It's my Life

I have a love hate relationship with my existence. Hurtled from one place to another, dumped in a corner, forgotten for the better part of my existence and yet indispensable. I am like the neglected wife of a fairly long marriage, dreaming to be picked up in arms and getting passionately kissed, who instead ends up getting a forgotten peck in rush.

Picked up in a rush, dumped even before I have had my fill of his touch, separated albeit temporarily from the company of the arms I love most, left and forgotten to bump and being bumped in with the rest of my brood, unfamiliar strangers united by the similar situation we are stuck in. Forced upon each other's company, we make conversation, listen to each other's stories, share experiences, listen to the tales of lives from far and wide, before being separated sometimes forever, sometimes to be re-united by the accident of life.

And before long, I am back in the arms I love, only to be dumped again, to be given a quick cursory search that is reserved for a familiar being, and then forgotten in a corner, to be remembered daily in the occasional moments of need, while I from my corner, watch your life go past my hungry eyes, catching every moment of it like a parched lover, asking for no more than the span of attention you give.

Ours is the world of deaf and dumb. He's deaf and I am dumb. Hardly a word is spoken between the two of us, and we do not seek to break the silence that we have grown to love. Left alone, we stick to our spaces, neither wanting to disturb each other. We speak the language of gratitude, gratitude for each other's company, each making the existence of other meaningful. The unspoken understanding being the beauty of our relationship. And it's been a long and happy association.

And if u are by now scratching your heads in amazement, wondering about our relationship, let me tell you, We are inseparable, and the few lost and found moments that we have had, have left our hearts standstill with fear, with separation however small, filling us with anxious tears and lines of worries, making the bonds that hold us stronger.


We are the companions on a long journey, whose presence not only gives the other the happy feeling of a familiar presence, but is also a source of strength. On the strange and unfamiliar roads that we travel we are each other's source of comfort.

                                                  This is the story of my Life.

                                                   
                                                       The Life of a Suitcase.

                           

The Haunted

It was...

One of those moments when the cold feeling she worked so hard to run away from, finally caught up with her. Slamming into her so hard, that she was left gasping. These were the moments when she stood face to face with her stillness, when she could no longer mute the noise within, instead the noise of the world and the life she was a part of, stood muted, by the roar of the storm that was raging within. Moments when she found herself  helplessly churning within the whirlpool of her choked up emotions, throttled self, locked up desires, chained dreams struggling to break free from the chains that held them,. 


She knew that cold touch. 

It was the touch of loneliness, her old nemesis, that relentlessly haunted her and It left her shivering. These were the moments when the emptiness that came with her loneliness felt like a huge burden she was dragging around.

She struggled to hold herself together, till she could get away from the world and lock herself within those comforting walls of her washroom, where she could watch herself break into pieces, feeling the stab of pain that came with every piece that broke, a place where the cry that came with every stab would go unheard. Where she could be left alone to struggle with the questions that had no answers, the problems that had no solutions.

She struggled to hold herself together, till she could slump against those stone cold walls and find comfort against the unyielding stone. While the tears washed away the grief that she could no longer hold within. 

And then She let the tears flow. These tears knew her story, they knew her, her pain, her emptiness, her desires, her longings, her joy, her ecstasy, they knew her like none other, they were her solitary solace, those tears, those cold stone walls and the silently gazing mirror. Before them she was a mask less naked soul, without any charade.

She held herself tightly with her arms, wishing that another hand would reach out to her, and knowing full well there would be none, she let the warmth of the tears caress and heal her. 

She did not know for how long it lasted, for how long she had wept, how many tears she had shed.

Before the storm finally passed over. And emptied of emotion, she felt the calm seep in. Slowly she found her strength return from within. She stood up facing the mirror, and within the very mirror where she had watched herself shatter, she saw her self regenerating.

The questions still remained and the problems were still unsolved, but she had found within herself the strength to begin again, her lonely journey to find the answers she sought and the hope that someday she would walk down her road, holding the hand she had always waited to hold.

                                                

                                                  

The story of an Unending Love Affair

This is how it all started,


When a series of unconnected happy and unhappy incidents and memories after travelling through a soul, sprung from within it, tiny brooks of emotions, which within the con-volutes of a mind, finally knotted together in a string of words......and when the desire of those words wanting to make themselves heard, finally led someone to hold in their hand a pen and paper.....

That is how it started, the love affair between,  the ink and the paper, when they first met each other through the stroke of a writer's hand, and began weaving together the yarn of their love....

And that yarn just kept growing, turning sometimes, into a happy and at others a sad love story or a poem or  a song. Sometimes into a musing, sometimes into biography, sometimes into a partly written or hurriedly scribbled incomplete piece of writing.....

but always echoing from within it, the whispers of a soul.

The Choice

Over the years she had filled up every inch of her loneliness with work. All the while it seemed she was missing a lot, but she was so full with what she had, that all that which she was missing neither mattered nor did she care about it. She was happy with what she had. She had made a choice and locked up a few things and forgot about the key.


One day she found the key again. Opened the door and beyond it she found all that she was missing. She found all that she had chosen to forget. It was all so beautiful while she stood at the threshold and watched. Lured, She walked in. And it all turned into chaos and she was lost..


Gradually, she found her way back to the door again. Quickly turned the key and walked away. But this time she could not leave the key forgotten. She could not remember why she had chosen to lock away something as beautiful as what she saw beyond the door from her life. And One day, she opened the door again but this time, instead of venturing inside, she just stood watching from the door. It was all stunningly beautiful to watch, yet she could recall how the moment she had entered in last time it had all turned from beautiful into a dreadful mess, a tiring, trying and confusing chaos. A chaos where she had no clue of where she belonged, who she was and what did she want. She just stood there looking on for a long time before closing the door and walking away again.


This time she was consciously aware of the reason that had led her to her choice. She knew that there lay a world just as beautiful and just as complete as the world she had once dreamed of. But she could not be a part of it. She was one of those people who enjoy things behind the door by looking at them silently from afar. Just as there were others who enjoyed what she was creating from afar. She knew she was not complete and she knew her life even when filled with work was still empty. But She had found her peace in the choice she had made, even though she was missing a lot while living it because while she was living her choice she was at peace with what she did have and did not. 


And now she always kept the key with her. And she opened the door, whenever she grew weary of her choice and the emptiness it came with. She stood looking from afar filling herself and then locked the door to return back to her world. Holding on to the key like a child holds on to the world of his fantasies. It exists in the mind and the reality of the child but so does the world and the child lives in both. The world he walks in and the world he enjoys looking at . And however hard it may seem to him, He cannot live in the fantasy happily forever just as She could not live torn between her choice and her dream.