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See you next fall. Maybe ?

The browning maple tree shelters me under its magnanimity for another long day. I meekly succumb to all the solace it had to offer and let it’s withered leaves float over me, comforting me with its caresses as I sat down to lament yet again this afternoon. Autumn has been kind to me all these years in its patient acknowledgement of my loss, allowing the universe to shed parts of itselves to mourn my loss. With one hand clutched to my chest and another on my stomach, I weep my heart out not being able to stand it any longer. My windpipes have given up on me, and they do not make a sound anymore. My tears too, sulk their way slowly down the corners of my eyes. The eyelids are exhausted and only wishes to close down on each other forever.

The meadows of the world are vast, infinitely vast as if they are reaching out to a land unknown where an ardent lover awaites it’s arrival. When I opened my eyes again, I watched my daughter gracefully spring towards the horizon from a distance. Her long long hair fluttering in the wind and bringing life to everything it touched. She has got her back to me and I cannot seem to decipher her face clearly. She’s far away, very very far. Also, probably angry that I have been crying again. I saw her long tender hands, an etch of her father’s that she proudly inherited, play with the tips of the plants she laid hands on all along her way.

I sat watching her in a daze for what seemed like an eternity and the hot tears that tore out of my eyes now hit the tendrils and weeds and grass which shuddered in pain with me. When the vision turns blurry, the laughter of my daughter too seemed to fade away with it into hollow nothingness at a distance as she runs into the horizon. And perhaps this is my toll, for not wanting you enough then when you sprouted as a surprise inside the walls of my feminity. But, now all I can think of is, Will I see your face next fall? And maybe you’ll have his funny nose and my sultry eyes just the way he always talked about. Maybe. Maybe not.

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AN HONEST LIAR

 

I met a certain man yesterday.

Who spoke for hours along,

With no pretense.

About poets,their verses.

And paintings and artists,

And singers and their lives.

 

Of strange obsessions,

And compelling addictions,

Of his little crush,

On the lady death,

And of all the urges he cannot tame.

 

He meets you in the lines you pen,

And tells you he gets it,

The empty longings,

The emotional rollercoasters,

The love for forbidden,

And all that you feared to tell the world.

 

 

He kept me awake with the tales of his wounds,

The tales that make him a human,

Of an exquisite kind.

A fine departure from all the others,

An honest liar,

Shouting words of truth and penance,

At the infinite moments of darkness.

 

 

A certain delusional young man,

Who suffers from the wrath of his own conscience,

Who grieves in silence,

For all the friends who travelled far,

And families that fell apart,

And women who gave up,

And places that wore him out.

 

 

He whispers into my ears,

“You scare me!

For you believe in no atonement,

For you seek to murder murderers,

You deny, that all the men, You wish to hang at marketplace,

Deep, deep, deep, down hold a heart that beats.”

 

 

But I, “I know”, He says,

“For, I walked with them too,

For, I was one of them too.

But my dear, how I wish I hadn’t begun all that I began!

I’m left with little, so little, if you had known all that I had.

I have been a weak man,

of the strongest kind.

And all of it has taken a toll,

On all that I had.”

 

 

As he sits there alone,

and waiting for his little crush

To come looking for him in depths,

How I wish to tell him to hold onto his self,

That the world outside is beautiful,

And that bigger love will happen,

And severed ties shall mend,

And that second chances, third chances,

And infinite chances are allowed,

For men who sin, and yet repent.

And that all you ever wanted,

will come looking for you 🙂

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My first lousy poem.

My leaves withering,
rot away smiling,
Sometimes in vain,
Sometimes in efforts,
to paint your  life
with the colors I bear,
in red, saffron and yellow,
with cells cut off my veins!

You come to me,
not, but often
when the numbers allowed,
to sprinkle a shallow lifeline
in just the right measure
over my browning leaves,
to keep from souring!

The weeds,
that erupt off my hungry roots,
They steal-
Everything that was yours,
Everything that was mine,
Even the only remains,
of an ancient manure I forced off you once,
with a shameless display
of my youthful unrest.

When you’re gone again,
Across a narrow aisle,
I live in a shrewd silence,
Both dead and alive,
Both patient and needy,
I stoop, as if I’m falling,
Towards the earthly being,
Till again, one morning,
your familiar shadow falls over my skin

I wriggle alive as you run your fingers,
along my tender leaves, enjoying its sweetness,
And its subtle tenderness.
Your light kisses on the flowers I bear,
and the shivers my fragrance passes down your spine,
tells me volumes,
Of all I ever wanted
Which is only a little of you.

🙂

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A dive into the Unknown.

I was always telling him things, taking him places – pouring my soul out for him, almost torturing him time and again with my bitter-sweet impulsive emotional outbursts. All I asked of him was for him to be angry, or shocked or worried or guilty about the things I said or thought. I meant for him to be able to tell the things he felt, or feel the way I felt. I meant for him to feel something for me – just anything at all. No, his lucid insensitivity did not intimidate me one bit,not even for a second, for I was in love with his coldness too. His sheer lack of emotions infuriated my brimming youthful soul, for I perpetually carried hundreds of impalpable precipitations feelings inside me. But, despite his apparent indifference or his obvious lack of ability to look through my soul, he was breaking me into pieces. 

With him, I knew I was content. But to him, I was also loosing a little bit of myself, every day. I could spend hours with him and not speak one word, deep down, silently preparing myself to melt into his layers one day without warning. In my silence, he tamed me with his ferociousness. He would sway past my frame coarsely, taunting me, almost provoking me into an awkward smile. When I lost it, he disciplined me with his infuriating indifference. I, enraged and annoyed, threw stones at him, spit at him, crushed his trunk, and when I was done, I fell to his feet, in pieces. He would just let me be, let me bleed and wail, all he had to do was to to send his arms to pet around my skin for a while, or hum a feeble tune.In seconds, I forgave him and went back to being in the kind of literate, passionate, unconditional love again.

For he himself was nothing short of an enigma, an embellishment of contrasts, crafted in a mysteriously juicy method. He was the most free-spirited, insolent, angry, impatient thing I had ever known. And I, only I saw that beneath the layers of mischief and mystery, there was a layer no one knew about. A layer of emptiness – an insatiable void. That was the catch, that I knew too much. Or I thought I did, from all that I heard and imagined – I just knew that he submerged his deepest of deepest desires into a tiny cave hidden somewhere deep underneath his bodily layers.

I wanted to get there. There, right there, was the home I wanted to live in.  I wanted to excavate – excavate as further as I can  to understand him more- to make sense of longings and despairs and pleasures. That had become my only obsession and my deepest fascination. I alone wanted to be the one who understands his being, the one who reads his mind, the one who he came back to after an ugly fight. 

But he had been in love before, millions of times before, but that did not upset me. There was no way I could give him any of the earthly pleasures, I wasn’t even worth all of it. Yet, it upset me so much, that he returned to every woman who crawled back to him. He sheltered them too, even at odd hours of the day. I was foolish to imagine that he could be exclusively my very own. I had to start thinking of ways to push him away from my memory.

And somewhere along the way, I fell out of place, I fell out of my mind, I fell way from him. And being young and caught up in my own lecherous ways, I distanced myself with what I was made of. I missed out on our visits, on our intimacy, on our yearning.I was lost and I strayed further away, feeding my soul of all it craved for. But it did upset me that you did not come for me, or send for me or watch out for me. Some strangers I met, told me stories of you, brought me the scent of your being and sought me guilty for letting you go.

Some nights, I stayed awake. Thinking of you,of the way your moved around,  of your warmth, of your smell and of all those lives who fell for your charm. They were the only things that I knew and I realized how much in awe I was, that in the process of rejuvenating my love for him, I was setting fire to myself.

I knew I had failed him. I had failed him in more ways than one. I failed myself and my only conscience. I had been running away from him, I was running away from the only place I could call home. I was running away from all that I ever wanted. Indeed, I thought I was better off without him, better off without the eccentricities and vulnerabilities, without the pain and passion. But, deep down, I knew that if there was a place I would return to – It had to be always inside you.

I could not wait any longer. I stood up and walked. Walked for hours and days, and now I am there, at his mercy. I had come back to him, wounded, sobbing and weak begging him to take me back. I had come back.

I was talking to him now, pleading, begging for a chance at redemption.

“Now you could throw me out or take me in, but know that I will always come back.” I started.

“Have pity, my sea, have me back.” 

I was speaking these words and without waiting for him, I started walking into his depths , into the moist depths I had always dreamed of.  I couldn’t make out if his overpowering waves were trying to push me aside or pull me along to the culmination. I did not know if he was happy about my forceful advancement into his layers. It was not painful for I was ecstatic, creeping down into his depths in awe ,waiting for the moment we would become one. I knew it would take a long time, and I might not even remember how it felt, but this was a moment. This was the moment I had longed for in years, this was the ultimate high I needed, my final orgasm.

Tell me now, all of you. I knew you were watching us in our final  moments of intricate intimacy? Some of you, crying for help,calling out for me, wailing, sending troops in search of me. But, didn’t you see my love, and his, what did you miss? Do you not see that this place, where I am now, floating and drifting with the undercurrents of his enormous being, is the only place I can be happy and content?

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The mystery Man!

Those nights were sinfully cold and windy, when I sat there on the stone bench picturing the arrival of my mystery man. My mystery man who had made a slave out of the blowing wind. Around him, the wind, took its submissive being, and followed along his orders with a sense of urgency and fear. I imagined my man, his face- pale and wrinkled, yet helplessly charming, emerging from a distance smoking a thick puff of smoke around him . The wind, his partner in crime, promptly carried the pungent odour away from him in a matter of seconds and brought them  to me declaring his arrival. He looks several years younger than his age, thanks to his lean frame and impeccable taste in stacking the wardrobe with the right clothes. The aura around him was devastatingly unreal and he kept me on the edge every single time we met .This man, who I knew nothing about was effortlessly driving me insane and intrigued, inch by inch. I watched the kids around me play with their battered yet colored balls of red, white and blue.The honking and beeps of vehicles at a distance reached my ears as subtle tunes of a soft, mystical symphony.

Several nights had passed now, where me and him, would just walk along dusty empty walkways and argue on our takes on the world’s most pointless matters. Every night after on our return, we promise to never take another road together again. But, he would just turn up every next day as if this had become one of his habits. And I waited here day after day, as if this was my only reason for living. I wish I could romanticize the whole situation some more with descriptions of birds and tress and flowers which didnt exist to picture things perfect. But even in the obvious absence of any natural or unnatural hyperbole, the night couldn’t have been any less beautiful. The stone seats in the park I sat on, absorbed every bit of degree celcius’s it could  from me, in return spreading its chill unevenly throughout the length of my body. In a few minutes I had my legs curled up under my skirt and my hands had found a safe place in the deep pockets of my sweatshirt. I didn’t cover my face, I let the wind have its way, blowing past my hair,and slowly, sabotaging my minutes of effort to make them line the contours of my face exactly the way I wanted him to see it. My eyelids hugged each other for a split second or a little longer, but before I knew it, I was falling slowly, but steadily into the surreal world which worked in strange ways. My wind, mischievously crawled into my dreams and continued to blow in there as well.

“He is here!”, announced the wind forcing a stint of his manly odour into my nose as if to bring me back to reality.

I was grinding my teeth tightly now, no more able to bypass the intensity of the moment. The wind – flowing past me in an urgency to welcome its master, was touching and teasing me in more ways than one. This man, whose very thought triggers my wildest fantasy, whose presence makes me aware of the blood gushing through my veins was finally here. I do not know if it was the night or the wind or just the thought of his usual being, I was strangely aroused, so much that I gulped down my growing urge to run back to my house, away from his haunt. I felt a small tap on my shoulder. My shoulder almost entirely covered by the grey pullover and the black tee inside it. But I am certain that I felt a tip of his index finger touch the thin lining of the exposed skin in the valley down my neck towards my arms.I stood up and smiled at his empty face trying to pacify my heart beat which had began to rise to a palpable rhythm.

He didn’t smile back at me.

Or maybe he did.

It had always been difficult to read his face. In the years, he had mastered the art of deception pretty well. He concealed his deepest desires and fears locked up in some remote chamber of his heart, away from my  probing eyes. I knew that it was ages before he would actually let me into his lonely red island. The wind still blowing, caressing me and him together now, pulling the ends of my hair to catch upto his bearded face. He didn’t push them away, the strands of my messy hair now struggling its way to reach for his neck and then sliding their way higher up.

“My wind! Playing naughty games with me again, are you?”, I think.

My eyes were stuck on him – wandering deep into his thoughts , trying to make sense of this man who always made me a restless, impatient and curious woman.  He joined my gaze for a few seconds, reading my apparent turmoil before he convineantly looked back to the road ahead of us. I resisted my urge to cup his face in my hands to not let him escape my gaze anymore.

“Shall we go for a walk?”, he said finally standing up and shaking off our extremely dangerous and potentially risky eye contact.

I nodded.

“This way”, he pointed. “Against the blowing wind”, he added.

“He walks not by you, but against you! And yet, you seem to be in favour of his evil charm, my wind?”, I think.

I suppressed a smile inside to look at my mystery man – ever the unflinching rebel. His messy hair, wanton nature and gentle words. He was a strange strange combination, of morning sunshine and midnight black. It was his very native rebellious being, that draws me to it fiercly day by day. Every part of his being, intrigued me, excited me, fascinated me, aroused me furthur. He was so much like my wind. Gentle, yet brutal. Powerful yet weak. Humble yet defiant. I didn’t make an effort to hide my desires from him.While I was making these mental notes, his eyes came wandering back to mine.

Cautious.

Silent.

Helpless.

We start to walk. We took short measured steps forward through the pebbled pathway. My wind, flowing gently against me in caution, as if trying to stop me, warn me . I see him light his cigar again. I pull it out of his mouth and throw it down in the trash. He is angry now, he grabs the top my arm in a quick movement, then lets me go before turning back to walk again.But he did not light another one. I smile. I steal his hand and wrap it with mine to ease his temper. The kids in the park were throwing tiny smiles at us. Even the uncles hurrying on their way resolute in burning every bit of extra calourie they didnt need, shot mischievous glances at us.

” What must they be thinking? Do they take us for lovers? “

What do they see when they look at him, the uncles and the kids ?

What do I see when I look at him?

I see PAIN. Nothing but pain in his eyes and the void in his heart .

While my mind cruised along the horizons of possibilities of facts and figments around him, I felt his hands shake my shoulders again.My wind had started to follow us back , now blowing unevenly- smooth and hoarse, over and over. I was cold now, and hot, and my muscles started to tense. I feared the tips of my fairly concealed assets starting to peak out to give him a show of my wandering mind. I pulled the sweatshirt closer to me, still determined to walk forward against my wind and its wrath today.

With him, I was shades of multiple beings. I had alters, the shy one, the shameless one, the needy one and the childish one. As if in realization, he started speaking to me. My brain refused to keep records of his blunt revelations. He didn’t need a companion. He wanted to be the lonely man in the maddening crowd. He just didn’t need me. But I knew I was determined to give him everything he didn’t want. I didn’t dream of an exquisite wedding or of having two notorious masterminds to inherit his name. In my dreams there were no mansions or churches. There were roads, long and narrow and unpredictable. All I ever wanted was to walk with you. And to lay awake in the nights , not naked yet spent , of our intense undying conversations. My wind was growing hoarse and wild now, angry that I ignored its insistent premonitions. My mystery man, for once, held me close to him tight and wrapped his hands around me before my wind altered into his thirsty cousin-the storm.

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A CONFESSION THAT CAME LATE

Had the 9th year of the twenty first century and its spring not come, My life would have seen an absolute vertical shift from where it is today. Post class 11, like every other delusional Indian youth, I enrolled for an entrance coaching program at one of kerala’s pioneer institutes because that is what everybody did back then.What followed was prolonged days of concurrent sessions and rigorous examinations.
Finally, like everything else, the classes too came to an end. On the final day marked as  April 30,2009 I was overjoyed to go home. The announcement of classes ending at 3:00(which was 3 hours earlier than the routine timing) that day came around 11 o’clock. I have to recall that in that era I did not hold a mobile phone to my credit.
That day, In the recess break I  briskly ran to the telephone booth. I looked out for a one rupee coin, found it, inserted it into the machine and quickly dialed 10 digits in quick succession. Again, unlike 2015 we all knew a lot of mobile numbers by heart then.I am not sure if it was because I was much younger then or because this device which would store a multitude of contacts was something i did not own then. I did know that he was attending a house warming ceremony of one of his closest friends. But then, as children, we believe its our undeniable right to trouble them at any hour of the day, however trivial the reason may seem. He answered promptly as was the custom. Now, my father had a history of making it late to every public occasion. Be it the school open house or the Annual day, which we believed was an event to flaunt our parents to our peers and teachers. He would invariably appear towards the end of the event when almost everyone would have left. For some reason, As a kid I felt very deeply about all that. I asked him to be present at my hostel by 3. I warned him..” If you’re gonna be late today dad, trust me, this is the last time I’m gonna be traveling with you ever again.”  My dad always said that someday my tongue would land me in big trouble. Well, I did not fathom the intensity of it until later that day. Those words were probably the only reason that I had to shed the hottest tears for a really long time. With that, I placed the receiver on the stand. Now, he would definitely make it. I smiled and walked back to my class.
That phone call was the single biggest mistake of my life ever. Now that I look back, I cannot remember if it was a sunny day or a windy day. If it was a Friday or a monday. I cannot recall who sat with me that day in my class or what color my dress was. I vaguely remember the class getting over and rushing toward the bus which would take us to our hostel. There was a slight drizzle.I looked out of the window from the bus. On reaching the junction there was an unusual crowd and a traffic block. Well those were never one of my concerns. It was only much later that I realized with a shudder that in that rain…On that very moment.. Not far from where the array of buses clustered and deviated roads.. There was a black car that crashed into a bus.. And inside it was my father breathing his last breath. But that day all I thought was about all the impending packing I had to do. I did not even have the faintest idea that it would be anyone I knew, anyone for that matter. The vehicle dragged its way to my hostel. I went to my room packed all my stuff and changed my clothes. He would be waiting for my call, I thought. I went down and made the call. I dialed his number and the screen displayed the number in petite digital display font. The call went through but I immediately disconnected the call as the reply came in an unfamiliar voice. I dialed the number with more caution this time.When I called again, before I could say anything the reply came asking for who I was and the phone belonged to someone who just met with an accident. On that very moment..The skies came crashing down on me. I was shaking and sobbing and hot tears came splashing down my eyes.I cannot imagine how I struggled to hold on to listen to what the man said next. I was overwhelmed with bewilderness and nausea. I could hardly breathe. My legs went limp and my the voices in my head began crumbling. I think I fell down. The picture of my dad with a broken leg or wounded head was more than what I could take.Someone caught me before I passed out.
And then I do not know what happened. When I opened my eyes again trees were running past me in quick succession. I was on a moving vehicle. My eyes were moist and sunken. There was a hand holding me to hers.It was my hostel warden. She was one of the sisters in the convent.There was rosary on one of her hands and the other hand tightly clasped mine. The memories are vague but she did tell me everything was alright. I lay there like a drugged woman not wanting to wake up to reality.I read familiar signboards and bus stops as the car moved forward. We were heading home. That’s a good thing. I would be strong and meet him at the hospital. Maybe stay there till he gets better. I thought miserably. And in a few minutes we turned sideways to a road that would lead to my house. Then I noticed something eery about my place. There were lot of people everywhere. There was a strange silence and melancholy everywhere. The car stopped two blocks away from my house. There were vehicles parked all around. The premonitions were unmistakable. I tore out of the car liked a caged animal. I felt to the ground and stood up again. The sisters held me back. I pulled against them screaming. On top of my voice I ran to my house forgetting every caution and warning. I stood numb for a second to find my mother swarmed by the women in the neighborhood crying and weeping and shouting and cursing at the same time. I walked to her and she hugged me tight to her and wept her life out. I could still not believe this was happening to me. I shut my eyes tight and prayed this was nothing but an ugly dream. For the next 23 hours every second was a heavy blow.. The pain steering through the fleash and bones and the mind gone numb. Thousands of people came to our house .. Gave us a sympathetic glance and shook their heads apologetically and cursed our fate. My mom had lost all her pride and beauty.. She was decreased to a numb mortal in a nick of time. Me and my sister lay on her both sides gasping and weeping. I did not tell anyone about the phone call I made. It was killing me from within. Eating me out alive. The next day he was brought home. I wanted to jump out into the flames that day. I would gratefully be turned down to ash and not regret about it in the next world. I was left alive. To survive.. To exist.. To forget.. To forgive..
Then my life turned upside down. I was no more cold or controversial. There was a realization that now,there would be no one who would look out for me even if I was wrong. Life changed. Everything changed. Our life style.. Our way of thinking.. Way of reacting.. Way of living. I did go back to the dreaded city where my dad’s car crashed  and had left him motionless. I did pick pieces of the number plate and glass pieces from the road. I did cry my eyes out to see the pool of my dads blood spilled and dried on the roads unevenly. And then I never visited ‘pala’ again. Full stop

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A rebel is born

As a child
I loved the smell of sauted garlic
And ginger boiling into the milk tea
Even jolted whistles of a cooker
While I grew sprouts under the sink
Which grew eclectic with pumpkin

I was determined to love it all,
Even the very art of simmering
In the right measure

But then one day, and then every following day
I stood behind my mother
And wondered why,
In every house
every commercial
even world cinema –
It’s women
That stand behind kettles and burners
Relishing the aroma of sauted garlic
And tea and sprouts

I didn’t wonder too long,
I tossed the kettle, flushed the sprouts and cut my hair short and called myself a rebel with a cause.

I have hated cooking all my life, not so much because I had something against preparing wonderful meals that bring so much joy and contentment. I did some soul searching and I remembered that I did love cooking and to watch amma cook, but the day I realised that the world sees this as a “woman’s compulsory unpaid service”, I had told myself I wouldn’t conform.

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Zenana

Zenana.. ( Part of the house/ palace where women were confined to)

Why does this city linger, in my unremembered dreams,
Not for its mahals, forts or finery
But for women
who raised them all – Maharajas, rajputs and craftsmen..

Their zenanas, , their loneliness
forever a royal,
Forever living it’s ways,
Forever, knowing their promised predicament
Forever, not knowing the wonders of the world..

The magnanimity of it all,
To be part princess, part prisoner,
Partly loved and partly not,
And one wonders what do riches mean, if one isn’t free?

But given a choice, wouldn’t we all give it our all,
to protect our own rightful imprisonment?

Experiance

All that needs to be said about 2017- A personal note.

A personal note!

I always wondered if a time would come when I could write about what hurts without much pretension and without having to damage anyone else in the process. It almost seemed impossible and I counted it as much of an ordeal I wasn’t yet willing to put myself through. If I am to think of something that has been worrying me greatly these past few weeks, it has been the rather absurd idea that I never really get away with anything that I do. Well, by ‘anything’- I specifically mean things that were perhaps not fully justified ethically or morally. I am not an advocate of absolute morality nor am I of the opinion that people should get away with making lives miserable for other people. But to my own dismay, when a time came for myself to have one foot on my ideals, I could never really do it. I found myself grieving at my own disarray that was only a result of my own indecisions and wrong doings. But what plagued me since is the thought that perhaps there is a reason that I must be suffering so much.

In the days that followed what would always come to me was a word of advice that my cousin Hari once gave to me as I was stepping into adulthood and it was – “Java, it is okay to make some mistakes in life, but make sure you don’t get caught”. It made me laugh and I have been wanting to not only hold on to it but also practise it wherever possible. So far, without success, I must add. Each time I questioned a friend for his/her loyalty, my conscience was faced with the question of gauging my own very commitment to their happiness. And for once when I had to leave a man for no mistake of his own, I was soon to be thrown into an abyss by another and left to grieve so I could make sense of my own debauchery that claimed my past. I let another woman down who was both kind and unkind to me at various occasions and I still did not how I felt about that until very recently. That too only when I let down another by being both kind and unkind to someone I know I hold dear. I have let down very many people in my life without meaning to and because I listened to my own heart too often. I remember my friend Malavika reminding me time and again that as women, we must all try and never hurt another but instead be an anchor who encourages and supports them. And I failed her too on a certain day I was consumed by a strange rage and I quite intentionally said hurtful things to another woman.

I am certain that most of my friends would like to think of me as joyful, innocent, lively and perhaps chaotic, but it is only now that I must confess that there is another adjective that must be added to the list and that would be – indifferent. I think I am indifferent to the feelings of a lot many people who have stood by me and failed miserably to put their interests ahead of mine. However, I suffer greatly every time I have to confront myself to being so unhinged. Rahul always warned me that it is wrong to mislead myself to believe that the heart wants what it wants. Perhaps I am wrong, but I am only learning and I am still trying. The idea is destructive and it is almost every night that Kavya, Akash and Aditya would look at my half opened eyes and remind me that perhaps the trouble is I don’t desire enough for myself. And friends who have known me for years, but who now thrive in very different eco systems fear that I have almost reached my threshold of giving and taking pain. During my happier moments, I look back and realise that despite what looks quite alluring about my ways, I have for long been victimised by my own lack of self-esteem. And that is a striking paradox that I live a happy life consumed by a sad soul but reality cannot be evaded or fully comprehend yet.

Another wonderful lesson I learnt this year is to believe that we are not the voices in our head. The persistent voices in my head led me to subscribe to the idea that forgiveness and empathy cannot be lived without. That there are no bad people but only people with malicious intents that is a function of their situations and perhaps the half-truths that they bought in. Surely, it has only made me look stupid and naïve, and perhaps because I was exactly that. Preeja tells me I must find a way to stop myself from blaming myself for everything that goes wrong. Perhaps someday I will. Perhaps not. I am convinced that whatever I am, it is highly unlikely that I am susceptible to any sort of transformation as an individual. I am not capable of it nor do I consider it necessary as what defines me is only my very individuality. And my inability to change is what hurts me the most. But come what may, I believe that the only change that I am determined to see in myself in 2018 is to be someone who will no more inflict damage to anyone else by intent (or by accident) and to have the will to forgive myself for everything that makes up my very eventful past. It may look like I am only protecting myself from agony by making that decision, but perhaps there is redemption somewhere along that path.

Review

Then and now.

I would not have pictured myself penning the intricacies of those magical moments down to such finite details any day, but I have perhaps more reasons than one to think that keeping him as alive in me, as much as I possibly can, is a choice which I couldnt have not made. Well, the lover in me is often a slave to the writer in me, waging a war with my inner self till it gets myself to bleed it’s ink with the tales of its adventures. I thought I had known life, and love and meanings, only to realise later that I lived the life of a long withered twig floating about the course of an aimless wind till I one day swarmed into his arms. As enchanting as it may have been, now, years later, in retrospect I cannot stop thinking that I would have liked it a lot more to have met him in a different world. Somewhere far, somewhere quiet, somewhere from my dreams, somewhere I would not want to return from, somewhere away from the haunt of civilisations and expectations. But here we were, urban nomads, at a posh chinese restaurant, wearing fashionable clothes and speaking more with words than with unsaid syllables of subtle silences and discreet glances like what I always imagined it would be.

I had read volumes about it. Large volumes of all my favourite literature from around the world only seemed to speak relentlessly about the bitter-sweet entanglement that love was to the world. The eccentricities, the vulnerabilities, the longings – I knew all about these that came with this exquisite sickness called love. But, quite reluctantly, I must confess, I did not see it coming to get me when it actually did one afternoon, unannounced and in utter silence and then turned my whole world upside down until he was to finally make my world revolve around his being. Now that I look back, I hate that I cannot remember the mild subtleties of the day – I cannot recall if it was a bright sunny day or a gloomy Monday afternoon, but I do recall tensing up at the passive awareness of a storm that had slowly began to build in me somewhere deep down. Only days later, I found that about myself, it was me, and I was the girl walking into it, smiling as if in a daze. I sometimes look out into the ends of horizon to remember the fine details of the day that do not matter. All I can remember now is how you just stood in the distance, calm and lost in thoughts, looking right back at me as I walked towards to you, beaming and so full of our ruthless wanton charm that has since held me captive.It was only years later that I was to find out, quite disturbingly, that at that very second, at that very instant, not very far from across the table, he was silently following my mind that had begun wandering off boundaries on a dreamy adventure. I did not, and couldn’t have forgiven myself if I looked away for a minute, or a fraction of any fraction of measurable time possible away from your face. For once, I wished to climb in him and see myself through his eyes, and for once feel beautiful.

His eyes soon met my probing eyes halfway and in seconds he was only an inch within my reach and the insides of my brain have been an ecstatic mess since. He reached his long lean fingers to shake hands with my small plump hands, and says a word or two in his husky dreamy voice that I cannot pass a day without hearing anymore. Love caught me off guard, love caught me in a time and space where I was neither prepared nor allowed to love, and to a man I wasn’t fully capable of loving. One thing that you realise about the sheer powerlessness of your will against the plot of your heart is that the heart hears no rationale. It had its ways of getting things done, and it was evidently luring me into loving him more and more, a little more, every day. I was not prepared to be entangled in such infinite madness, with a man who was to take years to see into my soul. But despite my very best efforts, it was too late to escape my predicament, it was too late to be cautious anymore.

 

Poetry

Endurance

 

“But could you promise to come back?”

I wanted to ask, but didn’t.

Deep down, Perhaps I figured

some answers are your worst nightmare.

 

 

“I will hold on till am able, till I can hold on no longer

A day, a month, a year. Centuries, even.”

I say it again and again, as if my saying

Be his reason for his staying

 

Taken captive by the poetry in his fingers

And days of endless passion,

unending conversations,

And boundless longings..

 

now, once again our lives are a whirlwind,

hanging on indecisions

The hours and lies and people and morals

Everything takes a toll on a young girls heart

 

But I’m holding on, with him in me,

With hopes and dreams of all that we left halfway..

Hands still clutching his shirt

Tip of my nose nestled against his chest

 

 

As I begin to weep,

He foddles me tighter plays with my hair,

Kisses my forehead, looks out of the window

And says nothing.. nothing…

Review

The one that couldn’t be.

I wish we could stay like this till the end of time. Your hands entwined in mine, the gaps between my fingers wholly filled by your long strong fingers, the pressure on my hands slowly building that it was almost beginning to hurt a little. The cab began to move and my mind began wandering aimlessly to all the realms where my figments of imagination had taken me in the past. I was high and hazy and was dripping with desire, the slow motion of the vehicle taunting my eagerness much, making me smile in passive awareness of the situation. The air around was moist and misty and smelled only of you, just in the right amount to crack my senses up and the rain and alcohol, only adding more fuel to my desires for a sultry romantic entanglement this evening with a man who I had been so helplessly in love with forever.

My dear, I still recollect the look in your eyes, the torment and apprehension, and I remember that my sudden sideways glance had met yours somewhere in the middle and it shone brightly in recognition of my most intricate desires. I was drawn to you in the most shameless ways and it was a lot more than what this moment could handle. I lowered my head slowly, cutting off the savage eye contact and rested it on the lump formed by our entwined fingers. I stayed there in contentment for the next few minutes, inhaling deeply now, my lips lightly brushing the back of your hands, evidently giving up all caution. Even in that state, images of your empty face were playing games behind the closed shutters of my eyes, and I knew that every next second with you, I was risking a heart attack and a heart ache at the same time.

Oh! How I longed to plant a kiss on your face!

We were indeed immensely tired and the long walk in the rain had not helped wear the tiredness off. But, every time it rains again, I’ll think of you, I’ll think of how you held me as we walked on and how you reminded me how wonderfully magical it is, to be in love with you. The wind, ever the cupid, was swaying past us, the strands of our hair swiftly dancing in the air and the clothes slowly giving up the dampness. The city had drifted into a sound sleep, and here we were, idiotic lovers, looking into another’s eyes, singing unsung verses of a love story that couldn’t be.

(Did those moments seem as beautiful to you, as they were to me?)

It wasn’t long before that the cab pulled into the reality of the airport driveway and I sank to realize that it was time for you to leave. I was still stuck between the wheels of the wayward dream, in those brief seconds where fantasy and reality exchanged pleasantries – all I could think of was you. Your face, I so badly miss every morning, and the face that comes to haunt in the most beautiful dreams and the worst nightmares alike. I refused to let go of your hands, but when you kissed my forehead, it made me weak and mushy and tearful.There were no tears in your eyes, but the expression on your face was so profound that it whispered volumes of our love in mild subtleties to my miserable being. Before I could even break down or beg you to stay, you had pulled away and walked out of the car.

 

You were right, there’s not a place for our kind of love in this dimension of time and space. The idiot that I am must stop to hope against hope that there is a possibility of us beyond such rare moments of ecstasy. But I must tell you now, that you departed too soon, to the life that is your reality, continents away. And well, don’t ask me if it hurts that I am not in it.

Literature, Poetry

The end.

Your lethal concoction,
Is sweeping through my veins
In unfathomable surges.
With every passive plunge, the ones
I betray,
are growing in numbers.
And from where I stand now,
I cannot,
Even seem to think of the drearier tomorrow’s
Where you and me,
Well,
There won’t be a ‘me and you’ spelled together.