Hearts Still Care

New Domain, Theme and Post

Published on June 21, 2024July 18, 2024 by Harpreet ChhachhiaLeave a comment

I was just reading a post here on how I used to write copiously when I was young. I loved writing. I still do. But then, I used to use pen and paper and could write furiously. Then I was gifted my first typewriter by an aunt. I used that to write three novels and several shorts. I would clack at it through hours at a time. Then I bought my first computer at the age of 21. I loved it. Loved the process of seeing beautiful fonts enfold out a story.

I lost touch with writing. Drawbacks of a keyboard. Now my pen cannot match the speed of my thoughts, but the keyboard can. There are pros and cons to everything. But I still respect the power of the written word. Handwritten letters are a whole different kind of love story. That brings me to my point.

The wonders and horrors of technology. Everything comes with a pro and a con. I create blogs. Love the process of creation. But it literally comes with a price. My subscription to the domain and usage plans expired this May. I lost out on the name of the blog. The theme I was using I couldn’t afford any more. WordPress knows its business. Makes me suffer. So I had to restructure the entire thing. I am loving and hating the process all at once. Creating and deconstructing.

Thought of writing this blog post. Everything in life comes with a price. Sometimes I can afford it. Sometimes I cannot. But hopefully, in the process of the wear and tear and struggle, I can create something. The art of creation is a violent one, after all. It births out of chaos. So here is hoping to another beginning and an eventual end.

Decades

Published on June 20, 2024 by Harpreet Chhachhia1 Comment

I could offer the ten-year-old me
Who looked upon cloudy skies
And ran with yellow butterflies
Among the cosy lanes of a childhood
Sheltered by Superman
And fed on Enid Blyton’s breakfasts.

But then I would also offer
The bullying that went hand in hand
Because of the way he looked
And talked and walked and danced
The fear of attending school
Mixed with that of disappointing family.

I could offer the twenty-year-old me
Who believed in a right and a wrong
In the stories of hope and phoenixes
And that all love lasted because it was strong.
A wisp of a boy man who refused sex and drink
For he wondered what people would think.

But then I would also offer
The nights of turmoil and of bitter hope
The achings and the longings
The tragedy that is first love
The giving up of his body to someone
Who disregarded it all shortly.

I could offer the thirty-year-old me
Who saw all that truth had to offer
The filtering of nostalgia
Into something larger than life
The build up of friendships and stress
With the growing of love that was endless.

But then I would also offer
The disillusionment of dreams and
All the detriment of hopes and desires
The understanding that everything comes
With a deliberate price and weight
That finds you any place, soon or late.

I could offer the forty-year-old me
The vagaries of life that always amaze me
The finding of new avenues to love
The idea that age is not just a number
It breathes with purpose and shares wisdom
That is hard won and not given to all.

But then I would also offer
The fact that the heart can still break
Because though wisdom comes laced with death
The softness of the heart can yet remain
Because in the warmth of it lies the rub
That the giving of love must be infinite.