Te Amo Muerte

(Pages From My Diary - The 8th of Jan, 2011)

She wonders often, what would have happened had she agreed to stay the night. Stayed for the rest of her life. With Kurt. Her Kurt.

The sea by her window, it bothers her. She is volatile like the sea. Indecisive, Unsteady. Impulsive.

She is an escapist. She doesn’t like things which reflect her self.

Or which bring back memories. The sea, by which they danced. By which he asked. The sea by which they kissed.

No. She doesn’t remember it anymore. She doesn’t want to. She has killed the past and buried the memories.

***

“Will you marry me?” he whispers. They’re dancing. The sound of sea is not far away. “Yes” she whispers back.

She pulls herself awake. Awake from the nightmare she doesn’t want to see. Again.

That is the last time she had seen him. Its been seven years now. Last. Seven.

***

“Stay the night with me. Stay the night Stella.”

“No Kurt, I can’t. I have to go. I love you”.

“I love you Stella”.

She is walking away.

“Stella. Stella.”

There is a road in between the beach and the car park. She has crossed over.

“Stella listen, please Stel…”

Stella turns. “Kurt!”

The car has come and the car has gone. Kurt, he is gone too.

***

No. She doesn’t want to remember what had happened before and after it. The argument before she leaves. The mess after she has.

The blood. His hazel eyes. The hair on his face. The ring in his hand.

Her Kurt. Dead and gone.

“I never intended to leave”. She is wiping the hair off his face. “Kurt. Kurt”

Seven years. Lived in a trance. Lived devoid of thoughts, devoid of memories.

Its Kurt’s birthday today.

She has not crossed over. She never will.

“Happy Birthday Kurt…”

Photo Courtesy - Internet http://fc06.deviantart.net/fs70/i/2010/295/2/6/in_love_and_death_by_needlesoup-d2wy4oq.jpg

The Inheritance Of Thoughts

My eyes reflect the colour of the sea. The black sky is not dark but full of light. Full of shining hope. It is raining. Mumbai is beautiful.

The sound of the waves, hitting against the gigantic rocks, take me to a distant land. I find peace amongst hundreds of other people in one of the noisiest and busiest roads of Mumbai. The sea, just brought me back to life.

I let my hair open as the strong wind hits my face. Walking on the gray footpath, there is too much I am thinking about but nothing on my mind. And I go back to yesterday. I have no regrets. I am glad I have lived enough to be here, to breathe in this sea. Raindrops wash away the tears streaming down my face.

I walk as if there is no end because I know there is no end to this. There is a sea inside of me, mighty and fearful, turbulent and vulnerable. And never-ending.

And I pause to look over the heavenly path, past the treacherous huge rocks, my eyes travel along the entire stretch as the waves come together to hold hands and create a white wall. I, pause life.

A pen in my hand. A tear in my eye. Music in my soul.
Just as I start to create the life, as I've wanted it to be.

This is Absolute happiness.
 This, is God.

  Photo Courtesy - Internet
*Marine Drive. 13th August, 11*
I want to be this sea forever.

She.

“I miss you Sweta.
I don’t need to look for an opportunity to say so.”

I saw her in a doctor’s coat today. I think that’s what you call it. *a doctor’s coat*

She’s never looked more beautiful before.

YOU KNOW, I miss her. Yes, telepathically (and telephonically), she’s right there. But it’s been some time since we’ve talked. Like yes, we’ve spoken. But still.

And when I saw that photograph of hers in a coat, I cried. *yes, love. I DO cry about everything*

She has made me proud. And everyone else. And she’s only going to make us proud further.

She inspires me. To live.
*To write, even when I think I’m having a block*

She inspires me to move forward in spite of the failed consequences and unfavourable consequences.

She inspires to, well, inspire.

And also to non-fearingly hit on guys. ; )

She is living a hard life. Whether or not she accepts it, it is the truth. She inspires me not to complain. And to be happy with what I have. And still keep trying to get better.

Her stoical silence speaks to me. And well, it inspires me to speak.

I’m jealous though. Of the fact that she has a free MMS service and I don’t. How Sweta, how?

“My wallpaper is infested with that picture of your bunny. Well, it IS cute”

Yes, now I’m sleepy.

Oh wait, song -

She just changes her mind.
She is frequently kind and she's suddenly cruel.
But she can do as she pleases, she's nobody's fool.
And she can't be convicted, she's earned her degree.
And the most she will do is throw shadows at you,
But she's always a woman to me. :D

To start with, rather to *never* end with, she is this frikkin’ awesome person and I’m lucky to have her in my life. She, is genius.

She, Sweta, is my best friend.

Broken Goodbye-s

Of love. And of sacrifices.

Of the stories untold. Songs incomplete.

Promises unkept. Mysteries unsolved.

Of the thirty-two ways to make me smile.

The pen, the paper and the words worthwhile.

Of the hundred texts unsent.

Of the life lived and not forgotten.

The photographs. The memories.

Of the love that used to be.

Come back. And speak to me. <3

Photo Courtesy - DeviantArt

That Place Called Home - Revisited Part II

 10^th April, 2011. College. Last day of First Year.

16^th April, 2011. Nine months. New home.

And while we keep sitting in empty spaces, procrastinating, thinking about tomorrow, today flies past. And we hardly notice.

With first year over and nine months spent in a new place which is not new for me anymore, as I look back, there are things I want to correct and things I want to relive. I don’t regret anything. Yes, the fact that I want to rewind does not imply that I regret my decisions, some of which have been hasty and childish. Life is not perfect. And it is definitely not about taking the right decisions but making your decisions right. Right?

The irony is, even as I sit here today, running fever with a splitting headache, I’m thinking about tomorrow. My first  exam. Psychology Practicals.

I’m not prepared.

Nine months. First year over. I’m still so overwhelmed.

Looking back, LSR was the best thing which could’ve ever happened to me. I might be getting detained while I say this, but it is true.

Yes, I have been disappointed with a lot of things. With the crowd. But probably because I have not found the crowd I could be at comfort with, yet. With not getting an honours. Three extra subjects are definitely a pain and Pol. Sc., I don’t like you. Ma’am. Sweet she is. But I don’t want to study psychology anymore. Period. Expectations I haven’t fulfilled. People I haven’t been able to get along with. I have been disappointed with myself, but I don’t regret coming here.

Unless you’ve been inside these Red-bricked walls of LSR, lazed around in the front lawns fooling around with your friends, day-dreamed amongst the Bamboo-grooves, introspected sitting in the back lawns and written to your heart’s extent, future-talked with the beautiful pansies and chrysanthemums, unless you have breathed the air in LSR, you won’t know what it is like to be here. What it is like to be home. :’)

THE cafe. The cats. And the faces they make. Jaya and her absolutely abusive rant. *thats my way of showing lurrvve* and not to forget her teethy smiling poses. *I Luurve you, Jayaa* Fatimah and her constant effort to prove to us that she is jinxed and slow even though she is not. And of course her all-of-a-sudden hyperexcitement and vice versa. *Stop sulking, baby. :)* Shibaaaaani, Shibaani ki Jawaaaani *courtesy – Vasudha* or should I call her Taadddy Beear. And Shubi. Isn’t the name enough? She can, Rajni ‘Kanth’. Haha. *don’t worry, I won’t disclose our secrets ;)*

And all of you call me a Fuckface. Hmph. :/

The classes. Reaching late, to EVERY-SINGLE one of them, full of stupid excuses. *On the 2^nd of April – Ma’am, Fatimah pranked me by telling me college was off, I just came to know, it wasn’t*

Texting each other from under the desks, or from above them. *Ma,am I don’t have paper, I’m taking notes over phone*

Asking for a free period every other English lecture. Coming to the first lecture in pyjamas. Clicking photographs. Sulking about attendance. Abusing DU. Hanging out with our amazing seniors. Blah blah blah.

Well, thats JUST first year. Looking forward to two more awesome years in this home *not three, please.Not three. Just two*

Well because, ALL’S WELL THAT DOESN’T END. :D

That Place Called Home - Revisited Part I

27th October, 2010

It fills me with reminiscence. With memories – The very smell of the Gulmohar. It fills me with thoughts of the past. The life lived and not forgotten.

LSA. I miss YOU.

Yes, very contradictory but true – I miss home. Or rather a place I used to call home. More than anything I miss my favourite haunt, those evening walks with Sid and Mini, spending 14 hours with Shal glued to the Idiot box, the constant arguements and ‘conversations’ with Mommy, the bickerings with Dad, the four-hour long calls and night-stays with Sweta, the crushes and the psycho classes, the stairase conversations with Shreya and Pragati and Shrishti, the South city visits with Avarna and Riddhi, birthday bashes with my gang, coffee with Shreya and Shivi and Sritama, the events, Arpita di, Hanging out with Prateek and Maneet, The TTIS challenge – Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaa. I miss all of it. Home, School, Office.

Life is more about ‘getting used to’ than ’moving on’. Not that I’m missing out in Delhi. Factually, staying here has got me closer to those who I’m away from. Besides, College’s awesome. Friends are even more awesome, Evening walks are more frequent and coffees are an everyday affair. Life, is not better, not worse, but not the same either.

Thats why, I like to sit, next to YOU

It makes me sad very rarely because I cherish all the memories rather than regret not reliving it. But sometimes, nostalgia strikes my tear ducts and it strikes hard. *Little things you do for me and nobody else makes me feel good. Little things you do for me, making me smile like no one else could*

They say, the past always haunts us. I say the past haunts us for good.

To keep us alive. To keep us in touch with what we used to be and what we are now. To keep us in touch with ourselves

And then there’s the Gulmohar. Which has an equally intimidating fragrance back ‘home’ here also.

Miss you Kolkata. Love you Delhi.