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KHUSHIYAAN

Khushiyaan, kaha ho tum?


I have been searching for happiness, for a long time now.


At times I wonder,


i. If happiness was a pill that mothers stated at the back of their cupboards, under the pile of neatly arranged sarees, often waiting for the right moment to hand it to their daughters.

In the court of broken homes, a mother is placed on the pedestal and questioned about her pill boxes filled with anti-depressants and all she said was - grief is a silent neighbor and summer is the reminder of the warmth that never lasts, my lord how would I make this yearning stop, if not by injecting myself with smiles?


/Perhaps happiness was the courage of children hailing from houses rather than homes to choose themselves/


ii. Was happiness a forgotten cup of tea, lying for too long on the washbasin cabinet and now has come to become an abode for all the ants who wish to drown and yet have to keep their head afloat?

Maybe, children of dysfunctional families have grown up to call the grief that embodies their souls as hope and now they're at war with themselves fighting for the identity that didn't belong to them.


/ joy might be the sorrow of mothers that fall as nostalgia from their orbs while their heart weeps in blood. /


iii. Was happiness the urge of a poet to make poetry out of misery and the sudden inspiration of an artist to transform grief onto a canvas- but what else would make a troubadour if not the anguish covering his palms?


iv. Happiness is a scary thing, a box full of memories I am afraid to open and it is my heart tumbling out of my chest and spilling a thousand poems - most of them remembrance and few in desolation.


- Akshita, how do we make the yearning stop?

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