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.

The Red Bag Of Dreams

Its too brown here. Nothing bright, nothing pretty. My red kurti is the brightest object in this dull, dreary place.
In places its green. And beige. Hideous. It smells funny here. Like body odor, and air freshner, and medicine, and humans hating their work, and feeling like failures.

Its blue outside. Blue, and sunny, with bright greens, and black and yellow rickshaws that loot innocent Mumbaikars.
Its pretty slow today, this otherwise noisy, bustling city. Its a Saturday. A small part of the working crowd, makes its way to work, knowing that they'll leave early, work very little, and relax a lot. The weekend is here.

But I'm not allowed outside. I'm stuck in this brown box. Unsure of what the weekend will bring to me. Unsure if I'll even have a weekend. I want to rush outside. Stand in the sun, feel my skin burn, and the wind rush through my hair. Then worry about how I'm going to brush the knots out of my waist length hair. I'll fantasize about going crazy and chopping it off. And wearing it in a crazy pixie hairstyle. With red highlights. But I'll know in my heart, I could never cut it off. I want to run on the beach and hold your hand and watch the waves. And feel sand in between my toes. I want to feel the waves crash against my legs, and wet my jeans.
I want freedom. To do what I want. To be who I want, and speak how I want. I don't want to be forced into this brown and green box. I don't want to come here, fighting against my will, and what my heart begs for.
I don't want to cry.
I want to go on a long long walk, with my dog. And watch her huff and puff and chase me. I want to go shopping with my mother, and get ready for the festive season. Navratri is coming. I want to swap books and authors with Dad. And tease for how slow he is. I want to tuck my feet under me, and read all day.

Far away. Where the blue sky stretches endlessly. Where the grass is green everywhere. Where work is fun, and my mind at peace.


The Romantic Cynic.
:)

The Ragged Coastline, Of A Sun-Warmed Mind

"I'll show you how much my shit stinks, and ask you what you think, coz your thoughts and words are powerful."- Kimya Dawson

I was struck with a thought today. Everyday, every hour, every minute for that matter, we make decisions. Some that we aren't even conscious of. We make them automatically, with a barely a thought given.
There are so many decisions I've made I regret. From small decisions like giving in to a food craving, that makes me obsess about my weight, to major decisions like choice of my career option. They've been spur of the moment, not-really-thinking, decisions. And if I had the choice I'd go back and change them.
Why though? Why do we make such decisions? When its up to us, to choose, why do we still choose wrong? I can blame no one for the wrong decisions I made. No one forced me, I was given the choice. What is it about our human nature, to make decisions we regret later?
Are we really so hasty, that we don't stop to think? Or are we so near-sighted as to not see the possibilities?
What happens when you make a life-altering decision, and it happens to be the wrong one? Do you get a chance to correct it? Or are you stuck coz you chose wrong? Who do you blame, when you mess up? When you're the only one at fault? Coz its human nature to put the blame on someone. So should we blame God? God, when you gave me the good sense of being able to think for myself, and make my choices, why didn't you give me the good sense to choose right? Its all your fault. You're supposed to be looking out for me.
When our actions are the cause for our pain, why do we get angry with Him? Why do we take our temper out on God, and stay mad at him?
We find it so easy to forgive those humans we love, who err, then why do we not forgive Him who gave us a chance to love? Is it coz we believe Him omnipotent? He's all knowing, all powerful, so he shouldn't go wrong? But humans are faulty, naïve, they can mess up?
I make a decision today. To take responsibility for all my actions. When I make a choice, solely my own, I shall not blame God, or my family, or my boyfriend and friends. I will accept that I was wrong, and blame no one.
I also decide that from now on, I will think till the end of my thinking capacity before I choose something.
For I believe, today, that a delayed decision, is better than a wrong one.
This life is my own, I want to die knowing I chose what was best for me. And without regrets.
I don't usually think so deep. But I did today. And I thought it should be written. Coz my thoughts and words are powerful.
I'm sitting in a rickshaw, with a cigarette burning in my right hand, stuck in crazy traffic. I could curse Mumbai, and the heat. However, I write.
For the choice to write too, is my own.

The Romantic Cynic.

The Leprechaun Stole The Colors Of The Rainbow

'You go back to her, and I go back to black.'- Amy Winehouse 

The color blue fades away into grey.
Even that bright pretty shade, can become dull grey, lifeless, devoid of color. Like someone sucked the vitality out of it.
The sky is a dull grey right now. The sky in her world. Out side the sky is a midnight blue.
Butterflies died. Kohl spread from big brown eyes, and down caramel cheeks. The light went out those eyes.
Doors banged shut. Silence crept in.
The curtains fluttered. The still hot night, holding her secrets. Light footsteps somewhere nearby.
She walked silently to her bed, tears streaming down her cheeks.
It wasn't blue anymore, there's no color left behind. It was grey everywhere she looked. Life, had lost the color, she'd been promised it would have.
Even when the sun came out, the shades that had once made her smile, were lost. The faith she had in life, died. She'd live, exist, purely because, she doesn't know better. But, what use is such a life?

She draped on a scarf, to hide her tears, and walked out to face the world.

Of Dreams, And Foolishness

She was crazy. She was normal. She was a little dreamy, and very practical. She was very loving, and hated very strongly. She was very generous, and could be very selfish.
She was a dream. She was his dream. She was the strangest, rarest of women. He'd never met anyone quite like her. She could bare her teeth in anger, and scare people into giving her what she wanted. And yet, she had but, to smile, and she'd charm them, into getting her own way.
She was rude, cutting through people's weaknesses. She was warm, making people feel better about themselves. She was his dream.
She had dark, bright eyes, that gleamed with a temper. Those same eyes, could crinkle up, and blaze love.
A dream. Unattainable, always just out of reach. She was the dream, that never goes away, tantalizes, torments, with its foggy memories.
But she was real. So very real. And so human. With human weaknesses, and human failings. She crumpled under pressure, but was as strong as required, when the ones she loved needed her.
So he dreamed. Dreamed of his dream. And as dreams oft do, made him believe she was his.
Wispy memories. From dreams of last night. She lingers on, somewhere, in the recesses of his mind.


Strangely dreamy,
Cynical Romantic,
(:

'Bhatt, Be Chai Aap!'

Its an unnaturally cold evening. We're sitting side by side, smoking, drinking गरम चाय , wondering what we're doing with our lives. Two insignificant people, in a big city.

You're thinking of all you lost, and how you messed up. I'm thinking of the future, of the challenges I will face, and the tears I will shed and the bridges I will burn.
Chaotic, is the only way to explain our thoughts. Yet, together we look comfortable, happy even. No one notices us, cocooned as we are from the world. Two quiet people in a fast paced city.
Together, we feel fine. I'm your light. Even in the cold, I'm your warmth. When you think of me, you say you think of fire.
 For me, you're, like lying down after a long hard day, and feeling each muscle relax. You're my comfort. That boy, lost in thought, the ever present cigarette, burning red in the dark, the चाय का  cup, with steam rising up. Despite the worries, and the burdens on our young shoulders, I'm  happy.

The cold winter breeze, the smell of smoke, the rickshaws passing by, and the people rushing by. We register everything, and nothing. When we kiss, its like coming home. Something falls in place. When I'll think of you, I'll always remember the Marlboro Hards, and the mint on your breath, and the crazy life we led, and the peace we found instead.

Always,
The Cynical Romantic,
(: