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.


Pining After Long Shots

That’s the thing about hope – it makes us dream and get ahead of ourselves. We give our best, putting in every last bit of our will, fully aware that it’s a long shot. Aware that there is a fair chance of that something not working out. But we anyways give our everything in because we believe we have got nothing to lose. Slowly gambling on the our fragile heart’s naivety and letting it get ahead of itself. So we dream and inadvertantly start hoping, pining and praying asking, “God! I hope it works out.” Making it seem more like our ticket out of the current​ misery and our ultimate happy spot. Suddenly, there is so much to lose: A trail of dreams and the whispered promises on the dependencies… Forgetting that there is a fair chance that it might not work out. Maybe, it was the audacity of our confidence which made us forget about different scenarios. Maybe it was something else. 

Then there is a slip. Your gut picks on the vibes, and we begin to pray, “God! I hope I’m wrong about that!” But then, hey earth to… reality is the ultimate truth. This is life. In mum’s wise words, “You won’t always get what you want. However bad you want it. However desperate you are about it. But don’t forget to live. Don’t forget to be happy. Give your sincere shot. And don’t forget to nurture your patience.”

And then, there comes the wait. The wait to let it pass, the news to sink in and the final acceptance of reality. Till something else comes along and the cycle repeats.Maybe the next time, pining, hoping and dreaming about it would not be so bad. Maybe this time, it would be right time to receive.

Till then, don’t give up.

Everything will be ok.

A Slice of Life

A plethora of breeze gushed through her hair, as she stood behind the mini truck. Her hands thrown up in the air, as the truck sped through the jungle. The afternoon was sultry, but the breeze was cool. It kissed her cheeks and made her eyes water. But she smiled. She smiled, because:

For a moment, the walls around her were down;
For a moment, the voices in her head were silent;
For a moment, the anxiety that hits her chest was at bay;
For a moment, the sadness that engulfed her soul ceased to exist;
For a moment, the world was as it is supposed to be;
For a moment, everything was just right.

She stood, reminding herself that she is alive. Feeling alive. She stood and looked at the deer that had raised its head as the truck passed it by. She smiled, feeling light. She smiled because it trickled on her lips, letting go all the burden of the failures in her life. She just smiled. Simple pleasures of life.

In midst of silence, in midst of nature, in midst of nowhere, she found herself. A renewed strength. A glimpse of who she was. A glimpse of the path to find herself back again. A renewed gusto bubbled within her to get up every morning and look forward to something, anything. It broke the membrane in her mind which had always made her feel like a failure.

A sense of plan. A sense of goal. A sense of curiosity. A will to live. The courage to accept. The wisdom to forgive herself. A want to try again.  The courage to trust and hope. A want to be free.

She had tasted a slice of life, all over again.


The Sheep Behaviour

The longer you convince your brain to believe in something, more the possibility of your brain beginning to accept it. The louder you scream to yourself that this is it, the stronger the conviction message gets sent to your brain. 

Must be careful of what we try to convince ourselves of. We all end up acting and accepting like sheeps on the “ultimate truth” without giving it another thought. Maybe thus becoming extraordinary ordinary.

Indifference on The Mango Tree

The wind of changes has blown, yet again. You have found happiness, in the arms of another. There is no room for sadness, regret or hate. Lives have moved on as I stand still. Watch all the ghosts of past swish by me. The wind of changes has blown, faster than I could handle. I sway with that force. And I’m perched above that mango tree, watching you hold her hand, and slip a diamond ring on her finger. Claiming her to be yours. Forever. There still is no room for sadness, regret or hate. But for indifference. Plain, numbing indifference bringing in that calming silence. That’s when you know, the wind of changes has blown, yet again.

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.

Story of Hope

It can be triggered by the smallest of the smallest things. Maybe because of an old diary page that you came across or because of looking at a picture of something you were trying to let go and forget. It bubbles up half forgotten feelings in your heart forgetting all the reasons you had sternly latched on to let go and move on. It is like the unpleasant memories never existed and the only things you can remember are laughter and happiness. Slowly building a strong foundation of emotions based on these happy memories until the reality slowly starts distorting and your mind and heart get tormented by your own wishful feelings. This is how slowly hope builds in.

Hopes that, that something will be rekindled again. In that dream of rekindled hopes, you would start building castle of stories in your head of how it would be rekindled and be alive again. The stories then would sound so real and strong that you would start mistaking it for “intuition” or “gut feeling” that this would happen.

Hope. 🙂

The kinds that would destruct you, mind and soul, those are the irresistible ones. You would hide it, harbour and nurture it and let it grow, so much that you start growing fond of it. So fond that you are scared of sharing it with your closest friends. Because, somewhere in your suppressed rational and logical mind, you know that they will break the reality to you, make you face it and ask you to move on from the comfort of a feeling you were so used to bask in. So, it stays with you. All the dreams built on hopes. Hoping that all the old things will remain the same, yet hoping that all the things would now be different. The irony. Hope makes us want the old things, just as the way they are with another hope of it might have changed, which is what we would actually want.

Complicated. So complicated. Once you understand this, the rational mind would take over and it would desperately try to break the cycle you been stuck in. It will speak to you that voice in your head, the rational voice, and make you come to your senses and remind you why it had broken you in the first place and why you need to move on. Move on to a dream or even a hope that would nurture you and build you. Not the toxic hope that will break you and walk all over you till you are left unrecognizable to yourself.

Maybe, it is ok to toy with old hopes that builds stories of what could or would have been. Maybe. Who does not like the idea of a fantasy coming true? So maybe, toy with it, fantasize and bask in the tingling feeling of happiness that you get in your tummy. Maybe you can let yourself indulge in it for a bit. Maybe you can do all of this as long as you know how to pull yourself out of it and detach from it when you see it is becoming addictive. Because though fantasies are wonderful, reality is what that is going to stick with you forever, just like your shadow.

C’est la vie…

You know its finally over when you miss the memories of the moments spent with the person more than the person himself/herself. You finally part and move on with a bittersweet feeling in the pit of your stomach with all the what ifs and what could have been with the person if things were just right.
But then, c’est la vie. What is, is.
The past cannot be touched. But the future can be shaped. 🙂

My Tryst with My Reality

I have come in terms with the fact that death is natural and inevitable. It is unrealistic of me to hope that someone I dearly love, would be with me till I breathe my last. This is the ultimate harsh reality and there is no escaping it, I have learned.

You never know, what you speak with and when you meet with someone would be the last time forever. And eventually what will remain is the memories of the sounds of their hearty chuckle. As time passes, like all memories, we will slowly forget how they sounded like. They will be forever be embedded as one of those irreversible fragment of our memory.

Death is a powerful teacher, once you finally embrace the truth of it.

If the relationship means something, I do not ever want to waste time being mad at that person for a long time. I want to make sure every time we part, we are smiling at each other. I want to make sure nothing is left unsaid or unheard.

Seriously in the end, what would matter the most? Eventually, it all boils down to our ego and pride. I am not saying we should be devoid of it. Pride and ego in a healthy amount is very important for self preservation. What I am saying is we should learn to put is aside when it comes to people we truly care about. Because, think of it, what if that would be the last time you ever spoke?

We always have choices with  us, no matter what. Choice of how we would want to steer our life ahead. Choosing what kind of person we would want to be. It would eventually be about making the right choices, cautiously. Because, in the end, nothing would last forever, but the memories.

It is ironic that the end of something turned out to be a bitter teacher than life itself, forcing myself to confront with the conflicts of life. Opened my eyes to make the right decisions with my choices.

So, you tell me, what matters the most to you in your life?

The Grass will Always be Green

Harry Potter did it. Watching the second part of the movie series triggered all the forgotten emotions. It was like time travel, watching the enchanted car flying:  I was 12 and there was nothing but pure obsession for all different passions. From art to fantasy to life.

A great time spent was not with my phone, but with the books. Lying down on my stomach and getting lost in another world with magical beings where everyone had a story to tell. Slowly falling asleep with the book over me, dreaming of the world that I painted along with the books I read. I would close my eyes and that would be my own world – a step away from reality. What was real?

It was a world devoid of panic attacks. Where the society didn’t matter. Attempts to fit in and socialize wasn’t a necessity. It was easy to be straight forward because human relations were that simple. There was innocence – no adultery, no disappointments, no fatal attractions, no expectations, no time bounds or commitments which would make your head spin so bad that you would wait for the time to just pass and feel better eventually. There was nothing but ambition, motivation, passion and dreams. Beautiful dreams to make it big and make an impact which will make people sit back and see the wonder that makes you.

It was simple. There were words in my mind that would flow so easily without the fear of being caught off guard. There was no necessity to make an conscious attempt to hide the raw, blunt emotions. There was no necessity to sound different. There were words and they were beautiful to play around with, spinning tales and sharing thoughts and ideas.

Now, there is great independence which is running its course of excitement. No more intellectual conversation which I would so shamelessly indulge on, but insignificant nothings and awkward silences. There is a hunt for self discovery, understanding all the good and the dark nature of self. In that pursuit of self discovery and irrelevant obsessions the most significant element is lost – myself. Things that defined me. Things that would emancipate me. They are all lost somewhere. What I used to do, what I used to be; are nothing but a thing to be admired by people, who would rather know that she but the now me. The now me is like everyone else, hiding behind the multiple masks due to lack of trust, need to be accepted and feel a sense of belonging when away from home, to feel at home.

This pursuit of self discovery has left me a stranger to myself. I would now rather back off and stay quiet instead of letting a person know how I really feel. I would now rather be stepped on and be the insignificant one in the relation just to feel accepted. I would now rather say yes to a person and hurt my self respect over and over just to maintain a friendship. I would now rather let people have a say in my glitches than have a spine and confront it on my own. And this all started by wanting to impress everyone at the corporate world to show what a brilliant asset I am, just so that I am immortal in the minds of all the biggies I work with. And then what? This is where the complications started.

I love my job. I have a job to kill for. I do. I would fight for it to maintain my position and grow agressively in it. But since when did people’s appreciation started to matter?

I wonder, since when in anything ever in life did people’s view started to matter? What do they think on how you are, or how you choose to live your life? Since when?

This is not independence.

And watching Harry Potter triggered this. Reminded me of who I really was. Of who I really am. Someone who is not bound by any social norms. Someone with a voice of her own, as strong as she could be. Someone with a mind of her own, who is not dependent on simplest of simple things on society. Someone with her own stand and not be affected with insignificant disappointment of people because this is me and my stand. Someone, who is not defined by the corporate world. Not a soft clay to be molded into a tiny monster by the confined society.

A free mind. This is independence.

And thus, in middle of nothing, I found something.

I met me again.