Passion is overrated

‘Follow your Passion ! ‘ , ‘Fight for your dreams ! ‘, you must have heard these lines from someone, maybe your friends, maybe your family or just a random guy who thinks he is good at inspirational talk. 

What if, you can’t decide your passion? What if, you don’t have any passion? What will you do then? Explore !! Yes, that is the answer, just explore. Keep exploring, until you find it, now here is the catch. Even if you don’t find it , you would have collected great number of experiences. And like any great guy ( me as well) would say , ‘ Experience matters !’ . Let me tell you a certain small analogy I drew out of this. 

Most of  great grand parents and grand parents forced their children to follow some conventional career, for instance- Engineering, Business, Medicine,etc. Well, maybe not in foreign countries, but in India they did. Their children didn’t think about their dreams, maybe they didn’t have one, maybe the careers their parents told them to follow were their dreams, but then new era came. In this era, there was no think like conventional jobs, a wind of  ‘following passion ‘ has taken hold of our mind and soul. Blame films and unrealistic success stories for this, but they did change our minds, our parents’ minds and change it for good. And I will raise that question again, what if you don’t know your passion? I don’t have any passion, hence obviously I thought about this ‘following passion’ thing, I seeked for answers from different people- my teachers , my parents , quora, etc. 

Finally one answer on quora intrigued me. It was by Dr. Richard Muller, he wrote, ‘Passion is  Overrated ‘. He said that it was not necessary to have passion, you just need to explore. Imagine this, you have a big long table with different kind of exquisite dishes. What will you have? Your favourite dish or everything you can try? I don’t know about you, but I will try everything. Those exquisite dishes are experiences and that long table is life.

I know the next wind that is blow our minds will be , ‘Passion is Overrated’ . In different era, the wind will change again. Change is necessary is this world, whether it for our mindset or our choices. 

Scraped Out Finger And The ‘Neem’ ! -Final Part

*This is continued story of Part-2, which is just before this blog post of the same name*

I remember everything. I remember, I used to work for that white dressed man. I was his courier man. I used to deliver his laboratory made items to different people. That man – Shivansh Mehta, owns a pharmaceutical giant. From years he, with the help of that Tantrik, was trying to invent a drug which can heal wounds in no time, and sell them for pretty low price in hospitals and dispensaries. They were good persons trying to bring a revolution in the medicine industry. Once I met with an accident and my finger was scraped out, they decided to test that potion on me, initially I was reluctant, but they were paying me for that, so I agreed. And of course, they were successful. The man whose words were echoing in my mind about the magic in my blood and neem leaves was Shivansh Mehta. I now remember their faces. Both Shivansh and Tantrik were happy, as their medicine was a success, and so was I, not just because I got my finger back, I had some other plans too. I wanted that potion for myself. I wanted to sell that potion in the black market for a higher price.

 I had planned out everything, I hired some great goons from the money they paid me for becoming their lab rat. I hired them to kill that Tantrik and Shivansh, and in case everything goes south, I kept a knife and needle dipped with poison inside my shoes’ soles and needle dispenser in a secret pocket of my pant so that I can escape out of the scene effectively.

They let us in the laboratory because they trusted me. I had kept everything planned. First, the goons will kill everyone, then I will take that potion to my friend who is a great chemical scientist, and we will figure out the content of the potion and then sell that potion, and ultimately, become millionaires. But it failed. It failed pretty badly, my goons were killed by their security team, they hit me hard on my head, and I fainted. Next thing happened, I was in a desert, those security guys beating me up and leaving me strangled and I couldn’t remember shit.

But now, I do. I was wearing those same shoes and same pant which had my weapons. All I have to do is to plan everything within few minutes.

‘Apparently, Shivansh brought me here to kill me, as he had no choice. He first thought, he would leave me in that deserted place and get away with it, but I am back. And now, his potion had side effects. Shit! I did all this and it was for nothing. But, one thing was sure, his potion works. Maybe I and my friend can work this problem out. Yes, we can, he is a great scientist, he has won many awards, he can. But I need to kill these guys first’, I thought quietly, lying in front of them.

Meanwhile, they were trying to make me speak, but I was engrossed in thoughts.

‘Who are you guys, why have you brought me here?? ‘, I blurted out, faking my memory loss.

‘Idiot! Your potion didn’t work… make that again…and feed him that ‘, Shivansh angrily said to Tantrik.

And as Shivansh’s back was facing me, I quietly penetrated that needle in his body, I penetrated it very slowly, but deeply. He moved back in pain, saw me, fell and died in front of me, as I was lying there. His security team was far from me. So they charged towards me, I acted quickly and killed that Tantrik with the knife. They stopped. I laughed hysterically, and shouted, ‘Now, who do you work for… tell me…both are dead…’

My happiness knew no limits. I planned this in seconds. I had to attack Shivansh and Tantrik when they were away from their security. So I did. My plan was a success. I escaped death. His security, they didn’t kill me. They just went, I don’t know where, and I don’t care. I just care about one thing —I was going to be a millionaire.

Scraped Out Finger And The ‘Neem’ !-Part-2

*This is continued story of part -1,which is just before this blog post of the same name*

I finally got my finger un-scraped, but I still, need to figure out aboout my lost memory. I was always bad at memorising things at school and college, and now here I was doing something which I was worst at- ‘memorising things’. I don’t believe in Indian Yogis and Babas or Tantriks, but some weeks ago, I didn’t believe that there was magic in my blood too, but now I do. So, I thought of trying them. I contacted one Tantrik –Markandas yogi, to find out the answers to my questions. I had a great laugh when I first heard his name, but later thought he may be my messiah.

As he was busy in some sort of meditation, I narrated him my whole story, he was quiet for a while, but then I asked again.
‘Mangeet Bazaar! There… search for your answer in there, at the right place, timings I can’t tell when .. best possible timing is morning’, He yelled.

I left his place, inquired people about Mangeet Bazaar and finally reached there. As it was early in the morning, there were very few people around. I was wandering aimlessly with no clue of where to find my answers, suddenly my hands were grabbed and then my whole body. They were those same guys who earlier attacked me, and they took me to a shady place, where I saw the same tantrik with a guy in a white suit, smoking cigar. Turns out that Tantrik was an ally of my ‘supposed to be’ enemies. He betrayed me, he tricked me to go to that Bazaar, so that these goons could capture me.

‘Who are you? Why have you brought me here? ‘, I said.

‘Kid! you have something that we don’t want you to have … ‘, that man said.

‘Bastard! we helped you, you betrayed us, don’t you remember!’, that Tantrik said.

‘I didn’t… I mean .. I don’t remember anything .. I can’t … please leave me ..please.. ‘, I begged.

‘You liar, you think you can outsmart us, we are in this Business for years, tell me don’t your wounds automatically heal with neem? …. Tell me ..What was your plan..Why you attacked us?…betrayed us?…!! ‘, that man shouted.

‘ Yes, it did, I wanted to find out how and why .. that was the reason I went to the Tantrik, I can’t remember anything .. I just can’t. ‘

‘Maybe he’s right, make him drink the other potion that we invented… his memory will come back, I wantvto know what he was upto…and this thing… loss of his memory, it could be a side effect of the potion we gave him earlier…. Idiot!! I told you to make that potion carefully. Now get to work ‘, that man said to Tantrik.

After some time, some men came, they must be working for the Tantrik and gave me a potion to drink. After drinking it, I lost my consciousness.
I woke up after a while, in that same shady place. But this time, my memory was back. I now know who they were.

…. To Be Continued.

Scraped Out Finger And The ‘Neem’ ! – Part 1

Why are you beating me?’ I screamed. But they didn’t stop. I was yelling with pain and anger, but in front of those built muscular men, I didn’t stand a chance, there was no way I could defeat them. Also, I didn’t know why they were beating me. ‘Please stop! I beg you, don’t beat me …don’t … I don’t want to die…please!! ‘, I cried. They were not going to stop anytime soon. The beatings continued for half an hour. I lost my consciousness and my shirt was full of blood, completely red. They left me stranded in that deserted place.

After some time the native people rescued me, I was in bed for a week at their place. They were angels in disguise. When I got my conscious back, I couldn’t remember shit. My memory was damaged, just like my body. The only thing I could possibly remember was how ruthlessly I was beaten. My memory was tampered, I didn’t know how, but it was. Maybe it was the attack, or maybe something I don’t remember. But strangely my finger had been scraped out with some kind of blunt knife, it wasn’t completely cut, it was just detached, but someone tried to scrape it out. It was hurting really bad. As I tried to fix my finger again, my head started to ache. ‘Find that chemical, fix your finger… find ‘Neem’…‘these words were echoing in my mind, it was a Deja Vu. Yes, my memory had been tampered, but from the condition of my finger I could figure out that it wasn’t cut during the attack. It was from the past and I had managed to fixed it with some chemicals, I don’t remember what chemicals. And this freaked me out, about how could I manage without a finger. What about my college? My job? What? How? As I was already weak, due to the anxiety I fainted. The natives helped me once again. After staying with them for 4 days, when I was fit to leave, to find out the ‘Neem’ and get back my memory, I went out to set this tough journey. 
Everything that I said now is running like flashbacks in mind in an infinite loop, I am trying to penetrate deeper into my memory, but I am not able to.
 

‘Ugggghhh… why is this happening to me?’

‘Mix Neem leaves’ juice with your blood and apply that to your scraped finger, then mask your finger with that neem leaves, your blood has magic, it will cure your finger’, an unknown face said that to me in my memory. 

I think, bit by bit my memory is coming back. To follow his instruction, I have to find the neem tree, which was difficult in that deserted place. I searched for days, but I couldn’t find one. I was having lunch near some village bazaar when I saw a guy selling neem leaves. 
‘Yes, that is it. I’m an idiot, I just need neem leaves, not the entire neem tree.. yes… I found it.. yes’ 
I bought the neem leaves and made juice out of it, and precisely followed that unknown person’s instructions echoing in my head, and it turned out to be true. 
‘What??? It worked! Does my blood really has some magic in it?’, I thought, ‘Nonetheless, my finger is back’.  

….To Be Continued

Demons

It is hard to be pretentious in this world. Understanding people is hard and it makes life harder, so I mask my soul and show them what fits their ideals. But, they are so eager to find holes in that mask , to tear off that mask and reveal the true me and to watch my falls. All they want is to feel inferior to someone and feel good. What kind of joy it is? They seek pleasure through other’s weaknesses. Why? They make hard to conceal my demons. But as soon as I cross the line of their idealism, I see my demons imbuing my soul with colors of dreams and hopes and inspire me to continue this staircase to heaven which goes through hell. And the best part is, like orchids, my demons are several in number, yet each one is unique and so unreal, dispersing the a mystique aroma to different parts of my soul, each encouraging me not to give in to these people.

These people force you to wear that mask, and once you wear them they will criticize you for wearing it, they will become all cynical and condemn you for nurturing your demons, as I said, understanding people is hard and it makes life harder.

I have seen many people cursing those demons, hating their demons, avoiding their demons , but what one need to do is to embrace them, love them, nurture them or control them. Once, I used to avoid them to , ignore their complete existence. You can’t deny their existence, they will always lurk within your soul and if you won’t control them, they will haunt you for your life. Whatever the case may be, I am no one to advise you, but I am telling my life experience, so maybe it counts. Stop forcing people to wear any mask, and if they wear one stop trying pull that off. People don’t follow your ideals, it is alright to be different. You can’t judge their morals , their ethics are not yours to be criticized. And guess what, if their ethics doesn’t match your ideals, that doesn’t make them any bad. You are trying to shake their ethics and you expect you won’t get any repercussions.

For the world, these demons may signify my vulnerability, but they are source of my power. I nurtured them right.

To my Pillow!

My dearest pillow,

Thank you for being there with me when no one else was. You are the sole witness of every emotion I have been through, every heartbreak I have dealt and every love story I weaved. I know, you would be bored of me, but you dare not leave me alone, because you know how I need you at the night when my demons stain my soul into hues of dark and how desperately I need you to be there until they are gone. Thank you for carrying the touch of love when I miss my mom and dad and I hug you. Thank you for every sadness you soaked with my tears and made me realize, how strong I am even though I am alone. Remember that day, when I told you about that girl, the girl I like and how I like to spend my time with her , well, thank you for keeping my best secrets. I am glad that you don’t bias on the basis of gender, all those facebook posts of girls crying and hugging their pillow made me wonder why should only girls have right over you, why not boys like us , though I won’t confess it to the world that I like to hug you whenever I am sad or happy , you make me feel good whenever I miss someone dearly , I apologize for that, I guess you will understand, you did, every time. I dedicate this heartfelt letter to you and your unreturnable favors. Thank you very much and always stay with me.

With love,
The boy who hugs you every night.

Free

‘Go away, what are you looking at ? ‘
She was shivering with fear, she hadn’t seen him that red ever.
‘You insolent brat, I will show you and her what I am capable of, just wait and watch ‘.
And her tears trickling down her eyes slowly. She was used to watching her father physically abusing her mother and all that scurrility. Her beautiful sparkling eyes which held universe of joy and glee was losing its shine. Her small universe was slowly wrecking day by day by wrath of his father.
But that night, it was almost shattered, she tried to seize back the glimmer that her eyes once offered, she couldn’t afford to lose what she only had.
And that night, she had had enough of his father beating his mother, she had had enough of his mother tolerating those abuses, she had had enough of she just dreading him. Soon that shiver from fear turned to anger.
And like volcano explodes, her anger exploded, she so wanted to let that out and she did. Taking knife from kitchen, she charged at her father, all that sorrow , all that anguish flew out like the blood gushing out of her father’s body. And it was all red like every night, but today, it was her father’s blood instead of her mother’s.
She along with her mother, ran , ran through darkness that her father smeared in their lives and she felt the light, light reviving through his eyes annihilating the gloom which seemed to succumb their world.
Gradually, seconds after seconds, universe which her eyes held, her soul enveloped, was reconstructing. She felt that world lingering in her heart. And there was joy dispersing in her life , in their lives. And he just sat there helplessly and painfully watching them finally being free.

Finally, they climbed out of that pit of despair her father created. They were Free.