Oh, the insolent voice in me cries. The cruelty oozes out and everything I touch miserably dies, turns to dust. A silent wind blows, an implacable evocation proliferates. The eyes they search, for love, in the tumult of lies, in the desolate abode of past lovers. The heart flounders in the ocean of possibilities, the mind remains indignant at the uncertainty. Lies. A Long lost autumnal passion, now an evanescent memory. Now an impudent unreality masks an elusive reality, a reality which is vulnerable to the past, incongruent with the present, with itself. A stagnant confidence crumbles and obliterates at one touch, one touch to the heart. The body slumps and falls numb, easy to break now. A languid cadence fills the space; the cronies recite the poetry on the intransigent woman with a heart of gold, stuck in the labyrinth of her contradicting reality, furiously confused and timid. Lies, again. Indignation grows. The body twists and turns, tears they fall on the floor, enchant the abode with their purity. There’s the reality, in hurt, in tribulations. There’re the cronies, there’s that one person, but not in reality. They welcome you and love you, in the pestilential unreality, in the universe of nostalgia, in corruption and in lies.

But there’s the enchanted reality, beyond the bounds of possibilities and memories, in hurt, in instant happiness, in rain and under the scorching sun. In reality, the trembling confidence tardily grows without ever being pointed out or scolded. It grows, with the truest of souls. And a touch to the face would placate the indignation forever as reality discerns itself from unreality.

But almost, a hand reaches out to the face. Almost. And I’m by myself, in my enchanting reality, forever. 

Pulchritude

Fire, lights, moon, stars, sun, sky, mountains, breeze, roads and an unbridled lust to stay a hundred more days in a place where the mind ripens and the eyes rejoice at the site of the dawning sun every morning! 

Lights in the room where I stayed. 

Rain: Harbinger of a better tomorrow

The sky painted itself in a shimmering silver colour today. It was beautiful. The trees moved in a funny way too. It had to be the calm wind which blew through them. I enjoyed how everything looked sparkling and new and how sudden the transformation had been. The shiny crystals fell like shards of glass from the skies.

All of it achingly reminded me of the place I’d just left. Suddenly, I’m guilty of having left it. The rain flares up memories which burned in my mind for too long, long enough to make me realize just how foolishly brave I was. Fool.  

And suddenly I miss it all just a little too much. I miss those walks at night. I miss the sudden plans. I miss travelling in local trains. I miss the coffee and the chai. I miss the knock at the door. I miss the garden. I miss the Nescafe station. I miss the cats. I miss the laughter. I miss the tears. I miss the races. I miss the sleepy mornings.  I miss the sweaty afternoons. I miss the pavement. I miss the staircase. I miss the dates in CCD. I miss the dates in McD.

And the worst part about it all is not the pain or the suffering, but the emptiness; an emptiness which keeps on getting bigger with every person who asks me to let go of what I’m holding onto because then it makes me realize that they’re asking me to let go of something which at the end of the day, defines me. After all, it’s easy to move on and let go. And whatever happens happens for a reason. It's what I've always been told. But isn't it obvious? Life is all about connections. When one thing happens, good or bad, it's followed by another set of things which instantly makes you connect it to what happened right before. It doesn’t necessarily mean that you have or that you must forget. Forgetfulness is addictive. I don’t want to forget, neither do I want to regret. I want to cherish, with all that I am and all that I could be. 

Oh I am just selfish today. Maybe it’s the rain. Because I wanted to sit under the bubbling water and play with the air around it. Thinking if I sat under it, it’d change me too. Like the sky. Change my colours, maybe. Paint me in its enchanting silver-ness, even if it’s just for a jiffy. Thinking I’d experience the same calm underneath when a million thoughts ran inside my mind, my body, chained in my memories, but only if those chains were replaced by threads of raindrops, soft on my skin, mixed with the saltiness from my tears, faintly holding my memories together for me.

And just like that, whenever it may rain, I’ll remember and I’ll cherish the memories, wear them proudly, maybe without an ache in my heart. Just maybe.

Disconnectedly disconnecting to connect again

I wouldn't blame myself for being taciturn but I rarely pick up the phone when it rings, sometimes I leave it on silent so that I'm not aware of it ringing, I'm not guilty, I'm free.

At times I do the same with texts, see the preview of it and leave it at that. Get rid of the notification, even if it is from a certain someone that I love. Then tell them that I’ve been out and that I’ll call as soon as I can. (When I’m ready to?)  

It’s not that I want to ignore the person because I can’t. I wouldn’t label myself as an ignorant person, for the most part. And it’s not that I don’t want to talk to them either. It’s not as if I’m too busy to talk to them yet I’m hesitant to get into a conversation.

I might be an introverted extrovert, reluctant and self-centred. I might make other people suffer with my mood swings. And they do suffer as a multitude of texts reach them when I’m happy, late night prank calls and my uncontrollable laughter helps me gain an image of an evil mortal. Though at other times when I’m over my head, I simply can’t bring myself to connect with anyone. The world outside of my own seems unbearable. Heavy. Almost wishing I didn’t have to talk to anyone at all, explain myself or ping them up with the bullshit I make up in my head.

It’s a strange contradiction, a two sided story, an irony, a misunderstanding. Where I may not want to bother someone when I’m down, the other person might get offended. Where I just can’t seem to explain to them how nothing is wrong but how everything is. Where I’m afraid I’ll be asked to get over it when I’m just not ready. Where I can’t bring myself to be involved in someone else’s happiness, the achievements they’re telling me about. I almost feel unworthy and unmerited for such tête-à-tête.

Most of the times it’s me spending an inordinate amount of time being alone, spending more time in taking a bath than usual, cancelling the incipient plans and those dinner dates just so I could be alone and watch F.R.I.E.N.D.S. Go to the coffee shop alone, with just a book in hand, never feeling the need to invite a friend. Ignoring the first knock at the door and timorously hoping there isn’t a second knock. On seeing an acquaintance in a crowd I turn around to change my direction, just so I could avoid small talk. It makes me sick now that I acknowledge how cowardly and self-centred I am. But I’ve unwholesomely gotten used to it, thinking of time as a precious commodity that I’ll ever own. So here I am, avoiding the outpour of emotions from a different being other than me, avoiding the misunderstandings, avoiding the heartaches, avoiding the 20 questions, avoiding the awkward silence between conversations, avoiding the unfriendliness, avoiding the tension of whether they like me or not, avoiding the hate and avoiding the loss.

I do close my eyes for a minute when my phone illuminates with a new text, a call or an invitation. There’s a risk I don’t take. There’re the messages I don’t choose to read. I simply wait for the screen to darken. I play it safe. I play it dumb.

But then I open my eyes, thinking why someone would ever want to talk with me, share with me, their sorrows and happiness, their achievements and failures. And the way they’d laugh with me on the silliest things. Thinking why I’d over think such an innocent connection to ever exist. And when at times I’m downhearted, a text from them is the only thing which lifts up my soul. Makes me crack up and shake my head at how utterly insane they are and how utterly lucky I’m to have them in my life. And when I talk with them, I never want the conversations to end. And how stumbling upon them in a coffee shop turned out to be the best thing to have happened to me that day.

I do worry though, about the transience of what exists in form and shape, scared of referring to someone as somebody that I used to know, scared of the everlasting connection, scared of the memories, scared of love so I'm always seeking for a forever in the brevity of a moment. (How selfish, yet again.) And at 2 A.M, more awake than asleep, the question lingers in my mind – Is it worth the risk? I guess I’ll know with time, as I disclose my feelings, feel the frown turn upside down as my phone illuminates and feel the smoothness of the screen upon my fingers as I reply. Feel the warmth radiated from the phone as I talk to them. Feel guiltless when my phone goes untouched for days and ecstatic when I still find them at the other end of the phone. For those people, I surely think it’s worth the risk.

Ineluctable facts of my life

The feelings have percolated to the surface. Here I am, face to face with the ineluctable facts about myself which I’ve refrained from acknowledging hitherto, for the fear of being too much or being too little.

I am an unpredictable person with different sides. It’s always an inadvertent revelation. What is it going to be? Which side of me are you going to see?

Most of the people believe that I am always chirpy, gloomy, incredibly shy and lost. They know me as the girl who gives evasive answers or someone who doesn’t answer at all, who is scared and light-hearted, doesn’t get attached to anyone and shrugs, feigning indifference. I seem to have a personality which can be easily defined in the first meeting if there's never a second meeting and I am almost never taken seriously.

These are the labels which have been put on me but they have only hindered my approach at other things in life, at other labels. And I’ve accepted them as the harsh reality of my life, never raising my hand to question them but nodding whenever someone told me who I am. And not correcting them was the only thing which oddly invigorated me, gave me a sense of superiority over them.

But it’s true that I am a capricious being where the real me continually vacillates between the several different sides of my being and cannot handle not being taken seriously. I fall from grace with a loud thud and I take pleasure in depriving myself of happiness but overburden myself with it at other times. I make audacious attempts and I am courageous enough to start all over again at any point of time in life and dedicated enough to keep on going even after being told it’s not worth it. I am crazy, reckless, and indecisive. I'll love you and I'll hate you at the same time. I am North and South in one. I am the monsoon and the drought, all in one. I am not renowned for my loquacity but sit with me over for a third cup of coffee and I’ll tell you. I wallow in silence but also know how to pull myself out of it.

There are layers which are slowly peeled off with time, by those who are willing to do so. And I am aware of how some people may dislike me because of these baffling sides of me, people who’ll end up defining me with different adjectives. 

I wish I could bring out the real me, utter my real feelings as instantly as I was put face to face with someone. But most of the conversations happen inside my brain, with the real me. Who is witty and charming, caring and comprehends every sentence said to her. I try though, but she just shrivels back inside when showed the slightest of movement from the other side, never persists but leaves me striving for it. 

Only if there weren’t any people around or if there was only that one person around, she would break free and see the world herself, as she wants to see it and free from any sort of labels. 

Venice of the East

Nature

A memory which still remains vivid inside my heart

I've been told that I walk with an expression on my face which expresses precisely nothing and I couldn’t agree more. I wear an expression on my face which only accentuates my inner void, hiding my lucid flow of thoughts. I tend to cut through the razor sharp gaze of people with grace, something that I’d honed for myself, over the past few years. I choose to roam the most loneliest and scenic roads where the trees usually catch my undivided attention, as I am deluged by the beauty of things which live without words. Fearlessly existing, growing, in a world full of preconceived notions where wisdom is just fidelity on paper.

I have found a companion in nature and I have bared my all to it. I could be whoever I wanted to be in its presence. Also, in a way it was my solitude which became my companion in the vast presence of nature. It sounds utterly imbecile, right? I guess it is. But it’s only then did I realise, how small I really am, just existing as a mere collection of paradoxes in the transience of life. It was the realization which only invigorated me and however trivial and alone I had ever felt in a room full of people, nature always made me feel like a queen who was worthy of its every leaf and every drop of rain, so I connected to its unspoken words and drifted away from those who couldn’t understand it. Partly because I was of the ‘nature’ people didn’t understand, so how would they understand the nature? They couldn’t understand the silence but were confident in their convictions about what I do and what I am. Even though I did meet a few people along the way, people who surprised me, so I tried connecting with them. I took a few steps into their world before I let them come into mine, shared a thought or two, let the minds collide carelessly. But then I always found myself taking two steps back into my own cosy void. I guess I am too scared, too scared of something so ephemeral, unlike my own conscientiousness and nature.