She was on her knees... Sobbing... Sobbing so deeply that it hurt her chest. Her face was completely covered in tears, her vision was so blurred that she could barely see his outline. Him. He was standing right in front of her watching as she begged for him to explain what had happened.
He saw this pathetic creature before him... He had once held her in his arms as he told her that he loved her, and promised her the world. He had once looked into her eyes and seen nothing but pure undying love.
But then, just as quickly as he had brought her that happiness, the love she thought might never end, he took it away.
He looked at her, sitting there, blankly. He acted like they had never met, and he didn't even acknowledge the pain that he had caused her. He just sat there like a stone, saying not a word to her pleas.
She looked up at him, her eyes red, her face blotchy. She knew she wasn't going to get an answer. She got up, looked him in the eyes, and saw nothing. She suddenly felt cold. The love that she had once seen in his eyes was gone. A memory that, from his expression now, was hard to recall.
This was the end. All that they had gone through, all that they had said, was gone.
She wished at this point that she could be like him, able to forget everything without a second thought, without any pain whatsoever.
She looked down, turned around, stood up straight and walked away.

Uplifting.

I whispered into his ears. I waited for a reaction.
Nothing.

I asked, 'What's wrong?'
Nothing.

'Why're you so quiet?'
Nothing.

'Okay then, I'll go.'
Nothing.
__________________________________________

The story goes like this:

There was once a man, married to a woman for as long as he could remember. He was a wealthy man, respected and well known. His woman, a lesser known yet respectable woman. On the exterior, they looked like the perfect couple. On the inside, they made believe they were the perfect couple.

As their lives unfolded, they seemed to drift apart (big surprise!) Soon he lost interest in her and she became yet another lifeless entity in the house. She realized it but didn't address it. Denial, they call it. Days went by and things were still unchanged, and soon enough he fell in love again. This time, with a different woman. She was prettier, smarter, funnier and everything seemed like an adventure with her. It's like when young love reels out. The oozing passion, the constant laughter, the ceasing moments, the hours of conversation and all those sickening acts of adoration for one another. They spent a chunk of time together. While the wife ran errands and took care of all the other objects in the house, all the other objects except herself.

The time had finally arrived when the new woman wanted legitimacy. The time had come, he realized, to break the wife's heart. He was determined to do it but he decided to do it in a decent way. For old time's sake, he thought. He called her and arranged to meet at their favorite restaurant for dinner. She had butterflies in her stomach. What if , she thought. What if this was the moment when all that she had subconsciously wished for was about to come true. She wore her best outfit, wore make-up just the way he liked it, and headed to meet him. She walked in to find their patent table empty. She sat at the table and ordered a glass of wine. While she waited she thought of a million and one things but everything seemed fuzzy because of the overwhelming emotions.

He finally arrived, he looked haggled. He was walking slowly and rather unsteadily. He eyes were filled with purpose. He sat across her, smiled at her. She smiled back, a half-smile. She knows, he thought. Beads of sweat gathered at his temples, his fingers twitched and for some odd reason his left arm had gone numb. Damn the spondylosis! They ordered the meal in silence. He couldn't even look at her face. Guilt, was an overpowering feeling. He was rehearsing the monologue in his head, for the thousandth time. The sentence formed, and he was about to spit out the cruel words, when just then, she broke into hysterical tears.Perplexed and amazed at the woman's intuition, he lost track. As a reflex, he held her hand and asked almost sincerely, 'What's wrong?'. She just sniffled sadly. Her dessert plate now looked like a runoff and she grabbed his hand tighter. He asked again and this time she looked up. Her brown eyes had never looked so empty like they did now. He shuddered. She tilted her head to the left, like she always did when she was about to say something important. And then the ominous words came out.

'I have leukemia. I have 3 months.'

Something changed right then, all the words that he had so carefully gathered over the period of time, seemed to chant incoherently in his head. Everything became white noise and his head felt like it was about to explode. Just then he decided against all his plans and his careful calculations. He just held her and they walked home- quietly and passively. He started to take care of her, take her to her favorite places, read her favorite books with her, sit with her for hours go fro long walks to unidentified places.

The new woman, kept calling him, he kept ignoring the calls until one day he sent her a text message saying it was over. No one knows for sure, what became of her.

And then the 3 months passed and so did the wife. He cried for a month.
He still walked to those unidentified places, alone this time. And it was on one of those walks that it suddenly struck him that in pretending to love her for those 3 months, he had in fact fallen in love with her again.

______________________________________________________________

Nothing.

Mystifying depth in her eyes,
they tell a story about her life.
They speak of that, that should not be told,
they yearn to see love, more than that can be showed.
they see the world through a glass,
they learn to smile, even to the masks.
the sadness that she tries to hide,
the things that she want to leave aside.
the times she wishes to be with him,
the times she longed to kiss him.
the hours she spent crying, trying to forget,
the days she spent in regret.
the mystery uncovered,
the truth discovered.
the things she wanted to say,
those that would get in her way.
knowing that the end was near,
at last she slept with nothing to fear.

Fall.

Dear Diary,
Today I was strolling down the market, on my own, with my iPod plugged in and Kanye West blaring at the highest possible volume when my phone buzzed. I looked down at it, unlocked the keypad without even looking at it and read what was the most meaningful text message I had gotten in the longest time.
No. It wasn't one of those spirit guides I have, telling me how to deal with seemingly impossible situations. It was someone else. Let's just call that person Rye. (How I love that name.) So Rye wrote to me about being a pain in the wrong place and how he would have to deal with it in the most merciless way if I didn't mend my ways soon. I read it at least three times before I could make sense of it. And then it hit me, I couldn't mend my ways anymore than I already have. I thought being 'friends' was all about loving each other for who they are and not who they want you to be. If the love is strong enough then you will bring about the change without so much as batting an eyelid.

I also had a sort of awakening. I realized, that when you are at your miserable best, everyone around you seems to be the happiest. I saw little girls holding their mother's hands and throwing a temper tantrum for some brand new bedazzled bag. Or young boys and girls, all smitten in love clutching each others hand as if just to prove that they were with each other. Old wrinkled couples squinting through glass windows looking at stuff to buy for their grandchildren, perhaps. I was so jealous.

I went and bought myself, a pack of cigarettes and lit the first. I inhaled the warm smoke and closed my eyes to wait for it to make me a little light headed. It worked, but only because I made myself believe it would. I took three more rounds of the market and finally decided to head home. In my mind, Rye's text still haunted me. But somewhere along the way, it gave me a certain amount of closure. No longer will I talk to an imaginary Rye when I'm lying in bed. No longer will I jump at the sound of my phone ringing. No longer will I keep typing in his name on Facebook to keep up with his status'. No longer will I look forward to anything. My mother says, that part of loving is letting go, (very cliche, I know.) and maybe it is time I let Rye go. For his own good. Because I love him so. But you know what holds me down to the ground is knowing that there can be no other person in this whole entire universe who could love him like I do. It's just that impossible.
So here's to you, Rye. A long prayer and a silent tear. I have realized that my dream and wish were both the exact same thing and thus, this chaos and misery were inevitable. Perhaps, Love is the only thing I have. (Excuse the plagiarism.)

My angel.

Suddenly, I'm running.
In circles, it seems. The building are whizzing past, and all the things around are just a blur.
A moment of immense agitation and confusion takes over me and I lose all senses of judgment in a matter of seconds. Nothing seems to be able to catch up to me. So much so, the wind can't get to me. It's like I'm in a vacuum. Where all hurt, all pain, all senses have been sucked out through this one tiny little orifice at the edge. It's magical. So freeing. So singular and yet so well designed into this compact structure filled with piercing questions aimed at my conscience.

Suddenly, I'm tied up.
In this web of desolation. The stickiness of the web, makes me shudder. Just then I realized I hate spiders, with more conviction than ever. I keep taking virtual cobwebs off me but they seem to be multiplying at umpteen speed. And then I lose focus. All I can see are millions and millions of nimbus black spiders, crawling their way to me. At one point, I actually thought one of them sneered at me. As if they knew how terrified I had been. The web gets stickier and engulfs me into it. I feel like I'm being sucked in.

Irony.

What is truth? The opposite of lies.
What is right? The opposite of wrong.
Why do we spend endless minutes of a rapidly discriminating life, trying to determine empirical convictions?

I sit at this seat, contemplating yet another triviality, wrapped in wit. I say yet another because it seems to have become the presentation of the startling profession which is soon to be mine.
Mine, because I have chosen it how it is, 'different'. Not for me is the mundane jobs with their mundane cubicles in mundane buildings, dressed in mundane suits. I am different, I tell myself.

I am a dreamer, a thinker and in moments of narcissim I hide even from myself. I am a visionary. I feel pity for the mentally downtrodden, moving in temporaltimidity, never knowing the sheer fight that the mind can take.

I'm free.

Just.

The Question-
How does a girl who jumps into a rabbit hole, plummeting into chaos come out unchanged?

The Answer-
She doesn't.

Every plan she had goes horribly wrong.

She still believes in happy endings and is convinced that her happy ending is somewhere too close for comfort.

She's bruised, humbled and smarter but it came to her in some cosmic sense of enlightenment when she least expected it.

The bottom line-
People don't change. They only evolve into higher versions of themselves.

Somedays I just don't want to wake up. Stay in bed for as long as I can and then when I finally decide to wake up, the whole day has just passed me by. That is when I regret not waking up earlier. It's funny isn't it? How one minute you want something and the next you live to regret it.

Amongst everything else, regret had taken over most of my thoughts. It had clouded my judgment for most things and yet in some bizarre way it brought about clarity in various spheres. But are we really qualified to make the distinction between what we deserve and what we get? In some parallel world where everything is happy and mellow, is it conceivable to have everything that one deserves. Life would be a little monotonous won't it, if we received all that we want everyday of our lives? It would be like Christmas the year around. And yet, none of us would dare wish for things to turn around, because, [un]fortunately it would happen. It's quite scary even to imagine it.

I feel like I'm sitting for an interview most days. Wherein every twitch of a muscle, every batted eyelash reflects something about me. And those days that are good, I feel like a untamed animal, free to do whatever, say whatever, be whatever. But do I wish for everyday to be like that? No. I like the binding. It is in many ways disciplinary. It has taught me so much. Respect, responsibility, faith, justice, all of that. It's not military school, it's just what I had written for myself. And I have learned also to enjoy it. I love my safety net. It is something I like to call Home. I could go hide in it and even then I would be just the right amount expose, just the right concoction of vulnerability and nakedness. Just the perfect mix of fear, anger, security and relief. Where does one find so many things?

Sometimes, when I feel like the safety net is about to break because, let's face it there is only so much safety that it can provide, I take a sedative so that when I do fall, I fall in my sleep without having to wait for the cold hard ground to strike my face. The blood and the hurt can all wait till I wake up. It an enchanting feeling, like a jolt that goes through your body without you even realizing that it had happened. Like when you have get a paper cut, you can feel the sting without being able to see where the blood is oozing out off. Quite an experience.
But you know, I don't worry about all the trillion things that can go wrong. It doesn't make me feel good. As it turns out, no one likes anyone who cannot take care of themselves. Everyone has their share of baggage, and no one want excess baggage.
It's a hard learned lesson, indeed.

But I did learn it. Maybe not sooner but later.

ViewFinder.

I see a hole in the wall. I place an eye on it. For a few seconds I see nothing. My eye lashes flutter for a second, my eye ball adjusts for another and then I see.

It is a room like any other, but a thick cloud of smoke engulfs one area. I see the silhouette of a what looks like a boy. He makes his way out and stands in the middle with his hands on his hips. He looks around for a minute, shakes his head, runs his fingers through his hair and resumes his position. All this while, his back was towards me.

He turned around, he looked vaguely familiar. He came towards the wall and looked upwards. He ran his hands across the wall in a running motion from the left of the hole upwards. Not once did he stop at the hole. He did that once more, and then went back to the exact spot he had stood before.

This time, he looked up to the ceiling. I think he saw an insect, for I could see him moving his head in odd directions. Soon he got tired, and squatted himself on the floor. He sat for a long time, mumbling to himself. Giggling at times. Drawing circles on the dusty floor and finally, tired of all of it, he quietly crouched himself and slept.

I got tired of peeking through the hole and decided to walk away. I did. But the image of the sleeping boy wouldn't leave my head. After a few hours, I went back to the wall. I peeped through and I saw him again, his back to me, sitting in that exact same spot. I reckon in the same position too. He was talking to himself. Angry. It seemed as if he had a lot to get out of his system. He screamed real loud this on time. I shuddered. And then he was silent. I couldn't even hear him breathe any more. And then suddenly, he sniffed. Before I knew it, he was crying like a new born baby.

Baffled, I bellowed through the hole,
"Hello! Turn around. Look towards the wall, into the hole"

His crying stopped almost immediately and he raptly turned around. His eyes was blotched, he cleaned his nose like a dirty 5 year old boy, and looked around trying to locate the source of the voice.

"The hole in the wall.", I repeated.

He spotted the hole, and ran his fingers by it.

"Talk to me.", I said.

He settled himself next to the hole, resting his head on the wall, cleaned his face and said,

"I thought you'd never talk to me."

Perplexed, I asked him what he had meant.

I think it was a smile that I saw just then, he said,

"I knew all along you were watching me. I just hoped you would talk to me."
"I have been waiting a long time, you know."

I don't remember saying anything. All I could hear was an incessant banter that went on in my head. I pushed it all to one side and asked him:

"Do yo even know who I am?"

The corners of his lips twisted, he said:

"Of course I do. You're the girl, who cries every night and sings the most soulful song one would ever hear. You scratch the insides of your hands and stay hidden behind your tuft of hair just so that people don't see your swollen eyes.
You look at your phone every second minute hoping it would ring and when you realize it wouldn't you just turn it to silent mode and throw it away. Some days you jump into bed and talk to yourself. Making plans about the future. Playing scenes and conversations.
I know you."

I couldn't believe my ears. Who was he? He knew things that nobody but I did. I was scared.
"Don't hurt me.", I quivered.


He got up from his place and turned towards me. He placed his hand next to the hole, looked me straight in the one eye and said:
"I could kill you with all that I know, but I like the look on your face when you suffer."
"Do you want to know why I cried?... I couldn't take it myself. Knowing so much."

"Do me a favor, fix the hole in your wall."


.____________________________.


For the most part, I know who he was.

My farishta.

Passive.

As a 5 year old, this one time I fell off the slide and bruised my knee. It bled for a long time. I cried. It hurt. But then Mum put a bright band-aid on it, kissed it and I was okay.

This time, I don't think I can put a band-aid on my hurt or have some one kiss it and make it alright.

"It's no big deal" they say. What do they know? How big a deal it is for me. No one could see what I had seen months in advance. I'm a lunatic. Why'd anyone believe me?

I feel ashamed of myself for thinking the way I do. For wishing for what I wish. For wanting what I want. But what am I to do? How am I supposed to react? No one tells me that.

I'm not supposed to complain. I made that promise to myself and believe me, I've been holding so much in. It hurts. There hasn't been one night that I haven't cried myself to sleep. Not one single night.

No one sees the hurt in my eyes. No one hears the pain in my voice. No one except Mum, I guess. Who still wishes she could kiss my boo-boo and make it okay. I secretly wish so too.

It's a mirror. It follows every thing. The way we are. I can't deal with this. But wait, I'm 19 years old. I shouldn't act like a baby. I should accept it. Just live with it. Let it invade me and take control. But I shouldn't binge. Not question. Not express.

Just stay pre occupied in my ephemeral happiness. Count days till it appears again.

Somedays I just wish I could erase everything. Just let it all fade into the dark. It will happen won't it?

I can't see it. Perhaps because this eternal film of tears is blindsiding me.

I can't be like this.

I just want to express!

Somehow.

The last word.

I contemplate.

I realize.

I ponder.

I hate.

Me!