly by an inanimate garlanded photo frame, propped in-between our sofas. One that froze her in a single moment complete with her bridal suit and smiling face. We glanced at her photo, looked at each other and could only fall silent again.
Maybe it was still the smile playing charmingly on their faces that was keeping them together even now.
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