Sometimes there is no more point in waiting, and sometimes you realize that the situation you currently are in is one of those times.

Still, you do nothing to move on, you do nothing to search for options, and you do not look anywhere else but that long stretch of road from where you are expecting something to come. You can walk yourself, but after waiting so long, you probably are sure there is nothing there and this certainty dwindling in a high probability stops you from walking down that road to see for yourself. For then you may know for yourself that there was nothing to be expected, that there was nothing there; whatever it was that you were waiting for was never going to come. You would then look down on all the time that you spent, or now may be you can call it wasted, standing there waiting for it come. You are afraid that this awareness might be a greater pain than the pain of small deaths you die every day, every minute, every second, of waiting in front of this void. You now have seen this void for so long, that you love the void. You sometimes doubt if you are still waiting, or are just comfortable where you are. May be now the void comforts you to a level, that if some day, your wait is replied to, and you see something walk down that path, you might, for a small second feel sad to leave this void.

This is but void, a nothing, a null, a vacuum, but somehow you have started falling for the nothing, more than the something that you were waiting for. Now the wait is just a pretext but not the only reason to stand there; that explains why I don’t move.

Although I am afraid that it can also explain something else. May be the something that I am waiting for has fallen in love with the other end of this void.


Will you wait? (A short dialogue between love and logic)

I will be back; though I am very sure that you wont be here waiting for me when I do. But I will come any way, because I would rather be home and alone, than somewhere else and unsure.

What if I will be right here, when you come back; waiting for you, and happy to see you back? What if you will be welcomed with me running towards you, my tears leaving a trail behind me as I run and with heart beats so loud that you can hear it from a distance? What if I come and hug you and with it thank all the Gods above for your return? What then?

Will you?

I don’t know. It’s in the future, far ahead in time. I cannot be certain.

I know that it is far ahead in time, I know it is the future and I do acknowledge the uncertainties that lie on the path of any decision I thereby take. However, it would have been better to know that you were sure of being here, just like after all those unforeseen parameters, I am sure of coming back. I know you hate to talk without rationale. I know I may not be logical right now, but I wish, just for once, you answered a little stupidly.

Will that make you feel better; for me to say things without logic, to hope without reason, and to build castles in thin air? Why would that help?

It would not. But now, when every second brings more pain with it, every moment is slipping right through my fingers, and every step ahead paces me away from you; now when every smile counts. I would not mind a lie, some false hopes and some castles about to be destroyed. Now when I part, allow me  to part not with logic and reason, but with the final memories of a smile we share for dreams we both look forward to.
You could have given me dreams my dear, for reality, it seems, is not working out very well.
See you my love…

Psychedelia – The Leaves

Every key of this keyboard feels like a petal – crisp and old. I can even feel a color, cool it is, how u can feel a color, and see it with your fingers. It’s yellow, and some of them with a hint of orange. The sun is shining bright, and closer to the horizon; it will start to go orange in sometime. It’s yellow for now, but not scorching hot. It’s slightly warm, but soothing warmth it is. Not the one which makes you acknowledge the heat that comes with it, but the one which soothes you nicely from the chill that you would have felt, were the sun absent. The leaves lie everywhere, I stand cautiously to not step on them, and I type this on the leaves. With every press on a key I make sure I retract soon enough to not break the crisp and inflexible dried leaves.

But the monitor, bright, with the letters, letters of this post, shining black; this monitor reminds me that I am still in the office with the walls of my cube that comes along with it. I can see no leaves, only buttons; the tube lights not the sun, is bright, and the air? There is no air, only a cold aura; stagnant, like the minds that surround me.

I should be somewhere better. Open airs, that sun, that leaves, and an alley on the road, bounded by a wall on one side, old wall with fungal growth, covered by creepers – many of them.  The other side of the boundary, the side opposite to the rustic wall – there are trees. Long wood, some short; the ones nearer to the alley road, are shorter than the long, stubborn trees far away. And these leaves, overlapping the street like a torn canopy; torn, for it leaves those small gaps, where if I am careful enough, can walk, without blowing off or crushing these leaves, which rest so gracefully, scantly bathing in the sun, which now is hidden by the green wall to the side. Only some light escape and fall on the leaves, as the sun still peeps from over the wall. It is getting orange now. The far areas of the forest, with those big trees, they are disappearing. Their wood growing darker, their leaves turning black, and slowly it morphs to a big subsuming darkness, now ravenously approaching the shorter trees, for there are no big trees, which stood protecting it. The sun which kept the darkness in check now leaves; it might be angry on the leaves, on the trees, for using it so much but not giving anything back and instead helping and sharing the gifts with others all the time. The sun leaves, as darkness consumes them all, all the trees, and now it is coming for the leaves.

Light! Light is what they need. I run as far as I could to find light, the only way to protect these delicate leaves. I ran, to get light, which went with the sun. I can still bring light; I said with some hope; when I saw this creature indifferent to my desperation, indifferent to the terrible fate that approaches the dear leaves. This stone is it smiling at me? Is it teasing me, standing so boastfully? Why does it stand still when the dear, sweet leaves are in danger? Get up. I should throw a stone at it, to galvanize it, I thought. So adamant, it is still silent. More stones, big strokes, all with persistence. Somehow, I want more for him to show support than attending to the leaves. Get up, I shouted, the sound paralleled with another stone I threw, and a spark I saw. A bright one, it blazed and followed some more. Light! There is light. I hit him more, I might murder it I doubted, but I did not care. I hit more, and there were more sparks. Light! I shouted jubilantly, and the light settled on some leaves. I smiled. I saved them, and I let go a sigh of relief which added up to the breeze and amplified the light. A breeze of sun! I announced, as the breeze carried with it the flame to all the leaves. And it takes me with it, to a world of light, for my efforts I took to save them from dark. I am in the sun, with my leaves. They still grow dark, but it’s not that darkness that ate the trees, I saved them from it.  The leaves dance, they must be so happy. Closed my eyes are, as I feel the sun over my body, hot it was, not soothing like that sun, but I like the heat.

Am I on the sun that was behind the wall? Am I that one that was far away? How did I arrive here? Magic Stone! I acclaimed, as the heat became a part of me. I realized I was becoming the sun. Powerful! I claimed. I was ready to see it, and I shouted before my voice dissolves with the sun and my vision becomes part of the light.

Let me see my world from here.

Jamie! Are you alright?

He could not see well it seemed. He kept rubbing his eyes, widening it along with his mouth, as if something made it difficult for him to breathe. It was a bad decision to come to this place. After all the warning, and the signs, I should have paid heed to them. Jamie sure did not think the same, for he did not look dubious like me, though he gasped more with each passing second, yet undeterred, still walking more inside the apartment.

“Are you alright Jamie?” I asked, and secretly wished that he would give me subtle signs that even he did not want to be here anymore.

“Yeah!” He coughed, and covered his mouth with his hands as he did. “I’m fine”. As he uncovered his mouth I thought I saw something drip from his hand. I tried to look what it was, and in the dim moon light which filtered through the dusty windows, I could articulate the apparent pitch dark drops on the floor, to be blood. He coughed blood.

“Jamie! Talk to me man. This place is doing something to you. I don’t know but I think we should leave. This ghost-hunting gig doesn’t seem like a good idea anymore.”

He kept walking. His indifference and the accompanied silence unsettled me further.

“Jamie! Are you alright man? What is it? Dude!”

I did not want to walk any further. I grabbed his hand tight, which except his head was the only thing exposed outside his clothes. I felt a shiver; starting from my hand which held him, travelling all the way to the elbow and then instantaneously spreading outwards from my spine through my whole body. It was cold, a cold shiver, more than goosebumps, it was something I had never felt before. I did not want him to turn around and answer me. I was afraid to see his face. I did not know what to expect. It was surely not the Jamie that I walked in with.
For, now I remember. I walked in alone.

My lacrimal glands – they work after all

I could finally feel tears. Only a drop, but a drop at least.
It has been so long, and so hard; that even after the many times I tried, I still could not ever feel a single drop.
I had almost started to feel that I would never ever be able to cry, no matter what happens to me or in front of me.

A dysfunctional lacrimal gland or tear gland, sounded like an illness, so – ‘I cried the most with a person, and I lost my tears with her’ – is how I explained it to myself.

I saw a video in my downloads folder with the prefix piXx03, a prefix that photos and videos captured from my old mobile phone used to have. As far as I remember, I had cleaned up my downloads folder about a month ago, and as far as my memory served, I am not able to recollect when I downloaded this or even of a place on the internet where this file could possibly be. I might have done something subconsciously, I thought, and went ahead to watch it. It was her. It was a video of her I had captured long back.

The video just had her in it and a song playing in the background, a slow one, it was playing on her cell phone. She was sitting there, on the floor, with her legs bent, and loosely held with her arms wrapped around them. She sat like that, expressionless at first, for a long time; then she looked at me, smiled, said something and then went back to looking to her left. I could not hear what she said as the sound and background noise overshadowed her voice. Her face clearly showed signs of discomfort, some restlessness, something that was bothering her. She looked at me again, now realizing that my phone had video recording turned on. She smiled and I saw more of something she hid within herself. She wanted to speak, I knew she did, back then, and it is so evident that she did, now, from this video. She bit her lips a couple of times, and she looked at me once more. Her eyes talked, and I remember myself listening to them. She knew I listened, she knew I ignored, and, she knew why.

The video ended. 3 minutes and 10 seconds of a past I never really forgot. My face was cold, it felt like my cheeks were shivering, and my vision blurred. I smiled, as a tear drop filled my left eye, and dropped down with a cold streak on my, still shivering, cheek.

My lacrimal glands; they work after all.

Empty drawer

She threw it away; did not even ask me once; she never does it like that. My mom knows how obsessed I am with my room, and each and every thing that it holds. How could she just walk in, open my drawers, take those bangles and throw them away assuming they might not be of any use to me.

I don’t remember if it was the last time we had met, but I am certain that it was at least close to the last time. She had come to my home, my mom and dad were not here; we were no more in any relation with a name, but we still were close. We could not just forget; we were giving each other time to grow away from each other, but I think we both secretly hoped that, that time should never end. She had forgot her bangles at my place. It was one of those ethnic bangles, with a wooden and bronze touch and a matte brown color. I thought I would give it to her the next time she comes. I cannot recollect if she never came after that or she had come few times after that and I forgot to give it back to her; but she never got them back. Those bangles stayed with me. And I liked the fact that they did. It was a small part of her, the only something of her that I might have left, with me, forever.

Whenever I came home and opened those drawers, I smiled when I saw those bangles. We have moved on, but a part of me was clinging onto those bangles, onto her, and I will never let that part walk with me as I move on. I want it to be there; ill advised, but still the way I would like things to be.

Yesterday, when I opened my drawer, it was not there. I asked my mom and to my horror I learnt from her that she threw it away because the last time she asked me about them, I was very evasive about the answer, and so she thought it might not be of any value to me. I could not shout at her because she did not know the value that it held for me; but I could not let myself be shut in either. I shouted, I asked how could she just throw away something that is mine without even asking me. She was sorry, but she was also confused about the reason of my irate behavior. The dubious face she held made me realize that there was no point telling all this to her. I had to let it be.

I have to, now, let it be. It is gone. Not that those bangles would have someday made things back to the way I liked it, neither had I kept those bangles in the hope that she would someday come back to ask for it. That would be stupid, and besides, I, more than anybody wanted her to move on from me.

But without those bangles, I feel torn, I do not know why. It was not as if I used to always carry it with myself, but maybe the part of me holding it, is gone with it. Or maybe now that part, like me, is stranded alone with nothing to hold on to; unable to move on, but solitary at where it stands. I had let a part of me stay in the past, and now that part is still there, unclear, of what it should be with.

I should have kept them somewhere more secure. This is weird, but I don’t even feel like opening the drawer now.  With all the things that it has, it is still going to look painfully empty.

But then…

…and then with all that excitement I really wanted to talk to someone.
I was completely ecstatic and I had no exact reason why, and I wanted to talk about all this to someone. My eyes were frantically in search of someone to speak with.

There she was, sitting on the bench just some steps away from me. Who better to tell than her? Not everyone understands me the way she does. She seems to be sitting like that for quite a while now. She looked all still, motionless, I wondered if she was in one of those moods. I hoped not.

“Hey! Hi. You free?”
She looked at me, expressionless, and took efforts to reply back, “Yes. But I am in one of those “want to be alone” mood. You understand right?”
“Oh yes, totally.” I reacted instantaneously. I left.

Yes I did understand it. It was like one of our codes – if either of us tells the other that they want to be in that mood, the other person just lets that person be in that state. Many reasons and a lot of past has gone into each one of us making this rule, and it works for us. This is why we can understand each other so well, because we connect, not just by the normal ways people connect, but by such unsaid rules, and many more unwritten codes of conduct. Rules that we created because we feel comfortable within them.

But now, I am blue, distressed. That feeling, that good one that I had moments ago, comes to me in unexpected short bursts and when it comes I so wish that it will stay. In those few moments, I totally forget the reasons why those bursts have become this short; but now I am sad again; the burst is dry.
I wish I could talk to her about how sad I am now. But then we have a code. I wish we had none, but we do.

Oh! Its friendship day today. Ironical. How I want to talk about this irony to someone? But then…