Bangalore blasts- are u having a blast?

Yesterday…

I was reading a post written by one of my good friends. He had articulately given his opinions about personal complaints.

Today…

There were 7 blasts in Bangalore, the place where I live. Three of the areas where the bomb went off were near my home.

Now… This moment!

I am alive. My limbs are working well, although sometimes they protest due to lack of activity or groan because of too much forced movement from all the exercise that I am getting (yeah right!).

I have a sense of humour or I think I do. If I bored to death by someone who isn’t I complain. But I am still alive.

So what gives me the right to complain?

My working conditions are horrible. But then you are still working and you get paid and you are buying, spending it on things that bring you joy. Temporary, but none the less, joy!

You had plans for the weekend but you live to see another Saturday night.

And believe me, I was just beginning to feel bad about my horribly failed weekend plans, when I heard that three of the blasts which took place at three areas which are close to each other and one of them happens to be where I live. It could have happened in the bus stop near my home. It didn’t. I am alive.

One of the blasts that happened was in Shivaji Nagar. This is where my friends and I would have been tomorrow. What if the blasts had taken place then? Worst of all... What if only I survived? Three of us are alive.

How would it be if I was walking one day, loving the beautiful evening sun, the pleasant breeze, enjoying the lovely scent of my new L’oreal shampoo and conditioner (which by the way I saved every penny to buy) and I had no idea how the next moment felt like because I was blown up? How will it be?

Well, although I joked about it being a “Near Death experience”
It wasn’t. Not even remotely close.

From Now on...
I think I am going to indulge in that L'oeral shampoo and conditioner now. Walk in the moonlight coming up!

Room

I see a room
devoid of happiness
devoid of joy.

I see a room
completely swept clean
a stick and broom.

I see a room
where existed sweet love making
sweet nothings to the brim.

I see a room
filled with bitter spats
a knife and sword.

I see a room
where I once was
I now am
at the threshold I stand
I faintly hear the room say
but its echo is what I listen
Will it ever happen again?
He is my religion and me his pagan