Now.

I dare you to move.


What do I do with you if I know you're soon going to be another myth in my treasure trove? Can I quickly steal your essence and hide you in the darkest corners of my heart where not a single clock, a cruel bearer of time, be able to find you? Or take your soul you lent me for a day and pretend like you never gave it when you ask for it back. I could cheat I guess, into making you believe what I believe (because it's all make believe anyway), or keeping us hidden from the musical notes that slowly but methodically change our song to something that you eventually won't recognize. But I won't do it. Shockingly, even after all this time, I still have a nagging conscience. Hate that thing. 


I could write endless stories about the inevitability of heartbreak, but what do you do when your soul crushes to an irreparable degree. What do you do, when your family, your friend, your love, your habit, your mind, your soul-- threatens to get up, with only so much as a single warning, and simply walk out of your state of being. If there's one thing that's worse than actually being crippled, it's the thought of its pending arrival. And so you leave me hanging, until I pull the chord. Until I do it to myself.


Of course in that game I played with fire, I won a lot of lotteries, but what I also thought I'd win was the Jackpot that mattered to me the most. The one that all the other players ridiculed. But for the sheer desire of it all, I lost. I thought mine would be a white horse, turned out it was shining, molten brown with streaks of jet black. I was told, I'd still worship him, like I would a white. And nobody would understand it.


So here I am. And there you are, from where I can conveniently worship what was meant to be mine so forgive me if I'm still a bit insolently stubborn about letting it go. And there everyone else is, neither understanding, nor comprehending. The soothsayers had their way. But there's so much more to this that is making it almost, almost impossible for me to wrap it up in a neat bundle and not let a single tear stray.
You're lying to me even now. You can't lie to me as much as you can lie to yourself. And I watch you with a sad smile while you still try so desperately to rationalize, to tell yourself more than tell me, that it's the right thing to do. That things must go the way as they have been pre-ordained. They have to. Or nothing will make sense, there will be no order. And that's why we can never really meet. Because I rejoice in every little grain of disorder. In every antithesis wherever there's a thesis. In every broken barrier in an organization. In every revolt against a structure. In every fallen leaf where there's a tree. In every love against hate. 


It would have made no sense to you nor would the spell have lasted for very long if I ran away at break-neck speed. But I needed to slowly withdraw, to make you notice, excruciatingly, what I was doing. I do not know if it tears you as much as I think it does, but if I'm right and it does, all you have to do is call me back while I'm here. While I'm still recuperating. Because when the healing process is over, somebody will snatch me away. And I say this not out of any overconfidence or smugness that you may so easily attribute it to. But out of fear. 


Save me before your armor refuses to dispatch any knight-like qualities to you anymore. I'm ordinary, but soon you will be too. But if you save me. I'll be able to save you too. 


I love you. 

Across The Universe.

What if the world really were to collapse this year? All our lives, simultaneously, cease to exist? Our death anniversaries, coincide? Would you be satisfied with what you've woven into the world thus far? Of course, to achieve that would be ideal and therefore, utterly impossible, but do you think you could leave things as they are? Or shift your gear to number five and finish all that you think you were meant to do? My questions are a way of delaying the answers I don't have. Whether or not this debate of 2012 being the year of our doom gets resolved (I have a feeling we will be in 2013 by the time it does), aren't we always advised to live each day as if it were our last? Carpe Diem and all that jazz? Realistically, keeping a provision for contingencies such as bad hair days, mood swings and PMS, why don't we instead try living this year as if it were our last? 


Through a roller-coaster-cum-maze my life has been in just (wait for it) two decades of its completion, I think I'd like to pick my last year as one that (I know you're expecting peaceful and saint-like) is the scariest and most unexpected ride of my life! Because what fun would it be otherwise? I've spent afternoons in dingy, musk-smelling bars with anticipation of where the evening will take us. In alleys trying to distinguish our breath from the smoke. In comfortable hand-me-downs, with an excuse of a winter, relishing warm tastes. In yellow-blacks, entangled beyond comprehension. In the lives and minds of others because nobody has left anyone a choice anymore. In Ford Fiestas. In a place that tries excusing itself by adopting a happy name but that doesn't rule out the memories it gave me that make me cringe, even today. Taking a full year break and then coming back to a life I always used to know. To people I love (even though some of them I don't like very much, but I still love). To the horrible, horrible, horrible inevitability of growing-up. To prospects of magnanimous success or stupendous failure, both equally exciting and fear invoking. To finding love, losing love, and then not knowing what love really is. 


But I do. You have to be selfish even when it comes to one of the most selfless concepts in the world. It can be love if it's one-sided, but it cannot be ego. It can be love if the balance is tipped to a 70:30, but it cannot be self-esteem. It can be love if you give all he asks for and never the other way around, but it cannot be healthy. It can be love if you've roughed all his troughs but never been the one he looked for during the crests, but it cannot be friendship. When you realize what you're worth is really a lot more than that, and when the realization hits you if there's even ONE person by your side to tell you that you're doing the right thing and that you're going to make it, you're going to make it. And here I am.


Something changed in me the night of the beautiful lights, an open sky, the grains of sand that I could feel, each and every one of them as distinct as if they were many times their real size, and the unconditional love that was coming to me from all directions and the love that was emanating from me. The night we welcomed the new year in Paradise. All this while we'd been labeling the feeling as ecstasy, when what it really was, was not a feeling, it was a state. A state of contentment. And of security. I had my backbone that night (R), and my eyes(N). But when I thought about it a little more, a few kilometers away, I just as well had my mind(S), left-hand(A), right hand(A), my two feet(P) and heart(S), safe and sound. And I wasn't apologetic about any of them.


Take these away and you'd think I'd be rendered inconsequential. But my soul is unique, and mine alone, and when the world (or the world as I know it) ends, it will know what to do, it will know who to tell, it will know what to tell, somehow it'll know.


So I have a picture in my head where boy meets girl, boy kisses girl, and the world could happily end at that very moment, because it's the simplest and sweetest kiss in the world... And sometimes that's all you need. 


This is late, but do have the happiest new year. :)

The Enemy.

I fucking hate you.


For being the first post on this blog and the 50th. 


Thank you to everyone else that I can only muster adoration for. Overlooking content, 50 is a good number. 


Cheers. xx


- The Frozen Flame is now melting and nobody can save it. 

Torniquet.

"I learned to live, half a life

And now you want me one more time"- Christina Perri

You get inside of me and drain the life out of me.

You leave venom in my bloodstream.

You reduce my sanity to nothing.

Your ego beats mine and I can't even put up a fight.

But you always come back.

You come back to place me back on my high horse you so carefully constructed. 

You come back to wipe my tears.

You come back once you're scared you hurt me.

You come back, because you always know you hurt me.

You come back to plant a kiss.

But then you tell me things you really shouldn't be telling me.

You tell me you've loved me before I knew what it really even meant.

You tell me that all the things that happen around me, happen only because you make them.

You tell me I haunt your thoughts from early mornings to late nights.

You tell me you can't breathe without our daily fight.

You tell me you love me without the glow that surrounds me.

How you could even muster a love like this one is beyond you.

This is beyond me and it's beyond you.

You said you weren't coming back but you did.

You always want to disappoint me but you don't. You can't.

And you hate yourself for it and love me for it.

I don't know which I hate and which I love.

I don't know how long we're in it for but it's going to leave us both lifeless, of that I'm sure. 

I need to see you to feel normal again.

But when I do,

I'm going to come back home with blood-stained cheeks for where tears should have been. 

And a smile that reaches my soul. 

Loser.

"If I've been on your mind,

You hang on every word I say,

Lose yourself in time,

At the mention of my name,

Will I ever know how it feels to hold you close,

And have you tell me, 

Whichever road I chose, you'll go?" -Adele

Most times I don't even know who the culprit is. Which one of us is contorting reality and dreams and concocting a bottomless pit to trap the other one into, not necessarily out of spite, and which one, pretending to be the victim, is resisting every little bit of this, somewhat possible without self-destruction, alliance. 

But even in those briefest of moments where I can figure out the roles played by each of us in this convoluted yet such a simple way of life that we've temporarily chosen, I fall face flat because every lead in this 'investigation' hits me, and each time more forcefully, with the realization that we're both equally the criminals as well as the victims in this suspense. 

Who is to say which one of us found whom. Maybe you made me catch on to the trail you so carefully left behind, or maybe, I lured you straight out of hiding because I knew exactly what you were looking for and exactly what you chose not to see. Knowing your target's strengths and weaknesses always made you that much more cautious, that much more powerful. We both knew each others, so then again, who is to say, which one of us was chasing and which was running. Who is to say, who caught up first. 

This wasn't meant to sound dirty, and conspiratorial. I hold you so close to me that now I enjoy a smugness to do with buying your time, or your energy, love or care. I know that you do too, a lot more than you let on. Then where did I get involved in something that forces me to say that I'm 'In too deep.' I checked the depth before I stepped in. It was nowhere close to drowning levels, but now I'm not so sure. 

I checked the weighing scales too, they were fair and not tampered with. Then how is it that in no time my side is tipping heavier? How is it that you keep unburdening your side? That shouldn't be allowed. If you're developing baggage, why don't you let me see it? Why do you have me under the impression that I'm the one that needs to be saved? When actually I'd much rather save you. 

When we kissed today, it was a lot slower than it should be permitted. It was like you didn't want to stop, like you were gathering every sensation that you could while it lasted. So who decides how long it lasts? You, of course. You say that you're scared of how intimate we are, while we're soaking up the warm sun right across from the dazzling sea, the same one that belongs to the entire city, but somehow uniquely belongs to you, after hours of only soaking up everything we could of each other. Like it would be the first and the last time that we could give and take so much without a soul watching, listening, intruding. I laugh and say it's because of my warm personality that you've never done this with anyone else before. You don't contest that.

We're interlocked in a very fitting way. You make me whoever you want to make me whenever you want to, without changing the essence of me. And I enjoy these escapes from me. Especially because I can remember these experiences that almost seem like out-of-body ones. Sometimes what would work best would ensure that I could take you someplace else too, and I get the feeling that I already do. But it scares you to admit that I have the power to do that. And the novelty of this all scares you out of your skin, and I can see it while I'm watching you watch me. It's unnerving but I'm filing these memories away because something tells me it's all I'm going to have left of you. And it's not much. But it should suffice. 

Nothing would have to change this if it wasn't what you were set out to do, and what I should be setting out to do. So just in a few weeks, I'm going to lose something special, something beautiful and something I didn't think I would ever have, only because it's so free of the shackles that usually accompany something so pristine. And you know what the worst part is about losing something that's like home to you? The fact that you know exactly when you're going to lose it and even worse, that you're going to be putting away the next decade of your life on hold just waiting for it to return. After all, it's home.

TickTockTickTockTickTock...

From Spring, With Love.

"Unanimously chosen song to be entered here"

Dear Gorgeous Seasons,

The only souls that I can remember being constants through the oscillations that my past forty-eight posts have been, are, as a matter-of-fact, the only ones I haven't written about. I guess that only re-asserts the fact that the ones that are the closest to your faint heart, the ones that have been life-changing, the ones that are absolutely impossible to do without, are the ones you tend to overlook. Not because you care for them any less. But because you care so much, that somewhere over the years they became a part of you. 

They became the second layer of your skin. 

They became every alternate breath. 

They became half the pain you felt.

And double the joy.

I call them souls, because no other term, could even strive to describe the connection. I called myself 'Spring' because nothing else would ensure that they would follow successively, and that the cycle would repeat. It's reassurance you know. Beautiful habits like them, die hard. 

I'm going away. I know it's not half as dramatic as we're all making it out to be. But that's just how we roll. I'm waiting for one of you to slap me as soon as after you read this. But I'm willing to risk it. :)

To Summer,

I swear, just as I typed that, a gush of warmth went through me, and a cloud of tears blurred my laptop screen. No. It's not that strange defect my screen has. I think you're the one that brought this about in the first place, so in a way, you are to blame. When I first met you, in my long pink skirt that's gathering dust somewhere now, I didn't feel any sparks. I didn't think we were going to ever even share a cup of coffee, let alone sob stories, most cherished wardrobe items, laughter and complete lives. If I had to pick my own teacher, someone who could guide me through everything even when I just didn't want to budge, it would be you. It would be your incomprehensible bundle of energy, warmth and adrenaline that makes you so full of life, so brutally honest, so perfect that you would pick out your own flaws and sit with them for days with a needle and thread and then pick ours up for all the serious patchwork to be done. And once you were done, we shone bright, because you picked the prettier embellishments for us. But somehow you were the most gorgeous, I don't understand how that worked. When we picked you as the season right after me, I was jealous because you got to be the name of my most favorite character. But I'd only let you have it. Because truth be told, you're a much better character than even she could ever be. Also because she wasn't the one that smacked me hard on my head when I had tears pouring down my face, she wasn't the one that told me to stop feeling sorry for myself, and she wasn't the one that held my hand and let our stilettos pierce through red leather sofas, alcohol being the only excuse. You were. And just thought you should know, I'm taking you and your strength, gonna store it in one big chunk of me. Yes, you can be the speaker. Forever.

To Monsoon,

Your unpredictability, caught me off-guard too. I'd expected mucky, bickering weather. Instead I got the most open-your-heart-out-and-dance-till-the-day-ends season I could have asked for. You are my happy place, and you've been around the longest. Longer than anyone has ever been. I was told to either hate you, or love you, and I would have ideally liked to pick both just so I could experience all of you, but I was told I could have only one so I chose to fall head over heels in love with you and I'm not complaining. Because you've never disappointed my love, in fact you've made it dramatic, outrageous, pathetic, sappy, grand and most of all, so bloody pure, that I've got all its worth. My eternal journal (and I'd only say that to you because you excuse all my corny-ness), that you are, always wanted to know every nook of how I was feeling, went scurrying there slyly like a kitten even when I tried keeping it hidden behind layers and layers of curtains, hidden in the dark. Slowly the darkness went. And then all the fabric. Sometimes while chatting with you, with our feet propped up on the Barista table, or our shutting out of hundreds of people in the madness that is our college, or while stealing tequila, or even while being engrossed in Music and Lyrics, I couldn't tell which one of us was which. I could as easily be you as I would let you be me. In fact, I have a feeling, you might be a better me than I ever was. I'm taking you with me, just because I want to do some real living, with a hint of mystery, a dash of refreshing thoughts and a dollop of what-you-see-is-what-you-get attitude in it.

To Autumn,

Full-stops. I couldn't get past them in your life, for the longest time. But once I did, boy was I glad! Beauty in it's truest form, and I didn't exaggerate, although I know you're already thinking that I'm full of shit. Ironically leaves are the most beautiful when they're falling off their life-support system. I look at you and I'm calmed. Soothed. And somehow feel sheltered and protected. Even though, I just want to drop everything and shield you every time I can see something approach you, anything even mildly capable of altering your nature, and more often than not I see it much before you do. You're transitional, dear autumn, but I want to know how you still manage to hold your own. I'm mystified and charmed by your capacity to keep everything bottled up and not let it spill out of the safe valve that you keep it in, out into an audience that would never appreciate and understand the intricacies of so many things close to your heart. I'm glad that when you picked the recipients, it was us. Because your stories, your thoughts, and your concerns are precious. And I don't understand how nobody saw that before. I could have you around me and my mundane life for days, months and years at an end without feeling the need to fill the gaps of silence with any words. But I would probably burst into uncontrollable tears the moment you were removed. You are my ego with a mind of it's own, and you know when to boost me and when to bring me down and somehow amidst all the smoke, boys, the city that's our launch-pad, and the emotions that are our backbone, you managed to trick me into making you my favorite song, just the one that I'm never going to get sick of. Be transitional, but please don't shift, because I wont know where to find you. In my head, you can do no wrong, and even if you do, I could never punish you. For now, I'm taking a little bit of you as my balm.

You compose my years, my life, and define everything that is even half worth defining. It scares me to think that this is the first word in our goodbye sentence. I shudder to imagine, hypothetically, what my life would be like, if I couldn't so much as sense even one of you around. The only existences that I can shut my eyes and picture if ever I wanted to be comforted. The only forces that will keep me going, no matter what. The elements that come together to form the most beautiful tapestry that anyone has ever seen, so much so that I would think it a joke to trade it, even for a second. There's probably a reason why God made four basic elements and directors put four leading girls in every chick flick (I'm sure there's more meaningful stuff to the number four but this is as far as we go). I love you all. More than I am capable of loving. More than I love myself... And that's a first. :)

That's it. I'm not going. 

Soul-Splitting Love,

Spring.

Home

"Tell me your secrets,
And ask me your questions
Oh let's go back to the start.
Running in circles; coming up tails
Heads on a silence apart."- Coldplay


Dear Knight in Faded Armor, 


Your attire was always too uncomfortable and uninviting for me to form any bond with you that went beyond awe and admiration. It kept me at arms length, and soon I learnt, that that was exactly how you had always intended it to be. 


It's been a long and painfully stretched out 25 months. But like I've been repeatedly told recently, I've come a full circle. But this time when we met, you had your guard down, probably knowing that two people can never repeat the same mistake. Two people can never really form anything when they once tried, and effectively failed. Unassuming.


You rendered yourself malleable. Let our interactions, physical, verbal and on so many other intangible levels, take their own course. I guess we've learnt not to stop and contain something pure, and beautiful when it finds its way to you all on its own. We're not ashamed and we don't think ahead of ourselves. How could two people transform so much and not see it until the entire, drastic transformation has fully taken place, even while they've been in each others' peripheral vision the entire time? 


I can call you a friend. And with such warmth, that I suddenly feel light. You're slowly guiding me through a crowd, while your hands stay firmly on either side of me. And you retract them just in time, so I don't get too dependent on the support system that you are. You tell me that kissing me is like walking, talking, eating, or sleeping. It's comfortable beyond measure, but it's all that you need to do to continue breathing. I look up to you when you level life out in front of me, and in the next moment chide you for not knowing when to stop. 


I try deciphering why you push me so much for my own good, but stop short of trying too hard. I try understanding the amused laughter, when you push me around and get me childishly agitated. I try to reason why I don't worry about not seeing you ten years down the line, or why everyone around us, intimate and distant, has formed something out of us. It's something I see too. And it's something that makes me smile. At the time of the shining armor, and the damsel distressed by her own notions, we challenged the time and ended up with bitterness. What we share now, is as good as a sad smile. There's irony in the happiness that we've created in a tiny bubble and don't know what to call. So instead we focus on enhancing the minutest of details that compose this bubble. Rush of blood to the head.


I don't know the answer to that question that repeats itself in my head. I don't know why. I don't know why we can mould and emote and be ridiculous and laugh at how non-ridiculous it feels. I don't know how we end up in one place from another. I don't know how I can bear with you being obnoxious or how you can deal with little subsidiaries of my life. I don't know how we ended up there that night or how we continued feeling and becoming more and more a part of the already formed foundation without much changing. I just know that I don't want it to be taken away from me. Or for that matter, what I would ever do if it was. 


More often than not, I have not heard of very many happy endings to something this beautifully untouched... Just saying.


Love,
The Equally Vulnerable.