Insane Thoughts

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My mind is locked somewhere. In the lull of sluggishness. I desperately seek to find a way out of this maze. And yet all I see is blackness. A void it might be somewhere. But it is not. Words have been my refuge for quite a while. But now they aren’t as poetic as I thought them to be. It isn’t like words left me. They find me in corners of work. They find me behind those crumbled notes. They find me in the smiles of my pupils. They even find me hidden behind ideas I pen for the world. But then they don’t help be my recluse. In rhymes and fictions. In being my catharsis. It is as if some dust settled on top of my creative cerebrum. I shout, I find. But I am way too mechanical to shake them up. I miss that part of me. That part which relish a rainy night amidst some romance of the words. That part of me that couldn’t sleep without making love to those books which were sprinkled with dreams. I have made quite much of a sense with my life. And in between lost quite bit of love I showered to my heart through my insane pieces. Maybe. Maybe not.

Insanity often defines me. And is insanity really that bad? If I wasn’t insane, I wouldn’t be that passionate about my life. I wouldn’t be doing what I do then. I would have been struggling to survive if I wasn’t in love with my mundane tasks. Now I am at peace and yet that is all to it. I live life a day at a time. I relish my daily dose of music and weekly dose of movies. I pamper myself to be lazy on slow days. I am doing what I should and slowly learning to grow. I share a drink or two with my laughters. I afford whatever I wanted to once. I splurge. I earn. I live fully. But then am I not forgetting some other major parts of me? Or has technology taken over us so much that we don’t let our brains have time for reading sonnets and writing poetry?

Whatever it be, it’s good that I am writing today. Might not be very much. But I am. And its not some professional paper with a deadline. It’s an unedited flow of words directly from the heart. And maybe the brain. We all should let ourselves be unedited sometimes. Even our pictures can be so at times. Rawness isn’t that bad. Its real. Its beautiful. Its you. And its me.

One should be sharing love in this insane world of yours. Even with strangers. For they can inspire music in us at times. They can be our muse at times. Or maybe a momental inspiration. And you, scared people, go tell your loved ones of your love. It will be worth it. Hell, tell that to your crush too. Who knows they might be struggling with the thought that they are unloved in this world. And that one word will be enough for them to live another day.

Be mad. Be crazy. Be insane. Be loving. Be you.

P.S. : I just realised this is my first post this year. Hope 2017 treating everyone good. Been  truly fantastic for me 🙂

Love Happens

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It was one of those dull winter afternoons when he first saw her. He saw and just couldn’t help but smile in bits. Maybe, because he wasn’t looking for a story that time. All he was feeling was curiousity. Or maybe he wanted an acquaintance. Everyone needs that when he is thrown into a strange environment where he hardly knew anyone. Well, that had just happened to him.  Forget the metros, he wasn’t even born in this country. But he was the most desi at heart. Been in this country for a few years after he got tired of just running from here and there. And then one fine day his parents decided to take him along to the place they studied. And even fell for each other. You could say that place for their origin. He knew they didn’t really wanted to show him around. He knew they had some plans. He has been here before but this time he didn’t know why he was here. He knew they wanted to hook him up. And this was the best place to find girls from his community. But he wondered, in a small town, how can they even think he can. But nevertheless he was here.

She was here because she needed a break. Break from life. Break from politics. Break from work. Even break from joblessness. She had memories from this place. Of a beautiful childhood. His parents found this place at their home. And his siblings were born here. But she was the city girl. But she loved the peace here. Or maybe she was searching of some hope. Her dad’s meeting coincided with an interview here and she was ready to go. She never wanted to move here but no harms in trying she thought.

There they were. Two families. From the same place. In a common town. Staying in the same resort. With their children. Middle aged proteges. Or rather single offsprings.

Weather was dull but the weather changed and entered her nose. So when she entered the guest house she had an attack of constant sneezes making him notice. The room was booked but some details were to be filled. So, she made her parent go and take rest as she filled the form. He was standing beside, talking to the receptionist but still noticing her uneasiness.

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At Last, he spoke:-

“You need some help”

“Eh…no” and she sneezed again

“I said because I am a doctor….maybe I could prescribe some medicine?”

“O no no….its just the dust that was there outside”

“Maybe an anti allergy….cetirizine?”

“I have some…will take….thank you”

She finally took some notice of him. A tall hunk like guy with green eyes he was. He looked like anything but a doctor. She wondered why she never met such handsome doctors when she was sick.

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” Well I am Dr. Adi” said he giving his hand for a shake” 

She shook hands to say ” Hi I am Nisha…Dr Nisha”

“Medico?”

“No no…I am a mere doctorate “

“Wow…doctorate is never mere…which subject?”

“Social anthropology….I research on  women and children issues”

“Wow…my mom will love to meet you…..she does some work on that”

“Is she a professor or something? “

“No no…she is a gynaecologist…just runs an NGO for empowerment of our community’s  underprivileged”

“Awesome.Would indeed be a pleasure to meet her”

“Nice meeting you”

“Same here”

There ended their first meeting. But more were to follow.

She went to her room just to tell her parents about this meeting and how his mom specialises in her work. She was just too excited. And she didn’t know why.

He on the other hand went to his room just thinking of her. He also told his mom and all she said was, “You like her don’t you?”

“Mom please”

But she was right. Her son hardly talked about girls and here he was just going blah blah…something was definitely wrong.

The families met at the dinner table and got introduced. His mom told her she can get associated with her organisation if she is free. She was grateful but was like she can’t stick for long if she gets work of her liking but his mom had no issues. She knew he was becoming an angel. Families were talking and laughing too. Her mom was here for a conference she would have liked to attend but then she avoided as her mom would have been alone if she went.

Next day happened. Her dad went to the meeting. His parents went off to their works and all that was left was they and her mom. So he asked at the breakfast table if they like taking a stroll. She already had the photography walk in mind and it happened.

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Some beautiful sightings. Some smiles. Some curiosity happened. He even said I should have got my DSLR and she remarked ” A person makes the picture beautiful, good or bad camera never matters” And she clicked him. And he was again bewitched. They were back and the families never saw each other till dinner.

At the dinner, the mothers decided to go shopping together in the morning as the fathers had meetings. She, alas had to stay back to study. And he, well, he choose to stay back.

Post breakfast, they went to their rooms as parents left. Then she came out to just stroll and read and he came there to seize the opportunity to smile with her .

“So working hard to be recruited?”

“Not really. I read most things. Lets see”

“Then want sit and converse and make you de-stressed”

“Sure”

They went to the dining and just sat.

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“So what do you like doing apart from teaching/studying?”

“I really don’t like doing it. It happened. But I found a way and gladly I love my subject”

“Wow. So what you love doing?”

“I love writing. Poetry. Fiction. Short stories. Anything”

“Impressive. I used to write once too but then”

“But then?”

“Words ditched me”

“Words don’t ditch us. People do. And then we just wander”

“Maybe. been long I wrote. I used to write lyrics too. Been a decade”

“Then someone will make you love them again too”

“It isn’t that easy?”

“It is.”

More he heard her. More drawn he was. Maybe writing too was just round the corner for him again.

“So what are your dreams?”

“Too many. I want to write a novel some day. Travel the world. Live beside a beach in europe for few months and bake continental stuff from fresh produce. Do adventure sports. Do underwater stuff…too many like I said”

“Yes. but interesting mix.”

“What about you?”

“Well, lets see. Once I wanted to release a music album and then life happened”

“You should. Someday”

“Maybe. I have travelled a lot. But maybe with someone special some day”

“Ahan. Hopeless romantic?”

“Wasn’t one till few years back. Was badly heart broken. Was cynical and then I came home. Saw my parents. My sister. And I thought maybe I can have some love too.”

“Nice. You will.”

“Are you one? “

“I am”

“Who makes you believe in it? Parents? Sibling?”

“None of them really. Parents are two individuals strung together and they just respect the institution. Maybe bro and sis in law love but they fight way too much so not much people with love around.”

“Still must be someone?”

“Some friends. But they are newly married. Stories of my grandparents make me believe. Even of my aunts. Some loves they shared. I believe for them and believe for their good.”

“Interesting.What kind of partner you want.?Some ideal?”

“Don’t really know what I want. I don’t mind adjusting. Compromising I have issues with. Love is all that makes marriages work I see. I do some, you do some. I am a feminist. But I don’t think females are superior nor are males. I don’t even say they are equals. One is better than other in one thing and rest in other. Like a women is emotionally strong and can handle his mess…job issues….sick children…..deaths…..and he sure can handle her scares…save me from that street villain…or shoo off insects I hate…even that lizard and rat…even snakes….they freak me…I don’t mind the pain that childbirth will give me….for that he can do that no?”

“Definitely”

“Also, I love cooking. But he can make sunday breakfasts sometimes. Cut vegetables as I cook and wash utensils when the dishwasher goes bad….I create mess before I clean…so if he is a  cleanliness freak guy he can manage the room no?….some girls also leave wet towels on the bed …I am one of them…just small adjustments….I left lot for him…but he can do some obviously no?”

“Obviously”

“Oops I spoke too much”

“I love listening”. “Never found such a guy?”

“Alas they don’t make such guys any more”

“haha…maybe”

“What about your ideal girl?”

“Ideal ….hmm..don’t know….but never met a girl who thinks like you”

“Haha…If I didn’t know better…I would have thought you flirting with me”

“O please. I am not…..wanna go out for lunch?”

He didn’t know why he asked her for lunch. But that is all that felt right saying.

“Eh?..Hmmm….I don’t know places here. Also mom might be coming back”

At that exact time, her mom called to tell them both to join them for lunch outside. And just like that a lunch date was happening.

And maybe even love was happening.

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Note: Blue Lines: Guy, Red Lines: Girl.

P.S.: This is the short story I had mentioned in my last post. It is little raw and needs some polishing but my writing muse is on holiday again and its been a while so thought of uploading it. Also, apologies if its rather too long for your liking. Hope you guys enjoy reading it.

Love and Marriage

She: So, will you marry for love ?
He: Maybe. After having met you, I am thinking so.

She: Haha. So I changed your views I see.
He: I guess. Why will you marry for only love ?

She: Well, no other reason will make two people stick nowadays. You see, financial insecurity kept women respect the institution once. Now that is gone. Divorce is a mess. But they don’t have to think if they can manage it alone. They earn enough. Hell they can even manage to take care of the kids. Earlier, men went and worked. And women had to manage the home. Now, she can do it all. Manage home. Manage businesses. She in a way is self dependent. So why have a partner? If people want one, they can have live ins. Even that is legal. So casually date. Marriage is too big a thing. Earlier, people married for kids. But now, you don’t really marry for that. Single parent adoptions isn’t a disgrace. In vitro implants happen. People and society have issues if a man implanted his sperm by being intimate to you, but if they know a woman is pure , they will accept such single mothers too. So what will keep two people together? Love. The pure, breathtaking love. The can’t live without each other love. The breathing in you love. The soul united love. The love which will keep you together when everything fades.
He: Makes sense. But then what is the guarantee it will stay ?

She: No guarantee. But it can stay. Doesn’t it between parents and children? Then why not between two individuals? If the souls connect at some level. Not the movies kind. But some spiritual kind. If that happen, then even if life breaks them, a string will stay. And that will be the only thing that will make modern marriages work.
He *sighs*: I guess so.

And he once again wished for love. And maybe for that kind of marriage.

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P.S. : Off late been writing a bit of He-She fictions and this was some open ended conversation I wrote. I think I might write this style of stories on and off. I wrote a longer part before this and might update it too if I am satisfied.

Deciphered He

He was sitting by the window, stirring his ‘Earl grey’ as if lost in deep remembrances. And i was just staring at him standing in one corner as if I wanted time to just freeze there. Did I ever tell how I loved his experimental green tea’s. Yes, experimental, for I still don’t know what all he used to steep in the boiling water while preparing them. It always had some ‘special’ herbs he used to get hold of while on his travelling expeditions. Last one he got was from ‘leh’ and must I tell you the smell of his tea was always aphrodisiac. And boy the house was ethereal with that smell whole day. After all he used to love sprinkling such fragrances whole day to me. I almost got addicted to those herbs, and the tea. And maybe even him.

His friends often called him ‘the saint’ and I could never decipher why. Then one stormy night I heard him practicing music loudly as I was preparing some snacks in the kitchen. He was disturbed that day and his voice said so. He had very trained loud decibels. He used to like being called a composer but never the singer. But the ‘alaap’ he used to take used to put a trance on me. I just loved his voice quality and he used to blush at that fact. That night, I ran towards his room to check on him. His hands were pale blue and yet he was going on and on playing the tabla. I could see him lost in his verses. It was horrific to see him in pain but I could not go and embrace him there. For only taking it out through creations subdued him. I stood still and realized why he was called so. I knew there he was born for tasks beyond the world. And I desired the world with him. I just died a little more then.

Little more of ‘sufism’ and ‘rumi’, I used to find in his abode as I knew more of him. He was a wanderer who broke all rules and yet early morning I used to find him reading something on those ‘religious beads’. I used to ask him ‘was he religious ?’ and he used to say ‘religion is in the mind’ and just go on meditating. At other times, I used to ask him ‘but then this ?’ and he used to give me a silent smirk and look at the portrait on his wall. It was of his grandfather. He had sketched it with his own hands one day from the lone picture he had of him. He called himself his ‘murid’ or devotee. Maybe, mornings and the prayers and the beads were his only way to reach him. His only way to seek advise about things that made no sense. Things that God willed. Like snatching his dear ones permanently. I might never know for sure for he hardly said. But he knew, I knew.

One summer afternoon, I saw his arms uncovered. It always was amusing to me that a man with such a good built always preferred full shirts to any kind of voyeurism as if hiding something. I saw what it was. It was his inked shoulder, a dragon tattoo with some message. I didn’t ask but he understood and just said. ‘Sometimes only pains can kill pains’. And I felt something just piercing me through. I wanted to touch it and with it heal him. But only if it was that easy. It was at such times, it was not even easy to embrace him. I was just a devotee. But I knew he wanted me there.

Then one night, I heard him howl. Like the wolfs’ howl. I went inside and saw him ripping inside. He was in deep pain. His eyes said so. He sitting shirtless and his whole body was wet with sweat. He had tears that said just too much. I wanted to go near and say something but he often read my silences. He just said, ‘don’t destroy yourself’. How wish I could tell him how destroyed I was already. I knew he will leave again. His feet needed to travel to submerge all his pain. His time with me needed a break. I wouldn’t say it was over for it will never be. His eyes told me then, I had a piece in his soul which hurt him more for it forces him to stay. But I could not do this to him. I just could not. I took his backpack, stuffed his clothes and asked him to leave. To go to the mountains or the seas or to the skies, but go. There he understood I knew him more than he could have imagined. I didn’t let him say much and pushed him out of the door. For if he had said more I would have broken down. And I did.

As he left, he just said one thing. ‘ I need to go and I will. But home I will need always. And I only have one. Where you stay’. And tears seeped down our eyes. I choked and so did he. And he left reluctantly.

He might come or might not only time will tell. Till then, I embrace his smell every night as I sleep. He still plays melodies in my dreams and kiss me every morning with the sip of my tea. He said, I might be destroyed and I now think I have never been more awakened, more healed and more alive.

P.S. Something in me want to write more on this series. I might whenever I find more words to it. Or might never. But I will still keep writing about the ‘he’. You can read similar writings in the ‘He Series‘ or ‘Muse Writings‘.

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He

Let’s talk about the ‘he’ today.
‘Who is he?’ many shall wonder.
Let’s just call him the muse.
Muse. Yes, my muse. But a different kind he is.

I knew he would  be one even before we had met. You would wonder just how was it is so.
Well, some muses are such that their tales transverse lands and reach you and all you have to do is lay your eyes on them and they be yours.

I had heard about him many a times. Even crossed paths with him. Maybe, inhaled the same air with him for decades. But still somehow, never noticed him. Maybe, because his time wasn’t right then. We were just two strangers lost in our worlds, living in the illusion that it is the end. We didn’t know we would meet someday. However, we did. For it was destined.

Then, with a sleight of the hand, something unusual happened and I heard about him. I wanted to know more so I decided let me find more and I did. And he just seemed fine. I thought I might strike some conversations with the stranger atleast.

And boy we met. No, the skies didn’t roar nor did the clouds burst open. The sun was shining very bright and I looked liked the usual mess. Then what was different ? Well, two strangers meeting and trying to find if they can tolerate each other is quite a task. Thankfully for the stars, we weren’t alone. Cupid was trying its best to sow the idea of ‘us’ in our minds. Somehow it was sowed in mine, if not him. And unintentionally he became the muse.

The muse, who sat across me beneath the stars and made me laugh. The one who woes me with his creations rather than his flirtations. He was someone I could stare all night and then shout at the sun for rising too early. Chivalry was in his blood, and the feminist in me somehow didn’t objected.

He sat there talking about all things dear. We created magic in the words and the sounds. It was like the stars wanted it no other way. And he never said no. To keep me going, he went his way after giving me the best embrace of a lifetime. With a sullen face and a sad heart I came back and I wrote. Of the muse and his devotee and I am still writing.

Today, he might be sitting in some corner, with a charcoal soiled hands and making another portrait. His fingers might be bleeding some other day composing music with his guitar. He might capture the world in his eyes one day, and in his words another. And I will stand still in another corner of the world, imagining him doing all that and wonder maybe someday, I explore it all with him.

Till then, let him touch the cervices of his lips with his cup of jasmine tea. And I wonder if I get to share it with him some day, lying on the roof, counting the stars and just feeling the silence.

That reminds, even my tea got cold. I sip it in one go and smile, for all the missed drinks. I at times think what if he wonders the same about me. What if, this is indeed destiny, which we are slowing down, by taking only baby steps towards each other. But then best stories get written slowly only.

Someday, this story will have an end. Happy I am sure. For if he becomes mine, then I will be his muse. And if not, he will still be the best muse.

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