Nana

Nana ji. I never called him Nana, it was always Nana ji, Nani ji et al. Though I always wondered how it would be having an informal relationship with a grandparent. Same as I often wondered as a kid how it would be to have an informal relationship with my father. Nana ji is no more. And I do have a more informal relationship with Papa now. 

Someone sent Nana ji's pic to the family group today. Looking at him so many memories of childhood came rushing in. Memories I had long put a lid on. Memories which quintessentially involve an estranged cousin/brother/bestfriend. Memories which involve delicious simple meals that we would have sitting on a carpet on the floor along with other cousins. That involve teasing elder sisters, cheating younger cousins at games and the like. Stuff that makes for a great childhood. Oh yes, and amras, bhindi ki sabzi (okra) and roti (Indian bread). And when it would be too hot- it would be aam panna and a Rajasthani fruit which I think is called kaachra.

Savour it

How long can you keep yourself wrapped in the hijab of everyday life. How fine the balance. A few words stringed together are enough to shake you out of reality and into the world you love most. And you stand at the threshold - to enter or not to enter? Setting foot is oh so comforting. Into the world of words and music and books and passages upon passages and of cryptic conversations that seem to melt in your mouth and warm your heart. 

But you keep yourself away. Why? Is it the lack of courage? 

But for now let me savour it. 

While you are away.

I was just thinking. Actually I was trying not to think but could not dodge the thought. You and I spent 5 whole years apart. I spent the first two years dying every day. You don't know what it was like. I have tears in my eyes writing about it right now. Every.Single.Time. 

And no, it is not because I cry easy otherwise. The only time tears well up like this at the mention of something is N getting ill. Anywho, we spent all that time apart. As apart as can be. Usually people drift off. We did not it. I did not. A part of me would not budge. The pain was so much at one point of time I felt dying would be easier and would make more sense. The pain was so much at another point of time I felt perhaps our apart was not 'meant' to be. It was an epiphany. In pain. The epiphany told me that perhaps there was some cosmic equation that did not quite add up, some providential circuit that had got disrupted. So strong was this instinct that I paid heed to it and called you once around Christmas. To tell you what that pain was doing to me. 

How it was changing who I was. As if I had disturbed a whole butterfly-effect thing. Touched what was not to be touched, something sacred and the dominos lined up started to fall, like a fort of sand. 

Invariably I tried to put an end to it. In having you I was unfulfilled. In leaving you I was miserable. I chose to leave to allow both of us a better chance at love. 

I don't write like a lover here. It is not impossible to leave someone, I know. I had left someone before I met you and I have left someone after you. I have parted and been in pain but it was bearable. But our parting changed me forever. I had touched the outer limits to how much a human being could endure, or so it felt to me. 

If you asked me what it was that caused the pain- if I missed going out with you, being with you, hanging out together - I would not know what to say. I was not dying to meet you. I was not dying to hang out. I would have been able to meet had I really wanted to. I was not a drug addict but my withdrawal was the same if not worse. I was miserable like one would be without  oxygen. Like a fish would struggle with water only enough to wet its gills but not enough to allow her to remain submerged in water. I did not have a clue why this was happening to me.

With time I learned the tricks. And I buried all of 'it' somewhere. Knowing I was never to return. Knowing that this would happen only once in my lifetime. 

---

In missing you like any partner would since you are away, I am thinking of those 5 years. And I am thinking of this one week. And I'm scared for myself. I am scared that so many years ago I could feel that epiphany, that cosmic thing. And here we are, together. That I was right in sensing all that even though I could not decipher it at the time. But it turned out to be true. 

How strange that we once spent 5 years apart and this one week has been difficult for me. Why am I like this? Why can't be more 'normal'. Why feel so many feels. 

This is not a love letter. This is more like how Neil Armstrong must have felt seeing the galaxies fromthe outer  space for the first time. Thousands of stars and the planets glittering against a colourless universe, traversing their path. The awe. The beauty. The infinite mystery. And the fear of being so lonely even when you have conquered the universe.

Neha

Quiet

Where does one get the conviction to say something - anything that takes form in the shape of an opinion? I used to be able to write so much. Unbeknownst to me were the limits to my own understanding of an issue. The more I have learned, the quieter I have become. I have realised one knows only so much. I have gauged the depth of my own inadequacies (which might still be substantial for some) and this knowledge has had me paraplegic. Excess of everything is bad. Holds true for so-called virtues too?

On one hand, therefore, is the need to be able to say some more. So that the more you say the better you get. As goes the process to anything we do, really. But on the other, the handicap of the knowledge of not knowing enough. 

In any case one should not go quiet, right?

Check-in

I write this on the small screen of my phone. I just wanted to check in. Tell you I missed you. And tell you how much you mean to me. 

Back

I return after a long hiatus. Time I needed to gather myself and my thoughts. Time I needed to come back from the self-inflicted purgatory, as it were. I intend to write more, though how much I am actually able to write is unbeknownst even to me. For writing doesn't come easy to me now. But try one must. 

I often deliberate how important it is for one to be honest to one's writing. I started off as a firm believer that every word that one writes is reflective of one's integrity. My previous posts are a testament to that, however cryptic the posts might have been. My brief departure from here has given me some time to ponder. And it has humbled me. It has taught me that writing for writings sake is as important as breathing for the sake of living. Till the time 'it' is coming to you, you must write. The day you find yourself at a loss of words, quite literally, could just be round the corner. 

This post here is partly an effort in that. 

PS: I got married last month.