Tuesday, May 22, 2012

Shiver

I had a dream I stood beneath an Orange Sky : Alexi Murdoch Now there's no room for negotiation and none for personally viable imagery. There's neither scope nor time for settlements. What you have now is what you'll hold forever and I wish I could say that you were a part of my scavenged dossier but I've sifted and even hunted in my last few bargained hours, but I found nothing. It's like you never existed. Just as well. 


Give me a lie, and I'll live it. Give me a robe and a fancy hat, and I'll don it. Give me a piece of paper and blood instead of ink, and I'll scribe it. Give me frivolity and I'll find a way to conjure short-lived beauty, peace and purity. Give me a pounding heart, and I'll pretend like I never heard it. 

 

This is us, old with no recourse to the past. What we have now is all we'll ever have. If you look at it through many rose tints you'd find it perfect and that's the best way to look at it. But if you dare lighten the shades... 

 

You find one place that you hope will let you forget and forgive and forgo. But if you carry all your baggage on your arm, up-sliding into your heart, seeping into your nervous system, and igniting dangerous cells, you can't expect even paradise to set you free. I've seen heaven and I've seen hell and I've seen them simultaneously. The worst part of not having a time lag between witnessing the two, is finding each equally mesmerizing and tempting. The two feelings rendering you unfit for either. When you get sucked into a roller-coaster ride of promise and hope and dejection and failure, you start enjoying the feeling of each. The loss that comes after the highs and the euphoria after the lows. 

 

All you had to do was ask. But you wouldn't. All I had to do was tell you. But I didn't. All that ever needed to be done, was untying the cruel knots that fate decided to put in the ropes that at some point would tow us back to each other. Maybe they're still not bad enough. Maybe 10 years later. Maybe not. I hate not knowing. But knowing would make me God. 


 

You're not mine. But I'm yours. And if that's not cruel, what is?

Sunday, May 13, 2012

Across The Universe

 

What if the world really were to collapse this year? All our lives, simultaneously, cease to exist? Our death anniversaries, coincide? Would you be satisfied with what you've woven into the world thus far? Of course, to achieve that would be ideal and therefore, utterly impossible, but do you think you could leave things as they are? Or shift your gear to number five and finish all that you think you were meant to do? My questions are a way of delaying the answers I don't have. Whether or not this debate of 2012 being the year of our doom gets resolved (I have a feeling we will be in 2013 by the time it does), aren't we always advised to live each day as if it were our last? Realistically, keeping a provision for contingencies such as bad hair days, mood swings and PMS, why don't we instead try living this year as if it were our last?


Through a roller-coaster-cum-maze my life has been in just (wait for it) two decades of its completion, I think I'd like to pick my last year as one that (I know you're expecting peaceful and saint-like) is the scariest and most unexpected ride of my life! Because what fun would it be otherwise? I've spent afternoons in dingy, musk-smelling bars with anticipation of where the evening will take us. In alleys trying to distinguish our breath from the smoke. In comfortable hand-me-downs, with an excuse of a winter, relishing warm tastes. In yellow-blacks, entangled beyond comprehension. In the lives and minds of others because nobody has left anyone a choice anymore. 


In Ford Fiestas. In a place that tries excusing itself by adopting a happy name but that doesn't rule out the memories it gave me that make me cringe, even today. Taking a full year break and then coming back to a life I always used to know. To people I love (even though some of them I don't like very much, but I still love). To the horrible, horrible, horrible inevitability of growing-up. To prospects of magnanimous success or stupendous failure, both equally exciting and fear invoking. To finding love, losing love, and then not knowing what love really is.


But I do. You have to be selfish even when it comes to one of the most selfless concepts in the world. It can be love if it's one-sided, but it cannot be ego. It can be love if the balance is tipped to a 70:30, but it cannot be self-esteem. It can be love if you give all he asks for and never the other way around, but it cannot be healthy. It can be love if you've roughed all his troughs but never been the one he looked for during the crests, but it cannot be friendship. When you realize what you're worth is really a lot more than that, and when the realization hits you if there's even ONE person by your side to tell you that you're doing the right thing and that you're going to make it, you're going to make it. And here I am.


Something changed in me the night of the beautiful lights, an open sky, the grains of sand that I could feel, each and every one of them as distinct as if they were many times their real size, and the unconditional love that was coming to me from all directions and the love that was emanating from me. The night we welcomed the new year in Paradise. All this while we'd been labeling the feeling as ecstasy, when what it really was, was not a feeling, it was a state. A state of contentment. And of security. I had my backbone that night, and my eyes. But when I thought about it a little more, a few kilometers away, I just as well had my mind, left-hand, right hand, my two feet and heart, safe and sound. And I wasn't apologetic about any of them.


Take these away and you'd think I'd be rendered inconsequential. But my soul is unique, and mine alone, and when the world (or the world as I know it) ends, it will know what to do, it will know who to tell, it will know what to tell, somehow it'll know. So I have a picture in my head where boy meets girl, boy kisses girl, and the world could happily end at that very moment, because it's the simplest and sweetest kiss in the world... And sometimes that's all you need.


This is late, but do have the happiest new year. :)

Tuesday, May 1, 2012

Why? Because I Love You.

He probed. She was unsure. But eventually yielded. "I love you. You're beautiful." She wont say it back. No, scratch that. She can't say it back. Carefully, very carefully, he tries all he can. Take two. One small push and she's all his. Moving in perfect synchronization of body, of life. How does she say it? Without him getting scared and backing off? Her mind screams, "I love you! And I've loved you all this while." But her mouth stays locked in his. 


The words lost in the heat of the moment. Drowned in passion. "Relax," he says, sensing the urgency and the tenseness in her back. She lets out a soft moan, as his hands move down, easing out all her apprehensions. They shift. The kisses are different. His more tearing. Hers, softer. Her hand caressing his face. Obvious love. "It's funny how it never felt like this when we were together." "Because when we were together, I was playing my part. The caring boyfriend one." Muffled gasps. Sharp pain. "So that was all an act?" Long drawn sigh. "Not really. I meant it when I was in it. It's just too taxing for a guy like me." 


Unshed tears, distracted by tethering his body, embedding her nails in his arched back. Teeth gnawing supple skin. Red. Color of hurt. Color of passion. Of love. She strokes his forehead as he slowly moves her hair out of her face to get a closer look. He doesn't call her beautiful. Something stops him. At the very edge. But she wants to know. Lazy exhaustion. Slower kisses. Wild submission. Acceptance. Denial. Tired. "They don't understand, but this is the best part." Contentment. Really? She wants to ask. Then how do you? Is it just me? Tell me! Talk out loud! "You have weird perceptions and estimations about yourself, you know..." "Like what?" He snuggles closer. 


His hand always in motion against her back. He kisses her head discreetly, thinking she can't tell. She can. She can always tell. "Like this. You think you want this. You're a really good boyfriend for as long as you don't start thinking about it." "Hmm..." he mutters with his eyes shut. Still holding her close. She doesn't think he realizes that this is the closest they've gotten in a long time. And it's the closest they will be, all bared, in a very, very long time to come. 

 

"You wanna get a smoke?" This is it. She doesn't want to let go. She's finally found something comfortable. Comforting. Something that doesn't make her squirm, or jump back in disapproval and skepticism. She was scared she'd find out how irrevocable her feelings were where he was concerned if she ever landed up in something like this. And there you go. She found out. And it hit her so hard, that she doesn't mind not being carefully handled, or not called beautiful, or looked at with a certain kind of deep love only some pair of eyes can show her. For all she cares. Ravage my body. Be harsh yet truthful.  In whatever limited and warped form that may be possible. This is not me. It's not who I am. What am I doing? Giving in because you're tired. Somebody answers. Consumed.