LOVE THAT REFUSES TO GO

You’re a glass of water
Which is too full
To be carried along carelessly
And I’m a free flowing breeze
Too fickle
To ever be that mindful.

You’re a deep sea diver
Who races against whales
And I’m the one with the gorgeous skin
Too afraid of the tan.

You fly a Boeing 787
At full throttle
And I double check my seat belt
At 50kilometres an hour!

So;
We need to spill some water
And wear a little sunblock
And maybe, just walk?

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IDEAS

I pitter, I patter, and click a clack,
About Gandhi and his ideas that worked without a whack.
But I’ve installed an army and a nuclear button,
With a few easy deaths over chicken and mutton.

Now this is not to refurbish savagery in my blood,
‘Cause a fellow in me stands as calm as seas under shrieky thuds.
He’s an overfilled soul and a hungry gut,
Away from his home, in an island stuck.

An island, which is his loyal platoon,
Sometimes engendered with baits that swoon:
Men over women and men over other men,
Since fellow beings are more dangerous than a lion’s den.

But he has not grown on Kindle fables,
And knows of clouds bereft WiFi cables,
Under which he builds a castle of dreams that never fade,
Since what is life, if not ideas that weed out the good old stereotypical spades.

So he builds out a task force,
And doesn’t let a voice go hoarse,

That condemns religions under the broad daylight,
For victimising creativity by infringement of rights.

That task force are words on paper,
Terrified of intolerance and creativity’s current stature,
Not in just muddy houses and movie halls,
But in shut minds and open tabs of people all!

We Don’t Know

You know those lazy mornings? The ones when you’re bludgeoning to go, energized with the plan for the day; yet think to stay a couple of hours in bed figuring out where you’re actually going in life?

Do you know those speeches? Yes, the ones you rehearsed maybe a thousand times a day for days; yet drop you numb like… Like it’ll all be over the moment you say it.

I know them too. I bury them underneath my generous smiles which might not be as alluring as yours but nonetheless are fake too.

I’m that person who’ll tell you that it’s not the offenders errand to not  hurt you and by the end of the night, will excavate a corner at the edge of the bed and cry for feeling less of myself because of someone’s words and actions too. 

I’ll tell you you’re lovable yet won’t know how to love you in the most perfect way.

I’ll preach you to choose your boyfriend over your math class, because the former has the potential of outliving a forever or maybe lasting a forever. But when the ball will be in my court, forget about missing the lecture, I won’t even spare a thought to quit my revision either.

I was strictly advised to be focussed on my career during my childhood, and then suddenly degraded for not dressing up like those pretty girls as I neared my 20. And today as they take on to be the social media queens, I try to recall where did I miss that magic wand which transformed them from clueless kids to charismatic chicks? 

To all my questions, I get just one answer: This world knows nothing and they’ll tell you everything except just that. 

“Is that too much to ask for?” Part II

​”There’s no money in women’s cricket, hence, no future.”

“IPL’s glamorous business is playing in your head, which is but only for men”

“Ever heard of any female cricketer or broadcast of an international match? They’re all oblivious”

One after the other, such pessimism made the road ahead marshy for her and subsequently with every step, Adira feared submerging in the bog.

So just like everyone who failed to understand Robert Frost’s conjecture in his eloquent work, “The Road not taken”, so did she but here on purpose.

When the great poet quipped:

“And I took the one less travelled by,

And that’s made all the difference…”

He rang bells of sarcasm on every individual who’s more or less a part of the mob, yet when interrogated will always mention his great struggle through a difficult path and thereby, claim indelible  triumph in his/her own eyes.

Similarly, even she thought of doing life the easy way by narrating great ideas and greater philosophies of breaking concrete and becoming a professional cricketer but never ever attempting those surreal ordeals.

Holding conversation with peers drowned into dullness as she instead spent her schooling hours by doodling in the chemistry class, poking her face outside the window in the physics class and with a sunken head sealed with ambitions in the computer class. Adira stayed perennially consumed in her own thoughts after that deft “NO” she’d received from her father. This was her class 12 and doubtlessly, Indian parents hardly take this academic session with a pinch of salt let alone playing cricket simultaneously.

Eyes welled up night after night as the pillows grew moist with grief only her heart knew about. Even today, she can’t recapitulate a single moonlit sky which didn’t give her sleep out of dreariness. Dreariness as a byproduct of incessant tears and frothful fears. Every morning that she got up, her feet trembled while getting down from bed. They were shy of crashing on the floor, on landing… Quite incapable of carrying her own weight now.

But, she was adamant. Adamant of not becoming a granny who whines about how life offered her lemons when she sought peaches.

Those tanned pages of every book she’d read in past on meticulous struggles, uncountable sacrifices on the path to glory and the will to adhere in every given circumstance were her Nightingale.

She incessantly muttered to herself that Adira is going to be Adira.

So she survived this woeful academic session, secured admission in a decent college and then thought to give a second shot to her passion. She was worried whether her parents would allow her to play cricket this time around or not. And energy to fight more battles at home had almost drained her mentally in the past two years. So, she put this little clandestine in her belly and hit another cricket field.

Life in this new second home was different. Here, she met a wider pool of players. From the ones who were just playing because they took admission under sports quota to the ones who’d travelled miles from their villages to a metro like Delhi in search of better facilities, exposure and recognition; every girl here had her own story which is quite usual yet, felt magical.

Adira had saved quite a few bucks over the recent years such that she could afford coaching fees, cricketing whites and shoes. She spent the initial few months borrowing cricket kit from her peers and often missed college to reach the ground.

Realities were appearing to converge with her expectations as she played quite a few inter college matches and many practice games. But soon she realized that she can’t go really far by playing this hide and seek game at home.

Long run: We’re all dead

​Recently, ex governor of RBI, ex finance minister and ex prime minister, Dr Manmohan Singh became the butt of all jokes when the renowned economist quoted the very great, Sir John Maynard Keynes:

In the long run, we’re all dead.
But I would like to take his case forward because as an economics student, I somewhere believe the man has got a point!

Source: localpress.in

In economics, short run, medium run and long run are/can be never properly defined. A short run for a policy can be 6 months in one country and 60 years in another country.
For example, Japan after atomic attacks wanted to grow industrially by increasing production. So companies like Daikin, Toyota etc came up and despite poor agricultural endowments; they were able to spur growth. The economic theory says that when production is increased to improve growth rate then consumption levels initially are compromised of the public in the short run (due to increased investments in production) but in the long run as profits start coming; incomes increase and expenditure/consumption rises too. And medium run always means the equilibrium. So here, medium run would be investment = consumption. 

Japan adopted this policy in 1950s and here we are in 2017, and yet the short run of Japan hasn’t ended. Currently, they’re having 0% lending rates yet none are taking up loans or consuming a substantial part of their income. This downfall in expenditure/domestic demand is what’s restraining japan from competing with China, us etc. It’s not the lack of technology there but the lack of young population (who generally demand the highest goods and services) 
Most of their population is ageing.
Compare it to India where I think 65% are below 25 and hence, demand is an all time high affair. And this brings inflation, currency depreciation, fiscal deficit etc in India.
So the thing is:
1. Long run can be as long as eternity
2. Till the time long run comes, external factors begin affecting the policy’s objective. Here, that externality being age group of population. Other common ones are political scenario, central banks efficiency etc
3. Long run NEVER comes. Like I said, medium run is equilibrium and in economics, equilibrium is a mirage. We can/should aim for it but in the foresight, its good to know that we’ll never reach there. However, in pursuit of coming closer to it we can grow.. That’s it.
Since there’s no medium run, there ought to be no long run.

Is that too much to ask for?

​”Is that too much to ask for?”, she sighed.
Adira plucked her school bag from the almirah after pinning the neatly pleated dupatta and sat in the bus. The occasional honking by the driver pestered her often, and consequently she would switch over to her dreams for resurrection.


Sliding on the seat, pushing the back rest of the front chair through her red striped bellies, she adjusted her focus onto things that offered her a new lease of life.

Racing with the morning sun to reach the horizon earlier, she religiously smacked her bat on reaching the ground.

An atheist, had finally found her God.

Soon after, she geared up for tossing the red cherry on a freshly flattened tract, as she kissed her divine idol before releasing it in the air.

“Beeeeepppppppp”, honked the driver one last time on that trip as the school approached and as always, Adira sulked on busted fantasies just like the little girl who was blowing soap bubbles at the roadside.

She marched to her class with bold steps, yet cowardice found solace within. Retrospection that ruffle adults had swept away this young giant’s mind.
“Is that too much to ask for?”, she sighed.
Her parents were bursting magnanimously on her for choosing cricket as a career option till yesterday but today morning, they wore layers of insecurities than the usual fury. Cluelessness did to them what a steady and determined spirit did to her: minds were blown; but in opposite directions.
Rebel is what they called her, when she didn’t succumb to the stereotypes of the world. Never asking anyone as how to conduct herself and plan her future  as a girl, ample of unsolicited advises poured in. In a first, those torturous remarks dented her morale and unrequited sarcasm bruised her ambitions.
Tirelessly creating and recreating speeches in the broad daylight during the recess break, the protagonist often found herself mindlessly bent over trivial issues. She wanted to convince her father to let her play and resultantly, those speeches were meant to quench the thirst of a father who declined to the glass of water on offer.
Breathing was involuntary and hence, smooth; but Adira’s heartbeat wasn’t so. It pounced at every request she made to her parents to let her follow her heart. After a plethora of futile efforts, she made a firm choice… To walk away.
To walk away from everything that appeared like destiny till few days back to experimenting one cheap life which everyone tagged as priceless. A life which would see you retiring at 55. A life where every nook and corner will be filled with, “Ladki hoke cricket khelti hain?”

A life which will see no family turning to you with an apparent rishta.

A life which even if shorter than the rest would be the largest you could’ve lived ever.

So eventually, she slithered with the butterflies in her stomach to the cricket field. Whooshing with the breezy atmosphere from the pavilion end, she came over the wicket and leaped forth on her left foot to deliver a half volley. With the non bowling arm pulling down tons of mental baggage at the time of release, Adira swung the ball inwards. The red leather disturbed the furniture of a seasoned batswoman and Adira’s soul knew no bounds.

Ounces of sweat under the basking sun, helped in forming the iron sans slag!!
Besides conquering what she felt she was born to, Adira inflated herself with oodles of self love, self confidence and self respect. With so many adjectives prefixed with self, she understood that you can be your favorite despite being selfish. You can care for others despite it not being at the cost of your own health: mental or physical.
She realized that when you want something and are tremendously passionate about it then the whole universe conspires to help you attain that goal. And that “she” is someone we all can be, if we’ve the courage to follow our dreams.
Because, in addition to all the material success, your pursuit of passion is going to carve your own identity, is going to help you discover yourself and most importantly, let you accept yourself. Accept your every mistake and take charge of things; and there’s nothing more sublime than this onus.
If you do all this and more, I promise you, you can be the next YOU of every motivational quote.