waiting to exhale

Today, she needed the silence, more than any other day. The chaos around her made little impression on her. It is however, the ache somewhere deep inside, that needed her attention. Earlier, she had surprised herself by sliding into uncharted emotions, in haste. The soft quick-sand of passion, cushioned her as it drew her more into the sink hole of turgidity. Once the hard reality hit her, she woke up sorely, clutching the still warm sand that quickly slipped through her fingers leaving a coarseness that she was unaccustomed to. She sighed, trying to gather her thoughts. Why should it hurt at all, she wonders. The pleasure was so fleeting that she would have missed it, had she bothered to blink. The shadows of intimacy lay around her in shards of a broken mirror, reflecting the truth that she was too late to see. Why did she always demand so little and gave everything in return. Perhaps because there is no cure for stupidity.

eternal sunshine....

Can I ever erase the love I feel for you? It's just not the same with anyone else. It never will be. The way you looked at me from the other side of a crowded room that made me forget my words in the middle of a sentence. The way you never asked me before picking up something you liked from my plate while we dined together for the first time. How you would suddenly lean over and nuzzle my neck while watching a boring television show. How you would irritate me by always opening my tied hair. How you always knew when that unknown sadness welled up inside me and would tenderly hold my hand and pull me in your arms and let me cry till it passed. How you knew all my fears and never ever judged me on it. How you would always ask for my opinion even when I knew very little about your work. How you would never hesitate to introduce me even when you knew your friends thought I was trouble. How you always said that I should only get drunk with you because no one else should have to be subjected to my wild side.  My heart, strangely, fills up with happiness when I think of you now. Memories of our moments, like the magic of a fairy tale, lifts me up when I feel I am sinking. I should thank you for these memories. I still have them to hold on. While I weave the rich tapestry of my life, everyone sees the smooth shine of the fabric, only you had turned me upside down to feel those jumbled knots on the other side and still loving me the way only you could. 

obscured by the clouds

She watches the ocean in silence. It always invokes a sense of longing in her. If only she knew what for. It’s a familiar restlessness that rises in her chest and falls with the rhythmic beating of her heart. It’s not painful, but she winces a little inside with the tide of emotions surging and abating with precision. If only she could deduct the reason for it, she would wrap this up neatly within a moment’s notice. Was it the call of a faraway land. Was it the willingness to seek anonymity in an unknown crowd. Was it the emptiness of unaccustomed feelings. Was it the inevitable numbness that follows a short lived excitement.

 

fistful of stars

She poised briefly, to reflect on the year that is almost over. Then she realized there was nothing truly to reflect on. Truth is, that the year was over and another one was waiting to break dawn. It doesn’t surprise her that there is nothing to wish for anymore. She has everything that she will ever need. The familiar joys, the little heartbreaks, the momentary flush of happiness – she can hold them all in her soft palms and cherish the known sensations. No she doesn’t have anything at all to wish for. She has never been greedy and has always accepted life’s gifts with humility and hope. Most importantly, she knows she has herself and that is something she will never ever lose again.

miss You!

 It is that time of the year again. The world dresses up to usher in another new year, the forced festivities that seem to be de rigour and suddenly there are happy people everywhere. It is at this time that she feels most alone. It is not that she is against anything, but all this cheerfulness makes her acutely aware of that one person she doesn’t have in her life anymore. With whom she would want to share the merriment with. Her earliest memories with her brother and how they always found their own things to do to celebrate – going for the midnight mass despite not being Christian, walking around Park Street watching the crowd, baking cakes to give away, decorating their tree, feeding the hungry strays and helping out in the orphanage. It was always his generous spirit that infected her wholly - his welcoming smile, his disregard for the riches, his sincere belief in world peace, his brilliant mind, his ability to always find someone to help, his melodious voice and his ease in mingling with people from all walks of life. She always had looked at his selflessness in wonderment and urged herself to keep up. They were always more than siblings. They were twin souls separated by a few years at birth. Therefore, it is during this season of cheer that she missed him the most.

i Alone

Today she is irritated with herself. It is not like her to get distracted this easily. But when she found herself unable to focus on the task at hand, it puzzled her. The distractions were many but there is one particular one that seems to bother her the most. Like a tiny piece of meat stuck in between her teeth, it constantly reminded her of her predicament. Try as she might, it was impossible to dislodge the thought. More she contorted her mind to be rid of it, the more menacingly firm it remained. Finally she decided to accept the situation and wait for it to melt away after a while. The anticipation of the ambiguous emotions that were aroused in its wake was something she knew she had to tackle alone. She whispered to herself, 'I alone love you' from an old forgotten song and wrapped her arms around herself the best she could and waited for the uneasiness to pass. 

say Something!

Today was that day. The album released last month on the 7th and I resisted listening to it since, even on the radio. But today I gave in to the temptation and downloaded it. Predictably, a marathon session of all our favourite songs followed. It took hours and I listened to them all, yes, alone. For the first time in the last 10 years. You would have loved their latest album. It is all that we love about the band - their sounds; the escapist metaphors; the abstract feeling of void that creeps in slowly till it engulfs and swallows you whole; the unreasonable restlessness and the discomfort it evokes in our uneventful lives. We should have listened to it together. Except you are dead and I am having to have this conversation in my head. Do you realise how painful that is? Having no one to understand, that subtle shifts of emotions, that pain that is apparently still as raw, and that empty hole that you have left in my heart? It will be insignificant to say that I miss you. You took a part of me with you and I can never ever find myself again, the way I did with you. Now, I want that part back. Ten years is too long a time to have to live without it. I am not giving up on us, yet. 

finding Voice

On a particularly long difficult day, after winning applause for her sharp wit, she wished she had used her voice when she need it the most. Instead, one morning, she had walked out of their home of seven years, in silence. She wished she had told him that the least he could do was to be nice to her. That his ineptness in making either conversation or love made it that much harder to bear his violent temper. She should have told him that his alcoholic rage broke her to bits, every single night. Instead, she had shrunk back into her shell of silence hoping for the morning to break, every night. She should have told him that his rare slurred ardour made her skin crawl and his crudeness had an unbearable stench. Instead she laid in bed, cold and bleeding after he was done satisfying himself. She should have told him that his feeling of inferiority was not hers to mend. Instead she let him blame her for everything that was wrong with him and in it he found new ways of abusing her, everyday. It is in those million silences that she choked to near death, till one insomniac night, she looked at her sleeping baby and decided to walk out of it all. She had hoped her silence will deafen his shrilling name calling. At the end, she had only hoped for relief. 

of Light and Darkness

Hey brother, I hope you aren’t upset that I did not write a commemorative post either for your birthday or the dreadful anniversary. They say where you are, time ceases to exit so it doesn’t matter I suppose. If I know you well, you would be smirking right now at the absurdity of all this.
However, today’s significance is rather pedestrian. It is Dhanteras – the day we mortals pray to the god of wealth. In a day, it will be Diwali. At home, we have been doing the puja for the last few years. You of course haven’t seen it happen. It started a couple of years after you were gone. No celebrations, just the ritual puja at its minimal. I indulged Ma in the beginning, thinking this will give her peace and keep her mind off other thoughts that make her sad. Then after a year or two, it became a part of our household custom. But this year hasn’t been so well for Ma. Her arthritis has gotten worse and now her progressing slowness has been diagnosed as a rare form of Parkinsonism, which goes by the esoteric name of corticobasal ganglionic degeneration, one that doesn’t respond to any medication. This has broken her completely. You remember how she has always taken pride in keeping our home in order, with her near impossible standards. Now, she shuffles in her room and her speech is noticeably sluggish. This loss of control, had hit her hard. The final prognosis was delivered last evening. The doctor confirmed the diagnosis and even ruled out the knee surgery, we had planned, to reduce her arthritic pain. In a few months to a year, she may not be able to move at all and we are looking at feeding tubes and adult diapers in the near future. To maintain some semblance of normalcy I decided that we will perform the puja this evening,  like we have for the last few years.
Then, I am suddenly seized with this realization that I have never really prayed. Except for that one time in the hospital, when I asked for your life to be restored. But even then, I didn’t really believe it would actually happen. I know the words of the all the prayers from years of  conditioning but it never stilled the restlessness in my heart nor gave me the inner quietness that everyone claims it does. I have never been a devout believer. Perhaps I am too complicated to give in to this simple idea of submission. But I never opposed her devotion nor her fervent dependence on her religious faith. I eventually found my solace and peace elsewhere but even then I allowed her to criticise my disregard for her definition of faith. With Ro, I make sure we celebrate all the festivals so that he isn’t ignorant of our rituals and later it will be up to him to decide for himself what faith means to him.
So this Diwali, we will miss you again – your love for the savouries made by Ma, your big hearted laugh at all my jokes that no one else finds funny and our choicest abuses to the inconsiderate neighbours who burst crackers only to frightened the stay dogs. I wish you were around to console Ma and wipe her tears and  help me with the mounting responsibilities. And today, for the first time, I am wondering, will I be able to stand up to it all. After you were gone, I noticed how dysfunctional we have become. Without you, the rest of us became silent silos of sorrow in our inability to share our grief with each other. We continue to live outside our tragedy, quietly denying the pain and the unshed sorrow of losing you and with it our joyful living.

not now

You say the guy you once knew may not exist anymore. The slightly sentimental, never-settle-for-less-than-perfect, sometime-self-flagellant-and-sometime-bratty, brilliantly-witty, scared-of-creepycrawlies-braveheart has changed? What has life done to you my friend? What has life done to us....

come as you are...

Nothing like a large dollop of Nirvana on the way to work. Despite the gloom-doom lyrics, it never fails to make me feel alive. It must be because it reminds me of you. The gigantic boom box that occupied a large part of your room and from which emanated the most distorted cries of obscure rock legends. According to Ma these were screamathons. According to us this was elixir after being raised with genteel, soul stirring, peace loving music of our parents. Therefore, these angst soaked mayhem appealed at a very different level. I remember how we would shut ourselves in your room and listen to our gods and escape to a world of our own. Ma was certain we would impair our hearing sense before we finished college. We both finished college, however, with our hearing intact. She still doesn’t know about the weed we smoked in abandon, inside. On hind sight, those pots of weed kept us so thin and on the go, that it makes me wistfully look at my college pair of jeans and wonder how ever did I get into them! Mind numbing or not, one could not ignore the sheer forceful energy of the music. It is this energy that is infectious and makes you want to scream along and yes, live. Well, Kurt Cobain is no more and neither are you. But the music lives on as does the memories.

Christmas time...

This Christmas has been special. This year, Ro decided to grow up. I was part shocked and part pleased when he had told me last week that he hasn't made any wish nor is he expecting any gift this Christmas. To humour him, I asked why. To which he said Santa was for babies and the promise of gifts is to mislead gulible children into behaving well which isn't their natural disposition anyway. This infact was a ploy by parents to fool the poor children and he was sorry that he fell for it all these years. That settled he went off to decorate the tree.

may it rain...

Today I wished for the rain from a few mornings ago. The sky had been a canopy of grey stretching endlessly and the rain fell in a soft spray, settling on my lashes, in tiny glistening beads. On his head, the infinitesimal dewy drops shimmered like liquid crystal. We had both turned up our faces and closed our eyes to feel the soft caress of the wet wind. Then we smiled. At each other. Secured in the knowledge that this moment was ours alone. The unusual morning rain prompted the others to scamper for the forgotten umbrella and pull their jackets a little tighter for warmth. The two of us, only had each other. He squeezed his hand in mine and we stood smiling till his bus arrived. When he left, I realized I was still smiling.

Paint the next phase of your life with the colours of your mind - says the prediction for the day. First, I am not a 'predictions' person. And I am hardly predictable considering my mood swings. However, this caught my attention. Yes, I would like to paint my life. A vivid shade of blue if possible please. But how the hell do I go about it? Buy paint as a friend would advise. But something tells me it isn't that simple. Right?

Two things struck me yesterday. First, was a call from a girl who I knew was getting married last evening. The circumstances have panned out such that, bound by protocol, she was unable to invite me for her wedding. Over the last few years, despite her family’s disapproval, she has stood by my side. I completely understand her predicament and had earlier assured her to not get worked up over such trivialities and concentrate on her upcoming wedding. What I had not expected was for her to call me, just before she was to enter the ‘mandap’, to apologise for not being able to invite me and to take my blessings before the auspicious occasion. What is more, she made her groom, to say hello and invited me to their home in Hyderabad where they will be moving soon. From where I stand, she doesn’t have anything to gain by persistently maintaining cordiality with me. A few years back, when the certain family was talking ill about me and making me sound like the lowest scum of the earth, she had on her own, called me to say that she doesn’t believe a thing the others were saying and that I had taken the right decision to walk away. After last evening’s call was done, I was thinking, she must have liked something in me for her to consider me this important because I cannot remember doing anything significant for her ever. I wouldn’t have held it against her ever, if she had not called. Infact, it never even crossed my mind. It affirms my belief that I would rather live with a handful of people who have faith in me, than to live by trying to appease the whole wide world.

The second instance was while watching a movie last night. Michael Douglas tells a young Mathew McConaughey - the power in a relationship lies with the one who cares less. I have been thinking on this ever since and my entire cleverly constructed stance on relationships cracked through the middle. I do believe that the power of a relationship is love. A love that is deep, intense and unselfish. A love that is tempered with understanding, respect and faith in the other person. I believe I am not built for moderation where love is concerned. So this caring more or less doesn’t make sense to me. But it would be untrue to say I have never wondered at times of heartbreak, whether if I could have cared less, I would feel less pain and whether then I could have moved on with more ease. Then again, I would rather love once. And with everything I have. Sigh!

a suitable boy :)

Ro is participating in a dance program on national integration at his school. So the morning was chaotic with getting the dhoti tied with a cord et al!Then combling his unruly hair in place...things a mother has to do. Smile. But all worth it at the day's end. So I sent him off with a prayer that the dhoti stays in place till the dance is done with. A very suitable boy I must say....touch wood!

flashback alert!

It's been raining since last night in Bangalore. I woke up with a haze outside my window, only to realize that a sheet of rain has wrapped the city stretching till the far horizon. I smiled and snuggled deeper into the comforter. In my mind I was back to early 80s Kolkata. One year, my school had shut down for a good whole week cause of floods. We were allowed in, only after the entire building had been disinfected and all the rooms had a fresh coat of paint. We spent the entire week at home, making paper boats and floating them on the muddy stream that used to be our street. It didn't bother us one bit that if the water didn't receed soon, we may have nothing to eat at home since the shops were flooded and provisions were running low despite my mother's obsessive hoaring tendency. We were excited seeing the swollen leeches that stuck to Romeshkaka's feet who was our manfriday and who had ventured out, wading through waist-deep water to search for provisions. We raced eachother to fetch the salt which when sprinkled on the leeches left them wriggling on the floor.

Earlier that year, I had pestered Ma to buy me a red raincoat. Yes, red. Like Red Riding Hood. I used to have a red woollen coat with a cape back when we lived abroad but my mother gave that away when we moved back, knowing I would never need that in Kolkata. So I pouted endlessly to get a raincoat of the same colour. My brother had one with a weird green pattern. We used to wear our raincoat like a cape and prance around in our open terrace pretending to be superhuman. Till the raincoats tore during one of our most daring adventures. Ma was furious ofcourse and we didn't speak of another raincoat again and made do with my grandfather's black umbrella that looked like a sulking wet vulture.

Still fuzzy from the reminiscence, I was woken up rudely by Ma's voice. It is a Tuesday morning and life as we know, has to be orderly and organized. Sigh!

blackhole sun....

I am dying. I am closer to the end with every passing day. A million cells die inside me everyday and fewer and fewer regenerate everytime. But that doesnt worry me much. I have seen death from close quarters. Old people and young. People I thought I couldn't live without. People I hardly knew. People who mattered and people who didn't. In many ways I have seen it all.

But what I fear is that something in me has died already. My ability to feel happiness. My ability to be content with myself. My ability to find that inner peace that has been my guiding force all my life through personal hell at various crossroads of life. Through displaced childhood, fractured youth, misunderstood desires, serial dissappointments and unfullfilled expectations. All I have had is myself to hold on to. That calmness inside, I believed nothing could touch or destroy. But suddenly, after all this time, there is a void. A vast emptiness that is all new and radically unpleasant. A cessation of feelings. An emotional blackhole. It is sucking away the vestiges of my innards. Every emotion I have known seems to be collapsing inwards into this terrible endless recess. Is this therefore the end of me?

random images...

The full moon morning captured from my window @ 6.10AM on 4th Nov 09 A malaylam film shoot in progress captured from my office @11AM on 29th Oct 09

some of the things I did this weekend:

Took a long bus ride

Walked in the rain

Painted my nails a bright pink

Wore toe rings with dancing dolphins

Ate guavas without washing

Watched the sea change colours

Stayed awake till wee hours in the morning

Been with someone without feeling any need to talk

Ate dark chocolate after dinner

Had croissant and coffee for breakfast

Shared an umbrella

Slept in a four poster bed

Hugged a friend

Splashed in a bathtub

Tasted raindrops

Gifted a dreamcatcher

Not bothered about how I look

Held hand while crossing a street

Drank tea from a dingy teastall

Listened to a windchime

Got distracted while reading a book