depression is eating into me. is it depression? i dont know. maybe it is just sadness, and a lot of disappointment. or maybe its just my selfish evil self that enjoys destryoinh itself and everything around it. i dont believe i am evil. i dont believe anyhting in me is evil. i believe i have given more than i could offer. crushed myself, my every feeling, my tears, my smiles, my every natural instinct to try and control myself. "me" ,"myself"...why is it not worth existing? if it isnt then it shouldnt. why should i have to mask it, control it? if i am not good enough for the world, why cant the world let it be so. why must i kill myself? i cry too much. i cry every day. i cry for reasons that are not reasons at all. or are they? arent they reason enough to me? is that not enough? why not? why cant these be enogh?

How much I miss you. 

Like the changing colours of the sky at dusk your memories create waves of emotions within, which I have no control on. I am distracted whenever I try to put my mind at work, or even concentrate on something that might be classified "leisure" and yet distracting myself from your memories at every action this body performs, irrespective of time, place and type, transports me to some moment we lived together. There is this action-memory link for some typical routine activities...a particular action will evoke reminiscing of the one same memory over and over again, every single time the action occurs. I plug in my laptop when it is out of charge and is blinking away threateningly and the moment the plug goes into the socket the memory returns of that extra pair of hands I borrowed for this sometimes when you were around, more so the thought of those little tiffs over whether the plug went into the socket before the wire plugged into the computer - I took the privilege of being angry with you over forgetting the sequence I preferred, it was leisurely to turn my face away from you when you were around every second of the day the clock counted. Today I wish I had spent those few minutes loving you, holding you near me to tell you I am never really angry with you, for you are simply the best. Oh! This heart aches for love, for even if only those fights and tussles were to return...but that which was "bad times" then is today too precious to have. 

No, you are not too far away...I have hopes of being with you soon. We have hopes of a lovely life together, we still are the privileged ones. An empty moment is still empty though. Memories extract melancholy breaking through the careful wraps. They take time and effort to heal, often long enough to collide with the next in line. Isn’t life too short for these nuisances? Isn’t hope just not enough to make up for lost time? The body refuses to stay on hold, melts away with the cycle of seasons, grows older without care – two springs passed now, the blossoming flowers fail to excite the second time only adding tiny insanities to the mind. Time is not infinite, every empty moment is possibility lost. A lost walk in the park, a lost summer lazing, a lost snow fight and then we have lost another chance to see the orchids grow in the shade of the tall trees...even the snow pays surprise visits, rubs it in, the time that has passed by. Hugging the computer to sleep is perhaps the only thing still off limits, but you live in the smart-phone too...it lies close to my pillow every night. The one thing countless is memories. There is a new one with every new escape I devise to cover up the emptiness. Also love, it is so tireless. And you, so full of life, so omnipresent, so wrapping me cosy in your smiles...relentlessly, all day long.  

Zap!

Ever wonder why i never turn away?

The other side is a void,

Is nothing, no option.

So, i try to move past you,

You always seem to catch up though...

And motnhs would’ve passed,

Many weak moments endured,

Before we stood face to face again,

But the time still comes,

And before you see,

The void , too, has followed me.

After all, it is only a reflection of yours,

A void to the other side of you,

A void to the other side of me.

Dear all,

The daily ritual commences once more, or should it be called “nightly” if it is something one does every night? Deciding firmly that i shall not, under any circumstances repeat it the next night, forms a part of the ritual , of course... Oh lord! How does one retrieve oneself from practices that become so integral a part of ones being that she cannot fall asleep without going through it at least once? Even though it causes pain, even though it breaks morale, it must be done. Everytime committed, the act elads to deeper levels of failure, to lower self belief, and yet i cannot do without it. Cos every single night i hope my friend will receive my call, wil return my attempts to reach out, i hope my friend will change just to see how much it matters to me, how much it saddens me. What am i to do ? i have only questions, no reflections...

Yours sincerely,

Still waiting in hope.

Red

Its a life of blood,

Red red, sweet sour,

Blended rushing sorrow,

Pain pain in the heart.

Long lost my mind,

Long ago it was,

When boiling blood,

Did stain us all.

Drenched and soaked

In the rush of time,

What’s left behind,

Ain’t worth a dime.

Pretty pretty face,

Prettier than love,

Try hide those scars,

Behind the blush.

Try rip apart

Every faded smile,

Give up, give up!

You will hear them cry!

Toss the coin,

Flip it through fire,

Its a life of blood, Red red ,sweet sour.

18 September 2010

FRUSTRATIONS

There are these somethings that are now driving me nuts. It is crazy, the way people around me are behaving. How strange that I should refer to my best buddies as “people”. These little action-reaction processes that we go through , the miniscule interactions that I still have with my now gradually fading away friends , these are the ones that make all the difference, now that they are physically so far away from me. Fear is that this distance now seems like much more than just a physical separation.

“X1” is long gone...though I’m not sure if I should call a two months break in a relationship of 11yrs “long”...but there seems to be really meek chances of her coming back. Spoke to her about medics when dadabhai was hospitalised, that is because I trust her and perhaps will always know what a wonderful person she is, but my respect for the way I lead my life does not allow me to forget that horrible session we had and go ahead and talk to her like nothing ever happened. One may call it my ego, my stupid sense of relationships, my irrational pride...but these are the same virtues or vices withstanding which I made friends like her, and they have stayed, very few in number, but have been there through the thickest and the thinnest. Today, there is almost none.

Coming to bosom friend no. 2. Perhaps one or two years less old a friend than “X1”, my dearest “X2”. Health irregularities, workload, widely differing schedules and now residence in cities separated by thousands of kilometres have always barred regular conversations or day outs together. There were times when we did not meet for over an year and yet the bond of friendship, the love only grew stronger. I met her a few months back, spent great time at her house together with her family and "X1" was there for a day too... X2 also came over to my "sole room" , my life in an apartment alone (where i spent a very valuable one year of my life) . Things looked and felt great, what more could i ask for? And then came the day when she returned to her university again and to a new life altogether it seemed. Now i dont get any updates of her life from her anymore, even if I am the one knocking at her door (metaphorically of course) day and night. Either she is busy or preoccupied or is bound by some unavoidable and unbreakable barriers from conversing or responding to my call (not necessarily a phone call). Just got to know, and thankfully from herself,even though on inquiry on my part, about a trip she made related to work. Considering her work and study is something i have always admired , it came as a bit of a surprise to hear that it was "all so sudden". Sounds like I am being really bitchy...thats exactly how detatched I am from the ones who literally kept me "alive" not just as a human being, but as a girl , into a lady, perhaps a fully grown woman as well...

The Joy in Sadness

If you thought sadness and sorrow go hand in and, think again. Sadness sometimes escapes the boundaries of its definition and evolves into a treasured possession, an achievement, a fine gain.

In fact, happiness, satisfaction, ecstasy, all have one thing in common – the sadness entwined with each of them.

‘Sad’ is not what you are when you’re hurt. It is what you feel when you are very close to the perfect happiness of life. Sad is what you are when you have a joy so great and so rare that you know only a strange wave of the invisible wand can again bring you barely close to experiencing moments of comparable magnitude. These are moments that are actually hours or maybe an entire day shrunk into a few seconds when the mind sleeps and the sixth sense awakens, lightening up every miniscule detail of the world around you, and driving, sometimes even forcing, you to make a grab at time while it still stands waiting, waiting for you to create a memory. Then the memory, like a hungry wind, incorporates into itself those innumerable moments that may have appeared dull , those hundreds of feelings that may have seemed worth little, and brushing off the dust to reveal their true colours, composes an enchanting tune that blows a storm through your mind.

The mind awakens, the strong winds blowing are nothing but the opening notes of sadness while the seconds you live are ones of pure bliss. The bliss ceases, as every beautiful spell of shower must end, but the winds keep blowing. This is sadness, these powerful surges of air that you might once have thought to be a force too weak, now a strong, intense rush of wind that forces outbursts, flowing streams of tears down your cheeks, rolling down your chin, finally sliding down your neck into your heart.

When such is the form of sadness, when you don’t need to be hurt to be sad, then sadness is a boon, a long awaited gift. Then that sad goodbye records feelings that you would die to experience again. Then, that final hug is a bearer of a beautiful future that will be filled with hope and belief. Then, that sadness is joy, those tears are pearls; the sobs, magic potion. Then, you are happy to be sad, you are relieved to be sad, and sadness, that day, is a gain, indeed.

Sunday, 19 September 2010

11:59 PM