In Loving Memory

You know, I believe in afterlife.
If there's one thing I have learnt in the entire course of my life, it is to keep the faith. And faith, I keep.

Even the slightest thought of death is depressing, it cripples me. Is it truly possible to come to terms with the loss of a loved one? I don't want to imagine. I can't live without people I love. There might not be many. I might not always show it. But still. Even a stranger. Or someone you knew distantly. That lady you come across on your way to the college everyday. This boy you met at a party. ANYBODY.

What scares me even more is what people leave behind when they pass away. The glimpses of life, the love shared, and people. Broken hearts. And memories.
This is not easy.

But I also know, that those who love you, they never really leave you. In my honest opinion, they don't. Never.

Have faith.
Put together the pieces of your broken heart again, and you'll find them right there.
Like I said, I believe in afterlife.

P.S. - To one of the bubbliest girls I have come across in this lifetime. Rest In Peace, love.
P.P.S - To people I come across everyday, whose life I don't get a chance to witness - "I am here with you."

Photo Source : http://i204.photobucket.com/albums/bb138/galatea18/black/zz.jpg

Yet.

Silence speaks to me

These words

They talk to me of a yesterday

Of the changing times, days good and bad

Of the life passed, past killed

And of the memories

Gone, yet not forgotten.

Silence speaks to me

These words

They talk to me of love

Of the stranger, met, loved and lived with

Of the kisses, blushes and walks

Of the sweet nothings over the phone

Lost, yet not forgotten.

Silence speaks to me

These words

They talk to me of life

Of the life entangled in a permanence of insanity

Of the life filled with divides and fears

And Fairy tales, only dreamt about

Not fulfilled, yet not forgotten.

Silence speaks to me

These words

They talk to me of a tomorrow

Of a yesterday repeating itself

The killed past. the saved memories

The dreams, the hopes and reality. And love

Untouched, yet not forgotten.

Because I Am The 'Other' Sex

During winters, I walk back home from college everyday, mostly around 3:30 in the afternoon. It is a 25 minute walk through the shady and nearly empty lanes of Lajpat Nagar III  and with earphones popped in, I hardly bother to notice whats around. Except for, I can't help but notice the eyes of a zillion 'male' passerby-s sticking on to me, all at different places of course. Some of them sing cheesy songs, I can lip read  *Dil to pagal hai, dil deewana hai*. Some are 18 year old, some are 60.

I do not wish to generalise and state that they are ALL sex-hungry people ogling at me, and my face and every other 'interesting' part of my body (read- boobs and butts) gaining some sort of visual satisfaction out of the same. But do I have a choice? 

Tell me he's staring at my breasts out of envy, I swear I'd let him do so out of sympathy AND I'd also go and alter Freud's theories. 

Tell me he's singing songs just because he thinks I resemble one of Indian Idol's judges. *faints*

Tell me he's staring at my face because he deals in anti-acne and fairness creams and hopes I might buy them.

Tell me he's grinning because he can read what my Garfield bag quotes, and I shall take that as a compliment.

Tell me he is NOT staring at me because I am the 'Other' sex, because I am a woman.
Tell me so, it will make me happy. It will put me out of fear.

Do I have a choice, again?

Just some slight times, I might ignore, but mostly I look up and give them the 'come-touch-me-and-i-shall-kick-your-balls-off' look. It helps, it does.
But the truth is, I am not a karate kid. And I am scared.
And this is not my story alone.

A lot of people advise me to join Martial Arts. But I ask Why?
WHY do I have to take a step forward? Why do I have to curtail my choice of clothing? Why do I have to be careful and concerned while walking on the streets? Why am I instructed about everything?

Why can't he?

Next time, don't tell me what to wear or where to go or how to take care of myself. 

TELL HIM NOT TO RAPE.

Snippets

I hate it when you turn your back on me

It makes me sad and cry

my love for you is more than anything

You fail to understand, I don't know why.

I might say things, you don't want to hear

But once I am done

Make sure you rethink, recall every word

Don't cry if I am gone.

All my promises  i keep, a li'l late though

My love for you is never gunna' die

An argument or fight need not matter to me

No love, it is never a goodbye.

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