December 25, 2010

Culmination

Maybe it's intuition. Or senility.

Women are supposed to have strong intuitive powers. I haven't really put mine to test yet. Mainly coz i'm lazy. Also because i find it hard to differentiate between the intuition and imagination lobes inside my brain.

So, have you ever had this feeling? That all your life was just a purpose towards one goal? Like you're the train from Speed? Like you're just speeding towards that point? A culmination of sorts.

So, i used the train analogy again! What's with me and trains! It's just that the feeling's getting stronger by the moment. It's reached feverpitch. It was always there at the back, i knew i was slowly moving towards that destiny...but now i know that i'm there. I hope i know what i'm looking for.

Maybe it's just 2012 messing with my brain. But the silly thing is, i didn't know about 2012 way back in 1998.
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December 18, 2010

Have you ever thought, how it would be without restraint?

If we didn't have to measure anger and love and hatred and care and laughter in tablespoons?

Guess it would be bad, for the world, but atleast you wouldn't feel bottled up and unnatural.
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December 11, 2010

Dark and Light Interspersed

So, there was this girl who had stopped believing. She'd simply lost faith in everything. She had once been a believer. She had believed in things others couldn't see. She'd felt it deeper than most. And so, when life snuck up on her and pulled the satin carpet from under her feet, she fell. With no desire to rise again.

So one day, she saw, this adamant prince, who kept fighting happiness. And love. And she screamed, 'He's such a fool. So like me.' And then she realised, he was like her, except for the fact that with every blow life dealt him, his heart had grown harder, and had finally turned to stone. And that moment she realized why they both were alike. The darkness in his heart plagued him so much that he found it impossible to forgive himself. That, was his curse. She cried for him, and she cried for herself. She found out that deep inside her, she still believed. And so began her redemption.

Her story doesn't end here. On the way, she met another character, a princess. A poor princess. Now this princess was everything our adamant hero wasn't. She was a woman who believed in goodness, with every fibre of her being. She wasn't strong. In fact you could call her a coward.

But her faith was tremendous. She believed she could melt the prince's heart. She was the hope he'd lost somewhere in the deep pool of despair. She was the love he'd locked away in a hundred forgotten lifetimes. She was all the happiness, all the laughter and dreams he'd once shared with the stars. And she was back, to take his hand and lead him to life. She laughed at fate, and fought it all the way. Her optimism scared him, but she just wouldn't give up. And no matter what he did, she smiled. The poisoned darts of hatred couldn't stop her for she was immune.

Now when our girl saw this poor princess, she cried, 'Oh no no, this is exactly how i was, once upon a time.' That was when it struck her, that this was exactly how she was meant to be after all. She was meant to be kind and happy and giving. For goodness is one thing that's often underrated.

So, as the girl joined the prince of darkness and his princess of light in their journey, she discovered something amazing. They weren't two, but one. She couldn't make out where one ended and the other began. She smiled as she realized that darkness, and light were both her.
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December 2, 2010

Souldeep

Telefilms. All those short movies i've watched, esp Malayalam ones

Bits of music i've heard here and there...esp one bit that's been playing in my head at random/dramatic moments, the last ten years.

Old Tamil movies. Eighties through nineties. Magnificently tragic and haunting. Just the way i like it.

Padmarajan movies. Wistfulness.

Ilayaraja's music. Before Rehman, there was Ilayaraja. He still is God for some.

Tagore's poems. Won't explain. Can't.

Random lines by Rilke, Anais, Hafiz.

Some blogs. People i know, people i think i know, people i just don't know.

And yes, the story in me that hasn't yet found a voice. The very one that breaks into song when i see rainclouds, or a patch of green.
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November 30, 2010

She

She was late. She looked into the mirror one more time, and found a face devoid of worry. No lines there, except the crinkles at the corners of her eyes. Laugh lines. A smile played on her lips as she walked out.

She heard him call out to her. It was late. She knew that. She turned around, blew him a kiss and walked on.

So what if it was late? She was not going to surrender herself now, not when she had just found herself. They had expected her to give in. But she still laughed. Her laughter sometimes made people stop in their tracks. It was the sound of someone who had never known sadness. Or maybe someone who has loved sorrow enough to kiss its scars away. Her laughter made them want to hope again. As she walked past, they realized she was right, after all.

She walked in to hear them say, 'You're early.'
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November 27, 2010

jaise koi train choot rahi ho...

A few days ago, I had dreams of running after trains, twice in two days. And i have seen this dream more than twice. I am no Geet, par aisa lag raha hai kuch galat ho raha hai.

I feel like i'm missing something that's right in front of my eyes. Like there's something right there, and it'll be all mine only if i open my eyes to it. I love intrigue, and destiny and all that nonsense. But God, this is frustrating!
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November 17, 2010

i walk away in anger
burn every bridge
throw away all the stars
and every summer's kiss.

but the sea always finds its shore,
no matter where it goes
and the dark embraces twilight
silent night after night.

funny how you scatter
stars in your wake
and as i fall back into you
slowly i unbreak.
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November 13, 2010

Homecoming

As Mira got out of the taxi, she heard the crows caw louder. The memories were faint, but she knew that mother would’ve sensed her arrival. She had always been intuitive that way. The prodigal daughter was back home. She wanted to get in before the neighbours saw her. There’d be a hundred questions, and she was in no mood to answer any of them. She looked at the grand old home that belonged to her ancestors, and waited for that feeling of homecoming. Nada. Zilch. She could never fit in anywhere.

She’d flown out of this nest eight years ago. In these eight years, she’d discovered a lot about herself. Travel makes one wiser, and yes, it had been the same for her. She had grown older, wiser and stronger. And yet, she was back here. In a place she didn’t want to be. She tried asking herself what had brought her back here. There were no answers.

Mira watched as her mother set the plates and tried to make her feel comfortable. It amused her. She’d last met her four years ago, when she’d flown out to Mumbai. Mother had stayed with her for six months. She looked older now. The lines around her eyes were more prominent. She was but the shadow of the woman who’d nurtured her day and night. Mira willed herself to feel anything, anything that would make her feel alive, but it just didn’t happen. She closed her eyes and tried to breathe.

The food was good, but she had no appetite. No sense of smell or time. No will. If only she could cry. Mother had sensed her pain, somehow. It didn’t surprise her.

Mira had always hated the place. They had come down to the village when father had died. Mira had been thirteen and a rebellious brat. She’d been angry at the whole world, angry with it for snatching away her happiness. She’d lost the one person whom she adored. She’d been angry at her mother when she tried to tell her that her father would never come back. Her mother had held her close, sometimes whipped sense into her. It didn’t calm her down. It spurred her to fight against the unfairness of it all.

The growing up years had been hell. While mother bore everything with a patience that infuriated her, Mira fought them. At every turn. She punched every bully, drowned every scream. She knew that mother could never understand her anguish. She wondered how her mother could go on without the man she loved. For mother always smiled, and always had something good to tell her. The days when her courage failed her, mother would be there, with her arms open. And so she hid her tears in her mother’s soiled sarees. Her mother couldn’t answer Mira’s questions, but she told her that it wasn’t the end of their life. She egged her on, and Mira started to believe that there was a life out there, waiting for her. She learnt that happiness indeed existed. And so she bore their taunts and waited for her day.

The day she got the job, she promised herself that she would never come back. She wanted to take mother with her, but she didn’t go along with Mira’s plans. Mother wanted to stay back and take care of the old house that had been bequeathed to them after her father’s death. Mira tried persuading her, but wasn’t successful. And so the distance grew. She’d see her mother once in two years. It was often mother who’d travel all the way to see her. Mira couldn’t bring herself to come back to the godforsaken place. She grew, from a wide-eyed innocent to a hardened career woman. Or so she thought. She had the whole world at her feet. A job that she loved more than her life. And the guy. The one person who made her believe in the childhood she never had. He brought into her life colors, and flowers. Happiness and trinkets. He made her feel like a woman.

They were associates. He was technically her senior, but the friendliest of the lot. She was a hard worker, and he seemed impressed by her brains rather than her looks. It gave her more courage to come out with her ideas. She wasn’t too keen on him, but gradually he won her over with his sly wit and charm. She was now madly in love with him, and it seemed to her as if she’d never lived before him. Though they were seeing each other, they managed to keep their affair under wraps for the longest time. Mira wanted to tell her mother that she’d finally met the man of her dreams. And then she learnt the truth.

The food was getting cold. Mira had been sitting by the window, watching the fireflies in the garden. Kamala looked at her and wondered if she could make her happy again. Her little girl had always been unsure of happiness, almost guilty to embrace it. She couldn’t see her defeated. The sad little figure reminded her of someone long dead.

That evening they sat in the courtyard, watching the crows create a ruckus over the bowl of rice mom had placed outside.

Mira wanted to scream, but no words would come out.

Mother asked if she’d be staying for long.

“I don’t know, ma.”

And then, she could hold back no longer. She told her how she’d found about his betrayal. He’d used her ruthlessly, and she’d believed in him. It had been all lies. When she found out that he was married, he’d coolly shrugged off the whole matter and told her that it wasn’t a big deal. It had all been one clever business proposition.

“Everything I worked for, ma, everything’s gone. I took pride in my work, and believed him when he said that he’d be by my side. I’ve lost everything I believed in. He betrayed me. I was such a fool. Never realized that he was using me to gain his own ends. He’s killed my spirit, ma! I don’t know if I can trust again.”

Kamala held the girl close and deliberated on it for a while.

“Remember that summer when we first came home?”

Mira looked up, and tried to remember. It had been so long ago. She tried listening to what mother wanted to stay. Her mind kept wandering.

“You were angry that we had to shift here, and I didn’t know how to tell you that we had no other place to go.”

“Do you miss him, ma?”

She smiled at the question, and said, “Not really.”

“Your father was a good man. The best father you could ask for.”

“And was he a good husband?”

She knew that the answer was going to affect her, somehow she knew.

“Your father never loved me, Mira. And I never had the guts to end the marriage. I was ready to do anything to be with him, while he was trapped with someone he couldn’t love. He wasn’t unfaithful to me, but I do know that he loved someone else.”

So, she hadn’t been born out of love. So much for all the things she’d believed in! Mira looked at the greys in her mother’s hair, and suddenly realized that she didn’t know her mother at all. How had she lived with it for so long? All these years she’d been too busy to ask. Too caught up in herself. She felt the lump in her throat grow bigger.

She walked out into the night. She heard her mother call out, but she didn’t want to stop. She crossed the little pond beside the house and walked on into the grove. It was pitch dark. There was a rustle and she felt something brush by. Some creature. She didn’t know how long she sat there. She’d always questioned her mother’s smiles and her happiness. She’d mourned her dead father, but never once felt grateful for what she had. So, she had one parent who’d gone on and one who had stayed back. And she’d forever waited for the one who wasn’t coming back. Never looked back at the one who’d waited with arms open, always holding her safe when she fell.

That was the moment Mira realized that she wasn’t weak. Or inadequate. There was so much of positivity left in her. She’d always triumphed where everyone else had failed. She’d prevailed where others gave up. She looked back on all the moments where she’d cried in anger and frustration, and all she could remember was her mother’s smile. It had been that smile that had given her the courage to go on even when others said she’d fail. If her mother said it was possible, it was. Oh, how blind she’d been all this time! Now she knew why her mother smiled. For love isn’t always what you get from others, it’s also that which is stored in you, as an inheritance. That which you give yourself. Her mother had given her all her smiles, not because she had to, but because that was what she was. It was the same happiness that bubbled in her, that had never stopped her from giving up. She wasn’t done yet.

Kamala heaved a sigh of relief as Mira walked into the house. It was almost dawn.

“I’m sorry, Mira. You didn’t have to know. I had no right to tell you that!”

Mira looked into her silver-grey eyes that had lightened with age, and said, “You had every right to, ma!”

Kamala was surprised when Mira sat at the dining table and pointedly looked at her plate.

The aroma of freshly cooked rice filled her senses. She felt the grains under her fingers and as she took the first mouthful, burning her tongue in the process, her eyes filled with tears. She savored the first morsel and realized she’d never tasted anything better. She was crying now, crying uncontrollably as she felt her mother wipe her tears away with the tip of her saree. She heard the birds bring in the morning and looked out at the rising sun.

She had finally come home.

November 11, 2010

that fuzzy feeling

When you've run out of sorrow, and find that joy still waits for your attention, like an ever loyal puppy...do you hesitate? Or do you just sit back and let joy overwhelm you? What do you do?
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November 8, 2010

you leave
footprints on hearts,
half-moons in tear-filled eyes.
and i find the sky too small
to hold my joy
as you leave ripples of laughter
in my pool of shadows.
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November 2, 2010

Soultalk

You shut the world out and live in waiting. Waiting to be rescued. And then as you'd hoped, that one person comes into your life. Silently urges you on. Asking nothing in return. Unlocks all the closed doors one by one, and speaks to your soul. This love scares you like nothing else, for all your life you've believed that you do not deserve it. And yet you find yourself believing again, smiling again.

Funny how sadness always arrives with such fanfare, while happiness soundlessly floods every corner of your heart. And then while you smile at your rescuer, you realize that the familiar person standing in front of you blissfully sipping her coffee is no one but you.

You were all you needed. You are all you need.

Sometimes you find happiness. And sometimes happiness finds you.
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October 30, 2010

How we love and mourn, twist and burn
In our rages, we our insides churn
Come close to redeeming our selves
But never once forgive, the hell in us.
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October 15, 2010

Upagupta: A Retelling

She was one of those people. The ones you see walking along beaches, waiting for messages in bottles, and seashells that aren't flawed. You had to admire her patience, for she would wait and wait, and never let the smile fade. Her bubble was rose tinted and hers alone. Until she invited you in, that is. She could convince you with her tales. She almost did that, convinced me! She was to me, one of those people who would never grow up. With her, it was a choice. Not that it made her less of a person. I admired her tenacity, her strong will. She believed in fairy tales the way I believed in blunt talk. She'd argue, tell me how she was right and I was wrong. If I had half her conviction, I'd be a stronger person.

And then the inevitable happened. She grew up. I thought she'd put up a fight. She just let it seep in, fill her being. The cynic in me should've rejoiced at this victory, but it didn't. I was scared; for her, for me. Then I met her again. I told her how growing up shouldn't have happened to her. It wasn't meant to happen to someone like her. She smiled at me. She hadn't fought it, obviously. Because it had been her choice. What makes you think growing up is bad, she asked? I believed in happiness once. Now that I'm wiser, I know it's true. Truer than you or me. So true that it's mine, waiting for me to fight, waiting for me to call it to me. Isn't that what growing up is all about?

That's when I realized I'd been fooling myself. I had a lot of growing up to do, the sheep in cynic's clothing that I was!


P.S. This isn't really supposed to make sense. I have an idea for a story, wanted to check how it'd look in abstract before I actually fleshed it out.

The story? Partly inspired from Upagupta. Sorry Tagore, I really really love the poem, I've wanted to recreate it for the last nine years. :D

All i need

a lone cloud
grey
and a pillowful
of dreams

light streaming in
through stained
windows,
in purple and red

the blue
of butterflies;
the wind billowing,
flirting with curtains;

coffee, bitter brown
and a book
by my side,
as i fall in love
with the nightrain
beating on my
windowpane

a song on my lips
and a smile
on the face
of my soul.

August 21, 2010

Your incorrigible ways!

Life, you're not particularly inspiring right now, but thanks for the momentary highs. They totally make up for the vales of desperation. And from what I've learnt, desperation's good! Ummmm, very very good!

Have you heard of catharsis? :)

July 31, 2010

There's no point in trying. It's never gonna be the same again. Everything's changed, everyone's changed. I see myself for who I am.

I know that I'll never go back to being the silly kid I once was; a few months ago or maybe a lifetime ago. I boasted of intense emotions, craved acceptance. I don't want it anymore. A part of me has died. It's been a rude awakening.

Moving on, letting go is essential they say. And I did believe in things happening for a reason, didn't I? So, why has my faith forsaken me? Dunno if things are gonna get better or worse, it no longer makes a difference.

For I laugh away the whole day; the nightmare starts only when i close my eyes and it all comes back in a rush of vivid colors.

July 8, 2010

would you believe me
if i said
i could erase
the memories
scrub them off
my soul
even as they
threaten to stain it
red.
for you, my dear
were right
i'm nothing
more than the
little girl
too scared
of the light

the little girl
has come home,
she still loves the dark.

July 1, 2010

Dip low, soar high
Do what you do best.
Fly free.

Just leave us the memories, we hold on to. Just that and your laughter.

June 19, 2010

asides: silence so loud

you don’t ask
and I don’t tell
and we wonder why
tongues wag.

your gaze meets mine
over their heads
and we smile,
conspire.

i wait for you
to look my way
oblivious to the sparks
that fly, when you do.

like when you speak to me
with your eyes
and i answer,
wordlessly.

star-gazers both, sit together
wait for shooting stars
forget our wish breathes beside us
oh, such fools we are.

half of me
lives without half of you
and we still wonder
why we’re leading half-lives!

May 27, 2010

Like Starlight

The Maker decided man needed to learn humility. So he created the child. For the child is the only being who asks questions without answers, makes you test the limit of your possibilities, stretch it beyond what you thought was possible. A child is what you were when you weren’t scared of hurling yourself into nothingness. Yes, that is what you were when you believed in delirious possibilities, when you thrived on them. When you looked at the sky and knew for certain what was beyond, knew that at nightfall, you could read the messages the stars sent out. When you could lay awake for hours, listening to the music of silence. And create stories out of it. When irrationality won over reason, when getting shipwrecked on an undiscovered island meant the adventure of a lifetime. When cusses were the only things that could sully your reputation, or make it.



A child is what you were when hurt did not own you, when you could walk away unscathed and get on with your life, even after you’d lost your prized possessions. A child is what you were when you couldn’t hold your own in a fight, with fury as loud as thunder, and yet you gave in to make way for rain. A child is what you were when you were a bundle of possibilities, finding fulfillment in each moment. When you could laugh and forgive, fight and forget, surrender and win. A child is what you were when your tears were sacred, your sorrow unfeigned, and your words free from hatred. When you could see death and yet believe in hereafter. When you believed in living, not life. When trust was something unconditional and hope, like sunshine after rain.



A child is what you were when you didn’t want to be in control of things, and were ready to leave everything to chance and to the beauty of the dreams you’d dreamt.



Isn’t it ironic that we grow up, only to unlearn everything we really learnt on our own?

May 4, 2010

Like there's no tomorrow...

Once upon a time, there lived a little girl. She was meek and unsure, and cared too much. She loved little green plants, dark woods, tame animals and eccentric knick knacks she'd find here and there. She smiled a lot, cried even more and talked to plants and the creatures in the woods. She had an ear for soulful music and loved books that spoke of magic and love. It was difficult for her to imagine hatred, for she didn't know the language. She'd been at the door a lot of times, but could never find the key. Like the little girl who'd tumbled down the rabbit hole, she'd explored some. But it wasn't enough.

The problem with her was, she was scared. Scared of the dark, and the deep blue. Scared because she loved these with a passion she couldn't really define. She had a gypsy's soul. Which made it very difficult for her to stay rooted. And though she'd been taught to stay within her limits, she yearned to get out of the familiar. Hurl herself into the deep unknown.

Familiarity was strangling her. And yet, she did not break free. The insipid days were suffocating her slowly and surely. She was waiting, for someone to push her forward. To tell her that she had to leap. And not look before she did it. Sometimes she had weird dreams. Of water and music. She tried to decipher them, unsuccessfully. All her dreams gave her this strange sense of deja vu. Like she'd been in those places before. It worried her no end, and as she spent her desolate afternoons alone, she wondered if there was an answer. Or was her existence pointless?

The stars spoke to her, of lands they could see. And she wondered when she'd get out of herself and visit those lands. One night, as she stood by the cliff and watched a lonely gull in the moonlight, she made up her mind. It was time. And so, she plunged. Into the unknown.

They never saw her again. But on moonlit nights, lone travelers adventurous enough to climb up the cliff see a figure riding a dolphin. And sometimes, the rider and the dolphin leap so high, that they form a magical silhouette against the moon.

P.S: My pesky brat of a sister reads this and tells me to Get a Life!

May 3, 2010

Getting out of myself and liking what I see

I wonder why I didn't see it
As I rushed blindly in the night
Light sauntered in brilliantly
Night gave in without a fight.

I did not know what I was at
I knew not whom to turn to
But as I made my way out
I smelt wet earth and dew.

These phases of sightlessness
Were they so that I see,
What I had failed to all these days
That I had to forgive me?

I wasn't made for anger
I wasn't made for spite
I cannot vouch for the world
But I wanna set things right.

There's this little God in me
Who tells me I am more
Who tells me the truth
I am splendid, to the core!

I cannot undo my past
Or make the future mine
I can do one thing, I know
Dispel hatred with sunshine!

April 26, 2010

Faith Calling

I say I have faith. But on a late night, while walking alone through a dark alley, I hear footsteps behind me and realize that faith is fickle. I cannot afford to believe in something as ephemeral as the goodness of mankind. As someone who’s always believed in people, I find myself crushed. There is no trust. No goodness anymore. Nothing I can hold on to as I rush towards the sun. It’s not easy, believing in something as exaggerated as a fairy tale. As incongruous as a clown at a funeral. Faith cannot survive as disjointed bits floating over a sordid sea of betrayal.

How do I bring back lost faith?

Learning my lessons


Smile at that hyperactive baby perched on his mom’s lap. All he wants from you is a reaction. It helps if you grin back, or even make faces at him.

Take time to watch birds or even furry little squirrels at play. Play with your pet dog, get that lazy mutt to move his butt and help you out too! It’d amaze you, the way these guys make you feel at peace.

Open your windows to the rain, get drenched. Let it wash away all the wounds, all the ugliness that has crippled your faith.

Dance. People I know run, exercise, and do what not. And yet, lazy me feels there’s nothing as liberating as dance. Close the door, and dance to the loud music. Or better, dance to your own music.

Just as it’s okay to cry once in a while, it’s okay to scream(at someone?) once in a while too. Emotions cannot be bottled up. Sometimes when you break the walls, you let sunshine in.

Write. A journal with your darkest thoughts(see that it doesn’t get to the FBI. We do not want another Jihad Jane!), or an anonymous blog you’ve told no one about. Let those words take shape. Let it out in the open, the darkest thoughts you’ve ever conjured. And the noble ones too.

Make the rules as you play the game (I’m with Calvin on this one). And do resign to the fact that sometimes, there are no rules(Joker, I owe you!).

Live your stories. What’s life without a little drama? When you grow old, if you have no eccentric stories to tell, you’ll be a sad old person. It’s upto you though, how much spice you want to add to your story!

Let go. The hatred and pain. The people, keep them close to your heart anyway. Someday, when you set out on another adventure, you might want to ask them along. I know my stand is foolish. But I believe that no amount of hurt or hatred can obliterate a love that was once true.

Read. It doesn’t matter if it’s a sordid mystery or a crazy book of puns. It might be wise to stick to the safe, readable stuff called literature, but sometimes even the worst book or movie teaches you stuff. Makes you laugh. All said and done, it’s what you take away from it. Nothing like books to set you free.

Find a favorite haunt. Maybe a logwood cabin by the green meadows. (I know, that’s a little too much to hope for!) Maybe a shady tree, overlooking a placid lake. Or a park bench.

Daydream. Do not listen to the ones who tell you it’s a waste of time. Because it is. The most fruitful waste of time. Oh, the kingdoms you conquer, the lands you see, the friendly dragons and the time machines. It’s fun.

Laugh. At the silliest comedies. At the absurdity of daily life. At life. At yourself. At all your little follies.

And oh, the greatest lesson, open up. There are absurdly cranky phases of emotional neediness. And also the ones in which you withdraw from the world and become a recluse. You might not handle both with equal aplomb but life’s boring without these phases. So don’t fret if you act stupid once in a while. Come to terms with it. I’m still learning this lesson.

There are lessons I’ve still not learnt though. Like that guy in Dasvidanya, maybe I need an ultimatum to stop thinking and start doing all the things on my list. The list of things to do before I die.

That's it, I'm done. This is the last of my soul searching, bare-it-all posts. Hopefully.

March 29, 2010

Relapse?

How close? You really want to know? I have perpetual visions of slitting those wrists and watching the blood stain the clear water. Of watching it through a filmy haze that makes people look like actors in a badly filmed movie. The voices getting fainter and fainter as I veer comfortably closer to nothingness.

Death is overrated. As a dreamy, starry sequential tragedy, that makes heroes of mere mortals. It is in fact a phony, insignificant coward. A coward who doesn’t even have the guts to stand up to a fight. The coward has no idea how close it has been to claiming this soul. Unfortunately, the soul has given up. On life. And on its nemesis, death.

March 26, 2010

In an alternate universe, I will triumph. Over this sick, stale depression, that holds my faith hostage. Over the bright glare of the sun, that leaves me weak and immobile on a deserted highway. Over all the insurmountable odds that crush the underdog. I dream, but I dare not dream aloud for fear of being burnt at the stake. My failure is my salvation, the reason I exist. For they wait, ears perked up. Trying to sniff out all my thoughts and dreams. The nights are balmy and my dreams restless. I cover them up with sundry mirages of survival. It is difficult to fool them though, One whiff of it and they will pounce. And shatter every crystalline hope that I’ve built, on this cliff of dreams.
Lucidity does not become me. Yet, that is what I yearn for and work towards. Someday, I will reach there. And maybe then, I’ll be scared no longer. Of speaking my thoughts aloud. I’ll dream of everything I’ve ever wanted, in my life. Call it all to me. For a change. I am tired of running after dreams. Of pursuing them stealthily with a net, and trapping them deep within my soul. I want to set them free, watch the butterflies flutter away, in myriad colors that speak of freedom. Without worrying whether they will ever return. I want to roll on the grass, not tread softly. Watch the fireworks light up the sky with riotous abandon. I want to get drunk, drunk on life, and not sorrow. I want to trip and fall, and let the giddiness overcome me. I want to lock up all my fears, and throw them in the ocean of no-return. I want that epitaph to read, No regrets.

March 18, 2010

Becoming Me

What do you call it when you start doing things that are uncharacteristic of you? Behave like you’ve never behaved before, act like you’re possessed. And care not that the world calls you a fool. I call it quarter-life crisis. Can’t find a better explanation.

There’s this book, a favourite of mine. The central character is an egghead who fools the world into believing that she’s a boring children’s book author. A failed one at that. But once in a while, insanity strikes. And she does crazy things. Like dumping all the camping stuff into the lake because she hates sports, pulling the fire alarm and committing felony, giving away her fifteen million dollar inheritance to charity and jumping into bed with a stranger she has a juvenile crush on. Molly Somerville, the bunny lady with an active imagination and less-than-perfect life.

I’ve always identified with Molly, which is why she is one of my favourite characters ever. I’m your normal, not-so-bright female with a penchant for stories. And an overactive imagination. Though I must say, I’ve not jumped into bed with any of my crushes, not yet. (I seriously hope my dad’s deleted the browsing history, do not want him to come across this one.)

It’s strange when you get out of your comfort zone. Do things you’re not accustomed to. I’ve always had the crazy streak in me, only that a select few have really known me. Like my best friend, Ruby. And Sev. For the world, I’m this cheerful, silly, ever-smiling chit. The dark phases of depression, and the mischievous streak I’ve hidden well. All my teachers, my family, everyone sees me as the girl who can do no wrong. Get into no trouble. My sister is the rebel in the family. I’m the obedient, spineless one.

Well, in the last six months, I’ve goofed up countless times, fallen in love, thrown tantrums, bared my soul to people I’ve never met, even been a sanctimonious pain in the neck. And along the way met people I’ve grown terribly fond of. I’ve stayed in that pit of depression, refused to come out even when friends have tried dragging me out. Well, I lost, just because I realized that sometimes life throws unexpected gifts your way. Gifts that you know you do not deserve. Me, mousy me...who’s always been conscientious about what I say, how I behave, I’ve been quite reckless. Molly’s completely taken over. I’ve dared to bare my soul, get laughed at, and played the complete fool.

I’ve always believed in things happening for a reason. But I never counted on change. Never thought there’d be so much of it in my life. So much that I sometimes wonder who the stranger in the mirror is. Am i glad? Well, I am. Thankful, for the all the people in my life. The ones who listen when they really don’t have to, the ones who put up with my senseless chatter, the ones who chastise me for my silliness, yet let me be me. You mean everything to me. Coz’ I’ve just realized that there are people you must meet, places you must see, and roles you must play, before you become you. Grow into you. I’m learning. And, I hope, growing as I learn.

February 28, 2010

His Musings

To describe her, I’d have to ask you to close your eyes and imagine that solitary creek behind the rocks. Where the sea rests for a while, in shallow, undisturbed pools. The rocks obstruct the sun, and pebbles and shells abound. The breeze caresses your face. And there, just before sunset, you witness something holy. Something you’ll relive a hundred times in your life. In morbid moments, the memory will take your breath away. For all the moments you’re on your knees, defeated and withdrawn, you’ll go back to that one moment. And gather a strength you never knew resided in you.



For me, that’s what she is. Her immeasurable kindness and her childish glee overwhelm me, time and again. She loves grey overcast skies over green cliffs. The lull before the storm. Watching her face break out into a smile is sheer ecstasy. A smile that starts from the lips, shines in her eyes and makes her glow. For the world, she might be gauche. Her spirit is untamed; she was made for open fields and glorious sunsets. For hours of solitude. Not loud opulence, but magnificence that dances on the fringe of insanity. The same dance that connects the stars, makes the embers burn brighter and unleashes itself in droplets over the parched earth. She’s shown me that obstinacy is her answer to my wrath. I’ve met my match.



What more can I say? She’s chosen me, hasn’t she? Like the princess in the myth, she’s chosen a beggarly, ancient lout whose third eye spews fire. Someone who wouldn’t know how to love. She tells me that it isn’t something you learn, it’s there, deep in you. It’s only the deepest tremor that lets you express it. And the funny part is, I believe her. When she says that she’s mine not because we’re meant to be, but because she wouldn’t want it any other way. How can I say no, to a woman who loves my wrath as much as my calm? And suddenly I feel I'm God, God of everything I see.
It all comes to a phase where nothing matters anymore. And you just want to escape. Where to? Someplace where you know no one, and no one knows you.

It's like my friend Jaya says...it's dangerous when you have a tendency to fall violently in love with people. It is. When you end up doing the same thing over and over again, inspite of getting hurt. The dreamer in you refuses to believe that people come into your life, but do not stay.

Am tired of this vicious cycle,of laughing with someone and then suddenly waking up to find that I'm all alone again. The problem with getting attached is, you feel terribly, terribly lonely once people move on.

I was my own person, don't know how it all changed. Suddenly, I need someone to lift my spirits. Needy. That's exactly what I've become. And yet, baring my soul hasn't really helped in the long run. This pit of depression seems bottomless. And I really don't understand why I visit this land, quite too often these days.

A hundred people who care, and yet I realize none can help. I need to look inside and make a choice. About who I want to be.

February 20, 2010

I walk, on and on. The climb is steep. The sun, high in the sky. I know not what it is I walk towards. Or away from. This journey, it’s purposeless. Or so I think. I never had a choice. She’s asked me to do it because she cannot. Too sick to travel. So here I am, completing her journey.

I’d guessed it, the fact that she wanted me to complete this journey for her. She said I needed it. Drugs cure physical ailments, but for ailments of the heart, nothing works. Nothing but time. Loss rocks your body and soul, and the unceasing grief just clings on. She’s wrong though. Nothing can cure a dying soul.

I can feel the sun on my back. My feet feel numb and I know I should stop. Yet I go on. Am I punishing myself? I do not have answers to that. I’ve ceased to exist. Stopped thinking or worrying. I look around and find that the landscape has changed. I can feel the dry, cracked soil under my feet. Isn’t this how my life changed too? From the green, lush landscape to a dreary desert? All while I was walking on blindly.

I’m almost there, at the top. The day’s come to a close. It’ll be dark in a few hours and I’ll be here, all alone. If the rational soul in me were still alive, it’d tell me to turn back and continue the journey sometime later. But I’ve stopped caring. Hence, I move on.

I stub my toe against a rock. And wait for the pain. There was a time when I foolishly believed pain could kill you. Now, I’m wiser. I know that pain does not kill. I’ve waited for it to snuff out my breath. It didn’t. It ached, hurt like hell. It would wash over in waves, take me by surprise and mist my eyes again and again. And then, I lost the capacity to feel.

I open my eyes to the sun and wait for it to warm me; the chill in my heart. I’m there at the zenith. On top of the world. I can see the path I’ve taken. I turn around, and face the valley. And the next moment, I stand transfixed.

The valley is in contrast to the bleakness of the path I’ve taken. It’s a violent swirl of colors. It’s dotted with violets and wild roses. Sliced by a gurgling stream and surrounded by silver birches. And there’s grass to roll on. I make my way, and claim my slice of heaven. Let myself come undone. And I let the beauty of it engulf me.

To think that all this is hidden from probing eyes, on this side of the mountain. Is this the answer I was waiting for? A feeling so intense, so surprising that it actually hurts? I feel myself heal. Like never before. I feel it course through me, and I take root. I am the sun, the wide-open sky without boundaries, I am the sweet spring that goes on, I am the leaves and the grass, and the fire in the stars. I am sacred, whole again. I’ve found my faith, my religion. My eyes mist as I realize what she meant when she said that this was my journey. To reclaim my lost faith. The life I’d lost, the one I’d given up on.

You climb the dreariest of mountains, sometimes give up halfway, and never know what waited for you on the other side. And sometimes, when you choose to go on, you find, life was there waiting for you, with all the answers.

Love is like that.

January 31, 2010

She

Every imaginable emotion. Yes. Fierce protectiveness. Reverence. Lust. Chaste love. Sometimes desperation, and even insanity. She evokes them all. Upheld as a deity somewhere, looked down upon as a harlot too. She's seen it all. And survived it all. Her tears have moved men, her anger has razed forests to the ground. She's been called a heretic, a devotee. She's been accused of using her wiles to ensnare men, and never let the power go to her head.

And yet, when a woman loves, she loves. Without reason. Without guile. Without remorse.

January 30, 2010

Inside Out

Some say it's all about doing what you feel is right. Instinct. You dive in deep, into the unknown. Nobody's been there before you. If you're fortunate to get out alive, you tell the tale. And many follow.

It's about the experience. About breathing in every feeling. The fiery red sunset, how would it look from the sea? From underwater? How would it be if you lived a dream? Not knowing what the next moment was all about. And what if you did it all without a care. You have to be either desperate or indifferent to be that brave.

I am neither. And yet, now I find that I have it in me. To go, where I've never been before. I want to take every stupid risk. No, I am not suicidal. I'm too much of a coward for that. It's just that I've been waiting. Haven't really started living. Kept putting it off for later. And now I wonder, what if there is no later. What if this is it?

It's funny, but when you stop thinking, you start living.

January 23, 2010

Silence, it's something I need to practice. Never realized it till now. I've been out seeking the
proverbial rainbow and though it hasn't yet lost its charm, the search has made me wonder. It's been a while since I've stopped, and listened. There was this music I'd hum a lot, when I was younger. It's been a while since I've done that. Or heard that music. I barely listen to my thoughts these days. So much on my mind, I just get it all out. I forget that there is something I need to keep to myself.

Solitude is something I seem to take for granted. My moments of solitude do not give me the same joy now. I'll have to relearn it, the joy and the wonder, rediscover every little thought that'd amaze me, make me smile. And reflect.

In the wild cacophony, as I sit beside the window, I hear it at times. Broken;but it's there. Waiting to be heard, to burst out loud, into a million hues across my sky. It's pitch dark right now, but it's time the slumber ended.

January 17, 2010

Blue is the colour of melancholy
Of a sorrow that's almost holy.

For it is you and it will be you
It's over, but it will continue.

Not a hint, not a word
Because you think it's absurd.

Let me go on, just alone
For I care, and I mourn.

Loss, the word says it all
I cannot rise again or fall.

January 2, 2010

The winter mist is gone. It's time I moved on. The greatest poetry, supposedly, is born out of the deepest tremors of the soul. Yet, this selfish emotion does nothing more than wring my heart and leave me helpless. It's an emotional quagmire, I've learnt. One that I'll have to get out of myself. And yet, when they say there'll be another morn, I laugh. Because, little do they know, it's the dark, silent night that makes me sing. So, I wait for the day I'll find my voice again. The one I've momentarily lost. Tomorrow's going to be different, a new world, new faces. An adventure or a challenge, i'll have to find out on my own. Faith stays, it is something that refuses to budge. I know it's not going to be the same, because I am no longer the same. It's heartening though.....I'm growing up. :)