Avsnitt
-
How much we are afraid to say what often simply needs to be said. It's an unavoidable fact - the conversations we avoid are the conversations we require the most. Often we are afraid to face the black-&-white of the spoken truth, often we fear the unpredictability of confrontations. Maybe, in the past, we've had to face the consequences of a scathing talk, and have now sworn to avoid anything which has the potential to break or hurt, welt or injure. But subtly, irrevocably, what lies unspoken also changes us as persons, as it does our relationships. On the surface, a calm descends. The need to avoid conflict overwhelms the need for stark truths. And the elephant sits fat and solid in the room, munching away time, growing fat on what's unspoken. And by including avoidance in the definition of love, we chip away at truths. We become politer but less honest, we want to confront monsters by pretending they don't exist.In the song of life, we try hard to avoid the discordant note, and thus lose the soul required to give love not only its longevity but its singular breath. If you liked this poem, consider listening to these other poems on loneliness - Old Poems for Old LoversThe Art of the Lonely Good DeedLoneliness (oh these rains)
Follow me on Instagram at @sunilgivesup.
Get in touch with me on [email protected] The details of the music used in this episode are as follows -Loneliness by Sayan Mukherjee -
What is important to us? This question needs to be asked every morning, because weeks, which have been days, soon become years, and when we look back, we find that things have changed and people have drifted. It's not that we lose ourselves in the trivial. It's how we let things subtract our lives rather than add to it. And we regret the time where we let go of opportunities to be with people who mean everything to us, or do things which we feared at that time and now regret not doing. Time and again we are told to live in the moment, to embrace the passage of time, to know that living in the moment is the only way to find meaning. Time and again we regret not embracing it, and to let go of the opportunity which life gives us.
Akin to this are the small stones of resentment which grow inside us, sometimes slowly, sometimes rapidly, for people we care for, which become boulders stopping us from reaching out.
When we look back we can see the reasons of withdrawal were so slight that in the schemata of lives, sorrows and admonitions, they really counted for nothing. But then we would have wasted time, we would have wasted years.
We would have lost out on someone holding our hands in grief. We would have lost out in hearing voices with laughter in them speaking to us. We would have lost out in seeing familiar faces in front of us, growing more loved by the minute, because we love their mind and their heart and what they stand for and what they mean to us.
More than anything else, it is people we should always reach out to and be close to and pick up the phone and talk to, because our true meaning comes from only two things: the things which we do, the people we reach out to.
Our lives are always lesser when not filled with who or what we love. And in turn we are lesser as people.
If you liked this poem, consider listening to these other poems which talk of friendship - Memory KeeperCompatriots of TrustAaschiFollow me on Instagram at @sunilgivesup.
Get in touch with me on [email protected] The details of the music used in this episode are as follows -Spring fervour full version by MusiclfilesMystical autumn by Musiclfiles -
Saknas det avsnitt?
-
It's been a tumultuous few days.
According to WHO, one person is murdered every 60 seconds in this world. One person commits suicide about every 40 seconds. One person dies in armed conflict every 100 seconds.
And busy with our quotidian struggles, we let the numbers swirl around our consciousness before slipping away. Until one day, our blasé conscience finds something which goes beyond even our overburdened shock meter.
And in strange infinitesimal ways, our world shifts.
Something inside us breaks - and something else breaks open. The overwhelming feeling that a public tragedy is a personal visitation, beyond a dining table conversation, starts to haunt us. The tragedy becomes our own.
We want to go beyond the pale of our usual cynicism - "what will change? what can change?" - and want to demand change.
Of course, the patient procrastination of officialdom, the slow overtures of bureaucracy, the survival instincts of political whataboutery kicks in - as do attempts to wear us down.
And we understand the strategies, we know how we will grow angrier and progressively frustrated - and our lives will begin to call, our duties will come to the fore. Our livelihoods will begin to be at stake - and we do give up. But we don't give in.
For we know the long game too.
Along the years we have also learnt the power of giving the long rope. We know that beyond the immediate sufferance, there are a few knockout blows which we hide beneath our sleeves. The streets, the polls, protests, poems, a non-cooperation movement, emptying halls where they speak, refusing their doles, walking out in the middle of speeches, a continual call to conscience.
Beyond the pale of greed and corruption, which we all see and bear on a daily basis, we unite ourselves from cynicism, of not giving up because struggles often take years, maybe generations. We ensure that the blow is significant, and political parties, for years to come, will remember that those who bring them to power can never ever be taken for granted.
If you liked this poem, consider listening to these other poems which talk of what politics does to all of us - Politics on the Dining TableMr Hoskote, have you visited Kashmir recently?No Revolution is Complete Without a Ruined SoulFollow me on Instagram at @sunilgivesup.
Get in touch with me on [email protected] The details of the music used in this episode are as follows -Refugees by Sascha Endehttps://filmmusic.io/en/song/539-refugees -
Who are we if not slaves to our addictions? In the annals of definitions, we are often what we are at our worst. Which is the world's way of prioritising simply - and slotting conveniently. But much worse than our ruthless judgement is what we do with our own judgements about ourselves. Within the tumult of being a sex addict or an alcoholic or being bulimic, there are those despairing battles where we fight our worst indulgences, and heartbreakingly, lose, and lose again, till we stop even putting up a fight. And to live in the shadow of this continuous defeat is to realize how much of a lie we live in, and how everything dwarfs, even in our mind and soul, in front of this assault of unrelenting indulgence. And after a while there's no place to hide - from the world or ourselves. If you liked this poem, consider listening to these other poems on sex as life - Her Breasts as ShelterSuch are Such Days (or the days I make love to her)Finding Souls Between Their Legs
Follow me on Instagram at @sunilgivesup.
Get in touch with me on [email protected] The details of the music used in this episode are as follows -Sleepers by Sascha EndeFree download: https://filmmusic.io/song/3232-sleepersLicense (CC BY 4.0): https://filmmusic.io/standard-license -
Our feelings are a yo-yo. Forever seeking more, something different, something ultra energising. As if different is better. We are not able to figure out the difference between excess and endurance. Everything around us moves so rapidly - technology, circumstances, opinions - that even relationships fall victim to the syncopated rhythm of indulgence & desertion. And in this cornucopia of life, we lose sight of what is actually enduring, what is flippant, what we need to hold onto, what we need to release. We indulge in a hurry, and regret at leisure. And in the hullabaloo of choices do not even realize what we've lost. Till, someone recognizes our gold, and realises the unmindful flippancy of our directions - and refuses to let us take them. And in the blessings inherent in our lives, the accumulation of the good we've done in this world, we are able to embrace what finally endures. Our life is changed, we go past the nightmare of options, and find both the compass and the perch, the arc and the direction, the zen of the passing and the depth of what endures. We are then blessed, because we have been found. If you liked this poem, consider listening to these other poems full of nostalgia for love - Living Tragedy ForwardOf Love (& other bouts of sadness)Favourite People (who we love and leave)
Follow me on Instagram at @sunilgivesup.
Get in touch with me on [email protected] The details of the music used in this episode are as follows -The Children Of MH17 by Sascha EndeFree download: https://filmmusic.io/song/268-the-children-of-mh17License (CC BY 4.0): https://filmmusic.io/standard-license -
Loss is embedded into our lives. Its advent has both unpredictability and inevitability written into it. It never comes as a stranger - but never ceases to break us. As humans, we are too embroiled in the now, too sure that the inertia of happiness will never cease its trajectory, to even mentally (leave aside emotionally) prepare for it. The definition of loss, for each one of us, lies in whether what we lose is in our care, is our concern. Whether it lights us up. In concrete (often amorphous) ways, whether it gives meaning to the breath we take. Every which way, loss has a wake of tragedy. It could be a pinprick in the routine or a chasm in our soul. However robust our defence systems, however practical our relationship with reality, loss which means something to us, leaves us desolate. It's this fear which leaves us unprepared. Conversations on death - the ultimate loss - are avoided, because we think it's bad omen. There's no one to blame - we are humans, we have our quiddities, weaknesses, blind spots. But the loss which leaves as deep a cut is when someone we love decides to move on. The sadness fractures us because the occurrence is not inevitable, and is often unexpected. To lose someone who brings gold to our lives, and amber to our hearts, is to lose treasure. We are then no longer the lees of loss, but its extension. If you liked this poem, consider listening to these other poems on loss and desolation - Grief Strikes Where Loves Struck FirstLetting Go (because I'm alive)The Things We Become When We Leave
Follow me on Instagram at @sunilgivesup.
Get in touch with me on [email protected] The details of the music used in this episode are as follows -Blockbuster Atmosphere 9 (Sadness) by Sascha EndeFree download: https://filmmusic.io/song/304-blockbuster-atmosphere-9-sadnessLicense (CC BY 4.0): https://filmmusic.io/standard-license -
There’s nothing like tragedy to make us feel dreadfully alone. The particularities of what afflicts us is so personal that very few can find ways to hold us together as we fall apart. We seek the shoulder of those whose contours and smells are familiar and make our desolation feel less lonely. But often their presence is merely a body to hold onto, even as we tear up inside. So, paradoxically, if there’s anything which exacerbates the implosion, it is the non-presence of the one we expect to be beside us as we disintegrate. Because what could be more devastating than not having a loved one, whose mere presence lights us up, to be not there to hold us up. One can travel across the globe in multiple hours, there’s no office, no binding, no power - except probably deep illness - which could or should hold a loved one back. And in that absence lies the deepest cut. Because human beings are tactile, and sorrow requires presence. And hurt CAN build upon tragedy. We shrink inside when love gives intimations of deserting us, particularly when it still hasn’t deserted our hearts. However much we find ourselves self sufficient and centered, we are special when people find us so - we are the validations we receive, we are the unexpected call, we are the sidelong glance, we are the deer caught in someone’s glance, we are the unplanned trip, we are the early-morning love-making. Our life is often full because of the smallest gifts. When we are denied those, our lives shrink into decimal places. And our tragedy multiplies. If you liked this poem, consider listening to these other poems which talk of lovers who move on - Of Love (& other bouts of sadness)I Will Leave The Last Line for You To FillFavourite People (We Love & Leave)
Follow me on Instagram at @sunilgivesup.
Get in touch with me on [email protected] The details of the music used in this episode are as follows -A Sad Toy Story by Sascha EndeFree download: https://filmmusic.io/song/563-a-sad-toy-storyLicense (CC BY 4.0): https://filmmusic.io/standard-license -
Bella's Meadow** inspired by Rumi’s Field by Bella Mahaya Carter. A little help from Leon. We have all been asked one question from time immemorial - “What do you want to become when you grow up?” Or the more sophisticated variant - “What do you want from life?” When I think back, I’m bemused with the varying answers, I would have given as I grew, and do give now. When I was a child, it was to be a railway engine driver. Then it became a desire to be a writer. Later as life's reality checks started sinking in, I just wanted to make tons of money. The subtleties of life started showing their face. And I realized all I wanted was happiness, which turned to fulfilment. And today all I want is to be present in the moment As the most important things in our lives keep shifting, this subtle transition is one of the benedictions of aging, mirroring, as it were, what is important to me at that phase of my life. But this last wish, this desire of presence, of being true to the moment, will now stay with me. Because this one moment is all we really have, to create a lifetime of riches. Of making a difference to myself or my world. Because allied to presence is the biting realisation that we cannot forever be carriers of regrets or recriminations. In a world choc-o-bloc with choices, why in the name of heaven, should we choose to carry stones in our hearts? Amnesia to things which bite the heart late in the night is possibly the most powerful path to serenity. And a good night’s sleep. The world opens up its riches to those who see it with clear eyes. If you liked this poem, consider listening to these other poems which talk of the generosity of time - Things We GatherIn The Drift We Will Find Our CertaintiesLetting Go (because I'm alive)
Follow me on Instagram at @sunilgivesup.
Get in touch with me on [email protected] The details of the music used in this episode are as follows -Lonesome by Sascha Ende -
We are terrible at recognising symbols. That’s why much of popular art believes in high jinx, and the subtler softer art of hidden stories and allegories find their home in empty art galleries. For me, one of the greatest joys of living in a world full of wonders is to find symbols and messages - where probably there are none.But stop me! It all started in my childhood, when I and my mum lazed in our garden, each chewing a strand of sweet summer grass, watching clouds, discerning shapes out of them and she saying “The next cloud will be what you will be when you grow up” and laugh uncontrollably when it turned out to be the shape of rotund elephant. And now everything sets me up. From a random political poster saying “Savdhan” as I step to start a day; to the way my skin crawls when I enter a home I don’t like; from the uncharacteristically generous splash of jam on my morning toast put by my wife; to the way flowers fall on me at the exact moment I pass a tree. If I’m crossing a road and a dark cloud passes the sun my instincts go alive, if I step out and a child coos at me I start looking forward to a lovely beatific day. I have never tracked the efficacy or the evolving truth of the messages, because for me it is enough that they are there. More than their truth it’s their presence which thrills me. It’s like the universe is having a secret conversation with me. As if it is being both naughty and generous - sharing secrets and giving messages - be aware, beware, be alive. In the same vein, the body of a loved one is chocobloc with messages. The arc of an eyebrow, the way a hand is withdrawn, the seconds in which a hug is broken. The way her thighs touch yours when you sit in a crowded hall, the way she smiles in an elongated silence, the way music wafts out of a filigreed window as you walk to a lover’s house, the way she lets her breast caress your chest in the gentlest way as she kisses you on your cheek. Beyond practicalities, our entire body is a gorgeous possibility of messaging. The subtle art of Vipassanna - which I so prefer to the secret-mantra artifice of TM or the forced kindness of Metta Meditation - asks us to explore our body for messages, to observe and move on. For in that observance, lies the recognition that it is important to know, but equally vital is the immediate passage away from this realisation. I see the morning sun filter through the leaves, and there’s a delicate dance happening on the walking path. A snail waits for me, probably to let me lift it to the garden on the upper ground. It’s actually lifting me up. It’s gonna be a good day. If you liked this poem, consider listening to these other poems on the mysteries of the body - Punctuation for LoversSuch are Such Days (or the days I make love to her)Finding Souls Between Their Legs
Follow me on Instagram at @sunilgivesup.
Get in touch with me on [email protected] The details of the music used in this episode are as follows -The Way To Kataka by Sascha EndeFree download: https://filmmusic.io/song/11-the-way-to-katakaLicense (CC BY 4.0): https://filmmusic.io/standard-license Sunset at Glengorm by Kevin Macleod -
One thing which I celebrate with a fullness of heart, is the normalcy of a strong relationship, which allows for consent, dissent, conversation, dissatisfaction, honesty, fun. The pleasure of knowing one can be one’s own imperfect self, and still make a relationship stronger for it. Life, as it were, throws enough seductions to test us to our weaknesses - of faith, of belief, of purpose (and I’m not even getting started on religion and politics!) - not to further have the ones who love us the most to sit in judgement on our munificence or transgressions. And this is, of course, easier said than done. Because much before we demand non-judgement, we have to ensure we give it. I for one am very quick in ‘disliking-rejecting’, ‘liking-embracing’. It is my own private fiefdom of choice and I carry my opinion fiercely inside me, until I deem fit to change it. And progressively as I age, I show my true feelings more transparently than before. I have fewer friends as a consequence, but the ones I have, are the rocks and rock stars of my life. Because we know this of each other - we are both more because of our quiddities and irritations. And we enjoy the frayed package of what we bring to each other. Life is complicated enough not to allow love to be nitpicking. If you liked this poem, consider listening to these other poems on leaving a lover - Letting Go ( because I'm alive)The Things We Become When We LeaveI Will Leave The Last Line for You to Fill
Follow me on Instagram at @sunilgivesup.
Get in touch with me on [email protected] The details of the music used in this episode are as follows - Your name by Sascha EndeFree download: https://filmmusic.io/song/13-your-nameLicense (CC BY 4.0): https://filmmusic.io/standard-license Sunset Fields by Alexander Nakarada -
Time and again I have wanted to die. Oh there were reasons enough. A bruising fight at home, an extreme embarrassment outside, an absolute absence of intimacy when I was bereft of everything I cared for. Of course there was an absolute lack of balance, a misreading of circumstances, an extreme reaction. But far more critical was what the universe laid out for me in those times. I found an iridescent evening full of orange and purple thrown my way. When I stepped out into a budding dawn after a sleepless night, the trees bent down to caress me, the snails stopped their steady progress in the walking path to wave at me with their tiny antlers. I met a stranger who paid for my change in a coffee shop. Poori kainaat. The whole universe was conspiring to tell me - abide, hold on, you are not alone. And I was glad that I noticed. Time and again, I wake up to the blessings of a world which never stops giving. Of course, it’s always there for the seeing. It’s we who ignore the signs and the colours and the aromas of a world which is crying out loud to be experienced. It’s we, who internalize our senses such that we are awake to our minutest emotional tremor but miss out the broad strokes visible everywhere. But much more than that, the message to us continuously is that meaning is not a derivative or an equation. It is a presence, to be embraced, without suspecting payback or a happenstance seeking a price. Once we realise this, the entire grace of the world is out for the taking. If you liked this poem, consider listening to these other poems on why life is so beautiful - I Like The Ordinary LifeThe Grace That We GiveThis: One Grace
Follow me on Instagram at @sunilgivesup.
Get in touch with me on [email protected] The details of the music used in this episode are as follows -Artemis by Sascha EndeFree download: https://filmmusic.io/song/6934-artemisLicense (CC BY 4.0): https://filmmusic.io/standard-license -
"He made love to me,
smooth as a colon,
and when he went down on memy body waved like a tilde."Secrecy is an aphrodisiac. As powerful as pursuit, it is often mistaken for ardour. It is by and of itself an indulgence. Its translation into a stronger emotion, into love, is a different genre of effort. Chekhov once memorably said “There’s a proper order for a woman to become a man’s friend. First she’s an acquaintance, then she’s a lover, and finally she becomes a good friend.” Love then is a long distance run, and friendship a journey of a lifetime. Far beyond the satisfaction of an ego to ‘get’ someone, is recognition and acceptance. Of giving the time to know someone so thoroughly that the things we fall in love with mesh seamlessly with what we don’t. Irritations become quirks become things we adore. Time spent together is finding meaning in life. And hiatuses are then filled with remembrance which then act as bridges. Till the next time. My best friends never complain about not being in touch. If they do, they are still lovers and have not transcended to friendship, which in the holy trinity of relationships, is the highest form of coexistence. (☺️) As I walk through the hundreds of relationships I have formed - online, physical, tangential, official, family - I have continually learnt how it is often our closest relations who suck the marrow out of the marginal happiness we exist within. And sometimes it is mere strangers who elevate us with their attention or life stories. I survive by being in a zen state. As a Buddhist sutra succinctly advises - “Sab anitya hai”. Everything passes. Indeed.If you liked this poem, consider listening to these other poems which talk of how lovers tie themselves into knots - Lovers as WitnessesComing to Your Side of the BedTracing Shadows on Your BackFollow me on Instagram at @sunilgivesup.
Get in touch with me on [email protected] The details of the music used in this episode are as follows -True Summer Love by MusiclfilesContemplative Cinematic Trailer by Musiclfiles -
This is a repeat of one of my more popular poems, republished with a hope of getting a new audience, who might have missed it. "There's always a road waitingfor one of the lovers to depart." The saga of love is a play of light and shadow. There is incident, coincidence, an assemblage of adrenalin, a bellowing of blood, a singling out of songs, a resurgence of senses. Love arranges it's own arrivals, often as a storm, frequently as a story, most often as winter sun. It rearranges parts of our life, it splinters our days in ways that distance hurts - the desire to be, see, touch, smell, immerse, borders on desperation. For deep inside, every lover knows that embedded in the ecstasy of a love story is it's extinction. Sometimes as slow burn, sometimes as a turn on the road, generally as gentle drift, often as an exercise of getting lost. And then the helplessness ensues. Compasses point towards the setting sun, the flowers coalesce into routine, the days stop beckoning, sunrises only show autumns. But it is as if it's preordained - just as love is as much a part of life as breathing, separation is it's conjoined twin. Why does love wither? Where does it go when it's gone? Are there secret burial grounds for love, epitaph-less, unmarked? Is there a floating cemetery of feelings in heaven for lost love - a consideration for the hurt, commiseration for the haunted, a soul for the homeless? Because the inevitability of drift is in love's DNA, it's loss is in its definition, it's celebration is forever aforetime. But we accept its inevitable tragedy, because our life is governed by its presence, and gets its mojo from its promise. The journey, in life, or love, then, is everything. If you liked this poem, consider listening to these other poems which talk of poignant separations - HeartbreakLovers of Broken MountainsFallen FlowersFind other magical things, like a lovely free chapbook of poems, and other resources here. Uncut Poetry has started a new Podcast called Red River Sessions (on Spotify, iTunes, Pocket Casts, etc), where we will talk to published poets, about their poetry, their craft and what haunts them. It is brought to you by Red River, which is the premier independent publisher of poetry books, and Uncut Poetry. I am Sunil Bhandari.
I am a poet based out of India. My book of poetry 'Of Love and Other Abandonments' was an Amazon bestseller. My second book is 'Of Journeys & Other Ways to Get Lost'. Both are available on Amazon.
Follow me on Instagram at @sunilgivesup.
Get in touch with me on [email protected] The details of the music used in this episode are as follows -Reaching The Sky [Long Version] by Alexander NakaradaLink: https://filmmusic.io/song/6222-reaching-the-sky--long-versionLicense: https://filmmusic.io/standard-license -
When someone we love dies, everything changes. The normalcies of routine possibly give an outward sense of balance, but the turmoil inside resembles wreckage. We sink, wish to remain sunk, everything around us seems trivial - almost as if we can see through the artifice of the world, unable to tell everyone how they were missing out on the most important things in life, as they fought over the the insignificant, the trivial.And as is our wont as good people - we remember the good and the rest is subsumed in a closed vault inside our soul. And I wonder - what is ever normal? And I wonder about this connect of love, the dependence, the care, the thought, the absolute faith. Are we emotional limpets to love? Do we grow stunted in love? Is care just an euphemism for dependence? Is the gift of attention a form of smothering?Is what we call love just an emotional crutch? When someone we love passes on, we can see our worlds contract, we see ourselves stand diminished, and we can suddenly see with incredible clarity how much we are an accumulation of all that we’ve now lost. In a strange way, we know we’ve become representatives of who and what’s lost, the protector of the flame. And then we realize how love is always a completion. We come as sketches and it’s who we love who fill us with the colours which make our lives iridescent, and us a 3D rendition of life itself. We are lucky if our beings have overflowed with a loved one's presence, cantankerous and problematic as they might have been, because deep inside every such relationship is the kernel of care, the warmth of which fills our life - it burns when it breathes, it glows like a flame when it’s gone. If you liked this poem, consider listening to these other poems which talk of passing on - What Do I Leave Behind?The Final Goodbye (or why lovers decide to die together)An Epitaph Made of Light & Air
Follow me on Instagram at @sunilgivesup.
Get in touch with me on [email protected] The details of the music used in this episode are as follows -The Long Travel to Terra Two by Kalak -
A lot of what we are, the comfort of living, the beauty of how we view the world, is when we know we are cared for, and the ones closest to us are people we have implicit faith in. To know that love is a thought away, that nothing will take away the presence of the person we care for the most, is to know that the primary foundations on which our esteem, worth and respect lie on, is immutable and unmoving. And in a broad sense, it gives us permission to fly - or not - with the full knowledge that we will be saved and savoured irrespective of whether we succeed or we don’t. Faith is potent force. Its presence, though amorphous, is what really makes life’s meaning tangible, as our relationships get cast in something which is akin to a permanent state of being. We are better because we know we are not alone. However much the physical distance from the ones we love. If you liked this poem, consider listening to these other poems on distances between lovers - In the Drift We Will Find Our CertaintiesLost Atlas of BelongingThese Darned Long Distance Relationships
Follow me on Instagram at @sunilgivesup.
Get in touch with me on [email protected] The details of the music used in this episode are as follows -Summer Morning (full version) by Musiclfiles -
So much of our life is a reaction. As if it is determined by someone else’s priorities and emotions and needs, and we become byproducts of their ambitions and needs. It could be anybody - a father for whom we become the fulfillment of failed dreams, a lover whose hauntings of failed relationships find shelter in our quiet nooks, a brother who leans on us when he needs validation or unquestioning support. The list goes on. And we act as obedient support systems - loyal, available, eager to help. Even when we know we are asking for trouble, even when we know it is not in our best interest, even when we know life has something else in store for us. But we still become someone else’s agenda. And we suffer for it. Because we get sucked into universes we did not want to be part of, but of which we become reluctant denizens. And our lives change. And instead of making our own lives, with our own mistakes and compulsions and realisations and hurts and sinews and wounds, we become carriers of other people’s needs, bridges to other needs, derivatives of others dreams. Till we build the courage to look inside ourselves and force ourselves to learn to say - no, no longer, no more. If you liked this poem, consider listening to these other poems which talk of the strange dilemmas of life - Adventures in Two WorldsThings We GatherI Like The Ordinary Life
Follow me on Instagram at @sunilgivesup.
Get in touch with me on [email protected] The details of the music used in this episode are as follows -Sleepers by Sascha EndeStrange New Worlds by Sascha Ende -
We are often given chances in life to go beyond ourselves. These could be random happenstances, things which only we notice, and which we may choose to ignore - or not. If we pay attention and choose to clutch at those moments and do something tiny, unwittingly we invite, if not the appreciation at least a nod, from the universe. Maybe nothing changes, maybe nobody notices, but here’s the thing - we change, in tiny degrees but enough to shift something inside us. The quietness in this is important, the element of shy boldness is a prerequisite, the lack of noise is a given. We should do, we should move on. So, what does this unheralded, unspoken of, often unnoticed, act do to us? I think, apart from the loud gifts of DNA bestowed onto us, we are also a growth of things we do, an amalgam of all the traces left behind in us of the deeds we do stolidly or impulsively. But something shifts inside us. Something tell us - we are better for it.To be a good human being does not need headlines or acknowledgment, as it is sufficient in itself. And this goodness radiates out, and people who know nothing of it, also wonder and gravitate towards this basic element which shines through. Because this is a secret which nobody can see but everyone can sense. And makes people dip into their better selves. The fire grows, as it were, with just a sense of the flame. And the world is a better place for it. If you liked this poem, consider listening to these other poems on good deeds which fall on us like soft rain - A Legacy of KindnessMaybe, a Little KindnessWhy We Should be Happy with Berry Jam on Table Edges
Follow me on Instagram at @sunilgivesup.
Get in touch with me on [email protected] The details of the music used in this episode are as follows -Artemis by Sascha EndeFree download: https://filmmusic.io/song/6934-artemisLicense (CC BY 4.0): https://filmmusic.io/standard-license&String Impromptu Number 1 by Kevin Macleod -
There is nothing worse than politics dividing family. I have seen people develop distaste for their dearest and closest because of being on opposite sides of the political divide. Something which is (mere) belief, takes on an expanded definition to include a commentary on character, and acts as an unsubstantiated and unsavoury revelation. And with astonishment we exclaim “What! You support —-?” As if it was the ultimate excretion and misdemeanour. In the city I stay in, everybody is a political guru. Some emotionally, and some after study and observation. And it often becomes a battle of belief vs intellect. And conversations and emotions go haywire. And become deeply divisive. And being a highly political nation, where as a people we consume (and practice) politics with gusto, finding someone close being not even close to our political beliefs is dismaying - and often unacceptable. How, then, can a conversation not be a battle? How can we not conclude that the other is at best insensitive or at worst a cretin (kreet n)?The hypocrisies are inherent in the premise. All dining table discussion on politics are nothing more than air. We criticise with the depth of our beings, lean left whilst having expensive wine, talk of one god whilst deeply suspicious of another’s religion.How much do our politics - and religion - diminish us, how it makes our worst define us, how much something which is nothing more than a reaction to headlines makes us be judgemental of the ones closest to us. In a life which is so short, and so completely beautiful, we deliberately lean into what we think defines us, when at best it is an amorphous state - changing as we understand more, read more, feel more, see more.We bring tragedy merely because we give importance to the transient. If you liked this poem, consider listening to these other poems which talk of how politics adn religion determine our lives - In Search of a GodMr Hoskote, have you visited Kashmir recently?The Tragedy of the Other
Follow me on Instagram at @sunilgivesup.
Get in touch with me on [email protected] The details of the music used in this episode are as follows -Liberty Quest by Sascha EndeFree download: https://filmmusic.io/song/293-liberty-questLicense (CC BY 4.0): https://filmmusic.io/standard-license Heavens Gate by Frank Schroeter -
We live multiple lives. Each one of us have variations, but everyday our paths fork out. And we move from the secure to the stormy; from standing naked to being armoured; from garnering the blessings of the universe to ploughing through the detritus of the denizery. Often we are able to navigate this transition in the simplest way possible - we remain the same in every world, raw and uncluttered, ready to take the blows for being us. But more often then not, we tweak our selves to the scenarios in front and archetypes expected, to fit in, to flit through, without too much damage to the world or ourselves. But it’s not always easy, definitely not for the sensitive soul, which wants to remain true and get by peacefully. And I say to such people - go gently, be true. For there is a reward at the end of every struggle to fit in or not - to be recognised for being authentic. And the universe invariably converges its rewards towards such people, albeit slowly, dreadfully so. I learned to stay in two worlds as two people for a long time. And it was extremely strenuous apart from being incontrovertibly inauthentic. Until I could no longer be what I was not. I have no memory of the inflection point, the moment when something inside me said “I will implode.” But I dropped pretences. And I lost friends. And I got peace. I seeked lesser commitments, I could speak my mind with ease, I could say no with complete peace of mind, and I walked guiltless. The drainpipe of my worlds became a bridge, and both my worlds converged into one. If you liked this poem, consider listening to these other poems on the struggles we face in our daily lifes - I Like The Ordinary LifeWhat Stretches in FrontThe Passing of Autumn
Follow me on Instagram at @sunilgivesup.
Get in touch with me on [email protected] The details of the music used in this episode are as follows -Misty lights by Rafael KruxMelodic Interlude Two by Alexander Nakarada -
They say, in actuality, there are only two kinds of people in the world - fighters and survivors. I have often thought about this grim prognosis of life, and without attributing anything dire to it, I really think it is close to truth. In seeking acceptances, we often have to struggle with the true us and the version the world wants to see. Because we are first a subset of a larger expectation before we start to even begin to be our own person. The corollary to this is often the complete abdication of lives. Most often to parents, soon enough to partners - husbands, lovers. We are first loved for what we are, and then are given a larger acceptance only if we confirm to their idea of us. If we waver from there, try to become something which is truly us, if we protest, we have to face consequences. It could start from emotional appeal, transcend to consequences, end in incarcerations of all kinds. We often seek refuge, escapes; clutch at straws, good hearts; and find ourselves giving into patterns. One prison for another, as it were. Unconsciously we build shackles inside of us. Without realising we have become our own prisoners. Which becomes difficult to break out of. There IS redemption. Alas, it comes with a high price - shame, isolation, death. Often even unconditional love is not enough, as it it riddled with complex past archetypes, windmills of the confounded mind, as it were. We are finally of ourselves, suicidally jettisoning this one wondrous life. If you liked this poem, consider listening to these other poems talking about our relationship with parents - My Mother is Full of Water and Ready for SonographyMother's Rambling Lessons on Life Imparted in Morning Walks in my ChildhoodTea-a-Tete with Mum & Dad
Follow me on Instagram at @sunilgivesup.
Get in touch with me on [email protected] The details of the music used in this episode are as follows -Yesteryears (DECISION) by Sascha EndeFree download: https://filmmusic.io/song/244-yesteryears-decisionLicense (CC BY 4.0): https://filmmusic.io/standard-license - Visa fler
