Fairy tale...

Celebrating 6 months of my admission to myself of the greatest madness, biggest blunder I have done in my life till date. Being in an impossible love story (more impossible, never thought that's virtually possible, than the navy guy or the scientist).

"I am in love with him. Amid the confusion and depression that has become a regular part of this life, I love him unabashedly. Because I need a bubble to survive. And I can't live without loving somebody. Nowadays I don't put the precondition that he has to love me back. Just that I have to like him, and he should be a bit like me.

I don't hope for a relationship at this stage of my life. I don't even hope about getting back my somewhat decent consolation prize of a career that I used to have 3 years back. I am bankrupt in every sort of way and I don't hope. Period."

So, six months down the line, I tell my niece - I am scared of getting more addicted if he writes to me because I already miss him when he doesn't write and if he keeps on writing he's bound to stop someday and then I'd miss him like hell.

My niece, in her wisdom of the great 18 years of age, retorts back - you are not scared hon, you are scarred. Maybe chessman will heal them...

I don't think he will - I don't have that lofty an expectation from life. But I rather like the way my fairy tale has shaped up in these six months...I don't know if I am really happy but at least it feels like happiness... :)

Questions...amid happiness...

Because I can't possibly write to him any more than I already have, even my over-filmy "ji le apni zindagi" self wouldn't permit that, I'm back to square one writing here. And I don't know what to write about. I don't even know if I actually like this situation. Perhaps, to be truthful, I don't. I am so habituated to have lived with myself and my thoughts all these days, that it feels a little strange even to peep out of the shell. If I ever revel in our newfound friendship this very shrewd self of mine would taunt me - why, you simply brought that about. There's nothing natural about it. Everything is concocted. And I am hurt at my own words. I don't even have the strength to argue with myself. I don't want to. I don't have a point to prove. To myself, to anybody else. I don't even feel anxious for him to write back to me. I might even be happy if he doesn't. Because this duality is confusing. The thing that I want to keep under the wraps looks very exposed if he writes to me regularly. And the instability of it is a bit depressing. Like if he writes, he's bound to stop some day. I don't want to live with that uncertainty. I am so tired of uncertainties...

So I am finally really truly happy with life. With my 3 pets, one lady doggy and two puppies, my "beloved" pen friend and my romanticism being rewarded in a strange way. I still feel like hiding my blog lest he discovers it somehow. How will he feel about what I write here. He knows my eccentricities and the split personality thingy. He's my psychologist after all. Still, will it be difficult for him to gulp this down? Will our friendship be affected? I don't know. I have always been depressed in my blog. And I've had terrible men in my life. Is it really possible that a man would finally be good to me and will understand me?

Changes and aspirations...

You know, insignificant, almost imperceptible changes. Like - I won't be lying down all the time when I am at home. Would be a little more interactive...slightly more mobile than I am usually. I wouldn't feel that void that I usually do, in that searing a way. I am a little more angry and little less given up.

I can't call myself happy, no, but maybe I am slightly more lighthearted. A little out of my usual depression, in the fact that I am at least, say, brushing my teeth regularly, twice a day :) throw in the occasional beauty routine and I quite fail to recognize myself...

A strange thing happened yesterday. Quite scary too. I was having two tumor kinda things in my armpits. I didn't want to see the doctor about that. I was nurturing it way I nurture my broken tooth, as a prospective tool that'd lead to my death. One of the tumors was swelling up and I almost felt happy about the imminent death. And strangely at the same time, its roots were drying up too. Yesterday evening it just got detached from the skin and fell off - a minuscule swelled up mass with a shriveled end. Quite a sight for someone who's never attended a biology lab. Before I could react, blood spurted out of the wound. Like a jet it streamed out. My God, was I shaken? Somehow with my common sense and by God's grace I stopped the blood. I came downstairs and put a bandaid. But till now I am getting the illusion that the wound will start leaking blood, although the area looks dry and healed and the bandaid firmly in place. So much for perceived death. And I get my healing touch by talking to him, albeit asynchronously. I feel, almost imperceptibly, that may be I don't want to die right now. Not before I see this apparent magic take a little bit more of a shape...

Yes, I don't know what's going on. This was the man I had fallen in love with and admitted to myself 6 months back. This was the man for whom I put mehendi on the entire length of my arms and dressed up in a lehenga and wore a maangtika. And now I find just a friend in the man. A friend who's given up on normal functioning once we reached this particular level of our friendship. There couldn't be a stranger incident. I definitely need to explore it before I die...

Happy death...

Ah, so where do we begin? I'm not even sure if I am ready to write anything...

May be the fact that I have accepted death - my death. May be this poem.

On the verge of death,
I finally find,
Happiness...
In the world unkind.

Highlights? To show him the dirtiest parts of our house, to listen to him play my favorite songs on the computer, to give him the gift I wanted to give - lest I die before his next birthday, or our relationship sours or whatever...and largely to enjoy the silence between us rather than the words. Why, I am not even sure anymore about whether I love him. I'm just sure that if I die now I shall die happily. In fact I so want to die...

Ah poetry...

Roses that are magically pink,
Wilt imperceptibly on the bedside table.
All the while my fate would wink,
The doctors comfort - now you are stable...
Dreams are colorful, till the dope
Won't work anymore, there's searing pain;
They inject more life, and more hope,
In the drip, and I want to get up again.
The end is near, I face the stairs,
The topmost step would lead to the moon.
Life is so strange, the pink rose glares -
And in my ears, death would croon...

No, I was lying to you when I told you that nobody loves me in a way I want and I have taken it in my stride. I haven't. Why don't people love me back in a way I want? When I love them in a way they can't even think of? Why am I so lonely? You made me cry today. I was so happy in my dream world. You destroyed it. You're also like the rest of them. I just crave for death.

Sensations...

In the ensuing blur,
That  we are, when we kiss,
I am him and he's me,
I can't decipher who is who...
If he's hunting me down, or merely -
Touching me delicately with his lips?
Whether it's goosebumps or lightning -
Through my body,
And there's no feeling in my knees,
Would I ever walk without holding onto him?
He who takes me by storm,
And makes me feel like warm honey,
As his love trickles along my soul,
Love, that's just another sweet agony.

That chunk of life which I have been living is ever diminishing in its dimensions. And death has already vandalized it beyond restoration. I am scared of facing tomorrow, oh wait - isn't it already today?

Comforting myself...

What's the worst that can happen? He goes out and finalizes his marriage plan when I am doe eyed, dreaming about him? Crap. Even that has happened, not once but twice in my life. Nothing affects me anymore. Bring it on.

And here's no question of these things. Concentrate on the impossibility of it all...

Faith? Patience? There are such words? No?

It's ok. You didn't commit an earth shattering mistake. Please. Don't feel humiliated. Just don't. It's not necessary. And you should also not generalize based on your past experiences. There might be another side to the story...

Dream. But don't hope...

You know something? There'd come a day when I'd learn to enjoy this void and ache in my heart. This vain vain wait, this desire for something that'd never happen.

Remember something honey - that tree would always need to be nurtured by both man and woman. The magic of love is shattered when any one of them lose faith in the spell...

Untold...

I don't know if you are interested in knowing what I want in form of love - and I am also not hell bent on elaborating - because bol to diya junooniyat mein, but I am not sure about what exactly I want. All I know is that it is difficult to get what I want.

May be simple honest love, may be flowers, may be understanding without having to tell. May be way you reach out to me even when we do not have a medium to interface.

The ankahee song from lootera, there's nothing like it. I love each and every word in it.

....

Does daybreak ever bring darkness?
The dark ink, now dried up, gives evidence of a story that remained untold...

Is spring ever the harbinger of autumn?
Does rain ever fall to express the discontent of the sky?
The leaves that fell from the branches, did they detach themselves without reason, all of them?

The canopy of dreams was a truth or a myth...
Who gently patted my forehead to steal away my sleep?
A story, untold, since time immemorial...lives on, silent...

....

And when your daughter tells you this - I guess you're not doing much of a mistake...

"What you guys have is beyond something that seeks a name...
It's way more precious than most of the other relationships, it's beautiful, it's a relationship where you don't need words to convey your emotions.
Just poetry and understanding."