Description of the Book:
 
What keeps you from not hoping?

On the darkest nights, we try to find the glimmer of hope through stars—in a clear sky. But, contrarily, the sky isn’t clear every night. It is foggy, cloudy, rainy, cold and darker, just how unpredictable a human mind is. Isn’t it baffling that we have apps to predict weather and track stars, sun and moon but not envisage one’s mood—to respond to clichés like—“how are you”?

From dropping my bicycle in the middle of the road twenty years ago to dropping tasks below tasks twenty minutes ago, procrastination aged well like the finest bottle of Cabernet Sauvignon. Asking myself what’s the point of all of this is? Trying to run. Running from who? Well, it’s apparent from yourself—realising you can’t run even an inch away from yourself. Wanting order, wanting perfection, wanting this and wanting that. Doing the best but not wanting to hope. Just like someone said, desiring something real “that was really something, not just the idea of something.”

Stiflingly, we look into the mirror to check on ourselves, still contemplating “what to change?”. Even with a handful of shiny things down the lane, the echo tells you, “you are not enough”. The Ghosts from childhood and Machiavellians constantly ate away my hope and self-like like bloodlust. Even the best pâtisserie and ample sugars wouldn’t refill those voids. The inner monologue never stops—continuing to lie and excavate hopelessness like a perennial coal mine. Then, suddenly, the clouds seem to lift up, and you are drenched in water, waking up renewed—suddenly, getting answers.

Going up, staring at empty skies, and waiting for post-sunsets knowing that you can see the moon at night. But, didn’t you know hope was there all along within yourselves? Even bookmarking some of gram’s motivational quotes or wishing on 11:11s, which folks cringe at, sometimes is a pitstop to fuel hope. But, just parallelly, a guiding light, a hidden thread and a supreme power are there to remind you that you are enough. Finally, ultimate power and someone giving you that subtle ray of hope, like an amber candle flame, so lambent—consistent, long-winded and warm. Giving you the bravery and audacity to believe that there is still more to come. Hanging those shiny lights in my room, audaciously choosing to see glimmers of hope even on the foggiest nights with colossal cloud casts.

This is a collection of poems, spoken words and questions that were written about the happenstances where I was self-taught to fight some ghosts, learned to let go and conclusively found hope through instances when I picked up myself—also about people that brushed even a tiny dust of optimism that left an indentation—a stamp that reminds me that “YOU are not alone”, despite how harsh the weather was. Ultimately, realising life is made up of turbulent cycles of catharsis and credence, still holding on to that faith and hope every single moment now.