Judge much?


All of us wish we weren’t judged for everything we do. At new jobs, with new people, new friends, new places, new relations, new anything and new everything- the one hope we have is that we will not be judged before we are able to show our best. And we hope that we are not judged when we are at our worst or in one of our bad times and situations.

Our hope and planning justified, we ( & I) forget these rules when we find new people in our old situations. My old friend’s new place, his new girl, his new office, his new stories- I judge them all inspite of knowing the ‘No- Judging’ Rule by heart. I conveniently forget the rule when I see a girl with smudged kajal walking down the street and start judging her out of inquisitiveness. I don’t care about the rule when a new tenant moves into my neighborhood and I make him uncomfortable by judging his behavior in the new surroundings. I ambush the very foundation of the rule when I take an interview and start judging as soon as I only see the name on the paper. This brings me to the theme here- “Care for me, though I may not so much care to care!”

It is always very easy to hold high expectations from your dear ones and in most situations, even from the strangest of the strangers. But somehow we forget that we are strangers to others too, and we are expected a certain behavior of too. This means, where no one can walk over our rights and joys without knowing us, neither do we have the right or reason to tread on other people’s littles just for fun! If you can’t care and don’t wish to account for any tear of the stranger, make an effort not to let yourself become the reason of their tears, not even one. Don’t judge pre maturely, don’t act before you are asked to, unless you are ready to take the responsibility of the consequences and most importantly, take care of all the Don’t s. No one will teach you each Don’t and yet, you can’t ignore them lest you become a victim yourself.

Learning from lessons may be the right way of learning in life, but it is also a hard hitting way all the same. Let life teach you when it wants and at other times, be a teacher yourself. Ensure you are not chased by life to swallow something you dislike for yourself. This makes the world a better place for me (a victim of unnecessary judgment) and you (also a victim of judging eyes!!).

-Stuti

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Jinxed.


It meant a lot to her,
Almost everything maybe,
Or just a little less,
But definitely more that just tiny little.

She was so sure of it,
In varied proportions even knew how to make it again!!
Yet she didn’t want to venture doing it herself,
And wanted to take this one as it was.

She could swear by its beauty,
So much prettiness did it bear.
She was sure she hadn’t seen anything better,
This was it, she was there.

So she approached it with confidence brimming,
So happy, very convinced.
But just when she thought nothing could go wrong,
Somebody pricked it, maybe because it was JINXED!!

-Stuti

Questions.


A garden full of swings,
Some, high, some low, some only bling,
Yet all give joy to the child,
Who taught him to like this? Who taught him?

A shake full of strawberries, very pink.
A shake full of chocolate, very brown.
Who taught it to be dark?
Who taught it to be pink?

The boy with the brown hat,
The girl with the red sash,
Who taught them to be proud so much?
To ignore the smalls?

So many questions, no answers at all.
Answers all obvious, staring at us tall.
Yet questions we ask, yet answers we want,
I refuse to say anything, I choose to stay MUM.

-Stuti

The girl distressed.


She didn’t mean to cry,
But she did.
Each tear, symbolic.

Her emotion soaked tears,
Spake stories of bravery.
Bravery, unprecedented.

She was a mess of confusion,
Her tears fell in a landscape for dilution,
And for reasons beyond understanding.

She wore heavy makeup,
She was dressed uptight,
Only in an effort to hide her plight.

She failed miserably,
For her eyes deflected pain nonetheless.
An effort to hide wasted, the girl distressed.

So all went well, in fact without a crease.
Yet every time wind blew,
Her mind lost its PEACE!!

-Stuti

Life, a cheater.


It was as if life was cheating on her
And so she was cheating back.
Life was laughing at her,
It scared her to laugh back.

She was battling against odds,
Or so she thought at least.
She was fighting for clarity of thoughts,
Life a tough master, difficult to please.

She had made her own rules in life,
Life refused to accept them.
She resisted norms, increased her own plight,
Life smirked at her attempts.

One day then she broke away, shattering into pieces,
The shatter was big, loud and disturbing.
Life picked her up and put her back in the mould,
Ever so kind, ever so COMFORTING.

-Stuti

Satire..


No dearth of ideas,
She desires to create yet more.
No dearth of rejections,
She desires to reject the stall.

Life, a panoramic reel of events,
She desires to chain hers to herself.
She wishes not to share herself with others,
And yet is treaded upon as easily.

No, she doesn’t shout,
But she can!
No, she doesn’t throw tantrums,
But she can!

She wants to keep to herself,
But she cannot be a case study in a vacuum.
She wants to raise a toast to life,
But she can’t find that glass in the room.

Without the ideas, the glass, the toast,
It seems all bleak, much too mist.
She craves for clarity, not beauty she desires,
Some jealousy also mixed, her life’s a SATIRE!!

-Stuti

White pages..


One day she felt the need,
To write on white pages.
About her life, her stories, her nothings,
Her delights, her all, her musings.

She did not wish to exaggerate,
Nor did she under tone it.
She wanted it to be a happy book,
No parallels, the work was going to be her spirit.

And yet when she began to scribble,
Only mysteries flowed endlessly.
She did not know where to stop,
Surprised she knew so little of some of her own stories!

It started happy, then going slow,
It translated into a story of sorrow.
She went on and on, and wrote some more,
Hoping it’d transpire into something with more highs, less lows.

The purpose of her book,
Was not to inspire anybody.
She only wished to reduce to ink,
Her life, her medley, her parody.

She decided not to read it again,
Because too much pain it had given her in the first place.
Once she had lived it, second she wrote it,
And now reading it will only ruin the compromise her life had made her MAKE.

-Stuti