Leafing through life

I am in a confused state of mind right now. Don’t really know why I am writing this, but then, as always, I am propelled to sit at this hour by some force that wants me to write something. I seriously do not have any idea about what. And why. I mean I know I should be writing something, but have no clue where to start, how to continue and where to end. Do all writers go through this? This irresistible urge to wear their hearts on their sleeves and wait for responses? Do they know how it feels to have felt restless all day because you have not penned your thoughts on paper? Most importantly, I do not even have the faintest inkling on what this state is called. But then, as it goes, write, if you must. Cause if I don’t, I might just end up smashed with the fury of some invisible muse, who desperately wants me to take the pen tonight.

So here I begin.

This afternoon, I found myself crying, after a very long time. Weeks maybe. And that’s really long if you ask me. It was so sudden that I could hardly believe that they were actually tears. I wasn’t howling. Nor was I feeling helpless. Just that some lost tears, quite by chance, found their way through my eyes. They must have been hidden somewhere. In the deep, dark recesses of my oft wringed core. In those daily chores that I am bound to accomplish. In those tough as stone resolves, that no matter what, I will not stand defeated. In those loud laughters that I sought refuge in, in order to survive. Survive the worst form of pain thinkable. Survive amidst a world where misery is an excuse for charity. Where empathy is expensive, hence, sympathy is showered like rain. Yes. They were lost. And today, they found a way.

A way it is. Of sorts. Of reassuring the value of tears. My tears. Tears that I have disciplined all these months. Tears that I do not indulge in too often these days. In fact, I hardly do. Tears that are no longer indispensable. I have learnt to deal with them. I can, finally, manage without them. I would like to believe.

Yet they came this afternoon. Uncalled, unprovoked, uninvoked. They appeared like stars on a moonlit night.

A puzzled me enquired, ‘What brings you here?’

They answered, ‘We were worried about you.’

‘But then, I am fine now. Don’t you see?’

They asked, ‘Are you sure?’

‘Yes’, I put my chin up.

They were adamant, ‘You don’t look fine. You are just trying to believe you are.’

I wouldn’t give in so easily, ‘No, I AM FINE’.

‘Good for you. But then, we’ve been watching you for a while, and you look so tired. You looked loaded with worries unthinkable. A weight we felt we should help you with.’

‘Worries? Don’t we all have worries? I think I am strong enough to handle them myself’.

‘Yes you are’, they confirmed, ‘but we simply want you to know, we are always there for you. To share your worries. Drench you with some breezy drizzle in the most scorching summer of your life.’

‘That’s really kind, I must admit.’

And they left. Gifting me with a smile, that stuck to my lips all evening. And with a thought that I must write something. Today.

It is not easy, I tell you. After the tremendous stroke of fate that crushed me so mercilessly, one ghastly December night. It is not easy to see a life you loved so deeply, die. It is not easy to kiss him one last time and say, ‘I love you’. It is not easy to touch his cold fingers and hope for them to tremble. And they don’t. It is not easy to place your head on his chest and not be able to gauge life in it. It is not easy to hand over fresh clothes to the nurse when she asks, ‘Have you got his clothes? We have to get him ready soon’. It is not easy when they dress him up for his final journey, as you wait outside the ICU. It is not easy when he leaves for his final journey, but you can’t bring yourself to look at him, leaving. It is not easy to come back home. Alone.

No, none of these, is easy. It can’t be. I know. I have lived them. Myself. I have touched death very closely. Touched the tired face that went to sleep, forever. Placed my palm on the winced forehead that had born the most horrific nightmares.

And after all this, I am still alive. I wake up. Make tea, get my daughter dressed for school, cook lunch, make the bed, dust the curios, change the curtains, crib about the heat, lose my temper when the maid doesn’t turn up, take calls, make calls, go for shopping, eat out, watch my favourite shows on tv, ping on whatsapp, look for notifications on facebook, help the little one with her home work, pay the bills, make note of expenses, track the savings, plan investments, wait for weekends, look forward to vacations. I do everything. After all that I have been through, I still manage. To make my life look normal. Make my life look much like one of someone my age. Settled, secure, sorted.

I think that is how God has planned it for me. I am destined to take charge of things I always wished him to take care of. I am ordained to do all of those he so wished to do. I am blessed to be living, his life.

Yes, I am indeed fortunate that I still have the chance to complete all his unfinished tasks. All his unfulfilled wishes. All his incomplete sentences. All his unuttered dreams. I am here to live on his behalf. And ensure a beautiful and splendid life for our daughter. I am here to add value to my living. As I said before, am here to ‘complete’ his life.

That’s my rationale. That’s my purpose. To be able to do justice to the life that I have been granted. After he left.

And I am thankful. To God. Things could have been worse. Could have been awfully convoluted. I could have lost sanity, in grief. I could have lost my power to withstand the onslaughts of foes. I could have lost my friends. I could have lost this pen, that relieves my soul. I could have lost the power to shield myself from sympathy. I could have lost my sense of self respect. I could have simply, died.

But I haven’t. And I am so so thankful. To God for showing me who my best friends are, showing me how important I am, and my happiness is, for them. Thankful for blessing me with a profuse measure of endurance. And thankful, for all those situations, when he signaled, I should not endure, any further.
Thankful for everything I still have. And would never ever want to let go.

And one of them is you. I share my life with you, and feel lighter. You, truly know the real me. Some of you wait for me to write a post. Some promise me undying prayers, some, love and some, smiles. Some love, what I write. Some love, how I write. Some simply, love me.

Like the tears I met this afternoon. You, are my friend for life.

It's her seventh birthday

it's her seventh birthday and I haven't yet bought a gift for her. just wondering what gift can you give to the most beautiful and priceless gift in your life? nothing really. for everything seems so little, so dwarfed before her precious presence in my life. a little girl who has carved a mother out of me. a fairy who has touched the abyss of grief with her smile. healed a grieving mom with just one thing, love.

let me take you back in time. for a while. life changed for her a couple of months after she turned four. you all know how. but what many of you may not know is how that changed her. my girl. compelled to accept, adjust, adapt to life. at the age of four. uncomplaining, never brooding, not for once questioning the colossal disharmony, that messed up her small comfortable world. yes, she didn't know how to frame the haphazard questions that troubled her within. she didn't know how troubled she was. she didn't know. or maybe she knew. and understood better, than us, elders.

cause she is, God's little girl who's here to heal. who's here to guard a mother. a disillusioned, anchorless, shaken mother who's lost so so much in life. and love. God's own girl who'll wipe the tears with her soft, yet firm little fingers. she has done it all. and more. took me in her arms when I cried. made funny faces to make me laugh. kept bothersome hurting intruders at bay. handed me the remote when I sat beside her after a long hour in the kitchen. volunteered to make a glass of rose drink for a tired mom. wore the uniform herself when mom was ill. packed her school bag. ensured mom has a bottle of water in her bag when she goes grocery shopping. drank milk at one go. scored good grades and with each score, eagerly enquired, 'mammam, tumi khushi toh?'. she has done it all. and much, much more than my memory can contain. or recollect. or retell.

often, I look at her for hours when she is sleeping. pride reigns supreme when I realize I have her. God's own girl. is 'my' daughter. the one with a heart that shines like gold. amidst all the black smoke hovering over and around us. the one who can banish all pain and heaviness in an instant, with her amazing sense of humour. and an equally innate skill in mimicry. she does it all. and I'm left wondering, how.

her seventh birthday! and I haven't yet bought a gift for her. and I shall never ever get to give her the gift I want her to have. rather, the gift she might expect. silently. I can never. not with all the treasures in the world. not with my life.

it's her seventh birthday! and I haven't yet bought a gift for her.

but I know. she'll know.
why I didn't.
some day. she'll understand. why I couldn't.

Alive!

the best thing about life is knowing that you are still alive. alive to live. laugh. love. 

alive to see a new sunrise every morning. 
alive to behold the day as it quietly yet surely glides and blends with the night. 
alive to share a cup of tea with your family. 
alive to rush to work. 
alive to meet deadlines. 
alive to take a coffee break. 
alive to slog it all day and then come home. 
alive to freshen up and watch your favourite show on tv. 
alive to ping on whatsapp. 
alive to change that boring profile picture on facebook. 
alive to respond to a friend request. 
alive to pay your bills. 
alive to crib about them. 
alive to gossip. chat. fight. 
alive to make love. and war. 
alive to look at the clouds. 
alive to get drenched. 
alive to smile at the cute baby smiling at you on the street. 
alive to call a long lost friend. 
alive to say sorry. 
alive to cry till you can cry no more. 
alive to let the tears dry. 
alive to face new truths. 
alive to be shaken. shattered. and devastated. 
alive to speak to God. ask questions. demand answers. 
alive to sit alone. silently listen. to God speak. to you in person. 
alive to make efforts to gauge his ways. 
alive to look around. and find the reason. 
for why you are still alive. in this planet called earth. 
alive to let the sand blow on your face. 
alive to let the waves kiss your feet. 
alive to dream. of new beginnings. of a better living. 
alive to sieve the good. 
alive to try and discard the useless. the harmful. the painful. 
and keep only that which is precious. like...being alive.

alive. 
a very powerful feeling. 
a tremendous experience. 
an immensely generous blessing. 
an honest prayer answered. 
a great space to stretch your arms.

alive. 
a fleeting state. 
tiptoeing through days and nights. weeks months years.

alive. 
a boon. a hope. a chance. 
to live. the life you want.

I am alive. 
to write this at this hour. 
once again I didn't take the pen today. 
the pen took me. to share this with you. 

this...keeps me alive!

A new life

sometimes we make mistakes. and don't know how to make amends. that's when we lose out on hope, happiness, peace. the life we live then, is the life we wish would end. miserable, ridiculed, built on falsehood & treachery. but then, you can't just end your life right? so, you make your compromises, adjust with the sad truths, pay heavily for your emotions, honesty, goodness and misplaced faith. that yours will be the most beautiful life. come whatever.

but then, beautiful lives can only happen when beautiful minds and hearts unite to make something worthwhile.
not when jealousy creeps in, hatred brews, stealth rules. not when love transforms into deep red marks on the frail skin. not when animosity bleeds through a blow on the eye. not when you silently cry, knowing, there's no one for you. no escape, from a life, you have chosen. by mistake.
mistakes. we pay heavily for them. and learn what no one else could have taught us.

and one fine day, something happens. and you know, all's not lost. yet.

all the veils removed, faces unmasked, venoms tasted, now you know where you stand and what you have earned through these lessons.

a new life.
where you are no more a victim.
where you don't hide your wounds under smiles and dark glasses.

where life...is not that bad.
and there's room for love.

---written for a very dear one.

Words from beyond

my first try at automatic writing was exhaustive, straining and happened in just three minutes. four pages in three minutes flat. I wasn't thinking. at all. just let the pen flow. and it flowed as if from beyond. not grammatically perfect sentences all of them. some just words. which lead where I do not know. but wish to share this because it is unbelievable. but happened to me. an extract from the four page flow of words from beyond -

".....Suppose someday you wake up and find a candle by the side of your bed.what do you do? leave it as it is or break it. keep it right. the candle is there. light it and go the extra mile to smile. laugh live. you have suffered more than what was due to you. don't suffer anymore for people who think you are a fool, you are a nonsense, failure, loser. they have no idea. nothing of what your struggle is all about. & you need not explain. journey is yours.the end too shall be yours. live on. live better. traverse the inner depths. don't worry someday these people will raise the toast for you. time will come. nothing matters till you are happy. just leave the rest to god.as it is you can't change a thing, destiny. life shall move on even when you are not around. so let it be. just choose your path and go with the flow. you are your own king. YOU the purpose, you the way to achieve it.leave it at that. and try. things will happen. sooner or later. live with hope and hope to win. life.magic.summer."

Down misery lane

walking down 'misery lane', I covered my head with a tough cloth spun from a metre of will, and a few strips of resolve. a few miles, and I knew the thunder warned showers. showers, sudden, uncaring, incessant. my veil, not strong enough for the onslaughts, would fail to do the task assigned. and will, eventually, fall off. in some time. still I walked on. alone, shivering, distraught. all the street lights turned out only to add to my helplessness. there wasn't a soul I could call out to. 'misery lane', must say, lived up to its name.


desperate, however, I promised myself not to halt till I found the shop. which sold the magic potion. the antidote for all my problems. the medicine that guaranteed sleep. the pill called 'relief'. someone once told me they sold it here somewhere, on the bylanes of this distressingly convoluted 'misery lane'. too many bylanes here. one leads to 'self pity', another ends in 'tears', and I almost lost my way in a crooked, narrow dark stretch that read 'death'. but then, I turned. enroute a barren field, that had once been ripe. and mellow. with now, just a few painfully ingrained shadows, here and there, of it's, not too past, splendour. and laughters. 


as I walk past this small undulating patch splashed with memory, I look up at the all-embracing vast blue above me. a soft, nascent drop falls on my long parched lips. oh! it has finally started pouring. I decide to wait till it stops. for, having come this far, I surely can't afford to miss the rainbow. before I walk back home.