Celebrating mom’s demise…

Time spent with mum suddenly seems distant. Memories associated are growing hazy like some old discarded mirror left unclean reflecting the light with the dust eating at the contours of the reflection.

I haven’t quite survived the loss though I pretended I have moved on for some time. In the exuberance of shaping my life, I had folded the reel down thinking I might never have to look back. Which is why perhaps all of this happened –the time spent in Gurgaon– to remind me of my own self, mom and what’s mine.

I lost her on Diwali morning on 23rd October, 1995 – the year I graduated from high school. After all the rushing around with last rites, I was bent on the sketch board completing assignments for submission. It’s a shame that she didn’t witness how well I did despite being thrown away on the road and getting molested in name of being in relationship. It wasn’t any pleasure, any feeling of it was remote and for a long time thereafter. What followed after losing my only blood relationship is something I’m still trying to take control of. I believe I have sorted some of it- atleast in understanding. To mark the life coming of full circle, Karma is awarding me with the festival falling the same day as it had back then. It couldn’t get any better.

I celebrate her death anniversary instead of wailing and for what? I wore a saree one year I recall when with Convergys; when I think I was moving on. Last year one of my neighbours had invited herself over for drinks… and so on. For last several months I contemplated draping a saree to work to identify it as a day of celebration; now reconsidering my plan. It’s festival time, so I could dress up traditionally though mum hated me for this. She was a modern woman resonating ideas much ahead of her times. She may have made a few haphazard choices and then stuck to them; but whatever she ever taught me has stood true blatantly against all phases I have witnessed so far. She wasn’t wrong about me- not even by a comma. Her wordcount to describe me when she did turned out to be just about perfect. No spelling mistakes or syntax errors were found.

Even though I can’t reach out to her anymore, I feel she is forever around, so close that the time spent with her now is folding itself in neat layers- becoming the building block of future and nomore stabbing me. I miss her not because I suffered- but because I fail to go back to her telling how successfully she grafted me in her own light. Whoever I am is in her reflection. She knew how to hang on. Incidentally, this isn’t it. As I write this post, realizations and epiphanies strike me like they were waiting on my writing this wordplay. I see the sequence clearly of the events that are to soon unfold.

This is where it would end… this whole big phase that started close to two decades ago. I feel I have worked out her Karmas too. I kept myself going; though, it would have been easier to give in and end up in a bigger mess probably even bigger than what mom got herself in. A few clever choices I made which were equally scandalous and those which added more experience against the time I spent living seem to have done it. I feel free already. A few more hours to go before the actual time of the anniversary would set in, what other way could I have it… at work, surrounded by co-workers dressed up and with happy faces around. Unknowingly they would become a part of my celebration, such is how Universe works. Regardless of what I choose to wear, I’ll be inquired for being ecstatic.

I feel somewhat clotted after running a few tears down. Much to my liking, I’m right now dwelling in solitude. Content and a bit stopped short. It’s drawing a close.

Edit: This is what I wore. To work.

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Deliverance

Abundance seeped into average and before I knew, it blended with insignificance. Soon it became non- existent. My identity and the amount of contentment waned before I could register the nightmare coming to shape. Self-dependence had zoomed straight into nothingness.

It took my work, confidence and a few acquired not really any relationship to realize what I want. Reverse the essence: if those acquired relationships were not given the undue precedence, this post would not have found words. I would have kept my work, attitude and myself too. 

Once again, I am set to create the colors of rainbow on my canvas the shades of which I lost not so long back. The splashing tides from not so remote past still scare my state of being threatening me to lap me within its depth.

I seem to have found the strength to carry on, taking things in stride… I will, once I get ahead. I need to gain momentum and that’s irritating me- the lack of it. Maybe it’s brewing at the horizon. Perhaps, it’s hit me even as I write this; displacement is what I am craving. I am desperately awaiting that upward thrust that will send me to the edge from where the things bothering me in the present will then become insignificant. The frustration catches my already bruised ego so often that I have begun to wonder if what I earned when I think I thrived in abundance was really enough. Haven’t I reached already where I was then? In some ways- yes; others… no. My benchmark has changed.

It’s the lost good and more of the other side of good that’s ruling my present. I need to earn my present before my efforts to keep the past where it rightfully belongs -in the past- wears down. I am nurturing all I’m left with from then to recreate myself. In course of events, I decided to reinvent myself instead of rediscovering… the transition has begun alright. I find this new me better than who I was then… a lot of things those belonged to remote past have found home in me again. I see winds from childhood and youth playing in my hair. This had not happened to me before. I had merrily swept my old-self away to create the future that I am craving to call past! If I keep the number of years I have lost to gain what I have now; then, it’s abundance again… only, the idea of it has modified slightly. The pointers to it are regardless, what matters is the bit earned in attainment.

On a lighter note, my brands are back in the shelves; a few really big and better ones too. I take pride in posting pictures of what I wore, when to work. Yet, when I draw a comparative graph with people I knew v/s time spent, I feel spaced out. Once what seemed to be a mammoth time is now a mere value in time. My having spent a year in the organization I’m associated with in the present isn’t giving me any reason to smile. Instead, it’s making me ponder upon how easily I had let many one-year-time-spent-with-previous-organizations sit aside. Why hadn’t I seized those work anniversaries and gloated in the wake of collecting achievements! Perhaps, that would have kept me floating…

It seems dreamlike to me my previous work affairs and hence, I keep to myself and that isn’t helping. I’m biting my own tail and screaming. Yeah, I know what I need and can’t bear to wait either. Are there any options over the ones sighted?

I call upon my faith in Unknown: the forces of Universe, the Cosmic Law to deliver what’s for me.

AMEN.

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Conclusion begins now

I don’t lose things… ever. I find a way to find them back. If I wish for something, it crawls to me almost always. If only that held authentic for people too. My work- off days kinda went really well excepting for I having lost yet another someone. That’s a pattern now; one I’m not comfortable with still.

After lot of wishing and stashing after sometime of brooding for the past 3 days, I went out today. I went to Gaffar Market to fetch my belated b’de gift. Mary gifted one right before my b’de when we met- so I got a shining bottle to myself for the day anyway. My childhood friend was here from Dubai. We met after a year again. Last year I had negated the very date though we had met two days after my birthday. That was yet another day spent running around. This year too we had spent the day roaming in Saket mall. Before running home, I bought my butterscotch cake and first set of twin watches from CP. I was really excited… but that was needled in too hard so the feeling died before I had started savouring.

I bought Issey Miyake edp, a few nail paints and eye liners from one of my fave haunts. Colors, I tell you! I bought a hair color too. I wore one of the new watches that I had gifted to self on my right wrist how mom used to or how I do. My work there was concluded in no time. After some trailing and snaking through the traffic, I reached yet another haunt- Malviya Nagar, where some of my most memorable days were spent. I visited my friendly neighbourhood -then- chemist. Oh boy, he too was missing me- 15 years of knowing them; bought the necessities those I consider more like accessories. I packed food from one of my fave eat outs. That’s where I ditched the vehicle submitting myself to public transport. Next to Nazeer was Dunkin Donuts; packed a few burgers for breakfast. Waiting for food to be packed, I called the auto chap so he picks me up from the metro- station. For years together I stayed confided: transport and finances being the prime constraints. I am in the process of sorting the rest.

I love this runaway life. I don’t want to sit caged up or be instructed or led by their choices. I have had a fill of it already. I like running around and about collecting things I need and get swollen tired. State of Trance played in my ears… on my way to heaven. I managed to grab a place to sit in metro although I was coming home at peak office time. This wasn’t the first time really. I board the train placing my faith that I shall get a seat. So far, it’s working out well. I feel I’m guided by the Divine; this is how I feel His presence.

Music was doing things to me. I didn’t want to observe people today. I saw them observing me; my eye make- up maybe or my hair that wears an enviable texture after I went bald or perhaps my skirt or the low neck floral top. I knew not and left it at that. While waiting for the auto chap here in Gurgaon, I slipped into Metropolitan mall and checked out a few more things.

My manager wished me – belated wishes they were. I grinned reading his text sitting in the auto rick. Travelling through the same road as I do from work, I felt I was in a dream. Only three nights back I traveled through the adjoining road; it isn’t that long back. Besides, I’ll be taking the route again in less than two days. It seemed I was running through a long forgotten track… in certain way I was. I stopped by the local veggie haat and shopped veggies too. Only I can do it – stepping into a local on road market wearing my signature skirt and high heels. What the heck! I got what I wanted at steal away prices.

Now sitting home. Wondering.

I do this drill whenever I travel from Gurgaon to Delhi. The place I stay in is countryside. Veggie market happens outside the community gate twice a week. They start setting up the place after the sunrays go slanted which is why I can’t club picking up veggies while riding back from work which at the farthest clock gets stretched to 3pm. So it’s usually after meeting my friend at MN, still visiting the same chemist, combining all of it the day the market is set up so I buy veggies. Phew!

When was the last time really I felt so contented? Was it a few days back when my excitement was killed by that someone who I am considering lost now? Was that when I was employed for the last time… some seven years back from today? Or was it before I overlooked and got into the marital institution only to get bruised and get thrown away apparently? Why only eyeliners, my foot- wears too were matched to my shirts then. I hear silence in reply. I don’t feel sorry anymore. I don’t cry either. A bit of pang is left for falling off the level I was at once.

I have figured out what had happened to me here and why it all went out of control. Not everything is within the outline; yet, I feel my old self emerging back in me. Which is precisely why I have so many things typed into this insignificant post without sitting back to cry a few tears. I have shed all of I had to. Notice: how I would jump the transition in the next two lines.

It’s not the clock alone that tells time.

I am happy.

I am listening to Ray of Light that once set me free.

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A love story- long lost

With each passing day I feel calming within like death filling in with its nothingness. After a long while, I prepared coffee for myself after an evening head wash. I feel at peace within.

Just before stepping into that warm shower, I visited one of my haunts. A story I had read before, I went over again to read through its words. A queer feeling envelops me while re-reading. I tend to re-live within the exercise of reading and grasping. I transform into the story- mostly within the protagonist’s skin enlivening every bit of those emotions that the protagonist is supposed to live through or convey. I create another identity and live yet another life within the told story.

I promised the author to write a detailed comment the day I read it. I went back to read the lines again. In no time I could see myself breathing within the published words. I am producing the bit here in my blog.

I am yet saving my words for this one- like I said, I will in detail lest I miss any shade. Stopped by since wanted to read you… listen to your words. It was after posting the comment I realized I actually said what I wished to.

I have been that woman in your story- once maybe… only to be left being called unworthy, orphan and ineligible, being forced to and brutally deserted to fight my things on my own. No amount of begging or pleading had worked out. It wasn’t to stay over- for there wasn’t anything to define whatever it was or to hold upon- it was for support. Such love as depicted here- I’m envious already. Heart yearns for it- mind cautions against- for the evermore is a figment of fairy tale dimension. It wasn’t that one time that I was estranged. Father gave a start to what every man I ever met since has kept going. That one time I really wanted to die for and wait till beyond… I was left to do exactly that! It took several years thereafter for me to get over that love- if that was and hurt both. Over two decades of feelings were let go of erasing the memories which for long had made me smile- tickling me to life, to run about and catch the dreams. There are chances he might be reading it here and know it’s for him. I know not how he would feel for I don’t feel for him anymore.

I am yet to decide… if it was really love or I was hopelessly hoping for it. Several stories happened through that one and even thereafter, each time I tumbling and falling over after falling in head over heels. Stories those would never be told. I have kept the better part of each with me and grown indifferent to its occurrence otherwise. Though he never stayed to help me; yet, aptly reminded me of who I am before pushing me out of his life and this time perhaps, forever. Shamelessly he had agreed then how right I was in judging him when I had- we were all of twelve then!

That fight is still on- it wasn’t resolved in the way it was required for lack of support; piece by piece I am picking the dead twigs. The battlefield has changed, so have the names or should I say characters? I am bruised and dragging still…

Life doesn’t stop and that’s the lesson I’m trying to learn. That’s not the only hurt. The intensity or definition may vary, that wasn’t the only love either.

I’m yet to feel, love back, loved and accepted for who I am. I am ready to sing again, laugh about and be in love and perhaps even die for… I’ve drawn curtains to most of them, even left the stage, waiting for my drama to take place – of my choice, choosing the real prince to be my prince… There you go- the fairy tale takes over again “smiles”

Such are your words- evoking, invoking… kicking back the dead to live. May you breathe thousand breaths; a few for me for I don’t anymore.

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Framed

The beaded string wall hangings were out a month back, Ganshu darling was made to sit back at his place a fortnight later. Today, I took mom’s picture photo frames out too. The frames occupied the wall- space as though they had never been moved away. For close to a year, I had stared that empty space where the pictures hang now. The black outlining of dust that was left after the pictures were removed as though showed mom’s image too. I know that is far off the stretch of possibility; yet, those empty spaces replied to me as the pictures did.

My BedroomThe ruffles my belongings take seem to have almost humanized them. Silently they watch over me; sometimes, even guarding me. Most of my stuff that I own today has a story attached; often trailing down to mom, if only she were alive.

I miss a friend, a parent and a companion in her. I do have a friend in Ruby, having known her for years more than spent with mom. I have a sorta companion in my domestic who is with me for the past 6 years now; but the parent mom was, I feel her growing in me. The change didn’t come about today or during my reclusive years, I felt that the instant I lost her. I had felt grown up and that isn’t a metaphor. The simplest of the things changed in my behaviour. My outlook still remained and is same as was; however, something just grew alongside. Having said that; you would understand when I say, these picture frames are like mirrors, reflecting my own image. I don’t tend to recognize when I see my own image- even if a selfie; atleast not when displayed within a frame, but these, I feel I know them.

I don’t much resemble her excepting when brooding. My hair isn’t as beautiful or dark, neither are my eyebrows a perfect arch. My complexion isn’t a match. My forehead is big. Her legs were shapely… I can go on!

There is one another measure by which we are two different people. I’ll wait a bit more before I fill in the space to share that bit. I believe in conclusion instead of setting up and leaving in transition or failing to finish.

For now, I have a two pairs of eyes watching on me; actually, make that three, I am included in one of the frames too, but then, do I know that third set of blinkers?

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“Re”

It is only natural to send emails across at work; yet, I owe you for this one again. The other day you had wanted me to send that insignificant team outing presentation across to HR Manager and Process Manager, but the one I sent today was sent to VP HR and VP Process too. I am only seven months old put against the seven years old employees. While we make no bones cribbing about the silliest things, I thank you for this invaluable earning today.

I sent this text to my ex- manager, who I have refused to call so; I address him as my dear manager. Gladly, he accepts the addressal with the signatory running of his hand through hair and a bare all teeth grin. Other managers know who I am referring to when I leave a “hello” to be passed onto still my dear manager. I am now moved into a different team under different process in the same line of business. I haven’t come to terms with this movement yet. Him and my manager says, I shall be over it soon enough. I know what will make me take it in my stride; though outwardly, that’s what I am wearing.

I completed seven months in this organization today and that ain’t any achievement. Neither is the fact that I was asked to convert a report into presentation today. I am still in the beginner’s role- “an agent” to be precise. But then, something changed by the time I finished preparing the presentation. I was instructed to send that across to all, the leadership team included through my email ID. Here I was, sitting more baffled than excited after having prepared a process specific report to be sent to one and all and I am only in my training for that process. Only the other day I was made to type an email that was then sent to the onshore client. This doesn’t qualify as an achievement either for I have been there in my previous profiles… how many years back again?

SIGH

Clearly, my ex-manager had put in a word across to my current manager. I took a moment after sending the email closing my eyes, thanking everyone backing me up for me to be able to live through to this day. Teary eyed I then thanked my managers in person- both of them; the dear one and the present one. It wasn’t a biggie for them.

For me it was… within a few minutes of sending that email, for the next half hour, across all systems throughout the process floor ran the same slideshow, each one animating at a different slide. What a show it was. My fellow workers were viewing their names with roused excitement chit chatting over their work- stations nodding in approval. My job was done. They were pleasantly surprised seeing how differently highlighted their names were this time. I searched within their lit up faces; they seemed happy… as though for me too!

It takes me a few seconds before I format and jazz up any given content or report in the manner required and/or requested. This wasn’t my first time.

If only I am able to format my much encrypted lifeline too. I shall feel amused. There isn’t anyone around me in person or even virtually; so nevermind the fact I’ll smile singular, I take that in my stride most of the times anyway. I have long years to close before I take a break.

AMEN

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Ground in thoughts

Am I finally embracing my much-ignored-by-me roots or is it that finally I am learning to go back to the shell I belong? Then again, do I belong to any?

The realization set my mind back in the time now lost… to the time when mom was alive. Rituals were observed and there were celebrations. Festivals were awaited and there were preparations even for day to day life. Let’s picture a house all adorned with strings of marigold and water-bowls of rose petals placed at the center of an alpana. How many years since? Ten…? Twenty…? Whoever said time heals, I have a question for him- the most obvious one.

How long before I turn deaf to these calls of memory of the times that was blatantly scraped off my timeline?

I bought a mixer grinder the other day, my first one ever. I was excited to make use of it, but that joy was amiss. I found myself brooding upon the time when it wasn’t a big deal. We owned most of the gadgets, some even imported.

And one fine morning, as it was destined, I lost my home.

Along with, I lost my culture, joy of celebrating festivals and the need to remember what marked as traditions at my home, in my culture or during festivals… nothing mattered.

It is over two decades that a coconut was bought, at my place. I was merrily munching a chunk as I used to even back then when the fruit sprang that sapling in my mind.

I am not depressed anymore; only in denial mode. Come to think of it; there isn’t a single soul around who has lived this transition from then to now to understand this loss. Though it’s exciting that I successfully prepared something new, i.e., not belonging to our food culture per se, the smile up my face is lost. I needed vodka to blend in name of enjoying a drink with coconut water. The raw coconut water tasted as though a bitter concoction was being poured down my throat.

I am in my reflective zone- indecisive if I should smile or cry. I am not in my sixties or even fifties or forties. I wonder when did I live so long that the events dead are finding trails to haunt me in my present?

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Close down

Yet another movie I finished watching a moment back. Tears know how to flow alone, so I washed them off my face. Still, a tear or two rolled down my cheek.

I was losing myself to depression starting from living with unbearable cramps to breaking into repeat fits. Reasons are just excuses; hence being restrictive with those.

It was only a movie suggestion. I had let it skim down for the sometime… till one day, I felt the urgency to find out about what was suggested. I was waiting to know the person better, if not very well, to accept the offered suggestion. The last time the offer and acceptance role was played; it changed my course of life. I needed it, it was offered to me. A stage was set for me to be able to step up to enact my play. That was the first time too.

I was offered to become the author of my biography.

The previous one I entered into my personal favorite list was The Lakehouse: a love-story being played at two different time-zones simultaneously to cheat death and collide to bring about a happy ending at the last crossover. The Fountain was linked at several places across three different timezones reminding us to let go and live at peace with death. Although the movie had ended with death in bold letters; yet, a certain amount of rewriting -after the story within the movie was over- infused a warm feeling.

A big chunk of my life has to die and get buried. I’m standing at the threshold of a new beginning, watching the stale branches getting pruned. I feel I’m being sized down; for once those episodes are concluded; many years would draw a blank. A certain part of me will die along perhaps or so I’m feeling. Memory of the events may not fade; some would continue to live with me bearing a scar on my skin too; but for now, I see the participants drifting away from the spotlight. I am witnessing the curtains being drawn!

I am pulling the string.

The movie wasn’t about death alone. I felt a push to let go and instead hope. Changing a certain course of action maybe possible if not easily attainable; yet, accepting that loss with hopes intact will take life forward.

If being a woman you ever went bald at some time by choice, you must know how it felt when you realized it’s grown long. As a kid your excitement was well placed while fixing a clip in your hair; but unparallel to how you had felt taking those clips out from the closet. You had forgotten how beautiful your tresses were and then one day, it needed styling and that’s when you realized how beautiful your hair is. You maybe mundanely combing to clip them and that’s when the mirror did its reflection trick. It had showed a vision you had forgotten about- out of choice. This is what is depressing me. That I did go bald only helped me write the metaphor.

I am at a loss of words about how The Fountain didn’t end on a sad note. The movie being suggested by the person who inadvertently let me take hold of my life again; I take that as an indication. If not across different time zones; however, I felt tugged by a few time-periods all at the same time while writing this post. The cause of depression isn’t lost still. I need to let a few things bid adieu now. This is not the end of life- neither could the previous losses bring any; nor would the overdue death of a bunch of characters. If at all, I need to raise my hopes.

About the love-story: Instead of till death do us apart, I say, we’ll unite forever in death.

P.S.: Given the fact I write when it’s over, I believe I am not depressed anymore. I’m adhering to yet another suggestion; though practicing on my own since a few weeks unknowingly. I have been up for almost 24hrs now, will crash for 6 hours so I wake up a new person. I’ll cheat and play dead for a couple of extra hours :P

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Paired Up

Paired up with a very good looking non- smoker leo in name of my trainer for the next two weeks is what I have earned, not to forget the learning more about the business part- but we’ll discuss that later. For now, I am spending my office hours in close proximity of a hot trainer. And you thought I ain’t interested in men. You now know- I am. I am ranting about it here.

It was one hell of a weekend shift – my first one at the new work place.

20140518_042916.1I had reached office an hour in advance and since I was in no requirement of setting up a workstation for myself, I spent some quality time listening to music and doing shoots. We aren’t assigned any fixed work-stations, we hunt for one every day. Later about that; let’s get back to the trainer talks. I worked this Sunday fooling around with my ex-team members during breaks. This trainer guy takes me out most of the time i.e., to inhouse cafeteria. He pays too. So this morning, we went on a tea break that was more of an Adam n Eve in the garden of Eden for me. He showed me around the office complex taking a complete de-tour, through the walkways unknown to me. I was shown where my ex- process used to be; so much for understanding the business. Not only a certain division; I am also learning about its history and geography and with a handsome escort to hang around with. I didn’t mind the fact that we didn’t find any coffee at the end of those de-trails. With that, our tea- break was ruthlessly cut short- I saved it though. All I needed to drop was “can we please walk a bit?” that was then answered by first a “C” and then a complete “O” circle around the office complex. Morning walk… of course what else? Boy! Does he mind his manners? He doesn’t yap while eating though that hand cream parfume was distracting enough, maybe that was on purpose. Who cares anyway? I should enjoy this time off work- and I am doing just that.

He is a leo and a complete charmer… what he doesn’t know is he is fantasizing one of his own breed! He carries himself with a stiff-neck though he is anything but that. He wears a killer ease minding his business. Precisely why it seemed a misfit when he looked strained then. I was watching my new team monkeying around when I heard him grumble “something is not right here.” It took me only two seconds to set that just about right – the first one to look at his face to figure out and the second one to point out. While he was breaking his well-trimmed, clean and manicured fingertips on the computer keyboard, squinting his brown eyes, joining the carefully plucked brow trying to figure out the graph deviation; one look and I had declared what the error was. I can point the flaws out like that’s my only business. It is only a few months back when the statement disclosing the account keeping service fee on the sales voucher was modified countrywide upon my pointing out. Back then too, he was the one who was assigned the task of shooting instructions to stop the printing of existing format on the e-sales voucher incidentally. I was barely a few months old and was sitting pretty etching expressions upon that incorrect figure quoted in terms of dollar amount of a major financial company and credit service provider of a certain country. How many newbies can add that kinda feather up his cap?

*gloats*

So we do have a nice-looking guy around placed at an authoritative level – nothing less than interacting with the client directly and a single. He holds the door for me though I graciously; yes, I said that, step back with a polite “thank you” and a coy smile. Oh c’mon, I can do that. I am doing that.

I have already made it official- on the floor, in public audience that my ex- manager is anyway my “ex” now. So I am not two timing either you see.

*snigger*

P.S. all the above mentioned is in strict accordance with the actual occurrence of episodes. Nowhere have I lied that I am interested in my trainer ;)

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Suspended- II

Here I am, back to writing some more. I am doused into terrible depression, having gone totally reclusive, not eating or even peeking out. All I want to do is sit still or probably sleep and in an un-ending continuation. But that is not it.

Neither I’m able to sleep, nor am I sitting still. Sketching now, writing then, and shooting thereafter… I’m anything but confined in motion; yet, I haven’t stepped out of my house even once in the last three days. Obviously, I skipped work. The fact that I-and-a-few-more-slogged-to-get-me-here was shoved at the topmost shelf where I would have to stretch my arm and fumble in space before my fingers brush past its edges.

I woke up this morning giggling of a dream. Strangely, the background was that of a place which was not a good stay in reality and had accelerated my downfall- although not before tossing me quite up… so up, that I lost balance. Instead of their grim faces, how they carried themselves most of the time, I saw them smiling. The house was done up well and there were colors all around which was in stark contrast to how their house was and most likely, still is. Not even once had I dreamt of him through all these years of our association and dissociation later; now I do, when there’s nothing but an awkward annoyance left.

Over ten days now, I am in denial mode. It started a weekend before. From updating status to texting, I reached out to people I could possibly to trigger some response and hence some distraction. Nothing worked- not even when I ended up annoying one of my contacts and then it went off to some other tangent. All patched up immediately, at least on the face of it or so I would like to believe, I’m beyond crying anymore. Like some eerie development, my domestic isn’t keeping well and hence on leave and there, it finished with a perfect house for void to rule.

Whether I have moved up even half a step or still brooding in past, only time to come will tell; for present, I’m afflicted even to emote. I don’t want to start any conversation- not even an impersonal one, not see anything new or for that matter anything at all. The only person seems worried out of it is my manager- who is no more my manager- officially. Not even once did he call up to ask about my (not) showing up at work. Every time a text arrived or a call made, he sounded anxious. There was nothing he could do- some silent exchange of words later, he would wish me well. I told him I was blogging. He rebuked me for not eating; yet, that didn’t affect my state of mind.

I don’t want to go vegetative again. I have been there long enough to not invite that unpleasant feeling all over again. The aftertaste is bitter than any poison. Atleast the latter kills you numbing your mind. I don’t know if my other alter has gone stronger again- one that had taken me down promising me a comfortable zone to live in. In my mind, I feel a battle going on constantly like a giant hub of electrical exchange. If that stops, it will result in doom. I feel all my energy being wringed off each of my cells. Numbness seems too inviting. What is feeding her essence?

I want to remain lost in thoughts with no one around to check on me. I don’t want to eat, I’m happy starving and stay in spoilt mood. Excepting, I don’t want any of it. I want to go out, meet people, laugh with them, live with them, and take equal amount of pain from some since not all would give pleasure in turn. I want to sing- and yes, I do; dance around how I’m doing in my dreams.  It seems my subconscious mind is also fighting that same battle and maybe that’s why my dreams aren’t dark.

I want to scream hard and when I finish, total serenity should fill the backdrop as though this present never existed. A piece of miracle is all I need before I die my death in peace.

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Suspended

It was barely nine in the morning and I was crying hard. Pressing the white smock up my eyes, I cried as though mourning. I screamed as if I were a retard. The losses are too many to be pointed. Where I am is a void. Most of the times, I remain frozen so the realization don’t affect me. At an unwarranted moment like now, when completely un-forecasted, it pierces me- the stab going down to every pore and those voices screaming at my inability to take control.

My manager is a nice man. He doesn’t seem to mind the pun intended jokes I crack- some on my team members, a few on other managers, some on him too; needless to say -most of them- publicly. He thinks I’m a lively one to stay quiet; but so does everyone else. The one day when my ability to keep up the façade had gone fragile, he had let me be dead in the medical room for the entire shift. He had not let me come to the floor. It was only the third day of calling here in this new organization -after nine years in time period when I got promoted as Quality Evaluator. I said nothing, didn’t cry- only my expressions had frozen. He had noticed. Nobody would ever know what part of me had died the previous evening before I went off to sleep for the following early morning shift.

Vacuum heals me. I don’t have the luxury of company who would comfort me. I was still in my training and not his team member yet. We got bonded in a mutually respecting work relationship since. I just ate up the chocolate he gifted me the other day to calm myself. His kid wasn’t keeping well, exchanged a few texts wishing him.

I wished yet another colleague -morning. She showed up the day I thought I had lost my new cell. I misplaced the token that was issued since our cellphones are to be deposited before entering the production floor. I was standing there bewildered at my own carelessness at the token counter with an approval email printout from my manager so the security hands over my cellphones, when I saw her standing there smiling at me. She was a stranger then. A day later, I had walked up to her and shared how she had made me feel at the time when I was running around bemused. We became friends.

This is how I had wanted. To be surrounded with people- the ones who would know me without me having to explain all about it. People, who would respect my limited interaction, understand my silence and not misjudge my laughter. What’s more is: them belonging to my workplace, the place of utmost importance to me. The fact that I had quit all to settle down –in manner of speaking and not how it otherwise explains- hits me hard all the time. My intentions were right, I wasn’t deceiving anyone, wasn’t getting my end served either; and yet, it fell flat in my face. It was always meant to. Options were a luxury then too.

Just where did my trait of judging people gone then? Why did I let it happen at the first place? How could someone I intended to weave my life with leave it tangled like a loom shuttle flown across the yarn- knotting them at places so them having to be cut in order to be removed? Where did I go wrong in projecting myself? Or maybe I made the same mistake as he did. I took it for granted that I’ll get my way around.

It is six years since I set foot in a Corporate again- where I belong. Nobody told me how haunting the walk through the corridors of my new office would be. I saw those walls looking down upon me; I lowered my eyes in shame. Orientation days seemed familiar. Policies and regulations- I remembered those all. I wasn’t being smug and yet was treated with respect. I noticed how the rest of them were surprised at my professional manners. I was too. Just why couldn’t I control that one twist that has now left me twisted forever? Why had I taken down all that I had built myself on my own? Where had my ability to forecast gone?

I alone am taking the shocks of changes now. The numbers of brands displayed on the pantry wafers stand made me go home and count the numbers of years I lost. Thankfully, the computers came to me being the most friendly asking me no questions about my ability to understand the updated softwares or the error messages. Decade old manages didn’t know of the things I do. The in-house Barista counter reminds me of my work with Convergys. I dind’t have enough to spend. A couple of months later, I won a contest and came as a goodie the Barista vouchers. I bought some brownies in exchange of those. It made me go reflective again.

The queries and the questions are most unflattering… is this your first job? I think in my mind- do I really look like I’m in my early twenties. How did you negotiate your salary? It takes me back to thinking how I had kept all my cards up the table and sought their understanding of my need for money and the amount. Why don’t you stay in a PG when you are all alone? And spend my life dumped on a bed and boxed in a cupboard witnessing two more girls doing the same- eating ill cooked food and being watched over with absolutely no privacy at all? Am I a refugee? Why aren’t you married? This one takes the cake. People who know me would know what I mean here. I’m tired of explaining- it’s a waste of time and effort. What’s the guarantee anyway that you wouldn’t want to press your opinion on me? How much do you pay your domestic? Don’t you have physical needs? You like wearing skirts? What was your previous name? What’s your father’s name? Are you a foreigner, you don’t look an Indian? Where are your parents/relatives? Don’t you feel awkward being on your own? Why don’t you have a boyfriend?

*SCREAM*

I was most successful in my work life be it any level- any sphere. I alone know how it feels to be dragged down from being a trainer/manager to wearing an associate’s badge. I am forced to interact with team members still not born when it comes to their level of maturity, nevermind their marital status. I can’t risk not being a team player. My manager makes me review his emails before he sends those to the leadership team. My presentations skills are appreciated. I have been professional enough to not retort at my colleagues’/managers’ uncouth approach and I’m not a softie- mind it. I don’t join heads to gossip or bitch… yet fool around like no-one’s business.

I was there. Then I lost it- what all alongwith is a separate chapter all together. I grieved enough to last a lifetime. Someone I never cared to know whose name back then is my senior manager here. He is humble enough to share I had once mentored him to the fellow managers. That was over a decade and half now and I thought I lost only six years. His sight is an ugly reminder of my mess on daily basis. I have to be careful to not add my co-workers to facebook or watsapp and not offend them either. I don’t want them to dig a way to my life- it isn’t exactly bright you see. I am careful not to say my complete date of birth when asked. Quite self- explaining- isn’t that? What compromises I am making by the day- one wouldn’t know of the intensity even if I described.

DSCN8310I bought clothes and shoes after over half a decade; also some kitchen utilities, cellphone and food. I bought eggs, mangoes and inner-wears. I have some lose-change now to spend and save. Dignity is anyway lost- atleast I’m surviving healthy enough for people to not know any more than I wish to disclose. The tell-tale signs are gone. My face isn’t dry anymore, toe-nails are painted. I don’t keep sick. I lost some more unwanted weight. There are people around me to take notice of my hairdo and dimples when I smile. My bright colored lippers are asked about for their shade number. My outfits are asked every detail about. They know who to approach for workplace related resolutions or product related queries.

I have a long way to go before I bridge the gap. Compliments don’t gloat me; only reminds me of who I was and what I had become- or maybe still am. I had everyone and everything. Then one day, alongwith people and earnings, I lost myself too. I’m nervous shaking most of the time. My framework is fractured. I feel I’m heeling but at this time as I writes, I hardly do. I want to sleep, so long that I don’t wake. If I must, then that should be in a new place with bright sunlight and snow clad mountains to be stepped out to. I don’t want people to know me there so they aren’t curious to join the dots. I’ll spread my arms and breathe in the fresh air before I go for work and come home to serenity to be able to live in peace.

Maybe I am dreaming heaven. Death perhaps.

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Weathering up

When kids, we are happy, playful and ever- rejoicing. Our only worry: how to add to merry making! Then one day, we grow up. We all do. Our playful self gets locked up in the closet with our toys if all of those are not lost during shifting houses. Our merrymaking plans shrink like our once-upon-a-time-used-to-be favorite dress. The only time we then cheer up is to the tinkling of our wine- filled stem-glasses. Yet, all that put together never brings the real us back. What we were born as gets dumped somewhere with the old greeting cards- yellowed and torn at the edges, molded, getting cushier with every passing year. However neatly folded, there comes a time when the printed matter appears greasy. The handwritten matter fades before that. Then, one day as you try to flip through the tissue soft papers, it crinkles between your fingers, disjoining. The papers underneath rustles away to dust… you barely are able to preserve any of it anymore.

But you don’t die. You continue to live; only your essence does no more. The crisp crackle in you dies.

The cotton candy of memories continues to breathe in you; emerging from time to time making the you live in parts.

Long after he is gone, after hours of having locked yourself up in denial to face the fact that he is gone and yet leaving the door ajar hoping for him to come back and just when you are coming to live in the present tense; your brain catches the smell of his hair. You shrug your head in an attempt to wake yourself up from that illusionary state only to realize that that smell of his has made home in your mind, your senses… your hair. You smile at the very thought embracing the realization of newer facts that even when gone, his essence lives in you. As you do so, you see him smile. You do all of that with your eyes wide opened. Two warm drops roll down your cheeks. Only you would know if that’s in his remembrance or if a sense of fulfillment wrapped you up making you warm and cozy even in a chilling fall evening.

A new set of “to be preserved forever” takes place of those wasted, wilted petal like greetings. The child in you is born wanting to run around, giggling, setting foot in awkward toddling steps. No amount of cheering drink could ever make you as tipsy as you are now. Your sky is full of cotton candy clouds – of the color you prefer looking at often. This is no fairy tale for you are sane, sober… and sobbing still. What just happened?

Is that love- you ask yourself? Your tears say nothing; they do what they are best at, roll down your cheeks.

You remember of him holding your face, kissing you while you were moving around your house. He had stopped you unaware keeping his promise he had made before dozing off the night before. Or was it really that he had wanted to then? It hadn’t mattered then. It certainly doesn’t now. What does is: you think of him with teary eyes, craving for his chest to hide your face letting you dissolve all of your hurt and pain; making you a free-spirited teen… again. Such is how he makes you feel since you have known him.

A divorce and a deceit together during the last twelve months of knowing him could not deter that feeling to grow. It’s grown up into a young tree, just as how he is, branching to reach out to unconquered horizons, swaying through every wisp, every breeze and every storm that took off a few trees whenever it set off. Not this one. It’s young but not fragile. His agility has kept him stood up to sun, all the rain and through the nights.

Such is how you feel now. Ever since the leaves brushed past your cheeks, you have begun to live.

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An unexpected visitor or a divine blessing, was that?

If you wish to know of love for animals, pick up a copy of Ramayana right away. It takes awarding each-one-his-rightful-place to a whole new level. Perhaps, the first of the humanoids were born in Hindu scriptures; though not quite the same way how they are being developed today- sex bots and what not!

The then king of AyodhyaRama conquering a demon king Ravana, but not without the help of a monkey troop; the biggest battle of all time as depicted in yet another holy scripture, Mahabharata can also not parallel the enormosity of the victory so achieved by the handful of Aryan bloods and a huge army of primates, save for a few apes, maybe even a gorilla or two and a wild bear. As a regard, I am guessing, they are depicted as talking and walking human like -well almost- divine figures. There, now you know of the dedication of the ancient ones towards the animal lives.

This is one such Tuesday morning during Delhi monsoons –although I live in Gurgaon, but hey, it’s only 30 minutes away from New Delhi if you drive at 80km/hr without braking anywhere – while the rain god seem to be working on his KRA. Anyway, while FB is updating status after the other of dry spells in Delhi, it’s raining (yes) here. So it’s safe to call it a rainy morning. The first time this monsoon that it feels like monsoon- dark, humid and windy, raining since over 24 hours in spells. One thing you should know about India is it is a country of all seasons; excepting monsoon, that is! So all this while when it seemed the pigeon pair is happy and hence notifying me of their presence with loud hums, the poor purple pair was trying to draw my attention – and to what?

A cup of tea I prepared after some lazy chats, warding off one can-I-date-you-pretty-please-since-you-look-sexy on one of the matrimony sites, I happen to have my guest visiting me. Obviously, it was a surprise come over. What do I see? A full grown Vaanar perching up on the broken a/c unit… only birds drenched and hurt sit up so meekly. The verandah door was ajar, so was the grill gate. What I mean is, he had all the liberty to take I-care-not-any stroll inside the house making it into his home. Worse, claimed my bed to relax his muscles. This building is a stand-alone; he must have had to climb up right instead of jumping and hopping through floors.

And boy, was he chivalrous? He didn’t ogle a wide eyed, red haired, skimpily dressed, barely covering her modesty; I say more than that was required to. No seriously, I didn’t feel threatened. All it seemed was as though he knew I was thinking or maybe even scared. My heart didn’t skip a beat, it had stopped flexing altogether. I was only moved by his domesticity. Aren’t these known to bring the house down single handedly, okay, with all four of their limbs? No sir, not this one. He stayed put waiting for the rain to die before it climbed down and without a single act of inducing any bewilderment in me. Now, I am thinking…

Today being Tuesday, I totally want to believe that it was Lord Hanuman visiting the lowly me. The Indian in me (read: the greedy self) can barely ward off the idea of being blessed by the Lord himself this morning! Such is my devotion towards the one of many who are forced to now wander in the cities climbing buildings instead of monkeying in the wild.

God Bless Him.

P.S. I didn’t capture his poise although I so wanted to. I didn’t want to antagonize my guest any further than him seeing me.

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Celebrating an anniversary

20th January, 2003

One Monday that was (a decade back), that changed my life. I wish I could add- for good. There were people and celebrations alright; but something still had made me cry. I didn’t have a family, so it wasn’t about shifting homes from maternal to marital, so what was I mourning about?

Ten years hence today, I have layers of memory collected, celebrating with people (again) and captures of the same flying around in the cyberspace too; instead of those getting shut inside an album running a risk of losing its possession. Not now.

Evening before while I was writing my mind out, I broke down remembering the first time I was beaten up being squashed like a discarded cabbage with its leaves broken and blackened. It was that time of the month. I am no Draupadi, but was stripped while I bled.

The clock struck twelve in the midnight while I was talking over to someone who played his share of part for it to get re- sketched the following day!

I spent first half of my day in Dilli Haat, sketching. Read: freaking out with people. Anyone who has been there knows it’s a cultural n social hub. Families from all walks of life go there to revive the feel of a local fair. Only it’s gotten commercialized and modernised over the crawl of years. Think of a cleaner, more colorful version of Surajkund Crafts fair, with more and varied options of eating out thrown in. So there I was with the Delhi Pencil Jammers group toying with my sketch pencils for other to see and thoughts playing hard with my state of being for none others to know of.

Two stuffed paranthas, maybe a tea if not coffee (don’t remember well) and a few hide n seek strawberry biscuits later, I was on my way to Dilli Haat. Heart thumped with anxiety to face people on a day when I would have (otherwise) sat locked up in my bedroom in complete denial. Taking cracking shots at the other jammers, jumping over the cemented seating to capture the jammers sketch, spiraling my way through the crowd; my day had only begun. There were snacks from Puri, Bhuvaneshwar, Orissa; chocolates, savouries, home-bakes cakes and me! It turned out to be one of the best jamming sessions till now; a fact acknowledged by the group coordinators too.

First half hour I had a tough time taking control of my emotions. No one noticed; such is how I carry my façade up, but I was at the brink of making myself a public sob at every smile I flashed. In some time, the smile I was sporting turned to laughter; an infectious and vivacious display of being as carefree as one could get.

That was the place where we met some twelve years back. “We shall buy the home decor stuff from here when we get married…”

31st December, 1998

A simple statement spoken was a prophecy that that became after four years from then. That was my first visit to the place.  Only two months back from then I had slept my way to survival. The count isn’t confined to one as how a few have known that to be. A fat amount from one, denying the proposal of an affair and accepting work from the other one, wondering if that could develop into an affair; it was barely 7- 8 months that I had stepped out of a slightly over a year sleeping arrangement. I said already, the count isn’t confined to a solitary violation. All that and much more kept flashing in the ether blurring my vision every few seconds. I have known to be the stone faced emotionless dolled up snob. I didn’t cry the day mom passed away; then how could I now? I had no time to howl about my loss. That would have been a waste of time and I was left with none. Today, I don’t want to give myself any to brood about the things those have made me how I am today.

A meeting at Dilli Haat four years before I got dodged into the wedlock in a Convention Centre in Lodhi Road. The album shot at the occasion was picture perfect. I looked beautiful. This is when I am not at all one by the most conservative definition of the term.

20th January, 2013

Soon, I forgot. I embraced my present day, time and people with all the strength I could gather up. I looked in my happening time. A photo-walk with the jamming coordinator framing the handicrafts, those which I once fancied to do up my house with didn’t remind me of much. A few phone calls kept reminding me of someone’s presence- in my life; but for the lack of a better expression. Another call after the walk was over made me run (quite literally) to Lodhi road, the place where my matrimony was ceremonized. More pictures were clicked and of me too. All the pictures have been uploaded already on different profiles. Mine, his, on the jamming group… Infact, on my FB profile, I have a few of those uploaded under different albums. Some flowers I shot was the color of my wedding dress, apparently, my favorite color too. That one album that I thought of to be picture perfect that I don’t have possession to, I don’t need that anymore.

More people, all strangers  joined in for the walk from India Habitat Centre to Jor Bagh Metro Station. The station was so crowded that I had run my way up to start breathing again. A small tumble on the stairs that didn’t end up in a fall couldn’t stop me from running to catch the bus. All this was happening at 10 in the night. The bus too was crowded. For crying out loud it was a weekend, it should not have been. Impulsively, we got down at the next stop and there we were… back to Dilli Haat again.

We walked till the closed iron grills to touch and mark our presence and walked back to Metro. We got into one, kissed our goodbyes and traveled our ways. I was to travel till where the rail ends. The girl sitting in front of me was weeping, red and loud. Why was she? I didn’t need any more mourning. But that’s all that I have done for long.

Happened has noway to change. I have left it at that.

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Misplaced Relationships (edit)

I have been wedded for a decade now. If only the said wedlock had held true even for a week. I haven’t been vocal about it. To gain what in turn? Some rude judgements? Negating opinions? More questions?

My father set up the trend that then became my destiny. Meet the girl who has only been distanced, estranged and abandoned by her relationships.

What I’m mourning upon is not my youth in the number of passing years, or the abuse of emotions; but once again, loss of a petty relationship.

I was getting a rude fill of starting my mornings being beaten up, kicked in the gut and spat over. Such is how I celebrated my first wedding anniversary, my following birthday… and then, every other day.

After a year and a half of taking violence, it happened again. The estranged daughter became an estranged spouse too. My crying in public view of Tis Hazari Courts corridor for over two hours only weakened my resilience. I withdrew the case the day the decree was to be awarded. It took half a decade since to muster up enough courage to readdress the issue.

Some people say I am lucky. Thank you. Really!

I had no time to listen to music, hang-out with friends or even blush. I would look in the eye of anyone seeking a romantic alliance and scream silently- don’t you dare mess with me. I have pushed myself off the edge to stand rooted to the ground both ethically and morally. I called it survival.

The child inside died and the girl lost. What remained was the porcelain faced doll.

Tonite, she speaks. Good evening.

PS: This is what I read at India Habitat Centre, New Delhi, India at Open Mic Caferati- 25th January, 2013. Edit of the previous post.

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Misplaced relationships

Today’s my wedding anniversary and I am definitely excited. Just how many long years I’ve waited for this day. I saw this date some six years back, well almost… but the day never arrived. Not then.

I have been married for a decade now, atleast that’s what this date implies. If only the wedlock had held true even for ten days. This isn’t any metaphor or wordplay. People I know may hold a grudge that I haven’t been vocal about it. What would I have said and to gain what in turn? Some judgements, negating opinions, more questions and still, no understanding of what I was/am going through. Even today as I am posting this here, there are some who do know some part of the story; yet, I have strong reasons to harbour doubts upon their understanding of the veracity.

Meet the girl who has only been distanced, estranged and abandoned by people. When I say people, I mean very close relationships; perhaps, the only relationships. My father to begin with, then my uncle who was a part of the broken family I grew up in, friends… I wouldn’t add husband to it. Once I earn the decree, he won’t be anymore.

What I’m crying for is not the wasted number of years or abuse of emotions; but again, a loss of a relationship, saving grace- it was never one to be referred to as. Even then; so what?

The first time the case was put up in 2006, I had withdrawn the case the very day the decree was to be awarded. I stood there crying in complete public view of Tis Hazari Courts for over two hours not knowing how to handle the dang situation. It took half a decade before I could muster up some courage and readdress the issue. I feel it’s completely out of point to share how much ill treatment I have been subjected to while in the “relationship” or to even to come out of it. Even after being married I didn’t have the man, never to myself. All I earned out of that relationship was abuses, violence, indifference and loads of shit. Once again, this isn’t any figure of speech. Hours of being beaten up, kicked in the gut and spat over has only made me resilient to physical violence. Four years of knowing a man were not enough to know about him or maybe I don’t know how to at all.

What do I have today?

Father, who I was a daughter to (if not of), for only twelve years before I was estranged by him.

Mother, who I lost to a helpless death; while alive, she fought against her medical condition to bring her daughter up for eighteen years.

A sibling who bled to death till I came aware of the accident and after which mother became a medical mess.

Uncle who threw me out after mother died.

Friends but one, all of others took the most convenient lost touch route.

Soon, my futile attempt of surviving by self began.

A few men tryied to declare themselves as one, and got away with violating my life.

Some people say I am lucky. Thank you.

I mean really. There isn’t a thing that I haven’t tried to push myself off the edge to keep myself stand firm on the practical grounds- yes please, do read in between. I maybe strong; and that also makes me un-apologetically ruthless. I had no time to listen to music, hang-out with friends or even blush. I would look in the eye of anyone seeking a romantic alliance and scream silently but loud enough to tear his insides- don’t you dare mess with me.

The child in me was lost and so was the girl. What remained is porcelain faced dolled up version of a pretty piece that can’t be read by anyone and everyone. Even when crying, I don’t give out the actual reason behind the act or the breakdown. That façade is always up. When pushed, I give out something that is more relevant to the one who is expressing concern; so in future sometime, that conversation might pay back.

When did I become so mechanical?

Why do I keep things to myself?

When will I get to live- if at all i.e.,?

Even through this post, I haven’t given the actual reason why I feel so low right now. If that one person is reading it, he will know.

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Prayers; I need those not

The day you are ready to do what I want or do if you already are, the day you understand what I need, the day you feel you wish to know what I do (need), the day you do all that with the same “stop me if you can” attitude, I’ll let you pray for me.

The day you would want to set things right for me, the day it would matter to you if they are not so right, the day you would want to make a difference, for me, you will ensure it happens; then, I wouldn’t need anymore prayers.

The day you set them in order, I wouldn’t need prayers. The day you would want to do it and for me, I wouldn’t need prayers. The day the things work out for me, I wouldn’t need prayers.

The day you do it for me, I wouldn’t need prayers. I would then need you.

Become the reason if you really care, if you can’t and/or don’t wish to be, then don’t pray either. I’ll work it out either which way like I always do.

~*~*~

The day you are ready;
do things if you are,
the day you know
or wish to
what I need,
I’ll let you pray for me.

~*~*~

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Say it with a flower

I won’t give flowers,
I’ll myself to you.
Will you care to hold me forever?

It was only after a week that I noticed another bud hidden beneath the mauve bloom. How had I not before? I had held the flower for hours making a drama of studying the broken twig before wearing it on my overcoat button-hole. Back home, I had made a huge display of displaying the solitary flower. Then few days later, I had spent hours trying not to and apparently framing the bloom.

All I had seen till then was a tiny bud trying to wisp open beside the circle of petals blooming with pride. What I had missed out upon was another bud, a bigger one fighting aside the lavender blossom trying to spring open its own round of petals.

I am in love with life,
obsessed with its cliffs,
I wish to seek Him through you.

DSCN5993.1.1

Is that what was happening for the past few days? Do I really take time to take notice? Or realize? No wait, I am judgemental enough to dismiss a bad-tempered shark for an over-grown tuna. But this was different. The arrangement is made to sit on the dining table. That’s where I’ve been sipping my cup of ginger tea in cold mornings of December last year and January this year. Every time I sat beside the glass vase, I made the flower to look at me; it seemed they were nudging me. All I had to do was to tilt my head the other side and I would have known- what about. It took me days to do so. I misinterpreted their indication. No wonder!

I failed to take notice of something. Existence of a life, another indication of joy; a bigger budding hope!

The arrangement of corolla, sepals n petals with stigma and stamen is a sign of conceptualizing to me. Having said that, you can very well judge the intensity of the thoughts it generated to have made me write about it. Technically, this is my first post of this year. I love the color, not just ‘like’ alone. The capture has in some way framed the rest of the colors I like too. Purely un-intentionally although!

On that note, I wish you all a very Happy New Year :) Happy 2013

I won’t write for you.
I’ll say my part when you do.
May you know,
I wish to live my life with you…

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Sleepless beauty

That I am fixing a drink at 3.30 in the morning, could mean one of the following:

I may be stressing…
Something must be bothering me beyond my ability to handle it…
I may be anxious…
Perhaps, depression is winning…
Maybe, I am excited…

Actually, all the above.

The easiest guess is that I may be awake… obviously I am. The toughest one is to guess the reason(s) behind my being so. This is after I walked for an hour’s time on heels. I had a pleasing company at dinner. I ate what I like; if not the most. I talked almost the whole day. What I mean is, I wasn’t left alone even for a single second to let the reasons bother me to think about them. Only, they have succeeded. Why else I am awake?

I am socializing with like-minded people; but, that isn’t helping beyond a certain point. I am still in the hiding. Rarely do I go online or blog. Nothing new has happened really. Not even the realizations. That had happened half a year back. I identified the problem and have known the solution to it too. Wait; there isn’t any other option available either, other than what actually is the only solution.

After having drawn all the conclusions; well, most of those- for I am still in the introspective mood, I am suddenly gripped with this fear. Someone in me who has no stage fright, has never suffered of performance anxiety and has always been known to act on impulse is suddenly trapped. Something invisible yet highly powerful like some goddamn cosmic force is entrapping me from within. My intuitions say nothing. Infact, the poor guy is trying to push me forward with his pitchfork. Right, he and the devil has swapped to save me from being in two minds and playing accordions on double octave; yet, I am as passive as though possessed.

I have read all the signs. The phase is in its dying phase trying to cling on to me to save itself. It is a huge tug by the shriveling phase to keep thriving on me. It has foreseen its death and now making desperate attempts to shrug me out of the mode I have gotten into. The fight is exhausting. I fear if I would be left with enough verve to act upon after I have scared the phase in turn. I can see from here that it would get into another round of pulling me back once I have stepped out of it. That too is scaring me.

I have done this twice before. First time, it was a huge success. Second time it was not as much; why else I am trying to do it the third time then? That is tiring me too. Thinking about what I had done the first time that I need to repeat this time so as to leave no room for any failures. I am also peeping into where I fizzled the second time. Not that that concerns me anymore but that is to only be careful this time around. To me, it is a very big change that I am bringing upon. The world may not notice immediately; but, apparently will in sometime. The risk calculation has been done. I also know that certain unforeseen circumstances will arise during implementation and execution. Then again, it’s me who says, do it and see what comes of it and brace it with your heart in the similar way you had embraced the affair.

This one isn’t about any affair though. That would have been simpler; relatively, or not!

Inactivity has blunted my vigor. All the words about stepping out of comfort zone fall in place here; only, this is not a comfort zone anymore. It never was… or else, I would have talked about it like I usually do. For once, I am not being as clear as I always have been so far; but what to talk of it either? It’s all dirt and dirty. Betrayal, deceit, lies are just a few contemptuous virtues some people practice. It’s the experience of these that cut you to unsewable chunks. I have gathered all the pieces together. Now, I am praying that the chunks stick together while I am in the motion of conducting the changes to hit me.

I don’t have a back-up plan. There are none actually. This will have to be. Like I already said, there are no other options available other than what is required of me to be done. That indeed is what is required of me.

To act! Strike like a lightning. Drop as rains. Bloom in rhythm. Blow as wind.

Do all of that.

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Time stops at The Lake House

What happens when a dainty doctor and a handsome architect falls in love so madly that time gets negated of its existence?

Dr. Kate (Sandra bullock) while moving out of the lake house dropped a note for the next tenant requesting him to forward her mails should any land up there anymore.

That was the cue.

Alex the architect was too amused when a dog had run over leaving paw prints exactly where Kate had mentioned they would be. There were none when Alex had arrived. Infact, he stood witness to the canine drawing his paw impressions as though Kate was forecasting.

That she was then.

For some weird reason, they started writing to each other. The reason was romantic pull- but of course! They wonder if they have the same dog to themselves. A few correspondences later, the answer was “yes.” Kate would go back to the mail box to take his letters out and put her replies back. Wonder, why hadn’t they mailed those instead?

The story moves on and he takes Kate around the town one day. A map was placed in the mailbox that was marked at several places. The whole day she and her dog strayed around the city looking at his favourite places. One of the walls was sprayed with a “Thank you Kate” note too! So far, so good.

A few strange things happen thereafter.

One day when Kate was standing next to the mail box, she noticed the latch of the same move. At the same time, Alex too, noticed the same. They hurriedly scribbled a few more notes, putting those back in the mailbox- only to watch the latch go up and down and new notes waiting for one another. Yet another day she makes a mention of how she missed the trees at the lake house when Alex uproots and drives one of the tree trunks to the place she “suggested” that she stayed in. Kate was running to shelter on a raining wet evening, when a full grown tree materializes out of nowhere. Kate had to be there to see that happening. One moment there was nothing. The next moment there was a tree. The same tree that Kate missed, which was a bare splinter bunch in Alex’s time that he planted outside a construction site was a full grown thickly stemmed green, outside a huge (constructed and occupied) building in Kate’s time.

They were two years apart!

While most of the motion pictures, even animation are based upon going back into time to fix it up, this one went ahead in time to make up for the life lost. What’s more, no one travels in time; but, let time move on at its own pace. At the “right” time, Kate realizes what she should do now so Alex lives, and so then, Alex lives. Such is the power of love. I won’t add the word “true” for that makes it sound really sleazy! This time, after meeting twice in the “past”, they really do meet, in real time zone- alive, in flesh n blood without having to twist the needles of a humongous or for that matter any other clock!

For one, it revolves around Valentine’s day. Watch it if you love to watch romance, more in the line of fantasy, instead of flowers and fornication…

Time indeed steps aside for the two of them to come together at last, (almost like all romantic movies), because, if stretched beyond (the last scene of) a passionate kiss, the ugliness of the reality creeps in. Only, this one makes time get caught up in its own web. How so?

Think mist, pastel, soft and loads of romance! Sigh!

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Action replay

Almost all my writes are soaked in my tears.

Not in an attempt to find the right word; which, by the way does happen while zeroing in on the title; but, remembering a date from past with similar shades threatening to tell.

Take for instance my creative writing classes.

It was while compiling the sheets for the portfolio submission that my eyes could no longer contain it. Almost two decades back, around after a month from today, I was bent on my cartridge sheet to complete my assignment. People coming in to mourn my mother’s death were beyond appalled. They couldn’t understand why a seventeen year old was busy “playing” with colors when it was barely a few days that her mother had passed away. Whether I was engrossed in my work ignoring their remarks because I wanted my submission to be as good as it always had been or if it was out of seeking refuge, I wouldn’t know. All I know that that was the last time I had sat down to study at home, if I may say so. My mother’s dream of seeing her daughter achieving something great in her life had gotten hanged mid-air. She didn’t live long enough to witness her daughter failing (and falling) since then.

Relationships, life, battles… didn’t matter whatever.

I was moved out of the house by my uncle soon. English Honors that I was pursuing got fizzled. People I knew then did not tell me where IGNOU was. People I met later didn’t care too. The eight year long period got lapsed and I could not study literature despite my having wanted to.

I wouldn’t give any excuse that I had a full time Textile Designing course to take care of or that arranging for 15k for the fee was my only priority. I had a loser guy staying right with me in name of “protecting” me. I was fending for him too.

Consequently, I had stopped writing and sketching. I was left bitter. I did come out of then current mess but my life is still to be sorted out.

Cut to 2012.

I lost someone very dear to me only a month back, not to death this time (thankfully); but brutally. Defining him as “the love of my life” or “the one I loved the most” will define his relationship with me in a very limited way; so, I choose not to give any description in words. How many more times will I be left estranged before it stops?

I am stuck in a very tricky situation; almost in bondage. The game is little reversed, I am not the provider anymore.

One of my classmates from the second school one day happened to tell me about a course. Its diploma equivalent is being run by IGNOU (why that again), the one I have opted for is a certificate course. Tomorrow is my portfolio submission. This time around, I have no one with me who could possibly die leaving me stoned. Managing the finances is still the trick question, and many more similarities besides the ones I just made a mention about, stare in me.

My wish list is a long parchment of broken dreams.

Is that my desire to study that got brutally neglected that has landed me into this course?

Is life trying to pay back in loose change for what I couldn’t really do and for what I wanted to… and writing is not the only thing!

This doesn’t end here…

Back in those days even wired phone connection was rare. One applied and then waited till he was allotted a phone number. No one bothered. Staying in touch was through snail mail, we called it letters back then. LIS wasn’t a school I liked much. I was unable to make any friends; let alone exchanging notes with them. Most of them were busy painting me dirty. I didn’t care much even then. A girl whose father had abandoned her when she was 12 had had to be as strong as a punching back.

It’s different now.

We have google groups to interact on, besides FB. Then, texting each other on cell; we updating each other of our progress on the portfolio; I feel I am in a group, one I had missed since my GFPS days. The one who intrigued me into it, as well as my best friend is from LIS. Again, is life throwing at me what it had claimed so many years ago?

What is the Universe conspiring upon this time?

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Numbed feelings emote

I am someone who will laugh even in the face of death.

That’s how I am known amongst the most. Then, there are those who realize this in time and a few, who often scratch a wounded mark on my existence; do so, after it’s a little late for any realization or amendments thereafter. But nevermind that. I have and always will chirp around like a merry bird oblivious to any trap. I will fly higher than any eye could track and then soar back to the ground to watch the ants moving in a queue quite unaware of any foot heavy and big enough to wipe away a part of that line for the next few minutes.

The raven calls and my day begins. Inhaling deep the strangeness of yet another similar day, I chart out… to live. The mundane clock sways its wings around to mark the same and yet, a different time again. I gasp and look around for a muse. Perhaps, an inspiration might strike my head while its drifting far away from any possible conceivable mind. It would then grow in me clasping its hold on me to root a new idea. For now, the thoughts are sailing cloud without a drop to fall.

It’s not draught yet.

A catchy tone plays itself like the morning breeze over the sea, calm and serene; yet, any moment causing the waves to break the banks. If banks are constantly washed away and sky is but an expanding no-limit stretch; then why do we stop short behind a posing, often invisible line of restriction or more?

If wind blows, water flows, rain falls and light spreads, then where is the concluding point?

Maybe I’m not ornamental; I am a weed who will form roots every time it is uprooted and flourish like a forest shrub. I’m not meant to show sit in a living room next to the brass Buddha; instead, I’ll grow my shoots over the touching branches of different trees to make those a seemingly jointed part of me.

Count the stones those you throw at me; yet, they will fall through me… but when and if you come back to pick those up; maybe, because you need those back for a repeat performance, you will find all of those shining bright and stacked neatly. I do not promise if you will be able to walk carrying the weight of those back. The tears those polished those to squint your vision would cast the shadow of their ghosts. The cries of those stones when met with the salty reservoir had rooted words in me, dissecting the memories, so not even the spent carcasses remains. Mind you, there are many more rocks around. The chances are that you might trip, or maybe, find more people like yourself fallen around. But if you manage to run away empty handed, you will see the foliage growing tendrils to hold more adjoining trees. Dew drops shining brightly on its veins of leaves, the birds around would be hopping from branch to branch in sheer delight.

Don’t ever come back again for I wouldn’t know if the rooted words compose a rock or too and if those would throw at the peeping passerby.

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In attempt to charm the eternal charmer!

Only, I am not amused.

The lyrics that I am filling in with really rude remarks of my own out of devout frustration are the ones those I had once sung when in school. Half a dozen songs were given to our music teacher Ms. Sudha Kaul at a notice of 2 hours to prepare, complete with dance performance. It had taken only half hour for me to pick those and number of rehearsals was run within that short span. Singing still remains one of my still to be explored passions. Sigh!

Well, that was ages back… for now, I’m cursed to listen to tortured souls trying to demonstrate their mastery over their vocal chords; or the lack of it actually. Occasionally, leaving the divine avatar, they even astray towards other gods. Remember, we have 32crores of those gods and goddesses to choose from. If I were one of them, I would have fallen onto my devotees’ feet to beg them to silence. Just which of the holy scribbles order jacking up a loudspeaker whenever the unrestful souls get to scream like banshees? Honestly, how can someone really listen to off-scale, off-beat gagging noise in name of worshipping?

It’s a shame that I couldn’t appreciate “happy birthday to you…” being sung for the one who once charmed all the “gopis” by his mastery over the flute; guess what, maybe these are the bystanders of that divine raas-lila now ripping their arteries since they couldn’t take part then. Even youtube failed to give me any result; google did, for “hum to kahenge happy birthday…” Really now, what’s happening to the culture that the people abroad so envy about? In name of offering tribute, the melodious music is only being violated and very sickly at that. Their “incomplete” karma is now impelling them to shriek n cry, making the loudspeaker to coo every few seconds.

My dear Lord (whoever is listening will do), please use your Majikal Charm so these over exasperated, gasping for breath women could maybe silenced, even if not forever right now. Their attempt at screwing the devotional songs (being gabbled upon Hindi cinema song tunes) is only making me whimper as though as if under Crusius Charm! instead of expressing their devotion, they sound like that evil psycho who cracks sadistically while pacing towards the victim.

It seems they are on the roll. What’s the definition of peace again?

Ridikkulus

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The fl(oo)ewing beetle

5th August, 2012- 11.00pm

I was clutching dearly my laptop, when the electricity died after going dim for a few couple of minutes, leaving me wondering, if that was due to another one of those grid failures, since that’s how it had happened the first time on 31st July, 2012. A grid had gone faulty which had resulted in a day of no power in most of the northern states of India. That night, past midnight, at 2.30am, I was about to switch off the light I was reading in, the a/c unit was already turned off, for the weather outside was cloudy since a couple and it was chilling inside even when the poor unit is no better than an old room cooler when the celcius goes over 30 outside; when it had dimmed as though life being sucked out by a dementor’s kiss…; in this case, electricity out of the connecting wires! It was comfortable in my bedroom; thanks to the weather, the whole night and next half day in continuation. Barely a few days had passed when two of those grid disrupts had resulted in making almost half the country powerless.

I was sitting reading the “e” version of Harry Potter (wait, till I share my personal musings while reading this one), when the electricity had started to pass out yet again. I was reading through the pages (errr… screens I mean) of the fourth part- Goblet of Fire, where the Weasleys arrive at Potter’s uncle’s place through their established network for just that one time of Floo powder, when eckletricity in our muggle town had gone out. No sooner that had happened, when a black beetle had started dancing erratic inside my room. Bless the li’l one, it was only that and of a size that I could cup a while later from then, that you are now reading this passage.

Reading through with a silent prayer for the muggles’ eckletricity network to be up, I was constantly buzzed by the beetle. I had gotten up and switched off all the switches so it won’t damage any cables, I was finding it a bit annoying to be listening to the beetle’s knocks at the walls and then also a few times being attacked by the beetle’s nonchalance to somersault over my head… As though it was destined to be, it then crashed on the laptop screen. No seconds were wasted in cupping the intruder spotting it with the help of the cellphone screen light. It kept tickling the insides of my palm with all of its legs and constant buzz in desperate attempts to start a flight. I then got up yet another one time to dispose of the pest in the other room where it would sleep in peace for it wasn’t in use after evenings.

What do I see? It was only a fault in the local cable and the electricity had been re-instated already long back. Well now, I would have never ever found out about that if I had not stepped out of my room for I was so engrossed in reading, I was losing out on getting up and checking if the electricity was back. I indeed thanked that creator who had poured the thoughts of catching the beetle and then, stepping out of my room with it.

Many of the readers would call it a co-incidence promptly; but this isn’t the first time where I feel I have been prompted or signaled. I believe there are signs everywhere, only we don’t use our intellect to read it. Often we put our wits to sleep before it deciphers the happening of such instances. While most of us enjoyed watching the HP series, some even reading through it; I bet my muggle life, not many have given a thought over the thought, that the words written down by Rowling are indeed a possibility. How and which way are the things that would come separately in a different post or else this one will lose its essence.

For now, I feel indebted to that beetle for showing me light and very literally at that. I would remain grateful to it for making me move my apple cheeks instead of squatting over them for the battery was already out and my laptop would have gone to sleep disrupting my read, mood and possibly my knowing of the reality for I was quite sucked in knowing how Mr. Weasley could even control not giving his wand a few wounds so to set the Durshleys right… but then that would so have been only half the fun.

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Everything’s due to a change now…

My analysis is yet to reach a conclusion!

A fleeting thought; yet, expressed and with a load of conviction, conveyed (in time) to the one it concerns. A few highly insignificant things took to occurrence for me to reach the same. My cell completely was dead on me, even while during the warranty period. His headphone was finally exchanged for a better (n working) pair. I hope the new one is working well now.

24th July, 2011. The day…

Both of the things were bought the same day. Only that the skullcandy was a gift from me to him. It wasn’t a big deal that he got it exchanged while with someone else. How sentimentalist could I be now? Of course I am not. Or maybe I am… consoling myself with the thought that I was around the day an exchange offer was offered o him and that I almost proposed to him that he did that that way. Whatever, it really doesn’t concern me anymore.

Then why the heck am I yapping it about here?

Well, for once because the unwrapping is still on. Or maybe, because, I’m only pretending that it doesn’t bother my state of being. The truth may be a far cry from what I am showing off on the surface. My laptop, my 2nd soul too underwent changes! Complete formatting was done not even 24 hours back. Let’s not even talk about the amount and intensity of the data I lost… the system had crashed exactly 12 hours before he had to board his flight; exactly how I had conveyed to him a week back that all that we did together will now undergo a change almost as to undo.

My mind isn’t grounded at the very least.

I am on the constant look out for any major changes. So close are the things those are happening to me that I am practically unable to not brood or retrospect. It was nothing short of a miracle that Kavita helped me re-instate things on my system. The things had refused to turn around anymore when I banged my head on the screen on my own. Well, that is till she took over, teleporting herself through Teamviewer.

All of this is obviously on top of the no more calls, regular random texts and long whole night conversations. Well… whatever! SIGH…

For now, I’m only wondering… what more is to come.

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Re-reading through time

This is one of those miracles of my own world.

Often I am blessed to achieve what I yearn for… maybe in a little twisted way that amounts to a surprise story, a memory to keep always. This isn’t the 1st time I’m saying so! While my ears are plugged to Jar of hearts… a recent discovery after I remember, I’m all set to type my yet another extension to one of my ever growing experience.

Reveries or epiphanies… retrospection doesn’t describe it anymore.

The times I am running through nowadays, bear typical resemblance to what had happened, when my mom had left me- leaving me completely alone. I wonder how devilish I am, to be surviving in solitudinal company for close to two decades now. Although that’s not what it is about today, there is absolutely no denial to its validation- the very fact why I’m beating the keys with white English alphabets sticking over it right now. None of what my words are going to say it for me would have held any precedence if it was any other way around.

I am reading the Autobiography of a Yogi yet again.

First time ever I caught a glimpse of the book was when I was all of 6 or maybe 7 years of age. The neighbors at the ground floor flat had given that to mom. I was issued a curfew around that one- never to touch that book ever. She had developed a paranoia that I might flee after reading the book in quest of God, unseen force or the true light- whatever one may choose to call it in his/her words. She would tell me the story chapter wise every night as a bribe in turn. A glaring warning used to be issued in stern voice before she would reproduce the exact content in more profound way so as to keep me less startled. I would keep my face expressionless not giving out any clue as to what those words were doing to me. Talking of keeping the façade up!

That one time was all.

Only once did she let me flip the pages so I browse through the printed pictures. I must have been in 2nd or 3rd standard. Never ever did she let me touch the book again. Soon the neighbors had moved out to some distant block. It was after about half a decade since that book incident that we had gone to visit them. I had sat motionless throughout. That was utterly peculiar. Given the fact how gregarious and witty I (still) am; that was stupefied of me to be keeping so quiet. I was busy staring at a photoframe with five pictures on it. The images seemed to be smiling at me while I was complaining loads mentally. A few hours later when we were ready to depart, failing to contain anymore, I had nudged my mom’s arm. How could mom not notice the pics of the “higher ones” that she had so gladly narrated about? The irritation in my voice was quite blatant. Not only were all of them amused; but also it was then mom’s turn to go stupefied.

How the five minutes of what I was given to go through had got imprinted in my mind.

Mom was strangely surprised at my strength of memory. I had “prophesied” then that no matter how much she stops me short in her recourse to “prevent” the possibility; apparently, it would happen how it ought to be. If my desire to read the book was strong and honest enough, and not only to compete with her alone; I would get to read the book someday. Almost as to honor her intentions, I never saw the book again.

Till she was alive!

Standard 12th, chart submission day. Pratibha Jain’s chart was rolled in a newspaper that was perhaps calling to me. Grabbing hold of that corner image, I had almost begged to her if she would give that newspaper to me. She had agreed upon readily. Babaji’s image was brought home, showed to mom and queried upon if that was that. Mom had sort of broken down. How a simple thing had made me resolve in a more pronounced manner. The following year had taken her way from me. Quite literally, all hell had broken loose. A very tough time period had doused me soon in a clandestine motion.

The image is still in my possession.

I kept losing things, people and a lot of intangible (silly to most people) things- namely emotions, but that image is still retained with me. The book made its first appearance (and not re-appearance really) then, as my birthday gift a couple of years later from then. I was moving around with a colleague when I had seen something at the corner book-stall in CP. Even before I could take my eyes off, it was paid for and presented to me as my birthday gift. After Jane Eyre, this is my 2nd novel I have read and still a favorite. I tend to stick to old things- sigh! The 1st time ever I had read that, it felt as though mom was reading out the pages to me. Although I was reading it in English, mom had read that in Hindi and narrated to me in Bangla, it had felt no different. As soon as I had finished reading, someone had borrowed that and never returned to me. I am still in touch with her incidentally. The second time, I bought a copy from Saket PVR complex road-side book stall. The pattern got repeated… but once again, not before flattening the dents. This time around, I had bought that as a gift for someone. For half a year that it graced at his bookshelf, he hadn’t even taken the cover off and I had asked him to let me borrow that from him to read. Well, I have started to, a couple of days back; after he has gotten geographically distanced. I am not sure at this point in time, if there is more to it.

In the stillness of night, with the street light buzz as the only sound and an occasional rattle of passing by train to break my train of thoughts; I observe that the book never remains with me. I have read and do own all the other books written by the same author but this one. Maybe, this time around… I’ll pray hard enough. Perhaps, my mom needs to chill down a bit. I won’t flee after all. Pheeww!!!

I feel slightly enthusiased; although yet to figure out a reason valid enough. My dream pattern has changed. It would be humorous if I say I feel I’m healing because I can’t substantiate (even to self) any noticeable change yet. For starters, I wanted to write about the whole episode someday- I just did, I believe today. The rest of it would come in bits and with some time breaks.

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Transitory

I love taking trips… and that is an understatement. To me, the thrill of starting a travel is far greater than the reaching to a new destination. In other words, I don’t look forward to reaching and making the most of wherever I do; instead, I keep excited about what all I can, while I am still on my way. The ever-changing landscapes, the rising and the setting of the celestial bodies and the changing altitudes bringing about change in the weather alongwith it; the very idea of absorbing all of this and more with my eyes, in my mind, making those a part of my memories; make me go eager as a toddler being taken out for a walk. Click!

I am concluding that that maybe the strongest reason of my always having to sail through transitions, adjusting through the newer possibilities, assessing the present stock of resources and almost always keeping uncertain of the futuristic developments. Anytime I have tried calling it a journey, the unconscious force have shoved a hard one up my behind, breaking the period into an unimaginable break down period.

I have an uncanny feeling that I am about to enter into a complete unknown terrain from here on… a travel that would be marked both across time and space.

A few things are repeating their occurrences- or so it seems to me. I am not at all prepared except for mentally. The hassle remains how it was back then. The last of my semblance with that of my mom’s life has also made an exit. He played the part of ‘me’ in my mom’s life- or else, the line of difference has already started stretching itself then. The very few last parts are about to get dissolved. Time alone knows exactly which of the days approaching would bring about that change! All I know is that the last phase has already ended. A little overlapping and blurring also has happened. A complete changeover or a clean cut mark is just to be slated on my life.

I can breathe and tell- its right here.

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Feelinglessness

I am going numb again.

For crying out loud, it’s a chewing gum and I am not chewing it. Instead of feeling a little depressed like I did earlier every time it progressed any further; today, I feel light headed- as though unburdened… relieved from a “what I don’t know”. A sense of light headedness has crept in. I am barely able to stop grinning. It wasn’t my assignment or did I take it as one? Almost a yearlong of investing into someone else’s interest, running along with at odd hours, at the intimation at the 11th hour to handling disappointments whenever an impediment cropped up (all of which have been weeded out eventually) to handling a broken person with jiggered dream since it was too close a chase; I feel, a sense of accomplishment creeping in… although I am in doubts how fair it would be to carve out of someone else’s personal and rightful achievement!

The thoughts pushed it through.

How true my want must have been that it is happening finally; what with the country regulations changing towards his advantage of course. I was surprised no end back then too, when it had not materialized at the very first time. Was it my thought that had held him back? Did at any point of time I had “loved” him enough to hold him back? I had hated myself for a good month’s time, staying away from him lest it was actually me. Maybe since I couldn’t do it myself, my sub- conscious thoughts were affecting him… Having coming aware of his career plans, I had taken all of that upon me personally. Reasons… I know how bad it hurts when you fail and fall down, you never go up then; let alone someone pulling you up. It’s just that I know the taste of a setback. I didn’t do anything great, only stepped when I saw the patterns getting repeated, the ones those marred my innocence, ambitions and my life- if I may?

The million dollar is what so great happened. Again, he is…?

Most of you know him already. For the rest of you and even then, he is someone who made me live my life one more time, making me reliving all of what I had missed out upon. That wasn’t a statement alone or a metaphor but a huge fact of my life. Last 33 years of my life were undone in every which way possible in barely a few weeks alone. I hadn’t asked him to or even shared any of it by then. He outlived every bitter relationship because that’s all I have lived till now. The only sweet relationship I can think of was with my mom who is nomore and perhaps my best friend Ruby who is miles apart- geographically distanced. For once, he brought upon me my childhood, my teens, my best friend, my mom and every other relation that failed in my face, all to me at one time. There were as though big stones thrown in a strong current for me to step upon and yet enjoy the current; he being that refreshing tide washing me to being a person I had wanted to be… and was.

It’s been a long travel since.

I won’t be able to point out on any of it anymore; only he would know what I mean. I made sure that he leaves and as soon as possible. I hold some very mean motives. I just want him to go and go away. Go out there and live a life that he wishes to. I sincerely wish how he undone my past over 3 decades, all his decades to come brings to him all that he has been collaging about in his mind. I am not depressed at having received the confirmation of his leaving the country finally; instead, I have only been grinning since. So it wasn’t my selfish emotions for him those got to play. He has earned his deserving. His aspirations are big and this day plants a milestone in his a very successful life to come.

I wish him all the very best in his a very wonderful life to come!

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Back to sketching life!

31st may, 2012…5pm

Sitting on the table… er rather a chair, placing my diary on the “table” (now), I’m scribbling fast lest I forget the words I wish to pen down to be typed down in a little while from now. The almost cold coffee is sadly waiting to be picked up and sipped. Incidentally, I have a story about this particular mug too; some other day. For now, I’m back in the sketching mode after 2 complete months. Can you imagine- gosh!

It was the same time last year or maybe a little earlier that I had pulled the same table in my bedroom and the desktop along with that is no more with me, to keep up with my blogging uninterruptedly. Within a few weeks, I was out of the home. That was my first real steps out of this house to face the world after 3 years. Let’s see what is to come this time.

My eyes are squinted, trying to adjust to the new set-up n lighting. Anyone who is into sketching would know how important lighting is! Your eyes get adjusted to the type of fall of light! Although the bulb is same, so is the table and the sketch- book and the pencils and me too (yeah, let’s not forget that!!!), it’s going to take a few good days before I get adjusted to the lighting and feel at “home”

I’m playing music from my cellphone. It’s connected to the speakers; upped to the highest volume. Yeah, I am an avid music lover and listening to it loud, gives me a lovely high. I wanted to pursue career in singing- alas! But so I wanted to even in fine- arts. That I am a Textile Designer is a different twist to my tale. Some things just don’t happen. Let me not venture into that direction for this post- I am really happy. A small sense of accomplishment has gripped me. The best of me comes out when I am at a phenomenal low- but so I am. I care not for the world as long as I have my music drumming my ears (and literally hurting) and I have some black lines to draw to express my mind, I am all set. The best part of sketching is you can’t tap listening to music. Your pencil strokes starts moving to the music! Another yet very well established fact is your state of mind reflects upon your sketching style. I don’t mean by the theme- but the way you choose to treat the image or sketch. Types of lines, or the count or the curve of it; boy, am I thrilled already?

I just can’t wait to lift the pencils again and make them stoke the sheet like how a lover would her woman!

P.S. A sketch was completed before typing this out on my laptop :)

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The Red Balloon

Here I am, all soggy and feeling beyond being nostalgic. A movie that mom had made me watch back in my adolescent years; suddenly, came back to my mind a few days back. Knocking at the doors of my memory, the image of a red balloon floating across the street with a young boy chasing it, started flashing like some cinemascope reel being run in fast forward mode. Views of my then current living room, the television I watched it on and where I was seated to watch that, stood in the backdrop in electric colors.

I was unwell the day had wanted me to watch that movie. Maybe because she envied the culture she couldn’t be a part of; given the fact that my grandfather had migrated to India with East India Company coming to Calcutta shores. Like always, she had already narrated the story to me sometime back. I was asleep, when she had woken me up one late night and made me watch the movie.

I tried taking about it to my sweetheart, but he wouldn’t know. It wasn’t in his age time; but I took a chance since the movie had a foreign backdrop. It created quite a news in ’80s in India and was appraised for its critical fame. Watching the Grammy n Oscar award nights was more like a celebration at my place- till it was any close to be called as a home.

After not listening to any songs in the last 3 days, I finally plugged the pink Sony buds and played the recently taken penchant for “I remember” and went on to a blog I usually love to troll on. An image of a woman holding a pink balloon in her hand flashed up on my laptop screen. So where was the stopping now. Using whatever little I remembered of the movie, I googled the darn thing off in less than half a minute.

With that, I must say here, I always am able to gather whatever I need for myself. Time, distance and other such parameters to evaluate the level of difficulty and difference never seem to affect me- atleast till so far. Here I am, celebrating my wee bit of victory I achieved upon having finding the trace and the whole of it!!

About the movie:

The Red Balloon (French: Le Ballon rouge) is a 1956 fantasy featurette directed by French filmmaker Albert Lamorisse.

The thirty-four minute short, which follows the adventures of a young boy who one day finds a sentient, mute, red balloon, was filmed in the Ménilmontant neighborhood of Paris, France.

It won numerous awards, including an Oscar for Lamorisse for writing the best original screenplay in 1956 and the Palme d’Or for short films at the1956 Cannes Film Festival. The film also became popular with children and educators.

Lamorisse used his children as actors in the film. His son, Pascal Lamorisse, plays Pascal in the main role, and his daughter Sabine portrays a little girl.

P.S. I am not keeping well. I am going through severe emotional crisis.

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Ice- Block

You may regard it as yet another silly thought passing through my mundane mind. I tried not to think of it at all, after originally wanting to post it here. I am doing that after all!

Evening 6.30pm, I was seeing my domestic off when the conversation steered to: who knows how soon I may disappear from here…! The lady had humbly wanted to know if with “him”; I had cut her short and almost screamed: why with him, Aloooonnn…e

I had hurt my finger on the door lock. A voice spoke in my mind: get some ice on that hurt now. Locking the door, bidding her bye, almost like a zombie, I had walked animatedly to the fridge and taken an ice-cube out to soothe it on the hurt finger. It was during one of his mood depressions that he had tried snatching the folder away from my hand and my thumb nail had broken two days back. It was severely picked from the root. To save the hurt, I had not snapped it off. By the evening same day, I was fuming and raged up (reasons, not worth making a mention here) and apparently snapped that nail in a fit of rage. Half of my nail was gone, from the bed. He had insisted that he get some ice and I had refused to hear him… instead had ignored him for long.

Today, I hurt my finger one more time- exactly on the wound.

Holding the ice-cube on the thumb, watching the blood mixed water dripping by, I thought over: was I hurt because I wanted to sail solo or is it because I had refused to apply ice at the first attempt of the request? I wouldn’t know. The next few minutes were a close match between my tears and blood. After the chunk had melted washing away the last of the blood and dried up clotted skin away; I rolled my index finger in the wound. The pain was gone. I am typing with the same finger.

However far I had wanted to run away (in words atleast then), it was his uttered words that had commanded me to make my next set of moves.

I say: Destiny beholds to meet me again!

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Karma… my savior for today!

This instance dates back to when I was in 7th standard.

The boys’ gang and I were bunking the Library period. We loved to irritate the teacher. Through the whole half hour of that Friday after the recess period, she would send students to get us to the Library. We would go till the half way and go back saying we changed our minds. Even if someone did go back after all; he would excuse himself out seeking a permission to drink water or to attend a nature’s call wearing a sheepish smile on his face. How we saw of it was as if she too was a party to the whole unruly innocence with great pride. Needless to say, I shared an immense chemistry with the guys of my class. I loved to be the part of the pranks as many times as they were pulled. I still would love to- a company is all I need… well! That’s this post is all about.

That was yet another one of those periods when we had shut the door bunking the half hour. All the guys were jumping up over the back desks mocking a cricket match, while one of my the friends had chosen to sit on the front bench just next to the door. I had walked upto him, placing my palm on his hand, I had asked him about his being so utterly quiet. Even before he could finished saying that he wasn’t really in a state of mind to… bang opened the door and one Mrs. Tara Robertson had walked in. No, we weren’t scolded for bunking. Instead the boys were taken away separately and I was slapped and even not let to offer any explanation. I was holding a guy’s hand, the room was shut and there were other boys also in there too…!  For crying out loud, it was a co- education school and I am referring to the times, when “adult” is as far as we could go till, while talking about the sexual stuff.. Sex, porn, advances… the words hadn’t discovered by the Indian culture till then. Computers had only started to happen, there was no internet.

What happened thereafter is a real sob story.

The guys had sworn vengeance on me because they were beaten up and weren’t let to offer up any explanation either. They had assumed I had said something that had brought upon them that beating up and what not. Of course, we weren’t doing any gang- bang job there. The word, meaning and even the act was a subject untouched by all of us. So what could I or they have said when she demanded to know what we were upto with a bunch of guys with a single girl in there. The door was obviously not bolted… neither were our pants down. Wonder if she checked the bulge in their pants too!

A lot of dirty things had sprung up soon as a repercussion.

No one talked to me anymore, friends had stepped back, that teacher called me “names” openly. Oh, did I tell you she was the teacher who had taught me when I was in Kindergarten, I used to be her favorite student. After so much of alienation and being humiliated, I had chosen to leave that school.

The doom had spelled its chant on me.

I could never adjust to the all girls’ school that I was admitted to. I had no real friends, excepting Ruby. 6 months of knowing her and she too had changed her school then. The education system, the psyche of the teachers and the whole semi government students full of school… I was an alien there. From a desert to a hot furnace was I dropped into? My whole life was torn into pieces, chain reaction; we all know about it. Don’t we now?

What I had done years back to him; he just managed to return all of that without having asked for it and manifolds.

My knees have fallen me a few times over. I have thrown up yet few more times. I had sat weeping at Costa Coffee in Malviya Nagar pasting a fake smile as if I felt overwhelmed after I couldn’t hold my tears back. I couldn’t as much as lift the tissues to cover my face. I had broken down crying incessantly… what had happened to create this mess of me is completely redundant to be made a mention about in here. That is precisely what had pissed me off in the first place.

I mean who is he to me now that I make any complaints to or about even?? He is not even worth being discussed about in this post or even otherwise. Infact, he is no more of anybody that I should be taking any shit from more than what I have already. Sadly enough, instincts never change!

Fast forward it to today.

It would be worth telling that I am the same girl who didn’t cry when she lost her mom. She was more occupied with the anxious thoughts of what was to hit then. Her father had abandoned the family much before and her uncle was only yet another “F-B”. She was more involved in getting the cash and a little of gold that was all over the house. She had no time to sit by the corpse to cry some tears out. Heartless, indifferent, pragmatic to the point of being rude and selfish. Not even a year and she was thrown out of the house. It was that money, gold and a huge dose of cruel wisdom that had earned to me the degree of a Textile Designer!

I needed somebody; in flesh and bones. Is it tough to guess that it was him? He had come flying, making me giggle at his jokes in the first five minutes alone. He didn’t bother with any queries or showing being concerned and all of that useless expression; instead, he had only sat there with me… I am thinking, did all of that happen so as to create a “return” for today? I have no logical explanation for this particular one.

Excepting for naming it upon Karmas.

I am indebted for life to him.

P.S. The image featured was a snap shot at HCL- Nehru Place.

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What about NOW…?

It was in winters last year, December of 2011; when I had popped up the question one more time. I choose to leave it on to the readers’ imagination to take a guess about it. There weren’t any words given towards its reply. A track was played to me and I was to understand his mind through the lyrics. I liked the number alright but couldn’t relate a word of it to any understandable conclusion. Hesitation had put a noose to any expression of my state of mind… confused it was.

Last few days the song had been coming back to me as if wanting to be listened to. While walking in the thunder-storm last evening, I had played that one finally. Needless to say, the essence of the words was as clear as the sky after a heavy downpour; only, this time I want him to listen to it and make efforts to understand the number and my mind too!

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If wishes had wings!

One needs to be very careful while making wishes and so I have learnt- both hard and sweet way. The very reasons underline both the adjectives more boldly than the Arial Black font of the Word Processor. This evening, feeling quite cheesed off with the cabbie, I had blurted out that may I get late again concluding my chores so he gets to reach home even later. He was whining to the fact that I do late nights often. I mean really… so? Well, then an “unscheduled” coffee date had filled up my watch and then on my way back, the connecting road was blocked which would have saved some good amount of time. It was under repair work. Here I am, writing my heart out about it.

Am I ranting again? You bet.

While buying that digicam, little did I know that I would get to click so much in such a short while. I had bought that with a specific intent. I had only a month to click before things were to change. Change, it did. I got almost half a year extended to me; not to mention the places, people and reasons… and practically everything else that falls in between and beyond. Everything seems so connected. But that’s not what I was thinking about here! It is about where I started from. A rushed up trial to build some memories. I had only a few weeks to me and a lot of rigidity- almost negation to fight with, in order to see my wishes getting fulfilled. For once, my wish list really got empty.

Soon my life too would be. Yet again!

The best of the times spent was all re and outdone… very beautifully. However, things are due to change yet another time you see. This time, there won’t be any more deviations. It feels out of place to mention that a certain relationship is due conclusion- it was long overdue anyway. Yet another one; I want him to become a dead history, buried so deep that he never appears even in shadows.

It is the present that I am going to lose.

While a few people I desire to be out of life; I am going to fight my biggest setback just one more time. I am going to lose someone to geographical distance, just like always. I wonder why the natural relationships were over even before I could savor them and the rest; I lose to physical proximity or displacement in this case.

Will I survive this one?

The emotions throbbing in me, threaten to kill me anytime I try to kill those. I have no justifications to offer up. I have tried every possible way to reason out for – how most of them refer to it as “an unusual affair”; like I said, it’s only growing in me, so the reasons really seem to be some lost causes (synonym: excuses) given out in desperate attempt to justify questions popped out of minds (or mouths) of a constricted value. Yes, I am very much into it, just saying the word won’t do any value add; like my not saying won’t take any away. Some very raw emotions have stirred up in me since a year now. It’s both made me and soon going to break me too.

I am waiting for the tides to engulf me.

I’ll try to stay firm while the receding waves wash the sands away from my feet. I would have to either walk back to the dried up, more secure and less wet sand or give in.

I wish to be taken in.

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The Beauty of the Beasts… contd.

Wish Made-It’s about time

I might want to say that often, I call upon my destiny by asking for it over and over again. In single breath, I go on chanting night and day, as if meditatively for the “day” to come. It wasn’t any different even this time around. Like mentioned in the previous post; where I stay, the airport is nearby. For four good months that I traveled alongside the runway on my way to work last year, I watched those roaring beauties flickering its lights, winking at me.

While picking and dropping one of my friends last year from and to the airport; arrogantly, I had declared later that I would be flying very soon. Please don’t forget I am megalophobic or so I thought I was. Only a couple of months back, I had dropped yet another one of my friends to the International Airport. Boy, was I excited?

A week’s time later then, I received my passport.

There, I had almost lost over my sleep. Like a constant hum, I had been only thinking of flying. I wanted to walk to the plane in a lazy stroll. Even a toy model used to scare me till sometime back. Years of dreaming of watching a plane from a close angle had to be realized. The only thing that stood between me and my Destiny (to come now) was boarding a plane. I had tried to a couple of years back and failed. I took the trip alright but due to certain reasons, the flight had never happened. Ever since, I had been hoping for but only to fly! How single minded could I get?

The biggest deal was that I didn’t want to do it alone.

I didn’t want to do it with someone random either. Ever since I was dragged up the escalator by him, I knew, it was to be with him. Then again, too big a wish it was and conditions attached to my wishing was endless. I had wished for a few more things thrown in making it a fat goodie basket! Yet, that’s all I was thinking of beside a few more things, on the similar lines. I believe when you want something really bad, the whole of the Universe works towards achieving the same for you. You just need to stay determined and really wanting it. Cause, company and conditions; all gets worked about at the end of it- while you watch and gasp in bewilderment. I had tightened my seat belts to grab it as soon as it was to hit me.

Hit, it did.

A wish was fulfilled. Infact, quite a few of those- all clubbed together as I had desired for since some time :)

Now, I am working on my new wish- list <(^_^)>

P.S. The details will wait in a different post.

~*~*~

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Dumbstruck!

6th May, 2012- 6.30pm

I am walking the way down to my house. Serenity is playing around as much as loneliness on my state of being. For most of you, “feeling lonely” is a phrase, for me it’s a call that croons on me almost any time of the day; depending upon my frame of mind.

Something is playing up on my mind…

It’s a weekend and people are moving around with an animated smile. What is the occasion again? What are they celebrating? A married life with kids, a vehicle to move around in, a home in countryside place distant from all civil amenities and a maddening job that pays to cover the guilt of being what you have become now; is that it? Where is that warmth gone, the real excitement of meeting someone? Who wants to anymore but? Thanks to FB or Skype that I too activated only last night.

Distance is the only closeness left in relationships…

Entering my locality I heave a sigh… not of relief. Familiarity is lost since the past few days now ever since… Something life- changing has happened to me. All concrete outcomes are still left for me to hit into, I already feel the difference! The greens of the tree leaves remind me of the place I just been to. The crimson magenta plumerias, the hibiscus, the reds of gulmohars, I feel them waving at me. I wave back at them. I take out my camera to click some to hold the time, to freeze some memories, to tell them I acknowledge to their love for me.

I seem to be evolving spiritually once again…

An elderly gentleman come close to me asking what magazine was I shooting the pics for. I only smiled, almost like a fool that I so anyway am. Amused at being asked with an inviting smile and glowing eyes behind those black wide framed glasses, I fumble that it was only my hobby. “It is your hobby alone?”, with a scientist’s precision to formulate a balanced equation, he chided in argument, “but you see, this has to go for print somewhere- magazine…” baffled at his commotion for a girl in a top n tights and short dark brown messed-up hair with dry skin flakes all over her face, I meekly made a mention of my blog. His interest in knowing the outcome of my snapping the shutter film intrigued me no end. How welcoming was his company. He took it for granted that those pics were being captured for an audience and a wide one at that. It seemed my replies weren’t in his processing system so he kept coming back with his question about the printing of those till I said- “God willing, maybe someday.” He looked satisfied with my answer and added a line “because you see, hobby is fine, but it’s got to get printed somewhere, that’s how it’s got to be…”

Cruelty doesn’t bring tears because that’s only an expression of sympathy which may have no intention or act of help alongwith or underneath the emotion…

Blinking away my tears, I walk further. If it were old times, I would have bowed to seek his blessings. His curiosity made me wonder how he could stir up such big thoughts when I only own a digicam and not a DSLR yet and what to talk of standing a tripod and adjusting shots… sigh; although I do have a few fine settings to play around with. I wasn’t dressed up; let alone formally or as a photographer… phewww! I need to stop myself from being carried away now.

Is that a sign I’m ignoring?

I walked a few more metres; “miles” won’t be an appropriate word for that. He gathered some fellow gentlemen for the evening walk passing by several times. Talking to him for only a few minutes filled me with a sense of purpose. A man of his age, experience and learning (for his English was impeccable), saying such assured words of outcome instead of leaving at a hurried reply to his curious question is making me stop in my thoughts just about again.

Just what am I doing- really?

His caring to know the purpose of my wandering about clicking randomly stirred me with affection. It was an absolute contrast to how my life is. This is how any day goes for me- I talk to no one, I see no one, no one comes to see me because I stay in some gaddamn part of the NCT that is “inaccessible”. How the vacuum was filled and so beautifully. I feel some cold vapors danced upon my senses melting away some part of me.

I am stoned.

It’s been over a day’s time that I am in the present state of limbo. I no longer wish to speak or interact. I don’t wish to express excepting on my blog. My health condition is deteriorating by the day. I’m practically pushed off my emotional level and most certainly want to scream the life out of the people who have made me the way I am. I don’t want to share or complain; I’m unable to connect on individual level anymore. I don’t know who is who to me and unless sorted, I am going to stay quiet; both in words and in expression. I don’t even wish to tell them why. I feel I have overtalked already. I have been quietened a li’l too often, will now be this way. The chat with that elderly gentleman is a different story!

I have lost my sound.

“God bless him.”

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Being thrown at; around

I have failed to understand, how can people cut off on me? Am I such a retard that I don’t understand that they possibly don’t want me anywhere around them or is it that I have a great knack of picking up from the wrong bunch of people?

I’m not even asking them to return my emotions but why do they cling on to me if they don’t wish to share themselves with me? Do they find it convenient to keep attached given how I am; or do they find it difficult to break away? How can they lay brackets on me accusing me that I may or not react in certain manner and hence the closure? How would they know if they don’t try me?

Why can’t I stop extending myself to people and ask for a commitment first? I have experienced marriages getting divorced; what to talk of just two people? Do these people ever come to know how they hurt people in their whimsical manner of acting towards me?

I have questions, answers to which will never be of any use to me ever. All I know is: believing my instincts that they might be in need of someone, I have reached out to them only to learn that I am not that someone they want. What is worse is I never get to speak up when I am in dire need of help emotionally. Quite mechanically, they have shut me off like I maybe some piece of show only to be dolled up and table topped. I wish I had the strength to cut them off from my life and shut my emotions locked up somewhere!

I don’t want anyone knocking at me anymore- I won’t answer.

I am hurt and crying.

I wish I really get judgmental and throw them away- out of my life where it won’t matter anymore- atleast to me. I’ll definitely try to toe the line they have drawn around me. They have set up the level of expectations; sooner than later, I’ll come up the learning curve…

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Death of a relationship

Firstly, I can’t take rejections, secondly, it stabs my heart to let go of people and then, if I am left to stay dumb… that’s a perfect recipe to whip me into a cryptic psychopath!

If I say that this is what I am going through right now; you must conclude that I have toppled over the barricade of my mental sanity already. I want to close myself inside a shell so deep that anyone standing right outside would play a deaf to my wails. I want the that to be so spirally bent that it echoes my screams back at me giving mine a company.

Even cancerous cells when operated upon to be knifed out of one’s body induce pain! Just why am I then being expected to take it all in my stride or deal with it without crying over it? For crying out loud, it’s a part of my life however rotten that may have been that I’m now taking out. If not anymore; once that was- as much as the newer things now. To me, it is like losing a relationship- and why the hell ‘like’, I am losing a relationship here. My father has been anything but that; but would that ever erase the affliction that I grew up without him? Or that I lost my mother too because of him when I was entitled to be cocooned inside the parental warmth? That my ex was worth nothing – is that a consolation to the fact that now I would be labeled as a divorcee? I would have embraced that too with pride if only I could ever live my status of being wedded in actuals.

Self- pity?

I am appalled! Why is it pinching anyone if I am according as much importance to a relationship- however dead n gone now? The hurt isn’t about losing him but losing a relationship. My mother to death, father to abandonment, uncle threw me away of his home, ditto with my ex and now this. I don’t have siblings, so now if I want to mourn upon losing even if a fatal relationship because that’s all I had; what is anybody’s business? I am talking about human relationships and not an expensive cellphone or a favorite pair of shoes damaged; but that’s more important I guess. Given the fact that I had no one by the age of seventeen; wouldn’t I have poured all my affection over this relationship?

Why is it being so difficult for people to understand that when we mourn upon a person’s death; it’s crying over a multi-folded loss- of that of a human, a defined relationship, that special extra- bonding, years of knowing each other, associated memories, time of your life, number of years… then what is so different here?

I am growing tired of keeping that ever smiling face up when all I’m doing is hiding my tears away. I know it’s not right to crash my tears upon anyone; so here, I’m going quiet again. I would want to be left alone and I can’t foresee for how long I want that to be. That is precisely why I don’t share my things with people. Stay over only if you would let me cry my heart out, because that’s all I’m doing for now. One I’m already wrecked, then I live the pain all over by narrating that to someone and every time I meet him/her, I know he/she knows my story- so no matter what, the past keeps gripping at me even when I’m introduced to newer people. Please don’t forget, there are no guarantees that the person I shared my things with did not misjudge.

[EDIT- I have still few of them chatting on my FB window asking me to patch up! This is after I've shared all the dirt with them. My mistake that I shared with casual bunch of people who I met only the very day. She was so interested and inquisitive about him- all the signs were there. How many times would I give people some chance? So much for sharing bit!!]

What losses I have suffered would give out as much dirt that my whole blog might stink.

My youth, prime years, my twenties, my ambitions, my dreams, my aspirations, my longing for a happily ever after- that fairy tale I wove was a huge one. It is still falling apart- brick by brick scratching a part of my state of being too- creating a wound that I doubt would ever heal. I dare anyone who would ever want to step up to revive this label for me. How much hard- work he would have to do to make me smile. It’s easy to draw on a clean canvas; mine is smeared with dirt. However squeaky you may go, it won’t go white again, and some mark would keep showing or else the paper would get damaged. The only way to cover those ugly tell-tale stains would be to paint bright, stroke by stroke smearing color all over so no mark shows ever…

For now, I’m covered with blisters, bruises and bleeding wounds. I failed to build or maintain or save the last of the relationships of my life till now. It isn’t about him; it’s about me. I am affected and huge. It was my relationship too. Just because he was “a misfit” or whatever the term maybe, isn’t any saving grace to the fact that I am losing the last of my relationships!

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It ends here

It’s been a year that I’ve been contemplating committing it.

Just who knows I might have taken some step towards achieving the desired outcome already? I am not a coward, that’s all they say; I won’t. But before I fall myself in that category, I’ll make sure to have taken care of every possible mess that has pulled me nose deep into their dirt. I’ll resolve and set the things in order before I make an exit.

If all that’s bothering me to take a step as such, is taken care of, then why?

One and simple reason, I’m saturated till the tip of my last hair, even the ones I epilate. I’ve grown tired of suppressing my emotions. If I do emote, it goes misunderstood. It isn’t self-pity I invest in; but everyone has right to react or express the hurt or displeasure over; i.e., excepting me!

I wish to live a life and with someone…

But that would be like giving him to come to terms with too many conditions. One gamble I don’t wish to play, my losing that would kill me either way. I haven’t become insane yet, but my words definitely reflect differently here; and I for once, don’t care… not anymore.

The good news is that any day I do attempt to; I would be successful the very first time itself.

Given the situation that I stay on my own and with absolutely not a single soul watching over me; this won’t be any hard work. All I need to do is send my domestic on a leave or perhaps ask her to leave her job at my place. Furthermore, there isn’t anyone who would miss my presence or notice my disappearance; let alone come looking for me. Infact, if there were any, why would I be contemplating doing this at the first place? Feel free to call me a chicken feet, loser and every other demeaning word you could think of; yet, the fact remains I don’t want to take up to fight and win anymore battles. I’m done for this life to say the least.

I do have books I wish to get published; but once I’m no more, the failure to have gotten them printed would also not bother.

With these small pearls of sedatives popped in, I feel more alive. I now empathize with the people who resort to drugs after extended period of abuse in their lives. How stoned it leaves you makes you live a little more… by taking you away from the panic inducing thoughts. These are different than drugs; not that I’ve tried ever- as much as I want to.

You have absolutely no idea what it takes!

Pardon the over-tone of arrogance but you would not know what my state of being is if you have even a single relationship to fall back upon; quite sincerely, I don’t wish anyone to know the feeling either. However lame or dead, a relationship or tag or a person… at least you have someone beside you. Here, I’m all set to break the last of the ties- not that any of it was even left.

I lose it in the end.

People I have ever loved (nevermind the labels), have always left me to myself. Be it parents, acquired relationship, friends… death, abandonment, difference of temperament, career disagreement, geographical relocation- these are all but some redundant excuses. What matters is the conclusion. The matter of fact is that I’m left alone ever since mom had died when I was 17. A fierce determination to sail through had kept me going then, else all would have ridiculed my mother- come to think of it, if she wasn’t that neglected by the same bunch of people; she would have still been alive.

I am not toying with anyone’s emotions.

I am not breaking anyone’s dream, not breaking hearts, not leaving anyone alone- what I mean is, I have taken care of all the metaphorical emotional statement of obstructions.

But if there were any to whom it may have bothered; why would I have decided to- to begin with?

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Love lost…

… and a piece of my heart too!

Don’t ask if we ever loved one another… how does it matter now? It’s the result that matters, efforts don’t count. they only reflect in your concluded concoction.

It’s 3.30 past midnight and I’m barely able to wink. I haven’t been drinking my goblet to ecstasy- been over a week now. Yet, I drag myself around the house like a zombie in its death sleep. The street lights caste an orange glow in the living room. It’s too warm, so I am sitting on the floor to cool off my nerves. I have showered thrice in the past four hours. My smock is wet with the water I have splashed to feel better… so are my eyes. Sleep has gone for a date and a late night drive with its girl- after a movie, a cozy dinner and a coffee with a heavy desert thrown in perhaps. I am both washed away and drenched at the same time. It’s taking every last pore on my body to ounce up energy to keep myself composed. I am dealing with something that I could not years back even though I was very much stable financially, emotionally and even socially maybe then.

It is giving me a huge discomfort to stand witness to how amicably we are working towards filing a petition for legal separation- that word starting with “D”. If only we worked this way towards maintaining that now no more of a wedlock. Since the repercussions are for both of us to take; it doesn’t really matter who was at fault. Degree might vary and it does. The loss I have suffered cannot be quantified; especially, when I say I am dissolving the one and only relationship left to me… although if only acquired. This is after I have wanted to be a wedded wife opposing to my mother’s constant nag of I remaining single!

I am yet to figure out what is tougher- to be on your own; or to fight (since “face” is a mild word) a separation, being on your own. This isn’t the first time I would undergo the process of feeling humiliated. The last time I had withdrawn the application the day I was to obtain the degree after crying wild for over two hours at the court- in full view of the entire public. I had failed to summon enough courage to fight the feeling of being left completely alone, even though the relationship had died four years back, within the first few weeks of our wedding, if not days.

A few years back from then, I had quite literally begged at someone’s feet to stay around helping me to stand back on my own two feet. I was stable financially; all I needed was a support and a little help with few odd things so I could break away from an abusive marriage. He was no other than my childhood classmate who had confessed never- ending love to me in teens. For some reasons I had labeled him as a spineless, walking out on him leaving no contact for him to trace back to me. I wouldn’t venture any further into what had happened next since that would kill the essence of this post; but rudely enough I learnt, I was right at judging him. Shamelessly if I may; he had agreed to how well I had read him back then. This was when I had pleaded to him for help in 2005.

The art of acting indifferent and being cold is something that all the men have taught me in all these years. From dad to uncle, to ex to everyone else; it is them who have shut off on me. Only with the passage of time, they get the same gesture extended to them in multitudes. Come to think of it, the only relationships I have lived are with the first level people (parents, spouse) and in complete estrangement. Neither my dad cares where I am today; nor did my ex ever… what to talk of anyone else or any other men!

It isn’t easy to sum it up all without scarring my state of being. A week since the talks are on, I have been breaking down into pieces every night. I try to keep busy in day crowded by my domestic; but at night, the stillness enters my body and then scatters a zillion pieces of me with no one at all to gather those fragments back for me. How much of me I am losing every day since past 10 days now is unaccountable. I am becoming stoned and unforgiving; to being the same recluse, who had denied talking to anyone, let alone about her. If you aren’t with me when I need someone the most; why would I bother at a later date anyway? Most people think I’m a private person. If I were, I won’t have been writing it out here. The point is, I try to save the hurt by masking myself under a façade of being a snob!

That is just not all. I’m desperately trying to break away from a pattern. So far till now, I have lived the destiny that was carved out based upon my mother’s life. All instances bad that had inflicted her life have marked my life too. No scientific explanation can be supplicated to the fact that it typically seems that I am born destined to fulfill her set of Karmas! Her dreams, ideals, habits and every bit of her peeves have come to define who I am. It no longer was… it is now, in me. Once I obtain the decree and the papers, I’ll be breaking away from another one of those patterns after; which, there’s only one more left…

That won’t be easy either, but break away I shall!

With that, I sit back leaning on the single bed and wonder; how many more chances could I have given to him… or to him… or to anyone else? The signs were in my face and yet I didn’t turn him down when he had finally proposed to me. He wasn’t on his knee or with a ring. He takes flowers to be a wasteful gift. The rest of the details are dirty, so sparing. Come to think of it, the flowers didn’t ornament the room even on the wedding night. The look was more that of a refugee camp; a make shift room to pass the night, dozing off if you could after surviving the shock. Wasn’t I entitled to something romantic, something charming… wasn’t that…!

Like I said, it doesn’t matter anymore…

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Living my life again

It’s been over 2 years floating through a transitional phase! After 33 years, it’s started bringing back to me all that was and lost too. From being a happy go lucky child to over – cautioned teen to a most reserved grown up; it’s making me live through all of that n more. All of this started soon after I started to write in my blog. Today, I realize, that’s when it had started, since I used to write when in school.  From re-visiting to places those have haunted me while on my 1st n 2nd visits, to bringing back phases I missed out upon to live, to phases, those are best described as dreadful; it seems it’s decided to crash upon me all of it one more time. Emotionally, I am taken in for a roller coaster ride almost every day. The days I don’t, I feel empty.

Nine years of restrain could not affect my passion.

For the last couple of weeks, I am doing illustrations for a book. How it had happened the very 1st time, I took to sketching yet again after 15 years. Mom was too apprehensive about my “hobby” as it was then referred to as. All of my colors were stalled under lock n key only to be bought all of it again because I had taken up Textile Designing (vocational studies) instead of any specialized skilled professional degree course. Back then; this is how these were referred to as. I took to expressing my mind with lines, shades n colors again.

Hell broke loose soon thereafter.

I lost mom the same year within a month of taking up my passion as a dedicated subject of the study, I lost my home too, the following year. I was subjected to violation throughout my 2nd year of the course. All her life when mom had wanted to see her daughter’s name put up on the merit list, she wasn’t around to witness when that really happened! Hadn’t I told her to limit her fairy tale fantasy expectations? If she had seen what I’ve been through after I lost her; she would have died anyways. Just which mom would take to her daughter getting violated kindly? I don’t think so.

Fast forward to year 2012.

The electricity problem is how it used to be. I didn’t own a television set then, the one I do now is not working. Financially I’m broke n that’s an understatement. My best friend is missing again! I stay in a place which is almost countryside, out of town- village- ish. Even the mosquitoes buzzing around seem to be happy witnessing a phase- revisit.

In all these stabbing similarities, there outlines a huge stand- out.

Someone I have known for the past few months have taken over the bit of doing a savior stint himself quite instinctively. I feel I’m back to my college days again when all I survived upon was a pack of uncle Chipps n FP (wafers n fountain Pepsi, that wasn’t a typo for FB).. The sketches I’m outlining have similar patterns to what I used to till a decade and a half back. The suppressed expressions have as though found out a way to tap its feet all the time while playing harp of my mental stability. I’m finding it difficult to not feel overwhelmed when I was gifted a set of sketch pencils. He’ll never know what chord he played by doing that. My parents were gone, I had to step upto being a provider to myself. Just when I am all grown up, fiercely independent, he gets me stuff so I take up to pursue my passion yet one more time. The same pencils are now drawing what I always wanted to, creating a backdrop for the memories of the past tense to dance-drama on my mind. The story doesn’t end here, this is just another chapter. Like I say, he is picking up every inflicted stance, redoing those, undoing the damage, out- doing it in all possible ways; washing away the hurt and pain in the process. The memories he has created in the past few months has already made me live a huge portion of my life till now. You can only forget your past if someone outdoes it in your present. The roots of your past stances are stronger than any force; I see him cutting those one by one.

My words have gone dumb.

Just how do I explain to him that this simple gesture made me go back in time when my whole life had gone upside down and not for good? I strangely feel exposed to the things I had taken in my stride- not by choice. I feel held by my hand; I’m dragged and made to stand face to face with my past life one more time.  I have begun to emote, to cry, and to scream I’m hurt. For half my life till now, I had gone numb, not reacting to any situation however adverse. I carry too much hurt to decide upon which one to cry about and then. It has been a few months already that I felt this was happening; with each passing day, the thoughts are growing stronger than the time itself!

How I have seen in the last few months, he has been creating fresh layers.

He has brought upon me the times back I didn’t live, but only survived through. Picking up from my childhood crush who later on became the biggest affliction, to stances those had tricked me into believing otherwise, showing the wrong counts between the milestones; he is picking up each one of those healing the wounds, first by opening them while cleaning up the puss and then by doing his bit of magic potion on it.

Probably this time around, he would wipe away all my hurt.

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Sketching my life

“Things we lose have a way of coming back to us in the end.
If not always in the way we expect.”

I would add: rather a li’l too wildly at that. One of the Luna Lovegood’s quotes from the coveted HP movie series, she couldn’t have said it any better. I have stood witness to this phenomenon a few times already. Only I say it differently.

“No matter how long it takes, I get what I want”

Pardon me for any hint of arrogance there!

I have come a long way from writing cards for my girlfriend’s boyfriends during my academic years. I now write words from my mind, inspired by my Love.  Working on a tentative plan of compiling those words in a form of a book, I am doing the illustration for the same; riding up and down the memory lane. Not going into too much detail about “him” in this post; his meeting up with me has brought upon the time I was forced to miss out upon- quite blatantly.

Like writing, I have a penchant for fine arts too. This is where the story begins… in my early childhood. I was awarded gold medals in art (painting) in a national level competition when I was not even 5 years of age. Feeling threatened, mom had placed all my paint brushes and colors under lock and key. She harbored a thought that maybe I would not study well in pursuance of art. That’s the best thing she could think of then. My dad had abandoned us when I was 12. It only made sense that I concentrate on educating myself instead of “wasting” time drawing lines. About dad, he could never come to terms with the fact that I did it better than he did! The colors faded even before they could splatter across.

Years later, Time took a turn for me.

Despite getting shortlisted for a degree course in medical sciences, I couldn’t get anywhere near the college. As my fate would have it, I had ended up enrolling myself for a degree course in Textile Designing. Mom was taken aback. All she said was that maybe I knew how to call to things lost or perhaps knew what was to happen anyway… I didn’t need her anymore…, before she passed away couple of weeks thereafter. The next two years I spent sketching and painting and drawing while dancing as a puppet to blotch’s tyranny!

That face had framed itself.

16th September, 1996. In the 2nd year of that course, we were given an assignment to work on lampshades as theme. We were to draw all crazy and weird lampshades that we could pick our reference from, stylize and turn those into a motif and then a pattern for a dress! Shelling out money to buy some expensive “interior” ideas magazine would have made me miss my meals for a few weeks together. What I had drawn was not only a work of my imagination; but also appreciated. It seemed one of the lampshades talked to me asking me to give her a definite shape. Coloring her up with water colors, I had left her at that.

For then…

This was in the year- 1999, as if a voice spoke in my mind. I worked in a computer teaching institute then. Using MS paint, I had created an image that the students of multimedia went gasping about. The 3-D effect made them feel as though she might even speak up. Silly, I tell you. The girl was given a pedestal and made to float, while leaves covered the water from the sides. The image had to be zipped and what’s remained of that is what I have posted here.

Year 2012, I have started to sketch again. 17 years later, I have been given pencils and stuff to work upon some illustrations. My Love bought to me what ideally my parents should and would have; those which I had to buy on my own then. In true sense, I am back in time, I’m the student and certainly dependent as it is usually in teens. Or maybe the time has come around.

Just yet again!

I had all my plans to get a book published by last October. The date set for the same was same as my mom’s death anniversary. Some or the other thing kept nudging the plans and it had to be called off. Only to be started from the beginning. My would be publisher suggested that I do the illustrations on my own. Here, I make a pause to wonder, is there some connection with my passion and my inability to pursue it and with mom? She had held herself guilty no end for many things those had happened to me or the lack of their occurrence. Is this why this got delayed that she could create enough momentum in the Universe that I get the message and do the illustrations on my own?

That girl spoke to me again…

14th March, 2012. While drawing a face, the idea of etching the details had created an impression that only rested after I sketched that face again. Not knowing what to do with her face, the sketch lay there for yet another week’s time. This morning, when I sat to start sketching, the face called me in my mind. Lost in thoughts, I had picked up that sheet. I drew a few lines before the similarity hit me. Unknowingly, I was giving it a shape of what I had drawn in that Computer Institute. No sooner had I stumbled upon the un-canniness; the pencil’s tip broke. It seemed, as if it detached itself from the present time. Almost as much of a whimsical a thought, I pasted the broken tip back to the pencil with glue and completed the sketch.

Just who could ever think decades would melt in the process of joining the dots? 

I have posted all the images here for you to see and appreciate the similarity! Today, I lived almost my complete life again, bringing in a few phases and some afflicted memories together again. The two years of my college was also the scariest of all times to come. I wish to erase all of that from my life- canvas while the girl in the sketch becomes me, floating in ether, beautified, maybe immortalized too! The bitterness is too much for me to handle! The thoughts have done enough damage to my mental stability for today. Every day of my sketching a sheet is making me re-live some part of my life one more time; perhaps, this once for the final time. For now, I just want to lay in my mom’s lap and rest for a while.  Will someone fill in for her? For sometime?

And then forever…?

Wait a moment, could this girl also call upon her destiny? Did she make me sketch that for her; or she knew it already and was waiting?

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Anti- social tick!

The whole day went by but I couldn’t concentrate enough and so, didn’t sketch any.

I spent some “quality” time face-booking today though :)

The 1st 3 hours because I failed to upload a video and rest actually trolling around and posting likes on others’ trolls. In those few hours the guilt was over- taken by the joy of reaching out to people to share I was alive. If only I had some real life friends, I would have called for an evening tea party or perhaps a weekend get-to-gather and enjoyed no end over the drinks, food and that fun video I shot.

So here’s what on my mind.

With the invention of internet, the world has indeed shrunk and so the binding n bonding in any relationship. My question here is: do we get to hold any more new relationships?

Who has the time anyway? Well, I asked for it- didn’t I now?

While SNS are a great media to keep the distant ones in touch or may I say at a distance of a touch of a button or a few keys as the case maybe; it has distanced all the natural relationships that once defined “man is a social animal”. Now, “a man is social only if he has a public profile starting from FB, twitter, handful of blogs, flicker…” the list is practically a never- ending one! It doesn’t matter if you are social (in the orthodox way of the definition); he got to be a troll.

We no longer look forward to talk or meet up since we keep texting almost the whole day. Everyone is perpetually updated with every single detail of your life from your recent purchase to absolutely nonsensical (pardon my choice of words here- but that is what it is precisely) troll made to something which was indeed sensitive. Gone are the days when we wrote lengthy letters, day dreaming about the person in mind. Break- ups used to be messier than the actual affair since a lot of paper work was involved! Whatever happened to those hand- written cards?

Oh c’mon stop being old “fashioned”- mms are cool. You are still an old school if you were about to say e-cards.

SMS..? Texting as it is referred to in some countries just proved that “communication doesn’t need any language… err, dictionary I meant; and vocab too if I may. Grammar, well it’s now cyber ethics!

If the walls of the house weren’t enough already; we have other “walls” to cage ourselves up inside. Just about anyone (you choose to depending on the privacy settings) can slam a comment for your entire friend list to see and snigger under the breadth. Instead of socializing we rather tend to browse through their albums. The videos aren’t the ones you star in almost always.

Really, stop posting your daughter’s first day at school. It isn’t like the 448 friends you got under the friends list will all post a “like” or a comment; infact, the ones who would rejoice on this event are the ones already in touch with you. Guess what, those aren’t even 40 friends- only 8 and that too if you are plain lucky! We can’t ignore the fact that we have made our lives just as public as any other dweller at the road- side. The expression- “As an open book” should now be changed to “as exposed as on SNS”

The mode of mass- communication is the only way we communicate via now.

P.S. If you are reading this then the chances are that you picked it up from my FB profile. There, I said it!!

Here, I rest my case. Go ahead enjoy this video. Have fun.

.

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Beyond my wits!

It is only right that every end marks the birth of a new beginning!

They say all that begins comes to an end so anything that was born will die its own or brought upon it death. It’s also true that where there’s a vacuum, the nearby substance would move in to fill that space.

But what about the thoughts those keep my mind clouded even when I want to only shirk those away? The ones those keep me occupied as though that’s all I was meant to do? It doesn’t matter if I am in a company or sitting lonesome, those thoughts keep blowing in my mind like mad evening breeze. The bright and the sharp tones keep etching and playing themselves like some chaotic landscape. Some are pleasant; some are not. Some are questions; answer to which I may know but curiosity keeps nudging at me to sit back and see what would be- may I say this time?

Words like soul- mate, passion, love seem to have defined themselves for the first time ever. Definitions have been merging out of the denial that I have been living in till now. By not allowing myself to think over, am I being easy again? Maybe this time I should be.. Alas, if only the allowance could rule the disobedience.

Differences are huge- attitude, life-style, understanding of life- almost diagonally opposite. Yet, I kept giving in and if I am writing about it here, I am still giving in then. Abstaining is complete denial. But my making the very mention of that is the acceptance in itself!

My peeve of drawing comparisons between two people is not working well this time. The similarities or the un-canniness range from some of the afflicted relationships to some very memorable ones to some I would never be able to hold with anyone again. Or maybe I just did this once bit! Infact, all of those altogether..

I feel I stand under a hail-storm. Realizations, questions, their answers and then newer questions have been hitting me all over as I stand naked trying to absorb life this one time. Never ever have I let my guards down so low that the other one sees right through me. I feel I have been pierced through every pore and when there were no more left to be stabbed, newer ones were wounded in. Never before I talked so much or shared things so very personal to me without caring for any opinion or judgement. Never before my words were heard so loud before I actually even decided to speak. Never before was I held so many times up. Never before was I pulled out held by my hand. Never before did I cry or laugh with life thrown in at stake. Never before the windows of my thoughts were forced open so many times.

Metaphorically and quite literally too!

I am thinking too much but I’m done giving in on impulse. It’s deeper than any instinct could tell. It’s burning my insides like some fire in the woods. I feel the fire and the ice both at the same time steaming me to vapor.

  • I need some water to burn the fire down.
  • I need some warmth to melt those ice crystals before they hit me.
  • I need some hand to hold me forever so I don’t even stumble or fall down.
  • I need a canvas to paint and keep doing that forever..
  • I need that music to keep me under its spell till eternity and beyond!
  • I need a door so I can walk out- out of the hurricane of thoughts, away from the eye of the cyclone.

One way or the other!

  • I wish to live and love.

Or awaken my peeve of running away… only my mind is not letting me do that!!!

I want to be whole again and then forever so these thoughts lose their existence… for all times to come.

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Discovering what Love means

“Love Means Never Having to Say You’re Sorry..”

Cold weather, freezing winter winds and one soppy teary Love Story- and what have you?

Last few weeks, I have been watching movies, the English movies. Quite surprisingly I have started watching the spooky horror movies, the ones those turn out to be horror thriller movies instead of some ugly burnt mindless body making you jump over you couch. Only I am not a potato, neither am munching on any wafers!

Starting with a beautiful Mozzart piece- my personal fave to be precise; the movie made a very different impact on me. Although shot in an era or how the audience is made to float in, it was very relate-able. The girl (or the heroine), I could identify myself with her at the very first instant. Witty, intelligent and clever; definitely picking her man very carefully, she made me smile like I had known her from somewhere. A lovely made-for-each-other sort of romantic movie; it made me sit and grin and mush all over. Oliver (the hero of the movie) is a stinking rich man any girl would love to fall in love with, sits on the ice- covered walkway bench and muses about his girl. It was like standing at a beautiful view-point and turning back to narrate how your travel was till then. As it so happens, the girl gets sick terminally and passes away leaving a young widower to mourn and rave about the life he just lost.

Till about some time back, I used to dig for the types- not anymore.

I loved the movie- no doubt about it. But it just reminded me of the movie I watched years back. The girl kills herself to save her lover, apparently, he kills himself over too. Years later, after deciding I don’t want any of these “sick”ly love stories, I go out to watch something very similar. “Rockstar” if you may want to know. I had gone to watch that in cinemas with someone (yes, someone..). I cried at the end and had stood in front of the screen entering the hall again from the other exit to hide my tears- if only they knew how not to slide down my cheeks.

I have come to believe that you make of yourself exactly the movies you watch.

The recent inclusion of horror or suspense thriller (as the case maybe); I am yet to understand which way I’m heading lifeward. Perhaps, I am learning how to take the dirty details exactly in my face. By the end of the learning curve, I would not give any more leeway to people so they hopelessly prove my judgement about them right. People who know me beyond the surface level know I do tend to give a second and sometimes third chance also- only to be hit back by my being so easy about my conclusion about them. Now, I might just learn to act upon the message I usually send out of “I don’t give people a second chance ever”.

I do watch cartoons and sci-fi stuff a lot.

Did you hear that? Fairy tales and fictions I said. I hope I do make my life a happily ever after with loads of happiness thrown in. For now, I still hear Mozzart playing over a snow clad set with a smart chic woman who loves music and loses her life exactly when she wanted to be a mother!

~*~*~

P.S.- Only one person I know would be able to decipher the last few lines..

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In two minds!

6th January, 2012- 9.30pm

The thunders are quite literally thundering. All that glass shattering noise is freaking the ghost out of me. I do feel scared; feeling the very same right now.

These are the times when my instincts work faster than the flash of lighting. Like how it takes some time before we hear it after we see it; it stones me for a few seconds before the realization starts preparing me for the patch up. Ordinarily, people break down and wail. I sit up and start analyzing the occurrence to save myself the next time. Only by the next time, I grow too matured to even call upon anything remotely similar.

An even uglier stance starts preparing to hit me.

Gothic at its best, the chills of the winter combined with rains sets the perfect backdrop for those paranormal movies. The ones where you don’t see the spirit, but only feel being watched over. How we cry in bouts, the drizzle keeps changing itself to pour and then fall, and then light fall to splitter splatter, till all the pain is gone away, till all that needs to be mourned about is done with.

I had left the upstairs door opened today, so had gone to latch that up. A falling rain-drop kissed me wet leaving me with a certain thought. Something happened a few days back and I am busy calculating the words those got processed in my mind in the most probable way. A certain peculiar vibrations were set. I am yet to decide whether to feel appalled taking offence since it sped up a few things, thoughts those would have taken months if not years to set its grasp; or to feel thankful about the same.

With each pouring drop, my mind is letting go off a lot of apprehensions that I had held unknowingly. Now that those are leaving, I feel lighter than before. Clearly, I have stepped up my initial insecurities. I still wait for his call no doubt, but that restlessness of whether-he-would is clearly gone. No matter how much it pours, nature only blossoms after a rain; my mind is also becoming greener letting many a new things shape up, earlier those were only a far-fetched idea , which seemed only a delusion.

Not anymore.

The stance was like a rain falling so hard that I was barely able to look-up. But like they say- every cloud has a silver lining; I see the rainbow come-up almost immediately. How hard it was for me to suppress my desire to give someone a piece of my mind! Half of my mind is still doubtful wondering if now he has put up a farce to please me since maybe he has been made to think in a certain way?

Then again, if it is to get affected (or ruined) so simply, then it’s not worth it- what say?

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Left out..

Just finished watching “Bol
Wish I could put up the same question as the lead actress, the narrator herself does in the movie, to my dad.. Ironically, he is still alive and I’m no better than dead.

  • Why killing is a crime and giving birth not?
  • Why giving birth to an illegal child is criminal and giving birth to a legal one only to be left to rot in the hell not?

Thanks to him that I am not a mother yet.

In the whole process of his fathering me and then abandoning his family, he has left me as an illegal child who is only leading a life of an orphan. Things are so screwed up that no man has been courageous enough to take me the way it is. Guess what, they all are but men.

Quite miserably I have been forced to live a life of that of a loner. Beneath the façade that I put up of being a snob and fiercely independent lies a great yearn to build a family of my own. However, I could never trust a man enough to take him as the father of my child. I have made everyone around me believe that I don’t like kids when on the contrary I kept growing up my daughter in my thoughts.

My father not only ruined his own married life, but also my mom’s and mine too. I am yet to understand that how many more generations to come would take repercussions to my father’s that one careless act!

The very fact that I resemble him makes me feel no better. After all the years of brooding about the past stances that perhaps I’m leading my mom’s life- since all that happened with my mom was re-repeated with me too; I realised that actually, I’m living a life quite similar to that of my dad’s. Horribly redundant to mention; the realization was not at all pleasant.

Alongwith the other artistic talents, I have also inherited his mastery over running away. Although my running away is situational and not a trait; however, I definitely know how to leave relationships behind and live alienated even in a company or family. That I do so out of no choice is something I choose to ignore at this point in time.

For now, I am what my father made of me – a terrible social reject. A recluse and a borderline retard, who is too scared to initiate any relationship. How he lived solitary despite being in family and leaving them behind is something he has made me do too, making me live a deprived and missed out upon life.

I wish, I could disown him legally too.

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DATE of exit

Is that a sign again?

I’m thrown back in time- just yet again. How it’s been for a year now, I’m being forced to look at several different times when my life had transitioned to different phases at different intervals. It’s hard to ignore what’s happening around me at present since it bears an uncanny similarity to the last few stale phases I crawled out of!

Dream come true.

For three consecutive nights, I dreamt of having shifted to a different place. On the fourth night, I indeed landed at a guest house to stay. Today’s the 3rd night here. The room that I peeped into while walking out this morning is the room I have been shifted into tonight. Guess what, that’s the same room I stayed in some four months back. I had so wanted to write about one of the most beautiful days and the best date ever that it will be for all times to come. Only I wasn’t aware of the fact that I would be pushed back to the same guest house, same room yet another time where I would make a mention of that particular day. Now that I do it here, I have a strong conviction about something that had crossed my mind that evening.

It was only a few months back on 24th July, 2011 that I lived the most wonderful date of my life till now. Upon reaching home, I had not wanted to there. It was peak summer, my air-conditioning unit wasn’t working. That was when this thought had crossed my mind for the very first time.

Landing down here in this guest house 2 nights back, I had become stoned.

As much as I wish to gain stability, I have only been living a life of a wanderer; noble, if I may! I had shifted to Gurgaon in December 2007, after which I spent straight 4 months locked up in a (different) guest house. With no place to go out to and no one coming in to see me; that’s the best expression I have to explain how it was. All I had was 2 set of night changes, and a pair of jeans to live in. That’s when I had turned into a recluse. Few of my friends, or so they claimed had in length conversation with me over the phone; however, never made any attempt to meet me or even ask me to drop by their place- one of them lived only a few blocks away. The current phase had started with my stay in a guest house; I have all the reasons to believe that it would end in a similar manner too.

Yes, I was out on a date with him yet again!

Today, on the 3rd night of my 2nd time stay at this guest house, I am barely able to take control. of my brooding mind. Strangely enough, my thoughts are mixed and are not limited to feeling upset alone. The last two times the electricity problem had caressed the wires, which is why I am here; I had shifted out of those fallen out phases. For the past few months, I have spent more time out of my home, including nights. In the most harsh manner, is time once again warning me about what is to hit me and soon?

Is it time already that I leave this obnoxious arrangement? Maybe one of those dates with him would actually not letme go back to my life that needs a change already!

I’m waiting anxiously..

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Screaming solitude

Lack of communication leads to disaster results- says my best friend Ruby!

That’s one of the things I can’t handle besides rejection and indifference.

Come to think of it- all of these are very much related to each other. An outloud coldplay of no emotions expressed towards someone. It sets me into thinking how can a social animal- like we human are, can do something as cruel as this? So far my observation has been that only people with a secured upbringing surrounded by their family and close-bound relationships are the ones who exhibit such brutal expression. Obviously someone who is a loner and is devoid of any relationship- blood or acquired, wouldn’t dare to put the other one into a vacuum.

I am lost in the past.

With absolutely no one to speak with for the past couple of days, which is actually how it was even otherwise before he happened to me, I was forced to go back in time. I mean what else would you do when everything how it is in your present stems back from your past? This is despite the fact that I kept all of that beside me and written down every bit of it explicitly in my blog! I wonder how much someone’s silence made me go back to time when my my life changed to become how it is today, when I was only a kid. No points for guessing- it was the indifference and silence that my life since childhood.

My childhood witnessed my dad and my uncle never speaking with each other, my mom and dad never interacting with each other and I entrapped in the dilemma of talking to whom out of the three. They would avoid every probability of going out in public together- so that they don’t end up communicating even accidentally. My dad wouldn’t talk to me the day he would see me talking to my uncle. Feeling sorry for my dad, I would spend most of my time with him- for which I would be reprimanded by mom till I stopped speaking with him one day.

That wasn’t the end of it.

Like any other young girl, my dad was my first love, who only abandoned us and went absconding when I was all of 12. A year later, my teen crush (perhaps it was not) made me do something that I regretted about till few months back; only to be put back into more or less the same situation as that was by someone yet again. I was sort of labeled as an outcast in both the schools. A huge confusion resulted in making me go completely silent; what options did I have when no one really spoke with me? The second school I went to, I was never accepted. Excepting for a few fun months with Ruby after which she shifted her school, I was treated like an alien!

Soon I stopped talking to my uncle after he barged into the washroom with me standing stark naked. My mom had once made me go for a shower with my dad despite my discomfort long back; after the incident with my uncle, I stopped speaking with her too. The only few months I happen to speak with her in all my life with her is for only 3 months-after which I lost her to death.

Conclusion:

  • Best of the relationships only lasts for a few months.
  • If I love someone, I lose him no matter (to) what.
  • If at all a friendship develops, it’s always long distance.

The only opportunity that I got to live a relationship even if in a fallacy for just a few months has been rudely snatched away from me. Yet again..

Why, I’m not surprised!

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Living some life!

Sharing every detail of the day that just passed by like any other, with a laughter and glow in your eyes like it was a special one.. Sharing the passwords of your internet accounts.. Letting the other one see how shabby you might look soon after you wake up, not really bothered about your looks but hurrying to kiss the other one a nice morning.. Talking every detail out of your mind till you can remember no more, all of which is long gone..

Ever wonder why we do all of this?

More than sharing, it’s about the other one letting you see your world as if he was a part of it while those instances were happening! I wouldn’t mind if I were to tip toe after the shower in a towel while he may accidently lift up his face. The idea is not to seduce him while I act all coy or innocent but it’s about sharing my very own self the way I am. It reflects upon how comfortable I maybe really to do that without feeling shy or worrying about being not in a perfect shape as the case could be.

Cliché!

You could say. You won’t if you are in love. I have had people around me- that’s right, never in my life. My life till now has been like walking through a Victorian Era museum. Curios, artifacts and the rare jewels all displayed for the visitor to look at and admire- but only from a distance. On the face of it, I have a perfect life- style, but like I said, it’s only on the surface. Like an elaborate packaged gift, one would see a very different content when the façade is scratched down. When I’m letting someone read me beyond all of that glitters which most definitely is not gold, I’m letting that someone to know all about me, so he knows all about everything like he were a part of my day and night.

It’s like living in my very own fairy tale.

I am the princess and the prince becomes when I am with him. I care not of the time or even the lack of it as long as he is around me- even though it may be only for a few minutes! It doesn’t matter either if all of this is to end so soon as if gone like a beautiful dream.. I will live every bit of what comes my way like it’s my own life even though when it may not be!

Who really cares what happens thereafter?

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