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.

Living with Cancer

time does not heal every wound. because some wounds are like cancer, I mean, acute cancer, from which there is no escape. and I have seen both - the suffering that comes with cancer that plunders your body and now mine, a cancer that eats away your core bit by bit. slowly, but surely.

I know it all. your gluttony. your love for ruins. your satisfaction when you look at the flat EEG. but then after too many trials and errors in this last one year of my life, I have learnt a few important lessons.

the first and most important is stay away from people who make you feel low, weak and under their mercy. away from some relations by blood, whose moronic judgmental attitude about how I should live my life, hasn't yet taken a backseat. by yet I mean, not even after knowing what I have lost. so, stay away. cause they will never understand.

and among a dozen other things learnt, the best is, being with myself. moments spent alone, when my cancerous bosom threatens to shed tears of blood. when drenched pillows and scorched demons repeatedly warn me of the malignancy that's growing inside my body. time. has taught me that I am my own best friend. for I know how deep my wounds are. and how far they have travelled till now, to usurp my once, spirited soul. only I know.

time never healed the instant helpless tears each time I thought of my last words with him or the final kiss on his forehead before saying bye.

time simply organized the tears better. now I know, I should be shedding them only in solitude. only with myself.

cancer, teaches you everything.
time, just gives you the recaps.
all your life.

Goodbye is just a word

Certain is it that there is no kind of affection so purely angelic as of a father to a daughter. In love to our wives there is desire; to our sons, ambition; but to our daughters there is something which there are no words to express. ~ Joseph Addison

Writing after a long time, propelled yet again by love and some ounces of tears, maybe. Those unshed tears that are as essential  and intrinsic to me, as the morning cup of tea. There have been times when I so wished to write something in the last few months, yet I failed to craft the tears into words. So, I decided to wait till I can no longer hold it within. And tonight is such a night, where I must pour some of those tears on this page, to prevent the drizzling from turning into a downpour. Tonight, I shall share with you the story of a little girl and her loving father. A short story with a message that transcends life, time and death.

The only thought that has made me survive since the night my dear husband left, was, I am a mother too. And will have to live for our child. The only truth that drove me was there is no one to look after her if I am gone. No one she can call her parent. No one. And I have to be the good mother. I, for whom the only light that remains amidst all the darkness, is, his angel.

It was the 30^th of November last year, when I took her to meet him at the hospital. The surprise worked, and the moment she entered the room, his face lit up. To sunshine, on a cold windy evening. He looked weak, hardly able to turn to his sides, yet he tried. Tried to turn to his left, to face his daughter. Smiled and waved his palm asking her to come and sit close to him. And as I took a chair to prepare some green tea for him, I saw the two best friends having the warmest chat of their lives. Together. For the very last time.

She was wearing this olive green pullover and he looked at her and said, ‘I bought this for you last winter, remember?’ and smiled again. That grief washing smile. The smile that comes with the thought that he had once been fit enough to go and shop for his baby.

As we were about to leave, he said softly, ‘I will come and see you off’ and struggled to sit up. The joy of having seen his child after so long helped. She held his hand and they walked slowly to the passage wherefrom he could say bye. I followed, watching them from behind, walking hand in hand. Till it was time to leave.

And there he was. Standing alone till his angel got on the car. And waved him bye. He was crying as he waved back. Tears of a father who was destined never to be able to cuddle his angel to sleep. Tears of a papa who had a million plans with and for his daughter, that will never come true. Tears of a father who could not drive her home that winter night.

And I, saw it all. Heard it all. The magical union. The smiles. The little fingers. Helping a frail papa sit up and have his green tea. The jokes they shared. And laughed. The eyes that stared at her without a blink. The eyes that wanted to take papa home that moment. The gush of energy that helped him tread his way to the balcony. The inevitable separation. As the little fingers were set free reluctantly. As the unwilling hand now moved to wipe off those unleashed tears, and smile.

I, the wife and I, the mother, did not cry, that evening either. Undecided as I was, for I did not know whom to cry for. The helpless father who stood there in a blue t-shirt, wiping his tears, or, the silent, star-crossed man who looked on as his world moved away from him. In small, unsteady, hesitant steps.

Now that I look back, I wonder how did I manage to hold back my tears. How did I actually smile and wave back at him. As if all is fine and he will be home soon. He never came home again.

He will never come home again.

One year down, and I continue to relive those final moments he chanced to share with her. On 30^th November evening. I continue to make myself believe that we shall meet again. For where there is so much love, separation must definitely be a matter of time. I continue to tell myself every living moment that you are still there. Standing beside her. With her. Wherever she goes. Just that we can no longer see you.

For all the tears you shed that evening, all the lonely hours you spent crying on that painful iron bed, all the times you told me, ‘You know what, Guria won’t remember how her papa was, and that hurts. I will miss seeing my angel grow’, let me tell you just a few things.

Your angel is a part of you. She is you, actually. For everything she does reminds us all of no one else but you. The way she frowns, the way she sleeps, her gait, her smile, her double chin, the food she loves, her moments before the mirror, even her hug – it is you. The world looks at her and tells me that you live through her. And as I look at her, I never let the tears show.

Your angel will never ever forget her papa. You know now, when she speaks silently to you and asks for your blessings each time she sits for a test. You know now, when she plays her favorite song on your phone and proudly says, ‘Mamma, this is papa’s favorite too’. You know now, when she has come to believe that whenever we need you, you are just a soft, innocent prayer away.

She needs you. To smile and wave at her the way you did a year back.

Be there. We love you.