No, no one is really 'very' BUSY!

In the last 5 years, I have moved back and forth from my hometown for work. I am finally back. Why am I saying is because with my coming back, my relatives far and wide, while not sure if they are happy to have me back or no, they definitely want to meet me. And I don’t want to. So what do I say – I say I am very busy. So much so that I really have no time to pick up the phone to make a call. I am so busy that I live between office and home.

I have kept up with this excuse for a long time now. I have canceled meeting friends, family and even going out because I am too busy. But am I too busy? No. Yes, I do have a huge, never-ending list of things to do, but I put them on a backburner because I like to think I am too busy. In short, the idea of being ‘too busy’ is a farce. It is an excuse we use in abundance.

Constantly telling ourselves that we are busy is in a way training our mind and body to believe it. It causes us to overthink, leaving little or no space for thinking about ourselves.

How many times have you shouted out aloud – I AM BUSY. Yes, you are and so is everyone.

I am sure each one of has a huge to-do list which has an invisible extension charm as it is ever growing. The point is, everyone is busy but if we have time to be busy, we have time for everything else.

Most of my conversations with (almost anyone) these days start and end as:

X: Hey! How are you?

Me: Hey…hi! I am well. How are you?

X: I am good. Been so long, na?

Me: Yeah…

X: Let’s meet up! Saturday free? Sunday bhi chalega!

Me: No… I am busy. End of the month. Blah. Blah. Blah.

There… I gave out the excuse without even thinking. Constantly thinking we are busy actually makes us procrastinators. We tell ourselves that we are busy is in a way training our mind and body to believe it. It causes us to overthink, leaving little or no space for thinking about ourselves. With so much going on in our head, at work, on the personal front and with us being ‘busy’ we actually don’t end up doing anything. No wonder, the to-do never ends! There is no sense of accomplishment but only that of fatigue – mental, physical.

We cannot blame ourselves entirely. In our day and age ‘busy’ is often equated with hard working and efficient. Busy means putting more than 8 hours at work, browsing and answering emails at night and on holidays. In short, busy means we have no life. We make these sacrifices for our career or so we tell ourselves. Even children today are busy – they juggle school, extracurricular classes, dance, hobby, and God knows what! But at the end of this ‘busy’ tunnel, lies exhaustion.

Often times, we bite into more than we can chew! If one happens to be at work on time and leave at 6 PM, that person doesn’t care about work ethics, they are lazy and unmotivated. But have we really cared to check? What if that one person is the real efficient one?

Sadly, we have been equating success on all levels with being busy. We seek validation for this too and get it. However, this is nothing to be proud of. In our struggle to maintain our busy-ness, we may have overlooked many important details, moments of fun, even sleeping. Busy is not adding anything to our lives.

Try to do this – if an odd cousin calls you out of the blue or if a nagging friend wants to meet up, simply say no if you don’t want to but don’t lie to yourself that you are busy. Busy is boring, it is unreal. Be real. Don’t give into peer pressure or other people’s expectations. Don’t be busy. Do things at your own pace.

Be you. Live more. Do you agree with you?

Mind vs the heart

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Picture courtesy: Google. Only for representation purpose.
Standing on the highway, Roads leading both ways to somewhere, I stand still and wonder, Where do I belong?
The soothing lullabies of the green mist fairies call. With promises to wrap me in the cool calm fog, Holding me in wet, gentle caresses, lulling the storm within.
The call of the shrill, salt-laden sea sirens, from the sun-baked rocks, Pull me back To join them as they make me one, in the fathomless abyss of wonders unseen.
I lament my fragile being, Born with one heart, not two, Torn between the ebb and flow of waves, And earthy scents in muddy dew.
Both offer me refuge, Cloaking me whole in their embrace, Dust to dust, flesh to flesh and soul to soul.
In this battle between the mind and the heart, The heart but loses steam, Leaving me stranded on a path to nowhere, never to be seen.
My mind has been wrought with depression and all things crappy. This is a result of binge-watching a…

#Sorry not sorry

I feel sorry for ‘Sorry’ – such an abused term. When you come to think of it, it is just a word, right? It holds significance in some instance and at times, it is a mere excuse. But we humans absolutely love it as an excuse, don’t we? I use this term a lot; I mean a lot! I think of myself as a kind being, and hence, if I happen to push or ignore (deliberate), I say ‘sorry’. I say sorry for things that may not need a ‘sorry’. I say ‘sorry’ to people I am not really feeling sorry for (don’t read this the wrong way). In short, I say ‘sorry’ a lot like I have already admitted. It is my ticket to moving on, a ticket to redeem myself for mistakes and sometimes, tinged with slight sadness (maybe).

But is ‘Sorry’ the right word? Mean, is it even appropriate? Like they say, first you commit the murder and then say sorry. What is the point of it? I would say nothing. Sorry – the term originated from the West Germanic term Sore that evolved to Sarig, meaning pained or distressed. It is also known…

I Wonder What Ants do on Rainy Days…

Source: Google Images
On days when the sun has abandoned us, hiding behind the grey, moody clouds. Do they sit inside their hills and wonder out loud? Do they stare outside at the rain, measuring the raindrops, letting thoughts splotch all over? Does the earthy petrichor take them down the memory lane? Or are they content with what nature has to offer? It is a part of their lives, isn’t it? They dredge up foods daily, diligently build their hills, even if it is to serve their queen, only to enjoy it on days like this, no? Maybe they do take stock of things, of their bearings. They ought to sleep it off, take a day to rest or do they lament on the lost time?
Unlike me.
When I gaze out, a gazillion thoughts fly by; some worthy of the pen, some so disturbing that I often question my sanity. I like the grey skies though. They seem like textured canvases waiting for me to scribble something. The lazy raindrops wetting the streets below and casting a temporary stain on window ledges bring a…

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