Love is...

Love is not something that can be lost and found,
Love is not the ever changing favourite tracks of sound,
Love is not a spectre to conjure,
Love is not something to be unsure..
Love is not a feeling, because feelings come and go,
Love is a decision, that you keep once you know.

A parable? A search.. a journey..

It takes a rope to draw from a well,
But from an undug well,
It takes more.

Knowledge has its price,
But its value is knowing whether its worth it.

Many burdens can be carried in a lifetime..
Yet lifetimes may last only as long as the beares wishes life.

Fickle as may seem a parable unknown,
But the depth of its meaning often opposes its fickleness.

A search often takes you far from the known,
Yet at the known is where you must arrive..
What matters then is that whether the journey was worth it.

Journey one must, for even the most stagnant trees grow in depth and height..
But what you do when you meet with other roots and branches,
Decides whether your journey was worth arriving at the end of your destinations.

Emptiness

Like looking down a great dark abyss
spiralling in grief without purchase
being conscious yet not in control
what we hold & what must we let go..

Grip is not without grit
grit can't emerge within hollows
vast spaces of nothingness
can't bear the passions of living

fear, love, grit, stress...
can not exist in emptiness.

Keep going...

It feels like I'm out of a deep comatose state of mind.
I don't really remember the last time I felt anything like myself.
I'm writing not just to kill that long cold silence in me, but to
fight that dead state of mind. To thaw out the freeze of 'me'.

I remember 'me' tip-toeing in a park to make the perfect photo of a
butterfly. A 'me' doing push ups after returning from office to stay
tough. A 'me' baking a cake for my grand ma's birthday... A 'me'
ordering an extra large birthday surprise cake to be directly sent to
my dad.. that's the last special thing I could share with him.

Always wanted him to be proud of me. Praise came more spairingly from
him than summers in the antartic.
So many plans, hopes of getting to spend time.. maybe after his
retirement.. and now he has fore-gone retirement for more permanent
resting plans.
They say that you can't defeat a man who won't give up.. My dad was
that, so was my grandad.. Fuckin stubborn, lived by their own
rules..No regrets and no bloody care for social masks.
Been wanting to do that myself.

For now, I'm glad to just realise that I'm breathing still.. and
knowing that no amount of toughness of mind or body can prepare you
for life.
One thing though I must absolutely learn to preserve..
The desire to keep going.

He just left, just like that...

He's gone, I know that, because someone told it to me and my mind
confirms that memory, while I wait for his mortal remains to be
brought to me to confirm it once again.
I have already faced that situation over and over in my mind. I see
him shroud in white, his face the way I remember watching while he'd
sleep.

It's a long wait.
The longest that time ever lasted.
The clock ticks on mechanically, night passes into day and the sun
rises, the birds chirp. The dawning of the day never interrupted by
the death of my father.
The birds come chirping at my window sill waiting to be fed by my
father. Even the birds had a right over his time, everyday, unlike me.
I go to get the feed, I place a few fistfuls on the sill. The birds
alight but don't eat. A couple of them peck at it, then they watch me
and I watch them equally curious. I think to them, your feeder isn't
coming back. Maybe they understand, maybe not. Then I move away and I
enter my own private hell.
But something shakes me out of it. It's sounds, too many people, but
one among them has brought me out of my despair, temporarily I bottle
up my grief. I call the family doctor, he arrives and then I tell him
everything. I register the shock on his face. I know why that
expression is plastered on his face longer than it should on any
doctor. He had checked my father's annual test results, just a couple
of days before his death and they were okay.

After he leaves, I stand sentinel over my mum's room, no one enters it
on my watch. My earlier sorrow has now transformed into a cause. My
mother needs to be away from the howling audiences.
I keep them at bay. They plead with me, they curse me, they accuse me.
They tell me that my mum must cry. I know better. I stay sharp. I coax
them away and at times shove away a few. My mother rests from the
tranquilising effects of the meds delivered into her.
Then the hour comes, I have to let them have an audience with her.
I restrict them when I can.

Finally the flow of people ebbs. I am slowly losing my courage. In the
final few quarters of the hour before they bring him, I lie down
beside my mum.
I am scared. For once I don't know how I will react. Will my mind
remain in my control? I know not. That scares me utmost.
I remember a few words of courage. At such a time, those words which
give me some hope are that of a friend's mother, she feels closer than
any blood relative.

I'm almost dragged to him amidst all the crowds. I excuse myself and
go to the restroom and borrow strength from the words of a loved one.
I emerge from the restroom with a renewed strength. Again there are
people holding me, prodding me, I shrug them off. I move closer to the
mortal remains of my father. I stand there, observing his serene
expressions. A brother holds me and makes me sit fearing that I might
faint. I don't. I just stare blankly. I see why I have so little space
to crouch beside him, as in life, so in death, too many people have a
right over him.
I notice mum crying, caressing his lifeless face which hasn't a single
expression of pain. His eyelids are ever so slightly open, like he
might just wake out of his slumber.
I brush off that thought, I do not wish to dwell upon such things.
That's for myself, later.

They take him away. I'm glad it wasn't a stark white shroud, but
instead a soft maroon blanket that I use daily.
I stay strong, for a while, then locking myself away from all, I cry
out in grief, yet it's gentler than my first screaming anguish of
denial and shock.
I've been practical for long enough.
Crowds swarm me, I calm down.
Again I look at my mum and bottle up.
There's a long way to go before I can rest.

''I am with you, I can't believe it!''

To know that you were with one who cared for you, and who understood
every fiber of your being, and who would not abandon you even in the
most desperate of circumstances, that was the most precious
relationship a person could have and both Jo and Anwesha cherished it.

It wasn't a very long wait before Jo saw Anwesh half walking, half
sprinting while dragging a noisy wheelie-bag. There was a mad grin on
Anwesha's face that seemed steadfastly pasted there with fevicol,
thought Jo.
The smile was both continuous and contagious, it reached Jo's lips too.
She was glad to be in time.
After a half hug which she wished could further prelong with a deep
kiss, Jo directed Anwesha to the pre-booked car.
As they took their place in the car, it began drizzling and little
droplets of water rolled down the glass screens of the taxi.
Everything seemed to distract Anwesha, from the wipers on the driver's
screen to the sights and sounds of the new city. Jo however was
focussed on Anwesha alone. Her gaze hardly shifted away from Anwesha
all along the journey.

The statues swarthed in golden paint, the brightly dressed people, the
unseasonal rain, everything seemed to amaze Anwesha, she scrutinized
it all with a strange curiosity. Jo wondered if that was to avoid
contact with her that anwesha was distracting her elsewhere.

Anwesha in her mind recollected the surprisingly arousing touch that
Jo had chanced upon during their first shared taxi ride. She didnt
want yet another occurence. Plus she knew as a matter of fact that her
city was much less rigid to sapphic identities or infact, most people
were least bothered with the lives of others.

So they travelled on in the city that was once titled the presidency of Madras.

They reached Jo's hostel room after all the registrations and bills
were settled. After arranging the bags and other things, it was now
time to arrange matters of the heart and mind.
Anwesha's heart felt weak suddenly as she let go off her defenses. Her
dam of feelings broke and she hugged Jo who was perched on the only
cot in that room.
Jo felt Anwesha's limp structure being racked with sobs as Anwesha
continued hugging her fiercely, repeating just one line over and over
again,
''I am with you, I can't believe it!''

A very short end...

She was so occupied that she almost forgot, she rushed to the
kandepohe with a pinch of salt to find them burnt. She went to tell
him it would take time, only to finding him hanging, dead.
The salt was left out both before they were burnt.