Take A Chill Pill

"Take a chill pill," he said, and extended a hand with a palmfull of mushrooms.

The red or the blue? Who knows? Who cares? The mushrooms live for this reason alone, and hell if life is transient enough for anyone to give a fuck.

Enough with the problems, the equatorial divide between two people with world views varying enough to connect two never meeting black holes. Just take a drag and forget about this world.

Raw emotions only lead to poetry. That's bad enough as it is. You don't need goals and ambitions to add to the mix. Why live another person's sorrow when you can "take a chill pill".

" Smooth," he said, "so smooth, man."

There is no need for punctuation or lunch when it's like that. The mushrooms make the short lives you live feel like they may have been worth something. And then you realize that it's a bunch of bullshit you don't need to think about, if only you "take a chill pill".

Life's good. It may be serious and mundane or even one-dimensional. Who fucking cares? Does anyone even read this shit? Lulz. Dream on, bitches. "Take a chill pill".

It's annoying enough that the line seems right out of a Bollywood ass-flick. But hey man, live it up, lose some stress yo! That's the way to go.

You might live to be a hundred. Or your guts might get spilled during an unfortunate roadkill early morning tomorrow. Doesn't matter now, does it? No arrogance here believing that you're worth an ounce of shite.

Live it up. Live it out. Live on.

" Take a chill pill."

Graves For Flowers

The early grave is one of the saddest of all

For the earth would much rather wait,

Its soil repels life that could have been—

Life swept away by rage.

The saddest graves of all, however

Are the graves for flowers,

Little petals falling to the ground before their time

Those yet to bloom, ruddily ripped out—

Trampling upon the history that should have been made

To line pages painted in red.

The guns that fire will one day stop

And fall to the very same ground,

Flower-buds will rise again and grow—

Guns can only gather rust.

~*~

R.I.P. Peshawar

Anchoring Point

The night is on its way out and my thoughts are too scattered to be told. It was a fairly regular Saturday for me. Woke up late, did chores, watched a The Hobbit with friends, returned home to catch up on my Bones back log.

Yet for some reason it feels so mechanical right now. As though I'm still living in transit, between homes, between lives... Maybe that's exactly what this restlessness is — the constant sense of missing something vital, that life hasn't really begun and I'm still drifting about without an anchoring point.

I feel this sharp pain everyday if I pause long enough to dwell on it. The constant waiting has been taking its toll. I don't see an end to it anytime soon, if only for the cloud of uncertainly that surrounds our future. It still hurts though, most terribly, knowing that the most important thing in life that I'd hoped would have started two years ago is still just a dream. Life has been kind, don't get me wrong. At least the last nine months have brought such a drastic change in opportunities alone, and the year would look to end on a happy note.

But I miss my anchor, and I hate being strong all the time. Sometimes I just want to be the entitled asshole who gets it all. Or at least, the whiny moron who people, however begrudgingly, still put up with and accommodate. Just not strong. Not the one who doesn't seek out others for comfort, too proud to admit to having feelings. No one cares to help a strong self-reliant person.

It's just a matter of time now, but every day of waiting kills me slowly, and makes me drift further away. No anchor and no horizon in sight.

Saudade

Clearing out my old room today made me unearth so much of my childhood and teenaged years. From scraps of paper with notes passed in class, to old meticulously preserved colour pencil sets, letters from friends from a decade ago to 'quote books' filled with college quips! I even found an old ridiculous passport sized photo of a school chum, aptly titled "Arpita's Funny Photo 2006".

Most hilarious was finding my old college revision schedules, scrawled quite neatly on sheets of paper even though these were made in panic-mode a week before the exams, which had a to do line item called "Watch Grey's Anatomy with Ma" in every single semester!

The memories keep coming back and it is heartbreaking to let go of the past sometimes... Especially on the eve of my last evening at home this year, all these memories seem dearer than ever.

Hopefully, cardboard and duct tape will be enough to let me hold on to my childhood for at least a little longer even if I live far away, in both Time and Space. Thank goodness for little boxes!

Atonement

The dagger slicing through my heart tonight
Deserves to leave a deeper mark
One that will carve out all the darkness within
And leave an empty hollow quite stark.

The rot has spread to all my veins
Blood pouring fitfully through them with much disdain
Yet deserving to see the light of day
Than be enclosed within vessels that feel no pain.

The gleam of the blade oh so enticing
The ruddy shade always what attracted me best
For it brings with it an awakening
Letting you bleed out all the rest.

All my flaws descend tonight
Their marks forever etched
For one that forgets deserves to be forgotten
Lost amidst all that is wretched.

I have no music left in my soul
Which is scented with the decay
That adorns an artist who's lost her art
And now has a price to pay.

The night is shrouded in noisy silence
As the shadows disembark
And the hint of a bloody moon
Wanes quietly in the dark.

Wistful Wanderlust

Being exactly a week away from my first "major" (read: inter-continental) travel in years, I feel this strange restlessness, almost as though I cannot wait to go, then return, and then go right back! Somewhere, anywhere, places old and new... It doesn't matter. It is too painful to simply stay still!

Part of me remains extremely wary. After what happened last year (dengue fever two days before another such "major" much-needed trip), I won't let myself feel excited until I'm actually on the plane, or even better, once I've landed and checked in. Still, I can't help but feel the excitement build, and carry me away to plans of places I could go to next year, after all my travelling for this year is done!

Some people window-shop. (These days, of course, it is browsing Amazon, Myntra or Jabong). For me, an Airbnb or a TripAdvisor holds the same kind of charm, where I can spend hours browsing away and wondering if it is Place & Plan X, Y or Z that I'll be able to afford. You start with really exalted envisioning: Euro-tour and the like. And then wistfully wonder what it would be like if those prices were actually 500 INR instead of Euros.

There's so much to do before I go... And a bit of domestic travelling too (isn't that a lark)! Goodness knows, my business visa is yet to arrive! (They assured me that it was only a matter of a couple of days now, the delay was because of the holidays in between). In a way, I'm enjoying the adrenaline rush of risk, of being on the edge and not being sure until the last moment!

And after all that thought, I come back to pictures of beautiful places I am aching to visit. Running through possible plane fares, itineraries, places to stay. The plans in my head have never been more elaborate! It is as though I have all the time in the world, sitting in my room, feasting on faraway lands through shared stories and lives.

A phone call comes as my reality check. It is not an unwelcome one at all, for I know that the person on the other end is sure to humour me, at least a little bit, in my flights of fancy. Tonight, I am home, but also all around the world. These places and lives call out to me. I will answer, someday, if not today. Someday for sure! Tonight I am home, with wistful wanderlust.

Never Let Me Go

To pull at heartstrings, as they say, is no mean feat for any story. To get strangers to react a certain way, to feel almost as though it were their own experience is hardly, hardly ever simple. Yet, there are always stories: stories that make you smile, weep, roar with laughter or in anger, and stories that go very, very deep, all the way down to your core. These stories inspire you to live out your own.

I draw both hope and despair from stories. Sometimes they make me soar enlivened: I feel that everything will be alright and work out for the best, almost like a happily ever after (albeit for things slightly more mundane). Other stories make me cry out in anguish, weighing me down with the pain that the protagonists carry with them every fictional day. For stories are but a mirror into the lives of others and into the realm of "what could have been".

Perhaps it is those stories that I love best, for I feel them down to my bones, sometimes more than I feel life itself. And I wonder then, very quietly, whether I have lost my mind.

I wish these stories and the feelings they compel never let me go.

Storyteller

You lost me at the exposition
Twisted though the tale quite was
Yet brought me back at intermission
A prelude to many songs 'twas.

A carpenter carving away his dreams
A beggar stifling down her screams
A teacher watching in silence
As the world erupted with violence.

You took their stories and spun your own
Giving only glimpses of how they unfold
Never blinking, their fate beknown
To you, and forever in your hold.

The charmer speaking with practiced ease
The butcher's daughter such a tease...
The father watching as though diseased
The blade ending it gleams, oh so pleased!

You caught them all in story webs
Lives strung still at your fingertips
Pulling in each soul before it ebbs
Away for good into darkness' lips.

You lost me at the exposition
Yet lured me back with hope of dawn
Knowing my curious disposition
Promised that I'd stay forever drawn.

Miss You Nights

The feeling of being displaced is strongest when the constants in your life slowly flow away like receding waves.  It doesn't have to be particularly noticeable, yet, as days turn to months, you realize that everything that you thought was the same is anything but.

This is my first Poila Boishak away from home, away from the ones who mean the most to me. And although we didn't really do much to mark the start of the new year, it was very reassuring to have loved ones close by. I haven't felt obviously homesick in the last month, but it is always nights like these, when I know I am breaking an old family tradition by being far away that I feel the pangs most strongly.

I missed my mother's birthday last month for the first time in my life. The Internet makes life a lot easier, but it can't replace the warmth of real hugs.

Miss you all. So very much! 'Til we meet again.

Wind of Change

"All changes, even the most longed for, have their melancholy; for what we leave behind us is a part of ourselves; we must die to one life before we can enter another."

- Anatole France

Settling in to a new life may have seemed a daunting task even a couple of weeks ago, but I seem to have managed alright. Two weeks in, somehow, leaving behind familiar sights and sounds, familiar faces and familiar boundaries doesn't seem quite so intimidating. I suppose I have to thank the suddenness of it all — having made a quick plunge before which there was no time to think or contemplate the pros and cons, especially the cons.

Of course, there are people I miss terribly, and I would be lying if I said that I am not the slightest bit homesick, but there are things to look forward to. I'm lucky enough to have a piano at easy access even though my own is yet to arrive here. Rediscovering music has never been sweeter... Better still, I am not as shy and reserved as I used to be even a year back, and placing myself out of my comfort zone to make new friends (a necessity in a new city) is not half as hard as I thought it would be.

It's true that only when you go through the bad can you really relish life offering you the good. As bitter as I used to be about it earlier, I am glad that I went through what I did. Lessons learnt, and hopefully, never forgotten. And knowing myself, at least now I won't feel quite so entitled to what I have been given, and truly appreciate the things to be thankful for.

Change is good. And for someone who had been feeling trapped in what seemed like a never-ending abyss of bad luck, change is life reinvigorated.

Morning Drops

As days drift casually along, and nights turn into fitful forays into the realm of dreams, only music can pull you back. Only music can draw you out and subconsciously alter your soul. It is enlivening, invigorating, intoxicating... 

I shut my eyes and poetry comes easily. The words flow, rhyme and dance about. My mind sees a beautiful blend of colours swaying to the rhythm of the soaring, soaring notes that I perceive. Tonight, I feel alive.

Simple things like singing along loudly to an old favourite in spite of a bad cold, indulging in dance steps befitting a puppet, and just being happy - it has been a while since I have enjoyed this. It brings me to believe that the oddest of things can bring you peace, and inspire you to take up an old hobby again.

Only music can make you feel this way:

"You're exquisitely extraordinary
You're fabulously fine"