2010

In times of despair, 

The feelings she wished to have shared-

With the one that understood, as authentically as he ever could;

It was all she ever wanted.

And she'd be so incandescent, at the brilliant description of lonely nights

Given by people who loathed it, but who are too afraid to admit.

But this lonesome woman still cries, no matter how bright the moon shines.

No matter how satisfying being alone felt,

The love the other woman received from their loved "one", 

Repressed all love she has ever received from her loved ones.

Now there isn't a dearth of love in her life, and neither of importance.

But still, why does she feel unloved? And unwanted?

And why is that she stands alone, not one name to call her own.

Not one love to be proud of, not one love to boast. 

And how has this managed to relegate her to her worst? 

She is certainly Cinderella in reverse, but then she hasn't ever been mistreated. 

Surely, these twisted set of questions intermittently seduce her into its chimera.

In them she finds - a hand to hold, eyes to search.

She finds a voice, a name - and the universe of unreality which they have to offer. 

She obtains nothing more and nothing less; and nothing as satisfying as the reality. 

So, frustratingly and curiously, at the far end of the rainbow, she flounders with the questions,

That only he could answer. 

But before the end, she meets him in the middle.

He says - You're the best I've ever known, you've been brought to me so that I can call you my own.

She cries.

But at the end, he isn't there, so she slumps to the floor,

And persists to cry. 

Mice and Women: They do get second chances.

Here goes my weird story 2016 edition:

So not long ago and for the first time in nearly ten years, we saw a mouse in our house, and my mother was completely frantic about it because she wouldn't even let a mosquito in. And I, as usual, didn't care about it at all.

As long as it didn't cross my path, I remained undisturbed and unbothered by the mayhem my mom was causing because of the mouse and of course, the other way around too.

But it wasn't until I saw the mouse in my room, near the window AC which is fitted just two feet above the ground. And mind you, during the winters we don't use the AC, so I found out that the mouse was practically living inside the AC, going in and out of a little hole by the side of the AC. And it can't possibly climb two feet up the ground so it would climb up the curtains and there it goes inside the AC.

Every day it would travel from the AC to my bookshelf, and from the bookshelf it would move out of the room. I had gotten so used to its routine that I knew what places it’s going to go to once it’s in my room. And my eyes would always follow it, distracting me from doing my work. 

But soon I got annoyed, as intriguing as it was to watch it move from place to place, the 4 A.M nocturnal behaviour of the mouse was definitely not music to my ears. And we did try to catch it, many times! And we did manage to get it out of the house, after chasing it in a locked room at midnight for about 2 hours with me going almost under the bed and my mother at the other end of the bed, with a broom in her hand. It went into the balcony.

We had an inkling that it could come back so I suggested an idea - to let it off of the balcony by using a broom. But then another thought followed the idea, of how it could possibly die by falling from the second floor, so I hurriedly shook the idea off my mind. 

And guess what? It came back in the morning by gnawing a little hole in the balcony door. After that drooping chase!

When my mother told me about it, I had already fallen on the bed with a huge sigh because I saw the mouse in my room that very morning, inside the temple which has been kept in my room. I've heard that mice are very territorial and like to claim certain areas as their own. In this case, unfortunately, it was my room.

"Holly Hell!"

"Hello!"

So, my mother finally having had enough of all this bought a glue mat to trap it. We had never used a glue mat before so didn't know exactly what it could do. We thought, with me knowing the mouse's routine, we could place the mat once it's in the room and when it would get onto the mat, it'd get stuck and then we can free it somewhere in the park. 

Patently, it came in the room again later that evening; I put the mat near my bedroom door, knowing it would again move out in seconds as I had pulled up the curtains so it could not go inside the AC. And exactly that happened; it started moving towards the mat.

It got stuck on the mat. But something unimaginable happened; it sorely got stuck in the glue and started making all kinds of noises. It could not move an inch and I started crying. We tried to get it off the mat but the glue was too strong for it. I thought it was going to die and I just couldn't stop crying at the sight of it struggling. My mother not being as helpless as me, took the mat outside, put a paper wherever the glue was so it would not get more stuck and then started pulling the mouse off of it by using a polythene bag and started removing the glue by using water. 

By the time she was done, I was in my room, upset and in tears. My mother came back and told me that she had freed the mouse and it was now in one of her plants, though in a fragile state. I didn't believe her. I thought she was just saying that to make me feel better. So she forced me to come out of my room and see for myself. And I did, I saw it picking up bread pieces just beside the plant, with the glue stuck on its hairs. It looked kind of funny, I felt guilty, for having put the mouse in that condition. 

But well, we thought that that was it, that it would not come in now. 

And I was pretty bummed for a very weird reason. I liked to chase it, and watch it move effortlessly in the house, slipping out of our fingers every goddamn time. I also named it - Chuhi. That's just something which came out of my mouth at some point during the chase. Very appropriate, I know. 

And I shared my feelings with my mother, she just laughed. She knows for how long I have been asking for a pet dog, especially after losing both of my dogs, Jimmy (4yrs) and Daisy (10yrs). Well that's another story. They were technically mine but we sent them off to my grandparents after they'd turned 2. So yes, I think she understood.

But guess what happened after two days? 

Yes. It was Chuhi, near the AC, in my room, in a very good condition indeed.  

My first reaction - Laughter (of joy!) 

My second reaction - Not you again!

We swore to never use the trap again; in fact, we thought about just letting it stay, they only live for two years anyway. 

And it was not because we were languid in our chasing but because we just didn’t want to trouble it anymore. But my mother said that she can't let that happen, she just found an unorthodox way. So once it was in my room again, near the bookshelf (from where it always followed one path to move out of the room) my mother got a garbage bag. I was sure she could not catch it, because there were a lot of times she let it slip away and when it was so easy to catch it! 

There stood my mother near the door with a garbage bag. There I was, urging the mouse to go towards it. And in a flick of a moment, swoosh- In the bag or not?

I had no idea where it went, but then we heard something move inside the garbage bag. 

My laughter- I couldn't believe it, after all this time...finally! Now we had to leave the mouse outside the house, I begged my mother for she had a weird notion that some bird will come and eat it once the mouse is outside the house. Thankfully I didn't have that thought so I urged her to leave it on the ground floor. I went with her and together we freed Chuhi on the ground floor, to become somebody else's trouble, probably. 

It's weird, I know. But life is so fragile, when you see someone or something struggling with it, you know for a fact that it is. But I'm glad that the mouse got its second chance.

Featured: http://blog.blogadda.com/2016/12/31/spicy-saturday-picks-poems-stories :)

About time, Dear Zindagi

I am writing a letter to life for the #DearZindagi activity at BlogAdda

Dear Zindagi, 

I know I haven't even reached a quarter of a century in age yet. But this I can say, it has been one hell of a ride. And this moment right now I have been compelled to look back on all those wonderful moments which you've given me, opportunities you've showered me with, kindness you’ve showed me and all the wonderful people you’ve had me come across. No matter how little or big the problems were and no matter how bad the times were, there was always something to be thankful for at the end of each day. 

It's difficult to comprehend all the little details of the concatenation of things which make me thankful. But it's deeply felt; the gratitude. You’re indecipherable yet simple; your intricacies enthral me every day. There must be some twisted logic behind all that follows a good day- that smile, the laughter, the wind, the dogs, the butterflies, the leaden sky, the shore, the eyes of your lover, the touch, soft bed-sheets, rain- which is never ending. I know it’s entirely arbitrary and this isn't even the apotheosis of you.

But I am thankful for all the sublime moments and I am thankful for all that you've taught me in my abject moments. As overwhelmed as I might have been, as "unlucky" and as deranged as I might have felt, I've always gathered the strength you've somehow instilled into me, to get back up to you again. And in those moments, I believe that I've lived you before I even existed. I guess such is your magic. To just know, when to do the right thing, when to escape from a dangerous place, when to say hello to someone, when to look in time to catch them looking at you, when to stop talking or when to go to loo. You’re an austere grandeur, unique in all your exquisiteness. Mine, yet connected to hundreds and hundreds to come.

And from being completely clueless and having no idea as to where you were “going”, to finding the patience to connect the dots, I’ve learnt to live you pristinely, genuinely. And now as I cascade though my elusive thoughts, I could almost discern a fact about you, a fact which always seemed to have whizzed past me in moments of utter confusion and indignation – that you were never complicated. That you were as easy to live as you were to rewind, that you were as chaotic as I made you out to be. So, I’m sorry. I’ve always had some twisted idea of perfection about you, that you should be orderly and neat, easy and sweet, all the time. But they say that you don’t come with instructions and that we’ve got to make our own. You’re laughing, right? I guess you must. You only know what sorts of instructions you’ve hidden in a cryptext somewhere.

But I love you. I love every little feeling, every blush and every touch, every dance and every song, and how you’ve managed to interconnect delicately and gradually, with everything and everyone. Remember, not even a quarter, but oh so many subtle and good times. And I don’t know which the right way to live is or if I’ll ever know or if there even exists a right way; but I know I’ll be as true to you as I possibly can, until the very last day you’re with me. The love I feel is strong, what I show to you is just a mere reflection of my exterior, so I’m sorry if I show too little and if I am dingy too often. And thank you for loving me right back, no matter what. 

Thank you. Love you.  

Yours truly

  Dear Zindagi Take 1: Life Is A Game | Teaser | Alia Bhatt, Shah Rukh Khan | Releasing Nov 25

Blue October

Still undecided. Still flailing, falling, hurting. Confusion. Iffy personality. Agitation. Thousand and one nightmares. Suddenly the water spills and everything you know of yourself to be true, disintegrates. Tears. Blood. Doubts. Everything shrunken. Unsettling. Every bad feeling seeps in, how, it always finds a way. Stupid. Dumb. Careless. Thoughts come and go, without any progress. Knowledge floats. Stammering, struggling to speak. Stupid. Back to being a child. Annoying, irritating, moody, crazy. Back to being an adult. Hate. Love. Disrespect. Judgment. Temporary happiness. Laughter hurts the ears, silence kills everything. Right. Wrong. Does it matter? They want to be right, you want them to be wrong. Fighting, fighting over things that don't matter, flipping out. Now its 3 A.M, you're fighting your trivial battles, making life seem like its less than what it really is, crying over spilled milk. Always. Just stop. Unloved. Unimportant. Unknown. Worthless. Graceless. Detached- now go, leave. Crawl. Walk. Run. Take off that pale blue gown, light a cigarette. So they say, there's fire at one end of the cigarette and fool at the other. You’re a fool, to have fought for nothing, to have lost everything; for nothing. Now you're running. For nothing. But to where? How can I help, when your mind refuses to see beyond the lies you've been told. I know it hurts, for everyone has got their own demon of destruction. But come out. Screaming. Crying. Bleeding. You're almost yourself. This isn't the end. This wasn't your only chance; for there isn't an end to possibilities in a universe so great and vast. 

How old would you be if you didn't know how old you are?

I probably read this question somewhere on the internet some time back and it hasn't left me ever since. I have an uncanny urge to ask this question outright to everyone I know, both young and old. Not that I am a purveyor of moral values or even consider myself to be one, it's probably an inexorable curiosity which seems to be reaching out for the past. Or maybe it's because I can probably guess at what the answers are going to be, so my cognition is abetted by my curiosity. I know grief when I see it; I feel it myself too, it deftly amalgamates into my subconscious, while happiness and love ooze out and rarely need explanation; grief always does.

And I know, every time I ask this question to you, you'd go back to that exact moment where you could've gathered a little more courage to dignify what you had back then, to have it now in all its glory. Mistakes. Regrets. You're always under the haunting shadow of them all. And you'd give anything to get rid of the reminder of it all which is your age. Rewind, pause, rectify and replay or perish. If only it didn't slip away. If only you were...Edward Cullen? Forever young. The mere thought of it is exhilarating, isn't it? But then your life would always be at stake (pun intended). 

We don't realize it often that what's passed is past. Moments come and go; all you can do is reflect upon them and keep on moving forward. And perhaps age is nothing but a number and all you ever do is stop, rewind and reflect. That's how I've always felt about it, age is a disconnection from all that I could be or could've been; a jagged edge to my otherwise unruffled exterior which cuts bits and pieces of me every time I go back. And then I have to hide the bleeding, hide the pain. It's self-annihilation at its best. But some people have the remarkable resilience to embrace age with grace, some whose point of view is anything but awry. 

So I probably can't answer this question astutely. I know I am a child if I claim to know everything but know nothing at all. I know I am mature if I am wise and have a high emotional intelligence to make life-changing decisions. And that's how I can be as old and as young as I want to be.

But still, tell me, I’m intrigued- How old would you be? Would you go back to being 5 and experience watching the rainbow for the first time? Because that’d be breathtaking. 

Flowers at the doorstep

 This post is a part of Write Over the Weekend, an initiative for Indian Bloggers by BlogAdda.

“Tomorrow is your birthday, I am sure you have made a list of things you want, ranked by priority? Is it five pages long yet?” Chris said with a smile on his face, a genuinely amused one, it’s nothing rare for me as I’ve gotten used to it by now. Seeing him almost every day at work had brought us closer.

I wanted to roll my eyes at him or shake my head but ended up articulately staring at him, with a smile on my face, heart palpitating like a sleeping volcano, at the unexplored possibilities, at the percolating realizations. Anything I might have wanted- a new dress, an iPod or art supplies even - seemed to be vacuous. I’ve far long stopped caring about the materialistic things, they were nothing compared to the one thing I wanted the most.

“No,” I said. “There isn’t any list.”

He laughed through his nose, shaking his head, his hair falling on his eyes, dishevelled as always. Also, he had a habit of running his hands through his hair every now and then, making them more messy. His hair was black, like mine, but not nearly as light. Mine looked brown at times. He runs his fingers through his hair, only to have them fall on his forehead again.

“There must be something you really want; otherwise it’s going to be a boring birthday.”

If he knew nearly as much as I knew, it would have been a different conversation. But if there is one thing, it’d be the freedom; freedom to love who I wanted and freedom to make my own choices.

“Let it be.” I said instead.

He stayed silent, studying me like he was trying to remember something, trying to find something; I tried not to give myself away and started working instead. I was aware that he was looking at me still and I know before he stops looking, he’ll shake his head, laugh through his nose and get back to his work.

It was why we connected the way we did, in spite of the five-year gap in our ages. I’d fallen for him last December. It has been a year. I met him during one of the coffee breaks which I took that day. I’d never seen him in the office before; he was in the canteen, running towards his colleagues when the Marlboro pack fell out of his pants. I almost didn’t care, but something unusual caught my attention and I had to pick up the Marlboro pack. There was a note attached to it which said: 'You know you want it, Chris'. And I don’t know if he was trying to stop smoking or trying to kill himself. It amused me and I went up to him to return the pack, attached a note to it which said: 'Why would you drop me? Don’t you want me now?' Humph. The rest is history.

“I know that every girl has a predilection for flowers, you need not hide it.” He said

“Don’t you have work, Mr. Sexist?” I said without glancing at him.

In a not-so-obvious way to change the subject, he said “Need to make a call, don’t miss me.” I rolled my eyes at him.

At almost seven in the evening, we left the office. I reached my flat in about twenty minutes. Surprised at what my eyes were seeing. Because at the doorstep, were roses. I hastened to pick them up, they were beautiful, immaculate red colour glittered under the yellow light, the smell was intoxicating. There was a note attached to them, I opened it up and read it aloud: See, girls do have a predilection for flowers.

Credits: Google.

I laughed, looked around me to make sure no one was there to catch me smiling like a fool or to point out how red my cheeks have had become. Fool. He is. And here is another sublime moment to cherish, I may have never had a predilection for flowers before but I certainly do now. 

Best friends forever?

“How would you like your coffee, ma’am?” the dreary waiter asked.

“Hot.” She replies without paying attention to his face.

But she likes the coffee cold. In fact, her favourite coffee is the Devil’s Own with Vanilla Ice-cream on top.  Somehow it’s not a great day for her to be indulging in something that she loves and every choice she makes today would be a forlorn attempt to escape that. It’s going to be hard for her to be herself today, she thinks. And to aggravate her misery, a hot coffee sits right in front of her. She picks it up and dejectedly takes a sip; just then a haze of steam covers her spectacles. She laughs, shaking her head, remembering the time when a certain someone laughed at the same site like a little child.

Somebody she used to know, in fact, still knows. But she also knows where the reality lies, nobody ever stays the same. Even though you might have known a person dearest to you for years, suddenly they change, suddenly there’s a void, between you and them and it’s like you don’t know them anymore. Maybe time sweeps them away from you, maybe distance doesn’t necessarily strengthen bonds or maybe some friendships aren’t supposed to last long.

                          Cause nothing lasts forever and we both know hearts can change.

Skullcandy banging in her ears, she wallows in a misery so tenacious that she knows will grow into something splendid as the day advanced, to lift off the penumbra of confusion, to reveal the shame. After all, she was the one who let go; the one who relinquished. In retrospect, it was a bond which would’ve kept on blossoming with love, unbroken and enigmatic, emancipated and glorious. A bond which would’ve reminded the world of its voracity, mend the broken bones of the damaged soul, revive memories of lost love, eradicate the abject misery from the minds of young and give hope to the bodies which have been famished into despondency.

But the conversations started to wane, the charm lifted off and the bond broke from places which undermined the impertinence, held her back from being the happiest girl and relegated her to her worst. Maybe it was all a matter of losing interest. She still wonders why she could never bring herself to share the most exciting happenings of the day with her best friend and more so, how she was always scared to talk to her when she was happy. It seemed to her, that her best friend wasn’t interested anymore. And soon, she could say the same for herself.

She’d be incandescent, she felt lonely and belittled. She knew that it has started to fall apart. Broken beyond repair now, fallen into decrepitude, gracelessly, ahead of its time. And if the bond persists for any longer, it’ll become the cause of annihilation of two beautiful souls. Forever had come to end.

And it was a million times worse than any of her break-ups in the past, letting go of a best friend, the other half of a complete idiot, a soul sister. Now what is left is the plethora of bittersweet memories, laughter, jokes, photographs, letters, gifts and old messages. Her best friend had defined her and will never cease to do so. Maybe that is why they call it what they call it, BFF. Maybe they’ll meet halfway, on their way back home. But for now, it has come to an end, no more walking in the dark.

She sighs in relief as she takes the last sip of her coffee. Steps out of the cafe, the sun is indifferent towards her and shines like it would on any other hot afternoon. The world doesn’t stop. Because the world doesn’t know that a best friend has been lost.