The Funeral

And maybe I ‘ll walk around, and huddle in a corner of the street 

because there is nothing to go home to

And maybe I’ll speak at length to strangers, hear them talk about what love and life means to them

because I am not sure what it means to me anymore after you

And maybe I will book a one way ticket and get away from the dustorm of late monday nights and early tuesday mornings 

Because ‘we’ may be dead in the real world but we live on in between my nights and mornings

And maybe.. just maybe I will keep my phone on, just incase you call. Just incase you call me to tell me there is something to come home to.

Intention Vs Action

... and the worst part is that we do not suffer the repurcussions of out good intentions. We suffer the consequences of our actions. The ones we took. And the ones we never did.

When Silence is an Enemy

But you already knew that the dark doesn't make the bruises disappear.

It just makes them harder to see.

Just like you knew already, that the silence doesn't make everything right again.

it just makes it easier to not say anything else.

No. This is what is really important.

Everyday.


The world nudges me , sometimes subtly, while in others, grabs me and drags me by my hand, screaming in my ear- This is important! That is what you need to work on!This is urgent! What the f*** are you doing? THAT is what you need to worry about! And then this too!And that too!

And everyday,


I make the choice of whether I want to be lead by it or jerk my hand away, place it on my heart and say No. This is what is really important.

Perspective

And as I stepped off the metro today in an unplanned early return to my country, feeling limited by my passport and small due to the events of the last few days, I headed home. My head hurt, my heart ached, and I was dizzy with a mixture of skewed and screwed up emotions involving a sad kind of happy and a happy kind of sad. As per my usual returning-home routine, I popped into my regular local grocery store for a quick Cola stash and ran into Rajesh, the ever smiling delivery boy who is also probably the only person who has been privy to exactly how far my cola fetish has progressed (read : regressed) over the last few years.

With a sad smile, he asked about my travels and joked about my frequent acts of disappearances from the city. He was clearly perturbed and I was honestly in no mood of listening, but having been on the other side of a communication firewall wall since the last 72 hours, I asked him what was wrong. 

Sad Rajesh urgently recounted tales from his impoverished rural village in Haryana of a scandal involving a boy and his sister-in-law, both underage, who were in love and ran away. A friend of theirs promised to lend enough money to get them to the nearest city—either Calcutta or Delhi—to find any work. But something went wrong at the decisive moment. As they left the village for their new world, the friend had no money to spare. So the young couple, chastened, doomed, had no choice but to return. They were separated on arrival and beaten mercilessly for their transgression, and their families were each ordered, by the village council, to pay a hefty fine, compensation for the lost honour. I asked him how much money they needed in order to start their new life: It was nothing more than twenty American dollars. Rs 1300 INR. 

After considerable persuasion,I handed him the money and we both laughed about me adding a cola tab for him so he could reduce alcohol but retain the detrimental effects and effectively save more money for such life altering situations.. 

I  walked back home, ruminating in silence at the things I had lost and gained. My glass was not half full nor half empty, it was twice as big as it needed to be. 

The Conundrum.

Sometimes, the answer to the question, “What’s the worst that could happen?”

Is both, “Seeing them again,” and “Never seeing them ever again.”

My Immortal

You are gone

but thank you for all the soft and sweet things you have left behind

...in thier homes

... in thier mind

... in thier heart

The word for your passing on into another world is not death.

It is this.

Immortalised.