I spoke a lot

And then I stopped

I wrote a lot

Then I stopped

Silence was me communicating

My aloofness was me communicating 

My love was dying, breathing its last

But then the loud waves of the ocean

Broke the silence in me

Sang the rhythm of the sad song

And I too sang along

My face had sprinkles of water of the ocean

or so I thought

It was tears finally

And I felt something shifting within me

Something coming to surface

The dark clouds of sadness finally found its way

Through tears, poured my heart

And a smile had its way

I still feel the void in my heart

But now I know this stillness is required

I am healing

Nature healed me

Thank you Ocean!

For you carry not just the heavy water within you

But the secrets of everyone who come to visit you

You read hearts

And you read minds

You show us what being mighty means

It means to forgive

It means to give

It means to move on

It means to stay still

It means to mop and sweep

The cobwebs of old, disturbing memories

You taught me to love myself

You taught me to live again

Oh Ocean, you are truly deep!

Literary Festival 2022 at Indo-American Arts Council (IAAC)

 A walk amidst the crisp, chilly autumn air in New York was pure and magical. The winds and the leaves were in a symphony. The leaves were dancing to the tunes of the autumn air, and silence was music. The leaves were rustling beneath my feet. I picked one beautiful red maple leaf and tucked it in my book as a bookmark. I was in a reverie with a good book, tea and a friend. Isn't that ideal for a person who loves to read?

Lucky me, as I was going to get what I so wanted! Good books, a big yes! A friend, yes! But not just one or any, but many and all authors. I was going to the literary festival 2022 at the Indo-American Arts Council (IAAC). At first, I felt alienated as I didn't know anyone. But warm smiles followed the event, and as if I knew everybody, I started enjoying myself while getting absorbed into the literary talents around me. The faces we see at the back of the books were standing right there in front of me. I was in awe of them. There were these strong personalities and literary figures with not just stories to tell but inscribing thoughts and values in their writings. 

This literary event took me into an academic space where all the literary talent was there for me to absorb. A place where authors matter. Their thoughts matter. It was a haven for readers and writers alike. One could speak their mind and share their views freely.

The smell of books for me weirdly makes me calm down, the new fresh smell of books! Yes, it's a thing! Reading blurbs and through blurbs, the ideas, the illustrations, the cover pages, the authors signing and smiling, and the stalls where all the books lay exhibited for attention was all so refreshing, evoking the writer in me to share my work in future. Their content was so rich with words and ideas that I couldn't help but buy a few books right there and then, autographed by authors who will soon be a part of my thoughts and life once I begin reading their work. 

It was an event that few attended, but many should have. We had Priya Kumari, an author with colorful books and even more colorful descriptions of the festivals of India. A lot of authors speak about Indian festivities and food, and culture, but very few know the art to capture the authenticity behind these cultures. In comes Priya Kumari, a woman, a mother, and an entrepreneur with her own publishing house, Eternal Tree Books, encouraging more authors like her and providing a platform for budding authors. She strikes a chord with children, and my child enjoys reading her books. 

Then there was Ananta Ripa Ajmera, The Way of the Goddess writer. She is an Ayurvedic practitioner and a spiritual teacher. In her book, she talks about how some daily rituals can awaken our inner warrior and how we discover our true selves. Her observations and learnings are genuinely insightful. This book will never leave my bedside table. It was a dream and delight to have my favorite Deepti Naval among the authors. Once an artist, always an artist and her art come in various forms. She is an actor and now a writer with her book A Country Called Childhood.

It was my first time meeting Ms Trehan, author of The Very Best House in Town. Her soft voice, learned ways, and unique viewpoints could not be missed. Ms Khoda, too had some learned insights to share with everyone. Her poise and answers spoke about her experience in the publishing field. She was kind enough to have gifted me a book for my son. The book is titled Somnath Hore: Wounds. Through the work of art by Somnath Hore, the story talks about real wounds, the hard-hitting topics such as famine and death conveyed to children through the medium of art. It's beautiful and tearful at the same time. It's interactive and wants parents to talk to kids about these facts in a way they would feel and understand the wounds. 

These were the in-person sessions that I attended. However, I missed the virtual sessions of my favorite Barkha Dutt, whose book is on my 'want-to-read' list. It's about the rural life of India during Covid. I was intrigued by another book, "Murder at the Mushaira." I loved the plot. I am sure to look into the reviews of this book. 

Please let me know if you have read any of these books and how you like them. I would also like to read detailed reviews.  

I Am Sorry I Don’t Love You

My letter to society

I am sorry I don’t love you

Coz I know you don’t love me either

And I am done with this one-sided love story

I haven’t taken anything from you...

To return to you

I am done being nice to you

And yet I’d be

Coz that’s how I am brought up to be!

I don’t love you anymore and never more than my folks and family

I refuse to leave behind me the memories of fear and being cornered just because of my experiences with you, oh society,

I should’ve fought, yes! I should’ve stood for my team, my family, yes, yes!

But I gave in to your pressures

And you didn’t care for me

You still weren’t impressed

And you never shall be!

Coz you know how to be authoritative

And slave is not me!

This goodbye letter doesn’t end with any best wishes for you from me

And yet I wish the best for you coz you are a reflection of us, of who we have made you to be

Although I am going to live with you, co-exist with you but I’d care and love myself and my own without you having to support me

I won’t pray you anymore neither look for validation from you

Coz I don’t really care and yet I care about you

I don’t coz you won’t and I do coz I live with you and in you, oh society!

You and your people just know how to make life miserable,

And I don’t bow to such Lords who hold captive the innocent in fear

I’d rather be and stay strong and hold close those who are my dear

And lastly, please mind your own business and don’t dare to comment again on my loved ones or me

Coz I never asked for your opinions and your judgement you can keep to yourself

Coz you’ve decided to rot from within

While I want to uplift myself 

You are a quicksand and you will pull me back into you

Yet again I will think of how I present myself before you

Or so you may think and I will let you think so

But I have understood one thing 

That you’re neither a friend nor foe

Whatever you are, you won’t change for me

And whether you do or not, I declare myself free

Free from you and your ideas about me

Free from your lovers and guardians

Oh society, just let me be! 

I Want Another Life

 I want another life…

To correct the incorrect

To right the people I wronged

To care more

To love more

To meet my loved ones for sure

To give more

To gain more

To dream yet again

To deserve what I got for free 

And therefore…

I want another life,

And another and yet another

Coz no matter how many lives I take

I cant give back what I got from my family

I can never settle the score

Oh God, you have blessed me with so much for sure

And yet I shamelessly ask for more… 

More chances, 

Or

At least one 

To give and do what I am here for!

Cracks are Beautiful

 Every relationship goes through three phases. The third one is the most dicey part. It speaks more about you. First phase is what we think is the most beautiful phase, its all about expressing and impressing. There is no bad impression ever. It is always good. The vibes have already done it for you. You both like each other. The first smile that catches your attention, you can say that the other person likes you. The cliched “butterflies in the stomach” feeling, the loop de loop thought of the first touch, the first kiss is beyond the word “happiness”. The glow on your face, the blushing, the planning of more meetings, the restless waiting in between all defines this beautiful first phase. 

The second phase is of course that of commitment and responsibility is playing hide and seek with us. We commit because we cant stay without seeing our significant other. We want to wake up with them, spend the day, every memory with them. But there is no more impressing one another. We are now in our comfort zone, we are more friends than lovers. The love starts to wear off. We keep it alive with fun times, outings and memories of good times. We slowly settle in like roommates and not just spouses. The outer world makes us realize time and again that we are married causing a scar, the responsibilities are shared. Just like it happens between siblings, couples too have slip ups and miss out on their share of responsibilities could be carelessness or just some lazy moments. The procrastination then causes a fight. We start missing our blood family who took all the s**t and yet let us be us. We refuse to grow up. We want to see our spouse as that missing parent who will take crap. And that’s never gonna happen. 

The quarrels and arguments lead to more talk. That’s when you realize actions don’t speak louder than words. Words are louder in real, abusive sometimes when spoken in anger, hurtful beyond imagination, Pang! The softest corner of your heart is hurt, leaving a scar that wont be forgotten in times to come. The weaknesses shared in good times now come as a thrashing blow on your face. You cant take it. The arguments that seemed trivial earlier now suddenly are the elephant in the room. You cant ignore, you cant deal with! 

Time is a healer and so you patch up, more so, because you want that uneasiness to end. You want better times ahead. The good memories make you give a benefit of doubt that it was all not meant to be an attack on you, it was just a rough patch, bad mood or whatever it is that you deem fit to apply. 

Now comes the hardest part. Again things get happier, but time and again you are reminded of the hurt with future fights that crop up from the same on going issue as that issue never found its closure. Open wounds hurt most. 

What would you choose? Most couples move on, forgiving and forgetting all of these moments along the way, brushing it aside under some carpet that never has to be rolled up. But your human brain stores these memories in your subconscious. You take it as an experience and you change your behavior based on these very experiences. You are not the same person like you were in the first phase. Neither is your partner. So what makes me say that cracks are beautiful? You don’t realize but you are bonding. Just like you bonded with your sibling who drove you crazy during your growing years and even for a fraction of second you wished they weren’t there in your life. But you spiral back to them. It is the same with your spouse. 

You rebounce, renounce sometimes, and rewind the same memories in your brain. 

These very cracks then form your story. Your own love story! What story without twists and turns, without hurdles and celebrations and accomplishments and sad phases and craziness. We can never forget we are all humans and we aren’t always proud of the things we do. Every person has had such moments in their life that they are ashamed of their actions during that one such phase. There is a saying “Vinaash kale viprit buddhi” in Hindi. It means when the times are bad, our mind makes wrong decisions and results in bad actions. To forgive and forget with your heart is the way we grow together. Remember, marriage is not just to live together but to grow together. When the storm comes, hold your hands tightly, don’t let go or you wont survive and if you do, you will be left alone in the island called life. 

So I leave you to create more cracks, mend them and make beautiful love stories! 

I Love Rainy Days…

I like the slick wet roads and the reflection of lights on those

I love how the dull colors of the sky make everything else look so brighter

When looking out of the window, you see every umbrella a different color and character

The drops of water on the window panes give me the feeling like when your thirst is quenched

The first thing that comes to my mind is to forget the world and get all drenched

Then there are these happy trees

Loving the rains, you can say

Coz they are swaying happily

And looking all clean and green today

It is on these days that the tea tastes much better

Beyond looking at the rain, and hearing the pitter-patter

Nothing else is worth a mention

But the fluttering pages of the book want my attention

The puddles, sitting for hours and looking at the clouds for different characters and shapes

These were the memories of childhood that we left in haste

Every memory seems fresh in my mind

It’s like I am reliving my past for some happiness to find

I pick up my phone to call my parents and siblings

And share stories and laugh, a laugh of love

I feel like a peaceful dove.

On a rainy day, there is a tear in my eye of happiness and emotions welled up

Talking about this, my mind trailed off

Embarking on a journey of its own

Every year on my birthday, the rain God blesses my day

I make sure to take the blessings in the most humble way

Although sunny days are a favorite of most

To a beautiful rainy day, I raise a toast.

The pitter-patter of rain drops turning into rain shower, 

The nature is a unique blend of beauty and power,

It communicates in such wonderful ways

Not leaving a soul alone, these rains leave a trace

Petrichor emanating from the thirsty, dry earth

The freshness left behind is like new birth

These raindrops leave their miraculous touch

Of lifting my spirits, of making me feel loved so much

For that every drop of rain on my face, I have to lift up my head

Lift my head, I do…but I make sure to bow

To heavens above, 

As these very rains remind me to be grateful for all there is, 

The sunshine, the rainbow 

and

The Rain! 💦 

Beauty in You Lies in the Eyes of the Child that Comes from Within You

Nearing 40, I see the difference. Subtle though, but I can see the 20s youth is not what my skin shows. 

I was really bothered by it all. What serums to use, how to keep a taut skin, how to hold on to my younger days! Not that I am old yet but I believed everything I heard and read about the importance of skin regime. 

When with friends and family, having good times, these things were the last on my mind. But when alone, I kept obsessing about this topic. So much so that, I didn’t realize I am losing out on some real good moments with my child here. 

Once when I was hooked on to binge watching videos on the topic, filling my amazon cart list with beauty products, wanting to look cool on insta, checking the make up I had since my early 30s, checking my skin for marks, trying to find a decent shade of lipstick and wearing it whilst noticing hyperpigmentation spots and so on, my son came to me and said, “Mamma, don’t apply lipstick!”

I looked at him and asked, “Why? I gotta look pretty na!”

He immediately told me, “No, You ARE the prettiest. Can you make that mousy face, so we can play?” He asked. 

We played this game where I would pretend to be a mouse and chase him around the house. I would sniff him and that would tickle him. He would laugh so much when every time I speak in a squeaky, mousy voice and tell him that he smells like yummy yummy cheese and I would relish him. 

I made that mouse-like face by wrinkling up my nose, half thinking about the fine lines that appear with all these facial gestures. To hell with that, who cares! I just left everything and suddenly I really didn’t care at all. I was back into the game and was jumping on the bed with him and busy with my pillow fights and making a pretend dungeon with the blanket and so on…

That’s my love story!

I love how I look when I look at myself through my son’s eyes. 

Sure, when we reach a particular age or a point in life, we seek validation for our beauty. I, for sure, know where it lies. “It comes from within”, they say. But not just from within our heart where we choose to feel young and beautiful.

For me, it comes from within me, from the eyes of my child who came from within me. 

I love you my son, not just coz you make me feel beautiful. But also because I see what I mean to you. I am the center of your world and you, my son, are my whole world. 

You make me feel like I never can feel low, no matter what! I feel so beautiful and so blessed to have you as my child, who thinks so high of me. You are my one and only…

I can never love you more 

coz 

there is no more than what I already love you. 

I love you more than love itself. 

I am grateful to you for being mine. I am grateful to the Almighty for blessing me with you. 

A child is a child, you cant make a child…but you make me, you made me a parent and so much more. 

Thank you my Aarav, my heartbeat, my sanity, my purpose to live, my life itself! ❤️ 🤗 😘 🌞 

Just A Woman

When I am like water, flowing easily,

letting people around me have me as much as they want...

Being a giver, I am loved BUT wasted. 

I am not valued.

Then, I block my emotions,

I turn into ice.

I refuse to give in. I refuse to be used and wasted.

I want to be valued.

So I am boiled. I am pushed to my limits to melt down eventually and be able to quench the thirst of a man.

and so they have their way,

I am boiled. But this time i am boiled a little too much 

and i vaporize, I go away. 

Away, where i can never be caught...

Can never be trapped. 

but then when i reach the sky,

I reach the space where I feel I am alone. I want to be one with the same people again...

Its okay to be used...

Its okay, I repeat to myself.

I make myself believe.

And so I fall...fall happily creating rainbows to embrace my very own.

They feel me on their faces, and they smile and greet me,

A lot of me still goes wasted

but I realize I am not the only giver

the ones quenching their thirst of love with me survive on my love

they may take me for granted 

but its me and only me they want and not some substitute

I am therefore valued

I am a woman. 

I am a nurturer. 

I am happy. 

Lyrics to My New Song - I Think I Am Crazy a Lil

I think I am crazy a little

But guess you are more than to settle
For...I love the air,
Brushing my hair
I love the blues
Loving me through
And through and through
Happiness evades the devil
And devil is me
But when I am God-like
I am saintly than thee
You can’t be me
Coz you don’t want to know
How much it is that I can show
The world needs me
As much as I need it
To breathe
But to be free
I need nothin
Not even you
Coz I know I wanna be heard
But not when I am not heard by you
I don’t want a pair of ears
I just want to be free
Coz free’s me
And freeze me
If you can
Coz you cant
You just wanna know me
So you can know yourself
Coz it’s not me
But it’s you who needs help
I am cynical
I am lovable
I am a little crazy
Hey let that be
Coz that’s me
You don’t come in my way
Coz I have my own way
And if you do
You cant undo
Love yourself?
Then have some mercy
And spare yourself from being you
Coz I maybe crazy
But I ain’t you
You ain’t nobody
But somebody,
whom everybody wants to forget
So go away
And be Mr. Perfect
Coz you ain’t crazy
You don’t have it in you to be crazy
Coz crazy means to be the real you
And you can’t be you
Coz you are scared to be you
And me? Nope… can’t be…
Coz I am crazy a little
And crazy is free!!!

You cant be me! 

When a Husband and Wife Met on Tinder

It wasn’t a good feeling, this attempt at adultery. Is there anything like that? An attempt, per se? Either I am committing it or not. But there is an urge, a broken heart, and dissatisfaction in plenty, along with no appreciation combined, that brought me to this platform - TINDER. Little did I know that tinder is going to break my tender heart! I log in with much hesitation, half convinced I am deleting my account in 5 minutes. But the app keeps bringing forth faces never seen. I feel tempted to go on. Or is it more of an obligation that weak-hearted like me find it impolite to not respond? Uff, it's just an app, after all. And here I go...at first, slow and observant, slowly improving my speed. Days pass. I get more and more matches. More choices. Until I realize I’m a player. Now it's like I am addicted to it. Swiping left mostly and then right at times...now it's like a rhythm. 3 left 1 right.

STOP! I ... I just ..oh no! Was he? ITS A MATCH was displayed all over the screen. Oh yes...I see a red dot over the message icon. I have received a message. My heart skips a beat and yet I dare to see the message awaiting me.

It was from him...my husband!

We both swiped right for each other?! Me by mistake, him... Deliberately, is it? I shudder.

All he wrote was: “so this is where you’re busy then

I responded: ...and you too

Him: Well, looks like this is what it has come down to, we searching for different partners

I: I wonder why it took me so long. You? You must be on tinder for really long.

Him: I created an account today.

I: Me too. Strange! Why today? What triggered you?

Him: I feel ignored and unheard and unloved.

I: The feeling is mutual

Him: Ok then. Keep looking! If you find someone, do let me know.

I: Why? What would you do?

Him: Nothing much. Just wish you farewell.

I: Eager to bid me goodbye?

Him: Both of us are not happy in this relationship. What’s the point of being together?

I: Looks like you found someone already!

Him: I sure did. I found you only to realize I have lost you.

I: You found me but did you want me?

Him: Yes. But not on Tinder.

I: Do you feel a sense of loss then?

Him: Yes and you?

I: No, I don’t. I need to feel appreciated for what I am. That’s what brings me here and I have no regrets other than the fact that the people here care even less. All they need is...

Him: ...Of course they do

I: ...but you don’t. You won’t even come close to me. Why? What have I done to deserve this?

Him: You haven’t done anything wrong. But we have a lot of differences that need to be resolved first.

I: by ignoring each other’s presence, or better still by pretending we don’t exist in each other’s lives...

Him: I know we need to talk. But how? How can we possibly talk when we both have so much to say, so much we have been holding inside us; grudges included. It’s a mix of emotions and no one to hear.

I: The only thing I probably agree with you is this very thing you mentioned. We initiate a conversation but we don’t want one. All I want is to be heard. I waited and waited for my turn. I realized you no longer want to be a part of my everyday life. We are together, socially. We bond well when times are bad and just when we think that things are ok, we are on our separate ways. Back to our lives. There is nothing personal between us now. Only personal lives. And you and I... is long gone by.

Him: Can we get back together ever again?

I: I am broken. I will try but I don’t have any hopes left. Or maybe there is some light in the darkest corner of my heart. Still a candle, almost out of wax, as little as the littlest reasons we fight on. But there is some light. Let's try. Come to our room then...

Him: ...it won’t work this time... bedroom cannot always be the remedy. I feel there is too much unsaid and unresolved between us. Making out always cannot be the answer.

I: Why don’t you come inside first and see how it goes

Him: Well if you insist. I will come inside but I don’t know how to confront you and doesn’t it bother you at all how you will face me?

I: that’s for you to see. Come NOW!

The husband does as he is told. He comes inside hesitantly. He doesn’t want to see his wife and is too heartbroken. However, he enters the room. He is shocked to see his wife lying down with a man next to her. All this while he was at home. How could she? How did they?

Husband: (speechless) what…what is happening here? He turns around and leaves the room.

Not believing why he is doing the moral thing by leaving the room in spite of him being the husband and it being his bedroom and she being his wife. Disgruntled, he goes back and this time enters like a storm only to find his wife is lying down alone. Where is he? That.. that man?!

Wife: Which man? What are you saying? I am lying down under these sheets, all for you. Saying so, she smiles.

The husband is confused for a second and believes what he saw was just some hallucination after he did some immediate checks inside the closet.

He hugs his wife. It’s a bone-cracking hug like he is afraid he will lose her. He kisses her, soft quick kisses at first, really rapid ones. He wants to make sure she is his and his alone. That no one else has taken his place in her life, that no one has touched her but him. He then kisses her lips... never for once leaving them. Just trying to dig deeper and deeper into her. It’s like a stamp, ownership of sorts. And he sheds a tear. Amidst the kiss, the wife sees the tear and wipes it away. She understands he so loves her and this was just a passing phase. Marriage, after all, is a rocky ride. She somehow managed to loosen his grip on her and asked if she could use the restroom and be back in a min. Saying so, she walked to the restroom, opened the door, and asked her boyfriend to leave quickly. He did. She smiled and waved him goodbye. She came back hurriedly, closing the bedroom door behind, and snuggled between the sheets again.

The husband was already asleep, so exhausted with the trauma caused to him by what he thought he saw and also relieved to have her as his own woman, dismissing everything else as just his imagination. The wife slowly pats his back, moves her hand over his soft hair, and kisses his forehead. She then stretches her hands and takes his phone, lying next to him on the other side.

She deletes his Tinder profile and when she is about to delete hers, she sees there is a message awaiting her attention. She just goes to check it this last time and reads what her Tinder boyfriend has written, “check your email urgently”. She does, only to find there is a video of her husband sleeping with someone.

She is shocked at first, then calms down almost immediately. She again stretches her arm, and reaches for the pillow on his side, leaves his phone there, and then gets a knife from under the pillow. Her heart beats so fast and yet she won’t stop to listen to her conscience this time. She swiftly takes the knife and plunges it into his back. Stabbing him. Piercing him. The husband wakes up startled and to stop her, presses her neck with both his hands. She smiles, coughs, and smiles. She can’t take no more. Her windpipe would burst. But she is ok. There is some calmness within her. The sweet feeling of revenge taken!

Not before long, her husband thinks he should instead call for help. He can’t seem to find his phone that is under the pillow but behind him and he can’t turn as he is injured so bad. So when he tries to do that, his hand loses its grip on her neck and she relieves herself and goes to his backside where he is unable to face her. She then takes the phone and throws it into the drawer in the wardrobe. Locks it there to make doubly sure he cannot reach it.

She sits down and sees his face, wrinkled in pain. The creases on his face reminded her of how that young man he once was, has turned to be older, with her by his side. Never even once thinking this could be his end. Not imagining even once, all these years, the woman he lost his virginity with, woke up every day next to, is someday going to murder him.

Then it all comes back to her. How... just how did her boyfriend get his hands on the video of the intimate moments between her husband and that other woman? She quickly wipes her tears and takes her phone. She calls him but her boyfriend won’t pick up. He just won’t. Then she gets a message from him. She didn’t expect it to be another video. But it was! It was a video of hers. Her killing her husband! Now the wife is worried sick. She frantically runs around the house, opening the doors and curtains and every place to find a hidden camera of her boyfriend. She did find, finally. No, not the camera but her boyfriend. But it was too late. She had met her fate.

She glanced through the pool of blood on which her husband lay. She repents but it’s too late. She wishes she had called the ambulance on time. She forces her eyes shut with her mouth twisted in regret and there comes a fresh flow of regretful tears... the last of its kind because now her eyes are turned into stone. So is her heart! Her boyfriend puts a leash on her neck. She is in her own kitchen, all naked, cutting onions on the vegetable board, lost in thought, thinking about all that could be undone. Just then, her neck pains... she is being pulled. Her master needs food. She finishes cooking the food, serves it on a tray. She then kneels down, crawls to her master. He asks her to lick his boots. She does as she is told. He then demands her to feed him. She does as she is told. He asks her to wash the plates. She does as she is told. He tells her to put him to bed, she does as she is told. Only this time he won’t wake up.

A Good-Bye Letter

 

Little did I know that I am going to die today. But my soul had chosen to depart on a pleasant day, just the way I like it. I have spent hours thinking of how should death be for me. Yes, I did think about that part in detail. After all, what can an old woman in her 100+ years do? I am wrinkled beautifully…the lines making me more beautiful. My relationships are not dependent on me but I am on them. I am now a great grandmother but neither can I enjoy these benefits or take the responsibility for the newborns. Heck! No one would even trust me to take up such responsibilities. 

They say I am now forgetting things. But little do they know that I have memories stored in me. I remember a lot of their childhood, a lot of their children’s childhood. What I don’t remember is the recent things happening around me. That’s because my mind is all dwelling in the past. Coz that’s where I lived…and that’s where my presence was important. I was loved and at peace but not realizing the peace as I was too busy at that time. This present tense has nothing to offer me but peace of a different kind. Peace in terms of time. The time is now my friend. It no longer runs past as it did in my dutiful days of youth. I never found time. And today, I have time in plenty but those around me don’t have it for me. It's ok, I understand, I too have lived that age and stage. So after finishing up with my morning routine, I come down to sit peacefully in my community. 

It's basically getting out of the house so that people in the house can relax and not have to do things for me. I don’t want to disturb anyone. Yes, I want to help. But I am scared. I am scared I will make a mistake and my folks won't like it. They won't say it, but their distrust is not what I want to earn. I have already earned that enough. I don’t know I am old until I see myself in the mirror or am made to feel by everybody around me. I like it when I am offered a place to sit, every time I go somewhere. I know nobody likes me talking, as my speech is not very clear due to broken teeth. 

I know I try too hard to entertain the younger generation but they just smile and nod rapidly to get back to their lives and excuse themselves but are being polite out of respect. I am alone. I need to accept that. But what do I do? I am afraid if I am too silent, I will be considered dead. I will be non-existent. I like to see little grandchildren of mine playing around me but am scared to touch them and play with them, what if I upset their parents or hurt them. They somehow like me a little perhaps but they too have a busy day planned ahead of them.

So I sit here all by myself. I still feel pretty. I still feel knowledgeable and have plenty to share but nobody to listen to. And so I resort to writing. But little did I know that I am dying today. The birds are chirping for me for the last time. I want to take in most of this world. There is never enough. Yet I pray for my death as I don’t want to burden my family. I know they will cry out of the habit of seeing me around. My death will stir up the memories to come to the surface and I will be happy to be remembered for my past, for the existence of mine that they valued much. But soon, and by soon I mean, very soon they will go their way, suppressing their sighs, subconsciously feeling guilty for feeling at ease after I have passed away. It means one less responsibility from their busy lives, an extra bed and a room for their children or for their storeroom even and I don’t blame them. I am happy to see the world outside but I don’t want to remember anything anymore. Countless memories have been relived countless times and I now want to be the same toothless person but a cuter version of me someplace else. 

Everything seems scary now. Because it will all be out of my comfort zone. Everything in my new upcoming life is unpredictable but if one goes by karma, I think I haven’t given much happiness to my family and the people around me. I have been more of a taker, less of a giver. Perhaps that’s the definition of being lucky. So I was lucky in love, lucky in having a beautiful family, parents and my child is the most wonderful soul and I have been very very lucky that he has taken care of me more than anyone can possibly do or even think of. But for now, this is a goodbye letter. I hope I can write again to share my after-death experiences as well.

What’s My Story? Depression, Guilt?

 My story is about depression, about anxiety. And about overcoming it. 

No, this isn’t an advisory blog. This is just to let you know the only and only way that helped me come out of it was self-realization with time. The advices from people in fact made this journey a long one. I wasn’t very happy to discuss my personal life with others but when the wave of depression hits you, you try to breathe, try hard pushing all your limbs and the only time you breathe fresh air by coming up on the surface is by talking. But people don’t understand this cry of help. They think you are insane, talking too much, irritating, self-centered. Everything they seem to know but the real fact that they do not acknowledge is that we need help. We are humans, a human touch, a listening ear, a meaningful embrace is all that is needed to help us through. 

At this time when Sushant Singh Rajput is no more, there are millions of posts and re-posts mainly, suggesting people in depression to come out of the closet and speak about their fears and problems to close friends. FRIENDS???? Where are they? They are only there to ignore you in such times. At first, they listen to you because there is a story there about your life. A story that has something to soothe the listener, the so-called friend. They show sympathy in the beginning but then its a pleasure that they aren’t experiencing what we do and then it transforms into a superiority feeling and this is what they think, “I would’ve dealt with this situation better. And of course, I wouldn’t be going around telling people about things and situations and people in my lives. This woman really needs to grow up.” Yes they will speak good things to you at first, but believe me your story will be doing the rounds and people will ask you uncomfortable questions time and again, at every gathering. Some will even show that they are true friends, listen to you and mock at you. You already know the deal. Your story for their entertainment. Don’t sign this. 

I am not here to advice anyone what to do. 

But I understand life or our own wrong doings sometimes may seem to hit us hard but even if I wont say it, you already know how to deal with it. The only and only thing I would like to strongly suggest is DO NOT SHARE. PUBLIC PLATFORMS ARE SAFER THAN YOUR SO-CALLED FRIENDS. At least, there are people out there who do take joy in your depression stories but comment about pray and love and care. Be your own friend, journal or blog, stop beating yourself too hard and if your own doing in the past has transformed into a guilt and is killing you secretly from within, don’t try and seek peace desperately. Let it pass through. Accept that hard feeling you feel. Yes, you might think you are the worst person in the world while others are smartly coping with their own lives, so be it! Don’t be in a rush to get there. Before giving up on yourself, think about something good you may have done to others. Even if it is a little something then there is some good in you. Your conscience is alive. Let it beat you hard but then pray to yourself, to your conscience, to guide you to do things right from now on. TRY TRY TRY before you think of leaving this plane. Because you know not what lies ahead. Maybe this suffering doesn’t end here. But what can end is your own life. Maybe you can use it to fix the wrong and help others. Sometimes they say, by doing and spreading good, you feel good. Maybe that approach is worth a shot. Been there, done that! Still look behind and now guilt is my only companion. But not for the world to know any more. I am not just a story for others, I am worth much more. Love and hugs to those who need it and are going through a tough tough phase. Let time and the situations in your life do the talking. Hang in there! even if for just a little while longer. 

Love Can Bring Evil in You! - A story of Love, Hope, Evil, Strength and Faith

Love is the strength to see beauty even when there isn’t any. The world seems like a painting that has all the colors of joy in it. But love is also a great weakness. To protect our love, we sometimes become evil or we love so much that we know no boundaries. Can I say love brings evil in you? Sure, we all know that when in love, we are the kindest and see the beauty in everything in the world. Even a beggar’s wail of sorrow on an empty stomach, trying to get some money for food by singing is heard as a melodious voice, so sweet to the ears. Our beloved’s thoughts are like religious scriptures, containing all the wisdom there is to acquire. The deeds of our beloved even when wrong are righted by our excuses and benefit of doubt imparted to their every wrongdoing. But what happens to the angel in you when your beloved is in pain?

All your happiness that is objectified in a person, all your love towards that one man or woman seems to be ending with their last breath and you cry and cry to drain out the pain, every now and then. You don’t listen to anything. You pray but feel the emptiness of trust or love or passion or anything. You just go by the day’s chores, there is a vacuum in your heart.

In this story, that very vacuum is what served as an invitation to Barbara, the spirit of a witch. But she couldn’t reside in Shyla unless she said so herself. So Barbara planted some wicked thoughts in Shyla. Shyla was empty from within. Shyla, by now, was like a baked bean can, which was used and thrown in the trash for a decade now. This was the time for rodents and other inhuman beings to reside in this can. Shyla was an empty vessel with no thoughts or desires.

Her prayers were a ritual of sorts, with only drops of hope left in them, just a bare little. Whatever was in her that kept her alive, all the emotions combined had drained from her. She was colorless and hopeless. She just wanted a miracle. And she knew that a miracle wasn’t to come. Though she was walking towards the church, but her mind wandered off in a magical, fantastical place where her dreams took shape of reality in her head still. That’s a great way nature has given us to reside in someplace else in our head, away from the pain in the real world, to survive the bad circumstances.

Enough having said about Shyla and her condition now, let’s see what Barbara did to dwell inside her. She first planted some evil thoughts in her. She made Shyla think of turning towards black magic or sacrifice of some sort. But soon, Barbara realized that Shyla could have a bad thought once but she wouldn’t execute on it. So Barbara decided to show her hope, be her hope. She is a spirit remember. Only Shyla could see her.

Barbara sat on the corner of the pavement and when she saw Shyla passes through that pavement, she called out at her. “Hello, Miss! Seeking solace! Shyla disregarded her and smiled a little meaningless smile more like a smirking sort of and left the place. After having walked the entire length of the pavement, she again spots Barbara at the beginning of the next, and she was shocked. She turned her head to see if her eyes could spot her at the place where she saw her first. But that was a long-distance and there were also some slight curves in the lane. She turned her head again to look straight and missed a heartbeat as Barbara was standing right in front of her. So close to her that their nose met. Shyla stepped back almost instinctively. She was stammering and thought of saying something but nothing occurred to her. She took to her heels and started running, fearing for life. Every lane she crossed, she found Barbara smilingly waiting for her. Finally, mustering just enough courage to ask this question, Shyla asked Barbara, “What is it that you want from me?” As if ready and waiting for that question, Barbara responded almost instantly, “I don’t want anything from you. I want to give you something. Something you desire the most?” saying so she cackled. Shyla couldn’t believe and it was evident the way her furrows met. But a sudden wave of bravery filled her lungs like a fresh waft of breath. She asked boldly, “Are you referring to Chris?”

“Yes, indeed I am!” replied Barbara.  

Shyla - C-can you help us?

Barbara - Certainly!

Shyla kneeled and with hands folded in a tight grip, she begged fervently.

Please, please help him! Cure him!

Barbara – That’s what I am here for! But you just have to pay a tiny fee.

Shyla – Fee? What fee! Kindly tell me. I am willing to do just anything.

Barbara – Then say aloud, “You allow me!”

Shyla – Allow you? For what? For helping us!

Barbara – Just say it!

Shyla said the words allowed. Barbara vanished. Shyla was left confused. She didn’t know if she had been daydreaming like she did these days because of very little food and no sleep and lots of stress. She sighed and walked towards her home.

Barbara (from within Shyla) – Now I can help you.

Shyla looked around but felt something weird within her. It’s like there was a voice recorder insider her heart. Immediately she knew she made a big mistake and the price was definitely not tiny. So she asked the voice within her, “Will you leave me someday?” To which Barbara replied, “Yes, I would but only when I have all of you.” Shyla didn’t understand that very well but understood it meant nothing good.

The rest of the walk was silent but she was just hoping that this was all a nightmare. There were tears in her eyes, rolling down to find a way through her cheeks and neck to her heart. She remembered her God and realized she was such a fool to have left that miserable vacuum inside her. Why didn’t she allow the prayers to instead light the darkest sorrowful corners of her heart? That would have been so wonderful and as if she suddenly knew how to work a miracle. Now she called upon herself yet another evil. Barbara couldn’t hear her thoughts but the pain in Shyla’s heart was what Barbara thrived upon.  

Shyla was full of answers now. She reached home and unlike every day, she headed straight to her room where she took her prayer book and started praying feverishly. Barbara didn’t like that and asked in a loud rattling voice, “Why don’t you take me to Chris? You know I can help him this instant. He will be well in no time.” Shyla chose not to respond and tried to focus really, really hard on her prayers. She knew it isn’t going to be easy. Barbara created havoc in the house, smashing and breaking things. There was a loud shriek and yell. Every time Shyla was getting scared, she tried to think of her deity, her Lord was within her.

Just then, a bird appeared at her window. This bird was unlike any other. More colorful, more rainbow-ish. Shyla wasn’t sure why she was feeling the strength on seeing the bird. She kept looking into the eyes of the bird that moved its wings time and again to settle down but all the while the bird’s eyes were fixed on Shyla’s. Shyla too experienced eye-lock with the bird. This bird seemed to be providing some inner peace and strength in Shyla.

Parallel to this scene was that of Barbara’s. She was screaming, trying to get the attention of Shyla. Shyla now all calmed down and no longer afraid, spoke to Barbara in a soft voice, “You wanted to take over me, my existence. You wanted a body. Only because though you think you have powers you don’t have any. You scare me because in fact you are scared easily. There is nothing you can do but scare me to succumb to you. I am more powerful than you. But I pity you. You may have done wrong deeds in your life to be suffering so much. But I wish I could help. I realize that I can’t.

So I order you to leave my body this instant. Barbara wailed a terrifying cry and then puff! She vanished again. But this time for good. Shyla’s calm mind and rhythmic heartbeats were gone away all with the sudden realization that Barbara could have used Chris as a vessel. She rushed into Chris’s room to find him okay. But she was sure that couldn’t be. She closed her eyes and tried to get a grip on her faith. She wanted to know if it was a miracle that Chris is now alright or is it, Barbara, in him.

Then it dawned upon Shyla that the spirit needs permission to enter into one’s body. So she was relieved. She wanted to believe a miracle had taken place after all. Faith could indeed move mountains. She brushed her worries aside and hugged Chris. Only she couldn’t feel Chris’s body. She felt like she was hugging some aura.

While Shyla was left wondering what is happening, she saw the bird yet again and this time on the window of Chris’s room. She then looked at the heart rate monitor and realized Chris was no more. Yet it was his love that gave her the strength. It was her faith that had brought back her bravery to fight the evil within her. But alas! She had to deal with the bitter truth of life, Death!  

The Guiltland

There is no one here. No one! Just me! A second ago I was a part of the crowd, at the beach, hearing laughter, chitter-chatter, the sound of the waves, and the ocean at large. Everything seemed joyous but not me. I tried to look inside me to understand what is wrong. I know that already and yet I look within me sometimes like you would when you know something is hurting you. And every time I do so, I am transported to this place where I am right now. 


This place is a dark lonely lane. The street lights are there but I feel I have lost the happiness around me. Yet it gives me the satisfaction that I am at the place I deserve. A solitary place. At least the laughter does not mock me here. I start walking on this dark lane with the support of the dim street lights. The lights flicker at first and then one by one, as I pass each of them, they break. The glass pieces scatter all around me and I tread the path, being pricked by the glass pieces again and again. My feet bleed and yet I know this is the place I deserve to be and that gives me a good feeling of sadness. 


The lights break because the evil in me cannot let the light fall on me. This is the guilt land, the land where the evil in me punishes me. My wrongdoings, the evilness in me, and the memories of the past haunt me here, this is the place I love to hate myself at and yet this is the place I find solace in, as this is what I deserve. Meet me, I am guilty and this is my guilty land. If you want it to be your neverland, treat your people with respect and love and gratitude. When you hurt someone who counts on you, who worships you, the memories of it will kill you from within and yet spare your life to suffer the suffering you gave your dear one someday.