What We Were To Each Other?
never mind. it is a rhetorical question anyway.
Rant alert. Rambling thoughts.
We had different needs, our lives were too separate. Too far away. And you kept stretching the distance like cheese from the pizza.
We were pretty much on the opposite side of everything but we met, love happened, or so I thought. So many things feel like love and we are so often and so easily fooled. I just wanted a shelter, a sustenance, while you were looking for haute cuisine and a pleasant home. ASnd then one day you fell out of whatever it was you felt, dusted off, got up and walked away. we meant different things to each other. our needs were different.
I lost myself in words and images I conjured in my mind, forever torn between the lover as you were and the lover I had created in my head and in that process somewhere I lost you. I noticed the slow decline from being everything to being no one. Saw every single act of dismissal but I stayed. I wanted to. Just as i wanted to believe everything you said.
It is what it is. You, my dear, are too much to forget.
I will turn fifty in a few years. More than half my life is over. I want to travel before my stressed out body gives away. I want to go back to places I imagined us going to. I want your memory. I want to take you there with me. Carry you in my heart. I also want to stop being a sad, sorry fuck that I am and be what I would have been if we were together.
A time to shed what’s not me. Time to move on, move away from people who pretend to care and understand but actually wish me dead. Tough luck. I wasn’t born to be ruled by others. If some people did, it is because I allowed or because I was caught in the web of circumstances beyond my control.
While I am ranting, let me also say that natal homes are most often not the safe sanctuary one thinks they are. This thought is pressing hard on my jugular.
Gratitude too is a form of love. I am grateful for your presence , imaginary or otherwise. Grateful for love, for being the wind beneath my wings. Somewhere you changed direction and I plunged into nothingness, picked myself again and now I am drifting aimlessly. My wings are tired and I can not even fold them and rest for a while.
I rant too much. Blame it on the Hormones. Times are a changing and your memory, it comes at most impossible times. Peri-menopause does that. It screws up your mind and body. I was sure I was going crazy, unable to decipher what was causing the hot flushes, night sweats, sleeplessness, mood swings, anxiety attacks, meltdowns, palpitations and not to forget the intense desire to strip off all my clothes at any given time… Was it the aftermath of losing you or were the hormones going wacko. Jeez, it is hard to go through a heartbreak when you are dealing with midlife crisis. Cold showers, by the way, came handy in both cases but it is still too much to deal.
I would reach for anything within reach that would comfort me. Alcohol, comfort food esp sweets, books, cigarettes.. anything that would cocoon me and keep me safe from the world that had suddenly become so unbearable. But now, I am going to get my sexy mojo back by turning menopause into menopower and I will make the memories of love to make me strong. Love that I felt for you. I am going to fill that You-shaped hole in me with something good and I will wait.
My love for you was wild and reckless, strong and rebellious, painful and desperate, untamed and hungry, It was needy. I was needy. I was hungry. and for me even the less was more. You were needy too but our needs were different as i said earlier. You fed me love with your fingers and then one day you left, and now I know what it is to starve. But you know what, love stays longer, endures more. Lust doesn’t. It doesn’t give anything except a momentary high.
“Loving you was like going to war. I never came back the same.” ~ warsan shire
but I will take those wounds any day.
Seeing you in the flesh, touching you, kissing your mouth, letting you kiss my mouth, surrendering to love, to lust, to the moment that brought us together was the bravest thing I ever attempted and the weakest I ever felt and now my body is like a haunted house that is never owned. A house that is sometimes lived in but mostly abandoned. It is an archive of fingerprints and scars that throb. It is filled with a lingering odour of love, sex and spices.
I am walking through a fog but I trust my instincts and I will make it through the frenzy of emotional whirlpools I am facing now.
If you think this post is not going anywhere, it is true. It is a floe, forever drifting like me.
My boy thinks I need to “chill”, that old age crept on me long ago and I am living in denial. My foot. what does he know.
So I will put a frozen teabag in my vagina (before you get ideas, it is for medical purposes. Sorry to disappoint.), have a hot mug of coffee or go indulge in the finest wine or anything I fancy from a brain hemorrhage shot to a manga, get a short spunky hair cut that doesn’t need too much looking after.. (going bald is still a recurring thought), eat healthy while keeping my cravings satisfied, change the wardrobe (bring in some colour), and most importantly NOT GIVE A FUCK. Till now I was only writing and not believing but I guess it is time to change that.
Hormones can rage, your ever-present missingness can run havoc, financial trickling can continue, and people can snoop and stalk my blog for whatever they are looking for(you know who you are and I know it too) because I am going to live my life as I want. I am done with naysayers and f*tards that drained me of belief in myself. Go find your entertainment elsewhere.
Of course i miss you and I love you. Trust me, you do not want to feel what I feel. It is not easy task to go from halo to a broomstick in a jiffy. Don’t even try. Just understand.
I will rock the change. I will flow.
I hope one day
you will find yourself and in turn find me.
of a touch
If Only ….
I will just come here and vent.
Better out than in.
Good things are happening in my writing world . Will share soon. 🙂
Looking back at life I kept reflecting on how I undertook many journeys, often those that I never planned to take and how they took me to unexpected destinations. Some of them were exactly what I wanted, others not so.
Even now there are decisions to make and surprises in store. The future is never set in stone.
Sometimes we come at the crossroads and need to make some life changing decisions, take some stands and these shift the entire universe around us and then unexpected and unpredictable things happen, which take us out of an uncomfortable situation but also take us over and change our lives forever.
For me, freedom came in strange forms and from unexpected directions.
Unexpected! My living itself was unexpected.
Read here : The day I was Born
Life made me chart my paths in an unknown territory.
Most of the time the ground beneath my feet shifted unexpectedly and it took me immense effort to keep my balance and stand firm to move ahead with the flow.
Some dreams died an unexpected death, such as:
My rendezvous with Spanish Language and desire for further studies in Latin America, a dream to live there
A love affair which had everything but ‘love’ and ended in a disastrous and life altering decision
My marriage, which I thought would bring me the companionship and love I was yearning for
At every step, life felt like shifting sand dunes beneath my feet.
This was a roller coaster which was speeding on a rail that had no fixed destination but had all the usual ups and downs, twists and turns. As it plunged into unknown or shot up like a rocket heading into space, I waited breathlessly for the unexpected to reveal. Not knowing if I would be thrown over and succumb or come out a winner and live.
Even the mundane seemed like an unfamiliar territory marked by unpredictable. People, places, and turn of events that took me by unawares and hurled me into some totally new situation to deal with.
This broken road with pitfalls and sharp turns and unexpected traverses brought me joy and adventure too. Sometimes out of chaos emerge the most unexpected and beautiful delights. It took me over an invisible wall and life again changed in least expected ways, demolishing all old things in its path.
Sometimes I feel that the word “unexpected” has lost its meaning in my life due to its continuity and yet it surprises me by springing up at unexpected places from unexpected directions.
Love for instance. Friendships spread over the globe, virtual and yet so real. People connected through some unknown energy. Bonds woven together like colourful wondrous threads of a tapestry. I began to realize that some things made sense only in reverse and one needed to trust in advance and surrender to it with that knowledge.
I have seen that it is in times of struggle that I found the best parts of myself – courage, loyalty, love, an unexpected peace within, poise and joy. Somehow I always discovered what I needed to break through or break away from to go on with life.
Today, universe is helping me realize some of my dreams and I can say that I expect the unexpected with a lot more conviction and strength than before.
True love and friendship unexpectedly transforms lives. Empty spaces get filled, pieces begin to fall into places and life opens up with a newness unseen before.
It gives a reason to live, to push through the fear.
I am at a point where life has taken a completely new direction and each day is a new discovery but unlike before even with an intuitive knowledge of impending uncertainty I am prepared to ride the storm.
Now that we are talking about the unexpected let me share something more.
I want my death to be unexpected.
This post is written for GBE 2 WEEK #63 (7-29-12 to 8-4-12): Unexpected
WEEK #57 (6-17-12 to 6-23-12): Two Days Ago
My feature on ancient art and culture took me to various places still tucked away from civilization. Sometimes to the jungles and at others to the deep valleys in the mountains where even the sun dreaded to make an appearance and this time I was in Shanghai. After a month of extensive work I decided to indulge my other self.
I saw her at the flower shop. A young woman practicing the 21st-century version of the oldest profession. street-walker in fish net stockings. She wore a short white dress and no make up. She didn’t need to. She had personality that could smoke a man with one intense look. Vulnerability makes women stronger and she sure was a strong woman not just physically but her eyes clearly stated who was in control. I felt the hunger rising in me.
I stood rooted to the ground unable to take my eyes off her. She must have felt the glare burn into her but decided not to notice. An eternity passed before I could muster up the courage to walk up to her.
“100$ for night and no fantasy sex”, She said in a businesslike tone. No emotions attached.
“Fantasy sex? What’s that?” I asked, amused by the term.
She looked hard at my face, rolled out a cigarette and said” Never mind. You got a car?”
I nodded. There was no bigger turn on than a combination of intelligence and beauty in a woman.
I led the way to the car and we drove off to my cottage. It was late and I had a flight to catch next night. There were many loose ends but who cared. All I wanted at that moment was Her. I noticed that unlike others in her profession she hadn’t gone any extra miles to “perfect” herself. I liked that.
” Sana, that’s my name”.
Not much of a talker she was beginning to scare me in a very exciting way.
I smiled to break the ice.
I was sure I saw a smile appear at the corner of her mouth , it made my knees turn into jelly.
We reached the cottage and she immediately began to undress.
Beginning to feel uncomfortable I fumbled with my clothes and after years I really felt alive again
She was strong and gentle and knew the game.
I had never given to such needs before but felt good and relaxed.
It was sometime in the early morning when I slid my hand into hers and she stiffened, woke up startled, jumped out of the bed, grabbed her clothes and rushed to the bathroom screaming abuses and sobbing.
I had no clue what hit me. Too shocked to react I hurriedly grabbed the bed sheet , wrapped it around my waist and began to knock on the bathroom door. I could hear her sobbing but she did not respond even after my continuous appeals and assurances that I won’t harm her.
Numb by the incident , I dragged myself to the side table and gulped almost all the water from the jug. Spilling most of it on the floor. With trembling hands I replaced the jug and waited. Unable to think.
After an hour she emerged. Fully dressed but very conscious of her clothes. She kept pulling down her dress to cover her thighs, failing miserably. Her whole persona had changed. Suddenly she wasn’t the same woman I had picked up last night.
Her eyes were red from weeping. she clutched the hem of her dress and was trembling like a leaf.
” Who are you? Why have you brought me here?” She asked in low scared whisper.
I noticed that she stood very rigid near the bathroom door.
” Remember we met at the flower shop last night and you agreed to sleep with me for 100$ ?” I said as gently as possible carefully choosing my words.
She winced as if struck by a flash of lightning.
“Am not a hooker” she screamed and rushed towards the door crying.
I knew there was something wrong with her and I hurried to stop her fearing she might do some harm to herself.
“Sana, relax am not gonna hurt you. Calm down. I will take you to your home. Where do you stay?”
She backed off immediately.
“Am not Sana. My name is Jen. I stay in Colaba. Where have you brought me? What did you do to me?” She began to weep again.
“Am sorry Jen but you told me your name was Sana. Trust me whatever I say is true. I am a journalist”. I showed her my ID.
She studied it for a long time.
“Where are we?” She was more composed now as she got up and walked up to the window and looked out.
“You got me to Shanghai?”
“No. Absolutely Not. As I said I found you in the flower shop in the market.”
I was beginning to get worried now.
“Let me call a doctor”. I moved to the phone when she suddenly turned and grabbed my wrist.
” Don’t call the police. Please take me home. You are an Indian. Help me.”
I didn’t know how to react. I had a flight in the night and here I was stuck in the most unimaginable situation.
Naturally she had no idea where she lived in Shanghai According to her she wasn’t even aware how she got here.
I suspected a foul play as it is a normal thing with these hookers but the more I watched her the idea weakened.
I decided to take help. It took a lot of convincing to make her agree.
I ordered breakfast and told her to rest.
With a lot of resistance I finally tucked her in bed and began to make the calls.
Even after some string pulling and persistence I was unable to get Jen’s identity verified. How she got to Shanghai also remained a mystery.
It was only in the afternoon we were able to leave the hotel. I took her to the same place from where I picked her in the night. She did not have any memory of it and stared blankly at the flower shop. This was another woman ; vulnerable and weak.
We began to walk towards the beach. She still clutched the hem of her dress uncomfortably. I took her to a store nearby and told her to buy a dress for herself. She mustered a smile through tear filled eyes and chose a comfortable pair of slacks and soft Tee.
I paid as she changed into them, feeling much at ease now.
As we turned to leave I saw her freeze and then all of a sudden she broke into a run.
I ran after her calling out and very scared.
She was screaming some name I was unable to hear from such a distance. The man in front of her stopped , turned and she ran into her open arms. I reached the spot panting and out of breath. She was crying bitterly.
The man was in his mid fifties.
“She lost herself. I was about to take her to the authorities.” I did not know what I was saying.
“She is my daughter Maya. We came to Shanghai four days back. She disappeared yesterday morning with most of the money and I have searched for her since then”. His eyes filled with tears of gratitude. “Thank you for keeping her safe.”
I felt a surge of guilt sweep over me. All the events of last night came alive.
“Maya? Did you just say her name was Maya? She said she was Jen?” I thought I was losing my pebbles.
“Jen? No.no she is Maya. Here, see , this is her passport.” I stared at the picture of hers and the name
“She does that often. Must have gotten scared. Sorry about that.” She smiled feebly, stroking her hair.
Somehow it was all complicated and it did not matter. I nodded and returned the smile
I had cancelled my flight tickets so accepted their invite for dinner.
I realized that she may have forgotten about Jen so did not offer to give any details.
I felt the same urge to hold her close to me as she came down to the dinning hall of the hotel they were staying in. She was exactly opposite of Sana but had the same vulnerable intelligent eyes that made men drop to their knees.
I checked myself and greeted her warmly. She smiled and settled close to her doting father. She had a child like innocence and it made me difficult to associate it with the sensuous woman who has made love to him last night.
After a wonderful dinner and innumerable thank yous I took their leave and headed back to my cottage thinking how my life changed two days ago. I wondered if I would ever meet her again in India. I knew she lived in Colaba but did not have any address. They were supposed to leave by afternoon flight the next day. I noticed she looked at me in a strange way. They were definitely Sana’s eyes. I wondered if she remembered our night together. Before the thought took a grip I drove away.
My flight was rescheduled for two days later so I thought of just resting. Exhausted I slept for I don’t know how many hours until a waiter knocked at the door waking me from my slumber.
It was a note in childlike handwriting.
“We are all one and one is many. Our lives are the notes of the beautiful tragic score life plays all the time. We have our eccentricities, secrets, game plans, vulnerabilities, and highs. We tip-off one another, wage wars, indulge in passion, sit huddled in a corner and weep and sometime plot murder. Ready to kill each other. But we stick together. We have one thing in common. Intelligent imagination. It keeps our strings attached. There are many of us. Sana and I are the hosts. Then we are split and fractured into many more. Let us call them ghosts. Usually we are in command but sometimes these ghosts take over. Occasionally as individuals but more often combined. I live in a house of mirrors with these reflections I call myself, warped and twisted. Echoes of loneliness gets deeper sometime and I do not know my name or who I am. I become a stranger to myself. I can not tell what is real and what is not. I just endure though at times I lose the will to do so. I know I have.
We know you understand. To understand is to feel love and compassion and to forgive. My father knows I am not well. We have found a therapist. Most of the time I do not recollect anything but this time I feel something that can’t be named. I feel you. You are a good man.
Sending my Indian address if you wish to meet sometime. Thank you for everything . I hope to write a book one day and I will dedicate it to you.
I felt a tear roll down my cheek. A tear of respect and love for a brave woman. I prayed that she be cured of her illness for she deserved one whole healthy happy life.
If I had my life to do over then would it really be Me ? It would certainly be some other person. doing other things, living other life and to me seems a bit scary. Life gave me a choice to make my choices and I did – good or bad. I am a better person by learning from all that went wrong and by making the best of all that was beautiful.
There was a time when I felt that I wish I could live my life all over again and make it better than what I am living but then it would be a new beginning and in no way I will be able to compare it to this one. I won’t even have any memory of this life. It will have its own challenges, pains, joys, mistakes, sacrifices. It will be a new roller coaster ride.
Certainly there are things I wish were different. Some of them I can change now and am doing it as best I can.
Sometimes one rides the roller coaster and in the end gets off to find the treasure. I feel I have been given a chance to live my life again. Start afresh.
However, I do sometimes feel that IF I had my life to do over I would love to be the leather clad, tattooed, biker chic who hangs out with tough guys and gals, is carefree and takes no crap from no one. 😀 Single, self-willed, independent woman who lives for herself and does what she wants. Not afraid to try anything new. Not afraid at all.
I think I miss out on adventure, travel and all that now. Someone not chained by anything . Yes, one thing is for sure , even with this tough adventurous life I would never trade my heart for anything 🙂 I guess I would be just as loving and caring, just as much in love with life, an incurable romantic as I am now. This is what makes me who I am and I still have a life ahead to do at least some of the things I wish for.
So, here’s to present , to the woman I am today and to life.
This post is written for GBE 2 WEEK #56 (6-10-12 to 6-16-12): If I Had My Life to Live Over #GBE2
Last night was longer and made for torture or reflection or for savoring of loneliness. Like an ancient tomb where the souls come out gasping for life and searching for potential bodies which they can occupy. The soul with as opposed to them struggles to escape.
I lay taking in the stuffy darkness of the room. Everything began to rapidly merge into blackness. Unfamiliar shapes, menacing, uncanny, or merely grotesque began to emerge.
Some prisons don’t have bars, or guards. Such was last night, thicker than any wall, blind, empty and immensely engulfing . Like a huge gaping hole which slowly sucks you in and now and then you brush against appalling things that roam and prowl in its chambers. You see nothing. Hear nothing. The murderously asphyxiating silence is all one has for company .
Was I scared? No. It was a trance like state where you feel nothing or feel so deeply that the pain makes you numb.
An owl screeched and I could imagine it gliding past my window. Stillness returned.
On the opposite wall a pattern began to emerge. The fluorescent hands of the clock like some invisible claws blurred into nothingness and a face of time emerged. The glowing numbers burned holes in my mind. Nothing stirred.
Spellbound by the deep penetrating eyes I lay transfixed on my bed. Thirst like the scrape of hot sand-paper began to bruise my throat. I tried to get up but something held me tightly to the bed. My eyes returned to the face on the wall.
All the uncertainties, all the questions came rushing to me. Here was Time who had all the answers.
“Only the time will tell ” I was told.
I looked beseechingly , pleading for the answers. None came.
Maybe it wasn’t time for them to be revealed.
So, why was it here, staring at me like a death mask ?
What did it want?
Why it glaring eyes seemed to look accusingly at me, making me shift uncomfortably?
Time doesn’t tell anything. It doesn’t heal. Don’t believe it all you have been told. Time simply crushes you, chains you, makes you its slave and whiplashes you to obey its commands. The answers, the healing comes from either within or from elsewhere. Time just watches the drama and laughs at our misery . Time is the devil to whom we have sold our souls. It is the master , we mere slaves. Only an inner uprising can bring the change. Only that can create true love, true courage, true self.
Tonight the battle was at its peak but something was amiss or maybe someone and it made all the difference.
I shifted my pillow to the other side but I could still feel its gaze penetrating through my skull. It’s measured ticking reverberating.
With some effort I pulled myself out of bed and removed and shoved the menacing clock under a pile of clothes. The muffled sound of its breathing still audible.
I gulped a chilled glass of water and decided to lie facing the window. The hot summer night-sky claimed me.
The butter-gold moon came encroaching through my window. Suddenly filling it with a calm glow. Spent by my inner state of being I watched as it lingered in deep sky. Watching me with its forlorn eyes.
A jarring buzz vibrated in the small of my back scaring the wits out of me. The cell phone had quietly slid itself and nestled in the comfort zone away from the events of the night. The led light brought me back to the real world. Reluctantly I opened my laptop to work. Sometimes one is just pulled from all sides like an elastic band and then released. The sting of pain shot through my head as my fingers tapped mindlessly at the keyboard.
The cellphone meanwhile breathed its last. Sleepless and restless I went to put it for charging, took the chair out in the balcony and slumped on it. The moon had disappeared behind the high-rise buildings. The air was still and did not provide any solace. Back in the room I brought the clock out . The hands had miraculously appeared, the face had melted into the fiber of the machine. 3 AM it said.
I could hear an early bird call somewhere.
Sometime loneliness and absence digs its claws deeper than usual and leaves one wounded. Such was last night. The ache hasn’t subsided nor has the yearning.
“It was never going to be an ordinary day. Ordinary days do not exist in the lives of those living in conflict zones marred by war and if you are a woman belonging to a certain ethnic group then life’s ordinariness lies in it’s not being ordinary. “
She suddenly leaped out of the chair and began to pace.
“We can do it some other day if you wish”, I said.
She waved her hand, poured herself some water and settled again. That is when I noticed the two missing fingers on her right hand. A chill went up my spine as I imagined the kind of atrocities she must have faced.
A lifetime of internal dialogue and struggle was clearly visible on her face. Her deep-set eyes were pools of pain and suffering that she had endured all her life and especially in the last few months. I had thought her to be middle-aged on their first meeting. She certainly didn’t look in her mid thirties.
I was filled with a certain respect for this woman who had transcendent her fear to bare her soul despite the trauma it would cause her to open the wounds which were finally beginning to heal.
“The separatist struggle had taken a toll on all of us. I was just one of the many women who were maimed, raped, killed, tortured or dumped in jails to face the atrocities by the authorities there. We lived in perpetual fear all the time yet convincing ourselves that these things will never happen to any of us. That we will survive but today out of the five people who were rounded up that day only I am left to tell the story.
“Have you ever seen a body of someone you love split in half and the heart exposed to splatters of blood, smoke, gunfire, bomb and grenade blasts? Seen your best friend brutally molested, beaten and left naked on the streets to die? Seen the fear, hurt, humiliation and pain in the eyes of a five-year old boy watching her mother in that state?
I have. I saw it all that day as I stood rooted to the ground on that chilly winter morning. Rape in a war is not merely a matter of chance; it is rather a question of power and control. My friend suffered because she belonged to a certain ethnic group. Her rape humiliated the entire community. It was masterminded to totally encapsulate the defeat of men of that community in protecting their women, to humiliate, degrade and terrify them. It is good she died or else she would have been rendered invisible by her own people, left to fend for herself, suffering from one mental disease or the other like so many other women there. Each woman there suffers from anxiety and unrest. Just that, the degree of suffering varies.”
Caught in a maelström of emotions she closed her eyes. I could see her hands trembling as they clutched the bars of the rocking chair on which she was half-reclining.
“I watched in horror knowing it was my turn once they were done with others. Everything fails when you are faced with terror. All my education, training in sports, presence of mind evaporated in thin air. I felt as if I was carved in stone but something kept telling me to fight till the end, to take that chance. I didn’t want to die like an animal if I could prevent it.”
The evening sun was peeping through the huge trees and the cool breeze made the curtains shadow dance on the floor. She watched them intently for some time.
I decided to record the rest of the conversation on tape and took my seat on a sofa in front of her. She looked up and I felt a slight smile at the corner of her mouth but the gash on her cheek made it impossible to judge that correctly.
As if she read my thoughts and ran her fingers over it.
“The scars inside are deeper than the ones on my body. The wounds are still in process of healing. I put up a fight when they tried to get their filthy hands on me. When a man turns into an animal there is no limit to what he will do. May they be forgiven for what they have perpetrated, she mumbled softly.
“They were four of them. Severely beaten, I drifted between life and death but could make out that I was tossed into a vehicle and taken away. I remember a voice hissing in my ears. “We like to play with our pray before the kill the thrilling the chase and hunt, the better it is. The sound of their laughter still echoes through my mind.”
She winced and began to rock the chair. I looked around for help, suddenly scared for her. She had been in medical supervision since past few months and wasn’t stable enough to cope with the world outside. The doctor observing from the corner of the room nodded at me to relax. The attendant brought a tray with coffee and biscuits. I poured a cup for her. “Lots of milk and sugar” She said without opening her eyes.
“I like it that way. It helps me cull the deep black darkness inside me.”
Then she opened her quiet eyes and looked at me. “They should have sent someone seasoned. You are still too raw to brave such experiences”.
I fumbled with some words in support of myself but failed. She kept looking at me.
“We seem to be of same age though I am sure you thought me to be twice yours”, this time she did smile and I realized how beautiful she was, radiant even in her fragile state.
I mustered a smile and offered her some cookies. She carefully selected one with sprinkled sugar and began to nibble it.
“I have lost the count of how many times and by how many people I was raped and beaten. They broke my fingers and gave me wounds with a dagger one of them had, kicked and shoved the butt of the riffle in my abdomen. For hours I lay naked, body, mind and soul in that small room while they drank. My body was just a sack of pain and bruises but still I kept thinking of a plan to escape. It is strange that they did not kill me or broke my legs or hit me on the head. I never lost consciousness once though pain made me delirious. It was unimaginable to think I could escape alive from them.
The chill of the night made my body stiff like a log. I did not feel parched or hungry even after twenty hours of starvation. In fact I did not feel anything.
Sleep took over as I stared blankly into nothingness that filled the dark room.
When I opened my eyes I was in a hospital in the city. They said I had slept for more than two days. My wounds were stitched and dressed but my body still felt like a log and even the slightest movement shot a streak of pain through it.
I tried to find out how I managed to get out alive from the clutches of those beasts but got no replies. I guess it is better this way, maybe for someone who must have dared to save me, for I had no strength left to carry on. I do say a silent prayer for that person for giving me another chance to live.”
My heart warmed at the words. . On the way back from the village where I was sent to investigate the killings, miles away where the woods began, I had found her huddled like a bundle among the trees. I had stopped my jeep and along with a friend managed to rescue her to the city hospital and then to this private one, away from the turbulent environment.
Of course, no one told her anything. They weren’t supposed to.
I realized that she had dozed off in the meanwhile. The half eaten cookie rested nestled in the fold of her gown. I walked over and placed it in the plate. The doctor told me to withdraw.
She needed rest and most of all peace.
What happened in the last few hours and how she managed to reach the road remains a mystery but it would certainly have taken immense courage to escape alive. All her people were dead. Village burned to ashes. Curfew imposed in the area.
All that remained was the mist that slowly enveloped the small mountain village like a shroud.
Silently I closed the door and look a last look at her through the glass window. She was a survivor, a brave one and she had a beautiful smile of a child.
The curtains of the large window swayed to the night breeze while the crescent moon kept a watch on her as sleep caressed and healed her ravaged being.
In the still moonlit night I too said a silent prayer for the woman who braved it to live a life she held too precious to give up even in such dire circumstance.
There was a new life waiting to blossom buried under the heavy layers of snow. Soon the spring would come.
Hundreds of women like her go through similar or more horrifying experiences each day and succumb to the fate, unnoticed, uncared between the conflicts of power and rule. Human life is ravaged and torn to shreds at the altar of political tug of war and dies in oblivion. The universe watches quiescent.
It wasn’t an ordinary day for me and henceforth no other day would ever be ordinary.
Days and nights have suddenly turned cold in the middle of summer. Cold and Hard like last year’s loaf of bread. I slice them with blunt knives and chew on them without appetite. Indifferent messages do little to bridge the aching distance or break the deafening silence that has occupied every fiber of life nor does an occasional assemble of affectionate words give any comfort. Even though the heart longs, it knows it will never get more than that.
I wonder if this pitiless indifference is subterfuge for hiding the torments of love or it is the opposite of love. Love has denied rest to my soul and slumber to my eyes. I have begun to dread the approaching night. It deepens the loneliness and hurt as I stare into the vast emptiness of the dark sky. A lonesome moon sometimes glides past the window and lying on my bed, fatigued by days of sleeplessness, I watch it disappear from sight.
Words that I wrote for you float like pipe dreams, adding fuel to the slow fire consuming me from within. It is funny how presence makes itself felt more poignant through absence. Stray memories come to haunt , it is amazing how darkness brings things to life, gives them a form, a voice.
I lie as still as possible , least I disturb your silence and it moves away just as you have. I don’t even dare to breathe.
Mind is a fucking manipulating control freak and in those moments of vulnerability , it leaves no chance to whiplash.
There is no feeling worse than knowing you weren’t worthy of truth, of love, of sharing, of togetherness, of complete oneness, not even an incomplete one. Unrequited love curls itself in some secret crevice , wounded and bleeding. It doesn’t die.
There is always a part of me that hopes for more, and so there is a part of me that is always a fool. Love does that.
Am facing a silence so cold, so sharp you could cut yourself on it. There is nothing so hurtful, nothing so bare and forlorn as the silence that falls like swords on two people who no longer know what to say to one another, and it is the kind of silence that tells you that you are no longer of any importance to that person, who really is no longer even there; it is a silence that renders you invisible.
It has rendered me invisible. Some days ago I wrote , sometimes one knows one’s place – outside the periphery.. The words come out so powerfully now. It is all good to talk of giving space etc, of trust and understanding and being comfortable even in silence of a loved one but this is not that silence.. this is a silence that cripples.
It’s a marvel that even with such agony the longing doesn’t diminish , it continues to feed on the loneliness and gain strength. It grows stronger , so does love- even the unrequited one, for it has its own rainbows.
“Because, if you could love someone, and keep loving them, without being loved back . . . then that love had to be real. It hurt too much to be anything else.”-Sarah Cross
but the other part holds true too. We are creatures of desire and desire needs to be respected.
Love needs to be fed. Nurtured. Nourished. It needs to be deeply felt.
It needs to be reciprocated. Replenished.
It needs to be expressed. In actions as well as words
Especially when words are the only medium.
Unrequited love is an orphan of silence.
Abandoned to fend for itself during the endless days and never-ending nights.
Read all YOU AND ME posts here
Don’t give up the fight. Life is Your Right
RECOGNIZE your inner strength, BELIEVE in yourself, Be Ready to SHED what is not YOU, if you feel you are being caged ESCAPE from the tiniest crack you find, FIGHT for your Dignity and Worth.
Be True to self, Be selfish Love Yourself First, Break Away, Cut the cord that strangles you. Bend the Rules.
Never let anyone write your story. Never hand over the pen to them.
Never feel guilty of doing what your heart feel right. Never complain. Never explain.
There are no excuses to let yourself be treated like shit.
Never compromise yourself .
Never be bullied into silence. Don’t be a victim.
Never lose your true self under the deluge of masks society offers you to wear.
Society has never been kind to women who stand up and speak their mind, make your choice. Be free or be damned.
Freedom to be oneself comes with a price , sometimes a huge one, Pay the Price or let others pay the price of trying to cage your spirit.
Nothing is more important than your dignity.
HAVE COURAGE to Chat Your Path. Never resign to your fate.
Stand alone, it better than being lost in a crowd.
Never submit to the will of others.
Walk out of relationships that smother You. Dare to break away. Be at loggerhead with the society. It is not a cakewalk but it is worth every moment. Subjugated life is devoid of any soul.
Have the moral courage to Defy what in Unjust. Don’t be a performer.
Never let your bodies to be outraged. Never let yourself become an object.
Draw a line and stop the “little adjustment” from becoming a big compromise. If it takes the monstrous shape it just engulfs before you know it.
Don’t wait for change to happen. Make your move. It is never too late.
Stop living in your fears.
Think for yourself, never go in with conformity and herd mentality.
Recognize Abuse , for it is often camouflaged as love, betterment, moral duty, guilt, emotional blackmail.
Speak up. Silence only helps it breed and dig its claws deeper into your being.
It is better to raise your voice against unjust than suffer and reinforce the fact that women can be used as old newspapers.
Be financially independent.
Be fearlessly yourself
Sometimes it takes more than just courage and will to do what is “right”. Look within and you will know your reason to do it.
Someone said to me , ” It is all there for you to get, the only thing is How badly you want it.” You can’t imagine how true it is. It gave direction to my life.
Courageous Risks are life giving – Take Risks
“My priorities are sorted out. I have moved on” , I said.
“Moved on ?” “True moving on is to bring the past to a closure. It is done and over “
“True that ” I said. “So be it.”
It was last year this date that I made the life changing decisions.
This year this day I am That I am and nothing else matters.
I am grateful to my friends, fellow bloggers, readers, and each person who believed in me and stood by me, some visible some invisible.
My boys are my strength and it fills me with tremendous pride and love for these young adults for understanding my decision despite of the physical distance it created. Thank you for being my children and for loving me for what I am.
We all have a spark within but to turn it into a flame one needs a breath of life – ♥ ﾚo√乇
There is nothing more gratifying than being oneself.
Everybody has a secret world inside of them.
All of the people of the world, I mean everybody. No matter how dull and boring they are on the outside, inside them they’ve all got unimaginable magnificent wonderful stupid amazing worlds.
Not just one world.
Hundreds of them.
Quote copyright-Neil Gaiman
Dreams make me endure the reality. Imagination lets me stay sane. The world inside my mind is where I retreat at times when the world becomes too much to bear. That is the world I live in most of the time. A private dreamscape, a virtual reality world where time has no meaning. Where the five senses work magically unrestrained. It is a world where dreams get realized, even the wildest of them, where passion are fed, love blossoms, fears take shapes and walk around. Where there are deep crevices full of secrets, dark alleys where thoughts stumble upon each other, strange voice glide past each other, there are ditches that reek of pain. A world where ghosts from the yesteryear wander freely rising from the graveyard of memories buried over the time. It is a world where I am invented and reinvented driven by uncontrolled fantasy, a world where stories are born.
A world with constellations of wants and needs, hopes and dreams, laments and longings, a surreal universe of uninhabited stars yearning for life. No emotion is superfluous there, everything is an all engulfing whirlpool. Everything is larger than life. Raw, naked, stripped off all inhibitions, everything free of boundaries reality imposes. I live here, in my enchantment. protected by own fairy tale, by love. Here time is different, unmeasured. It’s sunsets and sunrises painted in celestial colors. It is a world where I can smell, touch , hear, see everything that can not be smelled, heard,seen or touched in real life. I can give each object, each person, each place any dimension, any form, any kind of existence that I desire. The boundary between the animate and inanimate is in itself animate ( says KS) and it holds true here. Here I am the master weaver, craftsman, a dreamer, a storyteller, a lover with a raw sort of vulnerability, a woman I try hard to be in reality and manage only a fraction of it and sometimes I am just me, a form, unchained by sexuality. A shape shifter.
Here love is an exploding cigar we willingly smoke. Bodies are chiseled and carved in shape of desire. They feed on each other passionately, ravenously, sensually in the midst of all the silent noise that surrounds them, unaffected.Here love is not flowery, poetic, measured and hesitant. It is fierce, pulsating, graphic, full of fluidity and madness. Nothing comes close to the love we make inside our head. Ethereal, adventurous and wildly stimulating all at the same time.
The mind also has a dark world lurking to suck you in. It is devious. It can rage passionate fires and it can also drown you in the deepest of oceans full of pain. Shred you into tiny pieces, cut your veins and bleed you to a slow death. It can ravage your heart, nibble on it or tear it like a carnivore, it can throw you off-balance and hurl you down a narrow, gaping hole. It can strip you naked and whiplash you till your skin burns crimson, black and blue. The wounds it gives don’t heal, they come alive and spit lava. It cuts you down to your size more effectively than reality does.
Then there are dreams, you won’t understand if you aren’t a dreamer, lucid dreams filled with pieces of super reality which ooze out as revelations, a world within a world. A gobbling kaleidoscopic. It is amazing how we are tricked into believing reality of these world within by our mind. It is the creator. I think my mind has highly optimized memory channels which store data for later review. Vivid, lucid dreams where one is in control of that which in fact is just imagination, is something not everyone possess.
It is here that the reality’s image is mirrored in absurdity & strange connections, I try to link them till I the find the pattern I seek. The process is continuous.
There are callings, revelations, symbols, voices and spirits. leading to inner deeper layers of this world which is a merger of dreamscape and imagination. One lives and dies and lives again here. Time travel becomes a reality. past, present and future merge. Mind becomes a canvas where every micro second the patterns change. The fine line between imagination and dreams becomes even finer with people like me.
And if you thought that is the end of it, you are wrong.
There are those demonic depths of mind where world as sensitive as a lunatic’s mind form and dissolve. Where revenge is plotted, throats are slit, where occult resides in its most primal form. Sometimes one is sucked by it at others it remains quietly breathing under the more calmer serene layer. The paradoxical existence of both and our ability to create a balance is what life is about, in real world or in the mindscape.
These are not the only world within, every moment new worlds are conceived in the mind womb ready to launch forth at any given time and take control. Everything emerges from three base emotions – Love, Hate and Fear.
Everything one runs from is in the head lurking in one of the worlds inside.
If I could just stand one night alone in my mind…. The thought itself is orgasmic.