Indifference, Ishaisms, Reflections


A certain numbness, a certain death, has always resided within my soul, and sometimes I can feel its heart beating… feel the numbness, hear death beat with a life of its own- a certain morose, yet regenerative kind of life- lying so close beside the fresh, vivacious, carefree part of me, that to smother one, would be the demise of the other as well..

In this death resides a poignantly beautiful silence- not the kind that deafens you with its noise, but the kind that has a certain patience in it, a certain faith (and the lack of it too), that yearns for better days and at the same time doubts its arrival. It’s a paradox, yes.

I guess it’s a part of the painful process of growing up and going through things that no one of your youth, innocence and ignorance (of the cruel ways of the world, so to speak) should have to go through. No wonder we say we are ‘nearing death’ as each day passes…

The more you see what you should not have seen, the more you hear what you should not have heard, and the more you feel what your heart should never have had to feel – the more you recoil into your cocoon of sorrow, the more socially shy you begin to feel, the more hardened your fragile heart becomes; and what’s left is a cold, seemingly apathetic person… the failed idealists, the dreamers, the poets. For some things can never be unsaid, unheard and unfelt- and even poetry cannot heal some wounds…

The thing is, when a person has been hurt and broken on account of being too trusting, too naïve, they develop a wall of sorts to their fort of emotions, to remain safe from encroachment and plunder- the soul, the heart and the mind shielded against intrusion; impenetrable, protected, secure.

They know they’ll never recover if invaded again- their feelings ridiculed in a society that shames an open discussion of feelings; their heart crushed like the crushing of a frail rose by the wheels of a cart, in an insensitive society where, just having a heart to heart is regarded as sensitivity, fragility, unacceptable. One pauses to ask- Who is really sensitive? Who is fragile? Who is unacceptable?

Thus, one remains within the boundaries of their selves, the sweet notes of their souls silenced by loud noises, ramblings and inhumanity, with slogans like “live and let live”; “Stop judging”; “Love one another”; “Make love, not war”; remaining just as they are, mere slogans. In such a world where love is looked down upon, and war is heralded as a glorious art, what hope remains, dear reader?

And thus, the human within one’s soul begins harboring a quiet, resigned rest… of death; every hurt nourishing it, every painful tear watering it, every heartbreak sunning it, until it grows magnanimous, as large as life itself, and one’s warmth and gaiety are masked behind the raw strength of passiveness, the bliss of forced ignorance, and the balm of solitude.

In the layman’s parlance, we call this “indifference”.

© Isha Garg

Doodle by Isha Garg

75 thoughts on “INDIFFERENCE”

  1. I am slain and on my knees with this. Exquisite expression from one with a jaded pen, but your fingered grip is still tight as you write. The flame may be burning low but yet it burns.
    So, I do not take the light for granted even if my eyes are straining to see beyond the shadows. May indifference be a numb state that visits in the winter of life: yet even winter shall pass no?

    Liked by 1 person

    1. As Shelley said, “If winter comes, can spring be far behind?” 😊
      I can’t get enough of how you expressed your thoughts on this Diana… The imagery is piercing!
      I know hope exists like magic in places one tends to ignore, and the Spring sun shines brighter after every winter… But I know this because I’ve faced the winter, and have gone through the learning process of its many lessons 💟😘

      Liked by 1 person

      1. Quoting Shelley …! 😍
        You intrigue me so; I have many questions.
        Your post and this comment certainly speak of hardship and make me want to reach out to you. Which is why I’m here, and why our words have already intricately danced over the days. I’ll be listening dear Isha 😘❤️

        Liked by 1 person

      2. You had reached out to me even before you knew of this, Diana, for which I am eternally grateful! 💟 Most of my literary pursuits come from that period… I wouldn’t like to call it my most creative time, since it also blocked my expression; yet my overly-analytical heart had poured out drops of reflections from each gash, which I have now refined into concrete pieces of poems and articles… Someone somewhere may take heart… And that’s how I will heal. 💟💟💟

        Liked by 1 person

      3. Yes,I understand … that pain can tear us open … so that the palette knife may gather the most somber yet somehow spectacular pigments. Our canvas is thus layered, with shades and brights. Special souls will admire; others oblivious to the beauty and fullness of such art.
        I’m beginning to see your masterpiece Isha. A someone, somewhere dear lady 💖

        Liked by 1 person

      4. I’m so amazed at your comments.. They never fail to make me smile… You’re blessed and your words are a blessing to me… Just look at how you write! Beautiful.. And the way you’ve closed that comment. Ah, the feels 💟🌹😘

        Liked by 1 person

      5. Your reactions and avid attention make writing to you a pleasure! As if I give you a bouquet and it’s returned heavier and more fragrant. Whether we spar with rhymes, have jovial moments or share deeper contemplation … I’m thrilled to have crossed paths with you 😘♥️

        Liked by 1 person

      6. Your comments are enough to inspire me and I’m sure many other readers 💟🌹
        My grandfather used to tell me about his pen pals and I often wanted to have one too…Sadly, that never worked out. But now I feel as if I have found a ‘new age’ pen pal in you 😇😁📝✉📬

        Liked by 1 person

      7. Yes the era of the pen pal disappeared by the time I was able to write a proper letter, though I recall trading two letters with a girl in Sweden when I was around 12.
        I think we definitely have the written prowess to sustain such a delightful arrangement! 😄 ✉️ 🎈🎈 Hooray!💕

        Liked by 1 person

      8. Cheers lovely one!
        I had no idea you liked beer so early in the day 😉 but of course I shall join in our celebration of this auspicious occasion.
        Hope your day is full of bright thoughts and warmth 🌹😘


  2. Beautifully written piece..but every line betrays the sensibility of the author that extends to the point of being concerned about others losing it. If I conclude anything from this post, it’s that you are too perceptive to be truly indifferent 🙂

    Liked by 1 person

    1. It does doesn’t it? Haha… Your comment made me smile… Perhaps it’s the past indifference blended with my present sensibility and perception that reflects in this, meshed together… How perceptive you yourself are ESP xtruck! Really, really appreciate your comment… Making me think. Wonderful 😊

      Liked by 1 person

  3. The truth is ugly and lies are beautiful…The truth that sets the captive free is ugly, because the resistance to remain locked away by pain that still causes pain. The lie is beautiful, because is keeps one as a victim and at the mercy of justification without healing. This is a fascinating prose that comes from an intimate place of survival and personal rejection not to let your own essence die. The greatest crime in the world is to become a source of our own pain. Personally, I declare I won’t become my pain. I have learned the pain of staying the same has to become greater than the pain of change. I’m conditioned to love me and know my own worth. Thanks for opening me and others up.

    Liked by 2 people

    1. Your comment is worthy of being quoted! I agree with everything that you wrote… “The truth that sets the captive free is ugly…” “The lie is beautiful because it keeps one as a victim at the mercy of justification without healing…” My goodness, you have spoken to my soul poeticallyyours360!
      Thanks to you for explaining this so piercingly and aptly! 🙏

      Liked by 1 person

      1. You Isha the poetess, opened this up to me and allowed me to bring it to the forefront of my mind. I thank you. I am humbled and honored that you feel my comment is worth quoting. We both just receive and give that from the spirit. Thank you kindly, for without you this is not possible!

        Liked by 1 person

    2. I could literally quote you on each line.. I keep reading the comment.. “The greatest crime in the world is to become a source of our own pain…” Yes! Yes! I have learned what you have learned too, through a hard lesson that spanned years…

      Liked by 1 person

  4. Seriously, you speak right from and to the heart… With concise, precise words you cut through the tangle of reality and expose what’s really there, though ever so briefly before reality grows back. Thank you for sharing this and keeping such an excellent blog.

    Liked by 1 person

  5. If I could, I would give you such a big hug right now dear Isha! This is an absolutely stunning piece of writing! So well written and expressed Isha. I am in awe! You mentioned a comment as having so many lines that could be quoted… This.piece contains a multitude of quotable lines! “For some things can never be unsaid, unheard and unfelt- and even poetry cannot heal some wounds…” Brilliant! If you know nothing else, know this… You are loved, and that, dearest Isha, is the purity of caring. Hugs & Love. xoxo

    Liked by 2 people

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