Sunday, July 28, 2013

talking to mom

A strange quiet and hopelessness would slither in my head till I would try and put an abrupt end to it by engaging in one senseless thought or another.

I am happy that it did not happen today. More so because I am then not someone who can't be happy for others. How selfish are we essentially to find hope in other people's joy as much as a selfish glee in their misery too. It is all about us then, is it not?

Let me talk of other things. I am not in touch with the family, except my sister. I find it very difficult to talk to my mother between fighting tears. Tears whose source is yet unknown to me. I can make a guess but it might be as wrong as it may be right. To know that she is fine and alright is enough, I defer talking till I can crack a joke or two, till I can make her laugh saying silly things that I say only to her. I miss her even as I speak with her and because she is my mother it is difficult not to go to her. I instinctively go to her at times and then as if I seal my lips, I never talk. At times she senses something but I hurriedly keep the phone down on some pretext. I have always only wanted to show my mother (and father) my happy self, the strong self, to only bring joy to her and never grief, no one's, not even my grief. So it may be that she has to wait a bit before I call her one of these days in all joy and tease her or make a couple of 'our' jokes and hear her laugh. 

Saturday, July 27, 2013

as things are

It isn't helping. I find myself in two places. The day is different and then comes the morning after. I dread mornings. Every single one of them. I am tired of running away. Tired of picking myself up and smiling and listening to music or reading only to keep away the loneliness. I want to do it no more. I want to be fine. I think i am in depression and there is nothing I can do about it. I work hard, I am the last one to leave work and among the first ones to arrive. I take pleasure in my work and I am well-rewarded too. On weekends I try to get out of my comfort zone to meet people to 'be out there'. An effort I started to make just now. Earlier it was just me and the balcony I would use as my hideout. 

I am tired of holding close the reins. As if the moment I loosen my grip on this hysterical angry giant bull I am riding, it will throw me off and trample over me, killing me. Why is this happening? And how did I ever find myself here? 

I want to work on it no more. I am tired of running away. Where has my strength all gone and why am I so ashamed admitting that I am not that fine? 

Tuesday, July 2, 2013

new day

It is a misty morning. I woke up earlier than usual and am out in my balcony. It's drizzling softly through the mist.. and at a far distance I can see skyscrapers looking like little blocks with which children play. And behind them stand the hills, wrapped in white clouds. The trees are swaying, with little birds in them. Perhaps they all got drunk in the rain all night. And I am sitting here on a white plastic chair in my polka-dot pajamas. Looking up at the sky, looking as far as my eyes would take me. I'm looking forward to another day.

Sent from Samsung Mobile

Monday, July 1, 2013


We don't know each other. We have never met and yet, there is so much we have shared. You have hated me for reasons more than one, and even as you did, you never had the peace of knowing that I knew of your hatred. Even if I had known, I would never have understood it. For how could one hate someone one doesn't know? But you can and I am glad you can. I'm glad it is easy for you to hate as easy it is for you to love. You are truly free in that. But to me hate and love both seem impossible. My mind won't let me love, my heart won't let me hate.

Sometimes I steal into your photographs and try to read what's there behind those eyes. Is there another one like me, as afraid of life to come and as remorseful? I guess I shall never get the answers. We don't know each other, but in the family of life, where times make relatives out of strangers, you and I have lived the same life, met the same end. In that we are siblings.

I do not cannot hate you. Because for that also I need to know you. And to really know you I have to love a bit of you. What you and I have is beyond such notions of love, hate and knowing - complex notions these (but at least they are named). I wish you weren't at this place, not because it would have altered my fate, but because I wouldn't have spent night after night thinking of ways to become forgetful.