Surrender

“Yes, I did. I murdered him. I took the knife and ran it right through his chest. I also gagged him so I wouldn’t hear him scream.

“He was two days away from turning a year old. Yes, I had nurtured him for a year and I loved him to bits, but I knew that when he grows up, he won’t be able to see or walk or talk like other children… How did I know? I was his mother. Mothers know. I knew.

“Yes, I know there are mothers who spend their lives looking after their handicapped babies and don’t even wince. I happen to be not one of those mothers. Call me selfish, but I don’t want to bear the load of seeing my child feeling lesser than the others every single day of his life. His soul didn’t need to stay trapped for a lifetime like that. She could move on to more colourful happier lives. And I hope she has.

“So, one night, when he was deep in sleep, I just picked up the knife, covered his mouth with my hand, and stabbed him. He woke up… from my touch or from the pain, I don’t know. But he woke up, and he looked at me. I don’t know what that look meant. Until then, he had never experienced any feeling except love. This was a new experience. I don’t think he knew what it meant. I still wonder whether he thought this was love too. I hope he knows that it was. I don’t think there was accusation in his eyes, but as I looked into them, it seemed like there was a knife in my throat.

“Finally, when he stopped making those screams that I didn’t hear and he stopped twisting his hands and feet in the air, his eyes looked stunned. He had stopped breathing. I took my hand away from his mouth, threw the knife on the floor and sat by his side looking at him.

“Yes, it had been a month when they found me sitting there. How was I alive? I had been eating him. He was a part of me. He had started inside me. It was only fair that he should end there. When they found me, only his eyes were left. Yes, I had eaten his heart too. I had been thinking of eating his eyes for many days now, but I couldn’t. They were his eyes.

“I’m a cannibal, you say? But what I ate was a non-living thing. If I could bring fatal pain to my own child, this was not worse. Haven’t you ever given pain to someone who loved you to bits? Haven’t you EVER done something wrong to make amends for another wrong? Haven’t you ever been selfish? You haven’t, you say? You must be God then.

“So yes, when they found me, I quickly hid his eyes in my dress. Yes, I still have them, but I won’t give them to you. I want to meet his father and cremate them with him. I want his father to slap me, beat me, kill me, and let me cry on his shoulder one last time before you execute your sentence on me. You say he doesn’t want to look at my face? You don’t have to tell me that. I know it. Yet, can you please let him know that this is for our baby? We owe it to him. His soul might still be trapped in these eyes. One night, when I sat behind the bars crying, I thought I saw tears in his eyes too. Yes, I know. Maybe, it was my tears which had fallen there, but maybe, they were his soul’s. I want to release her. And I can only do it together with his father. He was OUR baby.

“All those people outside, shouting ‘Bitch’, ‘Cruel’, ‘Cannibal’, ‘Heartless’ still affect me, although they shouldn’t. I have seen a lot in life to be affected by them. But I am, still. For I know that they have a reasonable reason.

“You know, when I gave birth to my baby, I had been on top of the world. I had never known the feeling of such joy. But then, I hadn’t known that he was going to have to live a lesser life. When I realized it, I didn’t want him to suffer any more. I didn’t want myself to suffer because of him, either. I really thought the agony would end with him gone. I didn’t know better.

“Yes, I ran the knife right through his chest, and I gagged him, so that I wouldn’t have to hear him scream. Did I tell you that as I did that, I also ran a knife through my own throat?”

The Girl and the Diamond

Once upon a time, there was a little girl who was very sad. All her friends wore pretty dresses and looked like princesses, but whatever she might wear, she always looked ugly. Everybody would stare at her and talk in whispers when she walked by them. She wouldn’t turn to look but she knew it in her heart that they were laughing at her after she had passed by. She would ask her mother, “Mother, why am I not beautiful like you?” Her mother would reply in surprise, “But you are so beautiful, my dear.” “Why can’t I see it then?” she would ask. And the mother would smile knowingly and say, “… because you’re choosing not to.”

The little girl would only get confused, turn to the mirror and try to see where the beauty that her mother could see, lay. She smiled to see if she looked pretty when she smiled. She frowned to see if she looked pretty when she frowned. She cried to see if she looked pretty when she cried. And then, she cried and cried and cried for she didn’t look pretty whatever she might do. In the middle of all the crying, she didn’t realize when she had fallen asleep. She never came to know that all the tears which had fallen off her eyes were going to do something magical for her…

When she awoke and opened her sad eyes, her vision was blinded by something that lay next to her pillow – something that dazzled like a full moon. Slowly she sat up and took a close look at this magical object. When she touched it, it felt as though she had touched cool water. She felt a balm-like sensation run through the very bones of her body. It was a Diamond. A breathtakingly beautiful heart-shaped Diamond of the size of a heart. It felt so precious, more precious than anything she had ever owned in her lifetime.

As she stood in front of the mirror with the Diamond around her neck, she felt what she had never felt before. The Diamond shone like a star and when its light fell on her cheeks, it made them look like porcelain. They reflected the light to her eyes turning them into little Diamonds themselves, making her whole face come alive like a painting. She smiled and saw that she looked prettier than she had ever felt. She frowned and suddenly, the light went off her face, and she was again ugly as ever. Shocked, she broke into tears and the light was back. Her Diamond shone the brightest when she cried and she paused in the middle just to see how beautiful she looked as streams of tears rolled down her cheeks.

That day onwards, her life changed. The huge Diamond hanging from her neck made her feel like she was the most beautiful girl in the world. It touched her heart every now and then, tickling it, making her laugh and feel so desirable. When people looked at her, they were awestruck, for they had never seen such radiance, such absolute perfection on a countenance. When they whispered, she knew they were discussing her charm. When they pointed her out to others, it was only because words had deserted them. She was having the best time of her life. The Diamond made her complete and she was so grateful to it for that, “Thank you Diamond! I love you too!”

One morning, when she woke up, the back of her neck and her shoulders throbbed with pain – such that she had never known before. For long, she had been ignoring the subtle signs of imminent problems. When a sudden pain would shoot through her neck, she would make herself believe that she had slept in the wrong posture. When her shoulders would become stiff, she would think, “Oh, it’s been so long since I got them massaged.” But today, the pain, the stiffness wouldn’t go. She was in extreme agony.

And yet, she wouldn’t take the Diamond off herself, for it was all she had. “It has given me so much. It has turned the world around for me. I can’t let it go. I can’t leave my Diamond.” So, on she went with the Diamond still around her neck, but slowly, the sensation of exhilaration that it had brought had been overtaken by the overbearing pain in her neck.

“It has given me a lot. I can’t let it go” she would kiss it every night before she went to sleep, hoping that the agony would be a little lesser the next day. But it only increased with each passing day.

“At least it makes me look pretty” she would smile and think, but somewhere deep within her, the pain was churning out rivers of tears – tears which she wouldn’t acknowledge, tears which she never showed the way out to.

One day, she realized that it had been months since she had looked at herself in the mirror. As the thought gripped her, she ran to the mirror, her neck feeling like it would fall off any minute. When she paused to look into the mirror, the light from the Diamond blinded her. But gradually, as her face emerged from behind the dazzle, she saw a pale frail face with eyes that looked like stones. The Diamond still shone just as brilliantly, but her skin had stopped reflecting its light. Her shoulders were drooping and her neck was a disturbing red in colour. In that moment, the tears inside her found their way out and flowed like they would never stop flowing… “I’m sorry, I’m sorry” she kept saying, not knowing whether she was saying it to the Diamond or herself.

Exhausted, she sat on her bed and slowly, almost like a ritual, took the Diamond off her neck. Even as the pain lifted from her neck, a huge weight set in on her heart. She took the Diamond in her hands looking at it forever, she kissed it and as she did that, a tear drop fell on the Diamond. The spot where it fell turned into a tear and gradually, the whole Diamond became a blob of tears and flowed out of her hands. She howled to see what she had done to the Diamond, even though deep within her, she knew that it was her very own tears which had turned into the Diamond that night long ago.

“I’m sorry” she cried out aloud. Only, this time, she knew that she meant it for the Diamond.

Consumed by Self or Loved by Self? :-)

I love the caress of my loose hair on my naked back

I love the blotch of kajal below my eyes after a nap

I love the layer of desire that the gloss adds to my lips

Just as I love the invasion on my tired thoughts of some sleep

When my ear-rings tickle my cheeks, I love it

When the wind blows my hair in my face, I love it

I love it when my eyes look brown in the sun

Just as I love the sprint that ends in a long hug

I love the reflection on my skin of the colour I wear

I love the swaying ways of my dress when we go up the stairs

I love the discovery of a shoe that fits my feet

Just as I love the Goodnighthugs and the Goodmorningkisses

When my voice touches the right notes of the song, I love it

When the scales are inclined to display a recline, I love it

I love it when my mirror and I share compliments

Just as I love the expressions of a word that’s written

I can never really love myself enough

Nor can I enough ever love the world

For when I smile and my world smiles back

I know it doesn’t matter that my hair is curled

One Feeling or Many?

No feeling in the expanse of world

can beat this breezy lightness…

This sense that there’s a hand to hold

through alleys lit with darkness

The knowledge that my step might trip

And yet I will not fall

The certainty that if I do

I’ll have a name to call

The desire to stay who I am

And yet be someone better

The faith that whoever I be

Will be doubtless embraced forever

The dream of a cozy pair of arms

Wrapping my whole lifetime

The fear that daylight just might steal

This precious dream of mine

The trust that despite all the fears

I ought to nurture this dream

The joy that makes my heart so proud

And fills me up to the brim

The sensation of the eternity

Seeping into my being

The rhythm of a melody

My heart’s learning to sing

It’s all so rightfully perfect

And all so perfectly right

It’s magic that I see all day

It’s a perfectly magical night

Love v/s Love

Love1: I can’t live without you

Love2: I want to live with you forever

Love1: You’re my life

Love2: You make my life beautiful

Love1: It makes me happy to see YOU happy

Love2: If you’re happy, it gives ME happiness

Love1: There is no ME, there is only YOU

Love2: There is ME, there is YOU, but more importantly, there is US

Love1: I will take all your pains and give you all my joys

Love2: When pains confront you, I'll be with you to share them. When I'm blessed with joys, I want you to share them with me.

Love1: I love you for who you are

Love2: I love you for who I have become with you

Love1: I shall wait for you forever…

Love2: You will be in my heart forever…

Two Friends and a Foe

Throughout my conscious memory, I have been best friends with Pa. Sometimes, or in fact many times, I like to spend a few fascinating moments with Fut as well, but Pres has predominantly been like that random student in class who you know by their Name and probably their Roll Number, and just sometimes might want to peep into their tiffin box to know what they’ve got for lunch, but besides that, you pretty much like to be unaware of their existence. Pres was never my friend. I just couldn’t get myself to like Pres.

When I used to be with Pa (and most of the times I was), even the painful moments spent around Pres once upon a time would make me nostalgic with their sepia-toned charm. The days when Pres saw me being ragged up to my skin in the first year, or the time when I had walked down the empty lonely lanes of the sleeping town with the shadow of Pres, even those countless days when Pres had been cruel enough to cause my unrequited love to overflow from my heart through my eyes – all those days would become my haven when I was with Pa – a haven that I felt no desire to leave. Pa was truly my best friend. Crying came easy with Pa around… and Pa was generally around.

Not always though… for sometimes, Fut would hold my hand and take me away from Pa to a land where the night-sky was full of brilliantly bright stars – stars that Fut promised were meant for me, stars that were waiting to fall into my lap and make me radiant and blessed. Fut would show me birds of mesmerizing colours across the horizon, flying… free… In Fut’s land, there were mirrors everywhere, which reflected nothing except the most beautiful image of the world, and in some strange way, even though I knew it was impossible, I felt that image was mine. Fut was my Promise-friend, and Fut was perfect, just like that image in the mirror that was ME even though it couldn’t have been ME.

Which brings us to Pres. I hated Pres – not so much in the beginning, but over the years, I was filled with absolute hatred for Pres right up till my bones. Wherever I went, Pres would come after me. Whatever I did, Pres would be lurking around. Even when I was doing my own thing with Pa or Fut, Pres’ shadow was never too far away. I don’t know whether Pres was obsessed with me or the other way round but it was because of Pres that I sought for a perfect image in a mirror elsewhere, for it was Pres who made me feel absolute worthlessness in my own existence. I hated Pres! Oh! What wouldn’t I give to have Pres killed! I could have chosen to be the murderer myself, I even did once, only I developed cold feet when I realized that as a part of my punishment to kill Pres, I might have to lose Pa and Fut too, and they were all I had. And so, the stalker lived on…

And then…

One day, not too long ago, Pres came up to me… and said, “Please don’t hate me. I haven’t meant to haunt you all these years. I have only been looking out for you, to make sure that you do not get too lost in the streams of tears that Pa brings you or too trapped in the strings of dreams that Fut shows you, for once you’re lost with Pa, you’re lost forever… And once you’ve been trapped away from me by Fut, your dreams will remain only that – dreams. I would always let you see a hint of my shadow around you for I wanted you to remember me and hence, yourself. I always wanted you to see the real YOU, and not the imaginary one that you see in Fut’s fake mirrors, and I knew that only I could help you see that. Now, the time has come when you must do that and face your truth. I want you to see that image that is really YOU. So, will you please…”

And Pres paused for a seemingly endless moment as I stood breathless, waiting for the words that were going to change my world…

“… look into my eyes?”

As I looked hard, I saw an image slowly forming up out of the still waters of Pres’ clear dark eyes. Gradually, it became as vivid as my own flesh, and I couldn’t believe what I saw! I had been wrong all along. Fut’s mirrors had not been showing me the most beautiful image of the world, for if that had been perfection, then what was this? Or had perfection been perfected?

“This is YOU, my dearest. And YOU are perfect! All you need to do is accept it… Pa and Fut can bring you reveries and trances, even though they have to rely on ME to create those for you, but only I will show you the real YOU and it is only if you like ME that you will be able to like yourself, for among the three of us, I am the only one who wants you to be happy TODAY, for among the three of us, I am the only one who LOVES you – I always have, I always will, until death – for the day you die, I shall too.”

Before I acknowledged the tears flowing out of my eyes, before I acknowledged that the image in Pres’ eyes was really me, I heard myself say to him, “I love you. I’m so sorry for the way I have treated you. I was horribly wrong. You deserve so much better than what I gave you. Please forgive me Pres. I love you…”

Pa and Fut are still my friends, of course. They have their own indisputable places in my life and always will, for Pa helps me rediscover my love with Pres all the more and Fut helps me hone the perfection of my love with Pres. Love, after all, cannot be a static entity. Just like life, love has to be dynamic too!

And that’s why, each day, I discover newer things to love about Pres. Each day, the reflection I see in his eyes seems more perfect than the previous day. Each day, I love myself… a little more!

Thank you, Pres! I love you… I love myself…

A Priceless Drop from the Ocean of Time

There are several reasons why that one moment will remain etched in my being for as long as there IS my being…

- That one moment was the culmination of 7 months and 15 days of

Tears

Laughters

Uncertainties

Promises

Faithlessness

Trust

Impossibilities

Hopes

Sleeplessness

Dreams

Goosebumps

Fights

Plans

&

Waits

- That one moment, irrespective of the winter, my cheeks could give my hands as much warmth as they needed and more.

- That one moment came after a little symbolic search which led me to my precious gift – the very gift that guided me through the search.

- That one moment, I was the one searching, and I was the one who was found.

- That one moment, my heart melted to see that I was not the most nervous partaker of that one moment.

- That one moment, I wished that time would tick no more and that that one moment would stretch into infinity.

- That one moment was a once-in-a-lifetime… although few get lucky enough to have it even that once.

- That one moment gave meaning to everything behind me that until that one moment, had seemed totally pointless.

- That one moment, nothing went wrong.

- That one moment, nothing could have gone wrong.

- That one moment was the celebration of the impossible-made-possible.

There are several reasons why that one moment will remain etched in my being for as long as there IS my being… However, there is only one reason why I WANT it to…

Because in that one moment, I hugged You… and You hugged me back.

Acute Damage

I thought dogs are locked in when guests come home.

And beggars are blocked out when they ask for more.

I still do hope that I’m not the dog.

I do know for sure, though, that I was the beggar.

Revising a Story Lesson

I’ve discovered a magic therapy. Of late, many times (if not most of the times), I have seen and experienced it working wonderfully on myself. And I believe it has got to be effective if it can help someone with symptoms of hereditary Clinical Depression.

That reminds me. Over two years ago, when I was visiting a psychologist regularly for my certifications, she had told me quite clearly that I had a tendency to develop a mild Clinical Depression, especially since it has been being passed on, on my mother’s side, particularly amongst the women. She had advised me to keep psychiatric help accessible, especially through the most important forthcoming period of 3-4 years in my life. A lot was going to happen and even though it was all for the good, there was no guarantee of the period itself being good.

And surely, there were times when I would wish to skip life on particular days. I’d be desperate to find a way to just jump to the next day, or to somehow discover an Invisibility Cloak and simply carry on with life without having to undergo the pressure of being SEEN. How I wished that nobody would see me, nobody would look at me, that people could just see past me, like I was nothing but a molecule of air.

Today, however, I don’t see the point in thinking or talking about those days. Yes, they made me stronger, braver and all that, but today, I also wish I had tried the magic therapy in those days. But then, I didn’t know about it then. Well, actually, perhaps I did. Perhaps all of us do, because it is one of the earliest story lessons of our lives, but we forget about it. We grow up seeing most of the people around us complaining, cribbing and self-pitying; and somewhere along the way, we unknowingly learn it and make it our way of life too.

It’s simple. It’s the lesson we all learnt from the story of the poor man who didn’t have shoes, who went to the church to complain to God, and there, saw a man who was thanking God, even though he did not have legs.

About a month back, on NDTV, I happened to watch a special report on a 2 feet tall man, who was born without legs, without arms, without speech and hearing abilities. All you could see was a tiny torso and a little face. But what was most striking about that face was an absolute absence of complaint on it. The report showed the man going through all his daily activities by himself without any help whatsoever. And I found myself wondering whether it was right of me to make myself hopeless and helpless when there is such a vast landscape of hope and possibility in the world.

These days, when I am morose and basically carrying out an eternal crib-fest, I try to remember this man’s courage in the face of the cruel fate meted out to him by nature. And invariably, I find myself feeling guilty for not thinking above just my own self.

It is not always possible to think of another, when you’re busy thinking of the ‘unfairness’ of life you’re dealing with. It is only possible when there is that little spark existent somewhere deep inside you – the spark of a genuine desire to rid yourself off pain, the desire to be happy. I have a feeling that I just might be igniting that tiny spark inside me these days, that I might be succeeding in letting it prevail…

This spark which is gradually making me believe that despite all the flaws that I might be made up of, I’m likeable… because I like myself, I love myself, I want myself to be happy, and not on the parameters of the world, but on the scales of happiness that I have to define for my own self.

i LOVE this

Mahatma Gandhi said...

Immature love says, "I love you because I need you"
Mature love says, "I need you because I love you"

The Waiting Game

Expectation, they say, is the root of suffering…

And if you ask me, they’re not wrong! But then, am I the right person to decide? My opinion could be biased because my expectations have almost always led me to pain. But then, there are those in the world too, who know the recipe to make Happiness, with just the correct amount of Expectation and the accurate amount of Commitment. (If you happen to be one of them, please do share the recipe for the benefit of those who are hopelessly starved)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Before M painted my world red, I had actually never expected anything like that to happen in my life. I never thought it was possible, given my circumstances. And yet, when he came, I surprised myself with the realization that I had waited for it all along. There he was – an impossible dream that became my reality; but even before I could get a hang of the new wings my life had given me, he had turned back into a dream, more impossible than ever before. I had expected too much, asked for too much, and life had shown me where I belonged.

Night after day after night after day, I used to wait to treasure each syllable uttered by him for me, wait to capture each glance he would be kind enough to throw my way, wait to cherish every little touch of his on my skin. Yes, I was hopeless, I was helpless. I had completely lost myself in that waiting game, so much so, that I didn’t even realize that soon, I was the only one playing the game. The waits had slowly become longer, and eventually, turned endless.

A little part of me, perhaps, still plays that game, and I wish I could, but I just don’t have the heart to kill that part. I heard this somewhere… and I know how true it is:

“The most difficult to do in the world is not killing a man, but killing your dream”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

VS was not a dream. Nothing after M was. Whether anything or anybody could ever be, remains to be seen.

VS was a fantasy though. A passionate fantasy. When I look back at it today, I can remember almost nothing. It has all turned smoky, almost as if it had happened in a faraway place to somebody I don’t know. In fact, I might even be able to make myself believe that it had never happened at all, were it not for the potholes it has left for me on the road to Trust. I do often find myself analyzing those potholes and waiting for answers to pop out of them, even though I know that those answers will change nothing.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Waiting is a game. It comes packed with excitement, frustration, anticipation, joy, sorrow – every damn thing you look forward to in a sport. And hence, there have to be rules for the Waiting Game.

But I don’t know what they are, or whatever I do know are the wrong ones, for I have certainly always found myself at the losing end of the game… I seem to always start as the one who is waited for, and end as the one who waits. It makes me edgy if I know that someone I care for is WAITING for me. I almost look at it as a punishment to them, and can’t relax until I have ended it for them. And yet, season after season, I find myself serving the very punishment I hate.

There is something certainly wrong somewhere. Is it that I expect too much? Can you be happy if you don’t expect? Can you be human if you don’t expect? If expectation is the root of pain, is it not the source of happiness too? Must I know the rules of this game, to stop losing?

I want to stop Waiting… I’m tired of this game… And there are two ways for my being able to STOP the game… One of them is not in my hands, though… And the one that is, might be just as painful as the game. Yet… I’m sick and tired of this game.

Love... Actually

I am thankless when I get irritated on seeing Your SMS, just because I am waiting for someone else’s.
I am thankful that Your SMS asks, “Have you reached safely?”, and that Your life depends on the answer to that question.


I am thankless when I get angry if You ask me to switch off the computer since its light disturbs your sleep.
I am thankful for the innumerable nights You’ve spent awake just because I couldn’t sleep.


I am thankless every time I’m in awe of someone with a bigger house, a bigger car, or a bigger wardrobe.
I am thankful that when I need it the most, Your arms have the biggest hug to give me.


I am thankless when I label every little question of Yours unnecessary and extremely insignificant.
I am thankful that everyday, I come back to a home where Somebody eagerly waits to hear answers from me to little-little, unnecessary, insignificant questions.


I am thankless when I yell at You and tell You that You can’t stand up for me because You couldn’t tell someone my truth.
I am thankful that You not only faced and braved my truth, but have made it Your own truth too.


I am thankless every time I vent my entire day’s frustration on You, and hate You when You do that to me.
I am thankful that You rarely do the latter, and that You rarely miss doing the former.


I am thankless when I throw a fit and make Your life hell because I’ve had a break-up.
I am thankful that You will never ever break-up with me, that leaving me is not even the last option in Your life.


I am thankless to not remember often that even though You never say to me that You love me, there is nobody in the world who loves me as completely, as selflessly, and as unconditionally… as You.
Need I say what I am thankful for?


I am thankless to You on most days of my life.
I am thankful that I’m not, on this day.


I am thankless, I think, because I am not a Parent.
I am thankful, though, that I am and will always be Your child...

If... Then

“I love you”

“I love you too”

“And I want us to be committed now”

“So do I”

“Only, I have a few conditions”

“I have a condition too”

“Only one?”

“Only one”

“What is it?”

“That we will not lay down any conditions on our love”

~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~

“I love you”

“I love you too”

“And I want us to be committed now”

“I do too. But… don’t you have any conditions?”

“I love you unconditionally”

“But I have a condition”

“You do?”

“I do”

“What is it?”

“That you will never say that you love me UNCONDITIONALLY. Just say that you love me”

I met a Man...

He must be half my height!

Alright, exaggeration!
Correction: He must be a little more than half my height.
Age: No more than 23 years would be my guess.
A calm in his eyes turns his otherwise seemingly ordinary face into a captivating sight.
His bright orange shirt tends to make him look darker than he actually is.
And something about the whole air around him tends to make him (much) taller than he actually is.

As I sat alone at McDonald’s today, waiting for my friend R and his friend D, I thought there were a couple of pairs of eyes which kept screening me from time to time (for whatever reasons). That got confirmed when R & D entered, and I waved at R. The curious couples of pairs of eyes turned most apparently in their direction to know who the awaited was. And no sooner had they seen the 2 guys that their faces registered a most obvious expression of amusement.

I happen to be taller than R and D. They’re the kind of guys who have a boy-like quality about them as against man-like (this quality also includes as one of its facets, what they must be doing as they read this – Hating it!). And I’m the kind of girl who has a woman-like quality about her however much she might try to be girl-like. [Quick EFT: Even though I seem like a mature woman, I choose to feel like a young girl ;-)]

McDonald’s was apparently not the best of places for the kind of conversation I’d have liked to have with D. R, showing as much brightness as D’s orange shirt, pointed this out and consequently, drove us to a more peaceful and spacious place, albeit a bit far.

And so, in between crunchy bites of Aloo Tikki Chat and fishing for the Chilli Cauliflower in the pool of onion and tomato dressing, I got to catch small pieces from D’s rather unusual trip on his life journey. His story could actually be straight out of a movie, just that nobody would make that movie in India, for it would challenge every milligram of ‘our culture and sensibility’ right from ‘masses’ to ‘classes’.

The boyish D is a married man. His sweetheart of eight years is now his lawfully wedded wife. And their love seems nowhere near the fizzle-out phase. Their cell phones are their lifelines. And they, clearly, are each other’s lives.

The twist, however, is that D and his wife, even though they’re in the same city, don’t live together. Her family is not aware that she is married. His family is, but they couldn’t care less about anything to do with him anymore. He doesn’t live with them either.

Her family, when they had discovered about their relationship a few years ago, had been scandalized, and she had been barred from keeping in touch with him. They still live under a happy misconception that she has no contact with him whatsoever – he, who is actually now her husband.

6 days from now… they’re going to celebrate their first anniversary. D has been thinking the time to be ripe for the indispensable revelation to her family. I don’t notice a frown on his face as he says or thinks about it. However, I can feel deep burrows on my own forehead.

Aren’t you scared? – I ask him. There are countless instances of couples being made to go through hell for going against their family’s wishes. Sometimes even killed. (Touch wood). D’s is anyway such an unusual affair. Why can’t I see fear on his face? He brushes away the question as he bites into a cauliflower – “Whatever has to happen will happen. What’s the point in being scared? We’ll see what happens”.

At that instant, I ask myself – Is this guy a fool? Or is he too carefree? Shouldn’t he at least be scared for the girl he loves? What if some trouble falls upon her? I can’t stop myself from asking him this last question. And his expression changes instantly.

“Of course I worry for her. But then, is there an alternative except facing it? And if we have to do that anyway, what’s the point in being worried endlessly about it now? We’ll die when it’s written for us to die. And there’ll be no changing that”.

It is now that I notice his eyes. Besides the peace that pervades his entire persona, there is an unmistakable reflection in them of something that can only be – Courage. His whole story is that of courage. He hasn’t had it easy in life. A number countable on fingers, in the name of ‘family’; and that too, just for the name’s sake. Decades of being trapped, of being hopeless. Mountainous days still lying ahead of him. And despite all that (or maybe because of it), he is the bravest person sitting on this table right now.

Not only because it must have taken him an immense amount of strength to live for years and years in a body that was not even his own.
Not only because he would have had to endure countless days of being taunted and laughed at for being a tomboy.
Not only because he chose his own body last year with nobody in the world except his now-wife waiting for the news from the operation theatre.
Not only because he has the courage to take head-on whatever comes his way on this path of love, even though he might not have the physical strength for it.

But most above all, because he has fought with and won over the demons that lived inside him… something that most ordinary inhabitants of this planet struggle to do until their last breath.

I salute you, D. And even though I haven’t met her, I salute your wife.

My First... Visitor

May 10. He enters my life.
May 27. He becomes the first person to enter this space.

Orkut.
G-Talk.
Facebook.
Vodafone.
Gmail.
Blogger.

Checklist!
Male? Mmmm… Y.. y.. yes.
Caring? Yes.
Cute? Yes.
Rich? No.
Tall? NOOOOOO! (;_;)
Sense of humour? YES!!!
Confused? Who me or him?

5-6 “I like you”s in a day.
5-6 G-Talk hours in a day.
5-6 calls in a day.
1 fight in 20 days.
5-6 “Sorry”s in a day.

Trust Psychology issues.
Height Geometry issues.
Sociology issues.
Geography issues.
History issues.
Chemistry – no issues!

The fastest “I love you”.
Actually, “I think I’m falling in love with you”.
Without a single meeting.

Unreal!
Immature.
Foolish.
Nutcase.
INSANE!

Sweet.


P.S The fastest “We’re just friends”.
Status quo.

My Angel

I’ve been thinking of how to start writing this for over 3 days now. And as you can see, I opted for one of the most unimaginative openings. Well, I don’t write very often. In fact, my writer’s block is my closer buddy than my writing. But never earlier have I had to wait for so long to be able to get the first few words, never earlier have I felt so inadequate in writing about a subject, because… never earlier have I written about a perfect human being!

And mind it! That’s not a tall claim! Perfection has only one way to prove itself – that it should seem perfect each time you come across it. Time, place, mood, notwithstanding. If I calculate, my total number of meetings with this man would perhaps not be more than 5-6 – on an average, a meeting a month ever since our paths crossed the first time – and each time, I’ve found him to be more perfect than ever.

* * *

In Sep 2007, I received an email from a name I couldn’t quite place anywhere in my memory. Apparently, he was replying to my “Coming Out” mail – a mail that I had sent out to a 100-odd important people of my life, telling them who I really was, and expecting a miraculous acceptance from each one of them. [Reminds me: I must put that mail up here sometime…]

I got some 30-40 responses. The rest chose to remain quiet. This man, however, who was not even a recipient of the original email, had got to read it by a mere chance. Co-incidence! – One would think… But today, as I look back at that co-incidence, I can almost see Mr. God winking at me, and almost hear Him say – “Your angel was long due… Co-incidence is what?”

* * *

How else would you describe this? A little girl used to play with a littler boy in her village. The two were very fond of each other – almost brother and sister. But as the boy grew up, he went abroad to study, and as life would choose for it to be, they lost touch. This boy, after 3-4 decades, now writes to the daughter of that girl – the name of the daughter being ‘Monsoon’ – after having read a “Coming Out” email from her, which was not even meant for him!

Sumu, let’s call him! That’s a variant of the name he often gives to those characters in his stories which are or could be manifestations of his own self. By the way, he hates the name I’ve given to myself, and I’m afraid, if he ever reads this, he might hate the name I’ve given him too!

* * *

Sumu is a 53-year-old man – a writer by profession, and beautiful by countenance. I know, I know! You wouldn’t normally use that adjective for a man, but believe me, seeing him, ‘beautiful’ is what you’d want to say too. It’s a different matter, however, that beauty that lives beneath the skin often chooses to reflect outside.

I grew so fond of him in the first meeting itself that subconsciously, I started to look for similarities in the patterns of his and my life. His stories helped me in that analysis. He, like me, as a child, used to pray to God to let him die before his parents, for he wouldn’t be able to bear their departing. I, like him, had left home for education when I was 17 years 4 months old. We both had had our hearts broken (more by fate than by the ones we loved). Of course, his pain was many decades old, and mine, just half a decade.

Yet, looking at him today, I wonder if I would ever be able to be half as successful, as content with myself, and as positive a person, after having lived alone with such an intense heartache for 30-odd years! Sumu is an extraordinary person… And our similarities end here – for I’m too ordinary in comparison.

* * *

He lives with his octogenarian parents. A flourishing career possible anywhere from Delhi to Russia to the US behind him, he doesn’t once turn back to long for what could have been. Apparently, the choice between caring for his parents and an independent life of his own, for him, was no choice at all… His father, somewhere in the second stage of Alzheimer’s now, defines the axis of every subtle movement of his eyeballs. His mother, who is mirrored in the beauty of his entire persona, shares the deepest bond with him… a love that has no space for expression in day-to-day life, but that completely pervades the air around them and somehow, engulfs you into its cozy balmy embrace – as if here, you would always remain protected from the miseries of the world that lies beyond it.

From buying the weekly ration of vegetables to deciding the daily menu, from managing a newspaper office to writing for his own satisfaction, from being a delightful host to an excellent cook, from having countless friends in every corner of the world to being a friend to even his subordinates, from being a son that any parent would die to have to being my dear Sumu, I’m yet to discover a single flaw in this man that I’ve known almost on a daily basis for over six months now!

* * *

If there’s one thing that you think you could do for a stranger like me writing a strange blog like this one, I ask you to pray for Sumu. Please ask whichever God you believe in to send somebody really special in his life – somebody who would hold his precious heart and look after it for all times to come…

And you, Mr. Angel! Welcome to my life! You’re late!... But I guess, I was not worthy of having you before this anyway. Not that I think I am now… but alas! Now that you’re here, I’m afraid you’re pretty much stuck with me!!!

Interested!

"Your name is beautiful...", says the scrap on orkut, "and so are you!"

There is nothing new in that, except for the fact that the scrap doesn't accompany a Please-Make-Me-Your-Friend request. Hmmm... Let's wait for a day. He's bound to come up with it.

* * *

Two days have gone by. She has even sent back a "Thanks" to him, which is quite unlike herself. She has read his profile twelve times in these two days and seen all of his 10 pictures at least 5 times. He HAS replied to her - "Pleasure!", but no! No Please-Make-Me-Your-Friend request!

He's extremely handsome - tall, broad-shouldered, just-the-correct dark, stubbled, and eyes so perfectly soft in one picture and so teasingly sparkling in another. He's in the same city, single and well-off.

Her Relationship status finds no mention on her profile. Just a blank. The ambiguity of the real thing extended to the virtual world.

* * *

Another day has passed. She has stopped taking calls from a certain number, and her Relationship status on orkut reads "Single".

She has typed a very carefully worded Please-Make-Me-Your-Friend request. "I've never tried to make online friends before. But for once, I felt I could give it a try..." She checks it for spelling, grammar, language and dignity thrice. She presses the button 'Send'.

* * *

The next morning, broadband is not working at her place. Desperate, she goes to the cyber cafe.

Orkut is taking ages to open today.

Her phone has started ringing. It's the same certain number. She lets it ring like she has for 2 days now. A few seconds later, the other surfers have started screaming at her - "Shut the noise!", "Take the call, will you?" She is NOT going to take the call. The only option is to disconnect the call.

Orkut has opened.

"Hello", she says, on the phone.