Art of ‘Silence’

‘Silence’. I never thought in my life earlier ever that i would be paying so much attention to this word. Though as i progress with life, i have come to learn that ‘Silence’ is a form of meditation.

As a child, adolescent, teenager, adult – I have been a very verbose personality. Always having so much to talk about, and i would admit that for some reason i felt that it defines me and who i am. Being the youngest of all siblings at home, i was a pampered kid always, though everything has its loopholes. So, while the pampering and having things my way almost always made me vocal and very expressive about my feelings it also left a deep impact on my heart. My family has been so habitual of seeing me talking a lot, frolicking around and always being chirpy that I started feeling responsible to be like that for their happiness. There was this time when their concern for me being upset started being inversely proportional to how much i was talking. That worried me as i was slowly finding myself incapable of being jovial all the time. Well, thankfully that changed. As my siblings moved away to different regions and geographies, my parents – obviously being the most mature of all understood that i needed my space as well for things weren’t same anymore. My being verbose and very expressive started playing against me with time as my time and attachment was not being returned especially by the people most closest to me – pushing me to think that perhaps i do not need to act chirpy to make others happy if they talk once in a fortnight or a month or 2, as i might not necessarily be feeling like it at that particular time. This, is where the chapter of understanding Silence began.

My mom has been not only a friend and a friend and a friend, she has been so far, as a matter of fact the only one who understands me without me having to say anything. She understands the heart and that has set a very high benchmark for me for deciding who really does understands me. Though she lives with dad miles away from where i live with my husband, she literally walked me through this process of learning to stay silent. In a very very different way than i thought silence is practiced. For me, being silent used to mean ‘giving up’ and here i was learning to stay silent until i feel like speaking. It gave me so much power and control. It was not anything like giving up, it was everything like ‘not giving in’ without speaking a word. For your actions do really speak more than you can ever know. And your actions, over the years start talking for you in ways that we don’t see immediately .

Silence enriched me, made me feel like so much more in control of the situation, it taught me to start responding and not reacting, silence taught me to value my words before i speak, silence taught me the virtue of patience, silence made me happy. I can not today tell, how much i have changed in the last 2 years but i can feel it. I can feel how it has made me a more confident human being. It has shown me that people really respect those who can control their reaction and wait to respond, exactly when you will be most tempted to say something. Both professionally and personally, silence has helped me evolve. When my husband used to share his ways of thinking and opinions, it amused me a lot. I could not understand why i can not speak so practically and logically in a sentence and keep on expressing myself in such depths that it will dilute the message. I looked up to him and tried very hard to learn that beautiful thing. i failed, miserably. Every single time that i tried. I ended up in situations that were not meant to be but i still did because i was trying to be someone else. As and when i got introduced to the art of being silent, i realized that i was trying too hard. That i shouldn’t have tried at all. All i needed was to introspect and improvise myself. All i needed was to just pay a little more attention before i spoke. To give myself time to ‘think‘. Avoid speaking any vowel also if it is not required. To tailor what i have to say in a fashion that will help another person understand me. It is like, you mash the carrots for a person who doesn’t have any teeths as otherwise he won’t be able to eat it. Even a rubber band, if stretched beyond it’s limits will break then why won’t the purpose of anything get wasted if we stretch the subject too much. With that note, I will close this article. Please never forget, that all of us are unique, what works for me, what makes me happy – may be entirely different to what works for you and makes you happy. Be your own Buddha.


Good night.

Such a beautiful place to be, Home. The wind chime is filling the silence of the night with a melody. And the wind is cold from the rain last evening, gushing past the face so refreshingly, escaping swiftly from the spaces between the strands of my hairs. It’s so beautiful that i want to gaze at the night sky a little longer. Trying to observe the craters on the moon with my eyes and the color of the stars, sometimes realizing that a star is not a star, but an airplane!

I wish this peace for everyone, in every little thing of life that costs nothing. In things that you find beautiful, and in yourself!

God bless you. Good night.

An incomplete story*

She stood still there behind the doors leading to the porch. The bell now rang for the fourth time, ” jingle bells, jingle bells, jingle all the way..”. The echo of the music radiated to her spine. Her feets froze in the chill of the moment as she wondered if she was hallucinating or not.

Meera was alone at home. It was Christmas and everyone around her was busy celebrating. Meera had just finished baking a cake. She was excited, her sister was coming home in the evening. Her sister was the best friend she has have ever had. Sameera was four years elder to Meera. They were born in a rich Iyenger family in Kerala. There father was a cloth merchant. He would sell silk sarees, buyers for which included the elite, ministers, foreigners and celebrities. There house in the city was spread across a vast 100 acres. Mr. Iyenger had hardly ever had the time to invest in his two and only children. Sameera and Meera. With all the business that he had, the only thought that worried him was of having a son who would take care of it and expand it further. The birth of Sameera did not disappoint him so much as the birth of Meera as he lost his wife during Meera’s birth. In spite of anything, he was loyal to their mother and never even pondered over getting married again and letting another woman be the mother of his two children. He was, despite being the father of two, the most eligible bachelor,  and fathers wished that there daughters’ may get married to him. Unfortunately for them, the fortune he owned never got into the hands of another female. Mr. Iyenger gave his daughters the best possible education and a lifestyle, only few could imagine of. He had got them both married in a single ceremony three years ago. Sameera was 24 and Meera, 21. The marriage had been arranged for Sameera with a rich businessman, one of Mr. Iyengers best friends son, where as Meera had settled upon to get married to her college friend having only a modest fortune to survive decently. Mr. Iyenger had first opposed the alliance but on Sameera’s insistence he had given up. Sameera had assured her father that Meera will be happy. Sadly, two years ago Mr. Iyenger passed away. The cause was established to be a heart attack. Most of Mr. Iyenger’s fortune was equally distributed among Sameera and Meera and the business was passed over to Sameera’s husband. The following year had been a quiet year in terms of celebrations and festivity. Sameera had however maintained a distance from the money that her father left her and preferred modesty. the money was locked in her bank account and the business was only an addition to what her husband was previously taking care of. Sameera’s husband, Ritesh was a college drop out. On his father’s perusal he had left studies to join his dad’s business and it had been for everyone’s good. Ritesh was magical with money. His business had outgrown the local market for silk in just three years and surpassed Mr. Iyenger’s business. Meera had however, changed her every bit of living style with the money she got. Though she never got over the humiliation that her father had disposed off all the business to Ritesh, not even considering Akul, her husband, a finance graduate from Michigan State University.


In the dead of the night
A bird flew from its nest
Flying free above the ground
No strings attached
No cage to capture
the flutter of its wings
In the dead, of tonight

The ink, that bleeds on paper
In the dead, of tonight

It spills itself on the floor
With shapes and sizes and colors
No strings attached
It leaves a blot on the paper
A reminiscent of its journey
Even when it dries.
Like the dying bird
After it had flown its highest flight

Oh! In the dead of tonight
Look out, for the glory
Look inside, for the life.

It flies. In the dead of tonight.


The snow flakes were falling lightly on the front porch and settling themselves comfortably in layers of white. She looked out from the window curling a few strands of her hairs on her index finger thoughtfully. From outside the window, he could see she was wearing a shade of blue. For a moment, he could imagine a celebrity in her, that one can see only in magazines, photo-shopped and oh! so perfect. The curtains fell back on the window as she returned to brew her coffee inside and he could now only see the dark brown of the curtains in the pristine white frame of the window. He couldn’t focus on shoveling the snow from his car any further. Small love story, he thought.

Grandpa says, it was that one moment that love happened to him. Grandma has a different version of it although, said Shanya to her younger brother and winked a cute smile.

For the love of rains!

Can you remind me of the same sky, the same shielded view of the stars, the same sparkling moon. The winds whispering in my ears, playing with the strands of hair. Will you let me close my eyes and stretch my arms and be in oblivion. Disappear for a moment, hidden in space, not exist for a while and feel my existence all at the same time. Smell the moistened soil and hold it inside for another while. Smell the jasmine blooming at night, and look at the drops of water trickling from its leaves.

Make me feel at home, remind me of myself. Rain, can you? Will you, Rain?


PS: by the way it does, always! Every single time. 🙂