Posted in Prose

Hard days

Some days are hard you know,
To pull myself out of bed and sit up to bring myself to my senses and motivate the dull me to see through the blinding morning light and somehow listen to the music lost in the cacophony of the world beneath the four walls of my house is just so exhausting. Very exhausting.
Will you ever understand that?
Some mornings are torturous, I wander away like a shadow in the dark, absent to my mind and lost in the horrors of my thoughts.
I have lost myself to the uncanny pain that built up in me a while ago when I lost myself in the highways and by lanes of my rather messy life. It’s been a while. A really long while since I became a vagabond in my streets and a stranger within myself who lost herself in the hundred streets stretched out all before her and the millions of people walking away cooly- in and out.
Some days life feels like walking down a deserted street, lined with broken lamp posts and crooked roads stretched all before me this way and that.
Trust me, some days have been hard, harder than I can possibly explain to you. Do you really wanna know-how how hard it has been or are you no different like the millions of people who have crawled in and out my life like ants all over a strewn away candy?
I will never know and I am not giving it a chance.
I am far away from home, where the lights shine bright and the birds sing a song of melody. I am far far away in distances that I cannot possibly measure yet tell you that it will take me forever and ever to walk back home if it isn’t for a miracle.
Let me look around….
I am somewhere distant, you wouldn’t find me even if you set out in the morning to come in search of me. Or would you?
……..
Some days have been hard, I drag myself to the window to pull back the curtains and let a little optimism sink into the parched grounds of my mind.
The birds here sing a song of melancholy it makes me want to shut away and melt away into the pain that bulges in my mind and disappear into the thinnest wave in the air.
Posted in Prose

When depression and anxiety dropped by

This is not a cry for help, just a cry.

Lights off. I settle in bed, shuffling my blankie in the cosiest way I want. There’s a knock on my door. And then things changed, the cosiness was gone, the night was colder than ever before and the lights remained off for longer than I can possibly remember now. I lost myself that night, I found not the pieces of my sanity and my mind flickered like a candle in the storm. I am taking a painful ride through the worst of times, desperation, devastateness and emptiness and trust me it is no fun ride but an agonising walk through the wilderness. Let me see, I have decimated from being good to being empty and hollow and that does not sound any good, does it? I have no good, convincing reasons as to why I have been falling but it’s hurtful and exhausting. My mother looks at me and sees a happy child, my father sees a hardworking, passionate girl and my brother sees a fun sister but I have a well deep in me that I have covered with something of a huge thing on the top and let pretty creeper plants grow all over it, they cover the sides and fall over from the edges now. I am wide, gaping well that has in it trash, vain thoughts and trash again.

I thought I was doing great, posting happy, positive things on social media, connecting back with friends and healing from a heartbreak when suddenly depression and anxiety stopped by to say Hallo and check in on me. They stayed for long and they have decided to stay on. Now I wake up each day wanting to sleep on, never being grateful for my existence, apathetic to the birds outside my window and the sun peeping through the cracks. I pull myself together to get myself to freshen up and let positive vibes take over me but I tick-tick on my phone and I see my friends smiling with their best friends, I see the world falling apart, nations fights against each other, people giving up on themselves and people writing, “Everything will be alright”. I pull myself again to eat and work hard to build my career. What do you think? I don’t work or study,? I do. I start with writing a paper, a minute later check my phone, an hour later read a book, five minutes and I walk around aimlessly, then maybe go and binge eat and then worry about putting on weight and then study again because I have to do well and be the topper I always was and then scroll endlessly on social media and then I feel devastated about the things happening with me and I go to a corner to cry and let out repressed emotions. Fresh air would do some good so I stare out the window and then think, think and think about how caged I felt. Well, writing has always helped, so I settle down with my laptop and begin to write. I write two sentences and feel overwhelmed. Maybe sleeping will help. I slump on the couch and shut my eyes and then wake up in a jiffy because I dreamt something disturbing. So nothing helped. I try to text a friend and realise they are doing sensible things unlike me who was always ruminating. Trust me it’s been hard.

My mind’s been swinging like a pendulum and I have tried staying put but I seem to oscillate every minute of the day. I feel lost, empty and hopeless. My depression and anxiety eating me up like a ferocious animal, I feel like a helpless creature in the mouth of my predator. I have become a vagabond in my own streets, a stranger within myself and I have lost my way. How do you expect me to reach out to you when I have lost myself in the highways and bylanes of my messy life? Or do you expect me to call or reach out? Or do you even know that I am shattered?

I am sorry if I don’t return your calls or reply back to your texts, it’s just that I don’t feel like but I still love you. I am not sure if you get it, if you don’t it’s hard to explain. I am dying each day and I don’t feel like reaching out. The last time I did, you gave up on me, you told that on my face and though you did apologise I still hesitate to come to you and be a burden and a leech that would not go away. I called you when I wanted to talk but I have cut calls almost immediately. I am sorry but I have deleted your number on my phone and erased all your memories from my phone because you associate with a lot of traumas. I am sorry.

Ever since depression and anxiety met up with me, I have been unable to get rid of them. The days are long and the nights are terrorizing. I sit still all night wondering why I am staying awake and in the mornings I just don’t feel like waking up to face a new day. I spend my days doing so many things that I believe would distract me but at the end of the day I fail. Fail drastically. I have lost a fight that I never thought I will even have to face. The heaviness in the heart, the haziness in the mind, the insomnia, the starvation, the gloominess, the tiredness, the pessimism, the shutting out, the tears and the lethargy are genuine. Please don’t term these as “Nothing” because I wake up each day to do better but I have failed. The reason for the depression I don’t know and the anxiety, sweating of hands, exhaustion and the ruminating mind I cannot explain. So if you think I am faking it, I am not even asking you to be anywhere around me. I don’t want the help, I don’t want to reach out or talk right now. I want the two guests to leave and be gone.

And hey,

This is not a cry for help, just a cry.

Posted in Prose

The last piece.

For Adarsh

I am that last little piece in the jigsaw puzzle that finally makes sense.
If it weren’t for me the picture you behold would definitely be a picture but would you live up to see or make sense of the whole even if your imagination has given me away, pulling you away to a side to show you the complete picturesque without me being fitted into my place? I am that last piece that makes sense and over the years I have been told to fit in, curve myself, lean forward, submit a little, stoop very low and let the rest of the pieces take control over my sides so we could fit rather well in unison and stay put for a long time, at least for a while. For the longest time in my entire life I was submissive, let the picture oppress me, to stay, to make sense and be the final one that brought the “Whoa” in people. Didn’t I like all that attention when people picked me to fit me in? Didn’t I possibly enjoy those moments when I and only I could finally make sense? Didn’t I enjoy the privileges I was offered, the fact that looking at me for the first time I didn’t make sense as to where exactly I could be placed but only could when finally everyone were placed, smoothed and settled in? Didn’t I come to relish that ultimate moment when I was scrambled for and fitted in with all pride and dignity? I did. I did a million times. It’s been so long, 22 years to be precise and I am bored, I wanted spice, some aroma, some mystery, something different. I wanted to be that piece that went missing under the table, that caused all the trouble, that was the sole reason the puzzle was left incomplete and the piece that had broken sides so as to be replaced, changed and maybe even thrown away so I could somehow see the backyard, lie in the pile of junk that went to the junkyard to be recycled, smashed and transformed to something else- maybe a flat piece of plastic or just a stupid piece so I could lie there in the yard and watch the world go by. If I had bad sides, too obstinate to fit in with the rest, the picture on my face faded and insipid I would be the change won’t I? I would probably be the reason why “they” thought it was high time for a change of jigsaw puzzle and tried a hand at scrabble or chess or simply gone to get a life outside of jigsaws, puzzles and pieces.
I was told to fit in but what if I pushed myself to the edge of the table to fall down and roll under the table to lie there dusty and unpicked for a long time I would be the resistance that brought change won’t I? I could give jigsaw some time alone, I could be the reason why jigsaw had to be locked again in little Joe’s cupboard for a long time, maybe for another 22 years. Maybe I could lie beneath here, swept out very soon into the backyard and be gone for good and for Resistance and Change. Just a little Resistance and Change from my rather boring fitting-into-the-jigsaw-puzzle life. And to simply be gone to get a better life. Something a little better.

Posted in Pictures

Colours in the skies

Some evenings feel like forevers, the nostalgia of something from the past lingering on the clouds and the colour of happiness clinging onto the face of the skies though deep inside my head hangs down a pale, placid and insipid screen of cloth that now projects nothing but Nothing. Just nothing. Those colours in different shades of pink, blue and orange sloshed across the skies in no style and perfect way remind me of my empty life that was once splashed about with colours vivid, that hardly made sense but made it messier like never before. These colours did not go with each other. Wasn’t blue a little too calm for a fiery bright orange or wasn’t pink soft and simple to be set against blue and orange with clouds too big and soaring birds going home? Life had a different way with me too when it decided upon chaos mingled with tiny bits of love, hate with masses of confusion and black standing out against white backgrounds. The colours fading away now, blue now turning dark blue and pink and orange giving way to darkness, like when the painter decides to go darker at the corners and come clean of anything light and mild, it’s a new world now and so be the milieu in my life. Chaos did give way to peace, love did give way to hate and a lot of other things changed because the painter simply decided to change the whole picture taking it away by it’s eisel.

Dusk creeping in now.
In the evenings I sit watching the skies, realizations dawn on me, wounds that healed open up and some tears do flow down and sometimes hopes are put out. I have no choice but isn’t there something mesmerizing in the colours on the skies, the fading away and darkened shades of some colours that really get you thinking and somehow gets you into adding some colour in your rather skeletonized life that so desparately needs some stuffing,colour, a little magic and a gentle touch of love.
Posted in Debut Book

A Little Spark for Living- Debut Book

On September 25 Notion Press, India published my debut book “A Little Spark for Living” and I cannot possibly contain the joy and gratefulness filling in my heart. Since I am a first time author, the book is only available in the Indian market. You can order my book from the Amazon store, it would mean a lot! https://www.amazon.in/dp/1636332560

As much as I am glad I could finally reach a milestone, my heart fills with gratitude towards God for the hardships He has led me through and the wonderful people He let stay in my life. As I look back, I remember my days in undergrads when my mind had a personal cloud of negativity and a little too much of neuroticism hanging over my head. I was a terrible person fearing for the worst at simple things like “What if I don’t do well in the University exams?”. At such a time I told a friend that I would someday get over pessimism and write a book on Positivity and Life and my friends laughed at me (no offence because I gave them reasons to).

I wouldn’t say I have come a long way but in my own neurotic ways I have been devastated, lonely, depressed, hopeless, most times stupid and very often degrading myself. But every time I lost a friend to selfishness and heartbreak, loved ones to misunderstanding, families to sickness and unfortunate incidents, I learnt a new lesson and again I wouldn’t say these lessons were Herculean but in my day, in my ways they did revive me, add a little sense into my head and help me walk forward though at many times I have walked forward aimlessly and broken in mind and soul.
In school, in every slam book, in every class, to every teacher I said my ambition was to someday become a Professor in Literature and an Author and yeah I have come to reach one milestone and I am glad I did. I did it but everytime I know I did it I know there have been hands that pushed me forward to see the good, the potentials, the strength and the calibre that lay soft behind my vulnerable self.
I am ever grateful to my parents and my brother Justin for the motivation and the positivity they emitted through the whole process. I thank my father who took time out of his schedule to edit the book as to present it in the best way possible, my mother and my beloved brother for constantly motivating me and believing the fact that I could do the impossible if I set my mind to it. I have to be grateful to all my friends for being there when I trampled down on myself. My friend Meera for sticking close for 11 years, Shalom for reviving and praying for me for the past 8 years, Pranav for being a wonderful friend and brother in Alva’s when things started shaking all around me, Nikhil for teasing away all my troubles and tensions by simply writing them out in our rather inactive Instagram page, Souparnika for being the most wonderful friend who believed I could do anything and Adarsh for ever so patiently listening to all my relationship crisis for the past three months and talking to me just to keep my head off sensitive topics and people who could possibly ruin my peace and ruminate a little less about my past. Thank you for believing I could get out of whatever mess I had landed in.
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I love you all.