The Endless Calm Of A Stormy Night

“I adore him," she said. "I feel compassion for him because he's totally fucked up.”

The most vital, the most important part of me. The part that lives, breathes and exists. The part that keeps me alive.
That essential element, that makes me whole. All of me, none of me. You.
The swirls of color, the last shaky breath. The stabs of panic, the thrills of excitement. Imperfect, young, foolish. Us.
The years that go on by, the moments that never end. That feeling of being alive, so alive. The feeling of knowing, in every sense of the word, that I'm alright. And then not so much.
Come together, only to fall apart once more, to dream, only to wake up once more.
My dream, my nightmare, my thunderstorm.
I love stories, I love the characters in them, I love the way it all plays out, for better for worse.
I love the way you're a story in yourself. I hate the way, I never know how it ends.
Endless tomorrows, unhappy yesterdays.
The way you speak, your words, your thoughts, I'm fascinated. I listen, because I know there is no other way, I know that I will always need to know more, to know all of you, to see the best of you.
The half of us, the least of you, the best of me. The restlessness, the feeling of never being comfortable in my skin.
Your voice, floating on a cold winter night, miles away from me. Of knowing that you'll always be a part of me. No, that can't be right, because I have none of you, how could I?
A part of me, that rests in you, the most vital part of me. I exist, without you, because I know no other way. But it's never enough. How could it ever be? How could I ever get enough of you?
The even, peaceful calm of life, disturbed by you. Simply because you are. Somewhere, someplace you are.
A love that lasted years, that refused to go away, that clings stubbornly like burs, and lives and breathes in me.
A vision of perfection, too removed from convention. Like bright city lights, hiding the darkness within. Yet so hard to resist, like home. Pulling, always pulling my heartstrings.

Include me in your visions of Paradise, include me in your favorite dreams. Include me in your visions of homes filled with dogs, and laughter. Of a life that doesn't demand too much of you. Sketch me into your drawings of forever, and imperfection, and crooked teeth. Live and breathe me, even if only for a moment. Forget the words that destroyed us, even if only for that moment. Run with me, let the winds that whip my hair into a frenzy, push you back. Find a cave, facing the sea, stay there, and wonder what if? When life happens to you, picture me in some part of the world, and wonder if I'm thinking of you. Allow memories of me, to haunt you.

Lean on me. Know that I can take it, that even if I can't, you'll be okay. Tell me. All that I need to hear, and all that I never need to know. Because that's who I am to you.
I don't know how or when this ends, because who the hell can see forever?
But I know that for me, you will never go away.
And in some strange parallel universe, I am your world.
And that will have to be enough.

Of Sea Secrets, And Not Knowing.

"Ending of an era, and the turning of a page."-Tim McGraw, My Next Thirty Years.

You don't know me. You don't know how I look when I've just woken up, how I look when I throw a tantrum. You don't know how I have equal parts of OCD and slob in me. You don't know my shampoo or how I smell. You don't know my brand of cigarettes. You don't know the way I look when I light up, the slight frown when I take a drag. You don't know how I look when I eat, how I like my tea, how I thrive on orange juice.You don't know the way I sit, or how I look when I'm relaxed. You don't see me at my worst, or witness any of my blonde moments.

You don't know how I look when I sleep, or if I snore sometimes. You don't know that I sleep on my tummy, in a number four pose. You don't know that I get restless if I don't have an extra pillow to roll onto.You don't know my dreams. You don't know my ambitions. You don't know how I look when I write, or how it possesses me.

You don't how I look when I'm working or studying. You don't know where I want to be in 10 years and the things I want from life.

I could say we don't want the same things, but unfortunately I don't know anything about you either.

I could argue that we'd learn, but I know somewhere in my head that we can't. These things we don't know about each other after almost half a dozen years, is the cliched twist, in what could have been a perfect story.

It's not about the warm fuzzy feelings in my tummy. It's about these little things that we don't know. That we'll never know. The little things that count.

You'll always be exotic to me, not some silly White Knight, but an eccentric poet wandering the country. A slightly odd artist, who sketches odd things, and complains about bad light.

With messy, slightly long hair. And the smirk. And those unsettling, sees-too-much eyes.

But you'll remain an intense, perfect character in a story. One, that'll make me sigh and ask my best friend why they don't make men like that in the real world.

You'll stop being real, and I'll stop having a real yearning for you. You'll become normal, even mundane to me. You'll start balding, and grow a pot-belly. And wear uncle clothes. And have a normal, nice wife, with normal nice children.

And you'll become a regular man.

But you'll always remain a perfect character in my perfect story. In my very imperfect head.

Hand-prints For My Heart

I remember a day when I stood talking of carnivals and masks, amd smiling till my face felt like it would crack. Attempting to draw ships, and four-poster beds and failing miserably. Endless hours devoted to smoking, and all the wisdom shared over cups of chai. The heat of the kitchen, and that terrible undercooked mutton ragout.

The sunlight filtering into a room, the smell of baking bread and sugar, and dreams, and unrequited love.
Learning to drape a sari, and to appreciate the subtlety of a barely exposed waist.

Walking barefoot in a library that was always sunny. So sunny in fact, that you never felt like studying. And flipping through bad magazines.

I remember resting my head on her cubicle. The strongest woman I know. And the eagerness to be perfect. Someone's definition of perfect.

The sharing of umbrellas to save our cigarettes from getting wet in the rain.
Those evenings spent trying to get work done. And the hazy peace of being with people you love.

A building that never felt like our own. Hating when the elevator stopped on the 6th floor. The ghost we were convinced lived on the 9th floor. Those bad jokes, and laughing till our sides ached. Slurping soup through straws to get back on time for class. The South Indian beggar women who cursed us and danced for us. Someday, somewhere that curse will bite us in the bum.

The monkey show, and how I almost cried because it was so cruel. The songs sung for Radha.
That night, on the streets, talking as if it was our last night together. The cold winter air, the happy voices of four incredible teenagers. The stories of our personal monsters, those workplace ogres, the too-much-to-bear work, terrible cafeteria paneer and the luxury that wasn't ours.

Christmas Day, and carol singing.
The perfect meshing of the soprano, the bass and the alto. The merry memories of Rudolph's red nose. The boy who made every rehearsal bearable. And then the illness that kept him away. That night, and all that wine. The thrill of success. We were getting older, and as far as we knew, wiser.

 I took a journey, that got cut short, with people I will never forget. Every time I think back to those two years, I think of sunbeams that refused to be caught, the black and white and all the gray that defined us, the Africa shaped rotis, and all the laughter. The good, the bad, even the ugly sometimes, all packed together, somehow getting by, never looking back.

In a world of professionalism and perfection, I learnt the beauty of crooked smiles, lopsided ties, broken noses and puzzle pieces that don't fit in anywhere.
No matter where I go, no matter what I do, these two years are never going to wash away.
Like the painting of Santa and his reindeers.
In all our tomorrows.
Always.

With Or Without You

The one thing I keep coming back to is, no matter how great you are, no matter how right for me you are, you're not there for me.

The moon still looks pretty without you though. It still stays half-hidden behind clouds, looking like a drowning rasgulla. I still see rainbows in the country, and the stars are still never around in the city. Red is still a bright beautiful color, and blue still makes my skin look warm. Despite you not being there, puddles make me want to splash in them. And the sun makes me squint. Even when you're not here, I still love golas. And the way it numbs my lips and tongue. And the smell of old books, and warm squishy chairs, are still a source of contentment. The smell of my dog in the middle of the night, and the sound of her snoring, still puts me at peace with the world.

I still laugh till my tummy hurts. I still say stupid things, with no filter in my brain, I still love a good love story. And I still love life. I'll always be that happy person. But the reason I must go, I really really must, is because despite all of this.

When I cry, I cry alone.

Love and Other Maladies

"If you have to be a part of me, I'd rather you were my appendix. At least then I could survive without you"- Me 

Some people have this way of getting under your skin, and staying there. The littlest things about them, to do with them, will make you smile. You do stupid things, going completely against your true nature. You'll even contemplate taking a trip to a different state, one you don't even like, just to see them. You stay up nights, waiting for their calls. Every time something momentous happens, you'll want them to be the first to know. You curse them for not knowing how you feel, but are glad you can always count on them. Everything they do is just right. You compare people to them, and somehow they become the standard of all that's best in a person. You want to run on the beach, skip instead of walking, shout just because you can, and day dream about them while floating on your back in the river. You'll file away little anecdotes, just so that you're the one to make them laugh. You'll grin goofily for the next 24 hours when they say something nice to you. You act like an affection deprived puppy, all because of that one person. Who isn't even trying to make you feel this way. Who is probably not feeling the same way. Does that stop you from being like that? No, but you know you'd rather be foolish than not know this crazy, all consuming, inconvenient, irrevocable feeling.
As a wise and wonderful writer once told me, "Some loves are like that."

In Memory, Of All Those Memories

"Don't forget you love me, today" -Schuyler Fisk, Fall Apart Today

One day we'll both be gone. One day I'll leave this Earth. If I'm lucky, I'll leave behind a lot of memories, and a lot of money.

But for you and me, we're already gone. Even though, if we spoke in terms of distance(which I cannot) we're not too far away. Yet for all intents and purposes, we're gone.

Don't forget the way I made the skies move. Remember how, in the patch of sky above your head, I made the skies shine a little brighter? Never forget that. Don't forget that I made rainbows come alive. Don't forget how I taught you the secret language of dogs. And how to clean up poo. Don't forget how I made the rain special. And when I spoke, I really made you listen.

Someday when you're just sitting, alone, think of how I stuck a pencil in my hair to keep it off my face. When you go for a walk, in the middle of the night, think of how I loved smoking in the cold. And how much I loved the empty, dark roads.

Don't forget that lane, the one I was convinced was haunted. Don't forget the time I made you climb up on an iron gate, just so I could take a picture. Don't forget how I always had this competitive streak, that pushed me to be better than everyone I knew.

Don't forget that when I cry, my nose turns red. And when I laugh, my nose crinkles. Just the right amount.
Don't forget the way I pulled away the first time you hugged me. Or the way I looked when we first kissed. Don't forget that first date that was all it could be. Don't forget the cold winter mornings, and the cigarettes.
When you walk on the beach, take your shoes off and feel the sand between your toes. Remember how I thought that was the best way to enjoy the beach

. Chat with your cigarette wala. Ask him how his daughter is, and if she graduated. Remember how I always did it, and the smile on his face, coz someone cared. Make people smile for the heck of it. Walk down the street, with a smile on your face. Its okay if some people think you're crazy. A lot won't.

Don't forget the way I believed the best of everyone. If you never forget, you'll never get cynical. Don't remember our end. Always remember how it was. It'll keep you happy. Don't get conned by the bad ones, but always give the benefit of doubt. Remember, it was the one thing I did best.

Don't forget you loved me. Ever.
Fall in love again. Make memories, better than ours with her.
But never forget you loved me. 

That Long-Lost Someone

"Love Jo all your days, if you choose, but don't let it spoil you. For it's wicked to throw away so many good gifts, because you can't have the one you want."- Louisa May Alcott, Little Women

She was grumpy. She kept looking up at the sky and muttering. In her head, she kept thinking, 'Why can you never see the stars in the city?' Its a cold winter night. She shoves her icy fingers out of her pullover, and with slightly shaking hands, lights her cigarette.

Her mind, when not obsessing about the presence, or lack thereof, of the stars, was on him. Off late, he was all she thought about. A glance through an old journal, while clearing out her book cupboard, had brought all those memories rushing back. The first time she'd seen him. And then the last. Strange that at the time, it hadn't seemed so momentous. She hadn't realized they'd never meet again. At 15, it hadn't seemed important. The last conversation they'd had, was why the Bluetooth on his phone was't working right. If she'd known, would she have done or said anything different? She doubted it.

Now, twelve years later, she felt her perfect life come apart at the seams. She was getting engaged in a month. Her parent's had approved the son of an old family friend. Since he was smart, good looking, and had a great job, she could think of no objections to raise. Except..

Where was he? What was he doing? Had his life turned out okay? Would she ever see him? Should she send him a wedding invite? Would he somehow, declare undying love for her, before she married another man?

She needed to know. He had been the one person, who had made her feel special. She'd trusted his instincts, changing the writing that was her passion, into a career choice. And she had no regrets. 

Seven years ago, they'd finally lost touch. After attempting to hold onto a friendship, that had always been tenuous at best, they'd given up. She had changed cities, and her number.

And now, years later, he was back in her thoughts. She had no idea where he was, and even if she did, the thought of contacting him again, never crossed her mind. She was happy with the man her parents had chosen for her. Venkat Ramalingam was a nice man, who took pains to get reservations at her favorite table, in her favorite restaurant. And if he failed to twist her insides whenever she saw him, it was not a real loss surely.

After all, hadn't she craved a peaceful, calm and rational relationship? What had she gotten out of being with him anyway? Hadn't she claimed she no longer wanted the fire, and the emotional upheaval, that had marked her relationship with him? Surely rational, safe, boring Venkat was her ticket to a perfect life.

She walked back home to dress for her dinner date with Venkat, firmly telling herself it was simply nostalgia.

Then why was it that he was constantly on her mind? Why when she had picked out her engagement lehenga, she picked one in blue, his favorite color? Why did she lock herself up, reading and re-reading that old journal? And why, all these years later, did she catch herself wondering, if he was married.

He'd claimed he wouldn't. He'd been too career oriented, too focused on work, to spare marriage more than a passing thought. However, he'd always wanted a daughter. Maybe that is why, whenever she thought of being a mother off late, she pictured them with his eyes. Her smile though. Always her smile.

It hurt. She didn't have it in her to think, that if she were only to contact him again, it would be okay. It wasn't what she wanted. Somehow the reality of him, was never as perfect as her memories. But the loss hurt. 

As she brushed out her waist-length hair, waiting for Venkat to pick her up for dinner, she wondered if he looked any different. Had he put on weight? Or was he still awkward and lanky? Did he have a girlfriend?

The door bell rings. It's Venkat. He has in his hand, a book by her favorite author. She has to give his points for trying. Its not his fault, paavam, that she's read every single book by that author, not to mention knows entire sections by heart. Still, it irks her. He knew her favorite authors, discussed books, and their characters with her all the time. Surely Venkat should too?

As she picks up her stole, and walks out the house, a random thought flits through her mind.

I hope he names his daughter after me.

"The Wound Is The Place Where The Light Enters You"- Rumi

"Happiness can be found even in the darkest of times. If one only remembers, to turn on the light."- Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore, Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban

It took the first shower of Mumbai rains, to show me what I've been searching for since my break up.

I kept hurting, feeling like I'd never heal. I felt needy, and I hated it. I would stay home and read all day. And meet Isha in the evening, for that mandatory evening smoke. I looked forward to this part of my day. Somehow I felt that all that loneliness would somehow disappear if I wasn't alone with my thoughts.
It felt like stale grey smoke in me. Like all I needed to do was exhale and it would be gone. But I never managed to exhale. It just wouldn't go away. No matter how hard I tried.

And then it rained. Heavily. First shower. I was home. I couldn't stop myself, I got dressed, and went out for a smoke.

I went to that windy place. It's this place near home, where no matter the weather, it's always windy, and there's this great chai wala.
And there, in the rain, with my chai and my cigarette, I felt that grey polluted smoke leave me. It felt like it whooshed out.

That's when I knew:

No one else was going to heal me. That would have to be me. And I didn't know it, but my own company worked wonders on me. I'd never felt so happy. Since the end of a rapidly deteriorating relationship I'd presumed I'd never feel okay alone. And that day I just was. I was fine. Smiling at nothing in particular, and enjoying the rain, despite the mud splattering over the back of my jeans.

It took one solitary evening, to make me whole again.
Next time, I will love a little bigger, and a little better.

Who The Hell Can See Forever

"Derek said he'd be with me forever. Then 3 days later he told me about a Star Trek episode, where they've said forever may only be a few months"

Sometimes when I'm happy I miss you. When I want to do something fun I think, he'd have loved this too. Sometimes when I'm buying soda I think of picking up Thums Up. Just coz you liked it better. Sometimes when I'm walking or I'm in a rickshaw and I see two people on two wheelers I think of you. Then I miss you. A little bit.

Sometimes when I say something funny and I realize it was your joke in the first place. I miss you a little then too. Sometimes some music reminds me how much you loved it and how you're the reason I listen to it. Then I miss you some more.

Sometimes when I put on that blue shirt, the one you said made my skin look warm, I miss you.
Sometimes when I'm sitting alone I think about times when we sat together, just you and me. Then I feel lonely. And I miss you then too.

Sometimes when I'm having chai and cigarette, I remember how you're the reason I appreciate it fully. And then I remember your ridiculous attempts at making my kinda tea. Even thought you claimed it was more like brown chashni. Which I was masquerading as tea.
And I remember a time you made tea for me at 1 in the morning coz I had a blistering headache. And then took me home.
Then, then I miss you till I cry.

Sometimes when I'm just sad, I remember how you always asked me what's wrong. And how I always lied. But you always knew. And you'd catch me at my stupid bluffs. And then I'd try to tell you what's wrong.
I hate how when I type T and R on my phone the stupid predictive text types out your name. Every single time.

Sometimes, like today I feel unhappy and low and like a failure. And I just cry. And I don't know why. And I wish you were here, to make me a cup of tea and hug me till I feel my bones will snap. And how you'd try to sternly say stop crying. Or just put food in my mouth. Coz that always shuts me up.
Every time I eat something with a lot of cheese in it I miss you. My cheese chor.

Somehow it's not easy to get around the fact that I no longer have to get my pizza with capsicum minus the mushroom. I hate capsicum. But somehow I can't bring myself to change my order.

It's not fair. You and I, we left footprints eveywhere. Wherever I go, I'm reminded of us. Not you, but us. And I'm no longer a part of an us.

Somehow I think I miss that too.

Sometimes I just miss how it used to be. To have someone, who at least in my head, was always on my side.

Maybe sometimes you miss me too. The smell of my Aqua Lily Body Shop perfume. The way I bitched about your dirty handwriting. The way I cribbed when you stole my cheese. But you knew I honestly didn't mind.

The way I always skip at least 2 steps when I take the stairs. Maybe you miss the way one of my front tooth is bigger than the other. And how it sometimes accidently overlaps slightly onto my lower lip. Making me look a little freaky.

 How I got so irritated when you used the same spoon for chawal and dal. Maybe you think about how I used to hog the right side of the bed, only because it was your preferred spot.

Maybe you do. Maybe you really really miss me.
Maybe.
But maybe doesn't change how things are. Or how things will always be.
We've grown so far apart now.
Sometimes memories are all you have. Till you can get ahead, and make some more.
Sometimes.

I know someone who told me, love never goes away, it just changes. 
I don't believe that anymore.

Davidoff Lights And Red Bull Are Amazing Together

"I've done the merry go round, I've been through the revolving door. I feel like I met somebody I can stand still with for a minute and... don't you wanna stand still with me?" - Carrie Bradshaw to Mr Big, Sex and the City

He's my distant star.
Far far away, he still shines brightly.
Something about him has always made me smile. Thunderstorm, you are cherished. When I think of you, I go into sepia mode.
A yellow jacket, that I hated. Floppy hair that I wanted to snip away, to curb the urge to run my hands through them. Those damn glasses. The sarcastic smile.
A sunny day. A slope we walked up. You wanted to watch a movie. I wanted to run away from what you made me feel. Would it be different today if I had come? No, probably not.
Should I cry that you've changed? Your sepia is gray now.
Dark brown eyes. Like the chocolate Mom uses.
Thin lips, you can never be kissed.
Who are you Thunderstorm? Why do you steal my peace? Why are you here one day and I'm thrilled. Then you're gone and there's only the discomfort for memory.
Am I really that foolish? Can I really not see?
You're gone. Its old now. You're in a place where I am a hazy memory of a left-behind past.
To me you're still as vivid as ever.
You're the tossing and turning in the middle of the night.The dissatisfaction when people talk about perfect love.
You're like my smoking. A bad habit I can't get enough of.You're like a candle in the dark. You cast shadows I'm terrified of yet the sight of the flame has me captivated.
I allow you to take me some crazy far away place, where you and me is all we need. I remember when you said we'd run free together, with the grass below and the sky above.
We'd even have the playful dogs. And the house with the picket fence. And a green meadow beyond. With the cows that I'm scared of and the old creaky gate. Our house has a room full of books. Old ones, because you say they have a charm. And because I love to think of the people who read them before us. You sit with me and we talk about books all day. Because we have so many thoughts, and they get lonely in our head. We eat when we want to and whatever we want to. I never exercise because you say I'm not the kind of person who gets fat.
When it gets cold you start a fire. Not the wood fires but the newer electric fires. After all, you're part of an NGO the talks about sustainability.
You have so much energy I can never catch up. You hate sitting still, and me, I crave such moments of peace. With you life is a tempest. But I'd rather be here than any other place. I'd rather share you with the million other things you do, than not have you at all.
Then I open my eyes, with the now smudged kohl, and I know you're only a dream now. A dream that still makes me happier than my every reality.
Do you remember? Are you forcing yourself to forget?
Do you still have your passions? Is there still a bird in you that longs to break free? Or has that flown away long ago, leaving behind a man, who doesn't understand the dreams of a foolish young girl
?
Because I know I'm still the girl with the stars in her eyes. And I wish I knew if you are that boy. The cocky one. The one who knew it all. The one I wanted to show off for. To make you sit up and notice me.
Do you still remember me? Do you smile fondly when you think of the silly things I say? And how I kept you up one night giggling over a joke I didn't remember?
Do you still have an overwhelming desire to kiss me? Do you still want to grab hold of me every time you think of me? Spin me around till we're both so dizzy and the world turns with us? Do you still love me?
Do you still smack and unsmack your head when you're drunk?
Will you be just as adorable as you used to be?
Because today you're just making me cry. I hate crying, it's so messy.
You say I'm in the past, and that it no longer matters.
You're wrong.

Someday I'll fly out to you. And you'll sit up and take notice again. And you'll wonder why you ever thought you'd forget.

For you,
Because you never go away.