Posted in Musings

Worth it.

On some days when you want to simply peek at the far corner of the road, you should simply do it even when you know that it is a dead end and that it has nothing but thorns, thistles and bulrushes and nothing of high towering trees and low-lying flowers that can mellow your heart. I say, you should walk down there and do justice to your heart’s desire to peek. Just go, stand there and return if you want. If not, you can just stand there and decide whenever you want to walk back.

On some days it is simply okay to travel down far, not knowing the destination, not knowing your way back and the darkness that will hover in very soon. It is okay to keep hoping, laugh a little louder, bask in the sun a while longer and yet know in your heart that a mighty lash of rain awaits you that would leave you rolling into the oceans afar off and drowning in a very short while. It is okay to pick flowers as you go, kick at the stones, look at the skies sloshed with colour and sprout hopes in your heart that the far end is not a dead end after all. You can believe that the distance holds astounding things for you that will make your smile last a lifetime and that the far end is full of alyssum ground covers that blankets the dreams of your life. You can go on to believe that the person by your side is a mist that will drift above your life forever, for a lifetime maybe. You can believe all that you want and you can walk on and on. Because I believe that some places/some seasons/some people are worth breaking your heart for despite the reality that drapes it in vivid, bright colours.

Posted in Musings

Wild flowers and vine

To me it sounds crazy.
First for the fact that I even thought of writing this down and second for the mere thought of you lying down far, far away not having the slightest, faintest clue that somebody somewhere is putting down her wild and mismatched feelings for him.
Hallo, this is craziness in its purest form ever.
Ten years ago on a strange Sunday morning there grew wild flowers and vines on the walls of my mind for someone I barely knew and yet ten years thence the flowers and vines continue to grow as though watered by a supernatural force on every other day I noticed they were being taken care of. Why, when I see you I still feel the butterflies in the depths of my stomach and the flowers yield fruits and the vines grow thicker by the day. When exactly did I water, nurture or care to even look at this wild garden that grew within me, that which I named after you and for you. I am trying hard to figure out when exactly. The date, the time, the extend, the reasons and why again?
This grows wilder now.
Ten years is a long time and considering the number of times I have seen you, these flowers and vines aren’t supposed to grow any wilder instead die away a long time ago. Well, I did grow other gardens that I genuinely took care of and watered all day and night with a rigour that was so true and pure. Yet they dried away and gave way to parched, dry grounds but this one stayed on and wild and fresh when I cared not to care for. The last time I saw you in the distance from a space that was close enough to me, the butterflies did flutter and the flowers did bloom a little more. I thought that garden died but it lived and waxed a little bit more strength and energy.
Do you have flowers and vines grow for me?
I bet not, I somehow am sure about that. Why would you care to think of me? You probably had better flowers and vines grow on the walls of your mind that you have taken care of and loved. When you see me, you probably want to rip and dig me out from the grounds of your mind and never think of me again. You probably look at me because I look, because you know I have wild flowers and vines that pop out of my head and that go crazy when I see you. Or do you care when I viciously observe you from safe distances and subtly look for you amidst the many people that crowd and gather? Do you or is it just my mind playing tricks on me again, giving me away to think that you care too?
Again- this is craziness in its purest form.
You are probably pursuing madly after someone right now. You are probably depressed, sad or alone. And yet far in the distance here I am penning down my thoughts for someone I think I love, for someone I would consider worthy for the time I spend over thinking thoughts like this.
With love,
The girl you barely know
Posted in Prose

A little honey on my chilli flakes.

(For Marcia, Mark and Melvin)

Perhaps I would like to have a teeny bit of honey on my chilli flakes simply just to mellow down the rush and roar of the heavy spiciness that would linger on my tongue for God knows how long. I love the spice that excites my slithering tongue but it is long and I am weary of this monotonous spice and hotness. How long and how much more of this spice? Can I have a little change in the normal way of my things? Perhaps, honey on my chilli flakes? They say your flakes you have earned and all that spice and fire in your tongue you deserve for the works of your life. But can I please have a change of my menu here? A little honey maybe on my chilli flakes? I have had this spice for years now- on chicken, sandwiches, burgers, curries and fries. I am forgetting to mention but I have had flakes on sweets as well. Inevitably they land everywhere and whatever I eat as if flakes were salt on a normal basis of my life. While they have made my life a big era of boredom they have tired me, frightened me to the depths of the oceans and made my senses go haywire. I am done with these chilli flakes dawdling my life with no ultimate cause or reason yet messing my life in all the ways possible. Trust me, I try hard to sweep my life clean from all these chilli flakes that lie scattered all around and in every nook and cranny after a horrendous argument, unpleasant disagreements and harsh walkaways of people-spicy, spicier, spiciest and sweet, sweeter, sweetest. I try hard to keep me clean of these flakes that add an extra amount of madness in my attitude but they stick close, closer than ever.
Well, now I yearn for a little honey on my chilli flakes for the flakes refuse to leave so a little honey might calm down the rush and roar of flakes on my life and my poor tongue. I poured out a little honey on these flakes that stayed intact and they seemed to have silenced themselves now. I see the thick honey roll down the chilli flakes, embracing them together, passionately falling over and under each of them they hardly could flaunt their spiciness anymore. The honey trickling down and all over, smoothing out the rather ferocious attitudes of the flakes that for so long messed with me and bored and roared on my taste buds, I now wonder- “Why in the whole wide world didn’t I possibly not think of honey on my chilli flakes? ” I like it this way, the honey and flakes have embraced themselves and made love they can’t separate themselves from the beds of my tongue. As for my mouth, it gives them all the privacy in the world to love, look into each other’s souls and lose themselves in the intimacy that never happened in their lives. Why didn’t I think of honey on my flakes? The boredom I talked of earlier is far gone and the weariness and tiredness have walked a long way away from me now. It was honey that came to my rescue and that mellowed down the spiciness of the chilli flakes that specked on the pastures of my life. The redness of the chillies seem to be humble and quite when I pour out a little honey on them every time they mess up and roar on the grounds of my life and bang hard on the walls of my mind. The honey does the magic now, it soothes, spreads out its sweetness all around the madness and somehow melts away the havoc rising in me. So now when the chilli flakes roar at me, I simply order a teeny bit of honey to be poured all over. For when they meet, they seem to have a special way of calming down each other. It’s good you know- A little honey on the chilli flakes.

Posted in Prose

Dear Meera,

Dear Meera,

How long has it been since I wrote? It feels like ages since we last talked, exchanged life stories and unhappy incidents from our lives. Why should we be living so apart and afar off when we could somehow make miracles happen and see each other more often, maybe live closer by, spend more time together and probably make memories again like we did when we actually lived close by, running across the building, playing sufferable games, talked endlessly very often ignoring the time and the fact that the sun has set and the birds have gone home and the night skies were here and we had to go home, do our homeworks and get to bed to kick start yet another day tomorrow so we could play, talk and waste our times doing nothing for yet another day.

I miss you Meera more than any other thing in the entire world and most of all the fact that I had someone to rely on, someone who would look at the little dark circle around my eyes and know that I had been up all night, someone who could listen to my voice and guess right away that I have had a terrible argument in school and messed things up. I have become so lone now I very often miss your presence around here and the evenings I looked forward to, to talk, talk and talk about that girl in class who bitched endlessly about me, that guy from church I had a crush on and the little girl in our school bus who was the most adorable thing on earth.

I am so sorry Meera for not being there during the last couple of months when you were juggling your dessertation, a break up and numerous other problems that kept adding to your list. Please call me a bad friend who abandoned you in the streets of life and proved to her best friend from 11 years that she was a stone at heart and a devil in her mind who was cold and insensitive. I know I should have been there but I lost myself in the highway of life in the last couple of months and since then I am stuck at the bylanes and lost here in a land I have no clue about. Well, the lockdown has been a hard, hard thing on me Meera. Most days I get up feeling gloomy and out of myself and looking out my window it looked like the world had come to a standstill, a pause that took a long, long while to resume.

I have lots of things to tell you that I cannot possibly contain in this piece of paper but Oh God when I meet you next you should be mentally prepared to listen to me for hours on end going on and on about my final year at college, my many challenges, my latest book and the countless days I spent thinking, overthinking and ruminating about how my love life should have turned out if I had possibly taken the right decisions and how my brother was a bad ass to me and how that this lockdown has brought flooding to the banks of my mind many a sweet, bitter and sour memory of you and the nights I wished I could somehow wake up the next day in 2010 and know that you were still living across my house, your dad walking away coolly to work and your mom waiting for my mom every evening downstairs when she got back from her hectic day at school.

But Alas! Each day no miracle happens, I still wake up in 2020, stuck with a pandemic that wouldn’t leave, a home full of lethargy, the streets full of loneliness and the skies somehow cleaner and purer like never before! I terribly miss you dude and I know we have moved on since 2010, met better friends who made us laugh a little bit louder, friends who stayed up late into the night listening to our relationship crisises. I know we have grown apart for some time, stopped texting for a long time when calls were out of the question but Meera, you are one of a kind. I have had Shalom and Abhirami who have been there for me but they couldn’t possibly tally with all the soothing words you told me when grandpa passed away on April 18, 2010, your gentle touch after our silly fights and all your books and our Harry Potter discussions that simply teased away all my rather enormous miseries in sixth grade.

Meera, the lock down has been hard and when I say hard I don’t mean Hard-Hard where I got bored all day and cried all day. I mean that it has given me enough time to think about us and our innocent friendship, the endless poems we wrote for each other, the bicycle rides and the beautiful insects we stuck in our Insect Book (God!! What were we thinking back then?) When I stroll downstairs in the parking area of our apartment your memory roars in my head, making me feel for a second that I did fly back 11 years behind. The places we played hide and seek, the benches we sat on only brought back memories that were too sweet it made me cry and wish things hadn’t changed even an ounce since then. It was nostalgic………

Meera I have been ranting a lot!!! I will call you on Saturday. I love you so much!!!

Love,

Sonia

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.