You’ll find me.

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Must death always find its way to us?

A paper full of memories, I don’t want to kill it. 

Find me.

Look for me in the depths of the unknown,

In the hidden secrets of the soul.

In broken pieces and forgotten places.

I’ll be her.

The one clad in silk, or maybe in nothing.

The one living solitary, beneath the snow.

Who’s lover, he; din’t even know!

Find me in the dates of of this mortal world,

in the breath of your sweetheart.

In the reflection of that broken glass,

I’ll be the one.

Crying in the closet of your majestic wooden house.

In the aging of  the tree,

in the ruins of the world.

In khadi and silk,

woven not produced.

Touched, felt and embraced by a thousand!

I’ll linger in the haunting scents of your once present

I’ll be the one banging on the doors of your memory 

The leaf in the snow.

Not beautiful, no never! Alone.

Take me in now,

So when you touch, do you feel a thousand others more?

You don’t possess me, you never can.

I’m wild and free.

I’m pen and paper.

I’m written and unwritten

Told and forgotten.

His memory shall remember,

when his past shall haunt.

Don’t hide too far,

This is home, I am home.

Yet, you’ll chase me and forget me

and once again; remember me.

Centuries would pass.

What’s my struggle is your victory,

my love now your hate.

my present and your past.

It’s not a different world,

it’s the same.

When you embrace me, 

when you cut that tree,

when you’ll write that letter,

you’ll know me,

oh! I promise.

You’ll find me!

 

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Getting to the core- Neurotic Writers Diary- Page 5

images (2)They’ll wait for you patiently,

People however patient. It’s these small things, they hurt you.

You don’t have to be physically hurt  someone to make them feel detached, low and lost.

Love is a bridge, the one you have to build and trust it’s material. It’s authenticity.

The stronger, the finer and purer, more the love. But, does it end there? We wish it did.

Every one of us despite our ethics, our backgrounds, our religions and our principles are born to love.

We’re hungry for it. You in your very core know that.

We can hide it and never show it, but you can’t escape the fact.

To physically survive man needs food and shelter.

To emotionally survive, love is the only cure.

 

 Notes-  Getting to the core is another series of my writings, where the questions and answers of introspection are typed down. According to me, they are the most important part of being anything; introvert or an extrovert. To ask yourself questions, to ask yourself where you belong, your identity, you sanity. You don’t need to wait for the day when you’ve lost all that you had and you have to visit a psychiatrist  Because he/she does not have the answers; you do.  I hope these little notes of questions, and my neurotic diary continues to be read if not by you then by me. To remind myself, of me. 

Lego’s And Chocó’s – Motherhood with PCOD.

( This story is about a girl who was diagnosed with poly cystic ovarian disease (PCOD). She made her way through it and is now blessed with a son. 10% women fight this disease silently starting from teen age till 60. Spreading the message and acknowledging is the least men and woman can do, and those fighting it; ‘You can!’)

 

 

Unused fire places now replaced with electric heaters, pity, she thought. As she did, she stared at the perfectly carpeted floor with sprinkles of Chocó’s dropped by the 3-year-old that brightens her every morning with his dimples.

2 bedrooms were enough. Enough, for infinite love to reside, for growth to enhance, and to make a house, a home.

He coloured as a true artist would, he allotted one colour to every segment of his work. Action man’s and super heroes mostly.

“I’m hungry mama”; there he goes, his commandment for evening snacks, she smiled standing in the corner of her the hall. As she walked across the room, she wondered Chocó’s with cold milk or nutri-bar with Tropicana juice? He would point at either one.

Simplicity of food, thought, innocence and life.Lesser the choices, lesser the drama.

She watched him eat as he made way for a pile of Chocó’s in a large spoon into his still very tiny mouth.

“Chocó’s it is.”

The dim-lit room shines with his eyes and the monotony of the winter days fulfilled by his Lego’s. She looked at him, proud. Proud of his acts, his priceless beauty, his plum cheeks, mesmerizing eyes and subtle lips.

The fact, that he was growing every minute. That he was a part of her. It felt like just a day before that she had given birth to this little being, and today he was chewing on soggy Chocó’s.

The whole thing was magic to her; it fascinated her. She was, just happy.

She loved this, motherhood, womanhood. Life-hood? She wanted to take in everything life had to offer now that she was in the most beautiful city, Paris.

And with her, she wanted her little one to experience every bit of it too. To make him believe he was blessed, like she was. It’s wonderful isn’t it? Just having all of that you ever wanted?

She picked him up as he smiled through his father inherited dimples and bunny teeth. ‘Sleepy baby?’ she whispered to him seeing his eyes droop with sleep. He nodded.  ‘Just as I thought!’ There was something miraculous about being a mother, she knew everything!

She could smell the milk from his mouth, his baby powder, the slight hint of his father’s perfume. Being in the aura of that scent  was bliss for her.

She laid him in his blue coloured carriage and kissed him on his forehead.

7 p.m. she looked at the clock, she blushed.  6 years of marriage and yet, every day when he came back she would get butterflies in her stomach.

Perfect marriage?

She made her way downstairs; she could smell the fresh breeze as she wrapped her jacket tighter. ‘Lovely’.  She greeted the chef’s that made pizzas. Olives, tomatoes, chicken, the sauce, all put together for the perfect pizza.

As she walked, the baker she knew smiled at her through the large window of her shop. The baguette and croissants, in heart of Paris… What more could you want?

She walked in as the shop’s little bell tinkered.

“Bonjour mademoiselle”; the baker said with utmost joy.

“Bonjour madam”; She replied.

“Un, baguette?”(One baguette?)

“Oi” (sure/yes); said the baker handing her the crispiest baguette off the lot.

‘Mademoiselle’ (Used for an unmarried girl); I wonder why she calls me that even though she knows I’m a mother.

What she did not know was that her beautiful, fragile face hardly made her look old. She was simple, devoted, and innocent and filled with love. ‘Divine’.

‘5 months I’d guess.’ She said looking at a woman with a baby in her. Placing her hand on her own stomach, she was reminded of the struggles, the pain, and the lifelong medicines, all for one gift. The one gift she treasured, her only son.

She’d love to have another baby, a beautiful girl maybe, someone to play with her son, but she knew that would be a   dream.Having him was a miracle in its self.

She walked back, holding the paper covered baguette, she loved bread, but her diet restricted her. Sweets, soft drinks, rice all of it.

PCOD. The name had haunted her since she was 16.  Pills, embarrassment, comments, excess weight. Even her dating life had sucked.

She looked at the carriage; there he lay peaceful and asleep. She walked home happy and filled with gratitude for him and her son.

She lived each moment, surgeries and doctor’s appointment had taught her that. Her pregnancy was a complete risk, with PCOD, it’s hardly possible. She risked it and fought it because she wanted to give birth to someone as perfect as her husband.

As she made her way back, she saw her beloved. The one she loved, more than god. He stood by her day in and day out. Loved her unconditionally for her strengths and weaknesses.

Weakness.PCOD. The one she made her strength.

He smiled at her, ‘Ready with dinner?’ ‘Always’, she replied, looking at her husband, kissing ‘their’ son.

She loved the two men in her life;she loved PCOD for making her so strong.

P.S. This is a fictional story.Hope it becomes reality for the many fighting through.

 

Goodbye – A warfare of thoughts

The brilliant day set, as the sun slightly bent to say goodbye. It provided light, hope, energy and certain kind of happiness to them as they stood hand in hand. Awing at the moment, he looked into her eyes as dusk greeted them. It’s always been a precious time, for the lovers and loners.

As darkness begins to crawl upon faces, with only street lights whizzing across, the feeling of togetherness heightens.

She mentally captured the moment; she would have to live with it for quite awhile. She adored him, and he knew.  But when will she see him again? Only fate knew.

For her it was bliss, his arms comforted her, and she knew she was safe. His shoulder always welcomed her head, because it fitted so perfectly. ‘Meant to be’.  He stroked her face gently, he did that when he wanted just a little more of her, when he wanted to convince his heart that the beauty real and his, only his!  The thought overwhelmed him and delighted his soul, because he always knew her as his.

His phone rings “of course”; she thought. He made her happy, and everything was perfect, but you can’t ignore life’s facts and after so many years, she had eventually learnt that. A sudden feeling of sickness was rising in her chest and burning it, as her stomach hurt with jealousy. She wanted to pull away, because the thought of another girl being in those arms being stroked and kissed the way she was? Absolutely terrified her.

He must be telling her the same things! The thought disgusted her. There’s nothing she could do, she loved him and she wanted him, he did too. Somehow, he sensed the feeling, and pulled her closer. Then another thought occurred to her, she thought about the other men she’s been with. They’ve held her too, told similar things.

She was mentally cross with him, and two thoughts later she decided to forgive him. Crazy love, she thought.

She could feel his fingers on her waist, begging her not to leave. But she was so confused; she didn’t want to be carried away by his scent and his love even though her soul craved for her every minute he was away. She wanted to be independent but for him she wanted to bend down and let all go of all her sanity.

He ended the call, it was just a minute long and so much had changed. She smirked at her stupidity. Both their parents waited for them as they stood stealing a few hours from the years in which they got to be together. Life, alas!

He told her sweet perfect words that even her boyfriends had never told, things and dreams she imagined him saying, now he did. She held on to his shirt, just to make sure it was all real.

Only if they could just stand there, even though it was in the middle of the metro station. She looked up to him, seemed like years she had had a chance to look into his eyes. They were still looking at her with the same intensity of love, which surprised her.

They had to say goodbye, even though they both loathed it. For a few minutes, he told her things about keeping in touch, hopes of meeting again, about life, fate, dreams. All those things with which she lived,

Things that convinced her all this time, but at that moment she was numb and horrified. The thought of leaving him made her heart ache, all emotions just stuck together, cluttered and jumbled like apple earphones.  He told her he loved her. Did he?  Would she wait for him to return? For fate to bring them together despite everything?  The thought made her restless.

He bent down to gently touch her lips, but she was so numb she couldn’t respond. He whispered to her and pulled her closer, convinced her he would be back just for her. The thought amused her, as he kissed her slowly because he didn’t want her to be living with the fear of losing him.  Finally, she melted to the softness of his lips and hands and gave all of herself as they held on to each other kissing passionately.

Sorrow, pain, aching happiness, gratitude all of it rushed through at the same time. He kissed her forehead, but she knew she had to walk away. Even if that’s with slow dreading steps because if she stayed, she’d want him more.

Want him in every way…

Run to her, his mind shouted,

Turn back, her heart screamed.

Get back, just one more time!

None did, time was running. They parted ways, just like they did long ago.

Illogical Love That Never Seems To End.

A cold breeze passes by, showing its dominance on nature and me. Even my favorite red checkered polo shirt can’t seem to resist it. I’m strong I tell myself , this wind is pleasant I say and there you are standing so close to me and yet so far away as I my teeth chatter and feet swing  in restlessness.

You and you’re mocking smiles. I’m so cold and yet your smile sends rushes of heat through me.

What you think and what I imagine are so very different. I’m wishing you would hold me with those hands made to perfection, but you just hope I go inside and get some heat.

I’m so bold so independent, or so I think. I can beat up a person in seconds I believe, but in front of you?

I realize how tiny I am, how fragile and how careless.

The breeze blows harder, I curse it for making me so helpless and silently I thank it for he may give me his warmth.

So naïve, so illogical!

But he? So right, so logical, so true.  How foolish I feel in his presence. “In your dreams”; I whisper to myself, I know it’s not right. But that’s who I am with him.

As though a beggar asking for money, with gleams of hope shining through his eyes. I ask myself, “When did I become this?” That’s what he calls dependence, as I stare at his face.

The breeze, now suddenly a magical element of goodness brings with it chilly drops of drizzle along.

 Rain! I want to scream!

I know he’s smiling now, it always rains! It’s my best friend because it comes along and reminds us of the all the meetings we ever had.

Wishes, dreams, fantasy is my world. Reality, logic, thrill is his.

I want to dance and smile ,laugh and cry ! I want to feel rain wet my curls and spread its scent, hoping he’ll remember how much he cherished admiring them. How rain made him think of miracles of life,  he hardly believed in. How the scent of my perfume and hair made him happy, how I once made him smile..

Just then I feel his arms embrace me, always been my savior! Both know it is oh so wrong. So many mixed feelings jumble up in my mind and I can’t decide how within  seconds my perceptions have dramatically changed. How in a minute I can fall for him and never realize how my heart converts “This is not right” to “This is perfect”.

It isn’t.. He still stands straight and numb; I know a thousand thoughts cross his mind. I want to pull away.

The irony!

Now its summer, the wind still blows but it doesn’t send shivers down my spine instead disgusts me with its heat.

I wait, for you to come around again, so it’ll rain

Let’s see what’s in store for us this time.

When curls come alive !

My hair is  just like me,

It wants to live and be free!

It starts out ordinary,

then curls around where it feels merry.

It plays its own theme song

and grows however long!

But there’s no place for things like these

You have to dress, to please!

Every occassion demands a mask.

To school,it goes braided

So in the mosaic it can be easily faded

To a party, it must maintain decency

so we have serum to change its frequency.

To suit the environment

It must confine its rather beautiful scent.

But there’s always once place

on the corner of its terrace.

Where it can be,

where it finds its self simply free.!

where humming music lingers,

and shadow of trees dance,

it makes its own way ,

curls around at every chance.

Because in this silent place,

where there is no one to judge,

no feelings that urge.

No formalities to complete,

the wind blows casually..

Whispers to my hair, time to get a little silly!

No hairbands,

no blow drying strands,

No clips,

no artificial smiles and tips.

Just craziness abound,

My dear, curl around!Image