Passion…unbridled

(Where Morocco carries the dreams of Arab world and Africa in World Cup Soccer, British economy trails behind that of India while getting a PM of Indian origin- the former colonies are asserting themselves in a world where the playing field has never been level…)

They didn’t ask for any apology

They didn’t ask for any reparation

They moved forward despite their history

Bloodied and soiled by colonization

They hunkered down and quietly toiled

Equality with the colonizers was a distant dream

They powered through poverty and turmoil

To rebuild what was plundered, a monumental task it seemed

*

The road is difficult, uneven the playing field

But their strong nerves are learning not to yield

To the deeply ingrained dictates of colonial power

To cut the cord of colonization is the need of the hour..

Let the world see those faces ignored

Let their hopes and ambitions soar

In this post-colonial world let a new order be unfurled

Let them take center-stage, the denizens of the third world

Too many decisions to make in a day

Too many variables that get in the way

Of making the best possible decision

I wish I had the kind of precision

That in the realm of artificial intelligence resides

Maybe I should look at AI platforms for advice

It would be a leap of faith to trust a machine

But if I do it, maybe that would mean

Less decision fatigue, better sleep at night

My emotions around decisions I would not have to fight

What’s more, if the result of a decision is negative

At least with guilt I wouldn’t have to live

Nor would someone else be implicated

Blaming a bot would make life less complicated…

*

I am quite technologically challenged, I confess

Therefore to use an AI-driven process

Is just a pipe dream at the moment

I’ll continue making decisions with the best possible intent

Why is it that each time I try to look

For something specific in a nook

Of my home that seems to have cavernous space

I never find what I need, but in its place

I find a smattering of things that forgotten lie

Tools, trinkets, jewelry, pretty much anything under the sky

I am overjoyed at times, at other times dismayed

Because for a duplicate of something, hard-earned cash I’ve paid

Then I shake my head and marvel at all the stuff

That I keep buying, and yet it never seems enough

For my greatest first world problem I need

More self-control to rein in my greed

The money I spend languishes in objects of little use

Instead, spending my money on experiences I should choose

*

The ability to buy what I want is a privilege, of course

But I cannot keep track of my possessions, I am forced

To spend precious time and energy on trying to find

My things, it adds to the clutter in my mind…

*

For now, let me just try to enjoy my treasure

Finding beautiful old stuff has given me pleasure

When I want to give a reply tongue-in-cheek

It is a blessing when I don’t have to speak

I type a text message or e-mail with a snarky bent

I am often passive-aggressive or sarcastic in my comment

The act of typing words reflecting my annoyance

Calms down my irritation, makes my impertinence

Evident to me- the words I have typed I read again

Almost always, from sending the message I refrain

In its existing form, either the language I modify

To get rid of the snark, or delete it completely, before I

Am tempted to press send, and rub someone the wrong way

Therefore I prefer written communication to verbal any day

*

Words once spoken cannot be retrieved

But a message can be retyped or deleted before it’s received

In composing a message in an emotional state

My emotions get reined in, my annoyance dissipates

I don’t end up placing my foot in my mouth

I don’t commit a faux-pas I can do without..

There’s a situation I cannot change, I know

Yet worry creeps up on me, stealthily so

I cannot concentrate, I cannot work

Despite having no desire to shirk

My responsibilities, anxiety does not allow

Me to fulfill them, I become nonproductive somehow

As my awake moments are spent in futile worry

Life passes me by, the moments all blurry

When I try to sleep, worry snatches it away

Such that I sleepwalk through the day

*

I worry about something outside my control

But this worry controls me as a whole

My worry doesn’t affect the situation at all

But it keeps me preoccupied, lets me stumble and fall

I try to will my worry away, but tenaciously it clings

Worst case scenarios to my mind it brings

*

I wait anxiously for things to improve

So that beyond my worry I can move

And catch up on time and productivity lost

Worry exacts a very high cost..

Let me tell you something I’ve realized to be true

If you want to see people at their happiest this is what you should do

Find out about their area of passion

Regarding that subject, initiate a discussion

Watch their faces light up, their voices get animated

As they expound on their subject until they have disseminated

Information so detailed you can barely comprehend

All you should do is a patient ear lend

You may not understand the content but their exuberance you feel

What lights the spark in them, you’ve made them reveal..

*

I fall for the passion in people’s eyes

I have often been taken by surprise

By how indifference transforms into animation

When unwittingly their source of passion is mentioned

Passion changes people and then they

Change the world in a positive way

I would write, and then delete

Everything I had written, I would repeat

The process because my writing seemed to be

Too simplistic, too flawed, too imperfect to me

It was a major opportunity, an important project

Therefore I wanted every detail to be perfect

Except,

The deadline approached, my work remained incomplete

The pursuit of perfection had led to my defeat..

*

Perfect is the enemy of good enough

Pursuit of perfectionism makes it tough

To achieve a goal, because when you run

After perfectionism you tend to become

Rigid, unflinching, inflexible indeed

When pliability is what you most need

To improve, you sabotage your goal

And end up getting stuck in a sinkhole

Of negativity, you cannot move ahead

Every step you take is filled with dread

Of making a mistake, you keep going back

To square one, the ability to move forward you lack..

*

Perfection is elusive anyway,

And no one is perfect on the first day

If perceived imperfection leaves you paralyzed

Then perfection you would never realize..

*

Now I just write, imperfectly so

I allow myself to go with the flow..

(Because every story matters..)

I live on the fringes, I have a story

That I want to tell, but doubt overtakes me

It resembles nothing in the culture mainstream

Strange and unfamiliar to most people it would seem

There are ordeals that I have faced

Because in this society I am out of place

Would anyone be interested to know

All the scars that I have to show?

Do I have the audacity to assume

That my story matters, or should I just resume

My efforts at assimilation that have been

Disappointing, I stay largely unseen..

*

Some people say that stories should be inclusive

Then learn the stories of people who live

On the margins of society, let someone like me

Be represented in a book, a podcast, documentary…

Here is something interesting I read-

Don’t take your mind too seriously- it said

I was simultaneously intrigued and amused

I wondered how my mind would be used

Effectively if I did not take my thoughts

Seriously, how would solutions to problems be brought

Before me, if I did not listen to my precious brain?

Though my thoughts sometimes drive me insane

I would think that my thoughts would be an important part

Of who I am, more than my body or heart

So this was antithetical to what I knew

Too outrageous in my opinion to be true..

*

We tend to believe our thoughts as facts irrefutable

Thus our outlandish thoughts often enable

Us to concoct fictional narratives in our minds

They morph into firm beliefs, well-defined

A passive observer of my thoughts, let me try to be

Like clouds passing across the sky, let me see

The thoughts that float in and out of my mind

Thoughts are not my master, let me leave them behind

I instruct my son on completing his assignment efficiently

Expecting him to obey me, assuming that he

Needs direction to complete it to the satisfaction

Of adults, including his teacher, without any distractions

This is an assignment that is trying to test

His imagination, but instead of encouraging his interest

I am trying to curtail it by adding my inflexible beliefs

To hasten him towards completion, so I can get selfish relief…

As this powerful realization sinks in

My parental strategy needs some rethinking…

*

Throughout our lives, we try to teach

Our children how to live, we often preach

To them thinking that we can show

Them the right path, we assume we know

How to live life, after all we have experience

From which we can distill life’s essence

*

While we teach children what we think is right

We need to learn from them too, join in their delight

As they explore the world around them joyously

We must learn from young children how to be free

From expectations, and curious to explore

We can teach children some things; they can teach us more

As we step into parenthood, we enter another phase

Of learning, from other parents and our children in various ways

As a young girl I read voraciously

About people in different lands, never did I see

A character whose life was similar to mine

Even in books from my country, I did not find

Someone like me represented, if I were to guess

Middle-class studious girls weren’t material for a book’s success

I learnt to inhabit the skins of characters varied

But I longed to see myself in the books I did read..

*

It seemed books were written with specific readership in mind

Even books written by indigenous authors I would find

Had a colonial perspective, meant to please

The erudite western reader’s sensibilities..

I read and loved many books, but never really felt a connection

The bookish world and mine had no intersection

*

It is quite refreshing these days to see

In published books increasing inclusivity

There are books with characters similar to me

Their circumstances sometimes mirror my history

Such stories also give me hope that one day

Someone would read what I have to say

*

Representation matters, and I feel validated as a reader

When I am able to see myself in a character..

Challenges tend to scare me, I must say

From most challenges, I simply run away

But the National Blog Posting Month doable appeared

So without announcing it (because of fear)

To post on my blog daily I resolved

It was an ambitious project that involved

Coming up with thirty ideas and getting in the flow

Of writing each day, hoping creative juices would flow

In addition to finding time to work, travel, and read

And all the other things that my attention did need

I managed to complete the challenge with success

Though this was not my best writing I confess

I learnt something about discipline

And that, I think, was my biggest win