Prose

That night…

Who am I, I wondered as I looked at myself in the mirror, my eyes were smudged, they were dark circles, my own eyes freaked me out. My lips were swollen and bleeding. Every bone in my body ached like I got into a bad fight with a raging bull. As I felt my bare skin from head to toe, where were my clothes. This wasn’t me, I was nothing like this, I was healthy just last evening or was it ages ago. I looked around, this wasn’t my home. My home was bright and radiant, there was light, there were people. There wasn’t any sunlight here, there wasn’t a living soul around me. But, it wasn’t empty as if there was something dark around, I couldn’t see it but my body felt its presence. I didn’t know what I was doing in that place with huge bare walls. My body felt so sick I threw up, it was only water. I didn’t remember what I had for dinner last night, but was it even morning?

I searched my clothes all over the place. I couldn’t help but notice, the beauty of the place. It was breathtaking and at the same time very dark. What was it about these dark things that always seemed eternally beautiful. It was dusty as if no human had set foot in years. On the other hand, all the things were so neatly arranged as if someone just put things in place. There in the corner of the living space, I found my shorts and a t-shirt that was not mine. “How drunk was I”, I wondered. But I had stopped drinking long ago. My bones ached more from the cold, I wore the clothes. I wasn’t the kind to experiment with a haunted house, what was I doing here. Was it haunted or was it all my fear of new things. There were knocks from inside the shoe rack and I thought it must be a rat. I didn’t want to confirm ignorance was bliss right.

There was a hollow space behind the kitchen area, it was so hollow, it seemed like a barren woman. The door was partially open and that annoyed me, I slammed the door shut. I didn’t want to go further inside that space. But I didn’t want to leave for once, the darkness appealed to me. I hadn’t been to the church for long, it was as if I was pissed with God, with family but mostly with myself. But when I breathed again, darkness was cold, and suddenly a part of me missed the warmth.

Where was everyone, I didn’t even remember who that everyone was. But there were shoes, different kinds unfamiliar but mine were missing. What day was it? I didn’t matter I didn’t how long I was out for. There in the corner of the kitchen was my phone. The screen had cracked and it was off. Yes, the screen was cracked for a long time. Why wasn’t I leaving?

I finally mustered my strength to walk out of the door. It was hollow as if someone had sucked the life out of it. The man in the neighboring space stared at my chest, I didn’t care. I slowly walked towards the stairs. There were a lot of people going up and down the stairs. All were staring at me. I wanted to scream that I wasn’t a whore but I didn’t have the voice.

I remembered how young I was when a man first entered my body and contaminated my soul. I was angry because I was alone and helpless. As the anger faded I remembered that smile on his face, the first love they say. His laugh echoed. As his laugh faded, I remembered that girl from college, she called out my name from the top floor, I turned but she wasn’t around. I saw my dad, I wanted to reach out to him, I couldn’t. There was a pool of mom’s tears on the bottom of the staircase, “woman! stop crying”, I almost screamed but there was no sound. I remembered the heartbreak, but it wasn’t my heartbreak but why could I feel it as if it was my soul that was hurt. I climbed down those never-ending stairs. I was cold and I was tired. When I almost gave up, a ray of sunshine hit me and I walked out of that space, embraced the sunlight and collapsed.

Newspapers headlines dated 19-09-2014: A unidentified body of a female found under a construction site. Around the age of 20-28, dressed in khaki shorts and a white t-shirt. Suspected rape and murder.

Prose

You killed me or Maybe I killed myself.

When we were on the verge of moving apart, I went into a state of mental paralysis. Maybe it was the sleep deprivation or just mere anticipation of the moment that drove me mad. I was like a country that was suddenly being attacked by forces it couldn’t comprehend. I held on to every little thing in a bid to salvage whatever remained of me but I was failing. I became too technical about the entire incident. I watched videos read a million articles on the science of the heartbreak. I somehow believed it was the only thing capable of saving my life. Heartbreak affects the same part of the brain as cocaine withdrawal and this fact was my painkiller. I refused to see it as a human, became more of a machine every day. The human in me revolted and it was like a civil war breaking out when the country is already being torn apart by external forces. I sought a doctor who could kill the human inside of me. She reluctantly enabled my access to drugs that would make me a machine but save my life.

I wanted to unsubscribe from those early morning dreams of you, a million questions I was throwing at you that you believed you didn’t owe me answers to. I think you knew, I’d be gone once I found my answers. So you decided to play with my head. You knew me so well, and it was my undoing of self. I gave you the right to destroy me and destroy me, you did in a bid to never let me go. You patronized me instead of just blurting out the truth. You were scared of the truth. From where I was standing, I wasn’t the least bit scared of it. Those pills couldn’t stop my dreams, but they stopped my ability to process them. I saw you like you were a movie on TV. I woke up, rushed to the cabinet where my pills were neatly placed. Those pills burned my stomach so I had to eat and I had to keep myself hydrated. At least, I was consuming food.

I could see my world falling apart, shattering glasses and orphaned shoes on deserted streets but it didn’t faze me. The human inside me was dead and you could see it in my eyes. I broke down every now and then, but the drugs worked well to keep me stable. I ate them for 8 weeks. Did you know, it takes 4weeks to make something a habit? In 8 weeks I was sufficiently a machine who could mimic a human so perfectly my folks were pleased. It was like building a swanky makeshift mall in a graveyard. When the lights went out, it was the playground for ghosts. Ghosts of our past.

They say it’s no big deal, and time would sort it out. If only time could bring back the dead. You left me vulnerable to the vultures that told me if I could be used by you, I could be used by them. Fortunately, now I was run by a fuel and not emotions, so it was okay to hear such disgraceful words being said. I was asked to stop dreaming and start conforming. What was my fault? I let you get away easy or that I loved you.

I told you that I wanted nothing to do with you. I wanted to left alone in my own world. It was easier than choking on your lies every day. You acted like a victim but I was the one who died as a collateral damage of your cowardice.

Prose

My World View at 25

4/21/2015
13:29

1. We are actually stuck between Gen X and Gen Z. With Baby Boomers almost out of the equation (See the PMs Cabinet), Gen X think we are over smart for our own good, and Gen Z think we are too dumb. My little cousin just told me, “Arre that was your time, now things are different”.

2. Physical Limitations are real and no one seems to comprehend that. Thanks to our awesome working cultures and great lifestyles, it is just migraines to leg pain to backaches all the way up to abnormal growths.

3. Gynecologists and Proctologists are real. Ah… it is a painful process that involves stripping and wishing that it is not cancer.

4. Income Tax is real and please remember, cloth bills and shopping bills do not account for reductions. Damn them!

5. Weight fluctuations are real. Do you miss being size 0 / size perfect for years? Me too.

6. Apparently, cheese cubes and Nutella isn’t considered a staple diet.

7. Everyone is worried about your marriage, regardless of whether they are related to you or not. Like the famous Gabbar Singh, “Shaadi kab hai, kab hai Shaadi.” You are annoyed to a point that, even when your dog looks at you, you exclaim, “Et Tu Brute” (Brute, being the dog’s name)

8. You are in a relationship that’s in a consistent DTR mode, where you don’t know whether your mate wants to marry or not

9. Us against the world is all bullshit, the world will happily break us apart, and we might even cave in

10. Apparently, clothes aren’t going to wash/iron themselves, groceries aren’t going to walk home, food doesn’t cook itself. This whole magical process doesn’t happen anymore

11. All your friends are getting married and suddenly there is no common ground between them and you.

12. Career? What is that? You first tell me, what’s my package?

13. They tell you, you look pretty now. You are like, ” So I wasn’t before?”

14. In-laws of all kinds are real, brother sister mother father, and sometimes they are vicious creatures that Ekta Kapoor warned you about.

15. Money comes Money goes. Fuel bills Gas bills Electricity and phone bills are real expenses. Where did the days go where these bills were all miraculously taken care of, hmmph.

16. Being broke, hung over, dumped by your partner, friend zoned, being jobless, being lost and confused are normal feelings

17. PMS is real, you know that abrupt breaking down into tears, tantrums, mood swings, bitch modes are real. Unlike Sanitary Napkin Ads, buying Stayfree doesn’t make you win an Indian Idol. For the love of God, I would not move an inch from my bed if I had a choice

18. Greys are real, when mom told you umpteen times, oil your hair, you laughed it off? Now, do you see the strands shining like vampire skin in the sun? Serves you right!

19. Texting is no longer considered the real conversation. It seems we have to call and talk

20. Your wardrobe has a confused combination of clothes that you make you look like a kid, and those that make you look like a mother of 2, ones that make you look like a refugee and others that make you feel like its a ballroom party. No middle ground

21. Don’t even talk about shoes, apparently the one pair that goes with all your clothes doesn’t exist.

22. People are going to die, move away and life will still go on as normal

23. The world really doesn’t give a damn whether you are happy or in pain. Each one is finally left to their own devices.

24. Priorities will keep changing and so will things and people

25. Regardless, it’s awesome to be 25, because even Maharashtra Government allows drinking.

On a serious note, with quarter-life already behind, a million dreams to unravel, things to accomplish and miles to go before I sleep and miles to go before I sleep.

Prose

The Other Side of Love

I am on the other side of love. The other side of love is when the party ends. Lights are dimmed out. Music is turned off. Most of the people have left you to clean the mess they make, sometimes unintentionally.

Here, words are bare and raw like lips are charred from bitter wind that blows through the open windows. When the party ends the facade comes off, the image in the background fades and words come into focus.

I live on the other side of love now. It’s silent, slow and I can feel the pain in my bones. My knees are sore and the heart doesn’t fly anymore. It’s like the night, after a great but tiring day. You need to rest to wake up again.

Now I can feel the earth beneath me and the sun above me. I can see the world around me now. It doesn’t rest in a single person, it’s scattered in parts and rests in every soul I meet.

The other side of love is a dark place with solitude. The other side of love is also full of love. It’s also a place where miracles happen. The other side of love is over talked about but is underrated.

It’s a school, it brings lessons in love, forgiveness, expression and self. Have you ever been to the other side of love?

Prose

Home

I don’t know if it’s true that someday that someone will sweep you off your feet. I mean when I look at myself in the mirror, I wonder which mindless man will ever want this mess. Who would want to spend their lives with someone whose monsters speak louder than her? No, don’t get me wrong, I am not running out of people in my life. I have a party full of incredible souls. But you know, it feels like I have been out for too long now. At a party with loud music, a lot of people, spirit and psychedelics. It feels exhausting when you want to get back home. The home that no longer exists. So I live in this constant fear that if the party ends, and music turns off, people will see how homeless I am. What a cruel world did I live in that taught me that being poor is embarrassing? All these people talk about investing in more houses. It haunts me that probably for the rest of my life, I would never find a home.

Prose

Help

After 10 months of wallowing and rolling in the ditch of my heartbreak, I have decided that I needed to create new memories. Happier poems. Face my fears alone. As I write this I still love him to bits and hate him to no end. But I guess that’s something I need to let go. I have always been ashamed of my own thoughts when putting in legible words. I am the one that deletes messages if you haven’t read them in a stipulated time of 10minutes. This has to change isn’t it, my words keep me alive, I can’t run away from them. The event changed my life and continues to do so every day, it’s as if the universe decided enough is enough, no more running. Things that weren’t meant to be stopped working for me. So right now, I am unemployed, in debt and lack any motivation. It’s a climb, a very difficult one. I know I should talk to this to a friend or maybe a parent, but like I said, I am ashamed of my words, and how vulnerable it makes me feel. I write this, wishing no-one sees this, the ones that know me at least.

Also, I let a great guy go recently because I couldn’t honestly feel anything. I told him all horrible things about me and I realised I have somewhere started defining myself with my struggle. I can’t recollect a single happy memory although I have so many. Is this self-pity? I don’t know what it is, I want my happy self back.

If you are reading this, send me some love, prayers, a shoutout, whatever.