The Story of the Fall...

                                                              (i)

How do you tell the story of falling in love?
 the story of the fall that-
never was the fall,
   that was slow at first,
      and then as rapid as a meteor,
shooting past the darkness of the city-
   that lay unaware of the celestial dance,
      we had inadvertently led ourselves into-
setting it ablaze,
      like the stardust,
      we were made of,
shimmering, glittering, leaving behind a trail,   
  of love,
of hope.

                                                           (ii)

How do we tell the story of 'us' falling in love?
     the story that had no prologue;
     we never said the word 'love'
     we didn't have to,
It was around us, in our laughter,
in the sense of wonder I found in you.
I saw it in your smile,
    the smile which was home,
    that turned a 'nothing' into 'everything'.
        
                                                       (iii)

How do I, tell the story of us falling in love?
When all that I have with me is a memory,
  nestled in my mind,
     waiting to be fragmented,
the one that awakens each time i close my eyes.
 "Us"
walking endlessly,
into the dark,
where the flickering lights gave way to the stars.
And amidst the conversations we had,
about nothing and everything- I remember the warmth of your touch.
You remember that too, don't you?
I sometimes wonder, if I was there at all.
And yet my heart knows,
that, 'that' was the beginning of it all.

-S.

    

That "No" Never Meant a "Yes"

This is the hardest thing I've ever written. Hard not because I don't have the right words to express my thoughts, but simply because I don't know where to start. When I'd been writing about how I have healed over the past year, towards better, I also realized how, many people have been a part of this journey of self healing, in a lot of ways. There were women, who supported me. But this support worked differently. I'd speak to a lot of women, discuss their problems, listen to them and the acknowledgement that I've helped them grow, in fact helped the growth in me. But that is not what I intend to write about, here. 

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Over the past few days, with the advent of the #metoo campaign, the social media news feed has been bustling with stories of sexual abuse, people faced at some point of their lives. It is surprising, how a colossal section of us, have been subjected to abuse as children, when we were probably too young, too naive to understand, or contemplate things. It leaves scars, which probably would never heal, leaving a buzz inside our own head, "Was it my fault?" What is even more surprising is the fact that this feeling, of being at fault perhaps becomes a part of our demonic inner self. We however, have come a long way, in being able to share our experiences, our thoughts, claiming that we belong to that generation, where acceptance is virtue.

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Or is it?

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Abuse, in an form is not easy, to come to terms with- whether it be at our workplace, on roads, or even within the safe haven of the family. It becomes exceedingly difficult when the person in question turns out to be someone, you'd once respected and in some ways admired. How do you come to terms with the very fact, that someone meant to protect you, would ravage your existence each moment you are alone with that person? Thanks to my loving parents and my sister, I've always felt protected, safe even when they are miles away. Their very presence giving me the strength to go on with life, whatever the situation might be. But when something of this magnitude happens, your core is shaken up. And when I speak of acceptance, of women empowerment, I speak of women who have stood by me- supported me. But here it comes- acceptance.

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In spite of all the support, I was questioned. I was asked why did I stay silent? Why was I being a disappointment? I resorted to the very thing I usually do, I wrote about it. To that, people said, stop romanticizing things! You should've done this or that. I can clearly remember the way I felt maligned when the person in question, was in the same room as me. The bile that rose in me, when he tried repeatedly to grope me, when he put me in awkward situations. Time and again. And to everyone, who'd question "Why would you stay silent?", let me tell you that it was not easy. Coming to facts with this- was not easy at all. 

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However, over time, I gathered myself up and I confronted him, and then I was blamed, for saying a "No" that was not strong enough. My only question here, is that does the connotation of a No change with time? It does not. And people, men, women, need to understand that. Its great that people are being aware, of the vices others face, but by being judgmental, they are not offering any solace- they only end up aggravating an already serious issue.  

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The only thing that will help, is the awareness, that it is not our fault. That  no is meant to convey a certain aspect, which people chose to ignore. That we, as individuals, are not answerable to the entire world, for the choices we make. That its okay, to protect ourself,  even from our own loved ones, if need be. That in the journey of self discovery, and healing the only thing that matters is our own faith. 

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Being strong does not mean having to accept things as they are. Being strong also doesn't mean shouting out to the entire world, what we are going through. Being strong is as much about holding on, there when its all about to collapse. 

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Stay strong.

- S.

The Power of Healing

Halfway across the globe, away from home, from the country that is basking in the lights of festivity and celebrating the joy of enlightened souls, I sit down, brooding with a cup of tea. The only thought that crosses my mind is the realization, how another year has passed- away from home. Certain things in life, should never happen. Like being away (from home), on Diwali, right? I am digressing from the point, and with this dawns the fact that how an entire year can morph our lives into a new whole.
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The peculiar thing, about distressing events is that, they are particularly coward; they never occur singly, but always in packs and leap out as us all at once. And before you even know, you'd find yourself slipping- through the cracks of reality, landing in a void, displaced and lost.
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Displaced- and you'd be stuck in a limbo- waiting, for that closure, which may never arrive, putting everything on hold. Putting your life, your dreams, your sustenance on hold. This closure, is such a paradox, a veil that separates acceptance and reality. An imaginary boundary, which, when crossed calms down all our demons. I've seen people trivialize the insecurities other's may/may not express rendering them too emotional, too naive, too connected to things that happen around. But I believe that love, that connections touch our souls, bare them, and they stay- in some form or the other- sometimes as memories, sometimes as heartbreaks or bitter experiences and build us up. I feel that in each moment that I've moved on, from people, from situations, I'm still stuck. While I choose to leave behind parts of me, there are parts that I carry ahead, and these I have realized helped me heal. Helped me be better, every day- in smallest ways.
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There was a time, not so long ago, when I'd look back and still sink- within the abyss of hopelessness. But each day when I accepted my own vulnerabilities, my own pain I learnt acceptance. I learnt that pain could coexist, with immense happiness. And that to live, to survive we need not become different from who we started out as. That bitterness need not change the core of who we are. And that when we heal, we find that beautiful sphere of happiness, where we grow, evolve and be our own true self.
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Always.
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Happy Diwali. Lighten up your soul. <3