Wednesday, 31 July 2013

Okay, FINE!

Bloody retests tomorrow and day after. Sucks ass, monkey-fucking-stinking-ass. However when I'll be done with it, I'll still have a week more until college will start - second year[woohoo!]. Apparently, that. There are different theories even to reopening dates. Funny college I'm in. So that one-almost-week will be a busy one. I'm going to preoccupy myself with almost everything. Even getting useless sleep. 


  • Meet Jagisha on Saturday. Screw the entire day, spending time wit her. We both need it. And then of course, tease Monika about it. Who, by the way, got into NIFT-H. Much happiness.
  • Have a Photowalk again. Reminder:Call Srishti and Aparajita.
  • Get more books. Read more. Write twice a day, if possible. 
  • Join gym. [Bleh. Who am I kidding?]
  • Take my mother on a date.
  • Save money and buy iPhone, all by myself. Yeah, going to take a while, but whatever. I have to manage for my own gadgets.
  • Try getting a Lumia for my brother too. Again going to take a while. 
  • Write more poems. Well, try at least. 
  • Revive all the classic metal library. NEED TO DO THIS URGENTLY. 
  • Get lazy whenever I can. Even while driving.I mean you know, pull over, walk about uselessly, eat roadside momos, get beer from theka [=P], lie down on the car top, click randomly, and irritate other drivers. Sounds something. 
  • And if Kanika hopefully hosts August, take part in it.
  • And well, go to college and slog for another year then.
Some recent pictures, companèros.











 



















Bored with history,
Ak.

Bored with History,
Ak.

Tuesday, 30 July 2013

Stoner...7

Ego has never been my strong point. I'm high-headed, yes. But if an apology is required out of me to set things straight, I'll do it nonetheless, regardless of the fact that I might be at fault. But, lately, I've discovered I might just have a slight ray of ego cracking through somewhere. Because believe it or not, I've refrained a million times from establishing any sort of contact thinking if you had to, you would already have - of course, the most absurd of reasons to give up on things easily. Well, that's a cheeky way of giving up, rather being egoistic. I've been simply very narked recently, wouldn't deny that. You've been egoistic too. Yeah, really. Not that I've been leading you to read Stoner so that you could actually infer what's been going on, but still you should keep a check. It's good manners, you know. 

There was a point when we were completely open to each other, absolutely vulnerable, yet at comfort with that knowledge. Because we thought it was us. You see, that's where we went wrong. There never was an us. There were you and me, and our crap. And that third person created enough havoc for shit to happen. I don't know why I'm talking to you again. But since now we've discovered that I'm egoistic enough to not create any contact, but I still wish to converse, so I'm writing this. This is my best bet to be nearest to you. 

Well, I had something about letters going on in my mind. Peculiarly intriguing word, letters. Whatever, I gotta leave. 




Love,
Ak.

Thursday, 25 July 2013

Stoner...6

Nostalgia is a bitch. Standing in a moment you never want to terminate, will never seem like something you'd crave for in the future. It is never easy to forget things. Forget easy. It's not possible to forget the past. Only its soreness passes by gradually, and you carry that lull ache all your life with you - having it reside in your mind constantly, without parting even a single ray of consideration to it. But after a point of time it grows along with you, like a child. Inconspicuously, it'll pinch you in different parts. And it'll parch you with the thirst of satiating that one longing that's been burdening you. 

As for me, I'm sometimes do-it-now and sometimes wait-for-it kind of person. On and off. But I'm mostly the keep-it-to-yourself kind. But one thing I'm definitely not is regretful. I never reflect any manner of remorse on my doing, whatsoever. 
So the thing is...
That I don't want to look back and wonder what if I would have done that? Oh, and I'm sure to look back some day because I know that back here, will be the place I'd want to be for the rest of my life. So, I'm not going to get into oh-shit-i-need-to-move-on shit. Falling in love with you has made me feel a lot of things, even exhausted, but regretful. So I won't push a risk away of even a fifteen minute phone call, even if it might leave me craving for more. And I'll carry that lulling ache with me, watch it grow until it'll make long for something, so that when I look back, I'll know there was nothing I didn't do.  
You should try it too. Makes whole lot of sense out of all the crap I keep blabbering. 

Always here,
Ak. 

Tuesday, 23 July 2013

And I Told You So

Away. It is my favourite place to be. Away can sometimes be far enough from your current state, creating differences with it, while even saturating certain gorges. Away can be anywhere, and howsoever far you wish for it to be. It can even be the simple(or complex) expanse of the two verges of your bed, or even as far as the void between rapture and inferno. The more recurrent your stopovers at away, the better. You don't find your aways. You always know it deep down where it actually is, how the map to that place is stretched out. You have yourself at utter disposal there to what the world has got to offer to you. Remote from pandemonium. Such is the power of away that it makes you hallucinate it to be an abyss. An abyss you want to fall prey to, and not because it's enticing. But, because it's beautiful - not in it's own prospect, but the entirety of it. It'll show you only what you can feel. It's distant from the mere grasp of out our delectably fragile paws. Its insides are equally perilous as the beauty of its exterior. It's chancy to touch it, you know that. It's like a moth's attempt to merge into fire for the sheer love, with which it's born for; but is also aware that it'll be the sole reason of it's ultimatum. You've always known that. So you let it fondle you instead. Being right there, in front of what defines your true sense of happiness. Walking towards it, mapping the distance. You embrace yourself, not with the terror of being robbed off of yourself, but to feel the love that's there at your disposal seep through your membrane and run galore in your veins. You don't remain apprehensive anymore about the moonlight kissing your soul that you've bared naked for it, neither are you indecisive about the endless chasm you're walking on. You let the bracts and clovers be webbed into your dark tresses, as if allowing them to play maze. You smile as you hum along with the fireflies, bathing in its euphoria. You see that light. You go towards it, rhapsody taking you over. But you know better. You know you're better than the moth who'll give up its life to make love with the flame. You smile at it, because you know better, that even a burning house seems all safe at the opposite side. You turn around to walk away from it, bringing down its catharsis upon yourself. You silently denunciate it, ironic, because you know it's just you and the bottom. You keep walking back, climbing out of the abyss. With the moonlight still enwrapping your naked soul, and the clovers still revamping your crown, and the fireflies still singing out to you.

Away. It is the place to be, to know oneself. To figure out, if you'll ever figure yourself out, or not, maybe. Away. From all the things that try to crush your existence to nonentity. Away. Because sometimes, that's all you've got. Away. Because it'll mask you from your own demons. Away. Because it'll retro- and introspect for you, entrusting you with your own illusions. 



The picture was temptingly inspiring.
Later,
Ak.

Friday, 19 July 2013

Ravenous Of Love

"You pretty nicely seem to have forgotten your manners. Do not raise your voice in front of me like that again!", another of Natasha's if-you're-younger-be-nice toned scream came out.
The maid silently cleared the bed of the quilts she was setting for the night, and marched out of the room realising this was not going to be good.
"I am not a child anymore, Nata. Stop telling all the time what to do.", Samantha screamed back.
Natasha, dazed, stared at her little sister. Only that she wasn't little anymore. She had transformed into a woman, and a fierce one at that. 
"Then stop acting like one.", Natasha countered. 
Samantha kept glaring back with such fury that she was burning inside. Ashamed on talking in an unruly manner with her sister, she looked away, and she breathed down some sobs. Natasha, unable to see her sister cry, took a step towards her to comfort her. As she raised her hand in a gesture to stroke her face, Samantha retreated.
"Don't", Samantha demanded, "Stop acting like you care, Nata. We both know you don't."
Stunned, Natasha couldn't bring words from her throat, out her mouth, "What?"
"If you did, you would have spent time with me", Samantha argued, "If you did, you would have known I hate these parties, I hate your people, I hate this house and I hate you. All you're ever concerned about is money. Mom and dad would have never let this happen."
Wide-eyed, Natasha clenched her teeth in anger, "Money? You think money's more vital to me than you? If I didn't care about money, how exactly do you think I would have saved this house, raised you up, given you an education, given you a life Mom and Dad envisioned for you?"
Unable to bear standing in the vicinity of her, Samantha retaliated at her best or worse, she couldn't quite figure, "Oh really? If you really had been concerned, Jess would have been alive today. She died because you ignored her. She was this small, Nata, this small," she said as she spanned her hands to characterise Jess, "She died because she wasn't our blood, because her only fault was being the daughter of a servant. She died because you couldn't stand the illegitimacy you thought she brought to our name."
Samantha's words stabbed Natasha's heart like pin-pricks, but what hurt her more was the way she spoke of her. It was the same derogatory way in which she'd spoken of her own father when they'd found out their half-sister, a baby, lying in a carrier at their door. 
Looking at Natasha's stunned expression, she continued, "Hurts on hearing your own endeavour from someone else? Face it, Nata. You left Jess to die because you wanted to avenge our father's infidelity which broke them both."
"Sammy!", and she raised her long hands to slap her. 
Before Natasha could say anything to justify her remorse on hitting her, Samantha fled from the room yelling how much she hated her.

Natasha got out from her verandah towards the shore. As she walked lifelessly, she reached the tree where her father had suspended three wooden planks with strong jute ropes from the highest branch of the tree for his three daughters. As she touched the ropes of the swing, a thousand memories flashed in her mind. She sat on the one against the bark, like she always did, in a manner of following a chronological order of seating by age. Her head was filled with thousands of things her parents had told her, taught her. She closed her eyes....
___________________________________________

Natasha had been barely able to drive after the thunderous phone call from the hospital. Her parents had gone to her grandparents' party while she was voluntarily babysitting her little sisters and studying for college. It was on their way back that their car was crushed by a lorry. She was baffled as soon as she reached the hospital. Cluelessly she took constant rounds at the reception and around nurses to find her parents. Finally, she saw her father's bodyguard there and rushed to him. He led her to the rooms her parents were admitted in. She caught the emergency doctor who was attending to her parents on the entrance of the door. There were a million things racing through her mind, but the only words she vomited were, "Are they going to make it?" The doctor shook a blatant no. Natasha crashed against the wall on her right and stared at the floor, not knowing what to say to her parents inside. As she entered the room, the view of her parents made her weak. Hearing the creek of the door her mother turned towards her and smiled, and extended her hand for her to grab.
"Mom...", and she smiled as she saw the same glitter in her mother's eyes each time they looked at each other.
"Nat, who's..with..Sam..and....J..Je..", her mother struggled to speak, and Natasha quickly held her hand, indicating for her to stop talking.
"They're fine. They're both in bed. Mom. What will I tell them?"
Her mother, still seeming calm in a condition like this, "Nat, just...give..them...love...Lots..of..it... And..please..forgive..your..fath.." And with that, Natasha saw the light leave her mother's eyes. She wanted to weep, to scream, to somehow bring her back to life. But she knew better. She still had her father to face. A she turned around to look for her father's bed, placed diagonally opposite to her mother's, she hastily wiped her tears and walked over to him, to find him already crying with his face away.
"Dad?" He turned on hearing his daughter, and smiled. 
"She's gone, isn't she?" Natasha nodded a silent yes. Her father held his hand in the air to reach her, and she instantly grabbed it like it was the only thing keeping her alive. 
"Nat. Nobody can see death coming, but we can prepare beforehand to minimise the consequences. I'm sorry I couldn't do much about it. Take care of my company, child. I nourished it with a lot of love. And raise your sisters with love and only love. Teach them strength, teach them independence, teach them forgiveness, teach them togetherness, teach them to swing on the planks I've placed for you all, and tell them about your parents. Promise me you'll fight for them always, Nat." Natasha smiled at him as tears cascaded from her beautiful cat eyes. 
"Goodbye, Dad." she said as she sat beside him in his last minutes.
___________________________________________

She opened her eyes as she relived the horror of the night she lost her parents, her face wet from the tears that cascaded her eyes. She suddenly felt a presence, and turned towards her right. Her eyes widened in shock as she saw, on the rightmost swing her...her mother. Bright and radiant, she looked younger than she remembered from the last she saw her. She was still crying. And she held her hand out to touch her, but was too far. Her mother reached out for her, only for her hand to pass through hers like rain through fog. Looking back at her silently, she was shimmering like an angel.
"Mom?" Natasha broke the silence.
"You are very strong, honey. So strong. Just like your father. And so is Sam." The sudden mention of her sister's name made her weep like a baby.
"Oh, Mom. What do I do? She thinks I don't care for..."
"I know what she thinks, Nat. And I know what you think too. And trust me, you've done an amazing job with her. She is just angry. She has your father's temper. In the wake of becoming her parents, you forgot to be her sister. Grow young with her, honey, go into her world to know what she wants. Don't bring her into yours to understand her. And most of all, tell her to forgive your father. He was an impeccable man, and one mistake doesn't define a person" her mother smiled, as though reminiscing about him.
"And Mom, Jess..."
"Jess wasn't your fault, Nat. She was born with an untreatable tumour. She would have left us anyhow. I'm sorry we couldn't tell you any earlier."
Natasha witnessed the shadow of her mother disappearing as she started to walk towards the sea. And she panicked. 
"Mom?! Please don't leave us again. MOM?!"
The faint image of her mother turned about smiling, "I'm always here...", and she vanished. 
Natasha didn't realise how long she'd been sitting there in nonentity, crying, releasing all the frustration, anger and hurt that had piled up inside her in so many years. 

She got up to walk back inside the study to work. As she sat at the table, scrutinising her laptop screen, her eyes fell on a picture of her and Samantha. She stared at it for a few long minutes. She walked out of her study, and straight into the kitchen to fetch two pints. She climbed the stairs to Samantha's room to find her missing. Her room was a mess, amidst which she found the brochure to a ballet dancing academy. Guilt shot inside her. She had never seen her sister dance, she'd chosen board rooms instead. She walked up to the roof to find Samantha sitting on the parapet edge. Terrified of such heroism, she was about to yell at her to get down from there, but somehow refrained herself. She told herself that she's not the kid anymore she raised after their parents died. She silently went up to her and seated herself beside her. She extracted the caps of the pints and placed one in the centre while she drank hers. 
Samantha was shocked to see her sister drinking beer instead of expensive scotches and champagnes. She silently picked up the bottle placed for offer. 
Natasha broke the silence, "Jess was born with inoperable tumour, Sam. And I engrossed myself in work because I had to save the company. I promised Dad I would. And I'm sorry for not talking to you ever about how you felt on growing up without Mom and Dad, because I didn't have to face such atrocity, I thought you'd be fine too. I'm sorry for being a parent instead of a sister when you needed me to be. And I'm sorry for not attending your dances, and for not dropping you off to school, and for not helping you with your homework, and for not realising you hated Calculus. And I'm sorry for not spending time with you at the swings Dad made for us."
Samantha was still looking forward as though she never heard anything Natasha was spilling out, but only her eyes couldn't stop the tears. Natasha looked at her for a couple of minutes, realising how similar they actually were, and added, "You know I wanted to be a car mechanic."
Samantha turned to look at her in bewilderment. They stared at each other for a few intense seconds and broke into laughter. 
"I think I want to do ballet.", Samantha replied, as she took another gulp of the beer. 
"I think I know just the right person who'd be able to guide you."
After a couple minutes or so, Samantha drifted towards Natasha's side and rested her head on her shoulder while grabbing her arm, the same way she used to when she was a child. Natasha tilted her head a little so as not to disturb Samantha's position and placed a kiss on her forehead, as they both drank beer and glared at the sea. But what Natasha saw was her angelic mother, again. Smiling at her, proud and glad, as she turned away towards the sea yet again. 


Courtesy: Pintrest


Retrospecting,
Ak.

Thursday, 18 July 2013

Workshop 4: Nature

Nature is a wonderful cure. However upset you might grow one day, there's nothing about nature that'll not make you happy. I remember feeling low each time as a kid when I would be unable to create an inspiration for myself to write anything. And at the best and worst of times, nature was always there at the disposal. Get out in the night, walk on the dewy weeds, take in the light breeze dancing through your hair, listen to the fireflies hum and sway on that swing you spent your childhood on. There is nothing that can be solved in the world with those few minutes of serenity. 




Happily,
Ak.

Monday, 15 July 2013

Stoner 5

You know what is the worst thing in the world? Habit. Habits are stubborn. They never listen to the Best of you. They're dangerous; as dangerous as equally enticing. It's hard attaining a new habit, but even harder letting go of the need to feed your life off of it. I've seen people devastating themselves because of things/people they've grown habitual of. And for all we know, it's not exactly the next best prettiest sight after a clear night sky. One thing I'd promised myself was that no matter how much it might ever hurt me, I'll be with a person because I would want to be, and not because I'm habitual of him. And through the course of having our first conversation to becoming friends to becoming really close friends to becoming really close and finally to getting almost together, I'd find something new about you everyday. Something new, that would give me perfectly new ways to figure you out everyday. I wouldn't exactly claim to be lonely prior to your magnanimous admission into my life. I was living life more on solitary terms. And then enter Mr. Pixie, confusion enthralled all over my life. I do not usually take less than a couple of months to grow attached to someone. But you, Mister, you were one ostentatious change to accommodate. Or at least that's whatI thought initially. Just a week of dumbfuck crap, great music, and a few cigarettes, and you were there. I mean, just there. I'd grown to appreciate you while trying to understand the nutjob that you most certainly are. I bet it must have been pretty normal for you right from the beginning till the end. I'm sure it was. I don't really consider myself someone going around having a amending effect on people. And that's the first thing that made things go bonkers, perhaps. You can't just mutilate excitement and effort solely from one side. You need balance for that. But it was fine, you know. Till the time you made me laugh and provided me with the comfort of sharing anything with you under the sun, or moon, or stars..okay, fine make that sky..so yeah, it was all fine. At a point even talking crap with you gave me so much happiness, that it baffled me when I thought of how would I ever repay you. And then doomsday happened. For me, of course, not you. And then...ZAP! Remember when I said it was a good thing I found you for I found me too? I wasn't solitary anymore. I grew lonely. I grew lonely because I couldn't anymore call you without the hesitation of disturbing you late at night. I grew lonely because when I still looked at people around me, I again realised I didn't belong with them. I grew lonely because the one I actually belonged with wasn't constantly whatsapping me to keep me from having a BT from those awful people around. I grew lonely because I was disowned actually, not for singing, but yeah, actually. I grew lonely because I didn't have you anymore to share my solitude with. I didn't lie when I said you were solution to half the things in my life. I'm still looking at life the same way I used to before you came in. There's just no more you in the picture there with your stupid non-widening, eye squeezing smile right in front of all the headaches. 

I don't miss you. Really, I don't. I don't miss the guy I fell in love with. I just miss my closest friend. I miss talking crap, singing crap, being stupid, being cheesy, laughing and giggling all the time with him. In all, I miss being me. I miss finding myself everyday. I miss discovering new things with him. So yeah, I just miss my friend. A lot. 

Love,
Ak.

Thursday, 11 July 2013

मैं उसे जानता हूँ, फिर भी मैं उसे नहीं जानता....III

The previous parts are here.


"You do know who and where he is, don't you?"

"Yes."
****


She drove recklessly through dense rain cascading the windshield. The cooled interiors of the car crashed against wet screen and fogged her vision. Smirking, she changed the setting to relieve of the fog. She felt like the glass which was clouded to see clearly at what was because of a dishonest family history and her own stupid judgement. For a moment she wished she hadn't touched Walda's diary. For a moment she wished she hadn't gotten herself into this mess. But she would have been unfair to herself and her father had she chosen to flout the affair. And she was right on the track to know he truth. For her father's sake, and more than that, her sake.
****

"Maya, ya ullah, you have to throw this stupid idea at once out of your mind, child. If it has shaken you so much, imagine what would happen the the old chap with his granddaughter suddenly showing up one day. The man could die of heart attack."
"I don't care about that man. What I care about right now is the truth and reasons. By God, you have to trust me on this. I'm not immature."
Wazir glared astonished at Maya, thinking what a storm he'd raised. He'd never realised that she would be so strong to stand the blow of all this and even initiate to deal with it. 
"Am I going to get any answers from you now or not?", Maya demanded.
Wazir deep breathed for a few seconds and explained, "Farida, Ajay and I worked in the same place. Ajay was our boss, and like every other man in the office, in love with Farida. Or so everyone thought." Wazir smirked, reliving the past, "You're quite like her, in a lot more ways than you can imagine. She was like a thunder, and you Maya, are no less than a cyclone. There was nobody who wasn't touched by her liveliness. And things had gone too far between Ajay and Farida, without considering that they would never be able to marry. The social differences were one issue," he paused, moistening his dry lips, "but you see, Ajay was already engaged to be married."
He paused and looked up at Maya, and took in her gaping, open-mouthed expression and continued, "Of course, she had to take the blow and stay strong. I was the next best option. Of course, her marriage to me infuriated him. I lost a good friend. It was only a wife that I gained."
Maya had thousand things running in her mind, but no words blurted out. She coughed and hesitatingly asked, "Why didn't you have a child of your own then?"
He merely smiled, "It was only me who loved in this marriage, meri bachchi. Farida never loved me. She only cared."
****

26/135. Standing outside the tastelessly painted house, she shivered as she turned the rusted iron gate around. Walking through the brick driveway, she could find similarities in the choice flowers in the garden. She was sure Walda and this man would have had a lot in common. She stood in front of the netted, grilled door, and knocked using the extravagant door handle. 
"Coming.", came the reply from a crisp, deep voice. She took an instant liking to the sound. Another similarity of her with her grandmother. 
When the door opened, her breath caught in her throat. It was like looking at her father at a much elder state in life. His hair, mouth, height, and his eyes. It was like looking right back in her eyes.

Those eyes, Ajay thought. He knew who she was. He'd known this time would come, only that he'd expected for his child rather than his grandchild. 

"Would you like some tea?", he could hardly think of putting up with a polite conversation.
"No, thanks.", Maya smiled, trying to return his politeness, refraining from hitting right in his face.
That smile, Ajay thought, he knew that smile. It was the smile he'd fell in love with ages ago. 
He sat down in his rocking chair, lighting his pipe asked, "So what do you want to know?"
She gave him a deadly stare that he very well recognised.
"I want to know about your ball-less nature. About how you could betray Walda's infinite trust in you, and even play with it? And how could you turn your back towards your own blood? And how did you destroy her enough to not make her love again?"
He could hear the blunt brazenness of Farida in her every word.
He sighed, "We both knew from the very beginning that we would never be able to marry. But we were blinded so much in love that we willingly chose not to bother about the consequences. And it did come back in a form of punishment. I was married, and then later she broke the news of her pregnancy. I told her to abort the child. I even suggested that I pay for everything..."
"You what?", Maya shouted pulling a stunned face.
"I...it was the only solution. It's not like I didn't care. I always came to see your father. His school, college. Yours too."
She interrupted him by her hand. 
"Mr. Ajay. I can never be more regretful of the fact that I read through Walda's diary. And I can never be more shameful of the fact that it's your blood that ran through my father's. I'm sure you might have had your own charms, but I can't believe that a dignitary like my Walda  fell in love with a morally bankrupt guy like yourself." He could hear the self-esteem in her emphasis of my Walda. 
"Listen, Maya, if there's anything I can do to make up to..."
"Just one question, Mr. Ajay. Did you have any children from your marriage?"
"Yes. Three, why?"
"And why were you angry when Baba married her?"
"Because it was me she loved, not him. He had his eyes on her since first day."
"You loved her, too, didn't you? She didn't break any ties because you married another woman. She kindled them. You should have trusted your friend enough to be able to take care of a pregnant, helpless woman you were apparently in love with.", she backfired. 
She smiled mockingly towards him. He almost felt like she was laughing on him. 
"You know what? I'm glad you didn't marry her. It wasn't concern, but guilt which made you constantly check on us. Thank you for your time."
He felt like he'd been slapped. 
She got out in the heavy rain, not for once objecting the wetness.
****

She drove to Marine and strolled there for endless hours. The rain kept cooling her burning skin, red hot from anger. All that echoed in her head was her Baba's voice.
"It was only me who loved in this marriage, meri bachchi. Farida never loved me. She only cared."
"Then why did you put up with her for all these years? Why go through the torture of a loveless marriage, just because you loved her?"
"Because, my love which she couldn't revert, she channelled it to her son, and you. It wasn't important for me to be loved. She cared, and appreciated whatever I did. Who says we didn't have fun? We did go for dates like in the early days, we bought each other gifts. You see, Maya, when you emotionally can't suffice one's need, you look for materialistic ways instead. And that's exactly what she did. I was more than happy that she didn't neglect your father thinking he's Ajay's blood. She instead made me feel and love them both like he was a child from our marriage. What she couldn't give me, she substituted it by teaching a lot better to your father, in making him human. I might not have had a loving wife, meri bachchi, but I had a best friend for my companion."

Maya pulled out her phone, her hands shaking as she dialled him.
"Hello?", his voice never failed to make her smile.
"Baba, can you cook ghosht for tonight. I'm really hungry, and I'm coming home."

Hopeful,
Ak.

Tuesday, 9 July 2013

Stoner 4

We all talk of love in manners only we understand. Or, expect a certain somebody to understand. I'm not a fan of expressions. Even a knowing look does it for me. I'd misconstrued the value of expressions with someone you love, or as they say. I've never been much for saying. Talking, yes, but not saying. Talking can take you everywhere. But it is only when you say, you express. Wrong pick. [Note to self: Never say to people you even think might interpret you in the least possible manner.] But withholding myself from saying had gotten me into a problem right about a couple of times. Lesson learnt. So, what do you do the next time around? You say. And you end up saying a lot. And said so much that you literally map out your entire self in front of them. And you can see reciprocations flying through the thick wind, fighting the cables, right through to your inbox. And for once you're glad you decided to do otherwise than earlier. And you're happy for once; even people start noticing that. But you can't always have a happy dream, eh? So what you had been fretting, happens. Rather too quick. Not that I didn't envision it coming, I did. But not this quickly. Because I'd thought of it coming much later, and thought about handling it in a way we both accept. But such premature blow was quiet the last thing I'd expected. Your sixth sense give way to sensible premonitions. But you're so blindingly happy, that you discount the possibility of it. So when the premonitions do come true like a horror movie, you lose control. You're handicapped. You don't know what to say. And then the only weapon left with you to protect yourself from hurt is your retaliation. You either scream, fight, be civil and talk, cry, beg, or just silently walk out with that extra bottle of complimentary wine. However you choose to react is you retaliating. But it doesn't work. You assume all the things said to be a white lie. You rather want to believe the things that were said, other than the ones which are being said now. Your mind goes bonkers trying to figure which version to trust more - the person you knew them to be, or the ones they've turned into. And even when your retaliation gives up and crashes down in front of you, the only thing you want to do is strangle them till the marrow of their bones until they break down like a lifeless plant and gather them back together to make them whole again; to be the one who makes them whole again. Because frankly, we all want to be that somebody to someone. So when you aren't anymore, you feel lost. The entire point of hanging in the middle of nowhere, in the dark freaks you out. 

We all build up our own defences and stay well within the fencing to avoid becoming that somebody to someone. But someone does come along the way, who breaks all your capsule with the mere touch of their fingers, breaking it into half and pulling you out of there. And none of your control buttons help you then; they all go about short-circuiting. And the worst part is that they know it. Then your heart numbs out and your brain feels paralysed. They further go ahead and do something stupid like catch you crying, or know your favourite book, or stay up till sunrise with you, or just as simply as hold you. And then you build up your own world, which you think is your haven and escape from the world. You wonder what was it about them that turned you upside down. You constantly run your brains through the field of possibilities assuming what is happening to you. Your mind bluffs with you and makes you believe that they're the reason behind all the changes. So when the bad part takes place, you want to figure out the possible reasons of them doing all the things they did to you. And that's where we lose it.

They never do anything. It's us. It's all us. From the beginning till the end. I hardly trust people, but when I do, I instill my utter faith in the person that they are. And it takes a lot of courage out of me to do that. So when it's broken, I not only hurt myself, but others too. I'm reckless, always have been. I'm the only one thing in my life I'm not careful with. I gave too much, and maybe you didn't need any of it, or so I make myself believe. So by the end of it, all you had was my crap load of shit, which suffocated you. Sometimes trusting someone enough makes you trust yourself to be a nice person. And it was all my fault. You didn't hurt me. I hurt me. 

I didn't let you in. I should have. You did. But I should have. The point is, that nobody an change you. Not even you. Love doesn't mean changing the crap out of someone. And the contrary is what I made you believe. So I realised maturely enough that I'd failed, yet again. Because love is when you enhance, add up to the person they already are. You certainly did add to me. You turned me into a better person, now and then. But I distant you with the fear that I was changing you. You were strong enough to stand up for having something better for yourself; I'm not that strong. And you deserve to have someone strong, who'll never be afraid to give you everything without any hesitation. So, yeah, you walking out was justified. I've had unparalleled moments of silence and solitude with you, which I'll remember forever. I don't have a legitimate reason not to. And it was never awkward at any point, because you understood my language. 

I wish I could have helped in making it meaningful for you, or been worthy enough of you. Out of all the discoverable ways I found to hurt myself with, you're my favourite of all. But you will never have the indulgence of the monotonous, lulling ache that you've given me. You're dangerous, because you made me do and believe in the impossible. Because you're unfailingly the most beautiful person I've come across, unaware of your own power. And I'm terrified of you. I've learnt a lot my simply discerning you, spotting what you say, and not say. And the moment you barged in, you provided for the soul that had long left my body. They say, if a writer falls in love with you, you never die. And you'll always be alive, even in the wee twilight hours when I'm horrified of sleeping. I still believe you to be surreal. But for each time you uprooted my mind by saying just enough stupid things to make me smile, I adore those moment, because they were so human. It's possible that you'll meet more people who'll appreciate you for the person that you are, or might not. But that will never have anything to do with you. Remember that. There will come a time when I might stop loving you, of course. But I will still choose you, day after day after day. Because you brought me to fruition my own world, a world, I admit, was afraid to carry with me. I'm still more you than me. I don't care if you're lathered in the mud of your mess, or safe under your stability blanket, for me, your existence has done a far better job than anything healthy ever could. I guess it was our silence that drew us closer. And I'm still more comfortable in sitting with you in silence, listening to music and do absolutely nothing, than read or write. Thank you, I guess, for sharing my solitude. We'll always be like the horizon; we can only seem to meet each other. And you'll always find me with you in your silence. Because your silence always had a meaning. You were the missing piece to my puzzle. I think you have a way with people. You know how to not make them forget you. I understand now what you meant. The fear of happiness is the worst form of fear ever. You stormed my calm brain, and you'll always be at home in there. Everyone has a secret inside of them. You're my big secret, and always will be.

Love,
Ak.

Wednesday, 3 July 2013

Her.

And the tender breeze aggravated, 
To blend into the storm that she was, each night,
To show her the tender affection that was,
Bestowed on her by them, when no one else did,
Increasing their pace, as they moved over,
Her honey skin, overcoming each obstacle rising,
Witnessing the effect they had on her,
Sifting their glory through her locks,
Reciting the song that she could only feel,
And the tender breeze that knew her.

And the grass stood up,
Like the very goosebumps on her skin,
Tickling her foot, as she walked,
Her calves as she sat, and,
Her shoulders as she lay on them, like,
They were her own, and she was all theirs,
The yellowing clovers, blanketing her,
Against the tiniest grains of dust, 
That stabbed her delicate casing,
Like cruelty against goodness, and as,
The little red ladies crawled over her hand,

Gifting her the sensations of togetherness, of her life,
And the ground that always comforted her.

And the stars shone brighter,
As she eyed eyed each one specifically,
Some in the joy of her scrutiny, while,
Some in jealousy of her own sparkle,
Like a diamond with dusted coal over, 
Waiting to be discovered,
And the celestes, dancing around, like,
Volumes of the chords, as if creating something for her,
And the stars that were her only guide.

And they all gave their best,
To make her feel at home,
To fill in the absence of warmth in her life,
Working in harmony, ignoring their grudges,
Just for her,
For she was the only one who ever loved them back.




Revelling,
Ak