Hiraeth

We will meet again one day, I assume when we have enlivened our dispairing lives, content with and without someone, grateful with and without somethings. 

We will meet mostly when we shall find a love greater than we found in each other. An admirer so much more resplendent than what we made out of us. 

All just so we are reminded that, how much ever the sand thinks it is secure at the shore, it just takes one wave, just a wave to carry it along back into the waters. 

I am Sun Glitter, I am Mångata. 

I am the depth of the ocean, also

I am everything that lives within those creases. 

I am the tide that rises above all,

And the wind that hovers around. 

I am the sun ray that reflects on the waves,

I am also the light of the moon that dances over those waters.

December 

I always relish this time of the year. The month of December, it never goes by without making it’s arrival noticed. Very easily making its way to being my one and only favourite month. Afterall it’s more than just the letter D that December has and none other months do. 

December I think is all about looking back at the ups and downs through out the year and simultaneously looking ahead and wishing for brighter tomorrows. A perfect time to finish what we started. 

A month of making amends and tying up loose ends. Forgiving people so we enter into the new year without a hint of bitterness within us. Wherein we expand our presentaries by doodling smiley faces making people happy😊  Reliving the memories made throughout the year that were easy to remember, while still moving around in our own big, wide world our own different paths. I guess we’d generally agree that it’s a good time to stop by and say hello to the lovely people we have often thought about from January to November and smile at people who passed by our paths. 

Also not forgetting to cry over the unfulfilled resolutions that we soo overconfidently made at beginning of the year😛. Taking a moment to breathe in the aroma of scented candles on a wintry nights.
Learning to let go of the parts and pieces also within us that no longer serve in a positive manner while also holding on to hope for what is 

Nothing can surely surpass the joy of a sweet nostalgic blow while standing on the cliff of a new start💙
And if this isn’t enough December is also the Christmas month!!

#DecemberLove 💫

The Feast 

She tells me she’s preparing for a feast tonight. I know it is like the one’s she has had before. 

A little more grandeur with finesse” she adds “A feast where I’ll serve full to the brim and overflowing. Even the aftertaste would be like another feast itself. I’ll set out care, affection, tenderness, passion, zeal, devotion, love all choicest and yenning.” 

Who is the fortunate partaker?” I ask. 

Him” she says in a penetrating, smoky voice. Her eyes lit up. 

Him?” I question. “Why?” I demand. 

She meets my gaze appealingly and says “Who else my darling? Who else?”

Resentfully I ask her to stir up to the time she had been to his feast. 

He has always set out for you crumbs mostly leftover and stale, rancid and zestless. He doesn’t even feel ashamed doing so” The colours on her face begin to fade, my voice becomes strident and words cease to sound courteous. 

And you lick the reeking insipid like an esurient child who hasn’t eaten since long not leaving behind a trace” 

It is not like that” she tries to assure but in vain. 

How long” I enquire “How long will it go on?” 

She looks up to me with her eyes glittering “Until when I know not, mostly till I have only grief and malaise left to set out in porringers, goblets full of longing, platters of misery and wretchedness. Until he does not find my paucity dishonourable to him. Until i have nothing left in me to offer.” 

There is silence. Speaking of the foolish “What if” i ask “What if you cease to breathe on from being so famished for far so long? When will you enlighten yourself with fact that what he sets out on the table will never be enough to feed you?” 

She stands and walks to the door. “I’ll leave it for a thought another day. I am inclined to prepare for his arrival now” she walks away hurriedly and “NEVER” eventually comes to me the answer. 

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(This one is really old but had been nameless for quite a long time. Actually I couldn’t settle with anything until Mr. Reed Moore suggested “The Feast” as the title. Reed Moore is an amazing friend and a wonderful writer himself. Thanks Reed. Do visit his twitter page https://mobile.twitter.com/ReedAbbittMoore for some of his writings and also his book on amazon!

CHANGE only because you want to…..

“I WAS BORN THIS WAY, I DID NOT CHOOSE TO BE THIS” 

They, It was them. They taught me about how I wasn’t even passable on the various standards they set. They taught me that I couldn’t be fat and beautiful combined. It was them who made me feel that my eyes could be wider or more appealing and a sharp nose was just the thing I needed. They told me that the figures on my marksheet won’t matter after a while and that the only desirable figure should be a zero figure. They told me I was beautiful the way I was and then handed me beauty products to ‘enhance’ my skin tone. They asked me my opinion and then told me why it wasn’t acceptable, always. The colour of my hair could be better and I could be a little more taller. It wasn’t important to choose a career wisely because IT WAS MY CAREER but because LOG KYA KHENGEY?. My teeth could be whiter and my nails not so unkept and fragile. I could have a more inviting cleavage. The number of guys I dated marked me on the scale of how prominent or characterless I was. They got me clothes that enhance my curves and then gossiped about the skin that showed. According to them there’s no such thing as anxiety or depression ‘ITS ALL IN YOUR HEAD’ or wait ‘MAYBE YOU JUST WANT ATTENTION’.

THEY WILL JUDGE YOU ON EVERY TURN OF YOUR LIFE. 

And then ‘I WAS BORN THIS WAY, I DID NOT CHOOSE TO BE THIS‘ became an excuse, an escape. I dint choose to not have a perfect body or not have beautiful hair. I dint want to not have an above average IQ. I WAS BORN THAT WAY. 

Sometimes I wish just sometimes if they knew more that just one definition of beautiful or that intelligence actually mattered. And getting married or having kids isn’t the ultimate goal of life. 

That Mard ko dard nahi hota doesn’t distinguish ‘real men’ and the odds, that everything else they think isn’t ‘Man – Enough’ is actually a big okay. Not every women loves children and wants to raise one. Boys will be boys they say ahem NO! Boys will not be boys they turn to be responsible sons, husbands and fathers and yes NOT ALL MEN ARE THE SAME. No not all women are amazing cooks and know a million of delicious recipes and that men in the kitchen is okay! Not every women loves shopping and you’re so skinny is not a compliment. What The hell is MANLINESS anyway. And women would rather prefer breaking glass ceiling than wear glass slippers. I wish I wish and I wish. 

But today here it is me confessing that if even I had a choice, if I was to choose who I wanted to be, I would choose nothing better or worse than what I am right now. I would choose to be ME a million times and again. Because even if no one else is I am proud of me. People will judge you for everything you do fare, unfare; cruel, kind; smart, stupid; right, wrong; up or down. They just love to.

But you, you got a choice either let them change you or bloom out of that cocoon and flutter your wings on their face. Don’t let them paint you in shades they like best. You have a radiant colour of skin. You have just the world’s most beautiful eyes if they can see souls and not bodies. You are intelligent no matter what.

 And above all ‘beautiful‘ has got more than one definition, infact it’s the only word with a different meaning to every single human.

 A friend of mine once told me ‘Change if you want to and not because they tell you to.’ 


Now that I live..

I had been loyal to IT. Always. I did all that IT asked me to. IT was there to comfort me, there’s no denying. When I was down with all the burden that hardly anyone could see IT was there to share the weight. IT witnessed my athazagoraphobia. Distracting me from the pain of being. IT taught me that the only way to get away with all the agony inside was to make the pain physical. IT drew lines across my skin. At first it was a dreadful sight. But lately I began admiring the colour of my skin turning into red, a deep red. But the scars never faded away and lately I’ve been feeling, slowly IT’S taking from me everything I thought I owned. My family. My friends. And moreover Me. And the ease that IT gives me is just temporary. IT’S turning me into a monster. IT is so unwanted but it has become such a frequent guest now.
There’s a knock on the door again. I know it’s depression. IT’s haunting me again. The knock getting louder every passing second and with it my heart beat. I waited, waited till there was silence. IT’s gone. I walked towards the door and it was me at the corner sobbing. The 8 year old me. She held her hand forward asking for help. I stared. I could recall. The longing in her eyes. I lend my hand in aid. I got her in, she sobbed. After a while I woke up from the floor, blades all around me. IT played a dirty game again. I remembered myself chewing my hair, cutting my skin and destroying the home I soo lovingly assembled.
Enough. Enough. I won’t let IT get any further with this. IT has to stop. After a few normal days I decided to walk up to the movie theater with some of my friends. I felt the warmth I had been missing. I was smiling. I felt happy. I dint need to be an eccedentesiast. But I felt something creep over my foot as the protagonist began to explain her dreadful past. There was something advancing every passing minute. It was now at my thighs constantly crawling upwards. My feet began trembling. Fear taking over the feeling of happiness I felt just a moment ago. I stood up disturbing the view for others. I realized I was swaying, like when you are in the waters neck deep you no longer dictate your moves, it’s the waters taking over. 
IT had taken over. I rushed home. I wanted to scream and shout LEAVE ME, LEAVE ME ALONE. But all i could do was prate. ‘Go away’ I managed to mumble. There was silence. And then IT came again with a page in hand. IT asked me to write. Like a slave I obeyed. IT reminded me of every moment in my life where I was defeated, left alone and disowned. I was asked to write it all down. Tears kept rolling down my cheeks. And then IT hanged the page at a place where it was most visible on the wall. The contents of the page broke my heart. It was all about me. About my failure. 
Every passing day I glanced at it and cried harder. I punished myself for being such a disappointment. I mocked me. And then IT came promising a cure in blades. I winced as the past cuts bleed open inflicting deeper wounds. I glanced my reflection at the mirror. It was as though the person in the mirror told me “I’m tired, not the tired with a dire of sleep but the one with a dire need of peace”. Help me it screamt, I covered my ears I couldn’t bare the pain. My eyes were tired of crying. I hadn’t eaten since long. I tried to recall what I looked like but everything was soo blurred. 
One night IT came again. I wasn’t surprised the visits had been frequent since a while. I lay on the floor curled crying, neither welcoming nor mocking IT. Like a corpse, only breathing in and out. But unlike usual IT wasn’t hard on me. IT sat besides me caressing my hair like a mother. IT pulled me on it’s lap. IT felt cold against my warm body, I shivered. IT came close to my ears and whispered. 
“Theres only one way to end this pain. To finish it all. To feel free.” Suddenly the whole room was dark. I couldn’t see anything. The pictures of my family and me, the colour of the wall, the window, nothing. There was just a ray of light whose source was unidentified. It fell on the knife resting on the table. I knew what IT was talking about. This was the only way to end it all. IT helped me stand to my feet. Holding my hand moving me towards it. I held the knife. A wave of memories ran through my mind I shut my eyes and opened them to the sight of the page hung on the wall. Falling to the ground I screamed. There was no escape. I had accepted defeat. I regained the strength stood up and stabbed, stabbed and stabbed. There was blood all over, It was anger flowing out of me. There was a last scream. I let go of the knife and fell to the ground. 
Hours later I woke up in the same place. The room was bright. The curtains were lifted and small rays of light were dancing across my body. I was able to smell something wonderful I couldn’t recognize. My stomach groaned. I was hungry. I stood on my own strength. I felt lighter. While walking towards the kitchen I caught my stime across the mirror. My locks graced my face. There was a glow where once scars stood. My eyes fell on the page. I pulled it. It dint feel anything. I walked to the table and began writing on another piece of paper. 
“I often left traces of everything that happened to me hoping someday someone will notice and come for the rescue. But it wasn’t long before i realised. No one had the power on IT like I do. No one can help me like I can. No one can defeat IT like I can. IT made me believe that I was nothing when i was all I’d ever need. I realised there were memories beyond the ones IT made me live and believe in. There is a world beyond the one IT kept me confined to. The mind is soo powerful, but the choice is yours whether to live out or inside of it. Sure there are defeats and heartbreaks but theres also joy and peace. Last night the knife was all I saw in the darkness outside but a light lit inside I could recall the memories of the happy times hung on the walls. The window I often leaned against looking at the world outside, smiling. The bright yellow colour of the wall. I chose it. I loved it. I fell to the ground as a defeated person but rose like a victory I stabbed, stabbed and stabbed until I heard IT groan in pain. I finished IT. IT was gone. I am free. I know IT will never come back again because even if darkness hovers over for sometime it has to leave the moment light enters. And now where does the page of defeats and dissapointments go? Well back to where it came from: the past. It’s got no place here. I’m writing afresh a new today and a new future. It’s only after suicide that I will now live……..”
As I finished writing I hung it on the wall at the place most visible from. I took the page of defeats tore it and burnt it watching as every individual piece flew in different directions. There was joy taking over. IT never came back after that. But I’d be thankful to IT for some reason Afterall it was only after suicide that I lived. 

Mistaken fate. 

She wept in his embrace when it was time to finally leave. “Did you come in my life to eventually part?” “I would enfold you in the recesses of my soul if I could, and you know” There has to be a way” “You know there is none” “Be strong, this is our fate”. As the distance grew wider between them he felt a part of him gone with her and so did she. Yes maybe it was their fate. Fate that this was the last day that she would call him hers and hers alone. Fate that he would embrace her never now. Fate that they would after this day meet not as lover’s but strangers. Fate that the once inseparable were now to embark on a journey where they were all alone. They often asked the omnipotent why is it so? But never once did come a reply. Life doesn’t wait for anyone, does it? It keeps happening with or without someone. And then one day after long the omnipotent replied, the leaves rustled, the clouds thundered, the sky poured upon them. The wind blew and they saw each other but differently in all the chaos only a voice above all spoke “Your FATE was only all that you would ever wish it to be”

Until I find you. 

Her hands trembled as she poured herself her last drink. She wanted it to be the last flavour that she’d savour before tasting blood. Before eternally giving in. With the pen in her hand, still trembling she sat at the table. To write a final goodbye to someone who would miss her once she’d be gone. To write a last few words so that someone knew where she was, so they knew that she intended to do so. Her heart was full of grief and thankfulness. She’d write an ocean of words for that person but time she had not and words felt like they are stuck somewhere in her mind. Still she managed to write how grateful she was. Trying to write something she hadn’t written before she felt her last ray of hope vanish. She had to stop. She left the pen and began to sip on to the wine. As her taste buds feasted on the wine she began thinking of that someone who she thought would read this letter and miss her. The now empty glass quite resembled her life and the realisation of having no one to stop her almost took away the little life left in her. She took the letter and kept it in the box with all the other last letters that she wrote every night sipping her wine. The person who she hadn’t yet met was her driving force to make it to the next day. She stood up and walked towards her bed, her silence was screaming “Until i find you” 

His harbour. 

Years after our severance, today I found him stealing glances. It wasn’t his customary. He looked at me like I’m the light at the end of the tunnel. He looked at me like if there was one way he could undo all that happened, he would. He looked at me with those eyes that shed million tears when I’m not around and holds them when I am. Little does he know his eyes are still most loyal to me, they don’t lie. He looks at me like I’m his harbour and he a wrecked ship. With all his escapades and frolic he pretends it’s all good but when I call his name he takes a while to get back to his intellect. His eyes were soliciting me to call his name once more. But I held back because there is a quiescence on his lips. His lips long to tell me something but theres an iron curtain between us. He’s suffering the consequences of the war waged by his heart and mind. His hands tremble at my touch maybe because he still knows every line on my palm better than I do. He looks at me like I’m his salvation. Like I am his eternal peace. But its too late now. His realization came at the eleventh hour. I am aware of what it takes to suppress the yearning and hold on just for another fraction of a second. And so I pretend my defeat. I let him masquerade his exult for having deceived me. Because just like I did before I still do care for his happiness. But little does he know, every night I hear the wrecking ship call onto it’s harbour.