Stranger (4)

She was sore all over. Her body hurt from exhaustion and from the beating it had received from him. The telltale white strands in her hair told her that she was too old and too tired to fight it anymore. 

She hadn't bother disguising the swollen red cheeks or the fact that she was deaf in one ear thanks to all the eardrum shattering slaps it had endured. With a sigh... she willed herself to walk when the music wafted in.

Hamsadhwani she muttered. The notes of the flute mingled with the rock and roll of the drums and struck her rooted to her place. She hummed along... she knew the arohanas and the avarohanas of the raaga. Eyes closed, hands and feet in sync with the taala of the raaga .... The soreness in her body drained away. Music is spiritual. Even to an atheist.

He spotted her in the crowd. Her presence was like the smell of mogra and jasmine. A breath of fresh air in an otherwise rank odor filled life. He watched her sway to the music.... imperceptible movements of her fingers tapping rhythmically on her thigh. 

Her hair a tangled mess, her dress a little too tight and a little too middle class. No makeup no jewellery and a red swollen cheek. A stark contrast to the beautiful and coiffed ladies and gentlemen around. Yet he was drawn to her... His eyes never left her face though a million and two people walked about.

The song tapered to an end and it seemed like the weight she was carrying flew back on her shoulders. Soreness and pain returned with a vengeance and she fell back to reality with a thud. She opened her eyes to find him watching her and a wave of self consciousness swept over her.Her dress was faded, was a size smaller for it was a dress that was a decade old. Her hair in a messy bun... her face streaked with dried tears and wet sweat. She wished he hadn't seen her  .... not this way. 

Averting her eyes, she walked away. 

He stood watching her .... oblivious to the words of the world.

And no. He didn't know how the events transpired as well. Little did she know. But there they were. 

Her hot fingers touching his cold earlobe. The clink of her earring with his watch... His palm on the mole on her cheek. Her hands in his hair.. The little tickle of his stubble, a drop of blood from his lips.. her gasp and his tongue kissing her teeth.

The drawing away of his mouth from hers. His lips on her nape. Her hands on his back. His fingers on her neck. A hickey that would need to be hidden, a scratch on the back that would need some creative explanation.

The loudspeaker announcing the next band. The quick parting of the couple (?).hurried steps in opposite directions.

It wasn't love.

It wasn't love.

It wasn't love.

It couldn't have been. 

Because.

It wasn't love.

It wasn't love.

It wasn't love.

It...........wasn't. ......... love ?

The stranger (3)

As she sat watching the sun disappear to wherever he went at the end of the day.... she felt anythingpu calm.

The scene was like out of a storybook. The warm sea water at her feet.... The cool breeze playing with her hair. The lonely beach with a vast expanse of sand to keep her company.

She should have felt at peace as she stared at the drowning sun.... The sun was being flamboyant.  It looked like he had set the whole see on fire and the sky and the water were doing some sort of a primal dance that involved a riot of blue orange and red.

And yet.

It is what it is.
We are who we are.

She heard him say. So lost she had been, in her thoughts that she hadn't seen him come.

It seemed so innocent. Two people out on the beach. Was it?

He sat at a distance.... beyond arms length. She kept her eyes fixed on the sun. 

2 people on the beach. 2 people and silence.

silence that sang. Silence that took them away from the world and on to the drowning dying sun.

There was squealing and laughing and patter of feet. The world had caught up with them. It was time to.

I love you honey

 

She told her husband. 

I missed you sweetheart he kissed his wife.

It wasn't love. It was just silence that sang at a time when it was neither day nor night. When they were neither here nor there.

It wasn't love.

the freedom

She shut the door closed. And then, that was done. The flood gates opened up. Finally, they could run free. As she wept her anger way, the tears left her with a sense of void, a vaccum that surprised her. She had expected relief, not this dull throbbing nothingness.
There was no telling about what she wanted, after a long bitter battle , she had finally closed the doors and had vowed never to look back.
Why the ache in the pit of her stomach then?
~~~~~

she had opened herself up to accomodate him.
Her body, her mind, her life, her habits, everything moved to accomodate him. Everything she did, now had his tinge, his musky smell a mixture of deospray, cigarettes and his sweaty chest- which she hated at the beginning, but had now begun to tolerate, and God help her, almost even like.
She began to accept those phone calls which irritated her in the beginning to be a part of life, as did she began to accept those stubby hands that crept up her waist destroying her REM cycle. his baritone, his slight deafness, his "Im always right" attitude,
she had just adjusted herself to work around this. She had retailored her life around him, his whims and fancies.
And then came the daughter, and life, if she did have any semblance of it left, just ended as she knew it. Equations changed, words and their meanings changed, colors changed. time warped. everything was distorted now; everything was lost, and nothing was found. It was this nothing that she still held on to, she told herself, if I think hard about it, this, uncomfortable feeling, this sense of being choked, might actually feel good. It might actually turn into love.
~~~~~
What triggered it? She would later think about her history teacher telling the class that the wars that changed the landscape of the earth, often began with a small transgression, which otherwise would go unnoticeable in the canvas of world history.
Whatever led to it, however it had shaped up, she had reached this point today.
She was back where she started, albeit minus her youth, her vibrancy and her will to live. She was altered in a way that could not be "unaltered", she had changed in ways that were almost unimaginable, her outlook to life, her responses to life, everything, including the color of her hair had changed.
Time isnt furniture that once changed, you can drag it back the place that lounge chair was, so the room looked the same again.
Time was everchanging, to yearn and want the past might be human nature, but is the impossible, the one thing that Man hasnt learnt to manipulate.
~~~~~
The aching void gave way to a fit of laughter. The realisation that she was now alone. That she could finally smell and hold silence, that she could sigh and hear the sound echo around the house, that she could order a pizza without being lectured about cheese, that she could watch TV and play a game all at the same time, without demands for coffee and milk and a thousand other tiny things.
That she could be a human being, and not a work mule from egypt, that she could stand in the mirror and like what she saw, without having to avert her eyes.
And she laughed. the sound felt foriegn to her ears. It was ages since laughter had bubbled up like this, ages since laughter had actually emanated from the depths of her soul.
She looked at the papers she clutched in her hand, un-creased them, re-read them, tears streaming down her face, tears of joy, of happiness. and in that instant, she almost believed. that instant, she WANTED to believe. in god. for delivering her freedom back, for allowing her to respect herself, her gender, her likes, her demands, her sense of self, her soul.
Divorced. she whispered to herself. Divorced, she shouted out to the world, heard the echo in the empty house, Divorced - she called out to her dead parents.
Divorced, and she began to laugh again. Laughter filled with joy and relief.
Laughter that came 10 years too late.

of nightmares and you.

"aur kya ehd-e-wafa hote hain,
log milte hain, juda hote hain"

I hate you. You no longer exist in my world.

Why do you torment me so then?

It is past midnight, and I toss and I turn, and I cannot sleep, because the mind decided to go to that dark corner - the abyss of the sub conscious that I have thrown you into.

I was dreaming, I didn't know better, than to venture out there. the abyss where all unwanted, unpleasant and hateful things are thrown away.

The mind must stay in the palace built in it. The memory palace. The palace whose passageways are lined with memories I want. The memories that I have distorted enough to feel good.

In the abyss lies the truth, in the abyss lies all my emotion. my pent up fury, my anger and my hate. My disgust, and my love too. I keep telling my dream-me not to venture in there, for the nightmares that emerge from there are far too scary, they keep you up at night, they destroy your days and kill your nights.

Despite all those warnings, like Hansel and Gretel in the candy house, I venture in there, and see you staring back at me.

I wake up gasping for air, the tumor within makes it difficult to breathe, I gasp and I rasp and I choke and I gag, reaching out for my water bottle, but suddenly, I find myself in that despicable city, in your despicable room, and my fingers touch your skin instead of the plastic bottle, my hand grazes over your pimpled semi bearded face, and I recoil, I hate that touch. I hate the familiar feeling that rises in the pit of my stomach, I hate you, I hate your name, I hate anything that has to do with you.

I kick and scream, and try and run, but I am rooted to my place. I realize I am still dreaming, and thankfully, this time, when I eyes open, I am no where near that goddamn hell in which I willingly walked into.

If I could, I would take a huge enough eraser and just erase you out of existence. I have thrown you into the abyss along with the dirty lecherous tailor whose touch cost me my innocence of childhood - you both belong together.

Why did you decide to crawl out of that abyss and into my dreams? I back away from you, but you keep advancing, I hate you. I am stuck again in those couple of days, those meaningless words, those hurtful looks and I hate you. Just go back. just crawl back to wherever I had thrown you.

Stop making me wake up at midnight, scared to go back to sleep, stop making me feel dirty and disgusted about my judgment, my body. Just Go Away! you know I hate you.

I just wish I could stop hating you. I wish I could stop loving you. I wish I could just erase you away. What a stupid judge of character am I. Why could I not see through all your lies and deceit? why did you deceive me? How much fun did you really have at my expense? Was I fun enough? Was I experience enough? Do you still slap your thigh and laugh about my naïve innocence and love to your friends? Do you still guffaw at what a pitiful fool you made me out to be? Does your family use me as a tea time story of how many conquests their darling son has made?

If I just knew why.
The pain wouldn't lessen though. the nightmares wouldn't stop. would they?

I hate you. Now, if only I could ask my stupid heart to stop loving you.

random lines.

A ragpicker that I am ,
Riches avoid me.
A heretic that I am ,
My Lord deserts me.
I lay down on the floor of my wretched home
Waiting for death to visit

Maybe

She had everything, and yet nothing.

"Yun to koi gila nahin. sab kuch tha, kya na tha
phir bhi jo ek kami si thi, uska pata na tha"

Feeling lost. unloved. unwanted. feeling dead, while breathing.

I need a hug. a big large loud hug. I need someone to tell me that they care because no matter how many times I tell this to myself, it sounds hollow and false.

I need someone to believe in me, tell me that they know that I am perfect, and tell it to me like they are sure of the morning, day and night, despite me being imperfect.

I need someone to help me find a reason to live. All I do now is, breathe.

And breathing, is suffocating. It feels like Im gasping, gasping and gasping for air, to survive, to ... to to live and all I can do is, gasp.

Why is it, that I am back to venting on a blog ... on just words and letters when I supposedly have SO many people around me?

Dammit. I hate you, you stupid stupid world.

Where's my Antartica?

Trapped

If she had felt trapped before, that feeling was nothing compared to this. This feeling was not emotional. It was as though she was having a physical reaction. This feeling, it caught in her throat, choking out the words, wrapping its fingers around her lungs, cold and clammy, she could hardly breathe.

It was as though she was dying, the hole in her stomach kept growing each day, the future, the uncertainty, the anger, the dissappointment, and more than all that - the entrapment.

She was trapped in her body, she was trapped by her fate, and she, was trapped, by her own progeny.

the shackles so bound, that the only way to freedom was no way at all.