21 Sep 2014

Three magical words

Rhea is working. Rhea is always working. I mutter to myself as she packs my lunch for today. One look at the clock and I slice through the heavy silence with the three magical words- I gotta go. Wordlessly, she puts the lunchbox in my bag and hands me the car keys. I grab the keys, the bag, kiss her goodbye and I'm out the door in record time. I try to better this record everyday. Jeez.. That house reeks of boredom. Perhaps my inattention towards my wife turned it that way, I ponder glumly. I stop outside a building and push my earlier thoughts away as I absorb the gorgeous view in front of me.

Sia is beautiful, warm and funny. She cares for me in not the motherly way that my wife has taken a liking to, but attending to my other pressing needs. The forbidden fruit tastes the sweetest.

I'm playing the good husband. Helping her with groceries, going shopping, watching movies, all because Rhea seems to be on the brink of depression. I still care for her, mind you. But i have made up my mind. This can't go further anymore. We'd divorce but only when she is able to take it. Now doesn't seem a good option.

Rhea is warming up to me again. Her cheerful self is back and her laughter rings in my ears long afterwards. She is eager to please me. Numerous cuts on her hands as a result of spending hours preparing exotic delicacies stand testimony to it. That's why I love her so much; she is willing to forgive me and has shown unwavering patience with me. Only she could laugh it away when I brought her a tacky necklace with pointed gems that was a tad bit too tight and it left marks on her neck. Maybe it was just a rough patch in our marriage. I'm having second thoughts about the earlier decision.

They are here, ready to free me from this suffocating life. As they take him away, he looks at me with his bewildered eyes and I give him the coldest stare of his life . It was about time I pull curtains to his good husband show . He really thought I couldn't see through his act, with his lipstick smeared shirts and his business trips on public holidays. Hah! That's the twist  in your life, my darling.

I admire the artwork on my body in the mirror; cuts, deep gashes, burnt skin and aah yes..the strangulation marks on my neck. That was a masterstroke. Six months of patience, planning and I find myself in front of them and uttering my three magical words - Act of Violence. 

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This post is a part of Write Over the Weekend, an initiative for Indian Bloggers by BlogAdda.

2 Mar 2014

Just married

With bated breath the entire hall and she, in all her white glory, looks lovingly at me,to hear the two golden words - I do.

Instead I remember the other woman in my life; how incessantly she would fuss over my skipped meals, how she mouthed I love you whilst I stood on podium addressing a hall full of luminaries, how drowsily she would wish me at exact midnight.

I blink back the tears furiously, remembering with vain nostalgia, that untouched food when I stayed out late, that mild plea to answer her calls and the silent concession; I never bothered.

As I stand at the altar, my heart is sobbing in her arms, grieving at his loss-his best friend.

I whisper the words coarsely, the hall erupts in thunderous applause and my heart sings :
my mother is my poem - Agha Shahid Ali.
                                             


This post is a part of Write Over the Weekend, an initiative for Indian Bloggers by BlogAdda.

22 Feb 2014

I wanted to ask her how the same thing could be so ugly and so glorious, and its words and stories so damning and brilliant.

Would it scare you away, if I asked questions, I doubt there is little you are afraid of. Would you allow me to whittle down the armour and tell me more? What does your brother say of this? I know he visits you often, in your nightmares and dilemmas. His gaping mouth and innocuous eyes are etched in my memory. I have so much to remember.

Why assign your mind to acknowledge your mother, and save your soul for father. Why love him still, when he left you morosely at home, alone with your nightmares and went to fought war. You made peace with your mother though. Was it when her scrunched silhouette hugged her husband's accordion in the dead of night?

I'm at loss of words. Words! Ah, your incongruous penchant for words! Why did you write to him, about him in a diary and not to him ín person. . Those dutiful words would've come to your rescue when you still had time. Alas! Too late. I have kept the diary safe with me, for years now

Did you see me that day? I saw you that day. I knelt by besides you. I watched it all when the skies rained fire and a lemon haired boy was kissed, repeatedly, told he was loved, always loved. The bomb hit lips won't move. The machinations of time and love moved me. Your best friend. Fourteen forever.

Ìt hurt me to take him away,so much life, so much energy. I'm chained to my infamy. But, yes, I have a heart. Even death has a heart.


I shall cling to his words for a long time

Words of Markus Zusak

14 Feb 2014

Finalmente

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Hola,internet!

My first attempt at blogging, this is.  At first it seems ironic that the maiden post of this blog is titled,   finalmente, final in Spanish.

well, this is because of my unsuccessful umpteen efforts to write something,  even as simple as a poem or as routinely as a diary. I don't know,  but I just ...  didn't,  until now.
mainly because of this unfounded but deep rooted fear of ridicule,  of scrutiny [ I am not THAT famous that I will be subject to scrutiny on that alarming level,  but what's unfounded anyway then],  of laying my thought process out in the open,  and being judged.  You get a sense of a person's nature by their writing.  and thus judged.  especially when it comes to acquaintances , oh so that's how  you felt the other day,  haww, is that what you think about me/him/her/Chris Brown/ sun/earth/insects..
You get the drift.
But if you never try, you never know crooned Coldplay.
 I may never know if I write well, even if I don't,  I might never improve. i may make great friends over here , for one thing I know that in today's world,  online friendship lasts longer than most of actual ones.  sadly
 So i just said YOLO! - and wrote this post.








Although,why creating this blog was a matter of life and death for me, is still a mystery. But nevertheless.
Also, since I am using the prediction text , I've noticed to go till to  ,  - yolo doesn't figure in it
SO wrong,  haven't they incorporated it into English already?

More about me now. 
I live in India. I like Andy Murray and Roger Federer. I like many other people with unpronounceable names too. About these two, i  like their personality, i have zero clue about tennis,but i like to stay updated on it just to sound cool. I like humorous people. I dont exactly know what my [very cliched] sense of humor  is, but I laugh on most of the jokes and bad jokes. If it is a good one, i'll be in splits but if it isnt , i still laugh on the notion that how bad can a joke get. Only that I dont tell the person, which one of 'em was the joke. Someday I would want to speak different languages Like Hrithik Roshan, in ZNMD does. So cool! But for now, I'm content with Google Translate these random phrases you'll see me using frequently.

I'm 20. That's just me saying, ZOMG! Where did I leave all those 19 years.
I love reading books. I have read a lot of books till now and gone through a lot of genres, each one a different one, compelling and a complete tear jerker, which was what I felt while reading Nicholas Sparks, JK Rowling and Twilight Series for most of those years.  


But then I grew tired of it and decide to google experiment . So now I'm trying these Holocaust books, survivor tales and real life stories. Apparently, they are the flavor of the season, so tells the NYT 

I'm lazy. I wish I could blame my genes for it.
 Mom's a workaholic. Work/sewing/cooking/cleaning come looking for her just like trouble eventually finds Harry Potter. If she calls us all for dinner, she'd be the last at the table because she is scrubbing the kitchen floor even if  she did that at supper+breakfast+lunch. If she is sitting with the family, she is picking up stray pieces of paper or dust from the carpet.
My dad,though , is self proclaimed lazy.  He sits hours and hours on his laptop.[ making presentations and studying case histories of his patients]. He wont come shopping with us. [ he utilizes that time to visit his mother, in who lives in the other end of town] . He wont drive my mom to work. [ For three whole months, he used to teach her how to drive and now she drives all by herself ]  
That, in no way is being lazy. That is being a good person.  
My siblings are, just like me, very lazy. Maybe we inherited this from each other, if that happens at all.

Apart from being lazy and reading books, i also study in college. Not that i hate it but i dont exactly love it either. I mean, i had this indian soaps and student of the year kinda impression of college, with wind in my hair, cute and enigmatic professors and legendary college rivalries. What i turned out to be was exactly like school. Many people, less friends. Lots of things going on, none interesting. Grades.Always about Grades

WE, students are not the only ones. 
So, this is my life. And my first post!
Lets make it worth the time. :D