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

Gateway to the dreams

Only last night, the gateways to the world of their dreams had not seemed that unreachable. They'd spent scores of nights, right under the starlit sky , dreaming of things that they's later remember as remnants of a forgotten life. Dhrubo'd be sent away, having been discovered, into a realm far beyond her reach. And Ashima'd wait. For days. For Months. Perhaps, for years, harboring the thought that he'd come looking for her. Just once. She'd get married eventually, letting the incandescent flame of love burn somewhere in her existence. 

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She'd be happy, in her new life, learning to accept the aphorisms of her common sense. She'd learn to accept the processes of the nature, still valorizing the love she had once been a part of. She'd believe in the possibility of an alternate universe, a parallel existence, when they 'd been careful not to leave behind the red and yellow hand woven blanket on the terrace that night. The same blanket, which had seen the transition of their love, which had seen the transition from the quivering hands to the deep sighs of peace as they had reclined together. She'd continue to live a dual existence, fulfilling all the responsibilities of her matrimony and harboring the nascent thoughts of her love from a previous life. 

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Years later, when she'd have emerged from a shy, vulnerable young girl to a stronger version, the austerity in her starched cotton draped sari, doing no justice to the demons she had overcome, she'd see him suddenly, in a market place, a fleeting glance. Her heart'd skip a beat, praying with fervor for a single glance in her direction and as if the Gods unknown would conspire and

hear her prayers, he would look up. And at that one moment, the realization would dawn upon her, that the entity she had lionized all these years, was indeed never to be.That despite being hailed as the victim, all along, it actually was the choice, that he had made. 

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Would the realization let her live? Would she go on with her life as ever before? Love, that has no boundaries, has no rules nor gender would  become a long lost memory, and stripped of all her illusions she'd perhaps find herself.

- S.

Core of existence (Part 1)

In the quiet of the early morning, Ved could hear his name being called with a clarity that was disturbing. He wasn’t sure what had brushed his consciousness in the first place, but he felt as aware as if the blood flowing through his veins were a distinct stream in the quiet of the dawn. Though he tried to go back to sleep, the restlessness he felt, refused to let him relax. He had been sitting beside the window of his room till the wee hours of the morning, when unaware, his eyelids had grown heavy and had fallen asleep. Now that he was wide awake, he decided to go outside his room and check for himself, if the indistinct humming he had been hearing was real. His house was deserted. He could not clearly remember, where everyone was. The silence and eeriness around him was exactly like the nightmare he had been having since the past few days. 

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It was still dark outside and he could hear the faint rustle of the leaves on the tendua tree that stood a few feet away from his house. The wind on his face, relaxed his senses and he started walking, in no particular direction. He just wanted to walk. After a while though, he saw something in the distance, white as an apparition. For some reason, unknown, he felt drawn towards it like a firefly towards a light source. The darkness made it impossible to see where the path led, especially across the hilly terrain. It was only when he reached the plain it became clear that he had been following a small group of people- a young boy in the center, holding a small wicker basket led by a young woman. The were heading towards the bank of the small stream that led to the cremation ground.

 He looked at the young boy again. His eyes were sad and empty but not a drop of tear escaped. Unable to take in the scene , Ved decided to leave. He knew how quiet his departure was, and how everyone had been unaware, of his presence around them.

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 A few days later Ved saw the small boy again, walking past his house. Ved wanted to talk to him, to offer words of comfort, of encouragement, to make him aware that he had been there when they were at the Ghat the other day. What difference would that make?

 Saddened by the thought, he decided to follow the boy. He had been tired and bored of his loneliness, of hanging around doing absolutely nothing since the past few days. His mind, perhaps had begun to play tricks on him, how many days had it been, since he had first seen the boy?  He could no longer keep track of his days and nights- he would find himself doing something one moment and the next moment he would wake up to something completely different. He had been thinking to visit a doctor, just to make sure that he was not actually going crazy. Breaking the chain of his thoughts he followed the boy. 

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 Ved tried to remember his name; just the other day, he had heard someone call out to the young boy. He almost remembered, but soon it slipped past his consciousness,to be replaced by a void. The boy had disappeared already. It wasn’t dark, yet all he could see were the lush green pasture of bamboo that sprawled like an unending forest in front of him. He felt himself become one with the stillness of the air around him. He was about to leave, when he spotted him sitting at the edge of the field, his tiny form barely visible against the lush green background when it came back to him.

Manan. 

He had had snatched the tiny bit of information from the depths of his memories, before it could escape this time. 

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 Manan just sat there looking up at the sky, till the stars came up. Manan was sad, Ved could clearly see in in the way he sat, his back bent under some invisible weight, the shine and spark missing from his eyes. Ved went and sat beside him, and whispered into Manan’s ears, “Hey!? How are you?”. Manan looked at him, but did not answer. Ved thought that perhaps he was so shaken up that he did not want to talk. He decided to give Manan the silence that he longed for, but never left his side sitting there till it was almost time to go back. 

Ved again tried to start a conversation with Manan, “Won’t your parents be looking for you Manan?”

But it was his silence that greeted him. Again.

As if realizing that he should get going, Manan picked up his bag and made his way back into the city, with Ved by his side. The silence between them stretched like an eternity with nothing to be shared. Manan’s tiny steps back towards the city broke his heart, he wanted to ask Manan about the other day, when he had first spotted him at the Ghat, but all the efforts Ved made towards starting a conversation went in vain. Manan would just not respond. 

The loss had been more than a mere mortal’s life. The young boy had learnt to remain silent and calm at an age where he should be running around, demanding to be pampered and taken care of.  It was seven by the time Manan had reached his house and went inside without a glance at Ved, leaving him standing outside- thinking for a long time. 

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“Where were you?” Arunima’s anxious face greeted Manan at the door. Before he could reply Arunima held him by the elbow and dragged him inside. “Do you realize how worried I was, to find out that you were not at school today? Do you think you are old enough to wander about on your own” Arunima went on scolding him. Manan stood there, his head bowed low, fat tears pouring down his face. Arunima bent down sitting in front of him, so that they were at the same level and shook him, “Answer me”. He remained silent and a wave of pity rose inside her and she pulled Manan into a close hug. “I am sorry baby; Maasi got worried for you”, wiping his tears she looked into his eyes and said “Promise me, you won’t ever go anywhere without letting me know”, Manan’s silent nod seemed like a dead weight to Arunima.  She realized how difficult it was for him, to have lost his dad, his best friend, who meant everything to him at such a young age. Arunima’s sister had long left a void in their lives when Manan was born. 

Manan was dearer to her, than any other person in existence. He was the only link to her past, her own childhood. After losing her sister, she had not thought that Manan would go through the pain of losing his only parent. But such had been the irony of life. Manan’s father Tanush, was a lively man, full of life and happiness. The news had shocked everyone. Arunima knew how badly shaken up Manan had been to see his dad, lay there all, the accident spot all bloodied. It was a miracle that Manan and Arunima had escaped unscathed from it. 

The damage was however, deeper; since that day Manan had not uttered a single word. With each passing day Arunima was getting worried for him and had tried everything she could to make him talk. Today was the first time that she had the courage to send him to school and he had run away, without telling her anything.

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“Do you want to eat? I made your favorite pasta today….”. Letting out a deep sigh Arunima took him inside , holding his hand and gently made him eat. Manan ate without a word; not once he resorted to the pranks he usually played with Arunima. She was his playmate and partner in crimes, the only person he loved and trusted other than his father. 

It was well past his bed time when he finally fell asleep. Arunima tucked him into his bed, and sat beside him, afraid to leave even for a moment. When she had found out that he had disappeared from school that day, she had gone wild with anxiousness. She had called all his friends at school, talked to their parents to know if they had any clue about his whereabouts. She had reached a dead end everywhere and she was about to go check the police station, when he had turned up. She felt , that some invisible angel had brought him back home safely.

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The last thought that she had before dozing off was to bring the old mischievous Manan back, from the land where he had wandered and seemed to be lost .

                                                                                   to be continued.... 

Love--Life ---Reality

Books, I believe offer us such solace that it is incomparable to any other form of respite existing on earth. I as an individual, have always been drawn to the concept of love. Love in any form, to me is like a divine connection, one that transcends the worldly boundaries placed around us. The last two books that I read- IQ84 and We the Living exposed me to two different facets of love, that I am brimming with thoughts and realizations that need to be penned down to help me make sense of it all. 

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Love and eternity, have so often be used together, probably to give expression to the timeless existence of this emotion. But what in reality is this eternity ? Isn't time itself a deceptive entity and so on what grounds do we use eternity as a measure of this emotion?

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Where IQ84 set my pulse racing with the thrill of what the protagonists, two people deeply in love, but separated by parallel existence in alternate worlds would encounter, would their worlds ever merge to the singularity of existence. On the other hand, We the Living seemed like a reality check on how circumstances and life as it morphs love into something that is unknown. Set against the background of the Russian Revolution, the lives of three people who give up everything in the quest of love end up in circumstances they would have never envisaged themselves in. 

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The female protagonist, once hailed as a feminist, who looks down on men, chooses to be the mistress to someone to save the life of her beloved. Two men, one whose principals and ideals were larger than life chooses to be the arm candy of the rich- the existence of whom he had detested and the other who gave up his very beliefs and ideals and ultimately his life for the one woman he loved.

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Its difficult to say if they found happiness; what they did discover was the reality which in itself is like an illusion. And this is where these two works of fiction pull me in. Both culminated into a so- called reality. I get fascinated by how everything fits together.

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Love.

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Life

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Reality

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These alternate worlds that we imagine, aren't they part of our own physical existence, brought to the forefront by adversities and unrest. And if so, what is it that we all are seeking?

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I realize that that for each one of us, there is a distinct reality- one that is defined by the present and the past, like two alternate versions of the world.

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And the future, well that is the impetus for all the unrest inside us, isn't it?

-S.

Closure

Love, is a concept that is so warped up around existence and experience. The depth and intensity of this emotion, at times leaves us changed and broken. Being broken, however is a sign that we are still vulnerable and that our soul is still nascent in the way it connects.
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Across boundaries.
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There are so many people who are at the same time broken as well as strong, holding on, to the vestiges of sustenance. What surprises me is the mask of indifference that people often choose to hide their pain. Is it that easy - to not care, to be unavailable emotionally? These boundaries we have created to keep ourselves sane, scares and distresses me. When love is intense, so is the hurt that comes with it. And that, I feel is perfectly normal. Our survival, our existence- everything is somewhat jeopardized.
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But what I find most beautiful, is our ability to heal - over time. That of course might take years and that indeed signifies how important something had been to us. But we heal - eventually. And that one thing which helps the process is friendship and love, one that is unconditional, non-judgmental, that which accepts you for who you truly are. People, who themselves have gone through the pain of an emotional breakdown, often end up trivializing problems faced by other people.
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What I wonder, is why can't people be just there? As a support and not often words of advice. However great the purpose might be, its useless unless the hurt soul finds closure inside.
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Closure- its such a paradox, you know. Its like a veil that separates acceptance and reality. Like an imaginary boundary, which when crossed calms down all our demons. I've seen and heard people mock others, who are too emotional, too naive and too connected to things that happen around them. But, love- that simple, divine connection one feels- might last for a moment or for a lifetime. They perhaps do not realize, how brave a soul has to be to accept that something that beautiful could not last forever.
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Does it really matter, whether it was a moment or an eternity? After knowing love, which no human words can never tell, the distinction between the two ceases. I feel distressed to realize that even in the moment that I've moved on - from people, from circumstances, I am still stuck. As if I have parallel versions of my soul, each latched onto those memories.
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The beauty of this distress indeed culminates into the journey of healing. Seeing a journey, that at one point was so unlikely, insurmountable in fact, like that incessant body ache which creeps down to the limbs, into every pore and cell of the body, refusing to go away. Over time, the pain kind of settles down. We learn to live with it, accept it.
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And so acceptance of our vulnerabilities, our own absurdities, our need to connect is the one thing that perhaps propels us towards the path of peace.
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The path that can turn a colorless void around us, into a beautiful, colorful sphere, where as individuals we can grow, evolve and be our own true self.
-S.