DWI Part 1: Roses and Thorns

Read the introduction here

After considering a lot I have decided to include the first part of Sonya’s Diary as snippets from memory lane.


Slumbering sun , cloud cover, silence of early dawn and I .  Waking up in a warm cozy bed in a house full of loving caring people , great food , laughter and total relaxation is what my aches for and here I am in my granny’s home in this beautiful city. The touch of black leather cover and crisp white pages is sensuous.  It will be difficult to kill  virginity of this diary with blue-black letters so I will use the color of blood -Red at least for now.

Red is also color of love they say but life is not just bed of roses , there are sharp thorns that draw blood at the very touch.

Why did he gift me a diary ? Who will read it anyway ? Is it safe to bare your deepest darkest secrets , desires ? Was there a glint of mischief in his eyes or do I become delirious the moment he walks in.

Anyway today is the first day of freedom. I guess mom and I shed our polluted skins and breathe free here. I know some rainy day I will open the gutter and spill the muck on the sidewalk only to make space for more but then it is better than it overflowing and rotting.

Today nothing of that , only celebration of yesterday’s fragrant little adventure. I am still warmed by that touch. Stolen kisses are sweetest but missed kisses uff they throb like hell. Christ ! heart flutters are all good but that ice-cube sliding down your spine is erotic.

Why do people confuse love with sex, passion, hunger, lust and desires or it just that it is too confusing to decipher ?

I don’t know but these moments of pure bliss are right here and never to return . I know we will part ways .Society sucks. Might as well become a tree in autumn. Leafless, bare.

Twenty years of age and still longing for a man’s company . My life is more mundane than any other. Curled up inside I go through it splitting into many fragments at each moment. so many identities so many me. Mom understands but rest of the family , they say that this is no place for dreamers.

One such dreamer is shifting under her skin somewhere . I wonder where she went . Haven’t seen her in ages. No contact. Inseparable school friends separated for life. I miss you T.

Time to leave the bed. You go undercover my secret sharer while I follow the aroma of an early breakfast . Being pampered is a bliss but I know someone is going to screw it all. Hawk eyed monsters ready to tear your flesh at the blink of an eye.

I will meet you everyday before the sun rises from sleep and spills the wine across the sky. Clumsy fool.



Sorry babes I was away from you for so long. you see I am not used to scribbling my scatterbrain thoughts each day.  it has been a wonderful stay till now. Outing , traditional food, fun and laughter, music and theater and most of all his company. The two-day break to L was all I needed. Tomorrow I will go back to home but before than I want to dwell on something here. Heart is like a butterfly delicate, vibrant , pulsating with life but wayward.

Let me tell you about me. I am going to be 21 and still no sure of what course my life will take. Am a traveler by heart who is stuck at one destination for the lack of courage and resources . A part of me wanders all the time and then gets kicked in the back by reality to curl up inside the insecure, foolish me. Damn.

First love came to me with social bondage. How I hate this double-faced society but then what is can not be altered. Not at this stage. So I go with the flow and leave behind one precious part of me to follow a path which I am sure isn’t meant for me. Why am I taking it ? Because I see no other way now.

He questioned me at night under the moonlit kadamb trees.

“Do you love this guy , this so-called boy friend of yours  Sonya ? ”

I guess so” I had replied.

Not really committing. Yes would mean I love N less which I don’t , Only if there were no social norms. Sigh!

He wasn’t giving up. “Are you wanting to marry him for any other reason than love? You have life ahead . You can still pursue a career  in French or do something else. He doesn’t seem to be your kind of person. Are you rebelling against something, family, suffocation at home or society ?”

I wanted to scream Yes I am . I am getting into this relationship to escape myself, this restlessness, home environment , You, damn it  but  I denied and kept a brave front and talked and talked about this man in my life. I wasn’t convinced myself what could I say to him. Why didn’t he stop me ?

And that’s here I am sitting tucked in the warmth of the blanket , eyes brimming with hot tears scribbling madly. Knowing I will read and read again and the thorns will draw more and more blood. That is why I hate diaries . I know now why he gave it to me . Sort yourself out Sonya  and if you can’t then God save you girl for I am weak hearted and can not give you anything more than those precious moments of ignited passion and unfulfilled desires.

You Fool . What have you done.

It’s  late and the sky is full of little asterisks shimmering softly.  My bags are packed , my home town holds keys to my dreams and nightmares. Let sleep heal. I am going through two opposite emotions of love and disappointment now. Hate ?  don’t think that’s a right word. I know the other heart is suffering more than me. To let go  for apparently no reason is tough. These memories will be food for life time of  hurt and pain .


…………..to be continued

Diary Of A Woman Interrupted (DWI) : Introduction

I recognized her even after a gap of 25 years. She was the only friend I had and one day she just vanished. Frankly I also did not try to find her. I was going though my own problems and she just slipped into some remote corner of my mind.

The restroom of a swanky mall was not the kind of place to meet an old pal but what the heck I was ecstatic to see her.

I waited for her to finish. I remembered some common friend mentioning about her unsuccessful marriage but I never knew the sordid details which I was about to discover about her life.

Our eyes met in the sparkling mirrors and obviously she did not recognize me. 25 years is a long time. She felt uneasy of my stare.

” You aren’t doing a good job in concealing Sonya ” I remarked.

She turned crimson.

“Sorry? How do you know my name and what do you mean not a bad job in concealing ?”

The only other thing that had not changed in all those years apart from the mole on her chin was the spark in her eyes though it seemed to have dimmed over the time.

“There is always another rainbow my dear ” , Reminds you of someone ? ” I smiled again.

“Tikuuu , Oh my Gawd girl” and we hugged. We were filled with emotions so strong that they held us together for a long time.

“I need to go sweetheart but we will catch up this weekend .I am in Delhi these days.” There was an urgency in her voice or was it some fear I wanted to fill the gaps but held my curiosity.

We exchanged numbers and she left after giving a quick tight parting hug.

I kept looking at her slim figure scurrying past the mall mongers until it vanished from the eye.

I knew something was not right.

She didn’t call.

I was itching to dial the number she had given but couldn’t muster up the courage. I had seen her failed attempt to hide the marks on her face. Was she going through domestic violence or was it something else. The thought came like bile in my throat. Why is it that some of us go through a lot of hurt and disillusionment in life and yet can’t find the door to freedom. Is it that we search too hard and miss the opening. Maybe we look for doors and miss the window or the fire escape. We grope in darkness and feel the walls and still don’t see the faint light streaming through that one escape route.


With brimming eyes and heavy heart I made my way down the accelerator and made a brave attempt to look good in front of kids. We collected the stuff and came home. They filled with happy thoughts and I with a whirlpool of emotions and questions to which even I had no answers.

Last month , after a gap of two months, I got a courier. A diary. Sonya’s diary with a note which said –

” Hey tiku,

You were right about me not being good in concealing. Even the practice of so many years has not made a pro. I had to rush to meet a client. I am at the threshold of a life changing decision and had no time to explain it to you and I know you wouldn’t have been satisfied with short answers. So sorry buddy, hope you understand. I am sending you my diary and by the time you get it I will be gone to another town.

I know about what you are going through ;). Surprised ?

well ! I read your blog and discovered an old pal who poured out all the details about you.

To tell you the truth you yourself are no good at concealing.

😦 Be brave.

Wish I could do something for you. I think it is time for you too to look closely at your life and move on.

Maybe reading my story will help you heal. Share it if you wish. Maybe some other woman will get courage to live her dream by reading it.

I know you write about issues about women even though you were never a feminist.

I wanted so much to sit down over a drink and catch up with you but I knew it would have been a traumatic experience for both of us. Also I had no time.

Will get back to you when I find a foothold in my new life.

Lots of love sweets. You are in my heart always .Terribly missed. Keep writing .


I stared at the crisp white sheet till the blue letters became a blur. Neatly I folded the letter and ran my fingers on the smooth leather surface of the diary wondering what lay inside the hard covers.

I will be sharing some pages from Sonya’s diary with a hope that it will maybe light up some heart somewhere and maybe just maybe some woman will find courage to break the chains and fly free.

All names, places have been changed to respect the identity of people involved.

By the Way Sonya was a name she used while writing poems as a girl. ;).

I will try to bring it all to you as she shared with me. I will report incidents which I think are relevant to share.

I know she will be reading it too.

So here is to all the caterpillars and the butterflies within them.

Diary of a woman interrupted

I will name the posts with DWI page 1 – 2-3 or something like that to keep it connected.

Trust me It has been hard for me to do this. Very hard.

Looking within always is difficult and this has been a kaleidoscope of memories, dreams, hopes and much more.