Part I- The Ending

Part II- The Premonition

Part III- The Celebration

Part IV
The Last Song

Love is not what you arrive at. Love is what you travel through. 

The two hours are about to end. I will have to wake him up. Should I just let him sleep? If he misses his flight, it'll buy me some more time with him.Should I be fooling him? He has trusted me in one of his weakest moments. I have this feeling that he will love me for fooling him today. The question is, should I? What I can't figure out is- will it prolong the celebration, or will it prolong the pain?

I am still looking at him. He is sleeping with the serenity of an angel. Each trait of his, including this serenity, has complimented me perfectly. Each time he intertwined his fingers with mine, he fit the gap perfectly. The hopeless romantic in me always concluded that the Creator had crafted him only to fit into my life. It made sense. It seemed perfect. He was never just the lover. He was the 'love' in my life itself.

His brow now appears slightly creased. Is that a bead of sweat trickling down the shadowed part of his face? As if in a fit, his whole body just jerked. I quickly crept closer to him, and held him in a reassuring embrace. A fierce embrace in fact. I know it was fierce because when I withdrew, his eyes were open. With a dizzy confusion. He looked at me, at first as if figuring out if I was real. He then managed a goofy smile on that ruthlessly handsome face of his, the smile I knew the contours of which by heart. He closed his eyes, preserved that smile, dug into my bosom, and slept.

This moment is real. As real as it can get. Tell me, should I be sad or angry? In his love, in his embrace, have I not already gotten more than my share of bliss in life? There is this sweet pain lurking somewhere in the rear corner of my heart. I cannot for sure know if its normal, but some part of me feels happy in this moment which is heralding the close of an era of love. His infinite worth has become apparent to me. I've seldom valued him more than I value him this moment. He is grand. Priceless. This is how I will forever remember him.

"I love you. I always will", I whisper softly while pressing my lips to his ear. The crease on his forehead has now disappeared. The serenity returns.

In a few moments I will wake him up.

After a few more moments, he will be gone.

And after some more moments, I will cry.

Part I- The Ending

Part II- The Premonition

Part III
The Celebration

 If this was the last hour I was allowed to spend with you, I would spend it like it was the last hour I was allowed to live. When you walk out, love walks out, life walks out. 

I was only adjusting the smile on my face when my heart gently leapt out of its place. The bell rang. He is here. My cheeks flushed red, perfectly complementing my dress.

I clicked the lock open, and peeked out, hiding my body behind the door. Clad in a black shirt and denims, there he stood, ready to massacre the hearts of a dozen females. Aah. A sigh still escapes my lips when I see him stand with that casual grace in front of my eyes. He is not any Greek God personified. He is but love and passion epitomized.

He was gazing at me. Unnervingly so.

"Hey." I said. I smiled. I calmed my racing heart down. Really? Has it really been five years of our togetherness? "You are not carrying your luggage sweetie? Left it at your apartment already?"

He pulled me out from behind the door, lightly revealing my demure frame to his eager eyes. He appraised me from  head to toe. I think I saw a hint of a smile on his face. A tired smile but.

"You look gorgeous. Much lovelier than I ever remember having seen you."

"Stop flattering me. I mean, I like it. But there, you again did not answer me directly. Where is your luggage?"

"You know you could ask me to come in first."

"Oh! Sorry! Its only excitement. Come in. Make yourself comfortable."

He walked in straight towards my bedroom, only pausing near the table in the living room for a brief second to place on it a pretty red rose. My Valentine's gift. The one I had always liked. It was the only luggage he carried, hitherto hidden behind his back. I see his body disappear into my room. I stand frozen for a second, a little perplexed. Closing the main door, I pick up the elegant rose, the hues of which match precisely the tone of my dress, and proceed towards him. By now, my heart has stopped racing. It has begun to sink.

I halt at the door of my room, and lean against it. Seated at the edge of my bed, facing away from me, I can tell he has worry writ large over his face. He is staring at the floor with a burning fierceness. He looks up. Its only confusion, painful confusion he sees in my eyes.

"I am going back by the evening flight. In about two hours, I leave."

He takes a deep breath, averts his gaze, and continues. "This is it. My father wants me back there. He has wielded contacts to find me a job, and expects me to marry a girl of his choice next year. He wants me to settle down and be with him and ma."

An even greater sigh. "Angel, I won't be coming back."

He returns his gaze to meet mine. His deep, expressive eyes are moist. I feel pain. I feel an even greater urge to lessen his pain.

I walk up to him and tousle his hair while he sits still, looking down in an emotion I reckon as guilt. He curls his arms around my waist and presses his face against my belly. I can feel his tears permeating my dress, touching not my skin, but defying gravity and racing up to hide away in my heart.

I don't cry. I smile. I know I am his strength. I have been, for long. I keep still for a while.

I then withdraw, sit down on my knees with my hands in his lap. I look up at him. Again, I smile.

"We knew this had to happen. We did. We loved each other, but we promised not to hurt our parents."

He keeps mum. He keeps looking at me, but remains mum.

I look deeper into his eyes.

"For the next two hours, you are mine."

Our eyes are now locked in an intense gaze. Not breaking it even for a moment, he supports my shoulders as we both stand up facing each other. An inaudible "Love you" escapes his dry but luscious lips. I draw closer to him, burying myself in his chest. His labored breathing becomes all the more palpable in the rhythm of his heart. He lifts my face up, perfectly accommodating my slightly plump cheeks in both of his palms. I cannot stand the heat of his gaze. I close my eyes. The next moment, I can feel his soft lips on mine. One of his hands reaches the zip of my gown, the ease of unfastening which, I always suspected, was what made him buy it in the first place. In a swift motion, my gown slips off and collects in a heap near my feet. He knows I turn shy. He draws me closer in his embrace and enters the coziness of the blanket to escape the prickly Delhi cold. He also does this to hide me away from the prying eyes of the fan, the wall and the mischievous mirror.

What began as an eagerly anticipated Valentine's was fast culminating into a final celebration of love. 

 

(Part IV-The Last Song- last of the four parts, coming up soon)

Protecting her?

Was that the plan?

To nourish, to cherish,

To save from the evil man?

The endless sky

"Dangerous to fly!”

Wide crystal water

"Fatal to enter!”

Inviting golden desert

"Treacherous mounds of dirt!”

Morbid confines of home

"Your haven, your zone!”

So, Protecting her

Was that the plan?

I'm sorry you failed

She’s at best – Jailed!

 

 "You thought I was protected

Cradled in sound slumber?

I was shushing my heart from dreaming

Beating it to sheen-less amber"

I never cleared the dust off that window. I always knew what lay behind it. I mean, I could guess. It was not a big window. It was small. Not tiny, just small. Often I would see sun's rays filter through its dust rich glass and cluster in a small square of light on the grey floor. This square of light would stealthily broom across the cracking grey floor, leaving behind not footsteps of light, but a trail of darkness. Rather, greyness. I often liked to play with that little square of light- skip in and out of it. My darkened, weather beaten, less than ordinary looking feet would momentarily be purified by sun's white light as they skipped into that square. When they skipped out, they would enter again the ordinariness which has for long been their home..

This game with light was a passing distraction. My larger fascination was with that small window on the opposite wall. The window accumulating dust, giving only a hazy glimpse of the picturesque scenery that lay beyond. A chirping bird perched onto the overhanging branch. Glistening dew precariously hanging from the tip of a luscious green leaf. Orchids-white and purple and carnations-white and purple lining the fence in a mad array of grandeur. Just a hint of redness of an occasional rose, breaking the sacred monotony of my favorite white and purple flowers. A pair of rabbits, white balls of fur with their beady red eyes, dashing playfully through the greenery at the edge of the pond. The pond divided in two zones, each rich in fishes of differing hues. Its left side green under the overhanging canopy of huge summer trees. The right side bare, allowing sun's rays to prance around it's watery surface. Through the dust, I could figure out all the silhouettes-the flowers, the trees, the fence, the branch, the pond.

All this lay beyond that window. Yes it was a small window, but it was my only window. As the four ugly walls of that dingy confine of a room seemed to close in on me at times, the presence of that window would provide me respite. I feared the world beyond my door, with known foes and known miseries- I seldom ventured out. I was enchanted by the world beyond my window- I always kept an eye on it. I painted happy pictures and waited for the day I could be one with the wilderness the scene beyond had to offer.

I had never gone near the window. I always kept basking in the balmy light it sent in my cold room. I always kept imagining the scenery that lay beyond it, the beauty I remembered from more than two years ago when I had last ventured out. I had romanticized its translucent potential. I even spoke to it sometimes, beckoned to the heart of nature which I had believed to be sacrosanct. The window was my companion, I was its. I trusted it to open itself to me when it thought it should. May be when the heart of nature ripens to glory.

Today, its tiny panes flew open. I smiled at the invitation, but then I feared. There was some stench of ill-begotten pandemonium. I took a few steps towards it. The silhouettes I saw through dusty haze were there, but they were just that- empty silhouettes.  The scenery that lay beyond the window was as per my thoughts, with only one marked difference- there was no life in any element which I had painted in my imaginations. The outlines were there, the colors conspicuously absent. The leaves, the flowers, the water- was shivering under a windy pandemonium. They seemed lifeless, but attempting to exist somehow.

I felt a surge of sorrow. Then a surge of empathy. I thought I could get closer to the window, peep out, and see how I could help restore the beauty. I took but one step more and a strong gush of wind forced the rattling panes to shut with a bang.

I looked back at the door- a world I had consciously shut out.
I looked at the shut window panes- a world no longer the calming beauty I had thought it to be.
I looked at the walls. For the first time I felt faithless. For the first time, trapped.

Disbelief, anger

And a smile.

They who held hands

Apart by a mile.

Love's scary vision

Life's daunting trial.

A moment more of pain

Then grace on a calm heart's isle.

With great things comes the possibility of great losses. 

Our best bet, as I always say, is to live it while it lasts! 

Ashutosh, from Indiblogger, flattered me with his review of my blog. Of the many sane and humbling things he wrote, one was that I should include social topics in my writings. I pondered for a while, and thought which is the immediate issue which grazes my mindscape as soon as I start thinking about social concerns. Lots of things came to mind. I've spent the past two years in college working diligently in the area of women upliftment, voicing out concerns of gender based discrimination, yet not subscribing to the conventional 'feminist' outlook. I've joined hands with Mr. Sanjeev Sachdeva and done my bit to sensitize general public about issues of accessibility. I've felt passionately about wanting to work in the field of education as soon as I find myself able enough.

However, none of the above rang a bell so strong in my head for me to feel attached with. When it comes to writing, attachment with my thoughts and expressions is an absolute necessity to churn out any decent post. I then resigned myself to the pages of my journal to feel the power of some poetic gems I had collected for myself  from various sources in the past year over my mind and soul. Many amazing poems from contemporary writers, and literary legends, in English, Hindi, Urdu, Sanksrit and Punjabi were strewn across my journal with each single one summoning a distinct event from memory right in front of my eyes. I could pick out two as my finds of the year. The first one is called Jo Beet Gayi So Baat Gayi, by Harivansh Rai Bachchan, and is already mentioned elsewhere on my blog. Its the second one which moistened my eyes yet again as I read it. For me it is the most brilliant poetic compositions of Kaifi Azmi, who is reckoned as one of the greatest shayars of the 20th century. Giving due credit to Winnie Saghan, my most interesting yet least discovered friend from college, who introduced me to this poem, I would like to share these priceless words from the great shayar with my blog readers. The poem is called 'Doosra Banwaas'. Read on to find out why.

DOOSRA BANWAAS

Ram banwaas se jab laut ke ghar mein aaye,
Yaad jangal bahut aaya jo nagar mein aaye,
Raqsse deewangee aangan mein jo dekha hoga,
6 december ko Shri Ram ne socha hoga,
Itne deewane kahan se mere ghar mein aaye?

Jagmagate the jahan Ram key qadmon ke nishaan,
Piyaar kee kahkashan leti thi angdayee jahan,
Mod nafrat ke usee rah guzar mein aaye,
Dharam kya unka hae, kya zaat hae, yeh janta kaun?
Ghar na jalta tau unhe raat mein pehchanta kaun,
Ghar jalane ko mera, log jo ghar mein aaye,
Shakahari hae mere dost tumahara khanjar.

Tumne Babar kee taraf pheke thhe saare patthar
Hae mere sar ki khata zakhm jo sar mein aaye,
Paun Sarjoo mein aabhi Ram ne dhoye bhee na thhe
Ke nazar aaye wahan khoon ke gehre dhabbe,
Paun dhoye bina Sarjoo ke kinare se uthe,
Ram yeh kehte hue aapne dwaare se uthe,
Rajdhani kee fiza aayee nahin raas mujhe,
6 December ko mila doosra banwaas mujhe.

So, this was a priceless jewel from the quill of Kaifi Azmi, written remembering 6th December 1992- the black day which cast a shameful shadow over the hypocrisy of our secularism. To be honest, I feel we have come a long way since the fundamental elements dictated the course of our day to day lives.This was evident in the calm which accompanied the Ram Janmbhoomi verdict which came out last year, almost 20 years after the ignominious incident. We were almost a generation ahead in time, and today's generation chose not to attach any uncalled for hysteria with the verdict. Good.

However, the fact that strong communal identities are on the path of dissolution is nothing but a delusion which overtly optimistic people like me foolishly want to believe in. I wanted to believe in it because if I did not, I stood the danger of losing something valuable in my life. My optimism has been replaced with mute resignation now. Banners against perpetrators of communal crimes might be flying high, but almost nothing has changed as far as common man's religious mindedness is concerned. May be our generation has moved on, but in parts we're still controlled by the one which chooses to stay where it is- in glory of its own, and in rejection and contempt of the other.

A lot of you might not associate closely or personally with what I have written above, but I have a reason for all this stifling acrimony against fatal caste/communal loyalties which exist in our society. The reason is that I  have already lost something precious because of them and their subtler manifestations in my life, or may be just in our collective psyche.

And that is all I have to say.
 

"He has no idea what he is doing. He is walking towards Absolute Limitless Evil, capable of anything.Hamid assumes that Igor is just another adult and that he can confront him either with physical force or with logical argument. What he doesn't know is that Absolute Evil has the heart of a child and takes no responsibility for his actions and is convinced that it's right. And when it doesn't get what it wants, its not afraid of using all possible means to satisfy its desires". - The Winner Stands Alone, Paulo Coelho.

For me, the word macabre and love can never go together. But when it comes to Paulo Coelho's writings, you can obviously expect the unexpected. Before I picked up The Winner Stands Alone (TWSA), my experience with Coelho was moderately sweet. I had read three of his works- The Alchemist, Eleven Minutes and Veronica Decides To Die- and each one them, which I read separated by huge spaces in time, enthralled me at some level. So, while I could not exactly call myself and ardent fan of the author, I was definitely one who trusted him for writing good, out-of-the-box stuff.

Things changed a little with TWSA. It is his twelfth book, and like the earlier ones, touches on a something arcanely sublime, which is way above an ordinary person's realm of imagination and understanding. This, exactly, is what Coelho is famous for doing. TWSA pivots around one protagonist, although in totality, there are five names which shape and aid the development, pace and culmination of this book. 

Igor Malev, is not just the protagonist, but the very subject of this book. He is an extremely successful Russian telecom giant, who visits Cannes Film Festival with a single thing on his mind- to win back his wife Ewa. Ewa, who was once the motivation and the very reason for his existence is now married to a couturier, Hamid Hussein- a man as successful as Igor, but a powerful contradiction in character to him. Igor never recovers from the loss of his wife, and after two years of separation, decides to win her back. He calls himself to be on a 'mission of love', a mission that requires sacrifices- murders. Set against the backdrop of glitz and glamour of the world's most famous film festival, what then ensues is a tale of 'extraordinary violence' (as the book cover puts it), lasting just under 24 hours, revealing the evil which hides in each human soul and busting the myths associated with the world of celebrities.

TWSA is one of Coelho's most criticized books, as I learnt later. The reason for that, as I can guess, are many. For me, however, the prime reason for finding it an unsatisfactory read, was the profound sense of darkness which as an engrossed reader, TWSA filled me up with. The portrayal of the world of glamour, no doubt realistic, is very depressing. It is depicted as an arena in which under the glimmer of stars, what exists is deep darkness, an abyss of depression from which no return is possible. Gabriela, an aspiring and aging actress, and Jasmine, a young and wise model are the characters who are used to convey this aspect of the story, though in a very repetitive fashion. The narrative of the story keeps shifting between all the five characters (and also a few more), and which though essential to the fabric of the story, hinders the lucidity of the storyline at places. The development of the characters, besides that of Igor and perhaps Hamid Hussein, leaves a lot to be desired. The worst bit for me was the contemplative end of the novel. I like stories which end in light, and even though TWSA does not end in total darkness, it gives me nothing positive to carry in my heart.

What I would keep due credit to Coelho for, though, is his hero- Igor Malev. Yes, he is a character I hated, but that is what this character was intended for- to be unabashedly hated by some and to be justified by others. Both categories of people were not expected to like this character, even if they empathized with him at some points. He was a mirror for all the evil thoughts we allow and justify within ourselves. Igor displays what is known as the Lucifer Effect, a kind of psychological condition, in which an otherwise normal individual develops a mindset where he crosses the dividing line between good and evil, and engages in evil action thoroughly justified in his brain. A good revelation of the psyche of the serial killers can be provided by reading this book; though a tale of love I still refuse to believe this book is. Igor's appentence for Ewa is understandable, but his ways and means and thoughts and actions are capable of powerfully unnerving the young believers in love like me.

Reading 'The Winner Stands Alone' on my way to Jaipur.

I've had long, passionate discussions on this novel with three of my friends; Coelho does stimulate your brain that much for sure. So I might go on presenting my opinion of this book in a tiring, dilatory tone. However, succinctly put, it is not a book for all types of readers. Even for Paulo Coelho admirers, may be this is one book you can skip.Love might not have been the central theme of this book, but it is depicted as the underlying motivation for all things evil. I would give it only about 2 stars on five, and maintain, that for me, macabre and love can never go together.

It is all happening! I did plan to take up a job one day, and was excited for it too , but now that it is finally happening, I am scared. Yes, the most admirable of people around me find this fear irrational; somewhere, I do too. But I cannot at the same time deny the fact that when I woke up this morning, I felt a little numb. Sweaty. It had got something to do with a dream last night, a very unpleasant spectacle. I do not remember the content. I only remember the feel. I saw myself failing. The fear of failure lingered on even after I opened my eyes. Today too, like many occasions before, I felt doubtful of my capabilities.

This fear, its been a part of me for quite sometime now. And it is a new experience for me. Also, it is not the most unnatural of things for me to experience when I see almost everyone around me well placed in their life. Those who are not are at least sure of where they are headed. I am none. Not settled. Not knowing where I am headed. In school, I have given many speeches in morning assemblies about the crippling effects of this fear of failure, have quoted liberally the immortal line of Shakespeare- 'Our doubts are but traitors, and make us lose the good we might do, by fearing to attempt'. I was silly, all this while, not to have realized that this dubiousness, this basic lack of confidence I am allowing to take roots in me will lead me to the same state of detriment which in my innocent tongued speeches I had warned the students and teachers of my school against.

All this, I began pondering over while watching the last episode of Sa Re Ga Ma Pa Little Champs. Before I get to 'the' incident, a little word on the programme itself. If you love music, and if you love music the way I love music, there is no way in which you can miss this programme. The quality of singers and the kind of music put on display is stunning to say the least. People on that show- the judges, mentors and the participants- know their music so well that a single episode of it sometimes serves as a tutorial for training-deprived-aspiring-singers like me. Anyway, so the incident I was referring to was of a girl, who stopped singing midway. She said her throat did not feel fine. I know why her throat did not feel fine. Twice I have given up singing midway during my performances. On both occasions, my throat did not feel fine. On both occasions, I  sang much better than my caliber in the last rehearsal before taking to stage. The doubt about being successful as I ascended on the stairs to stage transformed into an insurmountable fear as I started singing. In the midst of a performance, I had no clue how to deal with it. Worse still, I chose not to confront my fear. I chose to keep mum about it. Shied away from telling people. And since then, it has only grown.

With whatever little experiences I have had in life, I know for a fact that the best of opportunities are shaped during the worst of problems. At my level, I did try my best to fight this fear. I went on stage to put myself to test more than I did before. Those who stood with me know that my knees shook till convulsive limits. Those who saw me from the audience saw a faced accessorized with the perfectly confident smile while addressing them. I do not know if I can call this success- the fact that my body shivers and my temperature rises because of nervousness while I am on the final leg of executing a long planned event, but at the same time, people who see my performing end up admiring me for some or the other reason. 'You mask your nervousness brilliantly with that smile'- that's how one of my friends puts it. This I do not in the least say out of conceit. I do say it out of genuine confusion.

I think all of us have our fears. Also, all of us have our independent mechanisms to battle our own fears. Prolonging them, ignoring them, confronting them, or fooling them- most of us choose from these. I, mostly, try to fool my fears. I think that is what most people around me do when they are not brave enough to confront and dismiss them. "Tell yourself you're the best"- Isn't that what all of us are told to use as a invincible antidote to fear of failing? People say it's evoking belief in yourself. I think it's saying the cheesiest thing to fool yourself. Its also what those who're the closest to you tell just after you've proven yourself to be the perfect loser. Support comes for you in copious terms once you fail. Or are fearful of failing. When you dazzle with confidence, people are with you, not to support you, but to celebrate you. Just to rephrase it- You're supported through your failures, and given company through your successes.

I know categorically, its support, and not company that I have yearned for in the recent past. I have never really gotten over my fears; but I have perfected the art of masking them at least. I don't know if this will help in the long run. Sagacious thinking says it won't. Fear and laziness, I was informed by one of my friends, have led to the greatest of inventions throughout history. There is much truth in this line. As much as fear in projected as an empowering tool for progressiveness in the above line, I know the kind of fear I battle is crippling. It hinders growth. Entering into an unknown world excited me always; that was till when I did not associate any probability of failing once I entered the unexplored. Its visions of failure which I need to dispel. Why they are there, I don't know. How to get rid of them concretely, no clue. Guess I'll fool myself a while longer.

PS- Having said, rather typed all of this makes me feel better. Even confident people fear failure. Its only about time. I think it'll go.

There is only an extent till which you can fight, I often quote. Thereafter, even you are a staunch disbeliever in destiny, you cannot do much, but wait and watch as it plays its cards. I fought to the best of my abilities, and my fight ended yesterday. Good or bad, I can no longer influence the results. Regrets? They always remain. You always feel you could have done something more, something better once things are beyond your control. There remains some regret after every exam for not having studied that one extra hour actually spent watching tv, or talking on phone, or simply gazing into nothingness. I have no such regrets, except may be an abstract pain somewhere inside my heart which says that something more could have been done to ensure victory. What more? I have not the minutest of clues.

So, basically, I'm confused. Obfuscated, as I like to fancifully call my state. I am putting up a brave face, trying to chill, but in reality, I have never been this scared in life. Honestly, I have never felt so much is at stake. Yesterday's performance was based on two years of practice and preparation. The result will determine if I can progress to the next level or will have to repeat whatever I did in past two years. Till then, confusion and fear reign supreme.

And, what does not help me at all in this scenario is a basic lack of ability to pray. I don't know how to. I never have. I wish I did, for when there was nothing concrete I could do, may be I could while away time, praying. "It was fear which first created Gods in the world".I am fearful, but I can't locate an object to pray to. Blessed am I, that there have been so many who've put faith in me, who are praying for me, and who, rather selfishly, I am asking to pray for myself. I just hope I stand to justify all the love and astonishing support I have gotten in the past two years. I hope there does eventually come this day when I can rush to all my friends and sport the brightest of smiles which conveys just everything to them. If you're reading this, and have in any measure liked or loved me ever, spare a second or two of your praying time for me. As I said, I can't. And, for the first time not being able to is making me feel crippled.

Hoping the light spreads faster

Woh afsaana jise anjaam tak laana na ho mumkin, usse ek khoobsurat mod dekar chhodna hi achchha ..

I read this in the paper a few days back. It was quoted by the Chief Metropolitan Magistrate Vinod Yadav, when he closed a major chapter in the Bofors scam saga by discharging Italian businessmen, Ottavio Quattrocchi. I read it again today, as the facebook status of one of my friends. In a eerie coincidence, it now perfectly applies to me. 


In the last two days, I have undergone a major transformation. My selfless attributes were my greatest pride. Now, a very selfish face stares at me each time I look into the mirror. Not more than a week ago, my very close friend from college was giving my a didactic lecture about how selfishness, in the contemporary context, had altered from being a vice to a virtue. I had hated her then and there for saying such a foolish thing. Today, I feel like a buffoon, for having been enraged at her. I have embraced those very selfish ideals. I gave up on a very, very essential part of my existence. I abandoned love, and along with it, I abandoned faith. 


My life, my smile, my tears, my love--all of this had stemmed from a person. The bond I shared with him was beautiful. Not perfect, but beautiful. But every beautiful thing does not have to be eternal. In fact, most beautiful things, especially if we add a dimension of perfection to them, are more ephemeral than something unpleasant. So today, the bond stands broken. Broken, not shattered. 


The bond has not shattered, but I have. It is today that I understand what a poet tried to convey when he spoke of silent shattering in some poem of my school English text books. I can totally feel it, understand it. I can today understand what it means to have your emotions burnt to smithereens. Understanding-it is not a gift I have received from many. Like many other good things in life, I have stopped hoping for it. The height of irony in terms of what just transpired as perhaps the most epochal happening of my life is that what went against me was my sanity. Heart in shreds. Feelings down to ashes. 


One good thing, however, remains. He remains. He lives. He breathes. As long as that happens, the miracle of my life stays alive. Faithless existence is senseless existence. The most crucial battle in my life is waiting to be won. Sans faith, it seems illogical to even start treading the path. I hope this time I receive cooperation. I hope to death that I don't fail this time. I know from where I'll draw strength. He knows from where I will draw strength. 


And while I try hard to keep my faith breathing, I will have my off days. There will be days I will look to hold someone culpable. There will be days I would not want to exonerate anyone for the wrong that happened with me, assuming these are days I am bent upon proving that wrong did happen to me. There will be days I would want to shout and cry loud and call out for comfort. There will be days I will crouch in one corner of my room, shedding tears, waiting for the coveted perfection to return to my life. I will try to be brave, but I cannot be brave enough to rule out the possibility of any of the above happening.


My best expressions are written. When I feel a need to reconnect, I will do it via writing. I always wanted to write something special for him. I wanted to document for him, more than my love, my fears associated with our bond. I began doing it yesterday. To Have, To Hold, To Love is a new blog I started to exclusively stay connected to him. It shall be my new address, whenever I am in distress. 


http://anirrevocablelove.blogspot.com/

It's after ages I have gotten back to writing. I kept my habit of scribbling diary daily, but my computer broke down around a month back, and so, I was bereft of even the sight of my blog. I missed it. Even if I don't write pretty, at least the blog does look pretty, and I missed it for that. I missed it for the familiar warmth I feel when I go through all the previous entries, see all my mistakes, but am only too lazy to correct them. I just like enjoying the feel of those moments life once bestowed on me, now archived here, which made me so glad to have been alive and living them.

There is nothing I have on my mind that I may write about; but I feel like writing. The only apt thing seems to be a synopsis of what my life was like this past month that I was away. There was a lot that I could have written about. The past month, I experienced few of the most hurtful and sad moments ever- the sadder thought was, when I looked around, I could find no one, who might have been in a position to elevate me from the lows that I was traversing. Every one seemed at a distance. When I tried to pour out my heart's grief, everyone seemed to be alien. People held my hand, people understood, but the next day when I expected them to be around without me calling out, they were absent.

These were people I called friends. My loved friends. My best friends. These were the very people whose moods I had tolerated, but who could not tolerate mine. I felt like throwing tantrums, acting insensible, but was flat denied. I cried at night, I wailed silently, muffling my own voice, lest my parents hear. I had too much to cope up with, and I could cope up with nothing.

A week back, I was overtaken with extreme fatigue. I wanted to give up everything, everyone. I still wanted to have that one person who could understand me unconditionally, and love me without any questions; yet at the same time I wanted to bury myself somewhere out of everyone's sight. I wanted to hide just beneath my bed, where I knew everything was in reach, but I was elusive. I did for once want to escape. I wanted to make people feel my loss. Then I was scared. What if no one did feel any loss? What if everyone continued the way they always did? What if I was simply a nobody in everyone's life?

I sank back a moment. I kept my phone away, not wanting to expect any angel's call any longer. I looked at the sky. I looked at the darkness around me. I looked at my hands, the contours faintly tangible in the darkness. I forced myself to smile. What came out was a contemptuous half laughter.

I had no one to talk to. There were few just a phone call away, but these were the people almost on the verge of exhaustion- there own lives were too much to handle. I have no idea what caused the metamorphosis, but in some time, I realized,  I started reflecting on all the happy, rich, successful moments from the past month. The vicissitudes of life I was never able to cope up with, and was used to giving into the easiest emotion accessible to me. The pain, the cauterization, in that context, I reckon, was necessary. It is, for everyone.

Today, I am even. Not just calm, but happy. I know not till when will this excitement, this smile at seeing little things bloom around me last, but am living it. The very people, whom I had made morose a few days back, are smiling at my antics today. They are very much with me, beside me. My silence they might not have been able to understand, but they sing with me, they laugh with me, they dance with me, they rejoice with me- life becomes a party full of mirth.

Not caring a dime for the reviews, around three weeks back, I went ahead to see Guzaarish. For free! Contacts with the manager helped. May be thats where it started. To me, it was a more than amazing movie. The whole of second half I cried, when the director had succeeded in firmly establishing a relationship between the protagonist and the audience. But that is not relevant. What is relevant is a subtle transformation I underwent during the course of the movie. This is what I wrote in my diary the same day-

"From the very beginning, I wanted to be Sofia's (Aishwarya's) character- a lover who loves, cares, gives selflessly. Her intrepid dedication inspired me. Then, one scene changed it all. Sofia, all battered (by her husband), but finally triumphant (in breaking free from the shackles imposed by a drunkard, abusive husband), returns to her job- returns to take care of Ethan, her employer. It is in this state, when she is visibly bruised- devastated- she offers Ethan his last escape. She could simply not think of anything, but to take care of her master, who she knows can give nothing to her. It was at that moment, I wanted to be the 'loved', and not the 'lover'. 

A few moonlit moments when you are made to feel special, selflessly loved are okay. In a long standing relationship, it is endurance, perseverance and keeping the innocence alive that matters. Also, what matters is exercising rights and fulfilling unspoken duties. Sofia was an embodiment of all these. Yes, she looked stunning, but more stunning were the easy, palpable emotions she essayed. I would have wanted to be her; but I am tired."

The crux is- I wanted to be pampered. For no reason. I was sick of being what I always am. My closest friend in college has given me one of the best compliments in life- " Saumya, I know when I have no one left in this world, I can simply fall back on you. Thats the most amazing thing about having you as a friend." This statement of hers further saddened me, for I could not find anyone who could fit this description for me. I wanted to be pampered till I got sick of being pampered, but no one seemed to be willing to do it.

So finally, I gave up. I often quote-" To be stupid, selfish and healthy are the three requirements of happiness, though if stupidity is lacking, all is lost". Ha! Today I am back to being the happy, ever smiling girl I used to be a month or two back. I don't just feel happy on surface- my smiles and laughs are not accessories to display to others. I genuinely feel happy at heart. Sometimes I feel demented for the way i locate secret smiles in the most sad and bitter moments, and spread them to everyone in my vicinity. Then my confabulations yield to me that dementia is obviously a by product of the state I am dragging myself into.

Anyway. Some of my friends reprimand me for being the way I am. Some are plain irritated of me. Some of them, at least a minimum few, are in love with me for being myself. I'll continue being this way for some more time at least (this one is specially for you Mittal), for just when I had planned to give up, I read this in the newspaper-

"You cannot live a perfect day without doing something for someone who will never be able to repay you."- John Wooden

    

My eyes are burning; my vision fogged. My aspirations are crushed; my faith shaken. My past is acrimonious; my future uncertain. A flicker of dream remains; remains, to keep me breathing. It refuses to go away. Audacious, defiant dream. Reverberations in my mind…I hear these words-

“But I being poor have only my dreams.

I spread my dreams beneath your feet.

Tread softly, for you tread on my dreams.”

Poor indeed I am. Nothing save my world of dreams constitutes my wealth. My wealth- wholly intangible at present. When realized, though, my dreams are bound to make me the richest. Richest- with happiness. Richest- with contentment. Richest- ‘cuz I’ll have all with me I ever dreamt of. Dreamt of. Dreamt.

Dream. Hapless dream. It only is the culprit. My mind says so. I can’t deny it. My heart still wants to harbor the dream. I can’t deny it either. The pursuit of this dream, the attachment to it, makes me brittle. I’m shattered many a times along the road.

The path was uphill, I knew. So steep, I knew not.

Obstacles paved the way, I knew. In such abundance, I knew not.

Destination was far, I knew. Almost on unreachable horizons, I knew not.

And yet, I set off. Harrying myself. Challenging myself. A glimpse of the destination- an alacrity. A change in weather, a misty ennui. So many people I meet along the way, each with his own ‘shortcut’ to the destination. Difficult to hear ‘em all. Difficult to ignore ‘em all. Difficult to hold my ground. Easy to let go.

Let go I must not. If I let go, then where do I go? Strengthen. Steel. Maneuver. Plan. (said someone- ‘planning is not success, it only makes the road to success easier’)

Fear not anyone, but yourself. Only if you decide, you stop. Else, you continue moving. Walking. With companions. Alone. In cold. In sun. In mist. In shower. Understand nature’s chicanery. (You’ll find 15 reasons why not to go after a dream, each more convincing than the one that says you should.)

Fealty. To no one, save your own self.

A problem, however, exists. My legs are chained. The chains- rusted, ancient, orthodox. My controllers, my conservative lords- not game for the unconventional route. They overtake my steps. They haul me along. They show me the way, I wish not to see. They still drag ahead. They trample my dreams. (tread softly- did I not tell them that?)

I pick the trampled disfigured ones. I cosset them. I nurture them. It’s only a matter of time. Someday, and God knows when, but someday it’ll be my day. And that day, nature will find its rhythm in my heart beats. Sun will shine within my eyes. The heavens, for once, will side with me. I’ll decide my own course. I'll be my own prophet.

“I shall be telling this with a sigh,

Somewhere ages and ages hence.

Two roads diverged in a yellow wood and I,

I took the one less traveled by,

And that has made all the difference." - Robert Frost

I love being lonely,
Oh! Yes I do.
I drift within my own self,
But at times I lack a cue;
I love the gentle caresses,
Alighting on my face like dew,
'Tis my fingers on my cheeks,
I so wish it were you...

I love being lonely,
The thrill to exalt, and be 'me',
Still, what 'they' think, what 'they' feel,
Creates immeasurable anxiety.
Oh forget it! All I need is a mirror,
Have me to talk and see.
Silly, confused woman, 'tis your own image,
In which you seek company.

I love being lonely,
Wrapping around myself my arms.
I close my eyes, I feel complete,
I lend myself warmth and calm.
Yet a knot and two faces in my heart,
Whose hugs took me by storm,
Foist on me the realization,
Solitude haunts; does never charm.





Might be a bit messed up, but it is to assert that I love the presence of every single person in my life...and i CANNOT survive with even one of you turning away from me....Love you all...love you for giving me so much of love... forever indebted...

I had been browsing through random images on google, when i stumbled upon this one. I dunno what is it in this pic that made me stop, and keep looking at it. It was just a matter of seconds before I realized that my eyes are moist. Guess I have been a bit senti for the past two days; this pic was a mere vent....

When I started this blog, i had started it, may be because i wanted to opulently display my writing skills....today I realize- I suck at writing! I don't say this because i am this overtly, irritatingly modest female, who is looking to devour more compliments by degrading her own self. NO! I have been through a number of blogs, written by my friends, who seriously intimidate me by the way they write- what they write, and how they write. I am nowhere close to justifying the tag 'blogger' which many of my friends have enforced on me.

Also, this blog was started with a different idea behind it. What it was, i don't exactly remember. However, today, i feel this blog is my platform for writing things, that most touch my heart, the moment i experience them (the 'perception' of my blog in my own mind is due to change a million more times before i die). In fact, what most touches my heart are people around me. Any, and everything they do, or say, makes me what i am at that moment.

This picture for me is what determines the ideal relationship between two friends- silhouetted against an overcast sky, sit two friends, laughing and enjoying the moment. For them, the fact that an imminent downpour is on its way is no cause of worry. In fact, they revel in planning an adventure against what could potentially be a torrential rain. This is exactly how i view my relationship with my friends. Happens, and happens again that my life is overcast, and an ominous grey sky portends a devastating storm. It is then that i visualize me and my friends, sitting down, and devising plans to counter the storm better. We don't confuse each other with hollow claims about the storm being avoidable, or the sky clearing in a matter of seconds. We know it by the decree of Providence- there are such troubles in life which are inevitable, they key lies in standing up bravely to them. And, of course, emerging as a stronger and better person when the worst is over.

Blessed am I, for i can claim i have such friends by my side, who help to accept my realities with a grace which i would otherwise not have managed for my self.

This picture...hmm....how do i express why it makes me cry. It makes me cry because it makes me aware of the presence of this really special friend in my life, who for the time being, has averted her gaze from my face. I know its temporary. I know she'll be back with the same smile, which quite literally is the sunshine in my life. At times i am made sad with the thought that i can never uniquely own her, because of the ultimate heart-throb of a million that she is, but then i console myself with the thought that none, not even her, can stop me from basking in the brightness that she spreads around herself. Its kind of silly, and kind of weird, and i am well aware of it. Still, i have no clue how to battle myself in moments like this, when i am virtually left alone, because the relationship between us is such that i can't approach anyone else to console me. I know, at times i am a horrible friend, but i am also aware of times when i am selflessly there for my friends- a thing on which i pride myself.

I know not in what words, or what gestures i explain the value she holds in my life. I know that even without saying, she knows exactly what is there on my mind, and in my heart. Yet, I can't blame her for giving me these few moments of pain. I love her irrevocably, and she is one of the four people around me, whom I consider my bulwark. Her absence leaves not just a crevice or a crack in that wall; it creates a void. A void which I have no idea how to fill.

Am sorry, i know not for what. Ridden with anxiety, am not good for anything. I dunno whom to talk to, so i resorted to this medium. I dunno when will she see it, but i hope she comes back soon enough. It's not a situation so grave as i have made it sound. In fact, people might murder me for my silliness, for the way i am taking the whole incident on my heart. But oblivion has never been a place where i could find my foothold, and as of now, i am totally unaware of what is happening.

I guess I am a hopeless case of dementia, and i know far too many people will agree to this.

I know you didn't want me to cry...but do you really think i can help it?