Walking on a busy street, a street full of people shouting, some in a brawl, some just being a distant spectator. It's so ram-packed that it makes it hard to breathe even in this open space. I look up at my destination, the highway, empty highway where I may get a lift from some kind person and I will finally breathe a breath of fresh air. I walk through the people, bypassing all the abuses and the occasional hits. I am sweaty and stinking with a dry throat that's drinking only fire.
I walk, unsteadily but uninterrupted. What I have learnt so far is that's all that matters. In a crowd full of all wrongs, you have to chose one right path, the path nonetheless can be hurtful but remember don't stop. You have to keep walking until you see a light which warms you and not burns you. You have to keep moving until you feel the strength in your legs instead of the pain of broken bones. You have to keep going forward until you get a crowd which is happy, peaceful and cares for you and not just kills you by walking over with its rampage. And while you walk, you have to see around yourself and remind that you can pass everything with each tiny step. Appreciate your work, the way you are pulling yourself out, the way you keep yourself composed, the way you are carrying yourself with a hope that there has to be a way. You can move ahead of every negative vibe only if you determine to. Remind yourself you deserve and you can work to be there. At a safe and better place that's waiting to make you a part of itself. #This too shall pass
I have seen so many deaths. When you are a person who pets an animal you happen to know love and death from the very beginning of your growth. I knew both, true love and the true meaning of the hurt. I have had my denials, my own ways of protective myself from this hurt of loss. But you can't help it when two eyes full of innocence look at you with nothing but wish of acceptance. You can't help but allow them in your life, crawl on your bed, jump around your house, break your favourite mug, scrap your important papers, steal the cooked food. You can't help but fall in love with them and learn. Learn so many things. Learn to be patient, learn to forgive, to be protective, to understand a nonverbal language. Learn to take care, to help someone else grow, to make sure that it stays healthy and jumping. It was a task to give her a name, I never settled with one, I called her with many different ones, she didn't like a few and a few she did love. Momo was my favourite one as she could have easily looked like a momo. White and fluff but the lockdown meant no fresh fish and for a cat who was rescued from a fish market, you can't fool her with whiskers. She ate only fresh fish, not even the cooked one. My mother liked her for the fact that she would hunt for cockroaches and keep the kitchen clean.
She had been a poser of her own kind, doing all the things like high jumping and sitting on a sleek end of the window. Her favourite pass time was always window watching. I clicked a few of her pictures.
//I hate taking pictures. It's not that I am afraid of how ugly I look. It's the fear of caging a moment, that it might actually turn into just another memory. I am scared if I try to confine time in the form of images, I will be left only with them. That, they will then haunt me and the rest of my moments. I hate taking pictures because I fear, that someone will know, who is dear to me, who I want to enclose and bury in my heart, with whom I want to stop my time. I am scared someone will know, and someone might take it away from me.//
And it happened again.
My neighbour told me that there is a cat lying dead at the roadside. I just couldn't accept that it can be her. How can it be? She was just there a few minutes back in the kitchen watching me and brushing her fur on my leg. I couldn't pick her as my hands were busy kneading dough. Now I understand why people say you should not spare a moment to share your love, cause you never know which could be your last chance. If only I had hugged her once; if only I had pecked her one last time.
While lifting her from the road I had fear, what if her insides fall out, what if her organs began bleeding, what if I see the other half of her face where her eyes are not in place. But it was not that difficult. I realised a body becomes weightless with the loss of its soul. She felt as light as a cloud, just so light. I carefully picked her up and kept in a box. I was digging for her grave, fighting my tears, fighting my breath, trying not to stop. And I came out to collect her just to realise she was already resting in peace. Somebody else had buried her. The ghost of the fact that I couldn't do the very last bit-a small ritual of burying her myself-will always haunt me.
Every time someone close to you dies, it creates a small grave in your heart. A grave where all the memories of the demise start dancing, a grave which reminds you of all the things you will be missing. A grave which buries some part of your peace with a small part of you which will never again see light.
And we have lost yet another wonderful human to the same old disease which has taken away so many of our loved ones. R.I.P Irfan Khan. You will always be remembered. Thank you for your time.
I am a sugar that's burnt but met someone who said I tasted like caramel. He loved caramel. I am a mess that is always anxious but I met someone who said magic lies in chaos. He said mess is a beautiful mess is an art and he wanted to frame me in his observatory to stare at night. I am broke who binge eat pancakes and noodles like a dork. He said he loves cooking and would do everything to serve and satiate my emptiness.
He loved my wrongs, he loved my incompleteness he loved me for the scar that was.
I still left him.
I was incompatible, I was the wrong one. The only thing right about me is, I knew good people don't deserve me. And attachment with them will only make me more of a wreck.
1)Tasting the masala brinjal right off from the pan, the smile symbolising 'perfection' on my mother's face, made me smile accidentally. Momentary I felt a synonym of worth. I believed at that moment, that there is a value which can be priceless and it can be achieved by cooking a 200rupees meal at home.
2)Making my papa read the headlines without his glasses gave a different sense of achievement. Maybe ridiculous, some may even call it as harassment. But that's all I can think of, to try to turn back into time, when he was the teacher and me a bad disciple. When the mistakes I did were not named as accidents and were corrected and appreciated as a new lesson learned.
3)Staring at my cat, while she fluffs her tail and revolves around herself to win her self-made game. I could not laugh, as I would in 2003. Maybe because I knew these tactics, and the 'no-surprise' effect was now very effective to do no effect. I continued staring at her and she suddenly fell off the couch in a very weird way. I chuckled and she jumped over my lap and with her small paws began caressing my face. She mewed in a way that reminded me of my mom's voice asking me if I need something more to eat. I hugged her, to feel this moment of love, created accidentally.
4)The random video created by some stranger which is now viral is knocking me on the ground with laughter. I have tears in my eyes and my hands are trying to save my tummy from exploding due to this uncontrolled contractions. After this fit of laughter, I continued scrolling on my phone. I hope nobody noticed me. I had just survived another accident.
It's that time of the year when days are longer. Its 6.52 pm and here I am waiting for my favourite black colour to arrive with its stars. The lockdown has brought back the days I thought we had lost- When there were less of cars and more of stars, less of humans and more of birds -exactly how I like. What hasn't changed though is the idea of silence amidst the chaos and the scars on the mind. Even being habitual to a confined space and being an introvert myself, it felt a bit more suffocating to see others breathing in the same room as you are. They became too many. Too many people turning silent like me.
So to keep the balance I began churning some clocks, turning up the heat and cooking chaos.
Like art, life seems perfect when it is untouched with the pinch of perfection. When you keep the flaws intact, when you allow the chaos of mind to play its part. Chaos is like the water that dissolves the beautiful colours, which then the painter brushes on its canvas. It's the base of all the magic ever created. We need to just understand to balance it, to know which shade adds more elegance to the entire picture. Whether to add more or less of it, it's we that have to decide. And it's to us, to paint the magic inside out.
It's not easy to paint though, as not all of us are good at handling the chaos and the colours. But what we all are good at it, trying. And like any other art, you can master this one as well. You can master your mind, your life. It's not easy. It's possible.
To know how? Where to start? Study your mind, in this quarantine. Listen, talk and then share it. You will master it at the end of all this.
All the time when we are surrounded by someone who loves us, someone whom we love back, we happen to weave memories of laughter and lessons to mend future heartaches. Though we fail to realise, that LOVE is forever but PEOPLE are not. We are mortal beings trapped in a wormhole of immortal emotions. And as fate has it, we often get taken away from these loved ones. What remains is the broken shafts of ourself which often pierce our soul and shred us in pieces. The powerful LOVE, when lost to these mortal rules, carries us back in the darkness away from its own warmth, dropping us in an alley where we meet the shadow of past which haunts, a turn of memory which hurts, laughter which echoes grief, and where our own home feels toxic.
What went wrong? So wrong that our strength actually begins destroying us? The gap between what we have and what we lost becomes so vivid that it starts filling our lives with every shade of darkness that LOVE once shielded us from. Everything that LOVE once gave us gets forgotten and replaced so horribly with all the nasty things. The gap created attracts all that the LOVE had repelled.
My dear, you need to know LOVE remains in us, in much deeper crevices than where blood could reach. The people may be present in letters, texts, books, pictures or even your genes. But LOVE, it remains alive in your every unconscious breath. It spreads with us and reaches people that even the lost ones could never reach. And as our part of being a lover to the lost, we have to keep them alive, we have to keep LOVE alive. And for that, you have to breathe, breathe life and exhale all the grief out. It will hurt at the start, but with every exhale out, it will make you feel lighter, better and one fine breath in, you will finally realise how to live with the gaps and how to fill peace in them.
Until then, I want to tell you, the one whom you LOVE can never be distanced from your soul. The bond of LOVE is beyond physical boundaries. It remains. It is the real "forever". Accept the loss of people, live with the real remains- the lessons, the healings -and share it because many other unloved souls still need more of you, more of those whom you lost too.
You are my misunderstood finesse , a whole spectrum of contraband epiphanies ; the pump and the show , the show and the chivalry. I think about all the reasons why ; why I don't want to lose you And draw closer to the algorithms ; the algorithms of finding me.