Patterns

Have you spent evenings that turned to nights and then days where all you could do was read meaningless internet articles to feel some semblance of relatability to the rest of world? Have you ever felt hollow emptiness when the words blurred screen flickered into darkness like your eyelids because exhaustion made them too heavy?

It's been close to four months since I last wrote something. And even though the words have been creating a prickling itch in my palms for the last couple of weeks, I've just run away from this ultimate form of confrontation with myself because I hate confrontation with the people I care about. I care about myself. I care about the people I love. So I run, I run from them and I run from myself, I bottle it up and I seek refuge in animation films that I've already watched. I seek fleeting comfort in a listicle which will make a point that I temporarily relate to. 

Patterns. They are everywhere. Maybe they had always been there, and it is now that I have begun to notice them. Patterns in the people I choose to keep close, patterns in the people who hurt me, and how they hurt me, patterns in my coping mechanisms, patterns in relationships and how they turn out that I wish didn't exist - but they do. 

Someone told me it was karma, because it seemed too much of a coincidence that people in my life had such similar life stories. Someone said it was the cultural baggage we come from. We will all have these back stories, these disagreements with our parents, these scarring experiences by the time we are in our mid-twenties. That's why we relate. Someone said, "It's just your luck. Accept it."

Have you ever, solitude-lover, felt afraid to unlock your bedroom and step out alone because you felt crushing loneliness on the inside? Have you realized how unfair it is to make one person your rock and put the entire weight of your expectations on their human shoulders, because the sets of shoulders that shared those burdens dwindled one by one? 

Have you felt an alienation so deep that you want to crawl out of your skin and reverse the life events that led to this moment? Have you ever wanted to reverse every single memory you hold close because right at this minute you couldn't give a rat's ass about all those people who made it so special because you don't seem special enough to them right now? Are they fucking blind? Or are you expecting too much? Have you tried distracting yourself with work and failed miserably? Has the vast music collection you pride yourself on failed you too because all those thumping beats and lilting melodies made you feel nothing?

Distractions. That is what it has come down to. Lame, sad, pathetic distractions. Browsing hours, reading screens and choking about woes of 90 minute lives of cartoon characters because they seem so much nicer than their real life counterparts. Exposition-conflict-resolution. Simple. A happy ending. Box after box of tissues which reek of deja vu even though there's no such tragedy seems to have struck. Get some half-hearted work done, because hey you're too cowardly to say "fuck you" to those goddamn deadlines.

And guess what? That's a pattern too. 

Dear future dog

Dear future dog,

I know this will mean nothing to you because you will not be able to read this. Humans haven't quite figured out a way to communicate in the same language as you, which is a shame; otherwise I swear I would have translated this to you. But I promise you that the fact that we speak different tongues will never make you feel like I don't understand you. I know it will be difficult initially but trust me, we will figure out a way eventually. 

I am 21 years old as I write this and will soon turn 22. I have been very confused as a person about what I want to do in life and what I want to be but there is one thing I have been sure of for years now - you. I know love is not enough as much as we'd want it to be. So I am just waiting for the time when I have enough space, finances and time in my life to give you the best care that I can.

Now see, I know you are going to give me sleepless nights sometimes. I know you will have mood swings too. I know we will antagonize each other plenty in the time that we are together. I don't expect our relationship to be a bed of roses or a happy box of treats because it will be as real as any other relationship. I know being with you will be like having a child and though I will be much older than you when we are together, we will grow together, I promise.

You know there have been so many times I have thought of you, thought of who you will be and what quirks and pet peeves you will have. I have had so many conversations with... um, I guess they'll be your ancestors? Cause, well, you aren't born yet. So yeah, I have had so many conversations with your ancestors in the two decades of my life I have seen so far. And so, I promise you language will never be a barrier between us. I will tell you all about my day and you can tell me how much you've missed me (or not missed me). I swear I won't push you away if you lick my face. I know it's your way of expressing yourself and I think it's beautiful. 

You know I hate waking up early in the morning. So far, my family, my friends and so many others have tried to inspire me to change that part of my lifestyle. They have failed. MISERABLY. I think I know why. Perhaps, you are meant to change that about me, because I know we will go for lots of walks together. I promise you will not be a mere plaything, a sad source of entertainment. I will walk with you, talk with you and cuddle with you too. Oooh and, we will watch films together. I swear I will hug you every time you get jumpy because of a scene in the film. I won't stop you when you run around barking and chasing your tail when you're excited. Well, unless you are about to knock something down. And I will treat you with your favourite food every birthday of yours. Unless you're allergic to it. Then we will figure out something else. But we will celebrate your birthdays with new toys and games and food and quality time. I promise.

There will be times when I may be gone but I will never leave you in untrustworthy hands. And I will always come back to you. I promise I will give you as much as you give me, if not more. You will have a friend in me, not a mistress. We will have our own little private jokes and tricks. I will let you be naughty and I will scold you when you are too naughty. I know you will let me know when I am not doing my bit too. You will never be in want of love and attention as long as I am there. 

We will grow together. I would watch you become who you grow up to be. We will understand what we need from one another and when.  I will never, ever put you in harm's way. And I know we will take care of one another, in our own little ways. 

You may fall sick sometimes and so will I. But I will NEVER abandon you, no matter how difficult it gets. You could have patchy fur, or be half-blind, three-legged or injured (although I hope you are not, for your own sake, not mine) - I will be there with you till the very end, no matter how much it hurts. I could move across seven oceans, I could be broke for food or money - but I will never let you go. 

You see, I will not see you as an animal. You will never be my 'pet'. You will not just be my companion.  Blood isn't the only thing that forms bonds, you know. You will be my family. And I will be your constant, ALWAYS.

PS. You may have had a difficult life when I meet you. You may have had to fight for every morsel and you may have watched your brothers and sisters die, or may have fought them to establish yourself in the dog eat dog world that would have been your home. You will probably have a darkness within you that stems from the apathy and cruelty meted out to you by creatures that I wish had half as much love as your kind do. You will probably have wariness etched too deep in your scars. But that's okay. I won't judge you and I will love you and all of your scars anyway, with all of my heart and more.

Love,

Your future friend

A different kind of chaos

You fluttered in like breeze and I felt you - through the strands of my hair and the gaps between my fingers. Ironically, the reason you stood out to me was how I was always aware of your presence without really sitting up and taking notice. I don't quite know how you managed that. Was it the infectious calm you exuded? Was it the unbelievable and infinite amount of patience you seemed to possess? Or was it just your aura? I can't put my finger on it.

Everything was still in place. You see, about a year ago, I had a plan. It was not one of those plans that we make every thirty-first of December and forget after the hangover the next morning. It was a serious plan with experiential roots. I was so sure I was going to see it through because I actually happened to like the routine it induced for once in my life. I still did not know what I wanted but I had a much clearer idea about what I did NOT want to do. My plan was rock solid.

Then my rock solid plan turned into a house of cards. And a breeze is enough to make it tumble; you don't really need the wind. As all my carefully arranged spades and hearts cascaded around me, I finally sat up and took notice. Still, I told myself, "You know what, I can make room for this. Everything is still going to be organized, just realigned." And so it was... for a while.

You know how triggers hide in the most inconsequential places? You can rid yourself of all the mirrors in the house, but your reflection could still find you in a clear dew drop on a chilly day. On a certain late evening, on an unexpected detour, circumstances were assigned and aligned and the trigger was pulled. With a silent shot, the last of the mirage that was my plan lay there in smithereens along with my denial. You had stirred up a storm and I was swept right off my feet.

Caught in the tornado, I had to confront the chaos that had crept (not swept) into my life. Words seemed to teeter at the edge of my tongue, refusing to form into speech. Heart beat fast, knees gone weak, thoughts caught in a web of my own confusion. I stood there - shocked and dumbfounded. You, you spoke your mind and my own was in a mess. 

But you know what? There was something about standing amidst all that wreckage that gave me hope. Hope, that I had told myself was gone from my life for a long time. Hope, that I had made myself believe I did not need. And here it was, shining at me through the eye of the storm, enveloping me in its warm glow.

It wasn't some divine intervention or an epiphany. It was you. 

You were the breeze, you were the storm, you broke my plans but most of all, you made the chaos seem okay. You grew on my skin like a vine and made me burst into colors I could only imagine. My waves were choppy and you were unwavering. You were the anchor that kept me grounded. Your essence painted me in hues that made mine come alive.

So, if you think I am going to tell you that you made it all fall into place, that it all makes sense now - you are wrong. 

You are my chaos. My world doesn't revolve around you but if you let go, it will cease to revolve. I don't need you around all the time, but your prolonged absence gives me a constant ache. You give me so much hope that I am afraid it will break me. You are not my everything, but everything seems so much brighter with you. My life won't stop without you. My heart will not stop beating. But walk away and it will merely go on. 

If this is not chaos, then I don't know what is. And you know what? You can wreck as many of my card houses as you want because I will build as many more with you. 

Dear Me

Dear Me,

It has been a while since your handwriting left ink on one part of me and impressions everywhere. It has been a while since I knew your happiest high, your most letting down low. It has been some time since you came to me, rushing through my pages like you couldn't wait to confide in me.

Covered in dust, I still see you. I see you when you smile when you don't want to and when it splits your face in two and your eyes sparkle. I see when your eyebrows tense in confusion because you cannot decipher your own mood. I see that negligible dimple form on your chin when you're so angry that you want to cry but you try not to laugh because you remembered something funny.

I see your hands when they start to approach me and then how your fingers slowly curl into your palm when you stop midway. I know you fear that you won't be able to write beautifully, convincingly, coherently. And I see the myriad of expressions on your face as they dissolve into one another while you muddle over all of this.

Have you forgotten, that I never judged you? Not when you told me that you didn't know where you were going, not when you told me you were afraid of being hurt but you couldn't help it, not when you told me that you felt like your heart kept running in circles. Never. I know how your heart ticks erratically, how your emotions play hide and seek and how your mind runs away your imagination. I know how you tell no one that your dearest dreams are those of love because you want to be seen as strong, fearless, independent.

I remember how you filled my pages without fear of judgment. I know how you childishly, religiously used different colors according to how you felt about what you wrote. You wrote in riddles so no one would know, but me. I remember how you trusted me with your quirks and hints, how for granted you took me and how I still love that.

As I lay a little dusty and unmoving yet constantly hopeful that you will remember how it was to write for yourself. I will wait for the day when you pick me up again and when your pen will not be poised, waiting to "presentable" words to come; like it is so often when you write for everything else. I will wait for the time when you find your way back to me, when you remember again that it is okay to be confused, erratic and flawed... and that it's beautiful.

Till then, I'm always here for you.

Yours,
Diary

And though the sand may be washed by the sea
And the old will be lost in the new
Well four will not wait for three
For three never waited for two
And though you will not wait for me
I'll wait for you
I'll wait for you
And I'll wait for you

- Patient Love, Passenger

Unconditionally

He came and then he left. She found a way to live without him, to smile without him, to move forward without him - she had to and she did. She didn't resent it. She didn't resent him. She didn't resent life. She never resented love. Yet, she thought of him every single day. Not in an incessant, saddening way; but like when you're so engrossed in something that you don't blink, but then you do. Simply because it is intrinsic. Natural.

She smiled to herself when she saw parts of him in others. It became a part of her which she had initially fought, wrestled, tried to uproot from within herself and then when it always came back to her, she made her peace with it. Sometimes, when the longing she kept so strictly leashed crept on her heart, her let her pillow absorb her tears. And then, she went on with her life.

She kept him close, but stayed afar from him. She missed their conversations - honest, silly and beautiful - but she never really talked to him the few times they actually made contact. They remained distant friends so to say, knowing somewhere that they each held a special place in the other's life. She knew that he was much more dear to her even in his absence than she was to him. She never spoke of it and time passed. Life wasn't bad.

Yet, she always thought of her life in two parts - Before Him and After Him. The time In Between was now a montage she had framed in her mind and preserved in her heart - a lifetime in itself. She would look through these frames, hands pressed against the glass, wanting to touch those memories, wondering what could have been; yet scared of disturbing them, lest she forget one tiny detail. Years past, her mind let not a speck of dust settle on them, their beauty intact.

It wasn't like she stayed lonesome or melancholy; she even loved again. But not the same way, never the same way. Her eyes grew blurry but her vision would always revisit those places. She spoke of him and to him, now and then. Conversations that were sometimes frustratingly empty, but she wanted to keep them going while they lasted. She wasn't unfaithful, no. She was just wanted to know anything she could about him.

You see, she had realized that what she kept so pristine in her heart was a mere memory. She loved, even worshiped that memory, but she realized he wasn't real in them anymore. Endlessly she would try to bridge the gap, seeking any tiny part of him that he or someone who knew him would give away in a careless sentence. She would grasp at every word, to discover some part of him that was real and new, and treasure it. She would try to balance it on her recollections of him to make the person in them seem closer to the one in reality, despite knowing he wasn't even close to their memories.

Until one day.

She dreamed of him, just like so many other times. But this time, a tiny little nudge came from within one of those dark recesses of her heart and she told him about her dream. It was nothing special, really. He was just there in it. Looking up his number, she was strangely calm as she typed out the message.

When he responded, they had their first real conversation in years. Maybe it was because he was at vulnerable place in his life, or because she realized at that moment, on that day, that her love for him was unconditional. She did not need to be with him, to kiss him, to touch him. She did not need for him to be in love with her. She realized that the time 'In Between' and even after it - time she had spend needing and wanting him - she was not chained to feeling that way. Her love for him now grew from her flesh and blood self to something unbound by time and spaces, weightless and free of expectation.

In that realization, she wrote, "I missed you." It was not an act of need this time. It was not even a sentence that could encompass everything she had felt for him, all these years she had spent wishing, hoping wondering, nor her parching thirst to hear his name, seeking any quirks of his that would make her thoughts of him closer to his physical, living, breathing, beautiful self. Yet, it was all she felt. After a long time, she acknowledged tides of familiar emotion break against her rapidly beating heart. The pillow lay there barren while her tears found their way to the dainty curve of her smile.

She was unafraid of losing what little she had grasped of him for the first time, maybe because she realized she did not need to want him. What she felt for him was not bound by anything anymore. It was powerful, free and endless.

She put aside her phone. Taking off her glasses, she sighed. As that gush of breath escaped her mouth, she felt herself getting light headed. Giving in, she fell back and her head hit the pillow. As her eyes closed, her smile was slight and serene. The waves of emotion were still crashing against her heart, and she felt the welcome pain in her chest. She had let go and it consumed her. Slowly, like vines around a tree, it closed around her like a beautiful coffin.

As she lay there with a smile on her face and her love set far and free, she was at peace. Unconditionally.

Home, wanted

It was food that touched my tongue and my eyes that responded. 

Daal Baati Choorma for dinner in the mess. As close to home as I could get.

It is amazing how the tiniest thing can inspire the strongest of the emotions; how it can unlock a surge of memories, tastes, smells and touches. And how disconnected and accidental tastes, smell and touches transport you into visions that transcend the boundaries of physical distance. It's funny how superficial physical proximity is that way, and yet it is so essential, so capturing.

We spend our entire lives trying to make homes out of places and then out of people; trying to see where we belong - culturally, intellectually, emotionally, habitually, spiritually. More often than not, these 'homes' don't even overlap. We hold the ends all these threads, trying to keep ourselves from coming apart at the seams. 

These threads - lifelines - they have a mind of their own, don't they? They keep us sane, being there so solidly until one day, suddenly, they are gone. And we are left grasping wisps that they leave behind. Some are lucky enough to find some that hold on to that one thing, that one lifeline that lasts them a lifetime - in physicality or in memory. For some, neither is enough. 

We lose our bearings for some time, but then, we keep some, we lose some, we find some. It goes on. We are always moving anyway aren't we? We don't stop. Moments become crystallized in memory, but we don't stop. Even if we tried to, we could not stop because life goes on. It is merely comfortable to think if such and such thing happens, my life will end. It never does. Cruelly, brutally, beautifully, indifferently, it goes on. We are left to play catch up. And if we don't, time takes its toll. 

Home is where the heart lies, they say. For some of us, the heart lies at the one place we call home. But then, as we go places, meet people, we make little homes in them, as they do in us. Conversations, touches, kisses, laughter, gestures or just a look shared for the briefest second - our hearts become home to so many loves, lives and moments. We paint a picture of 'home' in the very same hearts and keep it there while it yearns for the past, present and future. 

We meander our way through life making homes, breaking homes and missing homes. We are all changing a little bit with everyone who we touch who is trying to do the same. We are all connected that way - so superficially, invisibly and yet, so deeply. In the end, aren't we all trying to stand out and still trying to belong?

Because sometimes, I find myself craving for a cushion that makes me forget, even if it is momentary, how much I have grown up.

In Transit

You took my hand and led me to a place that no one knew but you. You let me make it my own. We saw the sky turn red, then grey and then we saw it get inked with reflections of lights that twinkled in the dark. We saw silhouettes of hills and try to demystify the secrets they held. Amidst blinking city lights, chilling wind and goosebumps, we laughed, we sang and then descended into a comfortable and comforting silence.  

How do you make sense of a state of mind which is in a state of recovery and rediscovery? 

A mind that is constantly in a sense of awe at the plethora of novelty that it is opening to, yet struggling to step out of a mold that it has been used to for an eternity in terms of numbers but only a few pages of life in terms of how it feels now? 

Blacks and whites are two ends of a spectrum but ones that hardly exist in life. Shades of grey are what color most of reality.

Memories find their way back to your vision at the most unexpected of times; but they feel alien - like they happened to someone else. Why? Maybe because she seems like a different person to you in hindsight. To her, you are a different person too. What changed so much and so quickly? Maybe the place, maybe the people, maybe the time. Definitely, you.

"Try and try till you succeed," they said. They never told you where to stop. And then, you tried life and it tried you. Did you lose yourself along the way? Or were you just in the process of finding yourself again?

To put it into words is a struggle in itself because so is making up your mind about it. "IT"? This whole journey from there to here and from here to so many other places and then back - each time adding some and taking some. 

Wearing, tearing, cutting, bending, breaking and molding all of all of your mind. 

Little by little, bits and parts of it everyday, making you question everything.

Covering, uncovering and recovering layers of things unknown, little known and known. 

Are we not always in some transition? Maybe sometimes more than others; like when big changes happen, or when little things change life in big ways. Somehow, we are always searching for something - love, hope, closure, excitement, satisfaction, ecstasy... always wanting, always something. 

And then, why not? Is life not too short to not keep striving for more? Is there not such little time and so much to experience? Are our hearts not too small to love the infinite number of things there are to love? Are our bodies not too superficial to feel the true warmth of a smile, the blissful comfort of a hug, the intense intimacy of touch, the innocent sight of a playful puppy and the tinkling sound of heartfelt laughter? 

But then, how much can you absorb at once, at a given point in time, in a lifetime? Will it not take a toll - this endless struggle for more, to know more, learn more and not go insane? Maybe that is why we shut our hearts and minds to certain pasts and presents and then we have certain futures, some of which we refuse to imagine but which happen anyway. 

Somewhere in all this madness and swirling thoughts in an overactive mind, there are moments of blissful peace, when we fall in love with all the chaos, where we somehow find music in noise, where we learn to see beauty in the jumble of hues that color our visions. 

Maybe that is the beauty of being in transit, because ultimately, is it not just a journey?