Pebbles To Pillars.

My HaHa book to India

2011-09-02T14:05:00.004+01:00

India is great if you have a sense of humour 24x7. Here are a few things that forced humour upon me:

1. Enter the dragon...oh, I mean maid: Sure, it's a downright luxury. Surprisingly, the luxury quickly stops being luxury and becomes an everyday, multiple type injury. The marble flooring in our house has seen so many hands mop it, that if it were animate it'd burst into giggles when the new maid walked in. First, the maids never come on time, which results in my mother's blood pressure shooting through our three storeyed house. Then they rarely ever stick to their routine, that makes my dad's french moustache twitch like a drop of water on a hotplate. They almost always do a shoddy job of one thing or another, and let's not even get into their forgetfulness. I've seen my mom go through phases of forgiveness, understanding, discounting, discrediting, degrading, denouncing, anger, feeling wronged, guilt every week. After a few days of observation, I asked my maid today, 'How long shall we play this game of me putting that cardboard box near the trashcan and you putting it back on my bed?' Tomorrow, I wanna ask her the recipe for her world's thickest, yet brittlest rotis.

2. Rewind & repeat: I have a cold today. Also, I bit my tongue. Translation? Every time I talk, it hurts. I took my carpenter to a store to show the bed we want. We discussed it on the way back home. Then I discussed the same topic plus additional ones pertaining to bed with my dad. Shall we have polished wood or white wood? Shall we raise it one foot above the ground or half foot? Shall we have hooks for the curtains? Then my mom arrives, so I repeat what we discussed so far. The discussion now goes four ways. Soon, my husband arrives. He, obviously, needs all the details from the start. I drew the line when my grandmother wanted in on this. When my throats okay, she can join in our topic for the day.

3. Jingle bells, jingle bells, jingle my brains away: Got bell, will ring. I work upstairs. That is 23 steps away from the main door. Sure, it doesn't sound like much and you must think I'm one rich little lazy bum. How about going up and down these stairs 5 times every half hour? Exercise, right? Who doesn't need it nowadays. Now how about if you're right in the middle of drafting that tough paper and five different saleswomen wanna sell you sanitary napkins when you use tampons? How did I rustle through the angry jungle that was my mind when the bell rang the sixth time to find a shred of humour? I asked the girl to come inside, I brought her a tampon and described how to use it and why it makes better sense. She smiled awkwardly, muttered some god's name, and said she's still not married (i.e., she's a virgin).

4. Princess and the pea: Remember the story about how a king tested a strange woman who came knocking on his door claiming she was a princess? He put a pea underneath some twenty mattresses and said that a true princess would not be able to sleep coz it would be oh-so-uncomfortable for her gentler-than-a-rose petal body. (Well, that's the story I was told.) Cut to the usual mattress you'll find over here. I've only heard of stories about kids bouncing on their beds. In only movies did I see people crash onto a bed and not wince in pain. Guess we misunderstood that fairytale! But my husband and I've now got our own twist to the tale. We have an ultra expensive mattress that was designed in the UK and stuffed in India. On top of my hard mattress.

5. iCare: Told you, right? I've got a cold. So my uncle asks after me. How sweet! My granny sends rasam (hot tomato soup thing). Awww! My mom makes special, spicy curry coz I can't taste anything. Oh, mummy you kind woman. My dad gets me hot, hot roti from the shop. Poppa! My driver gets me yummy chai from the kiosk guy, coz I love it. Nice guy. My husband cuddles me and gives me his strange one finger neck massage. Still, he's sweet. My other granny sways her way up the stairs with her arthritic legs to ask after me. Even my freakin' dog sits in my lap looking at me in an indecipherable way. News spreads. My in-laws call and ask me to have pepper milk. My cousin messages me on Facebook. Before I knew it, I got a text from an unknown number asking me breathe some steam. Come on, there's humour every step of this domino way. I was laughing by the time I got my trademarked index finger massage.

Interior Monologue

2011-08-27T08:50:00.005+01:00

I'm bitterly lonely. I've uprooted myself from what I call my home, to create a home elsewhere. I am not adjusting well. I pine for my friends, my known life, the comfort of love, and the familiarity of belongingness. I am a stranger to this city. I have nothing and no one who resonates with my heart.

This would have been worthwhile if I received love from him. Instead, I'm pitted against a moving clock, slotted between calls to Mr. A and later to Mr. X, fighting for slivers of time before exhaustion kicks in at 10.30pm, hovering in the background in the hope to have conversation. I have been reduced to a thing. It's me or that phone call, it's me or that email, it's me or that old Russian woman who wants to recruit right-fucking-now, it's me or the work party, it's me or his sleep, it's me or that flight to USA, it's me or it's millions. I guess the choice became simple quickly.

I lost everything effortlessly. Sure, I cried. Sure, I crumbled. But all things said and done, it was effortless. The way my name rolls on his tongue...it comes out all awkward, almost unwillingly. The way millions rolls on his tongue? You can see him savouring each alphabet. I was effortlessly crushed. All the promises forgotten.

I am caged in a mansion, with walls for company, and a ticking clock reminding me of my worthlessness. My mind is playing games on me. My heart is going on its own crusade against god knows what. My lips are parched for love. And my eyes are dead.

I have to speak right, I have to think right, I have to communicate right, I have to fuck right, I cannot express my desires, I cannot voice my needs, I have to cook right, I have to entertain right, I have to support, I have to acknowledge, I cannot ask for anything in return, I should dress properly, I should lose weight, I should have kids but none of the ugly physical outcomes, I should have kids that look like him, I should raise them right, I should love his parents, I should love my parents, I have to be the one who queues, I have to book his appointment at the hospital, I have to cock my emotions when he's sleepy, I have to tip-toe around his demanding schedules, I have to take what I've been given, I have to get a job, I need to make sure his clothes are ironed, I need to keep the house clean, I need to keep my volume low, I need to wake up with him, I need to smell good, I have to look good at all times, I need to hide my emotions if they're negative, I even have to walk in a girly way.

Enough of these rules.

M against millions. Millions won.

Happy now?

I ain't no believer, yo!

2011-08-26T12:11:00.004+01:00

God! God is shoved down my throat wherever I turn. My grandmom who bursts into chants when I talk about celebrating with a drink, my mom who promptly looked at the auspicious calender to tell us when to move into our new apartment, my dad who insists there is a positive energy in his meditation room, the owner of our apartment who wants us to keep those two god portraits to the automan who asks me to touch the 10 rupee note to my eyes coz I dropped it.

Ahhh! I am blinded by god. I am flooded by this god phenomenon. My mother-in-law falls into a strange quiet when I tell her I don't believe in all this 'auspicious' dates. My mom resents me for robbing her the joy of a ritual when I do get pregnant (I think it's just her poor excuse to show off to the world that her daughter can not only get a PhD, but even get pregnant). My grandmother think it's a phase. But no one will believe that I don't believe.

God is a concept that gathered quite the following. This following has different strategies to break me. Some gently prod, some obsess, some argue, some wait. Just the other day, my dad appealed to my scientific mind by agreeing that the god concept is for people who can't seem to attribute inexplicable situations to coincidence. Then, promptly, he said that energies are a science. Even Einstein believed in it. Oh no, Daddy. You were so close.

I don't want to bring my kids up thinking there is a certain god they have to believe in. I feel this burden of god. Whenever something good happens, there's still a corner in my mind that has to remind me that this famous god in Tirupati did nothing. This god doesn't exist. It's a man-made concept. When I'm experiencing bad times, I have to stop myself from buckling and making a vow. The way god was explained to me is all messed up - it made me a weak person. God had nearly become a concept that are into me when my chips are down, like a vulture waiting for its corpse, like a virus eating away into weakened bone.

That's why I will not have any god idols, god talk, rituals, praying or ceremonies in my household. We don't believe in bringing up our kids in a limited environment where inquiry meets a god-created cul-de-sac. They can choose what they want to believe in. I would rather a scientific mind with a dollop of romance, than a feverish belief relinquishing imagination.

Monsoon in my heart

2011-08-24T16:35:00.003+01:00

my chest feels congested. i'm pukish. i can't breathe. it hurts. then i feel the almost rhythmic cracks in my wounded heart. oh, now i know what's going on! these are new symptoms of my recurring heart break.

---

trust me. it is hard to keep yourself amused when all you have are walls for company. many, many walls.

---

i can hear Dr. Key, Mr. Key, and another Mr. Key to the power of 2 attending to life's basic, vital needs. reminds me how Dr. Thing is a big no in their important lives.

---

This time around, i let my heart weep silently and alone. even when it blows against the hard glass of my resolute mind and uses the fingertips of these words to beg for a vent - 'please, even a curled lip will do' - i will not surrender. i will bear the the hemorrhaging bitterness, loneliness, and worthlessness with a comatosed mind.

Footnote

2011-08-22T09:19:00.003+01:00

Words have a funny way of constructing reliable truths that a gullible mind will swallow hungrily. My mind overflows with a constant one-sided dialogue. Occasionally, even my dreams stop being a neatly assembled role of images, but emerge as an incessant narrative. I wake up with the unending string of the one-side conversation continuing, as if consciousness poses no threat or even message for it to shut up.

---

If I could sum up my life thus far, I'd say that I'm always wrong and always right all at once. I was wrong to go out with him and break him, but I was right in pursuing what my heart said and then negated in the subsequent couple of months. I was wrong in hurting my parents, but I was right in marrying him. I was right in loving him with a passion, I was wrong in letting it threaten us now. I am right in thinking what I think, but I'm wrong in letting my thoughts translate into action. But what I learnt is that the corollary to this is also equally true.

---

We woke up yesterday and noticed that my feet look older. Yes, my feet. We spent seven minutes discussing my feet - the tiny white cracks in my heel, the mosquito bite that's leaving a scar behind, my chipping nail paint (I never leave it to that), the strange tan lines of flip flops followed by sandals. For me, growing up has begun from bottom up, huh.

---

I am silenced by the gaping divide between us. We really are on different ends of our crisis. I wish we didn't starve for love so much that we seek these band-aid fixes. I wish your big eyes and my baby-face didn't paint such a sorrowful picture. I am shocked into a stunned stupor at the disparity of our exact opposing means to a very common end. So big is this gap between us that we are willing to kill ourselves on the way to our shared happiness.

2011-06-07T19:57:00.002+01:00

with every snore
he cuts
deeper into my
bleeding
shadow

---

so
my punishment
is living
within
the life
i created

---

it is
a disquieting
feeling
when you realise
the reason for
all your sorrow
are the choices
you fought for
that you're
now
stuck with

---

"i bare my heart
he casts a sleepy eye,
i choke behind tears
he looks at his mobile phone,
i say i lost 10% of my soul
he gets ready for bed,
i apologise for my behaviour
he falls asleep"

opposites
don't
attract.

---

justice
is a lie
that your stupid
heart
convinces your
brain into
believing

---

my life
is simple:
LED light,
laptop,
a book,
unhappiness,
and
his snores
echoing
in my
empty heart

2011-05-20T06:12:00.000+01:00

pitter patter
teardrops

words
undone

pitter patter
teardrops

life's
undoing

Games people play

2011-04-03T11:47:00.002+01:00

Sheila woke up to the sound of her phone ringing. Groggy and sleepy-eyed she peers at the unknown number. She picks up the call anyway and hears the voice of Trent asking her to come downstairs with some money. While she fumbles around for her wallet, she remembers that he was to come back from his trip late tonight. His trips had become so frequent that she almost forgot that she shares her three bedroom flat with her husband.

Taxi driver paid, luggage hauled upstairs, shower taken. They sit on their bed while she animatedly updates him about the past couple of weeks. He listens. He always listens. She slipped out of the bedroom quietly when he drifted off, knowing that he needs to rest after such a hectic trip. Besides, there was the big match on from the afternoon onwards that he wanted to watch. What an exciting match it was! They were both jubilant as they prepared for bed.

He was teasing her all day. Making fun of her belly. Keeping count of her calories. Teasing her about her awkward gait. Telling her she needs to take a shower. Trent's way of expressing love is his relentless teasing. Sheila finds it hurtful. When she brings it up, he says she has no sense of humor. Tired of the mounting fights, Sheila gives up protesting and licks her wounds quietly.

While in bed, he begins teasing her again. Says she's too finicky because she wanted the bed to be tidy, the water bottles within reach, the Martini bottle on the side table, the books on the other one...all the while she quietly goes about these small tasks while wondering in her heart, why is it always his problems that come ahead of hers? Her feet were aching from running around the house for him. Yet his strained back (which was massaged by her 3 times today) seems to trump all her pain. He then tries to poke her a bit more. She finally grumbles about her patience and pain. He promptly personalizes it rather than reaching out for her and starts an argument. Then, as he claims all men do, he blocks her out by watching youtube videos.

With a sigh, she picks up her book and reads a couple of pages. As usual after an argument, he offers the healthy suggestion of sleeping. Too tired of the fights, she gives in to sleep.

Sheila wakes up the next day and decides that she has no energy for fights and pretends like nothing happened the night before. She cheerfully chit-chats with Trent. She genuinely wants to just have a good weekend with him before he's busy for the entire week with his 18-hour days. However, Trent never likes to feel like the persecutor. He wanted to even out the fight. So he circles her like a shark waiting to find a fight. She doesn't fight back. He stalls an hour and tries again. She lets up and gives him the outburst he wants so that he feels like the victim again.

There are a multitude of emotions running through Sheila. She decides she cannot live like this anymore. Clearly her days without him are happier than the days with him. Clearly the fights far outweigh the joys. Besides, no joy is worth these gross misunderstandings.

He's taking his nap in the guest bedroom - the poor victim of this domestic cage. She packs all her emotions into neat compartments, she burns all the memories she's had with him, she lets the love quickly drip out of her soul till she is empty of any feelings for him. She has shut him out.

Let him beat an opponent that isn't even fighting anymore.

Laughter is my blood pressure medicine

2011-03-25T08:03:00.008Z

I'm back in the motherland. I thank myself for cultivating a sense of humour these past few years, coz I'm sure cashing in on it now! There're a few things that struck me ever since my return..

1. Advice, advice...buy none, get three free: Be it your nagging cold or your insurance plans, everyone is ready to give you as much free advice as they can muster. Advice here ranges from 'drink turmeric milk' to 'have children then you'll be happy' all in one sitting with a total stranger. But what takes the cake and frosting too, is that people are happy to give you advice on a topic they don't even know! For example, my grandmother came up with n-number of reasons why I shouldn't use my laptop instead of computer when she doesn't even know how to operate her cordless phone :)

2. I CAN HEAR YOU JUST FINE: Moving back from overly polite UK, this one was trauma to the throat and ears the first month. The only way anyone talks here is by shouting. My mom's definition of talking is pretty much my definition of tomorrow's sore throat. People here talk like their always at a live concert show. I'm afraid, in another month I might have to up the decibel points in my own volume or I might not get anything done here!

3. Always go straight and take a right: Now, I dunno if this is a Hyd thing, but when I ask anyone...and I mean anyone for directions they without fail will tell me to go straight and take a right. You know what's weird? 8 out of 10 times, they gave me the correct directions.

4. Curiosity didn't kill any cats here: Everyone is curious about everyone. Right from the sneaky sideways glances in a shopping mall to asking me about when will I bear kids, no one hesitates in the blatant disregard to boundaries. Indeed, people get offended when I do not reciprocate in kind :)

5. Have uterus? Love children: I love this unquestioned, not deliberated rule. All women must love children. When I tell people here that I don't like kids, they gasp in shock like I've uttered some profanity. I recall a lady actually bursting into prayers! Words cannot describe to you how amusing that was.

6. Gimme gotto gimme my carbs tonight, gimme gotta gimme my carbs!: South Indians love their simple carbs. Rice is their middle name. But what's most funny is that the diabetics will not take sugar in their tea, but eat a large heap of rice for dinner and go to bed 10 minutes later.

7. Theories , superstitions, rationalizations galore: Everyone has a theory , superstition, rationalization for everything. The natural calamities have increased because Mother Earth is angry with us (which is probably right). I have become fair-skinned because I essentially have my paternal grandmother's genes. It's okay that I am eating rice tonight, because I didn't eat rice in the afternoon. Sachin isn't batting well in cricket because I sat with my legs crossed.

8. I know you: Strangers know me better than I know myself :) It's true. A lady saw me taking pictures of the sunset on my in-law's terrace and opened the conversation with this, 'You like sunsets, no? I knew it.' Why don't I like kids? Ask Harish, the stranger I sat opposite in the train, 'You're an only child so you never grew up around children, so you don't like them'. Clearly I was home-schooled and cousin-less!

9. Preferential treatments: My 'Dr.' adage, my American twang, my confident gait gets me so much preferential treatment, that it's a good thing I don't usually avail it. When my husband went to get his international license done, all he was asked to do is wave a wad of cash. What is cute though, is that you are given preferential treatment esp. if you are quiet and have a polite air about you.

10. My ears are alive with the sound of noise: There is noise. Then at 3AM, there is more noise. There is always noise here. Be it the dog barking on the streets, the cart vendor screaming bananas, the water motor whirring, the ceiling fan, the neighbours fighting, the loud mobile phone ringtones, the honking...you are surrounded and there's no escaping it. No, not even those ear plug thingummies worked here.

11. Sabkuch chalta hain (everything goes): Finally, one big thing I've observed here is that almost everyone have a sweet, relaxed attitude because they all believe that everything goes. When I say that, I mean that if the water in your taps is slightly rainy, that's fine just buy a mineral water bottle. If the electricity is cut, that's fine just check the mobile updates for the cricket score. If the doctor comes 4 hours late, that's fine the junior doctor would've appeased you. Somehow, despite the chaos, lack of a system, absolute disregard for time...everything falls into place, and things actually get done! You just have to be willing to view it not as a loss of quality of life, but be proactive in adding that quality of life with either a sense of humour, reading a book while waiting, buying a usb-stick internet thingy.

Life here really is what you make it. That's my take home message :)

2011-01-21T17:42:00.003Z

i remember that night
when the shadows
cast beautiful patterns
on your troubled face

i remember that moment
when the storm in your
soul suddenly went quiet
to the sound of my words

i remember that day
when we stole kisses,
the rocky terrain mirroring
our unsteady lives

i remember when your
silence broke my heart,
and my words sliced
yours

i remember the first time
i touched your face,
the first time i traced my eyes
along the invisible lines of your soul

i remember you not loving me,
then loving me,
then not loving me,
then not caring

Best laid plans

2011-01-20T14:45:00.003Z

I've planned and planned my life. I was 4 years old when I understood that life is what you make it, that being honest to your own dreams and desires is the best way to live, and that life is for the living. So I lived. I felt every emotion as deeply and thoroughly as I could. I dug deep into my soul to understand my 'callings'. I constructed my life with vigour - you can still see the ruins of my carefully planned life in the way I manage my finances, I lust after the World Map, I cry when my friend is hurt, and how I keep tugging at the bed sheet till it's perfectly aligned with the mattress in equal parts.

Somehow the 4 year old wise girl got lost in the last 4 years of my life. Slowly my dedication to building a happy life crumbled. Maybe it was the relentless torrential arguments, unimaginably vast gap between what I believed to be and what actually was, the constant battering of my self-esteem, and the mounting questions that two contrasting individuals fire at each other. My life slowly became an irretrievable clutter. I look back at the last 4 years and I mourn for the wisdom I was bestowed with so early on in my life. Curse upon my unnatural keenness.

I never knew that I was this unhappy. Anger was my defense mechanism - I blinded myself with a exhausting swing between anger and tears, I gave him an excuse to ignore his own emotions, it allowed us to simply hide. I've happily unhappily taken the convenient path for as long as my poor body, mind, and soul could take me, i.e., nearly the past 4 years. Now, out of sheer exhaustion I am unable to access any feelings of anger. Now, suddenly, we both have to deal with the real emotions.

It is only this past week that I am consolidating the horror of my recent past. How far I am from what I used to be and what I wanted to be! My soul is crushed with disappointment. My body is too tired for sleep. I am drained. The anger has left gaping landscapes of absolute emptiness. I feel nothing. My counsellor says I'm in self-protection mode. Maybe she's right. I've lashed at myself with no respite for much too long. Now, my entire system has come to a grinding halt. Can't take this shit no more.

The loud silence that surrounds me, disquieting as it may be, is...oh, so soothing. I love how I have the chance to look within. Ask myself how did I get myself to this point? What do I need to do to get back on track? What will make me happy again? How do I construct peace within myself? How do I inspire myself to regain self-mastery? How do I motivate myself to deal with life's hurdles? How do I learn to re-cultivate self-control and not externalized control? I believe these fundamental questions will help me reconstruct old M - the M who knew what she wanted, how to get it, and how to always be responsible for her own happiness.

It doesn't mean I love him less. It doesn't mean I don't need the social support. It doesn't mean that he destroyed me. In the long run, even that destruction will be interpreted as good. At least now, before we had kids, I have understood that no one is responsible for me. It is not his duty to make sure I am happy. It is not his duty to provide for his family. However divine a love may be - we are still in it for ourselves. Selflessness is overrated, selfishness is wrongly scorned at.

I don't say this with a rancorous heart, I say it with wisdom. I stopped taking care of myself and tried to take care of him, in the hope that he will take care of me. He doesn't know me, and I don't know him. So no one was taking care of any body. We were two very lonely sailors on the same boat rowing it in opposite directions, so we ended up going no where! All this wonderfully painful silence has taught me to first take care of myself. My god - look at me. Like Dorian Gray, when you sift through the pretty tresses and smiling face you will see a haggardly heart.

It is nice. My cup of tea. Crisp winter air. A book. A small office. Stable friendships. I have the freedom to look within. I have the time to be self-sufficient. I have the courage to mind my own business. And, importantly, I have the wisdom to enjoy my peaceful silence. I'm slowly finding my center again.

Interior Monologue

2011-01-17T08:06:00.000Z

I give up celebrations. Up until the age of 27 I believed that birthdays and anniversaries are days to celebrate, cherish, and just be joyful. They are days that people must set aside as non-negotiable days. After all, it was the day that I was born! I was presented to this world from the warmth of my mother's womb alive and kicking. It was the day that I became a living, independent entity. Therefore, all of us absolutely must celebrate birthdays. The same goes for anniversaries - esp. wedding anniversaries. It was the day that me and my husband took vows in front of literally thousands of people. It was the day that we stepped into the world of marriage, we changed the status of relationship forever - it was a fundamental shift. Therefore, it too demands celebrations.

I believed so strongly, so passionately about celebrating these important occassions with my husband. I dreamt even as a little girl that I will find a man who will understand just how terribly vital these celebrations are that he will move heaven and earth to make sure that we celebrate them. This trust in a mythical man helped me tolerate underwhelming, sometimes awful birthdays. Unfortunately, we had to fight to barely meet...leave alone celebrate. My birthday was a struggle. His birthday was missed. Our first anniversary was a disaster. Our second anniversary was forced through fear rooted in history. I fought and fought for us to celebrate.

But now I give up. M and millions will always be a struggle. No matter how many things I sacrifice, how many personality traits of his and mine I transform - I will always lose. The millions will always win. The power of millions will triumph over me. This point was driven home to me through a cruel call in the middle of the night that took away my distraught husband to chase the millions. What can a tiny girl with sleepy eyes say when a million dollar cheque is waging in front of us? 'No thank you, I'd rather cherish my birth instead?' The cheque doesn't care. And without the cheque, I'd quickly be celebrating my death anniversary! So I give in. No more celebrations. I have no fight in me. There is too much life to live. Too many other things I should be shedding my tears over. I cannot fool myself into believing that celebrating important days is a beautiful thing when all my life events have consistently proven otherwise. So I give up celebrating.

Therefore, I mark 2011 as the year that I gave up celebrating birthdays and anniversaries. I have built a sturdy cognitive consistency by completely altering my perceptions on this matter. First, renouncing celebrations frees me from dissapointments. Second, what is a birthday anyway? It just the day that I officially add an extra year to my age. Big deal. Third, yes the actual day that we got married was important. But the subsequent years are again just the date that you can officially add an extra year of having been married. I've decided that I will slowly remove all forms of attachment to those days by making a singular effort to NOT celebrate. There will be no drinks, there will be no partying, there will be no special dinner, there will be no special card. That day must be marked by mundaneness. If anyone tries to celebrate it (such as my tireless mother), I will be rudely honest about NOT celebrating. Yes, it will hurt her - but her hurt does not slow me down, mine does.

I mourn my last ever childish dream. Therefore, on the day I've turned 28, I would like to say that I'm officially stepping into old lady land!

Interior Monologue

2011-01-14T18:05:00.003Z

Life comes full circle often. My research is about making sense of one's illness in two separate contexts. And now, I am making sense of the aftermath when I'm provisionally Dr. M.

I don't deserve it. I am ashamed of it. Yes, I know that I am being unkind and harsh. And yes, I genuinely think I deserve some punishment time.

I will always remember the shame I bore in my heart. How my eyes cast down when I was informed that I passed. I will always remember how my supervisor's face changed form when he discovered I was not proud, I was not happy, I was not even in limbo. I had swiftly by-passed any form of joy and clearly landed in vacant expanses of self-flagellating, mournful shock.

How did I miss something so fundamental? How did they place so much power in my hands? Why did I kid myself into trying to get away with it? Why did I not accept the short-coming? When did I become so egotistical? When did I let my myopic passion blind me from science? When did science desert me? Oh, I'm so ashamed of myself.

Two decades I dreamt about this. My parents lived life through me just to see the day I become a PhD holder. My husband sacrificed two unborn children for this dream. My supervisors invested their time and wisdom in this project. My friends held my hands and supported me when I was falling. And so, I need to put up a front. But my lips can't carve a smile, my eyes are awash with shame, my face contorts in pain.

Everytime someone congratulates me I can hear the voice inside my head saying, 'You could've quite easily killed someone if you took your findings any further!' I could have done so much damage. I could have shook a steady boat. I could have caused a hurricane in still waters.

When I told this to my most honest friend she told me that I am being much too harsh on myself. She said I need to stop punishing myself like this. She is probably right. I have many strengths. But I will not allow myself the respite. I will ensure I am punished until this lesson is burned so deep that if I were to die, this will be the last thing in my mind.

I will get there. In six months, one year, maybe even two...I will learn to deserve my title. Because by then I would have etched the lesson into my being.

2011-01-07T18:07:00.003Z

A viva is scary. I have never felt this afraid in my life before. I have never felt this vulnerable in my life before. I have never invested my life, my dreams, my soul, and myself in anything before. Since that time I can remember - this was my career calling. Now, two people who have barely watched my research life unfurl will ask me questions about what I've written. Compact words, long tables, indentations, a bound cover...how sharp the edges of my dream are!

I'm scared shitless and no one is able to help me even when they try.

trust

2010-11-24T18:22:00.002Z

when you prick me
do i not bleed?
when you doubt me
do i not hurt?
when you slay me
do i not die?

dust

2010-11-10T15:24:00.002Z

how strange...
my soul is silent
like it has crashed at
the shores
after navigating a
stormy life

my eyes gaze
searching for life
but the clouds hang
completely still,
the trees
ridiculously unwavering

how strange...
i've at last
arrived
only to turn into
dust

A death

2010-11-09T17:52:00.003Z

through death,
you accessed your
emotions

through death,
you wanted to move
mountains

through death,
you were shaken
through death,
reality sunk in

then i wonder

through my death,
will i be worth fighting for
to you?

and the last page read 'the end'.

2010-11-08T23:57:00.003Z

no words can fill this void, no thought can comfort me, no person can fill my heart, and no god can save me.

the dearth of death

2010-11-08T14:16:00.003Z

in the darkness
my legs wobble
how many miles have you travelled?

no respite in these
patterned words
how many gashes across your heart?

my lips curved upwards
smiling emptily
how many splinters in your soul?

ironic, that knife
mocking, that electric outlet
how many more gasps with your name on them?

back then, you were the glorious sunrise
right now, you are the dawn of destruction
how many more daggers do you hold within you?

Reflections

2010-11-08T11:54:00.002Z

they slip and slide. some stick on, like they have invisible glue underneath their belly. new raindrops emerge and huddle together seeking protection from the threatening cold. how many tears does the sky have to shed?

yesterday i lay in the middle of the living room whimpering. my body wrecked. how many tears do i have to spare?

heavy gray clouds choke the tall building. bare trees sway as if to say, enough stop raining on me. raindrops collect in a frenzy on the windowpane. and, as if to spite their call for respite, the clouds weep with renewed strength. why the murky cruelty?

today, i caressed the knife by my bed. i imagined the tram banging into my body with no afterthought. oops. why the vindictive hold of life?

Life is for the living.

2010-11-07T22:21:00.004Z

Her fingers fumble whilst searching for the mobile phone. They grasp the phone, take cover out, and then she begrudgingly opens one eye to check the time. It's 4.30AM. Her mind tells her to go back to sleep and not check her emails - again. Yet, she uses some form of rationalization, and checks her empty inbox. She consoles herself that she never expected anything in there anyway. But in a desperate corner of her heart, she wished there were some kind words waiting for her to read between gasps and sobs. Disheartened, she forces herself to go back to sleep. But her mind swims through memories before it tricks her into slumber.

Sometimes she wakes up with dirty dry tear stains on her cheeks. Lately, she's not even morbidly fascinated at how deep her eyes appear, the dark circles highlighting her destroyed soul. There are days when she doesn't even look at her face. She stares into nothingness whilst brushing her teeth, runs her fingers through her hair, blindly wears a pair of earrings, and automatically wipes her glasses. Her eyes don't even rest on her wedding and engagement rings anymore. They used to call to her...lonely, gathering dust.

Her thoughts have become a burden. So she's stopped thinking. Her body has become an unwanted commitment. So she stopped eating. Her heart has burned down to ashes. So she feels nothing. She goes through the motions of walking to work, staring at a computer allowing her expertise on the English language to take over, and walks back home to her sleep.

Until two weeks ago, Sundays were the only days she looked remotely alive. She had her routine - read in bed for a while, take a long shower, walk into the city, drink a cup of tea near the fountains, lazily window shop, get a healthy lunch in her favorite cafe while reading her book, buy groceries on the way back home, stop at an unpretentious coffee shop for another cuppa tea, and bake once home. Only, the past two weeks she has neither energy nor will to drag herself through the empty gestures of life.

Life is for the living.

Feast

2010-11-06T16:09:00.003Z

i'm hid
underneath the bridge
weighing the words
exchanged

now the silence
shrouds me
like the cold encircles
the whirling wind

vultures
hover over my
dead soul

hanging by a thin thread
i search between
bytes and fake worlds
but the hollow
echo is all that remains

kind glances used to
bounce off
the walls of my memories
now, nicotine laces it

their beaks pick
at my
seared skin

i was frantically hanging by a
thread, so
i'll cut you loose,
you said

i'll cut you loose,
you said, before snapping my life
and watched while my
brains splattered

they fight
for the fat
lining my heart

Interior Monologue

2010-11-06T13:16:00.003Z

I still remember the day when I sat in the balcony in the ICARDA guesthouse in Damascus telling my dad about my life twenty years in the future. I had even drawn him a colour picture of what my house would be like - it had a big bedroom for me and my husband, rooms for my parents and in-laws, servants quarters, a dog, a driveway, a few children - it was a big house. I remember telling him how happy, buoyant, pure, and honest my life would be. I was ten at that time.

I'm horrified to see how the by lanes of life that I've traversed have brought me here. Trauma, unhappiness, riddled emotions, low self-esteem, and being lied to. He has made a fool of me. Life has made a fool of me. I'm twenty seven now.

How did my life take this turn? How did I not see the signs? Why didn't I protect myself? Why did I hurl myself into the throes of so-called love? I wish I could rewind my life. I wish I could fast forward to death. I wish I wasn't.

Diwali

2010-11-05T11:35:00.003Z

loneliness is a bitter thing. especially when the rest of the world is celebrating and you can't. especially when the person who has ripped your heart and slammed it down the gutter and then stamped it for a while is celebrating. and you are not.

fireworks. indeed. in my belly, in my heart, in my soul. fireworks. sure. the kind that seer your skin and make it into pulp. i'm sure he would vouch that blood is tasty, that carnivore-cannibal.

Exit, stage right.

2010-11-02T14:42:00.003Z

She gazes outside the window everyday at work. (Yes, she works everyday). She's been avid audience to the two trees the past three seasons. She saw them hesitantly bud during spring, scream into full bloom during summer, and the gentle flourish of autumn leaves that now pave the way to her coffee hideout. Time is a curious thing, she thought. It breaks the trees, gives them the opportunity of rebirth, only to bring them down to the embarrassing minimum come autumn.

So are relationships. They are cyclical. You never realize when the unhealthy patterns set in, she muses. Invaded by love, she never noticed the little transgression that human beings are capable of. With subtle speed the misunderstandings crept into their marriage. Before she could even stand straight the foundation of her marriage and friendship dismantled into a corroding mess. Atop the debris, she tried to piece the sparkling bits of togetherness but the shards of insecurity, misdirected rage, and uncouth words kept cutting at her skin. Just like the autumn leaves carpeting her feet, now loneliness fits snugly around the shape of her heart - exactly where love used to be.

***

Winter. She watches the sturdy bark of the trees - unfazed by the engulfing winter. I wish I had the strength to ride the cyclical waves, she thinks. A single tear drops down her sullen cheek. How ironic, she thinks as she watches the saline water balance on the tan line of her ring finger. Even water balances on a scrap of my skin, but love just slid away.

She shares her soup bowl between lunch and dinner now.

No, I don't believe.

2010-11-01T10:24:00.005Z

I have dabbled, challenged, succumbed, cheated myself, avoided, but always revisited my thoughts on religion. Born in a country steeped in frenzied idol-worship that negates all modern common-sense, it was natural that I inherited my families' and culture's god-fearing madness. I was told many stories about this monkey faced god, that elephant faced god who was actually a real human being with real human features, the god who abandoned his wife for the sake of his people. Being a Hindu, I was at liberty to pick whichever god I wanted to believe in. It meant that I still visited temples that are frequented by my family, but I also was given the space and opportunity to worship my favorite god. I picked the elephant god. Mostly coz he looked cute and seemed to cover all areas important to me - education, intelligence, life, wealth. Our family staunchly believed a god of two wives, always in debt, nestled in a cosy rich hill. I was always thrown around in a sea of maniacal crowd of bald-headed people crazily chanting 'his' name, and my grandmother always protecting the smallest girl in our little group. Funny how despite that claustrophobic madness, some guy was always able to grope you! Did he not think that god could see him touching my bum? Was it that his misdeeds will be cleansed because he was in 'his' presence and he forgives all? I almost always wished that these guys who touched me inappropriately were not wily, bald-headed, turmeric smeared, stinky guys. But god doesn't grant all your wishes.

I then spent a good few years not contemplating god, but rather going through the motions. My dad, a loyal and loud atheist, despised the rituals but loved the banquet of food during festivals. He was always the first to lay the table and eat literally kilos of sweet in one sitting. Of course, he had to beat my dog who stealthily ate up the 'payaasam' (a milk noodle soupy sweet). I enjoyed the family togetherness....those rare days when no one was rudely screaming at each other, and that was enough for my heart. I wondered where was people's piousness when they were hurling abuses at their parents, partners, children, maids... I suppose loud arguments was also a way of life, just as these blind rituals were.

I swung back into my desperate belief in god when I spent a couple of years flitting through life. Clueless, I had to hold onto something. God was convenient. Yet, sometimes the thin voice of reason found its way into my head, whereupon I'd quickly admit there's no god, but there's definitely a power, an energy in the universe. Yes, I believed in the universe. I put requests out there for things to happen in my life and sure as hell, when your dad coughs up the money and the UK grants you a visa, all requests get fulfilled...! I continued to critically appraise my dad, but the universe I never doubted.

I've come a full circle, and look at myself. Rites of passage. Being told you should believe, catching the irony of belief, questioning it, going through the motions, conveniently believing, and then adopting a skewed logic.

I don't believe in god. I don't believe in an 'universe'. I don't believe in religion. I don't believe in a power. I don't believe in a past-life. I don't believe in an elephant god with a sweet face and chubby body. I don't endorse any image, idol, or songs of any god in my house. Would a merciful god say I need to walk exactly 110 circles around his temple to be blessed? I did 109 and still got to sit in the front of the car. Why do god-believers start making disapproving remarks about their children soon after praying? How is it that god took away my grandfathers without giving me a chance to say goodbye? Because god didn't.

However, I cannot be an atheist. My dad has courage to contemplate that this is it. This life is it. There's nothing more ahead. I cannot accept that my life is insignificant, that there's nothing for me once I die. I cannot be a full-stop. Atheist are brave people....because they can accept that when their life comes to a grinding halt, there's nothing more to it.

On a good day, I'll say I'm an atheist because it gives me the drive to be of consequence while still alive. Since the older I get the rarer good days are, I've decided to call myself an agnostic. There might be something out there. I'll find out when I die. Maybe I can visit the dreams of those believers to report back ;)

Sex and the City... Indeed!

2010-10-10T22:32:00.004+01:00

I have to admit that watching Sex and the City 2 tonight was perhaps one of the smartest things I ever did in the past couple of weeks. And trust me, if you had known all the sensible changes I've been making in my life lately you would be as surprised as I am with this revelation.

The last month of a PhD is tough, add to it a slightly rocky marriage, add to it your own personal ghosts, add to it packing up 5 years of life and leaving in a jiffy, add to it entering a new-old country begrudgingly, add to it entering a new phase when your life's only big dream(s) are achieved. I needed the superficiality of a glamorous, 'sparkly' Hollywood girly flick!

However, what was surprising was how unprepared I was that even a shamelessly girly girl movie was able to show me a glimmer of what I was letting my own life become. I suppose juggling a long-distance marriage with a demanding PhD was never meant to be easy. I wish somebody had prepared me for that. Just as Carrie Bradshaw looked back on her life when she first came to NY in 1986, I too looked back at my life when I came to the UK 5 years ago. I was young, confused, wild, and full of insecurities. Fast forward to now, and although I do not have Carrie's sexy body or breathtaking fashion sense, I am a confident, accomplished, self-sufficient woman. But that is now.

What happened in between version 1.0 and 2.0? Many mini versions - 1.13, 1.79, 1.98! Somehow in the past two years I let pessimism and my not-so-charming traits take a sturdy grasp of me. What's alarming is not that I allowed this to happen - let's face it, we all have our lows when the not so pretty side of us creeps out - but that I tricked myself into enjoying it! I'm ashamed to admit that maybe a self-deprecating side of me took over just like darkness can so easily fill every corner of a once bright soul. Nothing was able to help me. No amount of talking to friends, reading books, self-reflection, tears, family support, or sense of purpose could throw me a lifeboat.

You know how I managed to turn so many versions in just 5 years and come out okay? My attitude. Despite all my lows, self-criticism, unhappiness, depression, suicidal thoughts, loneliness, irrational thinking....despite the gamut of young adulthood....I came out okay simply because of my attitude towards life. You know how I said I enjoyed the crappy version of me? In my own weird way, I was making the best of my awful situation - even the awful situation was myself. Some counselling, some age, some time, a husband, a mother, and a couple of friends helped me through my attitudinal shift. I gradually changed tracks from enjoying unhappiness to enjoying happiness. Whoa! The more I rejoice the happiness, the more I see that unhappiness is not as much fun...plus it's harder work! I still occasionally slip into what you modern thinkers call 'pain body', but atleast now I have the tools to gently coax myself back into the fun version of fun. I've accepted that this is a lifetime job coz it's called survival.

Now Sex and the City, as far as I gather from the one movie and 2 half-episodes I've watched, is all about the complexities of relationships. In this regard, Carrie Bradshaw said something that was particularly interesting (and relevant) to me. She errs on the side of temptation and kisses her ex-boyfriend because she was unhappy with her marriage to her 'the one'. She then, in between her heart-rending Hollywood tears, says that she had spent all her life being crazy and just trying to get the man she loved to love her back. And when he finally reciprocates and simply wants to lay in the couch with her, she grumbles. What's wrong with a couch, she asks. Indeed. It was the oddest parallel I can ever draw to my current marital situation. Never did I think that skinny Carrie could turn the mirror from herself to me!

This man that I'm married to? My soul fell in love with him the very minute I saw him. After 2 .5 years, my soul was finally able to get through to my heart. I spent more than a year chasing the man I love to realize that he wouldn't be happier with anyone else but me. I loved him so much that I let him walk all over me, play with my heart, and use me like I use my plastic water bottle in the gym. I knew that only I will love him so unconditionally, so madly, so perfectly that it was okay for me to wait while he messed me around. Sure enough, I got my 'one'. And now...after all that...when he simply holds my hand while we walk down to the grocery store, I say he must side-hug me. When he says he misses me, I say I need him to miss me more. When he comes to be with me, I say he should've come earlier. When he wants to spend time with me, I accuse him of all the times he did not spend time with me. When he says he loves me in little and big ways, I say in many cruel ways that it's not enough.

Why has his love become less sufficient now, when in the past I waited hungrily for even the smallest mirage of love from him? What is so wrong with what I have that I want something more from him? Why do I want him to make up for my loss self-respect and insecurities in the past?

The more I ask these questions, the worse it gets for me. For almost two years now I've struggled with my definition of marriage, husband, wife, society, parents, in-laws, gender roles and whatnot. The one thing I learnt is there is no point in overthinking this. There is no point in me wondering why I am like this and not like that. It only makes me more and more angry and negative. Attitudinal shift time. Everytime I get down on how rocky and unfortunate our marriage has been, I am now also able to see how exciting and fun it still is. A positive attitude helps me remember that I want to be happy in this marriage. It's as simple as that. Whenever i get to a tricky crossroads I ask myself, "What do you want to do to make sure you are happy in this marriage?" Usually I come out being honest, open, and even more lovable for him.

Change begets change. The more positive I become, the more space I give him to be wonderful to me. The more I believe we are a team, the more he behaves like we are a team. The more things I find to be happy with him, the more he feels reassured and loves me more. It's fantastic. Despite those nagging pitfalls, I can see myself slowly being with the man I've always wanted in a marriage I've always wanted.

Obviously, Hollywood wouldn't have had the time to delve so deeply into personal and marital complexities. But atleast it churned out a Carrie Bradshaw that triggered some self-reflection for me. For that, and the hot-oh-mama!-hot guys, thanks Sex and the City 2!

Things she left unsaid

2010-09-27T15:44:00.002+01:00

my heart wraps around
the words you refuse
to say

my fingers trace
the soft edges of
empty spaces where
your feelings
should've been

and my soul searches
among the shards
of what you left behind
hoping to find
your fragmented love

I hate 'love'

2010-09-20T19:30:00.002+01:00

The pain of romantic love is the most unforgiving, exacting, and relentless thing. I have loved many times and thought that the last time I loved someone will be forever. But love has consistently bitten in my back and proven to me what a fairytale concept it is. The pain of love is so immense, that the beauty of it's flittering nature is useless.

I know poets and 'believers' out there would like to argue and convince me otherwise, but I know from my immeasurable experience that the pain far outweighs the gain. Just like you out there I genuinely believed that love is this wonderful, awe-inspiring, ennobling experience that makes the moments of unhappiness seem minuscule in comparison. Oh, I had this faith that when I found the 'Man' that our love was solid, beautiful, and pure. And then the next 'Man' happened and I believed all those things over again. But you know what I've come to finally understand? Love is a trap. Love is a lie. Love is the silent psychopath that will slice your heart into tiny pieces and smear it across the walls of your faith to prove to you how it can so easily trick you. I thought that here was where my buck stopped....I found it. And it didn't lie for so long. Then gradually love brought with it a comfort that made me become vulnerable, honest, trusting. At my weakest moment it struck and by god it struck so hard that to this very day I have to gasp for the air of reality to slap me out of this stupor. Love struck me down so hard, that I've finally understood what a conniving bastard it is.

I have learnt through many times of picking myself up that love is not worth my time or effort. Why should I waste so much of my energies and belief system just so I can bask in a momentary bliss? To love another person in a romantic relationship is the purest form of torture. I would rather have the mundane everyday happiness than subscribe to the rare blissful love. The pain of love is evil...and it shan't enter my heart's shrine again.

Indeed, it is better not to love, than to love at all.

Interior Monologue

2010-09-13T09:34:00.003+01:00

Life is such a challenging thing. Just when you learn to accept and think you've got a semblance of peace of mine, it throws another surprise at you. It's a constant learning experience....drink out of a bottle, don't pee in bed, awkward teenage years, quit smoking, quit sleeping around, marriage, children, and then the children's learning process and before you know it...you're all spent out on a cold deathbed.

If life keeps shoving hurdles onto your track, how does it expect you to 'live'? Yes, yes people tell me that living is all about being excited, enjoying or just integrating the surprises that come along. Make lemonade outta your lemons. What about when it's just impossible to see any good? The moments when you wake up and just breathing is a torment. When your feet hit the ground and you know you have to go through all this again...and again....and again....it's like a vortex of vulnerability, depression, helplessness that swirls you around and around.

On days like that, yes even your very skin is detestable. Gloom-ridden, I cannot see any good out of this. There's no point to this constant struggle. This struggle to be loved, to be acknowledged, to have respite from the nonstop droning of failures, the shattering of self-respect. My entire life cascades in front of my eyes... what a disappointment I have become, what unhappiness I hold within my heart! Sometimes it's just too much to bear.

2010-09-10T11:00:00.002+01:00

I know.
Sometimes it's a struggle to just live with yourself.
I can't stand the sound of my thoughts, I want to scratch my skin off, I hate the smell of my presence.

Yes, it can sometimes be a damned struggle to just live with yourself.
I know.

Lack Lustre Life

2010-09-07T12:01:00.003+01:00

like
water slipping through
my fingers
sunshine resting on
my hair

like
rescinding pain
bleeding heart
transcending twilights

like
the violin's weeping
reflected in the dancer's
feet

like
my soul's soul's
death

What have I done?

2010-08-27T17:39:00.002+01:00

I search through the bits and bytes and know that he's gone. He's melted into the framework of a life unknown to me. He's disappeared into the tapestry of another world. He's petered out of my life. What have I done?

He is basking in new adventures, I'm still kneading out old stories. He is seeking fresh dreams, I'm living our many nightmares. He has let time wash away what was, I'm not letting the time pass. I'm the rotting root, he's a flowering plant.

I'm filled with...blank vision, misty music, mourning heartbeats. Oh...what have I done?

2010-08-20T18:45:00.001+01:00

heartbroken i weep by
my river of
regrets
seeing the reflection of the
unhappy person
i've become.

when did this
happen?

2010-06-18T11:05:00.002+01:00

as life takes shape
in the bright sunshine
of today's moments,
yesterday slips into the
mob of clouds
that will mask this
arrogant glow
someday.

Two Sides

2010-06-14T16:08:00.003+01:00

Veils of different shades
Between you and me;
Do you see what
I can't see?

While your view screams
Stories of strife,
Mine mourns
My askew life.

2009-11-15T09:26:00.002Z

my muscles, my heart, my mind and my fight have all gone old.

---

i'm so far away that when you rattle me, i've even stopped spewing the shit i used to.

---

home is such a distant sound; like an echo dying at the bottom of a dry valley.

---

another aeroplane, another phonecall, another tear, another sad song.

---

i look at this year and see how empty it has been. how meaningless my strife is.

Stuff

2009-11-02T22:17:00.002Z

There is such a thing as being too grown up.

---

The only time you are truly free, is when you are single.

---

The sounds of life seep through my consciousness and I reject it.

---

Funny how I remember the most irrelevant details of my past friendships.

---

While my friends are moving on, I'm moving back.

---

No one should be cursed with the fear of the future.

Marriage

2009-10-10T10:13:00.000+01:00

Women want more and more of it.
Men want less and less of it.

...

2009-09-14T18:34:00.002+01:00

dust the cobwebs
to gape at reality
like an disillusioned idiot

---

work swoops into
punctured personality
to plug unnecessary
noise

---

silence engenders
silence
that engenders
silence

---

misgivings translate into
emptiness
fears morph into
bitterness
as
the fight becomes the
defeat

---

illusion: it matters!
reality: not any more.
illusion: the one.
reality: none.

---

float through life
inconspicuous,
as made for mediocrity
but trapped in
deceptive grandeur

---

in silence
the restless soul finds
peace,
in silence
the unhappy heart finds
space,
in silence
the bottomless pit finds
the end,
in silence
the words find their
destination.

Interior Monologue

2009-09-03T12:06:00.001+01:00

People talk about love in such glorious terms. I suppose it deserves the many accolades. I have, once in a while, experienced the greatness of love.

However, more often, I have experienced the limitations love has placed upon me. How it ties my hands, screws with my head, makes me cry, and makes me feel feelings that make me think I'm better off dead. Love is the thing that has shackled me for life. Love is the thing that makes me chase after it in a treacherous journey interspersed with grief. Love makes me lonely.

I find myself incapable of forgiving love for happening to me. I'm a prisoner in a love trap. I want to go free! I want to go free! I hate these human weaknesses. All for a few soul-inspiring moments that 'make you believe'. Well, truth be told, I prefer the mundane existence of lovelessness. At least it guarantees me constancy, clarity, and my center.

Love. I wrote poetry about it. I experienced its beauty. I fought for its glory in my life. But there's a time when you want to say enough. Enough of this strife. Today is that day for me. I've had enough of this grief-ridden distraction. I've moved on.

2009-08-31T15:50:00.000+01:00

your death is your life

Forgotten beyond memory

2009-08-12T10:22:00.002+01:00

I've constructed so many responsibilities around me. It suffocates me. I want freedom from the obligation to love. I don't want to love or be loved. I want to become a nondescript person who blends into the background of a busy city. I don't want to be remembered. I don't want you to wake up in the middle of the night and miss me. I want you to forget me altogether.

---

There were days that my heart played hide-and-seek with you. My heart so desperately wanted you to find it in the folds of the early morning, deep nights of passion, lazy monsoon afternoons. It cried for you to capture its promised glow if you just took her out to your favorite getaway, surprised her, planned a trip from scratch, or even took her out for the ice-cream without any prompting. Find it. That's all my heart used to ask.

There were days that my heart played hide-and-seek with you. But now it's hidden never to return.

---

As the days go by, my mind is illustrating a perfect escape. It used to be free falling, then it became strangulation, but there was the perfect third. I'm getting there.

---

I'm dipping in the holy waters of solitude and tuning all of you out of my life. Please forget me past all fragments of memories you may have of me. Please leave me with the dignity of no memory puzzle. I want to to be forgotten in one swell sweep. Leave me, please.

Poof.

Failure

2009-08-10T21:04:00.002+01:00

sometimes life comes full circle right in front of your eyes and you realize how incomplete you are.

---

my life is floating away. the days roll into weeks and the weeks roll into years. i see everyday whizzing past me while i sit vacantly staring at a glaring computer screen that has trapped my life on the other side of the world.

---

my dreams just evaporated right out of my soul

---

i blow through the empty conk of my life only to hear the faint echo of someone like me. i have become my own ghost.

2009-08-06T21:46:00.002+01:00

there is a dream tearing away
from ancient fears

Fears

2009-08-03T15:25:00.003+01:00

my head throbs
with the words you leave
unsaid

---

my fears are waging
a bloody war with my
heart strings

---

yesterday it was horror,
today it is fear,
tomorrow it will be defeat.

---

my fears purr in the corner
of my room
taunting me with a vile glint
in their conniving eyes
while i shake and stammer
through painful
conversation

2009-07-14T18:05:00.002+01:00

i've reached the end of my
day
with only horror eating my
insides.

---

how many rivers will flow
out of me
before i get delivered from
You?

---

images cascade before my
eyes
and then there's a sudden
nothing,
that's when your presence
empties out of me.

2009-07-14T09:27:00.002+01:00

hands cupped
mouth open
eyes closed
arms stretched out

---

if i pour my soul
into a little soup bowl
will you lap it
up?

Bingo

2009-07-12T12:51:00.001+01:00

The counsellor comes every Wednesday and Saturday. We all wait outside her room fighting for a chance to talk to her. She always comes at 11.30 am and stays till lunch time. She once stayed back to eat lunch with us, but when she saw what we ate - worm-ridden dal, ant-infested curry and broken yogurt - she never stayed past 1 pm. During summers 11.30 can be suffocatingly difficult. Our lines used to meander into the small fake garden right outside her room and almost outside the vocational course training room. If I got there really late, I could chat with Chamundeshwari sitting next to the window with her pathetic sewing machine. She was determined to stitch a blouse for her daughter. The girl is marrying a Muslim boy during the winter.

It's Saturday. I ended up fighting with the girl in my cell till 11 pm. The stupid girl not only stank up our cell, but also left her shit in our toilet. We already struggle with No. 8's night-time farts, so we don't need her adding to the aromas in our 'room'. I politely told her she better get her act together and stop making us take turns to clean up her shit. She got aggressive, so I punched her and she pulled me hair. Chammy says I need to relax. But come on! I ain't gonna tolerate someone else's shit, especially when it's the first thing I see in the morning!

Stupid girl made my fist all bloody and my sari a tad stained. Had to quickly wash up before the counsellor comes. I've got a new story up my sleeve. I'm glad that I get to chat with Chammy girl while I wait. I found a new secret corner just behind the big bush right behind the counsellor's room. The super doesn't look there and it's the perfect place for me to try the banana thing we've been desperate for. (Although, I have to admit the banana has kind of gone old!) Chamster looks very happy to hear my good news. Ah. It's so nice to see her rotten teeth...I want to lick them with my hungry tongue. For that matter, I want to tear her flimsy blouse and suckle her full breasts. You know, if I sucked hard enough I sometimes can taste her breast milk. Sometimes I feel bad for her 3 month old son, but what the heck!

The line is moving forwards so I simply wink at her and walk on. What shall I talk to the counsellor about today? I better concoct something good coz she's damn clever at kicking us fakers out. I can tell her about how I jumped out our 4 storeyed house coz my husband was not fucking me right? Or did I tell her that one already? I have a vague recollection of her kicking me out on that one. Hmm. Did I tell her the real-life incident about my boy getting crushed under our Innova? I bet I told her that I slammed the accelerator in sexual frustration coz of my unimaginative husband and that the little fucker happened to be cycling just at that moment in our drive-way. You know..I think she kicked me out on that one too...I think I was enjoying the comfortable chair and cool aircon a bit too much. Shit. I better come up with something. I can't talk about the crime - it's too commonplace. Who doesn't kill their husband coz of the money? And their son by mistake? It happens!

I noticed that that bitch Sonam managed to beat me at the line. She'll get the Saturday special sweets before me. Sonam came here on some petty case and managed to stay on. Bitch. I didn't need someone else vying for Chammy's affection. Ofcourse, Cham-girl's been saying she's enjoyed it only with me. That's some consolation, right? I look at the chick behind me. Nope. No one is like Chammy, with her fair skin and curly hair. When she looks at you you get so fuckin' wet that sometimes I leave a stain on my white-and-blue sari. Man-o-man. Hmm. New chick behind me. I size her up. About 18, slight pot-belly (baby?), wavy hair, thick arm hair, big eyes and obvious odour. I lace my lusty eyes down her waist, thighs and legs. Then I see it. Ugh. There's blood pooling near her feet. I tell her to come close to me. She did. I pull her closer to my ear, "You've got your period, child. There's a pharmacy-like thing right over there. Go get yourself some diapers, yeah." I squeeze her preggy breasts before she runs away in shame. I wink at the oldie behind her.

Oh blithering blistering barnacles. I'm the next one in that door. What the hell. This bleddy sun didn't let me think of something. Come on! Come on! I too did a PhD in Psychology. Should I tell her about my love for Chamu? About how I fuck the new kid in our cell thinking about Chammy? I have to slowly tip-toe past the 7 others just to get her. Is that fucked up enough? Nah. Even I can interpret the circumstantial simplicity of that. How about my absolute hatred towards my parents that led me to the murders? Now there's something. You would think my in-laws would lead me to the crime...not my own. Then again...we're talking the crime. I know the counsellor doesn't like talking about the crime. The social workers loves it. She laps it up like my chocolate-colored Labrador, Cocoa. She just sits there -

Oh god. I'm in the wonderfully cool room with the chair calling me. Oh shit. I'm so freakin' screwed that it's not even funny. What the hell do I do. The counsellor is in her Lucknow salwar kameez. She's got a ring on her finger. That's new. She's only 25, men! She's smiling at me with her pink lips. But I can see her question-mark eyes behind those frames. She doesn't believe I've got a reason to be here. I have to come with something good or else I'll not get my share of pity and cool air. Then it strikes me like a bleddy bolt of lightening.

I walk upto her. Congratulate her on the engagement. She gushes and says I'm the first one to notice. I smile down at her. I plant one full on her lips. She's stunned. I adeptly slide my hand under her top. Yummy bra. She's completely still in her plastic chair. I play her nipple like my violin. It's erect. I get my sign. I quickly find my way into her precious regions. Darn. She's got her period. I shut my eyes tight and do what I know these women like. She suddenly moans. I'm startled. It dawns on me. I've just found my unlimited entry into the aircon room.

Simple as that

2009-07-12T12:01:00.003+01:00

my mouth waters
when i see her smoking.

i trace my parched lips
with my thirsting tongue.

i wish i could blow defiant smoke
in your face,
i wish i could breathe your absolute disappointment
in desperate gulps.

and then
the cigarette butts are in our
pot.
you find stray ashes in
my hair.

i explain to you
the fire in my soul faded away,
i need this.

Running Away

2009-07-12T11:30:00.001+01:00

the lines in my palm
flow in the direction of you

---

i never asked to love you;
you just happened to be conveniently placed
at every turn my fate
took

---

i see your disappointed face
carved in the haze of my cigarette smoke,
and your mouth curls in distaste
when i tumble into our bedroom smelling of
4 shots, 3 glasses of wine and some beer

---

i pimped my heart to find
you,
now i will prostitute my soul
to get away from you

---

if you are the ocean
then i'm the draught,
if you are the sun
then i'm the cloud cover,
if you are the victor
then i'm your victim

---

there's no meaning,
yes. actually, there is no
meaning.
anymore.

Universe and You

2009-07-08T15:39:00.002+01:00

your heart moves slow
like the earth.
so i wished i was your sun.
but i've let you make me your
mourning moon.

---

i ask you about your day.
you think i'm relentless.
so you look into space.

---

i find truth between your fingers
when they describe some
supremely creative vision
to some supremely creative people.

but
i wish i could find truth
in one of the intricate labyrinthine
pathways to your heart.

---

i work too hard
for a fate
that deceives me.

i fight my wars
with my dreams
for a slippery reality.

i forsake my
universe
for disquieting seas.

Song

2009-06-17T11:15:00.003+01:00

Every couple should have a song. If not for anything, for the cuteness factor. Here's ours:

Words are flying out like
endless rain into a paper cup
They slither while they pass
They slip away across the universe
Pools of sorrow waves of joy
are drifting thorough my open mind
Possessing and caressing me

Jai guru deva om
Nothing's gonna change my world
Nothing's gonna change my world
Nothing's gonna change my world
Nothing's gonna change my world

Images of broken light which
dance before me like a million eyes
That call me on and on across the universe
Thoughts meander like a
restless wind inside a letter box
they tumble blindly as
they make their way across the universe

Jai guru deva om
Nothing's gonna change my world
Nothing's gonna change my world
Nothing's gonna change my world
Nothing's gonna change my world

Sounds of laughter shades of life
are ringing through my open ears
exciting and inviting me
Limitless undying love which
shines around me like a million suns
It calls me on and on across the universe

Jai guru deva om
Nothing's gonna change my world
Nothing's gonna change my world
Nothing's gonna change my world
Nothing's gonna change my world
Jai guru deva
Jai guru deva

Preferably, the Fiona Apple version.

The Converging Lens

2009-06-10T00:33:00.002+01:00

Your loneliness
needs no shape,
for it was always there
by your side,
your faithful companion.

---

So we ran into each other
through this tangle of
bits and bytes
almost the same as before
but not quite.

---

I sometimes forget
when does my life
dip out of yours
and
when does it sway
back in.

---

The musky scent of
life after death
is taunting
me.

---

I look through the
converging lens
of time, fate
and
wistful friendships.

Do you?

Interior Monologue

2009-05-24T14:03:00.001+01:00

It is your birthday. I have not forgotten.

Hope your year turns out to be more promising than the years before.

I am sorry for the disappointments that were me.

2009-05-21T00:08:00.000+01:00

Your fate
Has
Conquered mine.

This is a project to bring me closer to you

2009-05-12T13:25:00.003+01:00

If I could, I would...

...be an actress.
...have an elephant for a pet.
...be a wildlife photographer.
...make a book out of my poetry.
...live in a remote village in Africa.
...have twins and then another.
...be thrown in space when I die.
...be a lion for a day.

---

My deepest desires are...

...to spend my retirement in a small house away from city life.
...to knit.
...make a difference in the last months of the dying.
...to swim with dolphins.
...backpack through South America.
...to sleep every night next to you. to see you as I die.
...be with you after death.
...do right by my parents and children.
...live in Africa for a few months.

---

I dream of...

...eating sugar candy in the industrial exhibition.
...watching sunsets with a cocktail in my hand.
...dandelions.

---

Life is...

...whole with you.
...experience.
...a joy.
...an occasion.

Now it's your turn.

2009-05-02T21:51:00.002+01:00

Isn't it funny how the closer a document brought us, the farther we've become?

life is happening outside
as i brood
over my latest
mood.

The current of the river
sometimes
compels the quiet
of the ocean.

every once in a while, love,
think of what I am
fighting for
and wonder what are you
fighting against.

The smallness of it all

2009-04-30T12:21:00.010+01:00

What is this need we have to constrict ourselves in small spaces? We fill our homes with things, we fill our mind with opinions and we will our heart with memories. There's just too much noise in our lives.

---

Oftentimes, I forget that there is repeated joy in many overlooked things. I think I don't notice them because I reiterate my to-do lists and priorities too much.

---

I clutch onto what I know so tightly, that I lose out on the fantastic quality of the not knowing. I miss the excitement.

---

Every now and again, I feel reborn when I take a deep breath of fresh air and see the world differently. I suddenly see a world of opportunities when I let go...when I stop obsessing over what will happen..when I start letting things simply happen. It feels good to occasionally reject my internal locus of control.

waste land

2009-04-23T09:23:00.011+01:00

my dreams supplicate before you. and as i trace my eyes along your nose..cheeks...eyes, i am filled with a nervousness. you whisper sweet nothings in my ear, you call me things you would've called many women you wooed. i wonder if you lost me somewhere between those common words. i nervously think back to times when those words overlapped with your temporary interests.

i wish you could weave your way back to me..i'm the one who is forgotten among the multitude of words you use for relationships. like i am not worthy for being different from that.

i extend my dreams to experience a shared journey of grandness, of wonderment. as if to say you...only you are my wonder, my grand success, my dream. i didn't know my love was an inconvenience.

i wish i were your worthy conquest. i wish you would cast aside all callings for me. i wish you could accommodate other dreams for me...not accommodate me for your other dreams. i wish you thought i was worth that effort. i wish you thought your love was worth that effort.

my life is slowly emptying..and i watch all my effort drain out. i waited in corridors, i damaged lives, i ruthlessly trampled over my parents, i altered my existing life, i cried into pots of memories, i listlessly walked the narrow hallways of your occassional needs, i corrected myself for you...i've bent over backwards for you. i now look back and wonder if you were just in the mood for me then (what with all the drama peeking your interest), and not anymore.

you broke my heart into a million shards that you now use to cut into my weak frame. and then you expect me to support you.

The little things

2009-04-18T00:22:00.002+01:00

I don't think the big decisions are the ones that mark my life. In fact, it was all the little ones that led me to the almost inevitable big decision. The decision to eat my friend's dosa everyday during lunchtime motivated me to stay back in India. I went on a whim to meet the newly appointed school counsellor in the 7th grade, mostly because all the kids were intrigued by her but no one had the guts to go talk to her. That whimsical decision paved my career now. I decided one fateful morning when the painters kicked us out of our own house and into our penthouse to create an ICQ account which got me to meet my first real boyfriend. I made the petulant decision that I absolutely must beat that arrogant girl in my psychology class by hook or by crook. Goodness, the way I ruthlessly abandoned my friends of the past and parties to study was quite something. I figured if I can write, why not put it up on a blog? If I'm blogging, why not check out these blogger meets? I met my next big boyfriend and a rather tumultuous series of relationships. Simple, small daily decisions got me gradually close to the love of my life. Meeting him for lunch or dinner? Should I text him? What movie are we gonna watch? I tripped, tumbled and hopped my way into his gigantic loving heart. I still remember going with my friend to this big international student seminar for only the free cake that was being offered. I went so focused on cake and came out with handouts about a scholarship. I curiously read them and ended up getting the funding.

They were all seemingly inconsequential decisions I made that, unbeknown to me, almost naturally led me to all the so called big things in my life. They could be random decisions, they could be calculated by fate, or they could've been the *blink* moments I had. That's why when I suddenly decide to turn left rather than right, pick the fruity yogurt instead of my standard or when I watch a movie for fun..I do it. You never know what will it lead up to. It certainly makes life more exciting.

Abandonment

2009-04-14T20:46:00.003+01:00

I believe in a God that has abandoned me. I cry in desperation unable to understand the reason for his revenge. Have I stopped believing? Have I too many unfulfilled promises I made to you? Have I committed a grave wrong? What could I have possibly done to deserve your cruel game? You've tortured me and tested me to my limits. I'm still hanging on. You've hung me out to dry, you've kneaded me in a world of uncertainty, you've cast your maliciousness upon me and I've weathered it not once doubting you. If only I can know what must I have done to deserve this. Please, redeem me from this shackled dream, this horrid nightmare. I'm desperate, in despair and weak.

2009-04-13T11:49:00.003+01:00

i store my strong thought trains in jars of sad solitude, because i know how you hate it when i blurt them out. you say it reeks of a finality that stiffens you. you used to like that about me. the fire, the life and reality that i carried upon my relatively young shoulders. but now i hide my adjectives and imaginations in pickle jars in the corners of our house. they balance delicately, threatening to teeter this way rather than that.

---

you live in a world full of space. you have a big bed, soft pillows, more clothes in cupboards than on your body, a TV and unopened boxes of gadgets. you create space all around you by giving away things that occupy unnecessary space. it's almost like you want the space to stretch your soul generously into the edges of our house, like an elaborate Persian carpet. it's almost like you have no space for conflicts, irritations or order. and i think to myself why don't you want to be alive?

---

it feels like you don't want to be human. you want a serene life with simple needs. like you want to escape the complexities. you think life is so easy. gym, work, home, shower, drink, dinner and sleep. yes, it sounds so simple and tranquil. oh. and what happened to you when you lived like that? self-destruction? or was it depression?

---

i was looking for a man who will extend his hands to carry my research papers, my laptop, my boxes of clothes and scraps of memories, my burnt heart, my slurring dreams...a man who is kind enough not to douse it in the kerosene of desire and hang it out the flames of inevitability.

---

i refuse to believe. not because you aren't worthy of it. or because you will hate me if i do not.

Interior Monologue

2009-04-12T20:34:00.007+01:00

I haven't had any traumatic incident in my life. Certainly none of the kind that my patients go through, my husband went through or, indeed, my dad went through. I had a an almost enviable life. Yet, I know that I went through my shit. You see, we mark the deep unhappinesses in our life by specific incidents that are globally accepted as as a clear physical sign of trauma. We validate ones that have been witnessed, have tangible reality attached to it and are proven source of misfortune. Me on the other hand...hmm, if only we could put a price on psychological damage.

My husband mocks me, he says that it must have been 'traumatic' having to spend my childhood in a foreign country, to live my teenage studing in a posh school and being thrown into the world of opportunities, to grow up doing exactly what I wanted. He classifies my trauma as a typical teenager's complaint. My father laughs it off. But my mother, I think she understands. However, as all mothers do, she will not admit.

I don't say traumas are a bad thing. We learn from them very quickly. An abusive parent teaches their kid how to swiftly read their emotions so as to manipulate the impending abuse. When that kid grows up, no matter what his/her profession, they'll always have the advantage of grasping your emotions even before you process them. They become naturals. And you cannot deny that that is quite an edge to have.

So what about me then? What life events could've led me to where I am. My profession involves interviewing cancer patients, offering them psychological counselling, understanding their coping mechanisms. It's intimate, draining and very real. But how do I get to the bottom of their issues? I am gifted with a natural ability to deeply understand people's motivations, calling and needs. After the first 20 minutes I can tell you what really is their driving need, motivation and eventually their calling for something. It can be the need to be a good daughter, the need to be a survivor, or the calling of death. I will know.

How did I become a natural? My mother used to have a manipulative sense of humor during our Syria days. Everytime my dad and she had a disagreement (which was often), she'd tell me in front of him that they were going to divorce. As a kid I believed her. But I had to figure out if she meant what she said. I learnt to understand whether she was motivated to quit the man, whether she really needed to get out of the marriage, whether her calling told her to cut and run. I moved between countries alot. My friends were ephemeral and I had to make sure my friendships were not. My parents affection for my cousin appeared to override their faith in me. My first boyfriend repeatedly cheated on me. The sexual abuse. The list can go on. I simply enhanced my natural survival technique.

We all deservethe dignity of our stories. My trauma made me who I am. I am thankful for the nights of sadness, the cigs I smoked as an act of symbolism, the doubts that riddled my eyebrows and the thoughts that burdened my heart. So when my husband or my parents scoff at my vulnerabilty during intimate disclosure, I know they are doing that because they cannot believe the fact that their words, deeds and thoughts are so consequential.

2009-04-11T17:49:00.002+01:00

My face falls to pieces
as I imagine your
serene eyes, the long eyelashes
and the smile that
could have been.

---

the intense tapestry
of your life
repeats itself like a painfully
slow record.

---

i look outside my offensive
office window
and see the life we're supposed to
live.

Ponderings for Time Pass

2009-02-11T03:47:00.003Z

You never realize how horrible your weaknesses are until you get into a relationship. A few months on and I see the worst of me lifting its ugly head. Suddenly all my past mistakes come flooding to me in a vain attempt to rescue me from my current slip into depression. I'm too sensitive, hasty, quick to judge, fatalistic, demanding...oh..the list screams into my face. Every waking (and now sleeping) moment is plagued by the rank smell of my limitations. I have shackled myself with my many shortcomings.

---

I have no way to escape myself. I'm stuck. I don't want to be me. I don't want to be caged with just me. I don't want to confront myself. I don't want to live with what I'm becoming. I'm meek, I'm emotional, I'm depressive and I lost my sense of joy. It's now in so many other people's hands. My life, my pleasures, my dreams and my being is entangled with the life of many others. They dictate my thoughts, they alert my insecurities and their assertiveness mocks me.

---

It's interesting to watch how my mind plays tricks on me. When I'm left utterly alone with a muddled morning head, I don't do very much. For an energetic person, I, rather surprisingly, become motionless when alone. So I lounge about morosely in the various corners of my house recapping the miserable loneliness I used to experience in the past few years when away from home. Now, with some age and apparent maturity, I can watch what used to make me sad. Well, I can atleast get a grasp how my mind works during those times. You'll be disappointed to know that I've found out nothing fantastic from these observations. Turns out, I'm a sad nut job rolled into a partially analytical mind.

---

I seek half-hearted companionship at night. I misinterpret tiredness as a lack of love. I seek shallow friendship in the morning. I misunderstand being busy as a disinterest. I seek snatches of togetherness in the evenings. I read your unwinding as a 'leave-me-alone' sign.

---

I'm sorting my feelings out. It's not easy being married, I gather. You have feelings you didn't know even existed. It's a whole new range and quality of emotions. I savour the good ones like bursts of joy, happiness, comfort, love, excitement, passion. I'm enslaved by the bad ones. You see, the good feelings are cosy to have around. The bad ones make me into a bad person. They are like mean ministers advising me to spiral into silence or depression. They tell me that all this is permanent. Suddenly the voice of my goodness becomes meek. Then things just get worse. And I land in this moment. Where I am sorting my feelings out coz I have ample time to, there's no one disturbing me. I have my feelings stinging my eyes, and I start talking to myself. I have two voices simultaneously battling for space. One goads me to get hurt, another says I'm being silly. So I become quiet. And get further misinterpreted.

---

Apparently, I wither at the slightest lack of love.

Interior Monologue

2009-02-09T17:50:00.000Z

I don't always have to know the ending. Given my work, I always find myself in the hilt of the war. It's a constant war between living and dying. I never know their endings and I certainly don't know much of their past. I'm facing, everyday, the personal tragedies of absolute strangers. Do I like it? Not always.

I meet the elderly couple who have no one to support them, help them in their major war. I watch the old man crying through his Gandhian glasses. He says he has no money. He is literally watching himself die day by day. His wife runs around searching for money at every possible opportunity. Poor people, they claimed they earned more than they did for appearance's sake. Now, the government says they do not qualify the free treatment. So he will watch himself die a slow, painful death as the disease spreads it's tentacles in him.

I can't say where my job ends and when do I begin. I remain unscathed (for the most part) by the everyday reminder of impending death around me. It's there, you can't dodge it for long. Yes, if you are really lucky you will get away 90% scot-free. However, if you get it once it will always lurk in your mind like an inconvenient ghost.

I met wife who hides the truth from her educated husband. She does it well. Much like a fierce lioness guarding her little ones. She said it was to make sure he had the courage to fight the disease. She was right. He did completely believe that he just did not have cancer, just a disease which was uncommonly similar to it. He will fight this apparition, he said. She, on the other hand, said she will watch him fight it like a brave dying knight. How terrible for her, I had thought. To be the protector and the ultimate victim.

Often, as soon as I set foot outside the hospital...well, actually into my car, I consciously leave my experiences where they came from. Sometimes, however, they haunt me. Cancer is a word you say in a whisper, lest you might get it. The treatment is so immensely painful and unforgiving. A cancer diagnosis literally shakes the very ground you stand on and makes you appraise the life you have led so far. It makes you numb, it makes you cry, it makes you want to curse out loud, it makes you miserable and it strips you of anything to believe in. It's a gut-wrenching, dreary, lonely experience. No one will ever know how much you suffered. Your story will die with you.

I bump into an elderly couple every 3 weeks of my visit to the hospital. They break my heart, but then again elderly couples do that to me. The old man was in tears when he told me his life's story.. 5 children, 2 sons and 3 daughters. They did right by their children and lived off their land for the past decade. Now she has a rare cancer. He is in tears as they are depending on their eldest son and his difficult wife to take care of them in the vast city. They don't know what the diagnosis is, they don't know what hospitals are like, they don't understand the city people, they don't have any freedom, he doesn't have a mattress to sleep on, they are unaccustomed to the cold/fan. They are like bewildered sheep infront of a hungry lion. Oh. They break my heart into a million pieces. I wish I could promise them a happy ending.

Life presents us all with so many options. But what options would my patients pick? To watch oneself die? To fight a fake disease? To struggle with limited resources? What makes our life this special that we'd do anything to try and keep it? Why is our love so great that we will battle it with our ailing one? What great human emotion makes us do the crazy things we do when faced with our mortality?

Each time I step into the hospital, I feel a queasiness engulfing me. I'm going to meet another unhappy patient, or another patient who is unarmed with information, or one who is grappling for hope. Often they numb me into a professional poise. This is one of those rare times when they evoke such basic feelings in me, that I wish to get rid of them. They wrap their stifling stench around me and remind me of how ephemeral we are. How meaningless our essential existence is. We fill our life with the noise of love, laughter, dreams and family. They are snapshots of the mirage we are. In the end of the day, nothingness pervades. We become a nothing and therein lies our answer.

We had no end, so we will have no beginning. We didn't even begin..we are just a part. Our state of being is the only thing we know. And our state of being is often a state of suffering. Our suffering emerges as an corollary to happiness. We chase happiness like it is real. Reality is what we deem it to be. So we are mini-worlds constantly colliding with other mini-worlds. Sometimes we glide past each other, other times we bump into each other. So what? We are pointless because we weave our own realities and we won't disentangle from them. We're busy creating our realities when they won't exist after we're gone. We, suddenly, will become smoke in the air. And just like that, we will become another state. of. being. And that will repeat itself. So we always land in the thick of things, never at the start or at the end.

I wrote absolute bullshit. Coz I hate my job as much as I love it. I loathe my patients as much as I admire them. Knowing their tiny worlds makes mine a bit bigger, but a little less manageable.

Interior Monologue

2009-02-03T06:31:00.004Z

I'm not witty. I'm not pretty. I'm not creative. I'm not imaginative. I'm not clever. I'm certainly not a great cook. I'm not so many things, that I forgot what I am. I've willfully chosen a life of 70% and now it haunts me. I could have been so many things, but I am only one thing. My dreams are fleeting, my joys are conditional, my success can be easily forgotten and I have no talent to be proud of.

When I look back, I only see small conquests. Yes, I directed a play. And yes, I dabbled with branches of psychology. I sang a bit, I danced a bit, I wrote a bit and I drew a bit. I played basketball, tennis, table tennis, squash, swam, baseball, throw ball and whatnots. But I never really stuck with them. My success is a 'could-have-been' and my stories petty. My skills, ephemeral.

I'm a nothing.

2009-02-03T06:26:00.002Z

My heart weaves poetry
that my fingers have forgotten.

---

Your breath mingles with mine,
my fingers entwine yours,
I groan in your ears
as you breathe into mine.
Suddenly, reality has become
redundant.

---

The spoils of your dreams
will be accounted for.

Interior Monologue

2008-08-11T10:55:00.002+01:00

My life's meaning is lost in the sporadic lyrics of your lives. I'm floating endlessly on the river of emotions, games and desires you express. You want me to do this, say that in this particular way, cry on cue, you want me to love you and you want me to hate him. You want me to be excited and you rob me of my dignity. My principles, the things I think I know, my joy and my dream are neatly bundled in your cheap demands. You push me away, you refuse to come and expect me to hold on tighter.

I want to dig my nails deep into you and draw blood. I want to quench my desperate revenge. But I let it quietly brew inside of me. There's a time for everything. So for now, I'll beg you. For now, I will put everything aside and do as you say. I am your slave. And I prostrate at your feet. Your wish is my command, dear relative.

Interior Monologue

2008-08-04T13:53:00.003+01:00

I'm getting married on Nov 21st, 2008. I'm marrying the guy I consider to be my calling. I have waged my wars, shed my tears, discarded my fears and defied the length and breadth of my family tree. I have seen my mom's dreams crumble, my dad's foundation shake and my life turn upside down. I've hardened my heart and shamelessly moved on.

So am I happy? I don't know. I used to be thrilled that I'm living one more of my dreams. Now, having traveled several miles from the battlefield, I can see the spoils of my war. I now bear in my heart the grudge that no one understands me, what happened to me and what is happening to me. I still see a mother grappling for some joy, belief and esteem in my decisions. I can see that I've hurt her on so many levels that I should not be forgiven for it. I listen to the fatigue and fear laced in my dad's feigned strength. The voice in my head is saying that I need to be patient..that this too shall pass.

I'm flooded by calls, emails, messages from my family giving me a varied feedback. One is so unhappy with me..she has the capacity to make me feel like I ought to die. Another is nonchalant..she's just a prop in the wedding. The younger ones are excited, demanding I get the expensive clothes, special mehendi designs. Another cousin is quietly supporting me..she's sailing in a similar boat, you see.

This wedding is not about me. It's about them. Slowly, I'm seeing that this life will soon not be mine. It'll be their's and his. Suddenly, all is naught.

2008-06-20T20:23:00.002+01:00

my heart slips and slides
into your palms
in blatant trust.

***

i've wrapped up my
life, dreams, love and Being
and placed them
at your feet.

***

life loses its meaning
and
Life begins when I'm
with you.

***

my thoughts meander
towards you
like the sliding raindrop
to its tiny pool.

***

my joy begins
with you.

2008-05-30T19:18:00.003+01:00

you knot your
eyebrows in patient anger
while I ask you my
weary questions.

the air-conditioner groans
forlorn tunes,
the ceiling fan murmurs
our twisted story.

outside the sun is setting
casting shadows on the wall
of our fingers entwined
hesitant, resenting.

yet
I feel your
eyes burn my skin,
my lips curved in the smile
you know too well.

you cradle me
as I clutch you.
you kiss me
as I heave.

what have we become?

Grandfather

2008-05-24T19:29:00.000+01:00

Days roll into months and I try not to miss you. I drown your name in the noise of my life, I chase memories of you from my consciousness. I treat thoughts of you as pestering ghosts. I try so hard to forget you. Yet, somehow you always come back like a dam that bursts with all its might. I wish you wouldn't come with the fanfare of heart-breaking tears, forlorn memories and a desperate love. But you do.

Interior Monologue

2008-05-07T23:11:00.004+01:00

I guess in the end even I dream of the fairytale life! After a long time I watched one of those fantasy-magical type movies, Stardust. A typical British commercial flick with the right gradations of comedy, this movie had bits and pieces that evoked my repressed dreams. I've constructed this orderly, rational and compulsive life around me that I've denied myself the relief of dreaming. I've restructured my consciousness to believe that life and love is a pragmatic thing in the end. I tuned myself to dream things that I can achieve in the 'real' world that I build around me. How complicated, that!

This movie, Stardust, brought back some of my girly dreams. You know? The one where my 'prince' will come and whisk me away. He'll always protect, love and honour me. I will always love, respect and cherish him. I've dreamed that this guy will be a king and I his queen. We'll have a bunch of kids and live happily ever after. What I like about fairytales is the sense of protection that the 'king-to-be' offers his queen. It's so..pure, relentless and honest. I like being protected. To know that this king will (and probably did!) fight battles and wars to keep me safe, will shield me from evil and will lay down his life for me. Ah. What a nice thought. To be adored. I've believed kings do that. I like being fussed over and adored.

Hmm..it's like a comforting cup of tea. To hope that my fairytale life will come true :)

Sonnets to Orpheus

2008-04-27T15:40:00.001+01:00

XXIX

Silent friend of those far from us, feeling
how your breath is still enlarging space,
fill the sombre belfry with your pealing.
What consumes you now is growing apace

stronger than the feeding strength it borrows.
Be, as Change will have you, shade or shine.
Which has grieved you most of all your sorrows?
Turn, if drinking's bitter, into wine.

Be, in this immeasurable night,
at your senses' cross-ways magic cunning,
be the sense of their mysterious tryst.

And, should earthliness forget you quite,
murmur to the quiet earth: I'm running.
Tell the running water: I exist.

- Rainer Maria Rilke (translated by J.B. Leishman)

2008-04-22T01:06:00.001+01:00

I just realized that the word devil spelled backwards is lived. Spooky!

Interior Monologue

2008-04-15T20:02:00.000+01:00

Hand on my heart, I can tell you I'm unhappy. It's a very fine kind of unhappiness that laces itself in every breath I take, in every thing I do and in every thought that enters my mind. No quick-fix, no spontaneous giggle or loving phone-call will erase this unhappiness that's conquered my soul. This is because I can feel the lack of nourishment to my Self. I'm trapped in an office with a view. I can see the rich tapestry of life outside, the riot of colors the sun casts on the clouds, the bare tree reeking with stories..and I'm stuck in my office. I'm writing supposedly important stuff. I'm trying to make a life, a career, a make-belief reality. I'm constructing my lie. It's the lie that I'm important, I've got some vital ideas or that I'm of some use. I'm carefully fabricating it with complex theories, research and convincing presentations.

While I do this, life is happening and I'm missing it. I'm missing the chaos, the madness and the passion. It got lost somewhere along my long walk to this point where I can only look upon my freedom as an erstwhile concept. I'm trapped in my mythical theories, critical awareness and blind concerns. I lost my touch..I cannot see me in the words I type anymore. Slowly my calling is becoming a whisper.

I Too Know Some Truths

2008-03-24T20:12:00.000Z

Now those memories that used to light up my dark, dreary days have become a cheap wail. I can feel them turn into dust in my eyes blinding me with its futility. What purpose do you have coming into my diary of recollections? There is no need for you to heap my happiness into a great mound and burn it with the sharpness, the utter brightness of your distaste for me.

***

Do you remember that romantic dinner we arranged? I cooked. You lit the candles. I gave you a tiny teddy bear. You gave me a pretty necklace. I giggled as you clasped it around my neck. You bent and smelt the sweet smell of my hair. You went back to the other side of the tiny table and we began to eat. The candle cast odd shadows on my face as it moved into a smile. You thought the setting was precious. I did not.

***

I wept terribly one night. I wept for all the love that was stuck in my veins. The love that was suffocating me. The love that refused to set me free. Then..just like that..I was released of the constant, continuous and cruel pain of our wasted love. Little did I know that as love left me it slid like a treacherous snake into your heart and poisoned you. It is not love anymore. It is the awful resonance of someone else's misgivings packed into a twice terrible potion that is running through your blood. Don't you see? It is strangling you by distorting me.

***

I think we all go through our lives grudging everyone for not caring to know us, bond with us, understand us. You know why we are so unhappy? Always wanting, wanting, wanting? Because we are forever searching for a something we will never find in human beings.

***

Please remember to wash your eyes of all this man made sadness, resentment, remembrances, melancholy, desperation, vexation. Nurse your eyes with the sweet, cool balm of forgiveness. Forgive God for the rough hand he lay upon you, forgive that old lover for their deeds, forgive the mother for not understanding, the father for the excessive demands, the stranger who did not listen. Forgive yourself for not having let go. Just, please, wash your eyes with the water of fresh starts. Let the past burn down to dust and cast the ashes along the oceans of possibilities. Let newness embrace you while you walk forward. Please.

January 17th

2008-03-21T19:37:00.003Z

The Day of the Heavyweight

Those born on January 17 are some of the most powerfully direct individuals of the year. This is in large part because they usually have a very clear goal, a firm idea of what it is that they wish to accomplish at any given time. they are also able to effectively assess their chances for success based on past experiences and the difficulties that lie ahead.

Early on in life, January 17 people learn what it is that makes a human being tick. They come to understand the importance of motivation, that needs are what impel people to action and often determine how they will respond to any given situation) needs themselves created by basic human emotions - love, hate, fear, shame, guilt etc.). Most born on this day also realize early on that it is the person in control of him/herself, who exercises self-discipline, who succeeds in life.

More highly developed January 17 people are in touch with their own drives and desires and are able to inspire themselves repeatedly to rise to life's challenges. Less highly developed individuals are born on this day focus on how they may control their environment without first knowing themselves. they can become masters of manipulation (less a covert manipulation than an outright handling of others).

Whether physically imposing or not, January 17 people have a commanding presence that tends to dominate most occasions. Because, as mentioned, their purpose is generally so well-defined, and they display such remarkable control over themselbves (at least outer control), others may feel somewhat intimidated. Those born on this day do not ask permission to be who they are. They tend to throw off those inhibitions which keep the average person from expressing talents and the more dynamic side of their nature. Indeed, January 17 people are more likely to be concerned with individual achievement and are usually firm supporters of the rights of the individual. Thus they rarely make the best team players, and usually operate better on their own.

It is not surprising that the greatest danger for January 17 people is in losing touch with the feelings, concerns and philosophy of others. Because those born on this day brook no compromise of their plans, they may cast associates, co-workers and even friends and family in an antagonistic position relative to themselves. They may also drive less powerful individuals (who feel they cannot compete with a January 17 person in the open) underground to nurse grudges and bide their time. Thus it is crucial that January 17 people firmly ground themselves in a social context while strengthening friendships and family ties. Above all, they must not allow themselves to become isolated or force those around them into static or undesirable roles.

Numbers and Planets

Those born on the 17th day of the month are ruled by the number 8 (1+7=8), and by the planet Saturn. Saturn carries strong feelings of limitation and restriction and also a judgmental aspect. These characteristics are reinforced for January 17 people since Saturn also rules their sign, Capricorn. Therefore, January 17 people must beware of putting undue emphasis on the physical side of life, being overly authoritarian and ambitious. The number 8 holds a conflict between the material and spiritual worlds.

Tarot

The 17th card of the Major Arcana is The Star, which shows a beautiful naked girl under the stars pouring refreshing water on the parched earth with one pitcher and reviving the stagnant water of a pond with another. She represents the glories of the earthly life, but also material enslavement to it. The stars above her are an eternal reminder of the presense of the spiritual world. January 17 people, then, should beware of excessive physicality and never lose sight of higher goals.

Health

Those born on January 17 must be very careful on the one hand not to indulge their aggressive impulses or on the other hand to repress them. If they can keep their emotions flowing while at the same time being aware of the effects they are having on those around them, their vibrant natures will be appreciated and their mental health will remain stable. The use of all stimulants including caffeine, nicotine, sugar and amphetamines should be carefully controlled. Diets are best kept balanced, with spicy foods eaten sparingly, and a strong emphasis on grains. Vigorous physical exercise is recommended, as it is an excellent way to work off aggressions. Competitive sports, martial arts, calisthenics and endurance sunning and swimming are particularly recommended, although damage to the skeletal system must be guarded against. Plenty of sleep, a stable home environment and a loving sexual partner will be helpful for their well-being.

Advice

Give others a chance, too. Relinquishing control can free you. Culticate humility and stay in touch with the times.

Meditation

There is room for many stars in the firmament

Strengths: Independent, Expressive & Forceful
Weaknesses: Dominating, Isolated & Uncooperative

Element: Cardinal Earth
Zodiac: Capricorn-Aquarius Cusp
Season: Winter

Famous people? Benjamin Franklin, Muhammad Ali, Joe Frazier, Al Capone

Conversations I

2008-03-18T22:01:00.000Z

"Why don't we talk anymore?"

"Hmm? We're too close to have words between us, maybe."

"I don't think so, Martha. I think we have been quiet for so long that we don't know where to begin. It's too much of an effort to catch up."

"There you go again. Analyzing. Analyzing. Why can't we just not have this stupid discussion!"

"You're escaping the problem. Do you know the saddest thing in our marriage, Martha? There's no storm."

"Isn't that a good thing, you dumbass?"

"You've never delved deeper into my words. Heck, you've not even bothered to delve into my silence. If there's no storm in a relationship, Martha, it means that the relationship's just going on from nothing to nothing."

"I still hold that it's a good thing we don't have your stupid storm. It doesn't have to mean we have nothing to talk about. It just means we're so in sync with each other."

"So shall we float from moment to moment in this so called comfortable silence? Sitting, sleeping, eating, watching tv, grocery shopping..all in utter wordlessness? We spectacularly fail in our marriage and carry this burden like lonesome travellers? Lonely together, you called it once. Is that what you want, Martha?"

"Yes."

2008-02-25T16:49:00.001Z

These are old times, these are old friends, these are old reassurances you are offering me. I hear them so many times; they are as many as water drops in a sea. Your love has become so ancient that it is forgotten in the scattered milestones of our relationship. Your cheer so lethargic, I can feel the effort you put into your smiles, I know the reluctance in your breath before it cascades me, I can see you dreaming of a life that excludes me. It has been six years since I have known you, you would think I know you through and through. Actually, I do. Moments have accrued, balance sheets of misdeeds have been made, we've got our own from each other. You would think we've spent each other out. You claim you've begun loving me. I protract the minutes with you. Yet, I can see us draw a sheet of silence between us. These are solo battles we fight, these are inevitable realities we live, these are obvious lies we tell. I have done it so many times; they are like breeze within breeze to me

Too Bad, Mate

2008-02-16T02:30:00.002Z

we sit at the dinner table
silently
drinking in the terrible
quietness that
has rested around us,
on our shoulders,
in our hearts
for three years, seven months
and ten days.

one of us had
to bring it up.
eventually.

i pursed my lips
tightly around my cigarette
as we talked, nonchalantly,
about love.
like it were a commonplace,
unintelligent
thing.

---

you've been knocking
on my door
since almost four hours
now.
it's giving me a
headache.
just like the sound
of your breath on my skin,
the taste of your name
on my lips, the texture of your smile
searing my skin.

---

the problem you see
is that we both keep accounts.
and only one of us will
succeed.
in the end.

---

you are the ashes of my
faithful time
sprayed across a landscape of
echoing memories.

---

you're on your knees
begging me to never leave
you.
for the first time in
the decades of our relationship
i see you cry for me.
they are honest, warm, awfully salty
tears.
there were days when i pleaded
with god that you may
shed a few for me.
perhaps when i told you i was
repeatedly raped by your uncle
during summer 1972?
or when three of our five
children died in my
womb?
how about the time when
i burnt my hands making that
omellette you ordered at 6 a.m.?
ouch.
oh well. here i am.
moments away from death.
twelve hours of unsuccessful operation,
three years of medication,
countless doctor appointments, tests,
insertions, 'minor' surgeries.
all of them lead to
this moment.
you, holding my hand, begging me
not to leave you alone.
"please, don't go. i love you!"
some of your teardrops
fall on my arm.

Rambles From A Long Time Ago

2008-02-05T18:26:00.000Z

I have never known love such as this. It comes from places I didn't know existed in me. Tears pool in my eyes as I drink in your scent still clinging to the sweater you left here. I blame my hands for not mapping your skin enough. I wish I could have explored you again and again and again like a greedy animal. I wish I could have communicated to you how deeply, truly I'm in love with you. Maybe you guessed it in the way I lovingly folded your pants? Or perhaps you felt it when I brought you the occasional cup of morning coffee? I certainly hope you felt it in the way my eyes dressed you every moment of the day. How I wish my love for you could have enveloped you.

***

Funny how I spent 24 years preparing for you. When I look back there is a sea of heart breaks, failures and realities I swam through to reach you. My ugly story is normal in this world I live in. But it's deplorable in ours, isn't it? You took your time to find me. You ignored me when I communicated love to you over and over again. Just when I stopped preparing for you, you thrashed my doors open. You said you forgive me my previous men, my temper, my madness and my moods. You remind me you've chosen me despite the many options you had. Like you're doing me a favor. Funny, you know, how I never sought options. I simply sought lessons to be better prepared for you. And you, with your large heart, forgave me those lessons.

***

I seldom bemoan the hand that was dealt to me. I believe that God only lays the map and we make the choices. I choose the course of my life every single day. I believe it is our duty to listen to our calling. Follow the light, always follow that light. I withered harsh words, incorrect opinions and sniggers because I followed my dreams, my calling. I was a girl caught in a strangely conservative yet modern family. I was a girl brought up in an unusual way. The mother who taught me to believe in myself, to be independent and unafraid now lashes out at me. For one last time, I have to fight a low opinion, tough words and loud curses. I never knew that following a calling I have so desperately waited for was wrong.

***

You lie so poorly. You get your stories wrong, you grapple for an easy explanation and gently put me on a guilt trip. You really think I'm a fool, don't you? Did you think I wouldn't find your gaping mistakes? I do not like dishonesty. If you make a mistake, I'll forgive it. Come clean. Wither my wrath at that moment, for I always forgive you for the sake of our greater happiness. The one thing I dislike with a passion is a bad liar. If I catch you, tell me the truth. When your stories are lousily tied up, I realize it's not worth my effort to have faith in you.

***

I know I love you because love completes me. Even when the things I consider to be the basic tenets of a relationship have disappeared, even though a part of me is straining to see the truth in you, even when there's an occasional storm of anger brewing inside my heart. I love you as passionately as I always did. Somehow, the little things don't bother me anymore. A tear in the fabric of our life together hardly grabs my long-term attention. These day-to-day wear and tear leaves me unaffected. That's when I know that I don't simply love you, but I like you too.

And to like someone is harder. You would know.

Pre-departure Pangs

2008-01-08T19:28:00.000Z

Memories find a way
to my eyes,
melting and burning
my cheeks.

---

I search your eyes for
comfort
having ignored your
reassuring touch.

---

This morning I was sipping
the horrid quietness of
living without you.

I turn around in bed and
smell you on my pillow,
bedsheets - even my
skin.

All I hear is your voice
bouncing off the walls in my room
and your smile dripping
down my cheeks.

---

We promise each other
so many things
when our promise should've
been
us.

Lost A Bit Too Long

2007-12-21T16:56:00.000Z

The prolific poet decided to serenade his mistress. He bought her the prettiest dress, twelve long stemmed red roses, a bottle of the finest wine and his poems in praise of her. As he walked down to her house, his poetry book got lighter and lighter! Appalled, he stared at the words slinking away around the corner of the street. A few steps further and the roses wilted, their petals falling to the ground like a pool of blood. At last he asked the pretty dress what was happening when, to his absolute confusion, the wine stopped sparkling, "Oh, pretty dress! What have I done to deserve this? Have I failed to love with all my heart, have my words not encompassed my love-struck madness, is not the suffering of my sweet misery sufficient to warm the petals of these red roses? Oh, pray tell me what have I done that this misfortune descends upon me!"

The sequins on the pretty dress faded away. And he knew it was simply because his love was packaged into fine verse for too long. Reality disappeared while the depths of its disdain drenched him.

Torn Apart

2007-12-14T22:58:00.000Z

When the heart strings are pulled the poet picks his pen. He scribbles lines about how she is on the other side of the world, how his soul melts into oceans ebbing with sadness, how his heart breaks into a million tears when he thinks of her. If only this world had no boundaries, no sense of time or space. It is too hard, love, too hard to traverse through calenders when each day is marked with wistful memories, forlorn verse and the reminder you live in another world.

---

My fingers hold up the number of days it will take you to come here. And my happiness, peace of mind and determination fade. My eyes cloud with tears and my voice chokes. I wish you weren't on the other side of my familiar world. My smiles crumble into a pile at my feet while I lean before God and pray for a nearness of you. The punishment for living a dream is to put another on hold.

---

Bits and bytes, calls and minutes, laughs and loneliness rip through us. We refused to acknowledge love. Now love, exasperated, crashed upon us and punished us with distance. This is the price we pay for arrogance. Arrogance for not looking at what was in front of us, for looking everywhere else except at you. We were so late..

---

Tonight I will sleep with a blanket of tears draping my face. My dreams will be punctuated with sobs. My heart will abandon me for you. And the fire of despair will burn my soul.

A Few Hundred Miles Of Separation

2007-12-07T21:55:00.000Z

The fluctuating weather
is like my heart:
sometimes I miss you
other times I miss you
a lot.

---

I can still feel your
smile on me,
your eyes burning
my back as I
walk out of the
bedroom
and your breath cascading
on my hair.

---

I finally find him
and then I move
a continent
away.

---

You just need to tap
me, honey, and love will
come spilling
right out.

---

Missing you is like a
riot of seasons
concentrated in my heart.

Thoughts Travel By

2007-11-26T16:49:00.001Z

The whipped cream in my hot chocolate is melting. I can see the chocolate dust getting swallowed. The island gradually becomes the whole. And time slips by while I watch. It whispers in my ears and I can feel the heat of my tropical country brush past my cheek. Suddenly my finger-tips, hair and lips taste of stale spice. I smell red chillies, I hear an ocean of loud voices and the haunting image of millions of smiling, brown-faced people clouds my sight. I remember what the comfort of being home is. The convenience of breakfast served, roads and rules I know, a chaos I can understand and people I love. Oh. Home.

---

My train of thought has been random. It has much to do with work load. Three weeks in work and we're already finalizing on the scales to use for the project. I'm swallowing research papers, complicated words and theories like they are my main meals. Thoughts jostle for space in my head. Does this measure make sense? But why do we need this variable? There seems to be too much weight on our outcome variables! I'm afraid that I may choose science and a system over passion and truth. And that drives me to walk through office corridors like a ghost: printer to office and back. Thoughts fight a right to sound their own. I'm curious to know which one will I let slip out of my mouth and take shape.

---

Nostalgia smells like smoke to me. Missing takes on a brown hue. Loneliness is a dark blue. Home reminds me of fresh water springs. You..oh, you remind me of smiles. My mother's laughter is the tinkling of cups in a box. My dad's silly jokes are reminiscent of a comfortable couch. Important people and their company is like fresh, cool fruit in my mouth. Refreshing, reassuring and real.

---

Your face is sketched in my soul. It is tattooed in my heart. How the night sky feels empty without the stars is how I am without you. You know, I miss you the most when I'm doing mundane activities. Grocery shopping, making my bed, curling in bed before sleep knocks me out, when I check out my clothes in the mirror, fixing my morning milk. I miss you then. You know why? Coz I wish that bed I was making has your body imprint on it. Coz I want to fix you your morning beverage. Or maybe I miss you coz I do.

Phase II

2007-11-15T13:19:00.000Z

It's the middle of my third week in England. I thought I was going to weep throughout this month! Instead, when my mother called up yesterday saying she was missing me I told her I was not. It's a good thing that my mother has a sense of humor, she jacked me for that and said I'll miss home (desperately) during special occasions. She's quite right.

My journey to England was particularly gruelling. I had to catch a flight to Mumbai only to have a stressful, intense 12 hours there, and then catch a flight to London. Mumbai being such a busy airport was no fun. After my genuine shock over my severely excess luggage and the punishment of getting the middle seat for that, I was stuck at security check for something like an hour. The flight got delayed and I was lounging about until almost 3:30 a.m. before the life-saving call for boarding the flight wafted through the air. Luckily, my punishment wasn't so bad. I got the front seat which meant lots of leg room - not that I need any!! Plus, Jet is a fantastic flight. This is coming from someone who has been on many flights. Attendants were sweet, TV was awesome, food was good and the blankets were soft. But my legs were hanging from the seat and the guy next to me was chubby so he encroached upon a bit of my seat. The girl on my other side was so bloody sleepy that she unknowingly kept snuggling up to me! I couldn't curl my legs up and they just went on dangling. It was absolutely ridiculous!

London Heathrow chose the very day I landed to be short of trolleys. Waiting for 20 mins, then there was the challenge of putting my large suitcases on the trolley and finally finding my friend. But I have to say, it was good to be back. To see my friend, walk the roads I frequented when I lived in Oxford and the general feel of the country. I never thought I'd come back, you see.

Phase I

2007-11-07T19:07:00.000Z

I believe in those horoscopes that magazines, newspapers etc write up. There, I said it. That it can be for my benefit is what I realized late September this year. My 2007 horoscope predicted something big would be coming my way which will change the very course of my life. Back then and until 2 weeks ago I was terribly excited that it came true. I'm taking a break from being excited and it shall resume next month. For this month, I have decided to feel sad, occassionally cry and self-deprive.

Late September I got a letter from a University saying that I got a studentship. After 9 rejections, I'll say that I shouted in joy. It's an understatement, but it'll have to suffice for now. Alas, the joy barely lasted. My family and I then went through the tension of how much is this funding for? My father was particularly antsy being that he might have to cough up truck loads of money - again. Poor guy. The little hair on his head refused to remain glued there anymore and we soon started seeing his gray hair strewn about on the couch. However, his nail-biting, tongue-chewing, oversleeping days came to a swift end when the studentship promised to pay me a sufficient amount. Joy began to spill from all corners of my house.

The tension ball was then passed onto me. Visa applications, contacting the Uni, packing, saying my bye's and spending time with my family all had to be done in the span of 4 weeks. It was in the hilt of these activities that a proposal came tapping on my door. Hardly tapping. It came thrashing like a big snowball. After months of shameless desperation, just when I resigned to my unkind Fate, the man of my dreams assertively got an "I will" out of me. He saved me the last shred of dignity by being the one to ask!

So along with the UK rigmarole, there was the whole plotting and planning about my personal life. Interesting angle that; it won't cease to keep me on my toes for the next year. I like that. Little did I know that my horoscope was being serious about my fortunes. For a change.

The Newness Of It All

2007-11-06T19:49:00.000Z

There have been plenty of novel things happening in my life. I will eventually chronicle it. Probably the day I have so much work that I'm better off typing a blog-diary. Yep, it'll be that day when one long post after another will painstakingly earmark the beginning of what could've easily been an end. See? I'm getting cryptic already. I need to save some for later, otherwise this won't be called my blog!

Questions Surround Me

2007-10-12T20:10:00.000+01:00

Why do you complain about them so much? Look at their lives, for Pete's sake. They saw their only daughter crushed so badly that her eyes had popped out. They saw the wreckage with two trains on top of the one where she lay. They saw how horrifying her fair, beautiful face had become. And soon after that, they waited for 11 days in the hospital hoping their eldest grandchild will survive the accident. All in vain! And you still bitch about them? You know, they are living the lives of the dead. They are corpses walking in their rooms. Silent, non-existent and almost useless. Their other son or daughter-in-law haven't even come to meet them after they moved here! What kind of a life is that? And you hurl mean words at them??

***

How can you be so young and whine about what life has to dole out to you? You speak like you are bearing the weight of the world, o Atlas! All of us have had a burden to bear but we don't remind ourselves and certainly not others about it. Life has so many complications, sorrows, cruelties and starkness to offer that we don't need to focus on it more than necessary. Yes, life has given you a hard time. I agree if you said you probably have had a shitty childhood. I'll also allow the rough time you have at work. But what's the point in dwelling on that? I have not known a young person like you bemoan their burdens as much as you do. Life is bittersweet. Get used to it.

***

You claim to love her? It's her birthday and I see no gift, I see no repair works or even a card. I don't see you making reservations for dinner. I don't even see you planning a minuscule present. Hell, have you atleast entertained the idea of celebrating her birthday? Shame on you for calling yourself a husband.

***

You know that silence between us when you say something rash? That's a tiny piece of my heart tearing away from you and depositing itself in a cave of sadness. I can never be angry with you. I can never not love you. But I can be saddened by you. And that sadness is so engulfing, so real and so heartbreaking.

Interior Monologue

2007-10-01T20:47:00.000+01:00

Thing about love is, sometimes, you'll find it even when you carefully planned to keep away from it. In the past, I'd found love in adolescence when its madness struck me like a constant thunder. I also kept finding it in the same corner. I once found it still stuck in my veins.

This time, however, I found it for keeps. We entered whatever we did with a 'no commitment' pact. We religiously, almost clinically, avoided any romance beyond friendship. We even gave each other pep talks to keep away from any form of love! We spent countless lunches, dinners, evenings, nights recreating known and unknown passions but steered clear of love. Then we grew to fondly recollect our controlled forms of love: perhaps a gentle stroke on his cheek, his kisses got softer.. we were being sweet to each other. We had trial and error runs with our friends and families. Sometimes we succeeded to charm them, other times we had to work a bit harder. I know in the past year we've attempted to dodge love but somehow it kept knocking on our door. I think only we would know how much we tried to ignore it, escape it and, finally, hide it.

One entire month I began in desperation to embrace my love for him. I was stuck in a triangle and needed him more and more. I realized I can't do without him. I love him. Why? Because I do. He still resisted it. Maybe I became the weaker one and he had to be strong for the both of us. He had to fight the battle of clarity between friendship and a committed relationship. Our original contract was for the former and never for the latter. Luckily, I don't know what happened inside of him but we've quickly changed our views. We have a common goal. We're getting to the emotional side of our relationship. And it feels good.

I'm glad I found love slowly unravelling itself. I'm not having bursts of happiness, I'm not going crazy with passion and I'm definitely not giggly about it. I like how it's gently wafting into my heart. The occasional gush, the broad smile when I see his text, how we've begun to timidly discuss our future. I'm enjoying this beautiful unfurling. It's lovely how we're discovering our dreams, exploring our lives and relishing the newness of it all. Our faith, passion, commitment and tenderness for each other are growing - sometimes suddenly, other times gradually. It's like a slow motion movie where you can drink in moment by moment. I'm not only pleased that love triumphed us but that it also took its own time. It's a kind thing, this love. And well timed!

In Hiding

2007-09-27T07:52:00.000+01:00

What else can I
do?
Except fall in love
with you.

---

I looked at the coffee
mug with the stain
of your lips
and remembered that
I miss you.

---

I want to set you free.
It's just that
I don't have any time for it.

---

I hid my heart in a crowd
of words.
Your eyebrows made a distinct
pattern.

---

I don't want you to know me.
Then you'll know the hurricane
building in my heart, the
terrible loneliness of my soul,
the sadness wreathing my smiles and
the reason for the lines
on my face.

---

You need to find my truth
among the fancy words I intricately
knit together.
You can.
That's probably why you
love me.

2007-09-18T11:12:00.000+01:00

..and the sun never
shines as bright
as when I'm with
you.

---

I slip into
you like water sliding
down your throat,
you sigh
right into my ear.

---

I am blessed
for I can never
recollect your
face.

---

Search where you
want, for how long
you want. Confuse yourself.
Numb yourself. Betray yourself.
Break your heart
and hunt for your
answers in those shards
strewn across time.
Still.
You will never
escape what I am
to you.

A Curve In The Stream

2007-09-03T12:18:00.000+01:00

All my love, all my dreams,
all my smiles and
all my thoughts
were packaged
into one single stretch of
time.

---

You are boggled that I can do this. How is it that I separate us from what we are and what we cannot be? You don't like me because I can. You fear me because I love you not because you are large and firm. Not because you have beautiful eyelashes and eyes. Not because of your full lips. I don't love you because you are intelligent or because of our moonlit chats. I love you because I can. And when the unnerving quilt of familiarity muted you, you buckled and thought we hit a dead end. You fear me because I triumphed your misconception.

---

I wait for you to knock
on my door,
take me out and treat
me like a princess.
You won't.

---

We searched for love between the sheets four times. Panting, we smile wryly. We've still got it, you say. My smile twists into sadness. You are definite of an end where we won't 'still have it'. How come you think it'll be over? Something else that is special will take its place. You need to realize we have multiple answers to your unasked question. You need to know it's never over. You'll learn it's simply a bend in the road.

---

If I told you it's like
wrenching my heart
out and slamming
it down at
your indifferent feet,
would you believe it?

---

You have the courage and kindness to accept my little tokens of love. You enjoy the comforting silence I offer you when you get busy with your phone. I bask in your unconditional smiles when you see me. You wrap yourself around me throughout the night. I like it. I like how even in your sleep you communicate what your lips, voice and words won't let you.

---

My fingers seamlessly
travel your skin.
Your lips inevitably
explore me.
We dip and sigh in
a prolonged daze.

2007-09-01T21:42:00.001+01:00

If you used my eyes
you'd see our world
very differently.

---

When I'm not around
you loving you,
I'm planning how to
show you that I
love you.

---

Take a left, go straight
then take a right
at the junction.
You'll hit a cul-de-sac:
that's where I'll be
waiting for you.

---

You won't love me as
much as I love you.
You see, you can't smell me
when I'm not next to you.

A Story, Discontinued

2007-08-31T15:11:00.000+01:00

A congregation of known strangers. What's it called? A blog meet someone announced in their byte-world. I turned up as the unidentified person. After skirting questions about what space I occupy in the virtual world I lit up my cigarette and watched. I inched toward the balcony gazing at the giggling girls. Odd how I am the eldest in this lot. Never been that before. A large guy walked over to me offering an awkward smile and a tempting concoction of blue soda and vodka. Small talk, few laughs and he moved on. I was left to the cool breeze embracing me and the sight of a particularly handsome discomfited guy.

***

She was an immediate attraction. Draped in gray, she seemed content in the spot near the ledge of the balcony. I was too unnerved to say hello. I knew some of the guys here, so I started up obvious conversations with them. I didn't like it that she was smoking. At least I can use that as an excuse not to be interested in this tiny creature with dorky spectacles. I glided through this exuberant party.

***

This drink is pretty good, I thought to myself. The guys here seem quite alright. Especially that fellow in the dull blue shirt. I allowed the cliched Pink Floyd music ensconce me while I judged the girls. That one is juvenile, this one wants to get laid and look at the girl snogging her boyfriend in full view! The guy is obviously embarrassed. I felt a condescending smile curl my lips. As long as no one notices me, I'm good. I leaned against the ledge observing the quick groups forming. The alpha males with the prettiest girls. The IT geeks with the left overs. Lastly, the ones that are taken and the geekiest of the geeks messing with the music or taking photographs. Except Mr. Dull Blue shirt.

***

I ask Rowdy what is this odd mixture of drink he's given me. He slurs something and I know he's already hammered. He comes closer and whispers about an enigmatic new girl. He points rather rudely at the girl who has assumed a mocking look on her face. It's been one hour and she's only moved to the kitchen to refill her drink. Why won't she come in and join the tipsy dancers, the nerds at the music station or me? I might as well walk over to her. Let's see what or who she's mocking. I might like it.

***

I knew he was going to strike up a conversation with me. We appear to be the only ones in this happy party who don't fit in. I better put off my cigarette. Oh. He isn't coming straight to me. The fact that he's weaving his way through the many guys and the obviously out numbered girls conveys a message to me. He's making it clear that he's more comfortable than he really is with these people. Ah. He's moved under a brighter light. I like his large eyes and easy smile. He must be a charmer. I remind myself to turn down the psychologist in me. This is a party. I need to loosen up.

***

Gosh. I need to make small talk with so many people before I get to this girl! I must say, I was skeptical about the party but there is such energy in this group of people. I ought to befriend some of these boys. It'll help me out of my boredom, get me acquainted to the city. I'm tired of drinking alone. I say hello to Horny Girl allowing myself some flirty comments. She's too raunchy for me. Might as well leave her to the other guys. They're all watching her like hawks anyway. Now to the girl at the balcony. Weird how I'm nervous about her.

***

I smile pleasantly at this man. I size him up and decide to give him a chance. I'm quiet. My mind's drawn a blank. I'd normally be edgy if my mind deserted me like this but I'm not. He's standing quite close to me and eases his face into a cheerful smile. A slight smell of his cologne is wafted towards me in the breeze. I gaze at his splendid eyes. His perfect, full lips. His surprisingly large head.

***

Wow. I'm standing too close to this girl. Should I step back? Then she'll think I'm a wuss. Should I start a conversation? I'm too comfortable in the silence. She's got such sharp eyes! I love her thin yet perfectly shaped lips. She's so petite. The moonlight's framing her long hair beautifully. I wish I had a camera. I like how she's soaked in the silver light, the texture of her smile and the feel of presence.

***

I don't want him to talk. I want him to hold my hand. I want us to prolong this bubble of comfort we've built around us. It's past midnight anyway. I'll have to go home in a few minutes. I feel his feet shuffle and he moves next to me. His arm lightly brushes against me. I let him lightly touch my hand. I finish my drink and ask him if he'd like to drop me home. He nods. I say my thanks and byes to the hosts. Wink at another acquaintance and get my coat. I walk out the door with him following me. I purposely sway my hips and feel his eyes burn my back.

You. Dammit. You.

2007-08-29T19:16:00.000+01:00

It must be a full moon tonight. I can see the silver rays frame your body. You let out a sigh, snore lightly and turn onto your tummy. I watch your mouth twitch before you stop snoring. It's 3 a.m. You're going to wake up in a few hours and you'll be disappointed to see me asleep. You won't know that I spent almost the entire night watching the moonlight bounce off your skin. I spent all night envying how easily it bathed you in its gray light; how softly the night settled around you. I even envy the air that you breathe. Atleast it got a chance to be you.

However, you're going to be unhappy to see me sleeping tomorrow morning. Sleeping right through your birthday coffee, newspaper and breakfast.

---

It's been so long since I last wrote. I want to write about you. I've been wanting to write about you since three hours now. I've been typing and deleting for three hours now. You are so familiar and unfamiliar to me! Like how you communicate your love for me in the way you hug me. But I don't know whether you love me at all.

---

Words come easy. They flow like the river, like the sun rays slipping down the sides of my car, like how easily butter spreads over bread. Words come all too easily. But they never come that freely for us. Not even when the wine loosens our tongue. Or when we search for our solace between the sheets.

---

You've been wanting to marry me since the day you saw me. You still remember how my hair flowed, what my scent was when you bent forward to whisper congratulations, the way I giggled back a thank you. You remember looking wistfully when my fiance opened the car door for me. You wished you could be the man who stroked my cheek, my back, my arms. You want to be the man who snuggles me in the morning, nuzzles deep into my neck, plants small kisses on my cheek to wake me up. You've been wanting all this for so long that it has became too long.

---

It's been 3 years 2 months and 13 days since we've been dating. You say I'm different from the girls you've been with before. You say that I'm perfect for you. I pull you closer to me and give you a long, lingering kiss. You feel my love, passion, care and madness for you flowing through my kiss. You let out a deep sigh and say you usually quiver when you feel this kind of intensity from someone. But I don't feel your quiver. Why won't you quiver for me?