Parmita - Wandering Wisdom of the Carefree Twosome

# Prologue

Who is Parmita?

This series is about two best friends, Paridhi and Amita who, like their names, were very opposite in nature. Paridhi (meaning limit/seema) was a self-proclaimed introvert who loved to sit back, observe and delve in introspection on people, things and events around her. There was a curious mystery about her; the subtle smile on her calm thoughtful face revealed only so much. Amita (meaning limitless) on the other hand was just the opposite. A typical tomboy, she loved to hang out with friends. A game of basket-ball, a long ride on her scooty without the driving licence, singing (or croaking?) at the top of her voice were her ideas of having fun.


And just as they say 'Unlike poles attract each other', they went on to become the best of friends. More famous for the pranks they played on people, lecture bunking and other crazy stuff they did at college than any other thing, they were truly an inseparable duo, so much so that everyone used to refer to them by 'Par-mita'. Little did people know that the nick-name they had bestowed upon the seemingly carefree twosome had its own meaning too. Wisdom. Although dissimilar, a common ambitious streak in both saw them 'Co-operating' to 'Dominate' wherever they went. Literary society, technical club, placement coordination, during the four years of their under graduation there wasn't a single area left where they hadn't shown their excellence.


This will to do do it all, and do it all together was what made them friends forever. Their usual nine-to-five college-home schedule contained within it some unique experiences of its own kind. The time they spent together played a significant role in two frivolous adolescents growing up to be mature and intellectual individuals.


Wandering Wisdom of the Carefree Twosome

This series will comprise of random recollections (sometimes reflections too) of the open-ended discussions (mostly arguments, owing to their 150 degree apart attitudes) they had while talking about people, their attitudes, things and life in general.


My aim is to pen down down the fun, sad, mad, bad, crazy, lazy times from the life of Paridhi and Amita, anything that resulted in something worth giving a thought to (in no particular order!). Let's see how these come about. :)


Link to Part 1

#Draft

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There it stands with eyes full of hope, longing, belonging, heart ajar
Why does it forget it is but a Dragon, lonesome, bereft, scared, far
#
cool breeze brushes past her face, she can see bright lights, the sky
and theres a longing to break free but freedom, these walls, deny

#
with hurt and wrath and fury galore
thats when the dragon will freely soar

‘Being’ Human

Innocence, joy, beauty divine
Trust, purity, Virtuous shine

Then gradually takes off, the sojourn
See, hear, pick up, learn

Busy roads, their fussy rodeos
Who dies who cares, go on, no slows

Impatience, intolerance, screech, cry
Scheme, plot, on the sly

Trash White, Mint Green
Hollow within, exterior sheen

Unabashed skill, matchless thrills
In ‘hunting’ down the ‘goods’ and ‘wills’

Merciless, it's all cut throat
A rider surrenders? Ridicule, gloat

Sceptics cynics egotists
Cloaked loathers, ain’t no bricks

Rusting bones, strained muscles
Bearing on unending tussles

Alas! This all is but a rat race
They fell from mount, we fall from grace.

Irony?

~Then
With each passing hour the frustration builds
With each passing day the talents burn
Just want this tragedy to end
Just want to leave to never return...

~Now
With each passing hour the desire escalates
With each passing day the strivers yearn
Don't want this rigour to cease at all
Don't want an end to this sojourn...

The bigger irony is was I happier then or am I happier now? The hurt then was different from what it is now, but its been there all along.

If Only

That was the time not long from now
When I had witnessed how
Her unsound mother had wounded her,
In hope of stirring pity
I looked around for someone to rescue the poor soul
From this heartless severity
But the policeman there had cruelly laughed
Quite indifferent to her cries
And in my mind the picture got painted
Of the helplessness and anguish in her eyes



Since then, the little girl at the junction there
I see her at the dawn
When I am fresh from morning brew
There’s hope and bounce in my gait
She lays there with eyes sunken and pale
From this pain she is outworn

I cry for her, I pray for her,
For she’s just a kid of four
If Only my tears could bring to her
The glow of morning dew
If Only my prayers could wipe away her worries
As waves on a pleasant sea shore



Since then, the little girl at the junction there
I see her at midday
As I look through my air conditioned cabin
Gloating over my dessert plate
She stands there bearing charring sunlight,
For a drop of cool water she does wait

I cry for her, I pray for her,
Quite deaf to her cries of pain
If Only my tears had the power
To quench her thirst for life
If Only my prayers could promise her
That He’d soon conclude this strife



Since then, the little girl at the junction there
I see her every night
As I retreat to my cosy abode
She sits there in the biting cold, alone with her woeful plight

I cry for her, I pray for her,
I see in silence the asperity she endures
If Only my tears could give her the warmth
A mother’s embrace gives to her child
If Only my prayers could bear away
The soreness of that hard floor



The little girl at the junction there
I see her day in day out
She’s at the junction of life and death
Her silent screams shout out

The Remains

How could I do this to myself? Wasn't I the ambitious girl? The one to fight and strive till she reaches her goals? What happened?
And by the time I realize how badly i've screwed it all up, its too late.

Too late, because the day has passed, its already twilight.
Too late, because now what will follow is darkness of the night.
Too late for the weak, dejected dragon to use his dying might.
Too late, as he has fallen too low to climb up the scary hieght.
Too late to look forward in the hope of something bright.
Too late even to turn back and try to set things right.
Too late to gather enough courage to put up this last fight.
Too late to come out of the numbing pain from the shackles that bind him tight.

The dying dragon now waits in the dungeons, hope hopen for the warmth of light.
The dying dragon remains in torture and thinks of what remains...

What remains is a rising guilt, for what he did wasn't right.
What remains is half-hearted sympathy at the poor soul's plight.
What remain are the distant groans of buried-alive pleasure and delight.
What remains is the constant fear:
Will he be able to knock at the Gates of Success,
because the path ahead is too demanding and the gates are out of sight.