Fortitude

I wonder today, as the rain falls in all its might, for a few momentous moments, before it decides to go away. It brings with it sheer freshness, yet the familiar smell of earth takes me into a petrichor state of mind.

It has been long now, so very long, since I have felt this comfortable with myself. With no one to hold my hand, no one to save me – here I am, my own enemy, my own savior, trying my best to get through life, and coming out triumphant at the frontlines of each war-torn day!

I listen to the simplicity of the rain drops, and it takes me back. That is the thing about these rains, they are always so consistent in their sounds, in their smell, and the way they stir up an entire world inside of me, that I never knew existed. The rains are ever so consistent in making me feel sense of my existence in a new facet each time.

Tonight I feel stoic in the face of my past. Although it seems like I have endured much, yet a feeling of limbo grows within me. It is not emptiness, but with time, I am more and more aware of a part of me that has died in the past three years. Tonight I am thinking of second chances. I am thinking of how we all deserve a second chance. We must only be brave enough to take it. If the past is prologue, then we must be ready to learn from it. It is possibly acceptable to mourn the past, but it would be almost criminal to forge your future based on your fears. May be the past is a product of your worst fears, ignorance and naiveté. Now, with renewed lessons and strength, you are stronger.

You are stronger because you are resilient and wise. It has eventually come to you, and in all its finality, you know whatever the fate that life has in store for you, your resilience will help you sail through. Slowly, I am learning how to accept success with as much humility as I had accepted continual failure. With every ounce of success that comes to me, I feel more and more responsible. I am humbled at the very knock of success at my door. I had not seen it in twenty five years of my life, to the extent at which I witness it now, and I know it shall grow even more with time. This is not my vanity, but my sheer ability to face all odds, that speaks with such surety of success.

I am sure that part within me which perished was the little girl who had those hopes crushed which were never hers to begin with. It was the girl who believed in magic of friendship, the one who believed in love more than herself. I was the one who believed in the magic of relationships, and the one who worked hard to keep them alive, long after they were dead. I still see the ghosts of my past haunt me in the most ordinary moments of my day. I see the little knickknacks that I remember throwing away, and I believe they are still around me. Swiftly, I am in memoriam of a day in my past that brought me hope and smile. Such a simpleton I was! Such few expectations! There was a clean heart, a clear mind, and actions to accompany these feelings.

Today, I look back, and I see that girl. She is amazing. She is so strong. My strength is forged out of  her gentle spirit. My stoicism is a product of her constant ability to deal with sadness, and my sheer resilience is a product of her pain and capability to only see the good in people. I am grateful to her, because she didn’t give up. She kept fighting through the difficulties, she did the impossible; she achieved all that seemed impossible to her, that seemed unattainable, and all of it on the singlehanded mettle of her spirit and nothing more!

I listen to the rain, and the meter, the vision of its opaque graininess and the familiarity and warmth of the petrichor make me pensive. I take cognizance of everything beautiful in my life and I am grateful for it all, even the struggles, for they bring me strength and wisdom for the troubles of the future. The time that is to come petrifies me, yet I am not shivering. I stand strong, on the brink of the present, armed with my newfound resilience to welcome the challenges that lie ahead and come out stronger. Our experiences rewire us. I am in peace. I am now enjoying one of life’s meaningful pauses, and it makes me wonder why often silences are considered uncomfortable. I think we ought to be silent more often, and breathe in the pauses, learn to listen, and simply absorb, absorb what life is really trying to teach us, learn what we must to move on to our next lesson!

A Bright Day

It was a beautiful day. Cloudy, sunny and rainy all at the same time. One could hear all those morning sounds, like the chirping of the birds, or rustling of the leaves in the wind; and that familiar smell of the slightly wet roads in the dew. The comforting calm of the Sunday morning was disturbed by the hustle in the corner house. The croissants were in the oven, and Natalie was busy vacuuming her home. 

‘Who wakes up at 6:30 on a Sunday morning,’ Natalie thought to herself, as she tidied up her gallery. She then found the perfect spot on the bench, where she felt the warmth of the sun, while enjoying the cool breeze. The silence was eerie, almost unnatural as compared to the droning of the vacuum-cleaner. At first, Natalie felt strangely uncomfortable in her own house – all alone on a Sunday morning, no one to speak to, and nothing to do. 

Suddenly, the beautiful morning smell transformed into that of burning plastic. Natalie sprung out of her discomfort, almost naturally feeling happy at the thought of some impending drama. The oven wire was sparking, and a buzzing sound came from the socket. Without a second thought, she unplugged the oven. And, slowly, she heard the silence of the house grow even louder. The fans went off, lights were out, and the smell of fresh croissants was now overpowering that of the burning wire. It was a beautiful morning, all alone at home, and the power had just gone out. ‘Can’t call the electrician on a Sunday,’ thought Natalie, as she stood aimlessly in the middle of her kitchen, staring at the little fumes coming out of the oven wire. That was the most eventful thing that was going to happen all day, and it was already over!

Today was supposed to be her day off – a day of serial baking and binge watching her favorite tv shows. Guess she couldn’t do that anymore – thank you, electricity! She thought of cleaning the rest of the house, only to realize that even the vacuum is now redundant. 

The smell of the croissants was still overpowering. So, decided to make some chai-tea, and plated up the croissants. As the tea brewed, she went to her book shelf and tried to find an old book she had been meaning to read for a while now. Over the years, Natalie was so caught up in life, that she had slowly lost the habit of reading. Once an avid reader, and book collector, Natalie’s ‘to-read’ list only grew longer over the years, as her desire to essentially pick up the book and start reading seemed to have died. Today, she decided to reignite her passion.

She started digging through all the ‘intelligent reads’ she had collected over the years, and reached her stash of guilty pleasures. These were the books she loved reading from time to time, but found it so hard to admit to everyone, being the book-snob that she was! She placed her copy of ‘Tale of the Cities’ on the table in her gallery, and went towards the kitchen. Chai was ready, and so was she!

Tale of the Cities was one of those soapy reads filled with unexpected, but rather convenient coincidences, sassy dialogs, opportune deaths, and of course bubbly romantic humor. Natalie plated her croissants, and poured chai into a rather comforting size of mug. She ran pranced through the remainder of her unkempt house, trying to silence the part of her mind that said she absolutely had to clean it. 

Well, the book was tucked at the back of the shelf, and was free of dust. Natalie opened the book, and started reading it. After the first two paragraphs, she started instagram-ing pictures of her cute mug, and oh-so-delicious croissants. ‘I have to read,’ she chided herself, as she turned her phone to silent, and kept it out of sight. 

After hours of reading, and many ohs, ahs and oh-my-gosh moments, Natalie finally kept the book away. She felt so good. After many years she had dedicated time to herself, doing things she truly enjoyed. She had almost forgotten about being all alone on a Sunday, and even the fact that the power had been out for four hours now. The sun was shining brighter, but a soft breeze made its way through. For lunch, Natalie decided to order some pizza. ‘The cheesier, the better,’ she thought. 

While she lunched, Natalie played some old music on her phone, and was listlessly looking around her house as she noticed a picture of her mother hanging on the wall. She realized how the picture had always been there; though, its location was too nondescript to ever remind Natalie of her mom. She stopped the music, and called her mom. Although it was a normal phone call, she felt a bit queasy. ‘Could be the pizza,’ she thought. 

‘Hello, mother,’ said Natalie, unsure of what to say next. ‘Hi dear, how have you been?’ her mom enquired. ‘hmmm I’ve been good. And you?’ she asked. ‘Natalie dear, are you okay? You sound like you wanna say something.’ Natalie mustered some courage and said, ‘Would you like to spend some time with me?’ Her mom instantly replied ‘why of course. I’ll be there in couple of minutes!’ Natalie mumbled an ‘okay’ and the phone clicked. ‘WOW. I didn’t even tell her that there’s no electricity here!’

She didn’t know what to do. She spent the next seventeen minutes tidying up the rest of the house to please her mother. When her mom arrived, the doorbell didn’t sound (of course! No power, duh!) and so the thudding on the door disturbed Natalie’s disarrayed chain of thoughts. 

‘Hey mom,’ she hugged her. After some uncomfortable conversations and few glasses of wine, mother and daughter eased up. Natalie’s mother had brought a few old photo albums, which they both went through, sometimes reminiscing the good ol’days, at other times arguing over how the events had gone down! It was a beautiful trip down the memory lane. As a few hours passed, Natalie offered her mother some of the croissants she baked, along with the pizza. 

Her mother was ever so happy to be present, Natalie realized that she ought to do this more often. It was evening, and now that her father was back home from work, the women decided to call him over for dinner to Natalie’s. ‘But there’s no electricity here,’ interjected Natalie. ‘No problem, dear, we’ll light a few candles,’ said her mother. It was a while before her father came home with some chinese food in boxes. He also brought some cheesecake for his daughter. ‘Your favorite,’ he said. Natalie realized how much her parents remembered about her likes and, the fact that they still cared to take care of her little needs. She felt really nice.

As the family sat in the gallery, the moonlight and streetlights (of course) were sufficient lighting for the evening. Though, her mother insisted on the candles and some light music, for the sake of ambience! The family enjoyed a rather simple meal, talking about old things and new! They reopened those old photographs again, trying to remember what actually happened. There was more chuckling, and of course, more wine! Natalie never thought she was old enough to drink with her parents, although they felt otherwise. They treated her like nothing but an adult. It was awkward, mostly because she felt very protected around them, and at the same time, she had the liberty to enjoy herself. She glanced at them again, as they talked, and smiled to herself, just enjoying the moment. She even clicked a few candid pictures from her phone, and this time, she promised herself she would get these printed, and not let them pile on like e-garbage!

Her father then brought the cheesecake, which Natalie thoroughly enjoyed with the rest of her wine! It was a combination she really loved – creamy cheesecake with a glass of red wine! All the talks and giggles grew dimmer, as Natalie started to sleep a bit on the chair itself. Her father cleaned her bed for her, and her mother helped her change into something comfortable. They tucked her in bed, and thoughtfully opened the window just enough for the breeze to flow in. For the first time in the past decade, Natalie didn’t care if her phone was around her. 

She woke up the next morning around ten. She was not used to sleeping in. Her father had called the electrician, and the power was back on. The house was neat, there were no signs of their small party last night, and her parents were seated at the gallery, enjoying the croissants she’d made. It was such a comforting sight. 

Natalie glanced at her oven, praying that the power went off again. She had found the light in her life.

Eerie Memoirs

Entry 2

I feel nausea in my own skin. I feel a sickness growing inside of me. On the outside, I feel completely normal and calm. However, in my head there are voices. They are telling me how wretched and dismal my very existence is. They remind me that I am nothing. They are piercing into my soul.

I cry every day. Very few days have gone by in the past decade that I have not cried. There have been so many inflictions. There has been so much pain. I just want to retire into a perennial sleep.

I feel haunted – my mind is wasted, my body is tired. Like, an old forest, I feel withered, dead from the inside. Like dark creatures live within a dead forest, malevolence and barbarism thrive within me. It’s scary how beautiful this doomed jungle is; it’s my soul, I’m telling you. It’s my very soul that is filled with darkness that torments my existence each day. It torments me enough to want to die, yet not enough to murder me. There is so much quiet here, I can hear my heartbeats like a drum. There is no air here, yet I still feel poisoned as I breathe in the everlasting depravity within this murkiness.

Every so often a bit of sunlight might pierce the withered canopy, but this ray of hope brings so much more hopelessness to my entire existence. That little spark of optimism, the very anticipation of getting out of this labyrinth of madness, is a farce. Hope is a farce.

I want it to end. This hope is not letting me take my own life. This love around me is not letting me strangle myself to death. I don’t know why but ever so often in this forest of despondency and agony, grows a little flower of happiness and hope.

I wonder how much more I must suffer to close this vile canopy to the outside world. I want this desiccated forest to consume me from within. I want that agony to come out of me as I die, and envelope my soul as I strangle myself, finding peace in every moment of breathlessness. I wish to die.

Photo courtesy - @geetshah26 (click to view his work) 

Eerie Memoirs

Entry 1 

Don't you just hate memories! They have no physical form yet they make you feel like your entire existence is unreal. In just one moment. They blur the lines of time, years and years seem meaningless. All you see is a corporal image of you floating in space and wondering how things changed and how the hell did you get where you are. You're trapped in the same nightmare you keep waking up into.

Have you ever felt the beauty of the day transform into terror? As I pass through the gardens, I feel the ghouls gathering around me. I feel that my demons have taken physical form. I am running. I don’t want them.

I am running for what seems like hours, and suddenly, I can feel an apparition gaining on me. In the endless tunnels, I see no light. “Wouldn’t you give me a chance,” it said. “Wouldn’t you rather embrace my darkness, than revel in the false friendships of those around you?” I think, it was a dream. Nevertheless, it was very real.

I woke up screaming. As I bolted every door and window in the house, I heard the doorbell ring. I opened one door, and saw my old friend. But, all I could do was stare at him. Gradually, I reached for the doorknob and let him in. As I leapt at him, wanting to fall into his arms, he changed form. I knew it. In my heart I knew it wasn’t him. Then why did I open that door? The very feeling of wanting to spend a split second with him was so momentous, that I couldn’t resist the urge to let my demons in.

I can’t remember what happened next. I remember screaming, and shouting. I feel the frenzy even as I sleep. Those demons, they live within me. Every night I as I sleep, I feel the their conscionable presence. They haunt me. They torment me. But, time and again they remind me of how life is exactly like them - deceptive, beautiful and doomed.

I find beauty in life. When every moment ends, the next begins. In that moment, we are as alive and young as we can ever be. Beauty, I believe, seems beautiful because of how much it is destined to doom. Beauty, in its every form is appreciated, because it will never last. The rose wilts, the youth ages, and landscapes crumble into dust. And that is why honesty is so important. To live each dying moment in honesty, in full strength and resolve of pursuing your life dreams. We are destined to die the very moment we are born. Then why is there so much struggle for money, wealth, glamour, power? Why is it so coveted?

Because it is so beautiful. So powerful. Because it does not last. ‘Everlasting’ is an illusion. It’s a farce. When my demons hurt me, they bring me back to the reality. They make me realize that Life is the illusion, and death, the reality, the finality.

In all these musings, I feel like I have forgotten the world. I can’t recognise my family and friends. I feel the parasomnia. And tonight I am screaming again ; tonight I yell because I want them to stay. I want my demons to stay within me, for they make me more human, more vulnerable and enable me to experience feelings with the depth and piercing certainty of every fiber of my being.

In all my oblivion, I remember my friend. I remember his smiling face, the glint in his eyes, his reassuring touch. I remember everything about him. Like he exists in the alternate form of my reality, he exists in my illusion.

He stands guard on the borders of my phantasma and mortality, ensuring that I don’t lose myself within either worlds, that I stay there, with him, by his side. He makes me feel wonderful, and strong and beautiful. He makes my world a fairytale. It’s all so good that I never know whether it is a dream or not. My demons can’t touch him. In all my oblivion, I remember him.

Love is the most abstract reality we have. Love is the most achingly beautiful thing in this world. I wonder that is why my demons don’t let go of me. May be they want a part of it. They want to experience love, and they want me to experience love with the same intensity that I experience misery. There’s nothing more exciting about being alive than having every fiber of your being soaked in emotions. I love my demons.

The very meaning of life is our very existence, in the way we are designed. Our senses, our thoughts, each of these are a key component of our consciousness. Sometimes you listen to a song on loop, because you can't figure out exactly how you feel about it. What is it about rainfall that uplifts you? What is it about love - it's energy wraps all around you. You can physically feel it shielding you from sorrows. We are born with all that we need to truly live life, in all its ways. Yet we squander for materialistic things, and that, my friend, is the tragedy. I love the very sense of doom that the human life is destined to; it is so poetic. Don’t mangle this poetry with preordained definitions of life. Discover your existence. Substantiate your life. Embrace your demons.

Mid-afternoon ramblings

I walked the same road again. I missed her. I have never felt so forlorn in a crowd. Never have I felt so obscure on this road. I can see us sitting by the ocean, looking into its vast expanse and talking and laughing. We never held hands. We never kissed. But it was romantic. It was friendship.

I admit I haven’t spent all these years moping. I had been watching her from afar. But now it was time for us to meet. She lived inside her head now. Seeing things she wanted to see, conjuring images and bringing them to life. She was crazed. She loved the solace of her mind.

‘Hey,’ I said as I brushed her hand, feeling her cool, silky skin. But, she looked blank. Inside her head, I knew there was a storm and I could literally feel the energy from her mind exuding into the room.

I was scared, and I didn't know if she even recognized me anymore. But she just held out her hand and said, ‘Hold my hand, and I will keep you safe.’ This was my only chance. This was the closest I had gotten in years. So, I decided to do it. I closed my eyes, and lied down next to her, probing through the recesses of my mind for an ounce of spirituality. There was none.

In my entire life I didn't feel as religious as I felt that very moment, as I said ‘Dear God.’

I was right there, in that house. Broad daylight had transformed into the dark of midnight. In the very corner of our room, I saw it. It adorned a dark robe, and it was breathing. It was like smoke, but thick and somehow, alive. As it consumed me, I went on travelling to other places. I was breathing it, living its thoughts, feeling its cool rush under my skin.

I looked at her. ‘Now, is the best part. Hold on tight,’ she said smiling. The next thing I knew, we were walking through a path. Those coloured flags captivated me. We walked through the woods until we reached a cabin. It was like the place had no life. None. I didn't even know where I was standing anymore. As I walked into the cabin, I saw it. I saw it all. I didn't know if this was real, or was I just losing my mind?

All my feelings had taken form. I felt like my emotions amplified. It was almost like I was out of my own body and staring at another version of me – a more ethereal version of me. I saw us reunite there. I saw that were together again sitting by the ocean and being carefree. It was exhilarating and terrifying at the same time. I felt queasy. As though the smoke I was breathing was slowly poisoning me. So, I let go of her and quickly walked out.

I saw her there – holding on to the bars of the window, peering into the sunlight. Her eyes were empty, and her face seemed pale. I wanted to bring her out of the labyrinth of emotions she had tangled herself in. I wanted to be the awakening she needed. I knew this was going to hurt me more than I could ever endure. I simply sighed, and looked at her face, and in that very moment I knew what I had to do. I reached for her hand and went back into a trance.

As we walked back through the mirth of the city lights, all I could remember was that faded photograph; but my memories were still afresh. There is nothing more fulfilling than pure, unadulterated friendship.

Never Gone

Never Gone

She held Mark's hand and led him through the woods. He saw a wonderful land where the trees were as green as they could be; sunlight was peering out of the clouds and a perfect rainbow drawn across the sky. He could hear a brook gurgling in the distance, and little splashes of water as they hit the rocks.

Mark gazed into her eyes as she escorted him deeper into that magical land. Although he was aware of the enthralling beauty around him, he was more engaged in looking at her walk him through the forest. Her face was gleaming, and she wore her hair loose. Every now and then she would glance at Mark and secretly smile as she looked around.

Suddenly, he felt his vision blurring into darkness. 'Call the paramedics,' he could hear from a distance.

   *** 

'Doctor, is he going to be okay?' Alice hurriedly scuttled across the hospital to get enough help for Mark. 'He fainted as he was walking across the lawn this morning,' she explained.

Lysergic Acid Diethylamide, commonly known as LSD, is a hallucination-inducing drug. All of Mark's tests came back positive for LSDs. Alice only wished she could be more concerned! Mark hadn't slept in six years. His eyes were always red, and he looked around as though he were gazing into a gaping hole. He was a wreck of a person - his soul torn apart.

Six years ago, Mark lost his lovely daughter. A rogue stabbed little Gina with a huge chunk of glass, while Mark crawled across the street trying to save her.

Mark sat in the living room waiting for his wife to step out. The Sun had set. The sky was black and orange; night was silently marauding in. The air was still. His face was blank, yet he seemed to know exactly what he was doing. Mark put on a shoddy blazer, which was the best he had. He looked scruffy and exhausted as always. His face still was hopeless, and his eyes, vacant as ever.

He silently turned on the garden lights. The cake was decorated and candles were lit. She appeared before him in that same blue dress. She wore those pretty pump shoes, and her favourite suede jacket, still bloody from the stab-wounds. As she approached Mark, he could feel the ice in the wind. A burnished aura surrounded her presence, as she simply smiled at Mark and nodded in dissent. In a blink of an eye, Mark lost her. He was immersed in a mysterious hue of colours that formed a mist in the air.

The desiccated tree haunted the arid lawn; Mark sat on the wobbling bench. The dangling branches of the trees formed an ominous claw-like shadow over Mark's head. Yet again, he poured a drop of that pungent liquid on his fist.

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Ponderings

He sat on the park bench, breathing lightly, observing his surroundings. May be, he was looking back at his life. Just then, I saw myself running towards him. It felt as though, time had turned back and I was 12 again. He looked at me running towards him and got up that instant – we walked hand-in-hand, as he regaled me with various stories. I remember his voice; my innocent laughter rings in my ears as he narrated stories to me. And suddenly, this picture is blurred into my tears.

******

Tears trickled down my face, as I reminisced time spent with my Grandfather. He was a man of old age – he was 80 years old, when I was just 10. Yet, I remember him walking in the house – headstrong, tall, yet mellow and smiling.

It’s very difficult to accept that a person in your life has gone away, to never return. You never know when a ‘moment’ would turn into a ‘memory.’ Sometimes, you want to wail your heart out just so that your shriek brings them back. But all you can hear is silence – Dead Silence.

I wish for his guidance, and I miss his wise hearings. May be, that’s why I’m dreaming of him. May be I couldn’t cry when he passed away because I was too young to comprehend human loss.

Tears came, a little too late, a little too soon – as, 8 years later, I know what it means to lose a loved one to Time.

It pains me to know that every moment of laughter will later only ring in my memory. May be, there’s too much amiss in this world – but our share of it, however imperfect, is truly tailored for us. Sometimes, I wish I could record every such moment of joy, and relive the memory – it’s only when I realise how painful it is: The Ability to Remember. Sometimes, you wish you didn’t have it. May be, life would have been simpler.

It’s very easy to blame a friend for drifting apart. You can ponder as much you want over your choices, they wouldn’t change. Your feelings will remain with yourself until you speak them.

Ever wish you had full-time access to some one’s mind? What if you did? Could you still change the way they thought about you?

Sometimes, you’re in the best relationship in the world, and it comes to an end – all you’re left with is a blank mind and a heart ripped into pieces. To begin with, may be, you weren’t as close as you thought.

It’s not necessary to explain every feeling you feel. May be you end up saying it because your hearts are not as close as you think they are. If they were, would there be a need to speak? When your hearts are too close for words, days, months, years of being apart never seem to matter. You know that you’re understood. You know that the bond is alive. It’s an odd feeling of unsettlement in your heart – the sweetness of being loved with the acidity of being apart.

As usual, I’m not being able to settle down on a single thought. But, I’ve learnt one thing. It’s okay to fall apart with people you love. Being truthful is what matters. Being truthful is very simple. Being ‘hurt,’ in my opinion, is an over-rated feeling. Sometimes, you think you’re very close to a person because you’re spending so much time together and doing all these important things in life. That may not be true. Deep down, in your heart, there lives a bond which you might not be aware of today. Look around yourself, and think – think hard on how every bond affects you. Nurture the relationships in your life. There will be a day when your moments will turn into a memory. You’re always going to have that sinking feeling in your heart, wherein you wish you’d done something more. Get ready for it. Someday, you’re going to have to look yourself in the mirror, and just hope that when you meet eyes with yourself, you’re not going to cry.

All these years, I never realised that my Grandfather was so important to me. But, I guess he knew. He was wiser. I knew he heard me cry. That's why he came into my dreams. He could feel my heart yearning for a lesson.

As I clear the mist around my eyes, I still see him walking… I see him walking away.

I wish he didn’t leave me. I need someone to hold my hand, and guide me through this world.
Nobody’s perfect. We all need someone.