On the edge of happiness...

  If I had three lives,   I’d have fallen… Head over heels in love with you on the first. Hopelessly in love. But torn away, Like they always do.   Married you in the second. Have babies, and fight for silly things. But patch up every day with a good night kiss, And morning coffee.   The third? Perhaps that life over there At DreamCatcher, sitting alone. Writing, a memoir, Maybe diary. Or this poem. No kids probably   A small house with a garden. And a view of the sea. And books. Lots of books – and time to read.   I’d be thinner in that life, vegan, Practice yoga. I’d go to art films, Drink martinis in swingy skirts.   I would walk on the beach at sunrise, find perfect shell spirals and study pockmarks  Water makes in the sand.   And I would wonder sometimes, If I’d ever find you. Walking on the beach at sunrise. Looking for me. 

  if i knew we had an expiry date, i would have done a lot of things differently. the hugs i used to give you would've been longer. the nights we spent under the stars, i would've counted the stars, and added you as a plus one, just to see you be so overwhelmed, it would make my world stop. the late night conversations would've been different, because i wouldn't let you go to bed, just to hear you sync your breaths over the phone, a little longer. all the times i couldn't be with you, because i was "too busy" or "too sleepy" or "too angry" at you, i wouldn't have been any of those things in the first place - if i knew our days were fixed. if i knew that the last time i heard you laugh would be the last time, i would have found a way to keep it in the shoebox of things that i have in my mind. if i knew that we had an expiry date, i would've asked you for a piece of your heart to keep with me as a souvenir, and would've given ...

 Sometimes She badly wants to fall in love With her old self All over again... The one she left In between Pages of old diaries and emails Smiles and scents long forgotten SMSes and chats  Deleted from inbox But fresh in memory Decades later But... She is no more And dead souls Don't rise from ashes.

Love... Is over-rated. Or is there anything called love? Its all convenience. A feel-good pill, that makes us believe love is real. Only in retrospect.  Have you ever wondered... The love that felt so real when you were in your 20s, suddenly felt 'not enough' one day... And then, when you have lived, or so you thought, life...had people proclaiming to 'love' you, you realized that love was real... That is what you miss... You don't miss that love, you miss the feeling of loving someone. Because now, you realize, there 'is' no love. Never was. It was all in your mind. And you miss that innocence. Of believing in love.  Of hugging someone and feeling you would die without him/her.  But you survived. Life, the shit that happens every day, 24x7, is real. Love is a fairy tale. 

While people write mushy status updates and “my life would have been incomplete without you” quotes, I will save that for later (perhaps when I need to write a feel-good blog to make myself believe I am happy). Today – when my mind is about to burst (thanks to endless work calls and a never-ending to-do list), I wanted to remind myself of something important. It’s been almost 10 years of being in an arranged marriage. Where my "love" is reflected (or so I say every time my hubby complains) in the daily routine of ensuring everything – from our daughter to sofa cushions, tax documents, groceries, bill payments, and the family’s happiness - is taken care of perfectly. Cost? An anti-stress pill at the end of the day! Sometimes, 5-10 minutes of crying my heart out.  Reward? Satisfaction of not giving up yet. Sukoon ... of people whom God chose to be in my life. Waking up to non-eventful days – every day! But…In between everything, I did something I had wanted to do for ...

You give up "snooze and snuggle sleep" to cook and pack lunch at peace before the cacophony starts You stop listening to your favorite songs on a loop and humming them because, apparently, no one likes your kind of music You stop watching movies because there is always a child to attend to, a household to run, and recipes that only you can cook. And then, one day, you can't remember your favorite movies You stop complaining and expecting from people around and smile wider to compensate for the void Pretend you can manage it all... Give up your anger and the habit of slamming doors or breaking things... Let go of the loud laughter, rain walks, beach strolls... You find yourself changing a little every day... Till you create a you, whom you do not recognise anymore.

  "रोज़ की ज़िन्दगी को मुस्कुराके में बताती हूँ में खुश हूँ क्योंकि वो भी खुश है अपनी दुनिया में मेहफ़ूज़ है"

 Mastered putting thoughts to words over the years! Generate million-dollar leads with the right words! Yet… Stay awake all night. Struggling to fill the void in my heart with words. A void that grows each night And will keep growing. Till it engulfs me. Death! They call it. But does death come so easily? I wish it does. I wish it doesn’t. 

 When "hope you're fine" emails from months back keep you awake When you wish to never see the light of the day But "I need Mumma" cries jolts you back to reality Realization dawns. Inflicting pain on yourself is more addictive than love.  Or alcohol. Being busy is a bliss that you miss. Quarantine is a double-edged sword When feverish thoughts make you miss those caring hands that can never come back. Love was yesterday.  Today, all that you have is A desire to end it all. Note to self: Do not give away. Hold tight. It is only when everything seems lost, that all is saved.

Most nights, I wait for morning to tiptoe Waiting for the daily chores To throttle the cacophony in my mind Wondering, somewhere... If you too spend sleepless nights Thinking why did life throttle your love!

Losing is inevitable. Friends. Love. Words. Emotions. To time or death. How doesn’t matter!   But do we really lose people? Or do we just hide them For the world to believe We’re fine without them.   Close your eyes, and you’ll still feel That touch long after the hand has gone The smell, long after the perfume has ebbed Those words, even in pin-drop silence   There are more voices in your head More memories in your smile More taste in your lips Than you’d ever admit to the world.   Every place. Every song. Every dish. Would remind you of a past self We fool everyone into believing That moving on is easy   But we can never move on From what we thrive on We never lose the people we loved We just stop being with them. On that note, this is for all the times you thought you've lost someone .

 Stay Because in another life I had to let you go.   I know that look Of broken trust and pain   And I feel. I know. The smile that hides tears.   Stay. A while longer today. Because tomorrow when the sun shines up I’ll be halved again.   Tonight, let me be Just the way it was. Serene. Peaceful. Content.   Stay. Live. Nurture. The memories. Of another life. Another me.

To the memory that still makes me smile, As I write this, there is a smile on my face. Thinking how the 25-year-old me imagined you’d be her forever happily ever after. But the 35-year-old me knows the difference between forever yours and happily ever after. The later is a fairy tale, the former – reality. And fairy tales and reality do not mix in real life. Looking back, I realize how much I believed in love. The innocent belief still makes me smile. I remember that half-smile of yours. The weird names you used to call me – and how I reveled in the love of being called a ‘dumbo’. Now, I would smack anyone who calls me that. I remember how I used to ask 1000 times – what’s wrong – and the reply would be – nothing. Years later, I bumped into a video that explained when men say nothing, they really mean it. Had I known it earlier, I would have not bugged you. Do you remember the first time we went out? I am sure you do, considering how high I was. But do you remember our l...

On a May morning, I woke up to the news of death of a father-like uncle. He was in his 80s, battling Cancer for the last 10 years, and died a peaceful death alone – just as he wished. With no family by his side (he was unmarried, and none of us could travel because of the lockdown), my family grieved the absence of people on his deathbed more than anything. While I was coordinating for the formalities and last rites, taking turns to call people back at home to console them – I decided to park my grief. After a few days, when I sat with myself to face the loss, I realized I haven’t lost him to death. In fact, we never lose people to death. We grieve because we find it difficult to accept the person will no more be a call away. While people who loved him cried for days, I could not. It affected me so deep that I created a world within me where I can still ask for his advice. His life lessons helped me bear the loss. And I started doing what he always asked me to – reading The Bhaga...

How often have you been advised to ‘let go?’ Of people, things, and often, memories. Since childhood, we are conditioned to let go – of toys, chocolates, odd things that were precious to our existence. I remember my childhood favorite – a toddler-sized doll that my late grandmother gifted me when I was 6 months old. It stayed, till my brother dismantled it to find life in it. My heart broke, but my mom told me it’s immature to cry for a toy. ‘Grow up’, she said. ‘You need to share things, even your favorites. And if you lose them in the way, that’s ok.’ She never knew that the doll was my only friend in this world, someone I talked to every night, shared my thoughts with. The doll was replaced by a pillow. As I grew up and moved out, the pillows changed. Some grew out to be human – friends who turned out to be confidante, a lover whose shoulder was a moving lullaby and could cure insomnia. I have let go of many things (almost all) that made me humane. Songs that reminded me ...

In one of our pre-marriage conversation, we decided on some ground rules. Some, I realized on the go. Since some of my friends asked me to make it public, here I go: Respect: With years, the face of love will inevitably change. You'll not go weak in your knees, or have butterflies in stomach. Fights can/will be messy sometimes. You'll ask 'why did I do this to myself?' often. But never lose respect for each other. You can live with a little less love, but not with a little less respect. Pro tip: If you have to cuss, do it under your breath. No third parties: No matter how miserable you feel, don’t let someone else counsel you both (unless you're seeking professional help). We all have those moments when we vent-out to our friends, but make sure they're not common friends/well-wishers. Because eventually you'll patch up, but always remember what your partner said to the common friend/well-wishe...

Above all frustrations and fear, the lockdown has taught me a valuable lesson. To pause.  All my life I was afraid to pause. To live life in ‘suspended animation’ (I quote a friend here). I always need adventures to thrive on. And every time life seemed mundane, I hopped on the next superfast express. Life has never disappointed me. Through all the heartbreaks and betrayal, I always managed to see the brighter side, learn, and move on (or pretend to). I have been trying to find comfort in mundane for a while now. Comfort in a 6-year old job, and love in a 7-year old marriage. Every time the office boy asks me if everything is fine after I go back after a break, I feel home.  I feel loved when every morning, my husband plants a peck on my cheek before leaving for work. And on days when he avoids doing that (because I am mad at him), my daughter will not let him go without giving a ‘Puchi’ to Ma. And the lockdown has taught me to notice and value that mundane routi...

I was 16 when I imagined my first love.  When the imagination dwindled, I thought love exists only in poetry.  At 19, my school best friend told me, I will die without you.  I left him, dreading he would. Years later, he left for greener pastures, with a classmate. At  21, I thought I would die if my 'imagined soulmate' leaves me. One fine morning, he woke me up to inform of his marriage. He said his poetry will die without me. I believe it did, for he found his passion in consultancy. A part of me died that day. I think I made him up all inside my head. Nevertheless, he is still my escapade. And never leaves my head. At 24, astrologers predicted I will die if I marry my then boyfriend. Both of us are alive. Perhaps, we would have strangled each other to death otherwise. At 27, I thought we will die if we leave each other. Yet, I left. Because I never wanted my family reputation to die, irrespective of my life. Both of us survived. With lots of alcohol amd ...

I deal with words all day. And when I close my eyes, tired. Your words play around my mind. Sometimes, I dread If my pen bleeds your words. And handcuff my memories. My words pay my bills. Yet, I let your words take over my mind. Sometimes. On nights when the heart bleeds, More than my pen ever will.

I Your first date. You take him around the city, to the places you love. You’re no more afraid of dealing with your yesterday, and dream of tomorrow. II. You move in together, to his city. His random “I love you” makes you believe in yourself, helps you brave the responsibilities that come with marriage. III. Holding his hands while you wriggle in pain and anticipation at the operation table. A fairy from your womb makes you fall in love. All over again. Back to butterflies on your first date.