Relationships · Uncategorized

Four am thoughts.

Word. World. Whiskey. Rum.

Gin and tonic. Toxic. Relationship. Love. Hate. Night. Day. Light. Dark.

I flutter my eyes. Open. Shut. Shut. Open. Everything is black. Lacks difference. 

The world is sleeping. I lie awake.
Awakening. Awaken. Soul. Preach.
Reach. Out. I touch down. The floor is chilly. Imagine it to be sand.
Thus I dig deeper. Shallow.
Sand pricks my hand. Legs.
Stay afloat. Hair spread out.
On a pillow covered black.
Brown fingers I brush through them.
I think. About everything.
About nobody.
A smile breaks out on my face.
A splash of white on the black canvas.
I feel far. Away. Juxtaposed.
To salvation.

 

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Profoundly confused!

As I step out of the gate, I realize that I am at loss. Money, and a few good people and something that could have accumulated into love. But I made this decision. I decide to not think about money. To risk a relationship. To risk feelings.
To give up, at the snap of fingers, everything this sane world needs.
My needs go way beyond.
I have never come across my needs that I profoundly talk about.
So I let their words affect me.
I try to rub some reality on me. I try to run into truth.
Rather I bump into confusion. I don’t give it a second thought. Why would I? When there are versions of reality- then why would this confusion baffle me?
I don’t know how to figure it out.
So I walk out of this gate. And in this not so chilly night, I take in some hard liquid, lie back on this bike that is not mine. And look at the stars. Stars in the city yet delightful. Now, I know why writers marvel at the stars.

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Nothing

I do not understand.
What is good. And what right.
I am being pulled. And pushed.
There is a force that is driving me. Crazy.
But I am still sane.
There is a contrast. A touch that makes me shiver. Giggle.
I like it; the touch.
Yet I don’t let it stay. For I am going insane.
The way it melts.How it forms a shape. A puzzle being solved.

A taste I never had.

Taste of domination. Of gentleness.
The friction creates fire.
The fire heats me up.
Soul, however, is still cold.
Because this is not love.
Nothing is love.
Now, I am dead.
This fire burns me.
Turns me into ashes.
Makes me nothing.
So, then, I too can be loved.

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Parched

Muddy. Greasy. Spoiled.

I lay there thirsty.

I crack up.

I am cracked and turned into fine pieces.

Beaten.

I am beaten and beaten again.

There is no limit set.

When do I fall?

Which is the final blow that takes me down?

I lie here, awaiting.

Thunders roar. Wind gushes.

The cool wind touches and the coldness within finds home.

Weeks. Months. Seasons later,

It finally pours.

But I am still dry and cracked.

As though there is a cover, a shield, a mask.

That even  this downpour leaves me parched.

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Mad Woman in the New City.

                       Goa Version.                                                IMG_4056

Alcohol. Parties. Hookups.

These three words best describes, stereo-typically,  the smallest state of India -Goa . I did none of these.

What I did at Goa is lose a friend. A friend I was close to. A friend I considered family.

This is how life is supposed to be, isn’t it? Such a paradox life can be at times. Goa, a state that is considered to be friendly and warm, that is where you lose a friend.

*giving a low hysterical laugh*

I never have regretted a thing in my life but this trip I am not sure about. I took this trip with my friend and her mother. Now, I have already heard the doubts and questions like How the hell am I to enjoy with a mother figure? Trust me, my friend’s mother was not the problem.

However the trip was dull and monotonous, so much so, that on the second day itself I felt like leaving my company and go off on my own. I did not, because – friendship.

Now, that I am typing this, I realize I should have selected self over friend.

What keeps me in the dilemma is that even though I lost a friend and I couldn’t really discover the state the way I wanted to, I had some mind blowing moments. Moments that are beautiful. Moments that are mine.

Damn! It is so difficult to turn your hurt into words.

Even when I am trying to find good out of this trip, I cannot get the bad out of it. I can tell the bad but what good will it do?

Even though my trip wasn’t good, I do not want to hate that place.

How can you hate Sea? Beaches?

That was the best part of my trip. I still feel the chills. It was around ten at night, I was under the stars and the waves crashed at my feet and I was on call with one of my favorite persons. And even though we were arguing on the most stupid thing, I loved that moment. It is surely going under the list of my favorite evenings.

Like I said, I couldn’t discover the city but I met a few Goans, who taught me lessons for life and I dedicate the rest of my blog post for them; because they were the ones who made my trip an alluring one.

The first person is Elvis. He is a life guard. His shift was getting over in the evening, thus I asked him whether he would like to see  the sunset with me and he happily agreed. That evening, sunset seemed different. I come to realize that with the right people, sunset always, seems better. He is like Sea. Calm at one moment and Storm at another. And he owned it like a boss. This date with him, was one you read in novels, a long walk on the beach and a peck on cheek in the end. With him, Sea seemed new, fresh, and lovely. Just like you said, Elvis, I will come back because I haven’t lived at your beautiful home.

Then there was the guard at the casino – Apoorva. He came to this new city, far from the land where he was born and brought up. It was him, through which I gained the confidence that no matter which city I go, I will do just fine.

Mr.Bisht – he serves at the resort where I stayed. He became my cricket buddy. We saw the finals together. When I asked him what he felt about his tattoo, which is his name, he said, ” You do things. And then you stick by it. Like you had an option to select otherwise, but you did not. So now, own it up.” It stuck me right in my head. Heart too.

The Old man who belonged to the Sea. He helped me with the dog who wouldn’t stop following me.

And this foreigner who did nothing about guys cat-calling her or clicking pictures of her. She replied saying she was habitual. I was upset and infuriated. I strongly believe that if something  wrong is happening to you, you have to voice it. No matter what sex you are of.

There were many other people I met on this trip but the last one I want to mention is the lone traveler whose pictures I clicked. I am sorry I have lost your email. I still have the pictures I clicked of you. If ever you read this, contact me. We met at Palolem Beach on 21st May 2017 at around five.

I traveled by airplane for the first time. I was completely in awe when I saw the city from above. It was five in the morning and the city was already on the move. Mumbai, I confirmed at that moment, is the most beautiful city, and that no matter where I go, Bombay will always be my home.

As I stepped in my house, I came to realize that no matter how distant I am from my family, I love them and I missed them.

Such was my trip to Goa. Goa was warm to me and accepted me with open arms. I, however, couldn’t seem to enjoy because of my company. I promise to come back Goa and then I will love you, as much as you deserve.

 

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The sermon

The noon light turned in to twilight. The translucent window of her house let in the change but the curtains that were spread over hardly showed me the difference, the change in light. But the darkness was felt as it got a few shades darker.

She sat before me, her hair open, curly and wild. She made no effort to change it. She cleaned the rim of her spectacles and pushed aside the books that lay on her  lap. She sat now, legs folded, Buddha like, as though about to give us a sermon. She pulled out her phantom cigarette and placed it between her  lips. She,  then, pulled the lighter out and acted as though she lit the cigarette. The flicker of  fire gave away her expression which was eternal. She looked at me and the girl besides me. She puffed out the invisible smoke. The intensity of her gaze gave me goose bumps.

Then she let out a sly smile. Her eyes mischievous. She took a deep breathe and spoke,

“So. Ahem. It is like a free fall. You know you will get hurt. You know it will end. You fear it. Imagine jumping off a cliff. And then time stops. It stops and you keep on falling. You fall and there is no going back. You are stuck. Sometimes  you will feel that this is the worst part-being stuck-being committed. How can it last for ever? Even for a month? How can someone not get bored of things, of people, of falling? ”

Her soliloquy came to a halt. I was dumbfounded, I kept on wondering whether it was a question to be answered. Before I could answer she continued,

” You don’t. If you really like the fall. And when it is pure, you know as pure as a child, you can never feel bored. Then, even the feel of it is enough. Imagine, if only the feel of falling can be great then how magnificent can the fall  be?”

She pauses again, on a question. What, do I answer that? Or I do not?

“So fall. And feel it. It is Beauty and it is True. Well, it is one of the Truths. A truth that is beautiful; so much so that it can color your chaos. It can make your craziness profound. It takes you to Paradise.”

At this pause I knew, she was done and she has jumped into the ocean of her beautiful memories.

I knew I was disturbing, but I had to ask, ” What is this ‘it’, Baba?”

She took a while to respond but I knew she heard. That was the longest wait for wisdom, I had ever waited.

” ‘It’ can be anything.” She replied, her answer made me perplexed, such mysteries she created!

After a while, she spoke, when her cigarette was consumed,

” For me, ‘it’ was Love.”

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And I sighed.

 

Oblivion is a bad,  bad feeling

And having  it experienced every now and then makes it worst.

How difficult  it is to understand that the use of me will make you  little less of obnoxious.

You go and talk bullshit, you fail to see the reason behind  the obesity.

It can be anything- stress,  metabolism,  emotional  eating.

Why is it difficult for you to understand  that  they have it and that isn’t  what they are.

Defining and judging on physical appearance  is complete  no no.

That is what you don’t  know.

You call me pretty when I come out round.

Donuts you adore.

Pandas  you are fond of.

Then  why aren’t  humans loved too?

So everytime you  say “Pretty Fat”; forgetting  ‘&’

I sigh. cropped-img_0653.jpg

 

 

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In the Wonderland

On a summer afternoon, my sister and I were hanging out on a rooftop café. I made houses and boats of tissue paper.
I was tired and bored and the sun over my head gleam pleasantly. I peeped into my sister’s phone, she was switching between Facebook and WhatsApp, her third hour of doing so.
How boring!
As I was drifting into a dream like state, I saw a rabbit, sitting few tables apart, typing feverously on a typewriter.
Thud! Thud! Thud!
I rubbed my eyes and looked again. I wanted to make sure that I am not going crazy.
And at the same second, rabbit looked up at me, his fingers coming up for air.
He put all his belongings in his bag and ran towards the exit. I followed him out, leaving my sister, so busy with her phone that she didn’t even realise.
Once outside the café, I saw the rabbit opening the door to lift and jumping in the hollow space. I repeated the action, thinking about my mother, that she will be upset for skipping dinner, for covering my clothes with grease and dirt, for getting into trouble.
I felt as though time and gravity had stopped, or that the tunnel is too long and my speed had lost its velocity.
I saw the walls around. There were innumerable things. I caught glimpse of books that haven’t been read in a long time. The map unused, places unvisited. I saw boardgames that aren’t played any longer. Old camera rolls.
Ah! 64 frames per roll; all used wisely, none on clicking food that was ate. Food was, then, only eaten.
I saw puzzles that remained unsolved.
Old dial phone, which you couldn’t take around, it grounded you to certain place.
A walkman. An ink pot.
All that I adore, all that I don’t use anymore, all that is forgotten.
The bumpy ride ends with my falling on the ground.
“Ouch, my bum!” I whisper.
“You fine, child?” A divine sounding voice asked me. I looked from where the sound came.
It was the rabbit, he was lying under a tree, smoking a pipe. Wait until I tell this to my sister; she will flip.
“Where am I?” I inquired.
“In the Wonderland. Where you always wanted to be. House made of bricks. The only thing that is warm are wishes. Phones with cord. Letters still written. Games played outdoor. All that you miss.” The rabbit replied.
“A land of my dreams. A land I miss.” I cried of joy.
“But it has its vices. Women aren’t allowed to read and your only job will be child rearing. There is no internet at use. Individualism doesn’t prevail. You can never met someone who changes state and letters get lost.” He completed in a breath.
“Oh. That I never thought of. Where exists virtue, there has to be vice. I understand but what do I do? How to survive? In that crazy world, how do I live?” I questioned in a tone of dejection.
” You live and imbibe only virtue. There is nothing wrong to do what happens around you. It is fine. So what everyone isn’t looking out for what you are? Live like them, so you know whether your want is for real. Live in the so called crazy world, do the crazy things, maybe that is the path to salvation!” His voice seemed divine, so much so that I could see a halo over his head.
“Bunny, you make so much sense to me. Thankyou for this knowledge. I have learnt to live in a new way. Now, tell me how I go back to my world? To my house?” I said to him.
“Your favourite way.”
And with that he passed me the typewriter; and I begin to write this story.

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The high.

Her question was audible despite the ear-splitting music in the background.
“Do you want weed?” She asked.
Without pondering, I jumped at the offer. We left the club and headed to her place. The cold breeze of one a.m. hit my neck, leaving me with a tingling sensation. The auto ride to her place was blurry for in my mind I had thousands of questions.
How? Why? What?
As we were going to the terrace of her building, I asked, aloud,
“What does weed do to you?”
Promptly she replied,
“It transports.”
“Where to?”
“To wherever you want.”
She unlocked the door to heaven or hell, wherever it were to take me and as soon as I stepped in, I realised that I am somewhere in between. I felt I was at the center of universe. I was the sun that everyone could see in darkness. I was completely mesmerised by the view that lay beyond me. I took a swirl to see all of it. To see what lay on all sides of me.
I hopped on the boundary wall and shut my eyes, so my mind could concentrate on what I heard. I heard the waves hitting the shore and few cars racing up in distance far off. I heard the rest of my company discussing how good the night is and the crickets’ chirp and the wind blow with little less of vigour, the silence of the night and hundred of words popping in my mind. I heard someone’s cellphone beep and the creaking sound of the old rusty hinges of the door that brought me to this paradise.
I lay on top of the boundary wall, on the brink of the  material world and I feared that I would fall into the spiritual realm. I feared that I would fall from city into the sea. Yet I stayed still, curled my neck,180 degree backwards, so I could see the moon.
The moon, on its eight or ninth night from amavas, growing. Just like the sapling on the water pipeline or the sleeping puppy, seven floors below me, turning a day older or like my nail, I know it, for a week old nail paint is still there and a thin stroke of white has emerged ahead of it.
Growing, I am growing too; blooming like a flower.
And then I saw the stars and the sea and the skyline and how everything meet at a certain point. I saw enormous buildings, all lights off, sleeping, oblivious to me, to my growing, to the moon and the stars and how all of it was coming together to a picturesque night. A night worthy of Instagram or of many words. Yet going unnoticed by so many of them. But I was there and I would take all of this in, write a million words about it. I would click it, upload it. Or I would just lie down, take it all in, in my head and in my heart and in through all my pores and absorb it. Absorb the darkness and make it one with me. Make it mine. No, not in a possessive way. I could never possess nature. For nature possess me. It makes me. It owns me. So I kept on staring and staring. Staring at everything, at nothing, not blinking for I did not want to miss, for I did not want the dream to break, for I did not want to lose all of this, the beauty and simplicity of it.
“You took my spot.” She said.
I smiled wearily at her.
She passed me the joint and I took my first ever drag of weed.
“Why does anybody do drugs?” My heart asked me.

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Now, here I am.

My first post.
Phew.
What made me finally write?
-Is a stranger, who told me, and I quote, “You read then how can you not put all those crazy ideas out? Put it out, even if you feel it is not good enough. For you may under estimate yourself but someone might not.”
So here. I am. Writing.
More like stating. An incident that took place in my life.
This Sunday, today, I learned the art of letting go. I let go of a book. My precious possession. My only possession. Thanks to Sip and Swap. (this isn’t for their promotion. But you should be there for their next meet! Just saying.)
I was there, anxious. I always take care of my books as though it is gold. It is much more precious, I believe. I met several people. And then came this film maker, another stranger, who saw my copy and said, “that is an interesting title.” It was Neon Noon by Tanuj Solanki. He wanted it. So much so that he promised me to take care of it, and read, and return.
Wow. That restores my faith in humanity. It does.
That dragged my attention to why, in the first place, did  I lose my  faith in humanity?
-Communism? Gender inequality? Terrorism? Misuse of Democracy? Lack of Feminism? Lack of Radical ways of life? Lack of Liberal ways of life? Lack of Individualism? Too much of societal pressure? Misuse of Language? Lack of responsibility? Political Aggression? Lack of literacy? Lack of trust? Too much of bias, regional, religious?  Lack of harmony?
Spiritual decline? Social-Media-crazed?
YES.
But now, here I am; a little act of kindness- making me fall all over again for goodness in humans. For I have come to realize that people aren’t bad. They just do bad things.