Pages

Saturday, November 11, 2017

Somebody else.

It’s a cold day. The fan is off, the room is silent. My throat feels like it will start hurting by the time I’m back home from lunch. My system does not cope well with physical stress. Headaches escalate and fevers happen. Inconvenience I tell you. I’ve been watching Vikings in bed all day and I like Ragnar. I keep telling s2 that he has a smile about his face. It’s something. 

It’s Halloween today. I am reminded of a yellow kid beaming next to a goat. Just an old dream. 

I am increasingly intrigued by why people behave the way they do. What their masks are made of. What fears drive them? Every one,  everyone has a story. I can’t help but look for it every time I interact with someone. 

The idea that I have, of the kind of person I want to be must not remain an idea. A mirage. Lately, I’ve been making an active effort to become that person. I’m doing things that I am not comfortable with, saying things I would never have had the guts to say three years ago. But I’m doing it now. Because the only way to do it, is to do it. 
Baby steps, baby. 

You think death, disease, doubt, depression, are things that happen to other people. You hear stories, you empathise but don’t relate. Can’t relate, because they are not about you. Not you, never you. But then bit by bit it starts to happen. To you, and those near you and nothing is ever the same and your story is just as ordinary and painful as the next person. 

Life feels churny again. I’m not working but every day is full. V is here. And between shopping trips to sleepovers to maintaining old rituals to struggling to get through all nine hours of the Lotr series before she leaves, I’m trying to deal with one of the saddest things I have faced as an adult. I’m meeting N for breakfast tomorrow morning so we can catch up on the shit we are both dealing with. I have lost half my voice. And 3 a.m thoughts are getting heavier. 

I went cycling today. And cycled to my hearts content. After years. It’s getting cold. Cold enough that my feet are cold and I’m wearing a hoodie. Having air rush through your hair is one of the best feelings. Cycling gives me that. I got this bicycle from N’s little sister and had to cycle back home. S2 drove and I tried to chase her and so I peddled hard and by the time I got home my heart was half out of my chest and I was so nauseous I had to sit next to the flush for five minutes. S2 found this amusing. 

Me and her also sat at the swings for a while as we often do when it gets chilly and white with fog and smog. I should call my dad tomorrow. My throat is dry and painful every night and every morning. I thought about some things last night. I feel liberated in a way. It was really good for me. I ate daal chawal after I got home from cycling. With finely chopped salad just the way I like it. Watched Alias Grace with s2. Criminal psychology fascinates me. But all shows are so predictable. Today was good. In spite of the heart sinking and squeezing every now and then as it does. It was almost peaceful. Still is. So far. 

Saturday, October 14, 2017

Husk from Pluto.

I have trouble writing in here because somehow every thing seems too personal to be written about the way I do. I can write pages; chronicling the banality of my day to day life, but that does not suffice anymore. It does not. The words that do come out are too loud, light..diffused. I've been spending a lot of time on my own. It's just me and dad. Almost every night, I leave my phone behind to go outside for a walk until the mosquitoes (or in some cases, a dragonfly) drive me away. I've seen this sky a million times. The silver moon, red bricks, green tea, and my blue heart. Every thing's the same. My words are lost. They have no where to go. I abandon conversations mid-sentence. Why do people prefer forced enthusiasm over genuine silence? Beats me. When i was little, I used to make it a point to greet my dad every evening when he reached home from work. I would wait and watch him park the car and gather his things. Phone, newspaper, naan, or school supplies that we reminded him to bring on his way back. He would hand these things to me. And i would take them inside. That was all. But well, I grew up, dad grew old, and our respective worlds changed us in ways unforeseen. Yet, despite everything, there are times when I feel i'm still that little girl, waiting to greet her dad every time he comes home. When he does, I go out the gate and i beam at him as he opens the car door. I hug him before he is allowed to enter the house. Then I help him unload the car, his shoes, his shirts in hangers, the grey travel bag. I do it every time.. Maybe we are not the same people we once were. But there is comfort in knowing that some things never change. And that love and warmth is..instinct, hardwired. Isn't it? I am usually in the process of falling asleep at this hour, listening to an audiobook of  the Neuropsychology of Self discipline. It puts me to sleep. I have a feeling that i sound a little bit as if my soul is trapped in a damp dungeon where my thoughts have gone stale and words gone grey. But that is not so. My soul is alight. So much so that it may give birth to a new solar system. So no cause for worry. All is well. Goodnight.

Monday, October 9, 2017

C'est la vie

Today was an emotionally exhausting day. The kind where your head hurts from crying too much but it is your heart that feels the fatigue. But. Thing about me is I feel tons better after a good cry. So I asked s2 to accompany me to grocery shopping. So we went out and treated ourselves to cheese sticks and dessert. There's comfort in shopping for basic necessities like a perfect box of cereal, new washroom slippers, fancy smelling shower stationery. I even got some walnuts and almonds for my bedside. I spent ten minutes in front of a giant pack of Bugles. Did not buy it. Did not buy any adipose inducing food. As of now I feel pretty healthy sipping on my Decaf Chinese herbal tea with lemon. satisfied sigh Head still hurts though.

 Until a few years ago, I used to (very naively, I might add) believe that any and every conflict can be solved through proper dialogue. Say the right things, set the right tone, pick the right time, right intentions right words, right everything and you can reach anybody. You can make them understand, constructive thoughts and ideas will be exchanged, a common ground will be reached and peace will prevail. BOY WAS I WRONG. I have now failed at enough conversations to learn that WAIT. Some times people just don't want to listen to your shit. It is not even about you. It's about them and a large number of variables that are not yours to tweak. You can't reach them. They won't let you. No matter how hard or long you try. And even though you might want to claw the skin off your face. (Out of frustration I mean) You have to know when to let go. Shed your words. Your carefully manicured phrases. Zip up your pocket full of tact. And walk away in grace.

 I abhor bad literature. Poem, prose, letters. Anything. Words that reek of desperation. Brimming with cliches. Save me.

 Today is a bright new day. I slept well. 12 full Hours sans the headache that always follows. Dreamed about having two babies. A girl and a boy. The girl, when I kissed her cheek, there was coffee on her face and on my lips. What does that mean? Is coffee my baby? Hmmm. I woke up and stretched in bed for an hour. Had a good breakfast and watched two episodes of my new guilty pleasure, Gossip girl. I know, I know. Un-raise your eyebrows. The room is cold and quiet. Yellow light and red sheets. Floral bed cover and cute pjs. Next to me is the book I’m currently reading and my grey journal that carries fragments of my unruly thoughts strung together with lightweight words that make everything sound rather glib. (It’s a curse I have to live with). So I am in a world of comfort you can say. Almost Pinterest worthy. One would think I feel fat with content right now. In a way I do. In a way I don’t.

October is here again. The beginning of winter. I have things to look forward to. I've come home for a bit. It's not as bad as i was dreading it would be. But i'm not too great at dealing with the feels i get every time i'm back in this house. A sense of loss? Nostalgia? Love? Groundedness? Loneliness? All of the above, most likely. I'll be staying here for a week, and then its a short trip to north with V, who is crossing oceans soon so we can make new memories. I'm looking forward to it. Rooftop talks and coffee and loud conversation. Re unions and surprises. I'm sure it's going to be wonderful.
I'm currently drained of social energy. Ah, i have too much on my mind right now.

I am never, hardly ever at rest. Somebody tone down my heart please? Thanks.


Monday, July 31, 2017

Cult of delusion.

I know people say a boring Sunday is a good Sunday, given that it's the one day of the week I get off from work. I get to sleep in and have an elaborate breakfast instead of the hurried one I gobble down every morning in neatly calculated time slots. But I like to have some activity or plan to look forward to on the weekend too. S2 says I'm ungrateful and I don't deserve free time.
 Today started out crappy. By 3 pm I thought to myself. Today is a bad Sunday. I woke up early as usual and while s2 was still asleep I decided to stay in bed and read for a bit. I dozed off again and woke up to s2 telling me that we had relatives over and that we were also out of bread. What? Way to ruin glorious Sunday morning vibes. Nothing is worse than relatives showing up unannounced. So I had to change out of my pjs into respectable clothes and delayed my breakfast till late afternoon. Got lectured by parents for one thing or the other. Didn't get to watch Dunkirk either. Bad Sunday yeah? So I mostly stayed in bed alternating between reading my novel and playing the sims on my phone. I hate it when my sims go to work on Sundays but we need the money so. Moving on. Day started looking up when s1 and A showed up. Anther relative also showed up and everyone got into a political discussion that was of great discomfort to me. Not because it was boring or anything. But because I could physically feel the strain that repeated (but forcefully polite, always polite, no offence) disagreements made worse by the awkward laugh now and then can put on a conversation. It went on for ever. But then food arrived and we moved on to ranting about work and all was well.
Now I'm back in bed and I'm going to probably finish this novel. Good riddance to be honest. There's something suffocating about it that I don't like.
I'm watching Anne with an E these days and Anne reminds me of Phoebe's boyfriend from Friends played by Alec Baldwin. Everything to her is scrumptious and glorious.
Next week is going to be hell. Work is going to be harder than fighting Balrog from the Mines of Moria. Hahaha. I'm so lame it's funny.
Also. I am not fond of abundant and careless expression of affection. Thank you. That will be all for now. 

Friday, July 21, 2017

Kachi meri mitti

I have an itch in my soul
And I love cold rainy days that are blue
I woke up at 7 a.m on a Sunday 
It was so sunny outside I thought it was noon at least, but it wasn't. 
I've moved more these past few years than I have my entire life, nowhere spectacular.
My heart however clings only to one place that is in fact home to me but which too I must let go of sooner or later. 
I had a plate full of cherries the other day and spilled some cherry juice on my shirt and laughed, to which my mom said 'daant dikhanay ki zaroorat nahi hai', because cherry stains don't go away easy.  
Fathers should not be allowed to fall - Figuratively or otherwise. Little else is as heart breaking as that. 
I often wonder if I have any..mettle at all. What am I made of? How will I fare when put to the test? Life has been challenging lately, to say the least. And I can't help but wish I had more substance. More resolve. More groundedness. I wish I wasn't as emotional and I wish I would stop living in retrospect. I wish I would deal with all of this better. 
I write less now because talking about myself does not interest me anymore. But I continue to write as much as I do because I must express myself, however fragmented or incoherent it comes out to be, lest an implosion occurs. 
So yeah. 

Friday, May 12, 2017

Museum of flight

I miss my hands being red and numb, trying six ways to squeeze lemons into a bottle on top of a mountain. I miss sitting around a table, feeding leftover wings to dogs, listening to strangers talk about glaciers while sipping coffee that took two hours to make. I miss asking again and again. Where am I? What are we doing here? How did we get here? What is our life? I miss getting into bed at night knowing there's a white mountain at watch outside my window. I miss the music. The one I cannot listen to now because my heart folds upon itself every time I do. I miss the streets and the stones. I miss the human warmth amidst the snow. The red faces, burnt toes, orange hair, the tiniest things. Oh it's just that. I feel my heart now has wings and it doesn't beat any more, it flutters. And it must, must be set free. 

Sunday, April 16, 2017

Eat pray war.

Today started out as an impossible day. I was sick and stuck to my bed for two days and because I couldn't miss another day of work, I went. Work was shit until. .   oh God I'm too tired to type. I guess I'll write later.

I feel bad for my mom because work is driving me insane and I can't spend any time with her and she feels that. She makes me a lunch bag every day now because I've been falling sick too often. She makes me coffee and packs biscuits and water and food. There's soup today too. Mmmm. Yesterday i came back from work and slept almost the entire day. Later, I went down, mom fed me food, then I lied on her tummy and she put on a ghazal on her phone and I fell asleep listening to that.

The season is changing. And it sets something in motion. I was up till late last night. The fan was on and the lights were dim and I had just showered and I was in a perfect pink bubble. Pink because I have pink lights   in my room. Two friends called and I talked to each for a bit. The incoming of summer with its brightness and loudness, opens up something. I don't quite know how to explain it but the feeling is there and it's strong. Like a meteor shower of memories. Today is a very pleasant morning. It's purple day at work. I'm wearing the only purple thing I had in my closet. I'm oddly at ease and unease.

Dad is here. Yesterday I was sitting with parents and dad said something to mom and she couldn't hear it, and dad repeated it three times and then me and him started laughing at the same time. And oh God, to hear my dad laugh. My heart turns to honey. Honey and butter. I really, really missed that.

It's 7 a.m and it's a Sunday. No work today thank God yet I'm up. Biological clock and all. So I talked to V for a bit. Read my book for a bit and then I thought breakfast in bed is the only thing missing from my life right now. So I thought let me be a hero and make my dreams come true. And I did. Made myself some breakfast and some tea in pretty cutlery. Now I'm fat and full and still got time to sleep and some sleep in my head, before mom wakes me up for the real breakfast. Vao.

I told V that I don't know how to be loud about my enthusiasm or happiness or grief for that matter. I can't be loud with feelings in general. Bursts of emotion make me uncomfortable. I feel things silently but deeply. Yet I am surrounded by people who want/expect me to be otherwise. My heart is overworked. And tired. Of feeling guilty for feeling not the way I'm supposed to feel. Not nearly enough. Because what use is care, empathy and love when it's tucked deep inside crevices of the heart that no one can see?

I've been playing with babies all day. I made her listen to classical music and she fell asleep. Which reminds me. The plane in my dreams finally flew. I don't know what triggered it or what it means. But it flew for the first time and it flew straight up in the sky and landed in the most beautiful place with a beautiful name which made sense to me in the dream. Thank the Lord.