Chirag Tulsiani Quotes

The rope longed-for her beloved, the ceiling hook. The suspended body; a harbinger of good news. Love was lost. Love was found.

Do you believe that our stories were written from before that we are but actors performing on the stage called life with neither rehearsals nor retakes, the dialogues of our own and a fleeting audience or are you someone who pens down his own story?

You need to take the chance because you cannot read the thoughts of people, because you do not want to regret when you grow old, because life is short and time is fleeting, because arousing conflict works at times, because sometimes it’s the only way, the absolute option, because sometimes it’s just necessary.

And one day when you wake up, you happen to realise that your battle isn’t with the man you had got into a brawl with the other day, it isn’t with a friend turned foe, it isn’t with those parents who chose to give up on you, it isn’t with the bus driver for not having waited until you got in, it isn’t with the employer who cancelled the application to your leave, it isn’t with the examiner who resolved into failing you, it isn’t with the woman who did not reciprocate your feelings, it isn’t with child who dropped his ice-cream cone on you, it isn’t with your ill fate and it isn’t with that superior being above you. Your battle, your fight isn’t against the world but against yourself and the only way to come through all of it and beyond, to win, is improvement, self-improvement which needs to be gradual and progressive with the transverse of each day.

Our hearts bear a similarity with storerooms. We hold in them our trampled convictions, our fears, suppressed acts of valor, disappointments, enmity, anguish, secrets, things we wish we should have done, things we wish we shouldn’t have, regret.And continue piling them up with emotions, memories, conversations which did happen and conversations which didn’t, soured relationships and bitter people all of which we should have discarded, we keep it within until there is no space left, until the room is full, occupied after which we go on to lock it. Once in a while we happen to open the room and sight the dust accumulated all over, we relive each moment, each memory and each emotion again and soon fall upon the realization as to how deeply the room is in need of cleaning and so we clean it.We clean it so that we can fill it once more, hold it, bear it, relish it, heal from it and then finally let it go.

Endings are abstruse, mystic and unreal. They are but depleted beginnings purposed to be substituted with newer ones.A transition of outlook and time, similar to our differing moods before and after slumber. Before the act we witness an exhaustion, a sulkiness but on gaining consciousness, we’re rejuvenated and good humored. The wakefulness is the new beginning whereas the tension the disturbance we perceive each night is the weariness of the beginnings, of each day. So there never really is an end, all that there are are beginnings.Beginnings which are promising, which offer hope, which have a new leash on life, which neither denounce nor belittle rather soothe and console by reconstructing the broken pieces of yesterday, mending them and reinforcing them with courage and beauty like never before.