Meetings and Partings

We meet and we part
Then we part and we meet,
Our distance numbing much of the heart.

Frozen tears get thawed by smiles that greet
When we meet, then part
Only to part and meet.

Keep the Blues Away

If you could have a heart for every summer you survive
Where sunny days seep into your smiles
They'll keep the blues away, oh oh
Those extra hearts of yours...

If you could sing a song every time you swore
You'll live the rest of your life alone
They'll keep the blues away, oh yeah
Those merry songs of yours...

Sing me a lullaby, as my eyes fall shy of sleep
Sing for tomorrows when we will not have to weep
Love me with your kisses, touch me with your dreams
Let's seek out the rainbows hidden among streams

Let's keep the blues away, dear
For tomorrow we'll be strong
Let's keep the blues away, now
And live without a fear
Of life tying us down with
Practicality most morose
Let's keep the blues away, love
With poetry and prose.

Heal

I cry fearlessly
Softly, surely
Tonight, I'll let the sorrows slide
Down the well of forgetfulness;

Music takes the pain away
Melancholy made whole with melody
My world enlivened again
By notes wistful for tomorrow.

On Goodbyes

Life moves from one good
bye to another; time spent
in between is bliss.

Who Knows

Some nights you just have to let the despair overcome you and cry into your pillow till it's dawn again.

There's probably no other way. The sadness has taken root and doesn't want me to do anything about it. I don't want solutions tonight. Just wish I wasn't so numb, so cold and disconnected that it's a Herculean ask to even talk to someone. About anything. I feel like shutting myself away from everything. Everyone.

It happens, I suppose, if your sounding board of many years and your avenue of venting is suddenly no longer an option. It was a long time coming, I suppose. It would have been too much. I'm crap at communication anyway.

Boring. Such an innocuous little word. Such a hurtful word... One that takes you spiraling down into the rabbit hole of half a glass of empty even weeks after it was last uttered. I don't know if I'll ever be convinced otherwise again. Complacency is such a rude thing, and so very sad and hurtful when you're on the receiving end of it.

Time and distance. Speed. Light and sound. Do they really go hand in hand? Is there even a point to putting yourself through the pain of life only to die alone someday?

I feel alone. And it is something that really bothers me now. It feels wretched that at the end of the day, if anything were to go wrong, there really wouldn't be anyone around to lend support. I guess my lot in life is to be my own source of strength. No faith. No one. Just me. Give and receive only space, and there's nothing left but distance.

Begin Again

Some days, while going through the motions of daily routine, you chance upon a special ray of life, almost on a whim. It can be through music, it can even be through a story, and when it happens through both, it is magical.

I'm no stranger to being moved by movies. Begin Again was one such. Delightful not just in its simplicity, the story slowly draws smile after smile out of you. From the beautifully placed narrative to the songs that find a cozy place to curl up within your heart... I've been humming Lost Stars all evening, and just can't get enough of how much hope there is to be found, even in despair. It makes one realize that life doesn't have to be perfect to be able to enjoy it.

If you haven't watched the movie, do watch it, and:

"Let's get drunk on our tears."

Sunshine In Seconds

I've become so shallow now, always looking for the quick fix, the easy high. I've no patience any more, at least less than I ever did before. It's remarkably easy to sink into a single dimensional soul: just immerse yourself into your work and forget about anything else that you ever loved.

I don't know why I have such a self-destructive streak, because of which I deliberately deny myself what I enjoy. Why is it so difficult to just loosen up and enjoy life the way it happens? Soak it in... No worries, no contemplating the future or how to work towards a better bank balance.

I'm actually rather disgusted with myself, at the inner whining, even though I am not talking that much about it out loud. At least the 'don't give a flying fuck' attitude ensures that some of the shite stays at bay. Whatever.

Coming back to my shallowness. I've come to the point when I just want 5 minute fixes. Exhausted at the end of the day, I've no time to sit and finish a good book at one go the way I love to devour books. Instead, I choose to read fast reading material: in other words, crap. A bit of YouTube-enabled karaoke when I'm in the mood, but no time to practice the piano and actually hone a talent that must by now be gone. Why, I ask? Exhaustion? Laziness? Depression-induced inertia? I don't think it is the last one. If anything, at least that aspect of my life has been borderline, and on the better side. Been there, battled that, now it's so much better! But the bad habits stay, I suppose. And like everyone else part of the sunshine-in-seconds generation, I want the quick fix, the easy high, even if it kills any depth that I used to have.

Goodnight.

Memories Of Winter

Winter always makes me want to curl up with a short story and watch the sun take its leave for the day. More than five years ago, I spent many a winter afternoon climbing up the water tank on our building terrace and spend a good hour or so in the company of Chekov or Maupassant, watching the day blend into night. Staring at the vastness all around, for ours was one of the highest buildings in the neighborhood, and wondering at the vastness of thought in the pages that I beheld, it was a wonderful way to let the hours flow by.

I wonder sometimes if now, in spite of being freer than I have ever been in many ways, I am more limited in my thoughts and actions than I was not so long a time ago, at a terrace far away... I've never been to the terrace of the building where I now live. And for someone who would explore every inch of a place and figure out how to find her way in a new area, I haven't really explored much of the city where I now live. True, that public transportation is not as good as what it was in my home city, but I probably should have found a way.

Still, enough of that. Winter has always been my favorite time of year. Never mind the runny noses, or the sheer torture that is washing long hair early in the morning. Winter is when life takes a step back from the lively rush of summer, and seeks solace within itself. Winter is for falling in love with the chilly breeze that paints your cheeks pink. Winter is for lovers to seek warmth in each other. Winter is for coming back home, or else yearning most terribly for it.

And home is where the heart is. My heart just needs to find a home that is close by.

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.