Dearest Charcoal Blacks…

Dearest Charcoal Blacks,

Taking a pen as I sit here on the table, with hundreds of words I can’t find the right one to start with. Where to begin isn’t the problem but how to begin, should I confess straightaway about my profound love for you or must I first tell you when it all began. I wonder if I fell in love the very day I saw you for the first time, while you carried those water cans too heavy to slip on every step, or the time you looked at me wiping mud from your cheeks. Maybe it happened the day I saw you cry for I had never felt a pain so heartbreaking.

Those eyes, those charcoal eyes, held me and I haven’t been able to shake myself free. I’m not suppose to think of the charcoal black sea behind those eyes of yours but I’m afraid I have lost touch with my sanity, or whatever that is there to bide one by laws and rights and wrongs.

Everyday you and I talk through our stares, smiles, smirks and shrugs; a whole language we have built and yet no one has heard a word. These deep conversations we have sharing her heart out from far away mean more than the countless hours spent talking to people who know me, but not my soul.

I admit even though all I know is your name and I’m sure you know mine, I feel like I have known you for years like even before I knew myself. Do I sound too hopelessly lost? Maybe I would when I’ll tell you one day I’m going to walk up to you and give you this letter, smile and even ask you if we can go for a dinner sometime. I can almost picture your charcoal black widening with a shock but not for long, as they would soon twinkle and shine allowing the creased lines around your lips to turn into a grin.

Do you suppose we can ever find ourselves a world where it would be easy to not be afraid? I can’t go back to the life I knew before I found your face, your serious brooding pale face with a certain kind of beauty that has become a dagger inside me. If anyone takes it out it would be the end of me; I can’t get you out now.

I love the way you laugh, often to let me know you are there, while pretending to talk to those around you. Sitting on the window with a pen and paper I do my best to draw you, but even my best fails to capture the devilishly charming air of yours. Chewing your lips, frowning, laughing and lost, forgive me for I have captured you and buried you in pages hidden in my copy of Mein Kampf. I can picture you laughing hysterically and raising your left eyebrow to this scandal.

Some days you sit alone waiting for your turn while others get waters filled in their plastic cans, chattering enough to not care for the time, leaving you and I with couple of extra minutes to talk in our silence but you don’t look up. I have often wondered the pain you hid when keeping yourself busy in smoke, focusing your charcoal blacks towards the other side of road not meeting my watery blues, I wonder if the pain, keeps you up at night like it does to me. I find no solace and sleep until I see you again, until I look into those eyes throwing a mischievous eyebrow at me daring me to say a word a real word, for then I know you are no more hurting at least not enough to disappear in vain.

I can’t recall how many times I have taken a step forward and two steps back, exercising hundreds of them, at one place not finding enough courage to call out to you. Do you believe I’m like them, one of them who call you nothing but a Jew like you have no name? I so hope my darling you know me enough to know I would never hurt you or belittle you like them; for all this heart of mine desires is the freedom to run to you and kiss those dazzling charcoal blacks that have imprisoned my heart, my flesh, my soul.

One day, my dear I will break the ropes, take those steps and pull you into my arms and kiss you deeply but not before I tuck back those loose strands of hair that often fall as a playful curtain over my favorite charcoal blacks teasing me, until your fingers find them and place them behind your ears. I promise I would love you, all of you, those charcoal blacks, those teasing brown hair, the frown and freckles, the lustful eyebrows and the hurt you wear all day, I will kiss them all one day.

Wait for me, even if you don’t get this letter, please wait for me.

Madly in love with you!

Yours,

The curious blue eyes from the window.

 

 

Inspired by this music…

 

 

 

Only thing we learn from history is probably an idea to make a movie or write a book…!!!!

So, I come home from a very very busy day. I’m tired and I fall in front of television. There is some interview or news about some interview. The interviewer is from let’s say XYZ country and he is asking some ex military or maybe ex defense expert something that sounded more or less like this “If we ever do come to a war like situation with that country are we in state of using our nuclear power?” The interviewee sounds like a gentleman as he says “yes we can. But I hope we never have to because it would only mean destruction.”…I am already hating the question about some country having the power to destroy some other country but I love the answer. Before I could listen more to what the ex retired guy had to say power went off. So, I am sitting there wondering what and where we have come to.

Didn’t we learn anything from all those world war stories and miseries that shouted the atrocities caused by atom bombs, angry nations, self obsessed leaders and wrongly guided citizens?

I am ashamed of human race for what we have become. We are ever ready to hate each other because we belong to enemy lands or have different skin color or sexuality or not have same religion or same caste within the religion.

As I listened to that question all I could think of was why are enemy nations still carrying the grudge of ancient wars? Nuclear weapon is the thing we made to hate each other little more than we already do.

We are just bunch of stupid kids who forgot to grow up, we are only growing old.

In a world where we all are busy hating each other, music is the only thing that makes sense. Leaving you with a beautiful song that I was introduced to by fellow blogger ofsenseandsensibility

French Political Prisoner with no French…!!!

It was a good weekend, because I had one of those very rare family movie day where I actually watch a movie in a theatre with my whole family. It’s a very rare phenomenon and very exhausting one but it always makes me feel a little happy, because of the very fact that we don’t do it much.

Apart from the family movie, I have had a weekend where I have spent lazy moments on my sofa with my book. Just pure laziness and book reading. I wrapped up Rose Under Fire.

This is my second Elizabeth Wein book, after reading Code Name Verity I fell in love with her writing. Rose Under Fire starts where Code Name Verity ends, so of course I was expecting to read more of Maddie but this one wasn’t about my favourite pilot Maddie, this was about another pilot who loves poetry as much as I love escaping into day dreams.

I admit, at one point when I realised it wasn’t about Maddie I felt little disappointed because a part of me still lives in page 285 of Code Name Verity but then soon I was drawn into Rose’s Ravensbrück journey.

This one is about French Political Prisoner 51498 with no French and Roza and Irina and Karolina and Lisette and Elodie and even Angel of Death Anna. My favourite scene was when they had to force Roza into that plane. Hard to believe that the worst pain in neck Roza, who wouldn’t even get scared when her name came on list, cried over a plane ride. O sweet snappy Rabbit.

O God! This was one of the most heartbreaking Concentration Camp fictions I’ve ever read. This wasn’t about Jewish prisoners; it was mostly about the other captives the political prisoners, the German criminals, the polish, the Russians and the French. The spys, the pilots, the rabbits.

I fell in love with crazy Roza, even more than the protagonist also named Rose. My heart broke when Maddie said Julie would have died there. O Julie!

Anna’s character was fiction but it wasn’t all that a story. People did terrible things in war but some of them were just unwilling participants who had no way out. Anna’s character kind of reminds me of this 93 years old Nazi guy on trail Oskar Gröning. Real story.

TELL THE WORLD

How they all longed to tell the world and even now the trail of Auschwitz SS Guard Oskar Gröning is about countering the Holocaust deniers. TELL THE WORLD.

My heart aches for the names on the wall of those camps across German captured cities.  And those who were never reported or documented or failed to get mourners because no one knew they died there. I’m just glad Eiffel Tower survived it all. My obsession with concentration camps or holocaust is largely because I feel that so many vanished and went away but no one would know their names, stories or who they were before being gassed, incinerated or shot or turned into lifeless corpse resulting starvation or diseases. Pilots, soldiers, mothers, fathers, brothers, sisters, grandparents, kids and just harmless sympathizers of those being erased.

Maybe there is life on an another planet & maybe they know its wise to stay away from us…!!!!

I think the only people who stay with us till the end are the characters we meet in the books we read. Last night i finished reading Torn Thread, a book based on a story of a 12 year old girl’s experience in a Nazi camp. Holocaust stories, real or fiction, often make me wonder how low humanity went.

I may not understand the complexity of religion and politics and old wars the world went through, but the ugly naked truth behind stories of people who died, or lived to talk about it, breaks my heart. When i read a holocaust book i don’t see a Jewish girl or boy or woman being denied life in Auschwitz, i see kids and women being brutally murdered.

Torn Thread is another book of courage, hope, faith, sisterhood, pain and dark truth of the good and bad we have become. I loved the book. I did.

When i finished reading it i couldn’t help but wonder how much resemblance it bears to Moon at Nine. Yes, i know the latter is a story of innocent love in the wrong era and the former is a story of sisterhood and struggle in a painful era. But both the books had true stories with nations at war and young protagonists who suffered and were made to pay the consequences of their existence.

We don’t need another planet, we are not meant to be civilized. We merely breath and procreate as we stamp over the privilege of being the only living beings in a lonely world of empty planets.

All we do is struggle and work hard to afflict pain on the weaker ones. We are not human beings god created us to be. We are broken parts of the good and bad left behind in the war of religion and politics. That’s what we are.

War came & went, but we are still busy fighting, we never learnt…!!!!

Sometimes our own stories are the ones that we can never tell…but if a story is never told it becomes something else, forgotten – Sarah’s Key

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Wish we had a Super Hero…a real one!!!!

Sometimes I really wish I was a Super Hero, like with powers and all…I wish I was a person who could actually fly, face bullets, kick bad guys and like save the world. No, not because I think that would make me cool and people will actually never leave me. It’s because world is a crazy place and we need a super hero…someone who would fix it all.

Yesterday only I was trying to wonder what happened to the guy who open fired in Oregon Mall and this morning I saw the Connecticut school news. I understand the urge to kill self but to kill others…how could anyone do that?  Those 20 kids they didn’t just die, their families lost everything. I know I don’t even know them but I do know losing a loved one is the biggest pain in the world, everything else comes after. I have been trying to wonder what on earth has happened to people…people who can pick a gun and fire.

It’s not just the open fire shootings but everything…terrorist attacks, nations throwing bombs at each other…someone killing someone for revenge or whatever crap reason they feel is enough to do so. Taking life of a person is a big thing…how can anyone ever sleep after that?

I don’t know if world is ending on 21 dec but I do know world needs a savoir a real super hero. Only problem, a guy flying around kicking bad guy assess…it’s nothing but a comic book story and fiction is like some dreams…can never ever come true.

Every time I read or watch a war documentary or a World war story…I don’t just feel for the people who died for no reason…the innocent lot I also get sad to know about the bad guys who died. Call me crazy but I think the enemy soldiers who lost their life too had families. If I die tomorrow…it may not mean anything to you because we never met but my dying would affect people around me who love me. When a soldier dies in war even if he is from the other country, you must know that somewhere behind the uniform and gun strap was somebody’s loved one.

I think I’m just crazy but I wish we all never had to ever hear about any war, any horrible gunman firing, any sad stories or rape or murders and anything that was a result of a death of someone by another person knowingly or unknowingly.

I got to go now, my head hurts. While I condemn the world where a person tries to hurt another one I myself am trying to kill myself by not sleeping.

There are two things…actually three things that I need to work upon seriously. I need to fix my sleepless nights, I need to start workout and have to go back to reading. Funny thing I have good books with me yet I don’t read and I m so sleepy every night yet I wont sleep.

P.S – Glee is trying to screw up with my list of shows i love to love…its trying to make not like it.