Dil Jalta Hai To Jalne De
It’s about tears and heat of disgrace which turns someone into a soundproof but not leak proof inward exploding device, protruding him turning into a crying heart prototype.
It’s about the molten tears oozing out after an explosion within, when someone has treated badly and you are expected to be a gadget, a device and worst an android.
It’s about the conversation with the silent walls and echoing beats of insult, where no one as a person or as a human is ready to allow your freedom to express agony and pain in the way you choose.
It’s about the choice of expression and not the right of expression, where deaf are holding the seat of judgment to judge a score of orchestra.
It’s not about adrenaline rush and altogether a separate genre of flesh and blood, violence and the basic property of living being who by the law of survival practice the art of making even.
But of course it may be about another form of violence, unilateral and unidirectional where you kill yourself without touching a weapon and no Angel comes to save you.
But it’s still about angels we knew through mother’s tales and comic books who cannot become alive to save you from the heart breaks.
So,
Dil Jalta Hai to Jalne De! (Let the heart Burn and Cry!)
These words are of no repute before a hard hearted. This belongs to me, only me and rarely but only the ‘ME’ in me, cramping since moments, whom I realized but of course could not justice, liberating him in his choice of standing out.
Representatives from the logical world are gracefully disallowed here in this heaven where I reserve rights to cry and lament as it is one of the strongest and trusted medium for communicating with the ‘ME’ inside me.
I have had no stories with me; rather they walked to me and some times pounded over me. I took them for cherishing and they set upon preaching on me. It was unfair from my perception but every story has its intrinsic elements; a fringed philosophy and an intact ending where you are made believe that it had to happen, actually. And there was no better resolution for the plot. The need for establishing triumph or defeat was the only choice of the choices and an honest session of crying and weeping left behind.
I am carrying my heavy foot away from those tales, who establishes characters and generates the line of theoretical demarcation abiding with the sentence and syntax.
AGREEMENT AND CONTRACT
These two words made my life a kiosk, a user friendly device and I am no spare from others, one who abode with these two words. I am not sure about others but I kept on relying that agreements disciple your wishes in a domain and contracts teaches you to wear stinky socks in public. There were fewer contracts in my life but agreements took me more often, persuading a better genre of pain where chances of being politically incorrect were fewer. And practicing agreements were not an option out of choice for me, its sheer upbringing and years of practice.
