Month: September 2015

Memories.

I picked up that book you left me. Smelled its pages and stroked its cover. It revived so many memories. High school when you and I were inseparable. I remember how we used to sit together, have lunch together, and even go back home together. University where destiny brought us together. I remember how we used to go on those shopping sprees and coffee dates and put up each other on blind dates. Your wedding day when I was around you every moment, you wouldn’t let me go anywhere. I remember how widely you smiled that day, all dressed up in the red lehnga and the make up you so detested. You looked gorgeous. That day in the hospital when you cried and cried in pain and then smiled so widely when she finally came. I remember how I held her even before you did. I’m still her favourite aunt you know. Then, your funeral. When you decided not to attend my wedding scheduled days later. I remember how I couldn’t move or eat or drink anything. I just cried and cried and thought about all those times we spent together. That’s when they read your letter and you had left me this book. Our childhood favourite. The old copy that I had lent you and forgotten about. You mischievous woman, you kept it with you all these years after college and let me believe I had lost it.
I opened it again. The back torn, ruined with the coffee spill, and the first page that read in your dirty handwriting “I’m sorry. You are my best friend. Forever will be.”
The tears escaped my eyes and smeared the pages. I wish I knew your struggle.
I was jerked back to reality as your grand daughter comes running to me, pulling on my saree “Grandma, where did you leave the TV remote?”
I wish I remembered. I am losing my memory along with my hair you know. Yet the memories of you and me never die………

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Multiple Organ Failure

Way too beautiful

ForeverAwkward (And Maybe Learning)

I don’t love you with my heart
because I don’t want your image
to simply thump through me like
a beat I learn to ignore as I
go about my day, no, I love you
with my lungs, with every breath
I take infusing the emotion with
more oxygen, and I love you with
my stomach, as I digest every
unpalatable bit of you, and 
allow the assimilation to nurture,
and I love you with my pancreas,
breaking down the sugared promises
so that only you and I exist in the
here, now, us, we,
and I love you with the neurons
in my brain, which fire off an
orchestrated litany of fireworks
every time you say my name,
and I love you with my spleen,
because I’m not quite sure 
why or how or if at all it works
but it’s an integral part of me,
and I love…

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Graffiti.

She was like Graffiti on the walls of an ancient European city. Old in her ways, with a slight touch of the changing cultures. She was a work of art, not understood by all, but admired by many.
Oftentimes she was but a simple, straightforward advertisement yet sometimes, she was a message to the masses. Made by careless, carefree, artistic hands full of enthusiasm, she was full of flaws, but the flaws made her all the more beautiful.
She was like Graffiti on the walls of a child’s room. Innocent in her outlook but an expression of what went on in the mind. Unfinished, forgotten, she was the source of happiness to the mother. She was the kind you could look at years later, and get that beautiful nostalgic smile on your face.
She was like Graffiti on the walls of an Artist’s studio. She was near perfection, and near to the Artist’s heart. She was the one made by delicate hands for himself, and not to showcase to the world. She was the reflection of his story.
She was like Graffiti on the walls of a high school. She was the grunt and pain and the aggression. She displayed the hardships of teenage life. She was the story locked in the lockers.
She was like Graffiti, a multidisciplinary work. A creation of so many different people she had met over the vestiges of time. She said a lot, least was heard. Not understood by all, but admired by many.

Phir Milenge Chalte Chalte.

You meet a person, talk to them, eventually becoming great friends and making a million memories. You have thousands of stories to tell each other and so many secrets to share. Then, one day, without you anticipating, its time for you to say goodbye.
Time and distance separating you, for a better future ahead, for better times, but at the sake of your very friendship. Rejoicing the last days, hugging and promising to stay in contact and that slight fear of “What if we don’t”
You don’t want to come at par with the words ‘good bye’ and you keep playing around by saying things around it. Yet, one day, finally, you have to accept that its now time for them to turn around and leave, to a different place, a different life, a different time. It is time to leave behind all those bags full of stories and laughs and tears and carry new empty bags to fill in with new people. You let them go with a hope of retaining over technology what they’re leaving behind. Video chats, phone calls, messaging, you make sure you’re connected on all available facilities, and yet a fear of distance separating hearts along with.
Not every goodbye is forever, sometimes all it means is ’till next time’. Friendships remain if your heart and soul are in them and retain if you give them all of you.
Just say your last “I’ll miss you” and then make sure you don’t by reminding that person of your existence everyday.
Because its not a goodbye, its a phir milenge chalte chalte.