Nupur Chaturvedi

Believe, unbelieve

Am I there when I am not there?
Or does this existential angst cease with my existence?

Last night I dreamt I was a hummingbird,
Hovering over my body, watching me sleep,
The rapid eye movement was slower than the flap of my wings,
But the impulses flitting in my brain were too fast to track.

Am I conscious when I am not conscious?
Or is this out of body experience a dream within a dream?

I met a seer one day, and gave him a cynical up and down,
‘I know all about you. Your cult is a sham, your philosophy a scam,’ I said.
He laughed, ‘You believe a lot, for someone who doesn’t believe,
And think so much about that which you don’t believe is there.’

Am I a believer when I don’t believe?
Or is reality just as much a charade for everyone?

The questions remain and so does the doubt.
The angst remains and so does the fear.
The conscious is all I can see.
The truth, which was to set me free,
Was always, I now know, a figment of my imagination.

What I can’t see can’t be both, there and not there.
Oh, what does it matter? In both cases, it will disappear!

Perfectly average

[Title hat tip: Ek main aur ek tu]

I am an average person, I am
The traffic doesn’t stop for me,
Jaws don’t drop when I enter the room,
I have trouble fitting in my jeans sometimes,
There is no quiet brilliance nor infectious vivacity,
I don’t silence arguments with a one-line flourish,
I haven’t backpacked the world of experience,
Nor can I converse effortlessly about everything
My job isn’t perfect, stretching me to exasperation at times,
Nor have I that elusive love of my life by my side,
There are a million wishes ahead and few achievements behind.

And yet, I don’t bore people to death,
Nor am I a sore sight for eyes,
I can put two and two together,
And there are some who even call me intelligent,
I can clean up well from time to time,
I have family with little drama,
Have friends close enough to be family,
It’s a simple life, a decent life,
It’s not one they will make movies about,
But it’s pretty darned good!

What I ask you, though, is this,
Ordinary or extraordinary,
Isn’t everyone the centre of their own universe?
Average or outstanding, or even below par,
There one thing you can always claim to be–unique!
And that alone makes you perfect. That alone makes me perfect

Have a heart

Layers and masks that we wear everyday
Manufactured realities for everyday’s circumstance
Who creates them?
If we create them, how do we fool ourselves?
How do we not know the difference?
As we trawl the internet, browsing photo after photo,
Do we stop to wonder if our perceptions are photoshopped too?
Indeed, reality is not absolute, it has its versions.
Must we, however, not even try to pretend looking for it?
It’s a cheat, this mind of ours
Takes credit for what is not there
The heart, that blood-pumping device
Labours on even as it is dismissed
It shows what eyes do not
Okay, pass me a heart-shaped balloon this Valentine’s Day
So that I can see through the layers and masks
And the manufactured realities for everyday’s circumstance.

Opportunity

Have you forgotten me already?
Do you think me a part of your past?
I am not. I am eternal. I am here, now.
I will be tomorrow, just as I was yesterday.

In your mind, I dance.
In my mind, you stand still, staring.
Will you not move to claim me?
Will you watch as I strum the strings of time?

It passes, you know?
Time has a way of not stopping for your constant vicissitudes.
It goes on relentless.

How many what-ifs will you collect along the way?
You think you go on, rebuilding your life.
I see you hiding behind walls.
Remember to leave room to breathe, will you?

And remember to seize the moment, if not the day.
I may not wait for you, but someone else might.
Open your eyes wide,
And dream awake!