For a few hours

I’ve known her for over 10 years. Feels like forever though. She’s was my first friend. THE person who helped me bring out my own unique colours and paint the world with her. She infused life in my black and white.

I am always told I don’t smile much. But I’m sure she will disagree. Because whenever she’s around me, I am always smiling. Every other moment when she turns around to throw some “her moment” punches, I laugh. I laugh so hard that she has to pull me by the arm to remind me that we are walking on the road. Laughing my heart out. Impervious to the world around me, or the heads that would have turned our way.

We grew together. Our lives separated. She got married. Two years later we were in two different countries with manageable time zone. France and India. Distance had tested us. Our ups and downs. Yet, we were thick through and through.

It had been three years since we had met each other. Longest we have gone on without meeting. And then one fine day she calls me to tell that she’s coming home for the holidays.

My heart bursted.

She had her plans. The only time we could work out was a day and half over the weekend. And after days of silence because of lack of the internet, a day before I landed in our city, she showed some signs of life. My hesitation and doubts of not being able to meet was gone. She would always come through.

The day was still unplanned. And it still was till the end of the night. It was us. Just us. Like we meet everyday. Doing things we would have pulled each other into if we were in same town, every single day. A lazy lunch. Dress hunt for a reception. Another lazy snack. Gorging on a common craving for dinner. And ending it with ice cream and disclosures to her husband. The story of how we became friends. A shaky start, a strong in between and no end.

We were where it began. Just the streets were different.

It was for a few hours. Yet, I felt light. Felt myself. I felt secure.

The goodbye at the airport was like how she would say when we reached our homes, before we became adults. I ignored the thoughts of “when next?” Till she said it out loud. Tears threatened from her eyes. Like everytime she bid me goodbye. Everytime she saw me off. Because we wouldn’t know how long our next gap would be.

She ignored my warnings. Which had turned into desperate pleas. Being taller than me, she hugged me and planted a kiss on my head. Her face turned red. A vein popped out on her forehead. Ironically, it would also pop out when she laughed hard. She wiped her eyes and my heart broke. I kissed her cheek and ran inside the airport. I couldn’t bear the lump in my throat and I found myself turning back. Our goodbyes could never ever be abrupt.

But it wasn’t so bad. I walked inside the airport remembering her bear tight hugs. Me standing on my toes to rest my chin on her shoulder while hugging her back. It always makes me smile.

All that hustle, just for those few hours was totally worth it. Anything and everything.

Because, she is my person.


Over The Edge

They were thick friends. Almost inseparable. Even the distance couldn’t keep them apart. They made memories, every single day, even if it was over the phone. They were that sticky, close, inseparable friends.

One day, unknown to her knowledge, he was pushed at the edge of the cliff. He stood there, silently, feeling the gravity pull on to his center. He closed his eyes, feeling the breeze gently push him closer to the edge. He swayed, but he had held on to his balance.

She was his last piece of silky silver thread that he could hold on to and pull himself out of the abyss, if he happened to tip over.

So, his mother sent him away to her. Maybe spending a week with her would help him clear his head, his mother thought. She sent him away to be her, with huge hope nursing in her heart. She wanted her son back. Badly.

Next day, there he was at the airport, reluctantly embracing her in a lose hug. She was disappointed with the lack of his usual enthusiasm. She shrugged it off and pulled him in a cab to take him home.

She tried to get him to talk. But he now preferred long silences.

She wanted to help, but she didn’t know what that worm was that was slowly digging into his brain. She only knew he wanted to talk but couldn’t find the right words.

Her patience was running thin.

She was only 24. She didn’t understand the mighty darkness that he was enveloped into. She prided herself into being practical. She prided herself into believing that everything about her was in the proper place.

She didn’t understand his inability to get out of bed or go for the long walks that they once enjoyed doing together.

He had crawled tighter in his shell. Lost to her, forever.

She failed. The guilt was beginning to build in her. It stayed inside. Suppressed. Closed.

She assumed the air of being practical and fair. He needed to hear the truth. He needed to be shaken out of his numbing tune. But he was gone. Lost in his music. And she pretended to move on as the silence between then grew. It ate into her. Her eyes had grown old.

Time passed into months.

She believed it was love. The idea of love was enticing. She was pulled into it. Dragged to make a decision. A rash one that too. She was encouraged to take it. She was also warned against it. Mostly, she was warned about the reckless risk she was jumping in. It was impulsive. She did it anyway. She thought, “Fuck this shit. I don’t want to look back in regret.”

But she did. She had lost.

It didn’t matter who looked down on her. It mattered when her mother like figure looked down on her. She wasn’t angry. She didn’t reprimand. She just was disappointed.

Hell broke loose.

She was pushed in silence. Her eyes closed. Her mind closed. A wall was built around.

A plea for help was denied.

The pile of guilt and shame kept getting bigger.

She could no longer pretend. There was lengthy silence. Panic attacks in the middle of the road. A mind that was slipping away in darkness.

In midst of this, there was a failed marriage. Battle of ego and pride. Sanctity of relationship was lost. Belief was shattered. Ideology was broken. Her last source of comfort had slipped from her hand.

Panic attacks got worse.

She went down to see him. She had lost him. He was there near her, but not with her. It felt like her heart was socked hard.


Went back to routine.

She was living with constant panic attacks. They owned her.

A doctor treated her without meeting her. Thrusted 12 small pills in her hands. Advised her to take one every night. It will help you sleep, he said. It will help you breathe easy, he said. But it would only numb her muscles and her senses.

Things felt bleak. She didn’t know where she was anymore. Where her mind was wandering, she didn’t know. She grew fragile. Fragile enough to let a stranger’s taunt get to her.

She found herself standing in front of her own abyss. But there was a friend, who had touched her shoulder, and unwitting asked her to stay back. It was a faint, muffled sound. But she heard it and took a step back.

She had reached out to her phone, thinking of giving him a call. She typed his name and then locked her phone. She couldn’t give him a call. Someone, whom she could reach out to at any time of the day or night. She needed to speak but the words were stuck in her belly.

Her mind was losing its strength to hold on.

Panic attacks came with added wandering thoughts. Scary thoughts. Thoughts that gave her ideas. Made her believe in disillusion. Pushed her. She was close to touching insanity.

She was tipped over the edge.

She stood over the end of the abyss ready to make her final lunge.

But before that, she had to speak with him. She had to reach out to him. She had heard he was doing well now.

She plucked her courage and spoke to him. She spoke about how vain she was. She spoke about how she had failed with him. She spoke how the pressure had buckled her down. She spoke about her guilt of not being able to help him. Of all the guilt that had eaten her away. The unspoken love. Trying to me up for the lost time. It had only taken her 3 years.

She felt lighter after speaking with him. With every tear flowing down her cheeks, she felt her chest getting lighter. The pile of guilt seemed to slowly disappear.

It felt like she was getting her business in place before the deed was done. With this thought, she went to bed.

A rested sleep after a long while.

The next morning, it was worth being alive.

My Bad

Doing things when sane, when high, when stoned, being what I am in that moment, too spontaneous, making you so uncomfortable with my tongue, that I’m considered too bold for your taste. You love me. You would love to hate me. 

I already said something. Again.


Psst: Don’t you wish, you could be like that?
Be yourself that is, with unadulterated truth.

When you get more than you wish for

It is wonderful how we keep evolving. One of the most beautiful thing: evolving.

Back in late teens, when there was this fairy tale idea about love, when the mind was forever confused, where you said yes to a person/something just because that person wanted you to, or your best friend did a soul searching crap. Where the mind was so unsure of saying yes to what you actually wanted but instead ended up saying yes to things which were sugar coated and unreal, to things which seemed to right to the third person not you. Staying in something because the other was sure that it will work even when you kicked inside to get out of it. But, you stayed.

Evolution brings out the ugliness of that sugar coated love.

Independent mind.

You know, the best thing about flights? Take off.

It slowly steers towards the runway. A powerful wooshing sound and then it runs with such powerful force that you are pushed back on your seat. That energy is mind blowing. It bubbles something inside that red pumping thingy inside my chest, which I tag as euphoria. This is exactly how evolution feels. From dependence to one independent mind.

Where I say no because I didn’t want it. Where I say yes, because I honestly wanted it. Where I decide without crappy unasked advices. Where I choose what I want to believe in and what to discard. Where I do not ask if I should or shouldn’t to those sugar coated jackasses when I want to do something and instead I just do it. Where I only say things when I mean it and do not see the need to sugar coat it. Where I despise reasons and no more scared about what you’ll think when I say that. Where I refuse to give explanations unless necessary. Where I make my decisions.

Independent mind.

I am obsessed with the whole independence idea.

It is the best thing that ever happened to me. More than I wish for part: My baggage – Chennai. But hey, I am out of a box! Probably I’m romanticizing with this idea because I imagine I feel suffocation. Part of evolution: getting out of comfort zone.

She warned me again when I visited her recently. She discarded many of my ideas. Her reason: None. I’ll learn in time. (She is awesome!)

And then, the most wonderful thing happened. When coming back home via flight, starting from take off to in flight mode I realized life is just the same as from that Point A period to Point B period: There is that powerful force, energy full of excitement, you’ll climb higher and higher. The elevation will be bit uncomfortable, past fading away, some a bit painful. Then comes the cloud of forgotten fading memories and then finally the stable flight with slight turbulence now and then. Depending on clouds.

It’s wings were my wings.

That made me look forward to everything.

Whats with those couples? Trying to hook single people every time! Every boy I am with is my guy? Kya yaar? Arey, I do not want your misery! I am euphoric! Very very euphoric! Single hood is THE best thing ever happened to me! This is where the independent mind started. Iyam very very free. That last one was like a fucking cage where I had to sing like that emperor’s nightingale. Why do you want to mess with me ya!? I’ll tell you when I find a real man. Man I say, “Man”. Not one of those crying, PMSing, complaining, sensitive, going and crying to mama/girlfraand (when I upset them :D) boys. Booyaaaiss.

Ms. Wobbly Feet

One of my fondest memory, which struck me suddenly:
How Ms. Wobbly Feet got into perfect control of sane sense when the elders were right in front of my face. All I had to do was, shut my mouth, tie my hair and not giggle.
Hey, I miss you Mr. Darling Tornado! :*

The day I got to know how “light” I am. And literally. Twice. Ha. For someone who loves chocolate, butter and cheese, insult me more?

My Dearest Loved Dove, you were really patient and awesome! :*
And that Dickhead responsible for this (Bottoms up!! Cheers. Said who?), you are sucha dickhead for shaking me head till I lost my “balance”. But you are awesome. 🙂
Dove’s sister, you were the only one who scared the shit out of me ever by your suggested Madonna-Britney experiment.You are Mhashe. 😛
Dove’s cousin, you were the red batak*.
And the Budday booaay, thank you for that day.

Yea, I “miss” that crazy day.

A Suicidal Failure

The sharp blade grazed her wrist leaving a thin red line. There were no thoughts, but just a heavy feeling of failure. The burden was so heavy that her heart just sunk into low beats. Thick drops of tears fell on her lap. Her head bent on the table, suddenly a thought flicked in her head, “One less of a burden.”

The pressure increased a bit. This time a thin line of blood trickled down. Her vision blurred by her tears, while the blade continued to graze her wrist with the newly added pressure like a loop. Another thought, “They are not going to be proud of you. Ever.” And the blade suddenly made an almost deep cut. A jolt of reality, and the blade slipped out of her fingers and fell on the ground. “I’m such a coward”, she thought.

She glanced at her wrist. Pattern of thin, red slashes. She picked up the blade again, but the moment was gone.
What was done, was done. Now, what next? Probably those pair of thick bangles given by her friend will hide it? And it worked well. So she thought.

The friend was not fooled. She noticed it, and she was questioned. And questioned with a mad rage, to which she replied, “I had just given up. A coward doesn’t live.”

To which she spat, “Coward? You would have been one if you would have cut deep. Coward you say?

It’s all just a reason for not facing the situation and taking the full responsibility. What were you thinking? What, your score didn’t stand up to your standards? I know, this was not the reason, taste my sarcasm honey, keep up. Is your life so insignificant that you are so dramatically signifying your problem with those slashes? How stupid can you get?

Yes, I am embarrassing you. You ought to be embarrassed!”

The rest of the walk was in silence. Her message was loud and clear: Stand up and fight back. Get out of the monotone of the depressed voice in head and think out of the box.

Cliched you will say.

Years passed by. And she was surprised how all these failures, heart breaks, pain, hurt, et cetra had actually made her strong. Bit pretended devoid of emotions, but strong. ‘The End’ was never again the solution to a concluded dead end. The spine was strong.

And today she smiles. Hums a tune while doing the dishes (which she absolutely hates) Gives small tinkles of laughter when by herself for no reason. Every morning is beautiful than ever. Heart as light as a feather. This, she says is because she is happy and free.

Happy of that suicidal failure.

After the Rains

High on the hills of Girivan, was this little lad of about 5 year old. The brightest brown eyes, the most charming smile and his energy! Would jump in the plastic chair even when it never stopped raining.

After two and half hour of game of badminton in the constant drizzle, it finally decided to stop. The boy comes out, observing us play. He sees the puddle and he jumps in it. After all the jumping is done, he just stood there, watching us.

Cutest thing ever! I regretted forgetting to take my camera there. (Yea I was being protective about the lenses in the rain. Still, regretted.) And this was the smile he gave when I bent, moved around and did all the moves an amateur does amusing him so much that he couldn’t resist smiling. Or so I would like to believe.

The best look he had given me was, when we came back from our morning long “walk” after visiting the small waterfall/springs, he looked up at me when I was climbing down the stairs and gave the widest smile he could in return for my smile. 🙂

He made up for all the continuous rains we’ve been tried of.

My Image of Perfection

She is everything I had decided to be before a certain period: She is independent, free, strong. She has her own apartment. She is a single mother with two kids. She has an awesome job. Drives her car herself around, no driver. She has the respect she deserves in her world of profession and friend circle. One time owned a small company of her own. There is lots more to her awesomeness which I refrain adding here.

She is my image of perfection.

And perfection comes with a price, always. All the struggles, slogging, frustrations, the downs with every up, the attacks to be borne alone with no shoulder support. And she has her own story.

I thought I was immature for wanting all this before I get bound. When I saw she had it, loved it, enjoyed it, I felt sound.

She warned me. I understood.
She talked about harsh realities. I understood again.
She talked about destiny and fate. I disagreed. I didn’t understand. I didn’t feel like voicing it out at that moment, because right then it was one of the most wonderful moment: getting to know.

A bittersweet life, I don’t seem to mind to have now.
Then again I’m young and headstrong. I might get all of it with much more. Including everything I blocked.

Amazing feeling to see my image in a real woman. And that it is not just an image of fantasy.


Two pitcher of Tornado. Probably three pitcher of Go To Hell.

Result: Tinnnngg!
(And some more over the days, refraining from using direct names. )

Knowing in the moment of ting that it was a whole lot of mixture of un-nameable resulting in bang.

One whole week of tinngg and twaang and exhaling flavored steam, which should how a girl of my age should enjoy, which is apparently being normal. But still, felt being in control is more awesome than being ting. It was hell lot of fun though with those set of people I really really realllly enjoy being. Unlike hesitating to have one glass of harmless bubbly with the person I supposedly trusted. I guess I finally understood what a good company is, even if it was in the moment of ting and one KABOOM from my end.
Going to spend next few days with clean blood and unadulterated ting fun.
Best vacation with horrible horrible hotness.

Finally learning to be a bit girly* and for the first time: A success with ting! 😀
*I do own a kajal, lipstick, blue nailpaint now.

So there, girly.
Guisqui, it all started with one sip.