The Time I Survived

Yesterday, I felt my end was near.

There was a sharp, shooting pain that took birth from my ear till my chest. Numbing my face, making it difficult to speak. 

Fear rose in my chest, leaving the tiny red beast within the confines of my rib cage in a tizzy. Deep breaths. Deep breaths. Yet, I could feel it. My end was near. 

There was a serene acceptance. Almost embracing the fate that seemed sealed within the confines of my mind.  

I wondered if you would remember me. I wondered if you will look at my typed out words, resting in your phone and feel loved. I wondered, if my words would help you feel cherished. I wondered if you could finally feel me next to you.

The day sailed by, without any physical incident to the little red beast. It was still beating. By night, it slept restlessly. 

Then there was dawn. 

I had survived.

But my words still hung on in your phone with a silent hope in my being that those words would still have an effect on you, which I cannot define.

Is Everything Fine?

He had seen it. It was supposed to be an unmentionable incident. Yet, he reached out to her and asked her, “Is everything fine?” 

She ignored his question, doubting his concerns. Avoided him at all cost. But his persistence to know couldn’t match her will to stay aloof and she broke her silence and said a feeble, “Yes, thank​ you for asking.” It only took her three days to look him in the eye with the answer on her lips. Even if a white lie, which he knew, he seemed to let her easy.

Maybe, he really did care. Maybe he just wanted to know the story. Her mind raced again, overthinking on full swing. This and the incident. Taking control over her and her mind. Her heart raced. That familiar unease. The familiar irrational fear gripped her.

She reached out for that tiny pill in her bag and popped it in her mouth. Waiting for the med to kick in. She closed her eyes as it slowly took over and eased the anxiety that had gripped her soul. Unaware that he was still watching her.

His voice steady he asked, “Promise me you’ll not take too many? Promise you’ll never abuse it?”

Startled, she opened her eyes. 

Calm. She assured him and realised he really did care. Warmth seeped in her heart. The effect complete. Sealing the trust in the growing friendship.

Everything was certainly fine.

Her Adventures with Mismatched Socks

She was meticulous, organised and obsessive about perfection. She was diagnosed by her friends as a specimen with a mild case of OCD. She refused and claimed to be healthily obsessed. It was just her fond love for symmetry and unblemished perfection.

Accepting the unsymetry wasn’t tough, but it made her nervous. One day, she decided to brave it, and she wore two different socks to work. Grey on the left and black on the right. Since she wore ballerinas, they were pretty much visible. 

She glanced at her feet every now and then, but then the day went by without anyone pointing her flaw out. Rather, no one noticed it at all. There was this vague feeling in her head of being watched, scrutinized and judged for her mismatched pair, when everyone around her were busy feeling the same about their mismatch and living in their own heads.

It was impossible for her not to think of the mismatched pair the entire day, but it was not that difficult to accept the mismatch either. It was as simple as that. Acceptance.

She chased the perfect symmetry in life so furiously, that she had missed seeing the beauty in the other powerful but ignored things. Like: Her mother’s love. Her mother silently listening to things she wasn’t speaking out loud. Her accomplishments. Her aging parents. Her own self.

If accepting this unsymmetrical mismatch could, if not silence, tone down the restless voice in her head and let her get going the entire day, why not the same with the mismatched unsymetry in herself?

This was her first step towards being a little adventurous, in her own little way.

The Adventures of a Bluejay

The river flowed peacefully, reflecting the shimmering golden hues. The Bluejay spread it’s wings wide in joy as it glided over the vastness of the river, enjoying its crystal clear pureness. This was better than a dream. It felt like it is a free soul. A soul in a quest to explore. The vibration in its wings emaneted the power within.

It flew dangerously close, taking in everything the nature had to offer. Then suddenly, it saw something. At the corner of the river lay a crocodile with its mouth wide open. Resting. Minding its own business.

The Bluejay felt a feeling rise in it. That feeling was boosting its confidence, slowly tipping towards arrogance. The Bluejay scooped a stone in its break and threw in the crocodile’s mouth. The stone lodged itself in the crocodile’s throat, causing the poor beast to choke and choke. It chocked till it pushed the stone out of its throat with a powerful cough. The Bluejay snickered and flew away from the scene before the crocodile recovered and realised what hit it.

Was there a little bit of arrogance, the observer wondered. What had overcome the gentle Bluejay? Was the arrogance because of its smooth sailing success that caused it to belittle the crocodile on the shore?

But the questions had to wait.

The Bluejay kept flying, now with its eyes closed. Letting the wind take it wherever it blew. And soon enough, the Bluejay bumped into a wall and was on the other side of the world.

It was a world where it’s legs were chained in an invisible cage. It was a world where it was controlled at the whims of the unseen voices. The Bluejay was subjected to sadism by making it a playing of a boy who loved to beat up his toys.

Karma smiled.

The Bluejay wished for the other side of the wall, to see the river again. It flapped it’s wings, struggling to break the chain, desperate to breathe in the air of the world he was thrown away from. To feel the familiarity of success and ease of acceptance that came along with it.

The Bluejay promised to remember humility if it broke free and gave a powerful tug to loosen the links in the chain. But the chain wouldn’t budge. The lesson and its essence were being stubborn and insisted to live bounded to the Bluejay’s feet. Forever. A glaring reminder. Maybe that will keep it down, the observer thought.

The Bluejay felt the its energy ebb out. It felt the weight of its own past action beginning to sink in. It felt like a terrible dream.

“But I’m not that person!”, the Bluejay cried and it finally opened its eyes. The Bluejay found itself perched on a branch of a tree on the riverside. The river still flowed peacefully, now reflecting a subdued orange hue of the setting sunlight.

A dream had opened its eyes. It was a much needed humbling fall after an aggressive rise. Saving the Bluejay from falling into its worst fears of turning into something that it couldn’t itself recognise at all.

Him, Her and Her Journey

He stood with his legs apart, his hands on his hips. He stood there in the middle of no where. Maybe he was in the middle of a desert. Maybe in he was in the middle of a national highway. Maybe. Right there in the middle, he stood on her way, patiently. Waiting to greet her.

She saw him. Panic gripped her heart. The space within the confines of her car seemed to suffocate her. She wanted to burst out of the door and at the same time wanted to stay in the pretense security of the four metallic doors. Her hands tightened on the wheels and she pressed the accelerator to keep moving.

But, he stood there, wordlessly demanding her to slow down.

“Do I have a choice?”, she asked herself as she slowly brought her car to halt. He was there on the other side of the door. Her hands still on the wheels, she slowly turned her head and looked at him. His face bore no signs of emotions. His eyes, yellow in colour with a small dot for pupil, spoke loud and clear. The black soot that he had spread around his eyes with his fingers added to the ferocity of his steady, cold gaze.

She was trapped in the confines of her fear. Her mind drew a blank. The flight response seemed to start kicking into her. Yet, she sat there, facing her storm.

“Would he cease to exist if I close my eyes?”, she wondered.

“Would he disappear if I breathe in slowly and deeply?”

“Would he ever go away?”

Her heart raced. He had managed to control her. He was successful in making her forget about her journey.

Her head started spinning. A bead of sweat broke on her forehead.

“Breathe!” she reminded herself.

She started begging for him to go away as panic gripped the core of her soul.  At that moment, an agnostic prayed for things to be fine again.

Her eyes remained tightly shut. She knew now she had two choices, as usual. One – to let him, her fear, crush her to nothingness and let him hold her hand and take her into depression. Two – face him head on, confront him, accept him and fight him, and continue with her journey.

“Breathe!”

What would you do?

And then, she opened her eyes and…

My Time Off

The feeling of vastness, of adventure, of challenges, and of distance is so powerful that a momentary, feeble beat in the heart fades away. The sight of which used to send my heart racing now feels like a distant memory. The memory threatens to dissolve in the midst of nothingness as time passes by, the feeling of vastness, of adventure, of challenges, of newness and of distance sticks on. It makes things easy and straightforward with the right amount of focus on the “important” things.

Now the question is, now that I’m back tomorrow, will he manage to set my heart racing when I lay my eyes on him?

My Time With Bose

I, like everyone else in the world, had a bucket list created, maybe, when I was 18. I listed out my wishes, pouring out everything that I desired,  and then forgot about it.

Then, one day tired of all the disappointments and the sense of my world going out of control, I stepped inside a Bose showroom. I had to get the control back. I had to make something work. I had to get at least one thing that I had been pining for. So, I walked in. I stood by those beauty and made my choice. I didn’t look at the price tag and I just bought it. Couple of days later, I came by my old post where I had made my bucket list. Owning Bose was one of my wishes.

Maybe it didn’t happen the way I had dreamed it to be. Maybe, it happened when I was not in the best of my state. But it did happen. I guess, it stuck in my subconscious. Maybe this was running at the back of my head, “If I can’t get him, I can take control and get this.”

So my Bose was adapting to my personality. It got it’s own skin. It got recognized. It got admired. It got everything that I had. I was a proud owner. It became an extension of my being. A place where I could lose myself.

Then one day, it was taken away from me.

This was a second heart break. But it still didn’t seem to affect me.

I looked for replacement. Love never dies. It just gets transferred to another being/thing.

Couple of months later, I got the same Bose. I couldn’t help myself. It was like getting back to my ex, but at the same time a shiny new one. It was such a relief. The sense of being back in the comfort zone. The feeling of being happy –  I didn’t want to miss that anymore. I didn’t want to compromise anymore.

So I owned it again.

It was like a second chance. I started being cautious. I started caring about it more. I didn’t take it for granted. I didn’t want it to be stolen from me again. I got to relive it again. All the good stuff. All the addictive good stuff.

That made me wonder, do we really realize the worth of things around us only when we lose it?

When is that we stop appreciating things?

And if we get the lost thing back again, after some period of time, would we actually change or go back being the same us we always were?

I guess, I will know it in time. The moment I will stop being conscious about it.
—..

When I felt the Baby kick

I couldn’t help wondering, what would be the baby thinking, when it kept pushing inside my sister’s tummy against my hand and then move around till it felt comfortable? If it can hear me, does it have the capacity to think, I wonder.

If it thinks, does it believe that there is a world beyond the womb? I wonder, what does it make of our voice if it believes the womb is its world. And when it would be its time to see us, would it be reluctant to leave the warm comfort of the womb imagining the worst of the “other” world.. I wonder.

And then in that chain, I couldn’t help thinking, if we are entirely inside another universe, growing and maturing till it is our time to get to the other side? Maybe.

I began respecting God. I had indifference to the concept, but I valued my religion. All this because a  benefit of doubt began to take birth and I wondered: What if God is nothing but a gentle soothing voice with His hand fondly caressing its tummy, the tummy being our world in which we reside. But we are in such deep slumber inside our world that probably we are unable to hear Him speak to us.

Maybe, He can feel us shift inside as we move around in discomfort or excitement of our own chaos. Maybe, He can feel us kick when we throw ourselves out of frustration to some unknown void or when we dance in the ultimate trance of euphoria. Maybe.

Maybe, He is as eager like us; like we are to see the baby take its birth in this wonderful world.

The possibilities are so grand that I do not know if what is real, is actually real at all.
—..

Mr Grey Does It, Yet Again

Ordinary. That’s how he made me feel : just like everyone else.

Stirring a powerful rage in me which was mistook as “puppy love” by everyone else. I would say, that didn’t bother me. Yet.

What bothered the bruised self ego is its own pride for being forced to swallow the apparent hard truth which is applicable to everybody as per the human psychology: The truth behind every action. The hidden motives which I refused to accept. Especially the motives on social forums, motives to feed my necessary narcissism/self pride, whatever you may wish to call it. But this was not it. Though my points were blatantly made void, this wasn’t what had ruffled my just calmed feathers.

No, he doesn’t know how much he has affected me.

He made me question my pursuit of truth – If my love for truth is pure or is it really just a lustful chase to feel and enjoy the idea of not being regular. He blatantly voided my stubborn argument that some of my public actions had no motives which humans normally thrive on. My reluctance to accept the motives as everyone else over his equally stubborn arguments, made me doubt myself. I asked myself, “Why am I denying this so violently? Why am I explaining myself this explicitly? Why am I taking up challenges to void my past actions? Why?” I wonder in this self doubt, was this an argument with my subconscious? Am I lying to myself, pushing myself in denial till it ceases to be the truth? Being a double standard? Because if there were truth in all my statements, would I feel the need to go out of my way and explain myself?

Am I not paying attention enough? Not observing enough?

This hurts my pride. This makes me angry.

I lie, yes, whenever necessary. I am not a saint. But his arguments made me question if I’m lying to myself. If yes, it would be a catastrophe. And that’s how accepting his arguments made me feel ordinary. Like being some person with just a face.

This shakes my loyalty towards obsession of the truth. A moment of self doubt.

Let me take a deep breath. Let me sooth this wounded beast first.

Better now.

If he was right about my motives behind particular actions in argument,  I have no interest to question his motives right now. But my interest is on as to why did he consciously provoke something in me which he felt I was ignoring urging me to address it?

How much denial have I buried?

I love truth. I accept to embrace it. And I must start  so by putting an end to lying to self or denials as it is called. I will stand up to my truth and not doubt it. Doubting my truth is doubting myself. Any fingers raised at it next time, will be slapped back with raw truth. Truth is never to be doubted.

He provoked all this.

He did it, yet again.

This time, keeping my pride aside, I almost welcomed it.

My Vanilla Craziness

Imagine, how it must be like if craziness isn’t momentary. If passion keeps flowing thickly in the veins. No looking back. No dialing down.

Having such insatiable lust for passion that it will consume me completely, beyond what when being in love does. Giving me pleasure beyond expectations, welcomed with open arms to embrace it with whatever burning force it has to throw at me. Such passion that it becomes the sole reason to get out of bed and keep going. Doing whatever I want to do. Because I can.

Rightly said – ‘Sometimes it is a curse to be able to feel so deeply’, which forces it to be kept in control, in a hope to be saved from the control. Until one day there will be a person who will shake all shambles of my universe. All the emotions will be free to be shared and felt deeply, all the shades freed. All the masks unmasked.

Probably, together our passion can build something beautiful for this world. Probably that passion will be all that we were looking for, together. And there will be no pain to let it consume us completely. There will be no momentary lapse from the craziness. There will be no backing out. There only will be these sincere burning feelings to create it all, make it all work. Because, together we can.

There will be this feeling of a full circle with the passion. And when I’ll look at those dark eyes staring back at me from the mirror, I’ll be able to recognize the soul in me.

“It’s both a blessing and a curse, to be able to feel so deeply.”