I'll Deal With It..

It’s that dreadful lull in between a long conversation. It takes you to places you never wanted to think about in the course of the dialogue. It also forces you to step back and re-think the impulsive decision you made after heartbreak. You’re scared that you’ll burst if you speak a single word. Then, trying your level best to not lose control, you open your mouth to spell out your anxiety. But you feel the words dissolve in your voice; it that has grown strong over these months. All the right things to stay are stuck in your throat and you hear yourself say in one single breath, “Don’t worry; I’ll deal with it.”

To the Best and the Worst...

There are some losses you grieve, a few incidents you rejoice and a number of feelings you get high on. The culture of a city can make you feel all of these things. Of course, it is affected by the nature of people, weather, lifestyle, or even the traffic of the city.

Everything is incomplete till it all falls into place. When I was unhappy with my life, I asked myself, “Which part of my life is falling out?” I struggled to change and adapt, over and over again, till one day, I knew that the worst I could eliminate given my limited powers against that of life and fate is over. I grieved, rejoiced and got high. Of course, it was dependent on the mood I woke up with - Some days, feeling like shit and others, looking forward to my work.

Yes, I love my job. One of the few things that I’m glad about is that at present, I love what I do. It involves waking up really early but it’s a job I never knew I wanted so bad till I got it. I never dreamed of becoming a writer when I was a child. It just happened despite of all the other things that I tried. Travelling in local trains and buses gave me an actual insight into the grief, joys and sorrows of the people living in the city. I have seen Lamborghinis passing by footpaths with people living on them – breathing, eating, working and sleeping.

The breeze that hits an outsider to the city on entering the boundary is equivalent to a high that can keep them going for days. There is no time limit to when you should go home and no compulsion to sit outside with friends after daylight hours, scared of the cops. No one is judging who you are, who you hang out with or where you hang out at. Best thing is that nobody gives a rat’s ass if you’re hanging out alone. People who are not from the city find it disturbing; I feel that they are too insecure to be by themselves even for a bit.

I miss my hometown at times, for the very few luxuries and memories that it offers. But I’m glad that I don’t have to be there all the time, as independence can never find you when you’re covered in pamper sauce.

Whimsical...

When is it that you know something is over? There is no button that you push that makes you stop feeling, and there is no such thing called closure. Similarly, there is no specific point at which something begins. It just starts, and before you know it, you're in too deep.

Layla went to bed that night, not even the least bit exhausted. Yet, she wanted to get a good night sleep as she was vacationing with some of the people that she had moved on from, and some who were still in her life. Precisely for that reason, she chose a single occupancy room. Time alone was needed... so bad!

She curled into a ball, fighting the pain of seeing the emotional drama that day. First was a confession by an old friend, that he had screwed up her short romantic relationship with someone she was in too deep with. Complete cut-off after total dependency. The first time, it took the life out of her, and then she just got used to people leaving. It had given her a few jitters to hear that after three years of her not talking to either of them, and she stormed out of the room. Apologies followed.

There was a knock on the door, which was weird as it was 2 am, and she was the last one to go to bed, as she was the only one to stay sober through the day. Layla's best friend from 7 years back came to check up on her, slightly tipsy. He sat by her side and talked to her about whatever happened that day. It was a little relieving to have a normal conversation after hours of going crazy.

They talked about the tantrum that she had thrown after the confession. It was mostly about apologies. She had screamed and shouted things like "what the hell have I ever done anything to either of you to have been screwed over again and again", over the littlest apologies. It all came down to the series of wrong people in her life, at the most vulnerable time. There was probably no 'right' time for it, because vulnerability knew her by name now.

"I'm glad you're here, of all people", she said to her friend, adding that she will probably never be able to take anything anyone says on face value anymore. After an hour of good conversation, he left the room, and she thought that she was ready to sleep.

Next, she woke up at 4 am and saw someone sitting next to her, watching her sleep. It was a guy she had fallen in love with once, loved and cared for him with all her heart. It had been months they hadn't spoken, which had taken a toll on her, but she convinced herself its all for the best. The world was scary without him, and ironically, that night he scared her by being on her side at that hour.

He left a picture of them both next to her. She recognized the picture. It was a gift she had given to him when they met the last time before things went wrong. The gift was being returned as a token of closure. He kissed Layla's forehead after she gave him a puzzled look, and left.

She lay there with the picture in her hand, thinking of the many more encounters that had taken place. She wanted to wallow and die. Apologies are too easy, she thought. They will probably never know what she went through on getting to know the incidents that brought upon the apologies.

The Opposite of Hate...

There was once a girl, who always wanted to make new friends. She thought that every person who came forth offering a friendly hand had good intentions. Walls were nowhere to be drawn. Well you can imagine the unknown vulnerability.

One day, such a friendly hand turned out poisonous. The venom of his words spread throughout the girl's being and began to break her. She withdrew with an inferiority complex about her looks and deemed herself unfit to be dated. She learnt the meaning of building walls around herself.

She was a good kid. Good daughter, good grades, good friend and an okay looking average child. She sure withdrew into her igloo, and surrounded it with hard walls. Somehow, a few people got through them. They only needed to know the simple yet special way inside - be genuine.

The girl grew up to be a good judge of character. She was still vulnerable, but really got people on different levels. The old and ugly memories still gushed up on her up every now and then, but she learnt to pass them.

Soon, with time, the wounds healed. She gained from that. A look at the better things in life helped get through the itch of the healing time. As luck would have it, she fell in love with a marvelous guy.

Again, as luck would have it, the guy's friends turned out to be the venom spreaders. Not great friends, but the socializing side of it. She thought it was OKAY. She decided to be an adult about it. It worked.

Two years later (about seven years after she learnt how to build walls), she got to know that the venom spreaders were still at their work. Calling her names in front of the guy she loved. The guy, however, knew better. He always stood up for her. She never knew for the two years that they dated, that the venom was being spread. When she did find out, it drove her into a great deal of sadness for a while.

The only thing that helped her move on this time was that she was way successful in life than the venom spreaders, who probably always planned to remain a liability on the planet; the ones who never planned to move ahead from criticizing her. Most of all, she had people who stood up for her, even if without her knowledge. And she learnt that the opposite of hate is never love.

Funeral Song...

When I came back from the hospital, somehow, everything had changed. My room wasn't the same, and my things were gone. I huddled into the backyard, just to find an additional room, which had replaced my beautiful garden.

I had lived in that house for 5 years. The memories attached to it were more precious than the ones I built in my childhood home. The first time I left home to rent that house. The first lease signed in my name. My first pay check. My first house loan to buy off the property. The property, which I turned into a beautiful home. My independent life. Tens of firsts came to my mind, and I smiled woozily. The thought occurred to me then - It wasn't mine to keep anymore. I wasn't alive anymore.

I scurried towards my parents' house, and witnessed a sullen looking crowd. I had been in the hospital for about six months, when they sold my house to pay the medical bills. If I ever woke up, they thought, I would have to move back in with them. Ventilator support does not really leave much energy for maintaining a house of your own. It hardly leaves you alive at all.

I always visualized what it would be like, to witness my own funeral. Who would come see me the last time? Who would be crying? Who would be handling the situation well? Who would break down and not be able to look at my corpse? Who would not show up at all? Would I be burnt or buried?

I saw the eyes of all my loved ones, together at once. Funnily, there were some people I barely knew, barely talked to. It was a good feeling, even if it felt a tad sadistic. I was genuinely happy to see them turn up. I just prayed that they didn't cry. They would stop, eventually; that I was sure of. After a while, the misery from watching them cry grew stronger, and I wished I had never died.

That night, I visited each person present at my funeral, in their dreams. I said all the things I longed to say, heard them say things I wished to hear all my life. I vowed not to walk away with words unsaid, unheard; all the while ensuring that they don't cry for me anymore. I could always meet them in their dreams, I told them, just the way I was.

That was the first time I felt the remorse of making people go through all that hell, just for the sake of witnessing their love. For the first time since my accident, I wish I hadn't died.

Don't Make Me Cry...

She called out for her son. He came rushing. She lay there, cupping his face in her hands.

"You've never needed me in your life. You're a strong and independent son. The only thing you did rely on me for was the emotional support you needed to get through the tough phases of your life. That is a surmise based on the tears that I see rolling down your cheek. We both had each other, and then we spread our family. They're all yours now, son.

There is just one last thing to say - After I die, whenever you cry, I'll cry along with you. Son I just have one request before I go - Please don't make me cry anymore. You never did, and I want you to continue being the same.

I cried a lot in my life. As a girl, when I was teased by the other kids for being shabby for wearing worn out uniforms - I cried, but never told my dad about it. He took two jobs for making ends meet, but I never told him.

Next came the time when I made it to college somehow. I was a talented writer, so professional degrees were of no use to me. I was forced to study finance, to not leave room in my life for the plight my father faced. For five years son, I cried every day.

Your father supported me emotionally through it all. We dated for about 2 years before marriage. I loved him, but he took me for granted sometimes. He took away some of my tears, but added a few too. I won't complain, though. He was a wonderful man, and I still love him. Most importantly, he is the reason you turned out so beautifully.

I had you two years into my marriage. Baby, you were the best thing that I could ever expect from my life. I had to give up my career, but I didn't care. You were worth it. I cried when you were born - the only exception when my tears weren't out of sadness.

Your father left us early. He walked out of the house when you were just ten years old. I had yet to re-start my career. I was left alone to feed us both. I put you to sleep and cried that whole night, ready to look for a job - any job, the next day.

I ended up making use of my finance degree to get a job with a decent pay. It was hard to coordinate my family with work. I cried every day, when I saw that sad look on your face. You missed your father so much, and I was not there for you anymore. I had to work, for us.

A few years later, when we were well off on our own, I looked back and regretted a few of my tears which I wasted during my studies. After all, it helped me - it helped us in the long run. Even though my writing career was done with, I continued writing for personal purposes. I helped you with your English assignments, SOPs and essays. You went abroad for studies. I was happy for you, but left alone again. I controlled my tears and let you go. I had all the time to myself. I ended up missing your father, and I cried again.

Years passed by, and I had a wonderful relationship with you and your beautiful family. You are the only one I trust to not make me cry. You being here is a proof of that.

So after I die, whenever you cry, I'll cry along with you. Please don't make me cry anymore. You never did, and I trust that you never will."

She closed her eyes and lay down, waiting to rest in peace forever.

Lighten Up!

I have a little sister, five years younger to me. Today, she graduated high school. In another five months, she will be in her first year of college. Suddenly it hit me, that it has been five years since I passed that phase.

In high school, we weren't strung on to things that happened to us five years back; but somehow, we are now. Some things that happened in the first or second year of college are still stuck to my heart with a pretty effective glue.

That little fight between three friends during the last phase of the first year of college. The grudge still carries on till date. How can we be so unforgiving?

It was a pleasant rainy day. The showers came to a halt for a while, and so it began. We went out for the usual stroll in the campus. Suddenly, her phone rang. She had to leave to spend the wonderful day with her better half.

My friend and I had a load of time to spend with each other ever since she had started dating. Both of us bore a dejected feeling, but didn't admit to it. We carried on making the best of our time, or at least giving it our best shot.

Days went by and I got lost into other friendships. The magical days were over. The three of us had split.

Nevertheless, we found company; but never too permanent. He used to come see me every day. I thought I knew him well. But one day, he didn't turn up. I was worried. Turns out he had woken up that day and decided not to show up anymore. Worst part is, he didn't even care.

I tried looking for more connections, but a half-hearted attempt was being made. It went on for so long, that I started believing there was something wrong with me.

I did learn my lesson - of not giving up on myself. Someone else came along, after my cause felt lost. It felt right, the way he never gave up on my happiness. The person who takes up all the pain from you is the one to be described with the least words, and through the maximum feelings. I'll leave it to that.

I found a few more connections, but none of them as real. Some left, some got lost; but somehow, I reminisce all of them with equal fondness. I had categorized the connections into relevant and OKAY relevant; but why did they all come gushing down my mind like a downstream river?

There are many things that you cannot, will not forget in life. You certainly grow up; but you never forget the first few real friends you made, your first falling out, the first time someone leaves you, and the first time someone rescues you from all of it. It stays in your heart and mind all your life. It's like the 'soul-mate' you may still often think of.

Choose Your Couple...

I sat outside a cafe, ready to start writing. Writing - The only one thing that I love to bits.

Somehow, I felt like I should take a break from the heavy, and go for the light-hearted humor. I began looking around, struggling hard to look for 'that' perfect couple.

Couple 1: 

Meeting fixed by the parents (for considering each other as prospects for marriage. Yes, the ridiculous concept of arranged marriage). The girl, about 23 years old and extremely pretty, was trying her best to be coy and nice. I could read from her fake smile how much she hated this. The guy, however, was not quite the hunk. He looked around uncomfortably. 

"I don't like this song at all", said the girl, about the beautiful song playing in the cafe.

Guy, to himself, "I'm guessing I should ask the server to change to something more Backstreet Boy-ish; I cannot marry her. She has a miserable music taste! She's pretty, and I may never get a girl like that. But she's not the one. She just said something negative abut a Foo Fighters song. She can't be it".

"It's just fine, I guess", he mumbled in reply.

Both of them take a sip of coffee.

The girl had ordered a caramel coffee, while the guy went for the simple and nice Irish coffee without the Irish part (if you know what I mean).

"So, read a book recently?" The guy tries to strike a conversation, and apparently that's his idea of small talk. I wish I could tell the poor soul that he was inviting a mood-breaking reply.

"I just finished reading the last part of Twilight. It was so awesome!" she jumped with excitement.

The guy silently went back to his coffee, wishing he had never asked.

"Your profile said that you love playing the guitar. Can you play Bryan Adams?" Here came the question that he dreaded!

"Umm, no, I'm not much into pop", he shifted down in his chair a little. Boy the discomfort!

Sip by sip, the conversation got more awkward. Two extremely opposite individuals were trying to make small talk. Good heavens.

Couple 2:

A couple entered the cafe, holding hands. They sat right next to where I was sitting. They seemed cute and nauseating at the same time. Love was definitely in the air between them (needless to say, there wasn't much).

He ordered for both of them, and she seemed to love his choice. She played on his phone as he stared at her, running his fingers through her hair and looking at her like his two year old. The affection, protectiveness and possessiveness came bouncing right out of his eyes. 

"When we move in, I'll gift you a new phone. Then you can play all those games on it and probably stop stealing mine all the time", he teased her.

"We don't do gifts! Don't even think about it. I will never stop playing with your phone anyway", she replied, still engaged in the game.

The dessert he ordered arrived, and they began eating it. With every bite, I could see that they were meant to be. It was just the aura they had around themselves; full of joy - something quite rarely found.

A genuine plea to all who are reading - If you have the chance to look for love, do try. Don't give up just because someone broke your heart, or you're too lazy. The choice is absolutely yours - You can end up being in an awkward couple, or a couple where the two people love each other, even when they hate each other (Credits: Grey's Anatomy).

The Best You Can Do...

Him...

Reality. He walked towards her house, hoping that the steps never end. Dreading the reality that he would have to face, he walked slowly. It was an emergency, but the reality was frightening.

He thought of the day when he last took that route. The purple and orange leaves freshening up the atmosphere, dropping with the wind; just like how she may have today.

A car passed him by, and swooshed him out of his happy place, putting him right into the spot of misery. Contemplating the level of damage, he immersed himself into reverie again. He imagined himself holding her, trying to lower the pain; but something held him back. Could it have been the way she had talked to him the last time? It wasn't her fault, though. He did manage to get himself into trouble this time. Serious trouble.

He felt his heart sink to the bottom, and remembered that sordid moment. The temptation of a minute second, the aftermath of which did not work in his favor at all. She followed a graceful approach of striking his guilt, though. Did she try to pull herself together after that? It wasn't supposed to be easy, he thought.

The entrance door to her house was open. He let himself in.

Her...

She just got home from a crazy night shift. Every part of her body ached; she hadn't slept for days. Faith was elusive at the moment. She brushed away the momentary, yet lingering thought and got up to fix herself some breakfast. Looking out the window, she realized that winters were approaching. The dew looked pretentious, and the chill that she almost felt on her drying up skin seemed to tear her away from the world.

She finally mustered the courage to write a diary entry. Repeating the morbid memory over and over again in her head had led to this. The only thought that seemed to appeal to her a little, was that she could get it out on paper and get it over with. She sat on the table, with a glass of wine she sipped as she planned to start. Words froze.

Giving up, she just went to bed with the drab and dead feeling. She needed to have people around. Human contact was now restricted to the five hour shift that she worked. It was hard, as she wasn't able to bring herself to talk about what happened with her. What he did. Deception didn't let her live or die. Suicide was not an option.

She took out her cell phone and sent him a text message that said, 'I die today', to him. God knows what came over her, to send that text to him! She had vowed never to talk to him again, unless the subject matter contained a list of abuse words (which she hadn't managed either). The wine went down slowly, and she became drowsy. The last she saw was a glimpse of him walking through the door.

Them...

He took her to the hospital. She was diagnosed of pneumonia. There was no sign of her taking any medicines for curing it. By the looks of it, she wasn't even aware that she was coming down with something. It had dragged on long enough to be deadly.

He sat beside her, cradling her head in his arms. Her pale white skin made the guilt grow stronger. He had brought her so close to death. It was him. He did a horrible thing out of temptation, and walked away without a second thought. Abandonment flushed the health out of her.

Three months, he avoided her. 92 days. 2208 unending hours of utterly depressing thoughts. How does a person live on feeling the guilt of almost killing the girl that he loves? Walking away was not the last option, but he did it anyway.

He sat there, staring at her, feeling an increasing amount of remorse with every beep that indicated her heart was beating. He sat there, because it was too late to be able to take the situation in his hands. It was the best that he could do.

Love-and-Hope Relationship...

Dear Love

It's been way too long since you left. My aura misses the exhilaration that you brought to it. The rooms are empty as ever. I thought I heard your voice while sleeping on your side of the bed. Hallucinations have become a part of my schedule after the last time I saw you. If I knew it would be the last time in a long, never-ending span, I wouldn't have unwrapped you from my embrace.
The voice may be a hallucination, but the fragrance was real. Definitely. I think I'm running out of the perfume that you wore. It's the only memory I have left of you. I should buy a new bottle soon. It reminds me of every time my  hoodie and hair have smelled of you after you cuddled with me.
Dear Love, I hope you're doing okay. I wish you could keep in touch with me as you promised to. It's okay, no blaming now! You're looking for a new life, and I'm yet to start. It was I who decided to part. I will remember that and try to make myself feel better.
Remember the letter you wrote to me? I still have it. I read it when I feel low. I still think of you. Love, I might sound rather low right now, but I'm honest to God happy that you're trying to move on! We had our moments, and I will live with them. Heavens know I don't want to put anyone else through what I put you. I know I was, and still am a handful. Romantics like me, who are bound by independence (ironic?) find it difficult to cope up with the fear. Fear of what? Don't ask me Love. You know I have yet to figure it out.
I know you miss me, and would love to read this letter. But Love, how can I let you know I'm fragile? I need to be strong for you. I need to ensure that YOU are okay. Just breathe for me, and you'll be just fine. Brilliant, actually. Follow the five stages of grief - denial - anger - bargaining - depression - acceptance (in no particular order), and you'll be okay. Remember me when you feel depressed. You always have a piece of me, and I always have a piece of you. You used to ask me how the pieces of a jigsaw puzzle fit, and I used to answer correctly - Perfectly. That's how our pieces fit.

Yours always
Hope

Parody...

She turned 25 today. Her life represented slight shades of grey now. The black was supposed to be over, to be done with. She took in the fragrance around her, feeling a rush of an unexpected, yet overwhelming high. For the first time in three years, she felt happy. There were a lot of rare things that she felt that day too - Hopeful, satisfied, enthusiastic, positive. She couldn't remember the last time she felt this way.

Yet, there was a cringe. She flinched at the thought of the moment being fleeting. After all, she was 25 now. The good feeling won't last for long. In another month, someone else will take over her fate. Not someone who wishes badly for her; but her own well wishers, unknowingly trying to slaughter her ambitions - The sole factor which makes her who she is. The world calls her selfish, but she thinks of it as being self-sufficient. Like a country having and using its own resources, not willing to trade with others. Why would it, when it can have a life full of wants that it can fulfill on its own?

The mystique in her life, transient as it was, will be turned into a parody by her own loved ones. They will bring in a line of characters moving in and out, fluttering, to try and stay in her life. Not willing to accept, or rather even try to enhance their awareness about her wit. Disrespecting the fact that she has had experiences that were harder to survive, than a rock piercing one's chest. That she is way more grown up than they could ever be. No one can even begin to evaluate the pain she has taken on her shoulders. None of them will come close to being as strong as she was, while trying to cope with it.

What her loved ones want for her is opposed to her being. A choice needs to be made, just so that they can relieve their fears of their young one going against 'nature's law'. I wish they would accept that the law is human-made, and has plenty of scope for an incredible debate. I hope against all hope that they do not ask her to give it all up for a knot that she doesn't want to tie.