The Thing Called Love

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One of those not ‘feeling good’ day I am having and I thought maybe writing will help me little bits. What is bothering me no one knows and maybe even I don’t but whatever it must be I hope it dies soon. Just the kind of day I want to cry or maybe even howl but I cannot. Kind of day where I want to snap out at everyone and without reason.

Somehow since I came back to blogging after a gap I forget all the rules of the game. I am no more particular of what I write. I hardly visit much blogs (of which I am sorry), hardly use my favorite prompt sites, and it doesn’t bother much if I am losing my readership base. Maybe this place has become my personal diary where I just have to take out and things make sense. One of the advantages of being semi anonymous I guess.

Now back to the problem. Life is little bit mess right but I know it will be fine once vacation ends and the same hectic schedule starts. But I become too much of an overthinker till then. And even worse when things go sane. Last month was in many mess, health wise mostly. Also, stopped being the nice one. Yet, I felt sane. And now when life is again better, I feel crap. Mended some old bonds and I am glad. Maybe I should not have. Caring brings the worse in me. But I need it. For my mental peace too. Also, after a brief moment, my muse disappointed me once again. And I let it die a silent death. Doesn’t mean he will never make a comeback. He will be around. Just. Maybe because I dreamed of his coldness last night that I am much more messed.

Someone, once destroyed me for love. And thereafter I only made mistakes. Hurt people, got hurt, became a cold persona. Stopped feeling. Became too selfish for anyone to know. Then muse came and I saw hope. He didn’t do anything new now. But I realised let’s not have a story. For I am poles apart from what I was. I just lost the ability to love and patience for it. I might want a companion, but according to my whims and fancies, and that is not how it works.

This doesn’t mean I stopped having fun. I share a smile, sometimes a coffee. I flirt around. I like being crushed upon. But that is it. Last time I went ahead and formed a relationship, I damaged him and never cared. I became so cold that I had no morose of it ending. This wasn’t me. But alas it is.

You must be thinking a believer like me saying all this. Yes, I believe. The mushy stuff I write makes me hope. Or maybe I love my dreams. It is these imaginations which make me happy after a bad day. Fairytales aren’t for me, but I still delve in them for they are my happy quotient. I still hope I be proved wrong. But life is beyond those words and hopes. Love is much beyond those kisses and embrace. It is also about tears, separations and hurtful words. It has ability to thrash us so hard that we never pick up our pieces. I am still picking mine. I do want a happy ending, but maybe without love. But living loveless is not how God made a person like me. He filled in too much feelings in me. He made for me poetry, to feel it in the misery. He made me to give it all, and yet be happy with it. One part of it died long ago. Then I discovered the other. I relish my tales, my mush, my movie kind of imaginations. But these are things that sell. Not kind that happen to us, writers. We end up alone at times. Dying with a book in one hand and ink spilled pages in another.

Too much pessimism happened right ? What to do. Sometimes smiles refuse to reach my lips. Forget eyes. In attempt to make other laugh, I lost mine maybe. Or maybe I got tired of doing things and giving all what others’ need. Maybe I do need a kind word once a while. Or be pampered with all love they have. Sometimes it is important to express, and sometimes its important to feel what others have for you. Sometimes all we want, is to hold hand with someone and just watch the sky at night. But even that is scary now. For then we expect and then it pains.

Once I never cared if it hurts, I was overflowing with love. Even if he berated me, I found an excuse for that and I was often true. For, he did fell in love. Just never knew how to show and was scared if he did it will hurt more. But he forgot, that is all I had to take away when he left. Maybe he was right, because inspite of showing less, I am a bundle of his memories. For he took my soul away, and one night told me, he felt that his soul left to enter mine. And that is still my most cherish memory. We were two souls, fighting a distance, having a silly lover’s conversation post midnight on the phone and a moment changed it all. I felt a white invisible angelic force embracing me and so he did. And thereafter, I called him the soul mate. But then, it is said, soul mates never meet, for they are not meant for mundane tasks. But I never want to settle for anything less than that. But irony is no two loves are same. I might love again but not similarly. And I still hope, I still search, maybe I do have some ending. Some closure. He does the same. Even now. We still communicate in distress. But know our realities.

Some people say, we can have many soul mates. Some even call them best friends. I still wish I have not exhausted my quota. Maybe I should steal one from the heavens. But all I know is my quota for hurt is way overflowing and if I do feel once again and it goes dramatically wrong, I will be done with even hope. And that is one reason I have stopped feeling too, even if the other showers all the love. For I am wary of humans. I don’t want to be an object to be played upon anymore and I wouldn’t be. It will take too much patience for anyone to make me believe in their feelings. I just don’t hope. But if they can make me believe and crack my shield, I am sure they will be worth it. Only a messiah can heal. Only he can make me believe. And make it known that beautiful love is worth it. I hope he exists. Till then, I console my heart to be thankful that atleast he has known love.

I wish, I believe, I hope……love still exists….for me.

P.S. I have too much building inside and I didn’t even said half of it today. Maybe some other day. So be prepared for more such introspective rants when my mood goes disgruntled.

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Deciphered He

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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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